The Courage of the Weak

Morgana couldn't quite remember when it was that she begun to believe that Uther's hatred of magic bordered on insanity. She knew it had taken her a while – she was still young when she came to live in the castle, too young to care about such things. Even on those first years, she had loved the King dearly, for he made everything he could to ensure she'd have everything she need and that she would never miss her father's love. Of course, it wasn't the same thing – it could never be – but it was clear that he cared for her, and it had been enough. If he thought some people were evil, well, he must have a reason. Her father had trusted him, so, he couldn't be a bad person.

Only when they begun to consider her a young woman instead of a child was that she learned more about what was happening in the kingdom. People wouldn't tell her things, not yet, but she could overhear them – the stories of how Uther was persecuting people even before they used any kind of sorcery; how he had made sure that all dragons were slay and all dragonlords killed. She was no longer a child, and she then found out about the Great Purge and how Camelot's army had invade the holy isle and murdered the priests and priestesses that dwelled there; how Uther had made sure all the other kingdoms supported his views on magic through threats and war – and this had been how his father had died.

Sometimes she wondered if her father was a different man from what she remembered if he was close to Uther even during his madness and his terrible decisions. Morgana wanted to believe that Gorlois had held him from being that harsh and that the loss of his closest friend had made him harsher – yet, she knew it might not be the case.

For a while, she tried not to give those things much credit – it was all in the past, before she had come to live with him. He might have been a different man back then, still too grief stricken to think straight – too stubborn to accept a half-victory. It meant nothing to the present.

But when Arthur turned 18, he had been given his first missions to command. She had been in Camelot for half of her life then, and she had known the prince since he was still learning his first letters – enough to believe she knew him well. And yet, the third time he came back, he looked different, as if something inside him had broke.

It took a lot of nagging and pushing to get him to tell her his tale – of how he had been sent to annihilate a druid camp and how even though he commanded them to spare the woman and children, the guards and knights would not hear him. She could only imagine how he felt, and for a while, there were dark marks under his eyes and she knew he wasn't sleeping well. Morgana hadn't even been there, and yet, she often had nightmares about the expedition.

She had too many nightmares, they had been a constant in her life, but after her conversation with Arthur, they seemed to increase steadily. Gaius tried to help her with sleeping drafts, but they had little effect on her. It was as if something inside her had woken, and it would never sleep again.

Soon Morgana started to pay a lot more attention to the small events around her – a man imprisoned for making coins appear out of thin air; who only escaped death because he managed to explain the trick to the counselors (he hadn't even done any magic, but the King had found his tricks enough to earn a reprimand). Not long after, she was called to watch as Uther executed a woman found guilty of using charms and enchantments – later she learned that her crime had been assuring that the shoemaker's wife didn't die while giving birth to her youngest child.

It became clear to her that the idea of magic was being punished, not the dark powers themselves. The king cared very little if the person's acts were meant to harm people or to help them: all that he cared was that it didn't want magic in his kingdom.

She had never been one to stay silent in the face of injustice, and soon she learned that when it came to magic, Uther was deaf to all pleas and arguments. Of course, that didn't mean she would stop trying and repeating herself, and showing him how much she disapproved of his actions. Morgana was many things, but she had never been a liar; she would not pretend.

That was the main reason for her to be in her chambers while Arthur stood by Uther's side in the balcony, facing the square. The druid man was already bound and upon the stage, but the King clearly meant that moment to be marked by his words – he never failed to use a chance to remind everyone of how he ruled.

"People of Camelot, the man before you is guilty of using enchantments and magic. Under our law, the sentence for this crime is death." There was a pause as he allowed his words to sink in the crowd. "We're still searching for his accomplice. Anyone found harboring the boy is guilty of conspiracy, and will be executed as a traitor." A heartbeat, and then the next – how could Merlin look at it calmly? "Let this serve as a warning to your people."

Morgana wasn't sure if he meant the druids or those inside Camelot that traded with them, and it didn't matter, for the man was speaking, his voice loud, clear and firm even though he knew his life was about to end.

"You have let your fear of magic turn to hate. I pity you."

His words rang true, and there was no shiver in his body, but an endless sadness directed to the King. He was a brave man, facing death like that, and it made her feel ashamed even as she spoke.

"I can't watch this."

She had seen it before and knew it too well – the blood, the head jumping towards the crowd, the eyes still rolling and the body falling with an empty thud. Morgana sat on the floor and pulled the boy close to her – it felt as if it was somehow her fault that the man was dying and that the child would be left alone, and in a wild mutter, she trying to assure him that she'd care for him, but the words died in her throat as she heard the sound of the ax cutting her air. There was a scream – a loud, impossible scream coming from the unmoving boy and her beautiful roman mirror cracked.

She held him close, no knowing what to do, as she felt his loss as if it were her own; her lips moving of their own accord and telling him that she'd keep him safe, that no harm would come to him, that she would not give up.

She meant each and every one of them.