Disclaimer: I still don't own Angel the Series or Merlin (BBC). And I'm still not making any money.

Thanks to dieticlast for his beta-reading work.

The Ruins of My Kingdom to Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 18: Human Sensations

Wesley turned at the sound of his door opening, but he needn't have bothered. At this late hour, he knew full well it would be Illyria. In the week since the 'departure' of the Witchfinder, she had come to monitor his recovery. She had insisted that she was fully capable of restoring his arms completely, and he was inclined to believe her.

But, showing an awareness of the wider implications of her behavior, she had merely acted to heal him slowly, over the course of a longer period of time. She'd eliminated all pain and stiffness from his arms that first time, but the visible damage was still there. Her magic was ensuring that the healing, which was happening naturally, happened at a much faster pace than nature would intend.

"Come to check on the patient?" Wesley asked with a sigh. The interest she was showing in his recovery, given that he'd now recovered full use of his arms, was surprising. It was no longer a matter of ensuring that his damage be healed.

Wesley wondered just how much of...of Fred stayed with her, at times. She'd shown a greater capacity for acting almost...human, in the months since their arrival at Camelot, though the difference was slight and easy to miss. Not acting like Fred, really, but perhaps the fragments of Fred's memories within her were providing some sort of mental road-map to being...human like?

Illyria remained sure of her superiority over all others, and would be insulted if he called her human, but she was much closer to human than she'd ever been before, and seemed to be coping with that now, or at least resigned to it. Whatever her plans for rebuilding her Empire, they would have to include humans.

Wesley chased those thoughts away for the moment – spending too much time trying to ponder the mystery that was Illyria was a route back into mental recursion and thoughts.. thoughts he really didn't want to spend time on.

"I am here to administer further healing." Illyira confirmed. "Remove your shirt."

Wesley didn't protest as he complied – the second time she'd provided healing magic to the burns, he'd pointed out he could just roll up the sleeves all the way to his shoulders, but she'd insisted that it was faster and more efficient for him to simply remove the shirt entirely. Which it was, but -Wesley shrugged mentally as Illyria drew closer, once more avoiding thinking on the matter too much.

He watched again as the armor melted away from Illyria's hands and resisted inhaling sharply at the sudden sensation of her cold hands on his flesh. While he couldn't be sure, Wesley suspected that Illyria's hands were not only room temperature, but actually even lower than that, as if something in her body was actively producing cold – the reverse of the human body generating body heat.

He'd thought about asking her about it, but – well, why hadn't he?

The worst she's likely to do is give me another speech about humans being the muck at her feet, or something along those lines.

Wesley watched Illyira murmur something in a language he couldn't follow, and once more felt magic flowing into his arms from her. The skin along both arms once more started to recover, the burns fading just a little, the skin returning to what it had before.

As usual, the entire process took only a minute before Illyria pulled her hands away.

Wesley watched, expecting the armor to reform over hands, but instead, Illyria's right hand trailed up his arm, tracing down the scar that still lingered on it. But only for a moment – as if realizing what she was doing, Illyria pulled her hand away.

"Does it not still hurt?" Illyria asked him, cocking her head to the right slightly. "You are possessed of many remaining injuries – Justine...this is a wound created by a bullet." She said, looking at where Wesley had been shot by the zombie cop. "Do they not still impede you?"

"Not really." Wesley answered, wondering at the strange turn to conversation. "A twinge now and then, but the human body is quite resilient at healing injuries."

"And these -" she gestured at the scars on his chest and arms, from Faith. "The Slayer – the one known as Faith. She did this to you. The shell heard of the torture she inflicted on you."

"Yes." Wesley confirmed, still confused by her behavior, her statements. Where was she going with this?

"The scars are blemishes. Your human science is capable of eliminating the remains of these injuries, in the time we left. Why did you not avail yourself of such options?" Illyria looked up at him, her eyes – her real ones, the crystalline alien eyes that she kept hidden around everyone else in Camelot – locking onto his.

