Wildflowers

By InkInMyVeins

Disclaimer: Characters and setting not mine, plot is

Things had been tough. After her latest defeat, her last loyal servant's death and her near fatality Morgana had settled into something she had grudgingly come to accept as a sort of depression. Her only light the little dragon who'd so innocently healed her body, and in a way he'd healed her soul as well.

Smiling softly at the memory Morgana's hand came up to her neck as he eyes closed in contentment, breathing in the crisp cool air.

The cackling fire snapped her into her harsh reality. Spring was just seeping through the snow of winter of which more melted day by day. The past winter had almost done her in, it was the ultimate test to her resolution.

Being raised in a castle, with shivering attendants making sure she never felt anything more than a light chill even in the worst weather had truly brought her situation into sharp relief. If it weren't for her magic, oh her beautiful magic, she would have died within a week.

Instead Morgana's eyes flashed gold and the fire soared higher, cracking the wood she had painstakingly salvaged and dried for her use. She could keep a fire going without its aid but this was much easier.

The cold, darkened depression had taken her will to do anything. There was too much effort in most things these days. Even as the weather warmed and she pulled herself to take a daily stroll, spying Camelot from her ledge, she felt less resentment. Now she just felt hollow, as if mourning a death, her death. Her shawl pulled tight to her small frame was her last defence.

She would still try to destroy Arthur, she owed Morgause as much, only now the fire had gone from her soul. Bitterest anger died down to broken regret. Should she fail, well, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Should she die? Well, that might just be the most beautiful act of mercy left for her.

No.

She shook her head, she could not waste the dragon's gift. He kept her here for something didn't he? He must have.

But still she despaired, she had not seen the little thing since. Not been captivated by those innocent eyes that turned from sad to joyous as he healed her body and in a way he healed her soul as well.

It was fleeting. His part in her life and yet she felt it more important than anything in her life, the most beautiful thing she could recall.

She was beautiful once. No one could deny that her pale skin, haughty features and endless lengths of dark hair were the talk of the land. Men had sought after her. Her body itself was proportioned to her liking, well rounded hips, plentiful bust and thin waist. Her thighs slimmed down to her dainty ankles. Her countenance too, flirty yet proud and with her witty remarks she knew she brought more than her looks to any feast. And her eyes, she knew, pierced the soul.

Or had.

Now her features were sharper, her dress clung to what remained of her flesh. Now her bones pushed through, her skeleton desperate to escape the confines of her skin. Hair knotted and longer than ever before, split ends and not nearly as soft as it once was. She was still pale, though now not a beautiful creamy complexion, now she was sickly white. With her dark clothes and pale skin she looked of death. Morgana shuddered thinking that asleep she could be confused with as having passed on.

And her eyes. Those she mourned the most. Those pale blue, almost a striking grey were empty.

Turning away as if to rid her mind Morgana tread over to her table and pulled a knife from her sleeve, slicing an apple and taking a piece to munch on thoughtfully. She was trying to eat more, trying to keep herself awake as she so desperately wished to sleep.

Her nightmares could not break the enchantment but Morgana had been tempted to rid herself of it, of the memory of Morgause. Not to owe her anymore.

The nightmares would keep her awake too. A twisted smile lit her lips at the thought, how she wished to inflict pain. Only now, with no target her crazed mind looked inward. Often she found her eyes studying to her pale flesh with hunger, her hands stroking her wrists as if wondering what they would look like stained with blood.

Disgusted with herself Morgana had instead focused on practising her magic, her source of comfort during those cold months. Often she created the little dragon in the flames, made him soar throughout her meagre home.

She extinguished him though after a few seconds. Nothing could compare to his innocence, his grace and what he stood for in her world.

Shaking away her thoughts Morgana reached for another piece of apple, barely tasting the ripe fruit as her eyes wandered around the room, over her bed, the flames and to the poisons on her shelf.

Merlin.

Her breathing came in fast and desperate as she clutched her neck, still feeling the poison contracting her inner organs, constricting her way to air. It had been a horrible way to die.

"No" she breathed desperately, "Please" she begged, to what though she didn't know.

Eyes squeezed shut the witch hugged her body and waited out the convulsions as tears streamed down her face, ducking under her closed lids to escape.

It took a few moments for her breathing to even, her eyes to open and for Morgana to realise she'd crushed the apple in her hand, uncaring she chucked it to the ground. Morgause had made her keep the poisons right out in the open, a reminder of the hate.

Her eyes wandered to her wrist once more as her mind registered the dagger held tight in her right hand, she plunged it downward. Exhaling heavily as the blood pooled from her body and in elegant little droplets it formed and then spread.

