Instead of sending Morgana to the Druids, Merlin disguises himself as an old sorcerer to teach his friend how to control her powers. Set in season 2, movie- verse. One- shot.

The winter night was cold and dark, and the stars hung low and bright from the heavens like a beautiful flickering flame in the distance. It seemed small and overshadowed by comparison, yet the candlelight danced merrily by the windowsill, small but equally dazzling, brilliant. It swayed and cackled with winter's breeze, burning its stunning beauty even if it was slowly beginning to fade, swallowed by the shadows.

She stood across the room, a fixed shaky smile on her face even as she clutched the vial, a promised remedy even if she knew what she had was incurable. There was an odd sparkle behind her steely gaze when she turned to leave though- he'd thought it was the candlelight, but then she turned away, her hands going to her eyes.

The room was growing dark, the candle flames faltering and dying, weathered by the sharp gust of wind.

"Morgana," he began, the memories of him facing the same demon forcing his fears down his throat so he could speak. "Are you alright?"

She turned away from his question, casting her eyes out through the window.

"Your candle," she said at last, forcing her voice to be steady. "It's dying."

He blinked, slightly thrown off course by her blunt refusal to approach the subject. "It's okay… Gaius is already sleeping anyway."

She nodded slightly and turned to move, but she must have recognized something in his expression that compelled her to glance back one last time, and he saw desperation and icy fear lurking behind sea- green irises, "It's magic isn't it?"

He stood there, mind racing even as his heart gave a sharp pang. At a loss of words, because for all the world he knew how to comfort his friend, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he let the silence grow and speak for him, and the darkness in her eyes only intensified.

"I'm cursed, aren't I?" she asked again.

"It could be something else," he tried desperately, but the words sounded hollow even to his ears. Of course it was, there was nothing else that it could have been.

But when she'd left the room, the glitter on her cheeks unmistakable for anything but tears, he walked over to the window and cast his eyes out into glittering dark sky, conflicted.

The sharp wind caught the flame again, and it dwindled, bending and struggling to escape its wrath. He watched idly for a moment as the room slowly plunged into black, before reaching out a hand.

"Forbearne," he whispered.

~Winter's Flame~

Knock. Knock knock knock.

The door creaked open slightly to reveal a grinning old man with bright blue eyes, wearing an auspicious bright red cloak. He was carrying something that looked like a walking stick on first glance, but she could feel the magic radiating off it- it was a magic staff.

Initially she felt surprised at his appearance, but quickly opened the door wider so that he could slip through. She listened for a full minute for the sound of guards approaching, but there was only silence. She didn't notice that behind her back he was already murmuring something, his eyes flashing gold as he set up wards.

"You're the friend Merlin spoke of?" she asked finally, turning around to face the old sorcerer, heart hammering an irregular rhythm in her ribcage, barely daring to hope. "He said you could help me, teach me to control my powers."

The aged sorcerer smiled in reply, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth. The sight was oddly familiar and simultaneously warming, causing her to break into a small smile despite her many fears.

"He said you feared fire," the old man said instead, tottering over to an unoccupied chair to lean against. "So I figured that would be our starting point. Watch."

Before she could stop him, the sorcerer raised his hands to his lips and whispered something into his palm. She flinched back slightly at the foreign tongue, but watched, entranced like a little girl as he opened his hand, and there was a small flame glowing in the middle of his palm.

Encouraged by her expression, he blew the fire, fanning it slightly. Again she shrank back as the flames grew, her eyes haunted, but then the fire formed a rabbit. It leapt lightly onto the chairs, the dresser, the curtains, but the flame caught nothing; all that it left behind was a trail of golden sparks. He stretched out his hand, and it changed again- this time into a fiery dog, wagging its tail as it ran up and down the floor, then into something bigger, a golden phoenix. She was smiling now, eyes alight.

The phoenix glided up to the ceiling and disappeared, leaving a butterfly trailing behind golden sparks. It fluttered gently towards her, bright wings dancing before her eyes, throwing light upon the shadows on her face.