After a moment, Wesley had to turn his gaze away, breaking from her eyes – they were...too alien to look at for too long. In that moment, he missed a momentary change in Illyria's expression. It was already surprisingly human, and then...

But Wesley didn't see it, missing it entirely, for Illyira regained control of her features almost instantly.

"There's no guarantee modern medical science could have completely eliminated every scar I have, physically speaking." Wesley told her carefully. He wasn't sure – he really hadn't kept up with plastic surgery techniques or anything along those lines, despite living in Los Angeles for five years.

"But even if they could have gotten rid of some or all of the scars, such a procedure is expensive. Until we started working at Wolfram and Hart, I hardly had the financial resources to undergo such treatments. By then?" Wesley shrugged, picking his shirt off a chair and starting to put it back on, "I guess I'd gotten used to them, I suppose."

That wasn't entirely true, however. He had long since gotten used to them, but...

The scars were his history – his successes, and his failures, written across his body. His failures – the scars from Faith's torture, the cut from Justine...losing Connor, and his numerous failures as a Watcher to Faith...those were some of his greatest failures – ranking right alongside his inability to save-

Wesley forced himself to stop there. He wouldn't, couldn't think about Fred...the way that she'd...

He closed his eyes and forced the thought away.

The bullet wound – well, he'd taken a bullet for a man who had then been perhaps his best friend, a friendship that had remained firm for some time – and renewed at Wolfram and Hart...

Though how much of that was because of Angel's manipulations of our memories?

It probably would never have occurred to him to get rid of the scars – the one on his neck, maybe, while he was still under the impression Connor had never happened, but...

Perhaps it was his subconscious, hinting at him that something was wrong?

Illyria spoke and brought his thoughts back to the now. "I could eliminate those scars for you." She said, her voice...normal, as if conversational. There wasn't even a hint of her usual declaratory imperiousness.

"Why- Why would you offer to do that? They're old – they predate your arrival. Most of them even pre-date Fred's return from Pylea." Wesley noticed that Illyria's hands were still bare of her armor.

"It remains...unpleasant, to see your injuries...to...think on the pain receiving them would have inflicted you. Even knowing they are there, and thinking on such...remains unpleasant. I do not understand, but I am made unhappy to imagine you undergoing such injury, such physical pain." Illyria looked away from him, turning back towards the door, but only walking a few paces, "I have experienced many sensations that I am unused to, since coming to this place. More of the shell's basic self has remained hardwired into my form than I would have first imagined."

Illyira turned back towards him halfway, so she was standing perpendicular to him, her face in line with her shoulder as she looked at him, "My essence was powerful enough to overwhelm any semblance of the basic nature of the human shell before, but your weapon, your Mutari Generator has sapped too much of my being, my power, to prevent...leakage. It is the only theory with suitable evidence to support it."

"You're- developing a sense of sympathy? Empathy?" Wesley could scarcely believe it. But...there were hints – Illyria wasn't what she'd been, but he'd assumed it was merely her adapting to her reality, her weakened state and her need to have a more subtle, long-term plan than she might have had in her full power and glory.

If it was as she believed, that some semblance of humanity was 'leaking' into her...he'd given it almost incredulous thought a few times...including only a few minutes ago, but he'd always dismissed it...

"I am unsure." Illyria replied, her voice actually soft for the middle of the uncharacteristic declaration. "No experience of mine allows me to judge such terms against my sensations."

"What of these emotions are you feeling, then?"

"I am unsure." Illyria repeated, "I cannot describe them in your terms, for I lack the understanding to do so."

"Then that's something we'll have to figure out, Illyria." Wesley told her. "Human emotion is a powerful thing – even if felt by someone who isn't human. You need to be able to learn how to understand and deal with them."

Illyria turned back to face him, the armor flowing back over her hands. "Understanding it is compromise. I do not wish to experience these sensations – I wish them gone, not grasped more firmly."

"Has wishing them gone made it work?" Wesley asked carefully, noting the return to imperiousness in Illyria's voice and bearing.

Illyria looked away, "No." She replied, her words almost sullen.