Wiping away the blood she frowned. It looked ugly. It was like her distorted soul was trying to claw its way into her skin. And winning.

Angrily Morgana picked up the nearest bottle and threw it with a screech of pain, panting as it smashed into a hundred pieces. She'd been too close to the wall however and the glass ripped at her skin.

Another mark joined her wrist, another her opposite hand and one on her collar.

Calming the rage Morgana healed her neck and hand, watching in satisfaction as the cuts sealed off and disappeared as if they never existed. If only she could heal all her wounds that way.

Her wrist however caught her attention, the way the cuts sat looked like a petal, there was something beautiful about the sight, almost comforting and with a small smile Morgana discarded her dagger and with golden eyes the cuts deepened, joined and flowed out to recreate a little flower upon her wrist. It was beautiful. Not at all like the first cut.

Though it had just been for amusement the witch couldn't bring herself to heal it. So she didn't.

Dropping her arm the witch set about cleaning up her little house. And that day, the first day in quite some time, she was okay.

That day a small smile graced Morgana's lips as she cleaned, collected more firewood, tended to her fire and from a small patch of warmed earth she grew herself some vegetables. With a small animal killed for dinner she cooked and that night, snuggled into her cold blankets and much too close to the fire. Morgana slept.

The next day she repeated her pattern, though this time she added a flower to her wrist, next to the first and smiled down at it.

The days got better. Easier somehow to face.

Her designs grew and her arm adorned a garden of flowers, leaves, dragonfly's and a few tear drops mingled in.

She noticed also that when she used magic, the deeper cuts showed the blood running through her veins, showed it turn gold as it rushed through her body.

Each day her garden grew she felt better. The pain barely existed now as her eyes glowed gold and her skin broke beneath her gaze.

It was satisfying, no one could hurt her but herself. And even then her hurt was beautiful.

On the tenth day since her discovery Morgana caught herself humming as she worked, it was so shocking, and being so unprepared for it she laughed. The first real laugh in quite some time.

Her hand had clapped to her mouth and, alone in the forest she crouched on the ground and glowingly tested it out again. Her laugh wasn't that of her past glory, of resounding joy and contentment. It was harsher with lack of use and tentative yet there were the undertones of happiness that left her giddy.

On the twentieth day Morgana was singing. And on the thirtieth she danced as she lived her little life.

And each day her designs grew, spread and blossomed gold. Now she had patterns running up both arms and delicate rings around each ankle, her lower left leg was already starting to become truly beautiful under her ministrations with a soaring oak making its way up her skin.

Spring was truly here, stunning as the snow left the earth and instead green took over. It clawed its way up her hut, blanketed the earth as if wrapping it up in a hug and through it all burst colours brighter than the sun.

The flowers Morgana used for inspirations, as well as the small animals that frequented the area near her. She discovered more and more beauty as she collected firewood, adding to her personal garden of gold.

Everyday Morgana took her stroll, the forest parting for her as with her shawl wrapped tightly around her body the witch gazed out over Camelot from her ledge with increasing awareness to the beauty of it.

Some days she stayed, wanting to watch the light splay the city and dance around the happy people, other days she left immediately, unable to watch.

On the forty-eighth day Morgana woke, dressed, ate an apple and wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders. She left her little house, the soft earth below her feet as the witch started her walk. The morning air was chilled, the sun barely up and the forest starting to come to life around her.

Her tricky path felt well worn beneath her feet as they walked the track she had daily for quite some time. The sun was almost up as Morgana hastened to her ledge, out of breath as she stumbled on her hem.

Today was one of those days she couldn't wait to watch the beauty of her once home in all its glory.

The damp grass cushioned her body as she sat and waited, breath coming out white in the morning air. She had timed it well, barely a minute passed before the sun struck the tallest tower of the castle and with a brilliant smile she watched the slumbering beast of Camelot coming to life.

The hollow feeling arrived after a few minutes of content bliss, just as it always did. The witch's smile faded but she ignored the feeling. Her hand pulled at her sleeve until her garden was once more in sight, a sigh escaped her lips. Like a drug it calmed her, the feeling rushing through her body until the sight of Camelot became bearable and the witch stood on steady legs.

Her sleeve dropped back as Morgana hugged her shawl to her body and turned from the sight, her feet took to the path without instruction and she started home.

Barely two minutes of walking passed when heavy breathing and the crunch of twigs underfoot startled Morgana out of her thoughts. Freezing like startled prey the witch's breathing sped up as, with her shawl clutched tighter, her eyes scanned her surroundings.

The person, yes only one, was heading towards or maybe past her. Either way she took a step back, trying to hide in the shadows as a figure stumbled into sight.