"Go on, touch it," he said, "It won't hurt you."

Tentatively she reached out a finger, and the butterfly glided smoothly to land on the offered appendage, the warm glow dispelling the darkness in the room.

She broke into a half- laugh, as though relieved. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

Their lessons continued on into December. Outwardly nothing much changed, but she felt assured, safe for the first time in many years. Even Gwen noticed the slight difference in her usual countenance, and was pleased that her mistress seemed happier even though she never guessed the reason why.

It was mid- winter during their third lesson, and Morgana was beginning to get frustrated by her lack of control over her powers. She had tried hard over the past few nights to produce something, to use magic, but nothing ever happened. Instead, her magic had accidentally shattered a vase by the window when she'd been tormented by another nightmare. The frequency of those dreams were beginning to abate slowly, but it made her feel weak, powerless over her own magic and abilities.

They were taking a short break after her frustration had led to the wood of a high- backed chair splitting, from the top right to the bottom. The sharp pang of suffocating fear nearly overpowered her, causing her magic to run rampant once more, but she was able to hold it back narrowly for the assurance of Merlin's old sorcerer friend- her mentor- sitting beside her.

The best thing about her mentor was that he was never alarmed at her sudden outbursts of power, never impatient nor frustrated at her lack of progress. Always smiling, always jovial. When she'd accidentally set fire to the dress Gwen had laid out for her, he'd merely looked briefly surprised, before it turned into amusement.

"Purple was never my favorite colour," he'd commented idly with an annoying smirk, as the crackling flames grew larger and devoured the chair.

"Well it is mine," she'd snapped in reply, but she found that her fear faded slightly as her annoyance grew.

In the end he'd banished the flames with a wave of his hand, clearing the smoke and any damage it'd done in an eye's blink. Even the chair was restored to its original grand state. Her dress, on the contrary, was left horribly burnt and tattered as he said it was 'a lesson for another time'. It effectively served to make her determination, as well as fond annoyance, grow.

"It's all about envisioning," he said to her for the umpteenth time, as they sat facing the balcony, her staring hard at her hands moodily. The room was dark save the filtering starlight through the windows. "Envision the flames flickering in your palm. Feel the heat radiating off the fire. See it in your mind's eye, feel it, and while you whisper the incantation, open your hands slowly-" he demonstrated, holding out his palms and uncurling his fingers.

The room lit up with a sudden dazzling glow, and he startled, even as she gave a delighted cry.

"I didn't cast anything!" he said absent- mindedly, white brows furrowed in confusion.

There was no flame in his hands, but there was one sitting in her palm, glowing merrily with a beautiful golden core, the sparks around it the colour of ruby crystals. "It's so pretty!" she laughed, and fire bent this way and that as she did, as though it were laughing too. "And warm," she added.

He opened his mouth to congratulate her, the warmth seeping into his heart and toes despite the initial chill, but her next question surprised him.

"I know it's not safe to ask… but what to people generally call you?" she spoke, looking at him curiously.

He blinked, at a momentary loss of words as he racked his mind frantically for a name before blurting, "Dragoon!"

"They call you Dragoon?" she repeated, sounding surprised.

"The Great," he added, a tad defensively.

She laughed, the golden light reflecting off her eyes as she did. "Thank you, Dragoon."

The candle she lit burnt through that night until dawn despite the wind.

~Winter's Flame~

They didn't meet for a few weeks.

She met Merlin every few days though, when he ran to catch up with her when no one was looking, or making hand gestures when Arthur was busy ranting about his day when he thought his manservant was listening. It was always the same as usual, him confirming the lesson time with her so that he could convey the message to Dragoon. She declined and said she was busy though, even if a part of her wanted to see her mentor again.

Instead every night she snuck out into the forest alone to meet her half- sister, Morgause. It turned out that she was a high- priestess of the Old Religion; and she'd offered to teach Morgana.