"And it is unlikely to happen going forward." Wesley pointed out. "I think the solution is obvious, then. You named me your guide, your Qwa'ha Xahn. If I am that, then I would be remiss in that capacity if I didn't help you understand the...leakage, as you call it."

"Perhaps this is so." Illyria turned back towards the door. "I shall consider it." She left his chambers, leaving Wesley either more confused than he was before, or more enlightened.

Honestly, he wasn't sure which.

AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin-AtS-Merlin

"Do you ever wonder, Merlin, what your life would be like if you didn't have magic?" Merlin turned his head to look at Morgana directly as she asked that question.

Once more they were in the room they used for training – though they were here much later in the evening than they usually were.

Not that they only used the room for training these days. It was...well, the only place they could freely talk, could be themselves, could not worry about...anything, if they didn't want to. Neither of them had anyone else they could really confide in, on any number of matters. For Morgana, there was Gwen, but as much as the two women did have a friendship beyond their simple master/servant relationship, Gwen didn't know about Morgana's magic.

For Merlin...well, he couldn't really confide in Arthur about much of anything, especially his magic, and Gaius was...well, always insisting on caution and carefulness, if not outright inaction...the older man meant well, but Merlin sometimes felt stifled – Gaius' disapproval of Merlin's efforts to help Morgana with her magic was still something Merlin experienced and had to deal with.

And so...they often found themselves...just talking, as much as training. Morgana had reached the point where she did not fear burning her room in her sleep, and while she was still working on using magic to impose her will on the world around her – to move things, or conjure elements of even objects, to create illusions and what have you – she was in little danger of losing control of the magical power she wielded to attempt such effects. Her control was enough for that.

"I've never really thought about it." Merlin admitted. "It- Its been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I can't imagine myself without it...I suppose I'd still be in Ealdor. I wouldn't have been sent to apprentice to Gaius if my mother hadn't been so terrified I'd be discovered. My life would be more boring, which I'm not sure would be a bad thing," He admitted with a soft smile, "But I'd regret not coming to Camelot, not meeting Gaius, Arthur, Gwen...you."

He looked at her a moment, moving his eyes a little as he realized he was almost staring. "Having magic has made my life complicated...caused problems for me," he concluded, "But I don't think I would ever make the trade for a more normal, magic-less life." He looked her in the eyes, "What about you?"

Morgana turned, walking towards the door a moment, then back to him, "I...I don't know." She told him after several seconds silence. "If you'd asked me that right after I realized what this was...that I had magic...even after you told me yourself that you had magic..." She let out a brief sigh, "I think I might have taken such an opportunity, if someone presented it to me. I was just...I was terrified, so terrified of what would happen to me, if Uther...if anyone discovered..."

She let her eyes wander the largely empty room for a moment, then let her eyes land on Merlin. "Now? I don't know. I'm still afraid, but now...like yours, my magic...its part of me. And it feels...right, to be using it, to be working to better my ability to use it. If you- if you hadn't decided to ignore Gaius..." She let her voice trail off, not wanting to contemplate the possibility.

"I can't imagine not telling you the truth – not deciding to help you." Merlin told her, "I'd been where you were...I wasn't going to just let you get lost in what was happening to you." And to hell with the Great Dragon's prophecy. Merlin still didn't know what possible logic the Dragon had been speaking of – but Merlin wasn't going to take destiny at its word.

If I am supposed to be powerful enough to help Arthur bring peace to the land and unite Albion, then I can make sure Morgana doesn't become some sort of evil monster!

The Dragon, like Gaius, was constantly and consistently disapproving of his efforts with Morgana, but he was more resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to change anything. He still dropped ominous hints that left Merlin maddened by their vagueness.

"It would have been easy for you." Morgana pointed out. "Safer."

"Maybe." Merlin conceded, "But not for you. I can't imagine myself leaving you to deal with it on your own. I value you – our friendship, too much for that."

Morgana smiled slightly, looking him in the eyes, "I'm fortunate to have you, then, Merlin. As a friend." She looked away after a moment herself.