He was hunched over, breathing raggedly. He was wearing dark brown pants, lighter brown boots, a dark blue shirt, reddish-brown jacket and he had jet black hair. He was clutching his side with one hand as the other held onto a tree for support.

He looked up with agonised blue eyes.

Morgana gasped.

It was her downfall really, that one little gasp. For his eyes did not land on her but his path ahead, had she stayed silent he would have passed by, of this she was sure. Instead however his eyes locked onto her with equal recognition.

Shock, hatred, pain, anger, anguish and fear passed through those expressive eyes before they settled on determination and Morgana gulped, not out of fear but of the emotion building up in her throat.

Merlin.

She felt the flashes of memory pulsing through her veins, the poison clutching at her insides and with a strength she'd long forgotten the once noble woman pushed it all down.

Instead she studied him wearily. Obviously he was alone, and had not come here for her. Just as she had not come here for him.

Stalemate. Her mind brought the term to the forefront of her mind and it fit perfectly.

It was he who broke it. And even then he did not do so willingly. His face contorted in pain and he stumbled again and fell to his knees, his fingers were coated with blood yet it was not the beautiful droplets glinting in the firelight upon her pale flesh. This was sickening, painful; his life pouring out from within him.

She took a step forward unconsciously reaching out to him but pulled herself up short. He had hurt her and here she was, watching him in pain. She should have felt satisfied. But instead all she felt was sadness that his pain wasn't nearly as beautiful as hers.

"Make it quick" his scratched voice brought her up short and she stared down at him, "I know I don't deserve it but-" his body convulsed again and more blood pulsed out, fascinating and sickening her all at once.

Her mind screeched at her to leave him to suffer but her eyes locked onto his and her lips parted in shock. The innocence of his eyes reminded her of her little dragon, the pain reflected also.

He was hunched just as she had been, aware of her death lingering just out of reach before she had been saved and really, she had done much worse in her life than this man had. So why did she deserve a second chance and not he? Was she brought back from death for this? To forgive?

Would the little dragon return for this soul, a much more deserving soul than her own but even as her eyes scanned the treetops desperately she knew in her heart that he would not come.

Instead she stepped forwards, kneeling in front of her once friend and placed a feather light touch to his cheek. He watched her warily as her eyes travelled to his wound and her other hand gently covered his, uncaring of the blood that coated her flesh.

Thanks to her life by herself Morgana had become rather adept at her healing spells and with a few softly murmured words and golden eyes his blood cleared away, his skin knitting itself back together and smoothing before her eyes.

It was a wondrous feeling; healing. Beneath the confines of her dress Morgana could feel her garden glowing and was tempted to reveal it to her eyes.

No.

Her garden was for her eyes alone. He wouldn't understand.

When her eyes receded to their blue-grey did Morgana become aware of his breath on her cheek, her hand over his trembling one and his closed eyes. Her eyes drifting upwards she gazed at his face.

Skin as pale as hers and much healthier, his lips had lost some of their colour but his features were as sculpted as hers could have been.

"Why?" he breathed out, eyes fluttering open and Morgana found herself unsure of how to reply. When she didn't Merlin closed his eyes once more, "Thank you" he murmured. That should have been it, Morgana realised, she should walk away. Get up and leave him to make his own way back to Camelot, let him decide what to tell people, whether to mention her or not.

The little dragon flitted to the forefront of her mind and Morgana looked down at Merlin once more, releasing his hand she helped the servant to his feet, his eyes watching her with guarded surprise.

Not speaking the witch took to his uninjured side and pulled his arm over her shoulder to help him stand and started to lead him through the forest. It was a slow going process, the man was weak and exhausted, much too exhausted to argue with her.

His eyes widened in surprise however as her little hut came into view, that she would trust him with the location was unsettling. Tiredly however his eyes drooped once more and he stumbled, leaning heavily on Morgana who had to admit some surprise at the weight of the skinny man.

Morgana shouldered open the door and helped him through, sitting him down into a rickety chair. His eyes closed immediately as his face contorted in pain. Breathing heavily, his hand still clutched at his side the servant took uneven breaths and Morgana closed the door quietly behind them.

The side where a gaping hole had once taken up residence would ache for quite some time, it was just the shadow of the wound though and with no actual injuring to his insides any more. He had lost a lot of blood though.

The reminder coating his side, his hands, her hands and her shawl which she discarded on the floor by the door, reaching for a bucket of water and a rag she approached the man whose eyes opened to watch her hesitantly

"I should wash away the blood" she explained quietly and with slow movements Merlin uncovered his side to her sight, the rip in his shirt showed that he was healed almost fully, only dark bruising showing where the wound once was.