In the back of her mind, something whispered the power Morgause promised was temptingly powerful, probably more than what Dragoon could ever offer.

Morgause taught her more than what she could imagine. She showed her that magic was a talent, an advantage that gave them magical beings leverage over the others, because they could achieve what others could not. Where Dragoon had focused on controlling and refining her magic into a sophisticated, intricate web of beauty, Morgause encouraged her to unleash her power and revelled in the sheer intensity of magic she released.

The first time she'd unleashed her magic fully, the surrounding trees were caught in a sea of flames, and there was a strong whipping wind that fanned them up, engulfing trees and everything else in their wake. She had been afraid, but Morgause was ecstatic.

"Don't you feel the power in it?" she asked her, hazel eyes aglow. "It's the power that makes us strong. The feeling of being in control, to bend everything no matter how huge or small to your own will. With power you can make things how you want them to be. That's the beauty of it."

She didn't feel particularly in control as her magical fire grew, and so did the wind. It wasn't like the fire that warmed her as it sat dancing on her palm, it was wild and strong and destroyed everything in its wake, yet leaving her oddly cold and untouched.

But there was some undeniable seductive beauty of it, when she felt the power radiating off her own hands.

And somewhere deep in her mind, Morgause words grew, and rooted.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Winter had given way to mid- spring when her lessons with Dragoon continued.

He'd come in, the same endearing grin on his wizened face as he slyly enquired about the state of the purple dress she'd accidentally burnt on their third lesson.

She looked up, surprised, before remembering. "I've fixed it up," she told him. "Someone- someone else taught me how to do it," she confessed.

It wasn't anything much really, but she felt an odd pang of guilt when she saw his grin falter slightly, even though he was quick to smile cheerily again. There was something different in his eyes though, when he asked her like always, what did she want to learn today.

It seemed that her lessons with Morgause helped more than she expected they would. After releasing her powers that she'd kept confined under a tight leash for years with Morgause's help, she was finally able to grow stronger. Her affinity for learning spells aided her as she grew adept, and her control over her magic became almost instinctual. She ended up learning quicker than any average beginner would.

On that lesson she'd mastered the levitating spell Dragoon assigned her within a short moment. He smiled as usual and praised her again, commenting that she'd grown further than he'd thought she would. She was no beginner anymore.

A quarter after twelve, they stood by the balcony facing the stars again that night.

It was a familiar routine they'd practiced throughout their lessons, yet there was an oddly heavy feeling in the air, a hint of finality even though neither spoke of it.

"The stars on winter's night were more beautiful," he'd commented with a sigh as he straightened his back with some difficulty. "The skies were darker you see."

"Only if you burn bright enough," she said, her voice soft yet it cut through with a sudden sharpness, which caused him to look back at her, eyes shadowed over. "It's that, or the darkness will swallow you whole."

An hour later when he bid her goodnight, he took care to study her one last time, because he knew it was the last time he would see her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She awoke with a sharp cry in her throat somewhere in the middle of the night, startled by another nightmare.

For a moment she felt fearful, as if struck by the sudden inexplicable unfamiliarity of her chambers. Then she noticed that the candle by the window was extinguished, blown out by spring's breeze when it had withstood the sharp cold of winter.

She brushed away her tears angrily, not allowing herself the weakness, but it wasn't until she'd lighted up the candle again when she managed to fall asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin never approached her to confirm the lesson dates after that. She supposed Dragoon had told him she didn't need him anymore.

It gave her an oddly hollow ache whenever she thought of him, her first mentor that had understood and helped her overcome her fears when she'd been a terrified novice unable to control her powers. That he had never asked anything in return, just offered everything he could and left quietly, like a winter's flame.

But if he was light then Morgause was dark, and someday she knew she had to choose. And she seemed to already have chosen.

The days passed by, days fading into weeks, months, a year- and the more time passed, both black and white blurred out into a darkening shade of grey in the colours of her world.

