Unforgiven

by ThereIsNoOtherWay

Morgana Pendragon is in Camelot to kill the king Arthur, but she's counting on Merlin to help her do it. She can only hope that he believes her story... Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the BBC and do not own any of the characters. My use of them is purely for entertainment under the fair use clause of copyright law, I do not receive any profit or material privilege from them.

2. Chapter 2

The door to the rooms of the healer opens with a creak like a cannonball and the girl winces, steps inside as quietly as she can, pushing hair out of her eyes and tugging her blanket tighter. The flood of memories prompted by entering this room threatens to overwhelm her: for a moment she wants to sink to her knees, and mourn all that she's lost, and not take another step. She forces back the lump rising in her throat and heads purposefully for the few steps at the far end of the room. She has a job to do.

This door is quieter, and the woman has time to stop in the doorway, taking in the figure stretched underneath cloth on the rough hewn bedstead. His dark hair is tousled and his arms are stretched wide and open. The girl wonders what it's like to sleep like that, unafraid and vulnerable, not curled in on oneself to keep safe from attack. She slept like that once, too, but she can't remember it. She glances behind her to where the elderly physician still snores and shuts the door quickly. She wants to wake the boy before the castle begins its morning, and she doesn't have much time.

"Merlin," she taps his shoulder lightly, barely touching, then harder. "Merlin, wake up." She shakes his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him. For a moment, she thinks he's going to wake, but he merely rolls onto his side murmuring, "Five more minutes, Gaius."

"Mer. Lin. Merlin." She shakes him again, casting an anxious glance to the sun beginning to rise higher in the sky. "Wake up."

He does, then, with a start and a pull away from her, moving so fast her hand withdraws of its own accord, as though burned.

"Morgana?!" he asks in an alarmed tone, standing up on the rickety bed frame and looking around the room, as though for a weapon. "No, you're not real. Gaius said this could happen. You're my imagination." The shock and fear on his face hurts her much more than she would ever allow herself to admit; she barely needs to play pretend in order to bring tears pricking to her eyes.

"I'm real," Morgana whispers, "But I'm not going to hurt you, Merlin."