Kneeling before him Morgana helped him out of his jacket and dipped the rag in the water, gently washing away what blood she could, his eyes watching her every move as she dabbed carefully over his bruised side, marvelling at his pale flesh before reaching for his hands and washing them also.

Dropping the bloody rag into the bucket her fingers reached for the hem of his shirt and gently pried the blood soaked material from his skin, lifting it over his head and putting it in the bucket to soak. Morgana washed the rest of his body this way, his eyes closed as she gently stroked the blood from his hair.

She had nothing for him to replace his shirt with but helped him to his feet and supported him as they stumbled to her bed. He seemed too tired to comprehend or to resist as she removed his boots and tucked him in, pulling the blankets up to cover his shivering body.

He was asleep in seconds and with a thought Morgana heightened the flames for more warmth to pervade the air around the shivering manservant.

In the hours remaining to the day Morgana cleaned up the blood and washed Merlin's clothes, healing the tear with magic before she lifted her shawl and repeated the action.

The sleeves of her own dress were stained with blood and with a deep sigh she pulled the coarse fabric over her head and in her undergarments she soaked and scrubbed the sleeves clean of blood. Gazing wondrously at her wrists and then at her ankles and the beginnings of her left leg.

She hung her dress by the flames to dry alongside Merlin's shirt, jacket and her shawl and started on dinner, a stew of what remaining food she had left. Her plans of food collecting for the day were taken rather unexpectedly. As she worked her eyes flickered over to the sleeping man again and again.

He looked so innocent. That same innocence which spurred her to act to save his life.

She was so conflicted. This man had tried to take her life, yet as the memory flashed she focused on the agony in his eyes and she felt a twinge of regret. He had hurt himself the day he hurt her.

Her eyes lingered on the planes of his face, how could she hate something so innocent? He was like her little dragon, hating to see pain and wishing to take it away.

Her little dragon.

Feeling her dress was dry enough to put on Morgana pulled it tight over her skin and stepped from her hut, treading her way over to a patch of grass she could see a decent stretch of the sky from she lifted her face to the heavens

"For you little dragon" she murmured, "I saved him for you" she added, a little louder and smiled slightly. That night she added a star to her collection.

Merlin slept all through the rest of the day, the night and until late morning. He started to stir as Morgana finished cutting up another apple for breakfast. She'd been hesitant to leave him at his whim in her house but her dwindling stores and the sleeping manservant who didn't look like he would wake for some time finally convinced her to attend her morning walk.

Camelot looked the same and vaguely Morgana wondered when the alarm would be raised for Merlin's disappearance. Would she be their first suspect?

Turning her back on the sight she'd collected what herbs she could, attended the little plot of land she cultivated for vegetables and killed a bird with her magic for lunch.

At first Morgana didn't notice he was awake, silently watching her manually cutting up another apple as she hummed to herself. She glanced up and fell silent, finishing cutting up the apple and putting the slices on a tray

"Thank you" Merlin spoke as she lifted the tray and headed over to him

"How are you?" she asked, sitting beside his bed, placing the tray on the side table and helping him up into a sitting position

"Better, thank you for healing me" despite his words the witch pulled down the blankets to inspect the bruise before deciding he was telling the truth. She leant over and poured him a cup of water from the jug on the table and helped him take some of it in

"You should eat" she murmured, gesturing the tray and with hesitant, untrusting fingers the spy took a slice and bit into it. Honestly she was surprised he hadn't demanded she eat a slice first, she knew she would have. That or thrown the tray in his face.

Standing up rather suddenly Morgana strode away from the bed, busying herself with checking over his clothing which was warm under her touch and tossed his shirt and jacket into his lap. With a muffled thanks the servant tugged the shirt over his head, wincing a bit as he stretched his torso.

Morgana busied herself plucking the bird clean of feathers, aided only slightly by her magic as she dealt with the meat. Morgause hadn't been much for cooking, preferring to steal off of other people but some of their rougher companions had made them meals and the witch had found herself watching curiously and picking up tips without even realising it.

She was grateful she had now, her life before Morgause had been too sheltered. Perhaps that was why she despised Arthur? Yet Merlin had lived a life similar to what hers was now. Maybe she hated Gwen for leaving that life? Honestly she didn't know anymore, especially as much of the hate receded into carelessness that the depression still swamped down upon her.

Some days it was difficult to breathe, to move but with a quick slice of her skin the monster within backed slowly away, releasing its cold clutch on her soul and she could move again, breathe again.

Merlin slowly ate all of the apple once she made it clear she wanted none of it. Afterwards his lids drooped and he fell asleep once more. His energy wouldn't come back that soon, they both knew.