It had been betrayal, anger, power, hatred that drove other colours from her mind, but ultimately it was hurt that stabbed her, that blotted out the rest and swiped the last touch of pitch, dark black.

Perhaps she was bitter, perhaps she was looking for something she would never find from Morgause, perhaps she was hoping to find the warmth of that glow she'd first discovered that winter night all those days ago. But instead she learnt that magic was wild, was devouring, was corrupting, enticing… magic was a terrible beauty.

She never saw Dragoon again, not until the day when he'd suddenly turned up in Camelot and purposefully got himself accused of her crime, to save Gwen. Apparently Arthur had 'caught' him planting the poultice in his chambers, and when he was arrested he'd confessed coolly to Uther's face.

She had stormed down to the prison cells, her heart hammering frantically against her chest. Furious that he'd thwarted her plans, but even more so because he was taking the blame.

She didn't know what she'd expected when she arrived there, two guards following in her wake. Perhaps for him to be curled up miserably, broken and bleeding on the floor. Vacant. Afraid of facing his execution. She didn't know.

Instead, she'd found him sitting in the corner of his cell, a small flame dancing in his palm, the flame reflecting off the cold stone walls with a painfully familiar glow.

When he saw her and the guards approaching, he closed his palm and snuffed it out, and tried to smile pleasantly.

"The lady Morgana," he greeted with a slight smile. There was a sadness in his eyes he couldn't quite conceal though, when he looked upon his once friend and found only a shadow. "It is an honour to meet you in person, my lady."

"Why did you do this?" she asked, ignoring the false pleasantries that meant nothing anymore. Even so she hated the way her voice trembled, as her knuckles grew white against the cold metal.

"It's winter," he said, as if ignoring her question, but even the grin on his face couldn't disguise the true story behind his words. "I would ask you to have a chair propped up for me so I could see the stars through that tiny window," he rambled on, voice falsely cheery. "But then I heard that it's going to rain... you can't see the stars behind the dark clouds."

"You could try clearing the clouds using your magic," she said, as if taunting him.

The old man raised his eyebrows. "No, that's out of the question," he said, flatly.

"You don't want to see them then?"

Outside the thunderclouds grew, and the unmistakable pitter- patter of rainfall echoed through the cells. Suddenly her voice seemed terribly small. Behind her the guards shifted, slightly confused, but they said nothing.

"I want to," he replied at last, "but they can't be seen."

.

.

.

The rain that fell continued deep into the ice- cold night, into the next morning. As a result the wood was too wet to build a pyre, and the execution was postponed.

Dragoon escaped the next night. She'd known it right from that moment, because she was awake when the golden butterfly came fluttering into her room, burning bright regardless of the pelting rain, and landed lightly on her finger.

She knew it was a last parting message, that she would never be known to him anymore. Not as a student, as the terrified girl that he'd taught to control her powers, not as a friend. Even if to her, he would forever be one that was the first to show her the beauty of her gift. Because those who stand in the burning light never noticed nor understood the shadows, but those in the dark would always see the light.

~Winter's Flame~

Loneliness, power and hatred manifested and grew, day by day.

There were few times, not that she would ever care to admit… but sometimes the former overpowered the latter.

Sometimes she would leave the abandoned hut she lived in now, sit by the waters of the lake and stare up bitterly at the night sky, where the stars still seemed to burn stark bright against the darkness. Sometimes she'd lie awake watching them flicker, or conjure a butterfly out of the flames. But the candle by her windowsill was never lighted, not anymore, because it was blown out by the wind, frost had gathered on the wick and it was too late to rekindle it again.

And when the emptiness in her chest threatened to claw out and devour her heart, when she felt as if for all the power she gained it left her hollow, she would watch the dancing fire flickering in the middle of her palm, glowing bittersweet like all those nights before.

But at least it was the only thing that could make her feel warm.

Fin.

A/N: Inspired by the fire spell Merlin showed Gilli when he revealed his magic during Season 3. Thank you for reading. Feedback would be greatly appreciated :)