Despite all the time they'd spent together in recent months, Merlin was still confusing to her. He was so often silly and flippant and unserious...but he could be serious almost at the turn of a corner. He was a good man, but he'd admitted to wanting to kill Uther for all he'd done, all he continued to do.

Morgana's experience with men Merlin's age was fairly consistent – among other things, they lacked perspective. Arthur sometimes had it, a consequence of being raised as Prince, trained so he could inherit from his father one day, but he lacked it in a great many matters.

Merlin didn't always have perspective – the way he'd so openly confessed to being the one who cured Gwen's father, risking so much, all that for Gwen's life. It had the advantage of being right, and even then, she'd thought it spoke well of him – though not for the same reasons, of course – but...

It had been a foolish decision. But...

Well, she admired his courage, his willingness to stand up...and there was always the little thought that niggled in the back of her mind:

Would I have the courage to do the same in his place? Morgana didn't know – she wouldn't want to see anyone innocent being killed for some magic she worked, but she wouldn't...she couldn't imagine confessing to open court that she'd done it.

Of course, their experience with Aredian had proven there were other options.

I may not be able to kill Uther...Merlin is right about the risks, how Arthur would react...but I can undermine him...undermine the persecutions.

She'd already resolved that she'd take any opportunity she could to free those imprisoned by Uther for the use of magic, regardless of whether or not they'd actually used it. Only those who had harmed innocents with their magic, or planned to...well, then they did deserve punishment...

Not that Morgana intended to include the Knights or any of Camelot's Guards in the category of innocent. The former were largely good and honorable men, but they still obeyed Uther's commands without question, without considering that what they were doing was wrong. She wished few of them ill, and some of them she liked well enough...

But I can't hold it against anyone who uses magic that targets them. Not after what they've done...

As for the Guards...they had the same problem. They weren't as honorable, perhaps as the Knights, nor held to the same standards, but they weren't evil men, mostly. Just doing a job. But they were still part of Uther's tyranny, part of the machine that spread Uther's hatred and paranoia across the Kingdom and even into its neighbors.

In most lands around Camelot, magic was also outlawed. Few were as through and ruthless as Uther, but to curry favor with Uther, or to avert the risk of war, most Kings had persecuted magic and those who used it in their lands. Even Cenred had agreed to it, in his treaty with Uther...

Though if he was actually bothering to uphold his end of the bargain, Morgana would be surprised.

Perhaps the one time that man's duplicity has proven to be a good thing...

Morgana hadn't told Merlin of this intent of hers, and she didn't intend to. For all that he was a good man, he was...too focused on protecting Arthur, at the expense of the now. Perhaps he was right that Arthur would be a better King than his father, and that, if given the chance to see that magic wasn't evil, he would end the persecutions.

But she wasn't prepared to just wait for that day.

Still...though she disagreed with Merlin, fundamentally, about what to do now...

Whatever else, he was her friend. She didn't know what she'd have done, without him, and she didn't want to alienate him either. He was the only person, really, that she felt truly comfortable around now...The only one that she could be completely honest around – and when he was around her, Merlin was a different man – not entirely, but his – the maturity he sometimes showed, the depth of his character, his basic goodness... when they were together, it was there, unmasked by anything flippant and unserious.

She looked back over to Merlin. There were always silences like this, in their conversations, as they each thought about...well, Morgana had no clue what Merlin was thinking about.

"Sometimes I wonder, Morgana," Merlin started with a smile, "just what is you're thinking about, at times like this."

"Just sometimes, Merlin?" Morgana asked back, smiling in turn, happy to have something lighter to discuss, lighter to think on for the moment. "I'm always wondering what's going through your mind at times like this."

"I didn't realize I was that interesting." Merlin commented with a small chuckle.

"You have your moments Merlin. Sometimes you can be very interesting indeed." Morgana looked at him full on for a moment, and saw the young man flush – the look suited him, actually. That was another thing about him Morgana liked. He wasn't arrogant, wasn't full of himself.

He's a good man. A very good man. A very good friend.

Morgana looked at the door, "It is getting rather late. We should probably go, get some sleep. Usual time tomorrow afternoon?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it." Merlin agreed.