Morgana purposefully waited until he was deep asleep before practising her magic, tugging her sleeves up to watch her garden turn golden and swirl beautifully. The star etched onto her wrist in the centre of the flower glowed brightly and the witch basked in the glow.

When the manservant woke hours later she was taking the stew off of the fire and evenly split the contents into two bowls and sat beside him, passing one over.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked sounding pained as he watched her. Morgana looked up at him with a strained expression and shook her head sadly.

I don't know

She would sound insane if she told him he reminded her of her little dragon. That and the fact that he'd go running back to Arthur who'd order a hunt for the little thing, she couldn't let that happen.

Instead they ate in silence. The sun was setting, light flitting in through her small windows and bathing the dark tones of her house in light. It was the first time she'd really noticed it as she watched Merlin's eyes glaze over it in awe.

It was beautiful.

She never realised light and dark could create such colour, such life when coming together.

She could afford no such luxury and with a shake of her head Morgana took their bowls to wash them in the bucket of fresh water she'd collected since Merlin's blood had stained the last one. Once they were washed Morgana lifted her shawl and draped it around her shoulders, slinging her basket on her arm

"Where are you going?" Merlin asked, he sounded almost scared of being left alone and she halted before answering

"Just the garden" she replied, a few of her vegetables and herbs rimmed her house, her larger plot was deeper in the forest, harder to find and warded with magic to stop animals from ruining it.

"May I-" he seemed to struggle with himself, "May I join you?"

She looked at him with surprise and distrust before nodding slowly. Merlin stood carefully, steadying himself and slipping on his boots and his jacket he followed her slowly as she left the house and the few steps to the grass.

Hugging her shawl to her body Morgana knelt, placing her basket beside her body and started tending her herb garden, little touches of magic here and there helping struggling plants. She could hear Merlin breathing in the chilly air, taking small steps on unsteady legs he knelt beside her and started to help.

Neither of them spoke. What could they say?

Once the air would have filled with amiable chatter, laughing and teasing as friends and flirting as possibly something more, however forbidden. They would have mocked Arthur, smiled as they spoke of Gwen and let gratitude flood their tones whenever Gaius was mentioned.

Now, both having attempted to take the others life at least once and with the uncertainty that came with each of their motives the silence was strained, awkward and unsettling.

Morgana couldn't help but be aware of every breath he took, every time their arms brushed or how he glanced at her just as much as she did. They were acting like hunted animals brought together for a singular water source and grudgingly sharing space.

Merlin reached around her every once in a while to deposit food into her basket. She tensed whenever he did so but soon relaxed.

"No flower garden?" Merlin asked after almost an hour of silence, working side by side. Startled she looked over at him, confused before she understood.

Often they'd laughed together with Merlin bringing her flowers he'd picked just because he knew she liked them. She'd admitted she'd like to have a flower garden one day however Uther deemed the idea ridiculous.

"Oh" she realised, averting her eyes, "I do have one" she admitted, a small smile gracing her lips as she turned back to her work, leaving Merlin with no explanation. The garden on her body was private, not for Merlin's eyes. After that they didn't speak until the sun had set and they re-entered the hut.

Merlin sat immediately, clutching his side and Morgana sat opposite him, cutting up vegetables as the fire boiled some water for another stew. Merlin reached for a knife and she looked up sharply, relaxing as he pulled a carrot towards himself and starting cutting, helping her prepare their meal.

"Why don't you just use magic?" he asked after a few minutes silence. She couldn't admit she always did things manually because it took up time in her day and helped calm her and feel productive

"You wouldn't hate me if I did?" she shot back harshly, feeling vindicated when he flinched away

"No" he replied quietly, "I don't care that you have magic" he told her, looking at the table rather than at her, "I care that you tried to hurt Camelot and Arthur"

She was in shock. Her hand shaking so much she put the knife down. He didn't care? But Arthur? Everything Camelot stood for she had abused, and she had only tried to hurt Camelot or Arthur after he'd poisoned her. Before that she'd been after Uther's blood and Uther's blood alone

"Is that why you poisoned me?" she demanded angrily, "Answer me!" she yelled, breathing heavily and glaring at the black hair he presented rather than looking her in the eyes, "Look at me!" she screamed

"I didn't want to" he whispered, blue eyes bright with unshed tears as he looked up at her, "Morgause was using you to sustain the spell" he added miserably, "I hated myself for even considering it but" he took a deep breath, "She would have destroyed everything if I-" he took a deep breath

"If you hadn't destroyed me?" Morgana asked calmly, much calmer than she felt

"Yes" he whispered mournfully, looking down

"It was only luck that Morgause recognised the poison and had the antidote nearby" Morgana murmured, almost to herself and Merlin's head snapped up

"What?" he asked stupidly

"Please" Morgana scoffed, "How else could I survive?"

"No" Merlin shook his head, "I gave Morgause the antidote to save you" he told her determinedly, the truth shining through his eyes. He couldn't have made it up if he'd wanted to

"No you didn't" Morgana whispered in denial though the fear in her eyes indicated she knew she was lying to herself, rather hopelessly too.

"Morgause lied to you Morgana" he told her resolutely, seemingly forgetting the situation he was in, how at her mercy he truly was

"You lie!" she yelled, standing, her voice breaking as a window shattered and Merlin flinched. Silence settled between the two. Morgana was standing, looming over Merlin's slight frame. Her breast heaving with rage as she pushed her chair away and strode around the table throwing her hand up she mended the window and with a few spoken words she had their dinner on to cook. She sat before the fire, stirring the stew every so often and ignoring the servant who struggled to keep his eyes open

"Give me one good reason not to kill you?" Morgana demanded quietly, her voice betraying her simmering rage

"I can't" Merlin replied though they both knew he'd done much for her over the few years they'd known each other.

Seemingly satisfied however Morgana dished up their dinner and they ate. Merlin finished first and glanced at her bed a few times before the witch sighed

"Rest Merlin" she ordered and with relief evident in his blue eyes the servant hobbled gratefully over and slumped down, stopping only briefly to remove his boots and jacket before he was in a deep sleep and back to looking as innocent as her little dragon.

Washing up their bowls Morgana studied him for a second before grabbing her shawl, wrapping it tightly around her body and curling up on the armchair she'd haggled from an old crone in a shady town on her travels. The chair was angled towards the fire yet let her watch the sleeping servant in the few minutes before she dozed off.

She woke before the sun and before the sleeping servant and took to her morning walk, she watched Camelot wake to the day, wondering why she'd not heard any patrols out for the servant sleeping in her bed. After a few deliberations she made the walk further from her home and bathed in the little stream a half hour from her ledge.

Upon her return she found the servant cutting up another apple and with a basket of wildflowers sitting on her table. She knew then, he was leaving. This was the end of their somewhat truce. It felt fitting.

He offered her the apple and silently she took a piece, moving to tend to the fire before returning to the table. Merlin stood awkwardly in her house and tensed as Morgana moved towards him and lifted his shirt to check the bruising, it was still fading and he could move easily enough to return to Camelot.

"Thank you for saving me" he murmured awkwardly, "I don't know why you did it but I'm grateful" he added, "I have to return to Camelot" he added unnecessarily but Morgana nodded nonetheless. It would have been easier and much less awkward if he'd just left while she was out. Vaguely she wondered if that had been his plan.

Awkwardly he turned and made for the door, opening it he hesitated

"Merlin"

He glanced back at her, uncertainty present as he looked at her helplessly

"Thank you for the flowers"

He was gone.

Morgana was relieved yet unsettled. The poisons on her shelf made her go cold with the fear that maybe Merlin had spoken the truth and her hate for him had gone on far too long for such a thing. Instead she busied herself with the remnants of her life. She practised magic for a few hours, her eyes dancing over to the wildflowers every so often.

Soon she found herself smiling and distracted herself instead with making an early dinner. She hadn't slept too well the past two nights, huddled in that old chair.

Morgana soon found herself lying in her bed before the sun had disappeared from the sky. Sighing she closed her eyes to the light and breathed in deeply to calm herself and relax her joints. Instead her eyes flew open and she gulped. Her bed smelt of him.

Nowhere she attempted to sleep did not have his scent imprinted upon it. Both sides of her pillow, whichever way she faced in the bed and even as she snuggled the blankets to her face they smelt unmistakably of him.

Huffing unhappily the witch looked up at the roof of her little hut, glancing to the window as the sun set behind it, sending light splaying over her furniture. Would he have made it to Camelot by now? What would he tell Arthur?

More importantly, how soon would the knights of Camelot be breaking down her door?

She snuggled down to wait for them

"How long Merlin?" she asked quietly, "I'm waiting"

No one came for her. Nobody even passed by her little hut nestled in the trees in the thick of Camelot. Not a soul.

A wild cat frequented every now and then and Morgana chased his away every time. Singing his tail with her magic proved rather effective in fact.

It took another two days for Morgana to realise her garden was lacking in additions and restarted. Her first order being a beautiful sprinkling of wildflowers her magic etched down her leg, the careless beauty of the petals looking like they were being lifted by the wind.

On day sixty-two Morgana returned to her hut to find a fresh basket of wildflowers on her table and beside it a small tray of cheese, some eggs and a dish of fresh milk. Luxuries she could only afford on special occasions Morgana couldn't help but find herself treasuring the flowers more than the food.

On the seventy-first day another basket of flowers replaced the old one, this time accompanied by her favourite hair slide from her time in Camelot. Blue dragonfly's adorned the silver slide, the same dragonfly's she'd etched into her skin all those weeks ago.

Another basket arrived on day eighty, this time accompanied by one of her old books, the last one her father had given to her and ultimately her favourite. How could he possibly know? She marvelled as she clutched it to her chest.

Desperately Morgana searched for something to leave in response, he owed her nothing and she needed him to realise that. Eventually she left him a little wooden carving of a wildflower. Her father used to whittle by the fire when she was younger and she'd taught herself as she grew up.

Her little flower disappeared on the eighty-seventh day, wildflowers and a shawl in its place. The shawl was nothing like her black, tattered one. This was woven, thick and radiating warmth. It was predominantly black with dark reds, blues and purples woven into it. She wore it every day.

On day ninety-five Morgana returned from her walk, shawl wrapped tightly around her body to see Merlin in her garden, planting a plot of wildflowers. She smiled and watched, he seemed to sense she was there and looked around.

A tentative yet goofy smile lit his face and Morgana approached. His eyes took in the shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders and he looked pleased. They entered the house, Morgana placing her basket of produce on the table and started making them a meal.

Silently Merlin joined her. Cutting things up and making a stew, stirring the pot and dishing it up. Neither commented on the shawl Morgana had wrapped tightly around her body or the new basket of wildflowers on the table.

They ate, tended the garden and made dinner. Together they watched the sun set, bathing the world in its glow. And then Merlin left.

On day one-hundred-and-two a woven bracelet depicting wildflowers replaced the stew she'd left out for him, a warming charm upon it. The bowl and spoon were washed up and packed away when she arrived back to her little hut.

The bracelet Morgana lifted with a smile, glancing down at Morgause's gift. Recklessly she replaced the metal with the soft wool and that night, despite the lack of charmed bracelet Morgana slept peacefully.

She tended her garden daily, giving a little more care to her wildflowers, smiling with joy as new flowers appeared from the soil.

Roses started to peek up from the earth, red and white in colour. Still Morgana saw not him or the little dragon she owed her life. She added to her personal garden, roses made their way into her design, as did a string of interwoven wildflowers from her bracelet.

Day one-hundred-and-thirteen Morgana left a perfect white rose from her garden. In its place a gourmet breakfast Merlin must have snuck from the kitchens was left for her. The starved witch's mouth practically watered at the sight.

On day one-hundred-and-twenty-five Morgana left a string necklace, a carved dragon pendant handing on the end. It was her little dragon in all but colour however the wood was the same that lightened each morning and afternoon and reminded her of him. In its place Merlin had left her a precious wad of parchment, a carved length of lead, a little inkwell and a stunning feather beside it.

Her hands ran shaking over the paper. She had drawn often whilst in Camelot, painting was a luxury even for her back then as Uther thought it pointless. How Merlin had gotten this she had no clue.

Her garden then included a feather and stunning flowing script in the ancient religion. When she performed magic now, so much of her body shined gold she looked like a goddess.

Her gift, left for Merlin on day one-hundred-and-thirty-four was a precious piece of paper, sketched into it was her little dragon in flight. Despite only having seen the little thing once her image depicted him perfectly, the light in his eyes, the innocence and curiosity. Merlin's return gift was a bowl of fresh blueberries, her favourite and a bottle of wine, also her favourite.

Two days later, tending her garden Morgana saw yellow, pink and blue rosebuds starting to bloom. A few days later she collected a few of her different coloured roses, and some of her wildflowers and emptied one of her glass vials to make a vase.

On day one-hundred-and-forty-three the sky was darkening with the promise of rain when Merlin arrived on her doorstep with a basket laden with food on his arm. They sat in the garden, next to the roses as the distant sky darkened and thunder reverberated, lightning striking down. They watched the distant storm in wonder.

Morgana noted he wore the pendant she made him, just as his eyes settled briefly on the bracelet around her wrist. They sat close together, sides touching as they watched the sky split apart. Neither spoke. What could they say? She didn't want to hear of Camelot and she had nothing to share.

The horrid cat slunk into her garden and Merlin reached out to pat it. He sat by them for the day, Merlin patting him absentmindedly. His other hand reached out for Morgana's and held it gently, rubbing his thumb over her porcelain skin as thunder and lightning tore the sky.

They stayed even as a light sprinkle started down on them, the cat hiding by the house and hissing at the rain indigently. Merlin smiled at Morgana and brushed her hair from her face tenderly, his fingers lightly drifting over one of the hair slides he'd brought her and he smiled.

He stayed until after nightfall and even then, his departure was lingering. Once he was gone Morgana looked down at the cat trying to get into her house and sighed. She let him in. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

One-hundred-and-fifty-one dawned and Morgana found an intricately carved rose pendant necklace. The little sketch of her wildflower and rose garden was gone and Morgana smiled to herself. That night Morgana etched a flower around her bellybutton, swirls emanating from the gaps between the petals.

Morgana entered her hut one-hundred-and-seventy-two days later, by far the longest stretch of time between their gifts and found a beautiful white rose on her table. Placing her basket by the door Morgana approached the table and lifted the rose with a small smile.

The flower sizzled and with tendrils of gold rising from its petals as Morgana let go of it the flower transformed into a beautiful little dragon, the exact pure white of the rose, petals curving into wings and wrapping into a body. A dragon rose, her dragon. Pure white just the same and with little gold swirls from its nostrils as it soared through the air for a few seconds and disintegrated.

Merlin stepped out of the shadows of her little hut and she gasped.

His eyes were gold.

She was supposed to be angry. She was supposed to be upset and betrayed. But she wasn't.

It fit. Everything fit. Him and her. Noble and servant. Magic. Now they were equal.

No she wasn't mad, or betrayed or broken. She was peaceful.

Morgana gazed at him in wonder, his gold eyes were almost as beautiful as his shimmering blue ones. A brilliant smile lit her face, his following as they stepped towards one another, reaching out desperately.

Nothing had ever felt more right than when Merlin's lips met hers, their magic connected as he wrapped his arms around her and she clutched at his shirt. He was warm against her usually cold body, comforting as they breathed together. Her arms went around his neck, hands sliding through his hair as she kissed him back. Their lips parted against each other and Morgana felt long forgotten sensations developing in her womb.

She was ready to show him her garden. Now that they were equal he would understand. She knew he would.

Breaking apart, breathing heavily Morgana let her eyes rest on his as she slowly moved her hands down his chest and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. He helped her tug it off and dropped it to the floor. Eyes locked together, his hands on her waist, they kissed once more. Pulling away she pulled at his shirt, tugging it off over his head, messing his hair slightly.

She kissed him again, pulling his body to hers for warmth as he kicked off his boots, her shoes following as they stumbled over to her bed. Pulling back Morgana nudged Merlin down onto the bed and followed, kissing all the way up until his head rest on her pillow. She was desperate for her bed to smell of him again.

Morgana was straddling his waist when she felt his hands bunch the material of her dress and start to inch it up her legs.

Pulling back from his lips Morgana sat up straight and pulled it off over her head, discarding the thing in a heap on the floor. Merlin's eyes took in her body, her garden as it was bared for him

"Morgana-" she placed a finger to his lips

"Watch" she murmured instead, her eyes flashing gold, her garden started to glow, the blood turning golden as it rushed through her veins, each aspect of her body lightening as the blood flowed and pulsed beneath her flesh. The light filtering in through her window made her look very much like a goddess. She was breathtaking

"You're beautiful" he murmured, grabbing her wrist and kissing the star she'd added all those weeks ago. Smiling down at him Morgana brought her lips to his once more.

As the afternoon sun bathed the inside of her little hut many hours later Morgana left her lover's arms and fetched a piece of paper and her pencil. His eyes never left her as Morgana sat cross legged on the end of the bed and sketched her lover in the afternoon sun. Everything from his messy hair to his heated gaze was etched into the paper, shaded to perfection.

Morgana placed it beside her bed and Merlin smiled at it and then at her, pulling her to his body to cuddle her tight. She traced patterns on his chest

"Will they wonder where you are?" she asked quietly, the first time she'd really asked about Camelot

"Gaius will say I'm at the tavern" Merlin replied, something akin to amusement in his tone

"Should you go?" she asked and he tensed before hugging her tighter to him as if he didn't want to let go

"I can stay a little longer" he replied and though they both knew he couldn't afford to, neither said a word. Morgana drifted off to sleep in his arms and when she woke the next morning alone in her bed a red rose was sitting on her bedside table, beside her drawing.

She rose, dressed and made breakfast. Feeding the cat as he arrived Morgana hummed and set out for a walk in the morning air. This time when she looked out over Camelot, the hollow feeling didn't come. Only longing for her lover filled her chest.

Her magic lover. Her heart soared with the knowledge of his soul being similar to hers. She had forgotten past instances of hate where he was concerned. Nor did she have the energy to care why he hadn't told her or why he still returned to Arthur at the end of each day.

He was hers.

And, somewhere along the way, she'd become his as well.

Camelot could rest in peace. As long as her lover held it dear to his heart then so did she. Arthur was saved through love, unexpected and consuming. He would not be touched.