Lthien's video is available on Vimeo.

Morgana's head turned on her pillow, her long hair coiled around her and stuck to her damp brow, the raven-coloured locks dark against the whiteness of the bedclothes. Her hands clenched and her eyes moved wildly back and forth beneath the closed lids but she did not wake. A soft moan escaped her throat.

It was a familiar nightmare: a heap of wood around a pyre, a torch held high like a judgement, and then pain – pain and darkness. But this time the dream was different, it was not Uther Pendragon, the king, her father, who nodded to the executioner; it was her brother, Arthur. Arthur looked on as Aredian, the feared and hated witchfinder, picked up a flaming torch. The prisoner, arms tied behind him where he knelt, silently pleaded with Arthur. Coldly, Arthur gave a nod. A look of triumph lighted the witchfinder's narrow, black eyes and his thin lips twisted in an evil smile while the prisoner, engulfed now in flames, screamed.

The tormented scream of the man dying a brutal, painful death, echoed in Morgana's head as her eyes flew open and she bolted upright among the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets. It had been Merlin's face; Merlin, bound and looking up imploringly at the prince, then dying in the flames at Arthur's command.

The Court Physician had told her, time and time again, that her nightmares were only dreams and should not frighten her so, but she knew, she knew, that sometimes her dreams were real. They were warnings. Her nightmares of burning, the ones where Uther sentenced her to die because of the magic in her veins, where the heat crawled up her legs, higher, bits of flesh falling into the fire, sizzling, while she was alive to feel it, her body consumed slowly and painfully, those nightmares were born of her own fear. But this dream had been a warning.

Morgana stared at the white canopy draped above her bed though all she saw were Arthur's nod, Aredian's torch, and Merlin's mouth opened wide in a dying scream. Her heart thumped. She took several deep breaths before she pulled the sweat-sticky hair away from her forehead.

There was nothing she could do in the darkness of night. She could hardly race through the palace corridors to the physician's chambers and accost Merlin in his bed shouting a warning that came to her in a dream no one believed was real. She would wait until day, find some excuse to speak with her brother's manservant, and tell him of the vision.

For now she had to go back to sleep so she could appear rested and sane when she told her story. It would do Merlin no good if she was in her nightgown, her hair unbrushed and unbound like a madwoman the way she was when she warned Arthur of the Questing Beast. No one had believed her then, either. She had to remain calm. She had to sleep now.

She could not sleep.

"My lady?" the maidservant asked.

Morgana turned her head on the pillow, knowing her eyes were red and underlined with black. Gwen had tended her long enough to be aware of the many sleepless, nightmare-filled nights so she would ask no questions about the state of her lady's health. As expected, understanding – and maybe pity – filled the maid's eyes as Morgana met her gaze.

Silently, Gwen set down the tray of breakfast food and began readying her mistress's clothing.

Morgana turned back to the lacy, white cloth draped over her bedposts. Her thoughts had gone in circles as the sky beyond her window turned from black to pink to gold to blue. Her dream made no sense; Prince Arthur had no reason to have his manservant burned on a pyre. That fate was reserved for those who practiced magic in Camelot and Merlin was no sorcerer. He was the prince's loyal servant and the Court Physician's ward and apprentice, nothing more. Unless he would foolishly and heroically take the blame for someone else, the way he had done when he offered to give up his life for Gwen.

Back then, Morgana's own maidservant had nearly been sent to the flames for the crime of having a father who recovered from an illness. It had been absurd and terrifying that a young woman who had worked in the palace for years serving the king's daughter without one hint of impropriety would be accused of sorcery simply on the grounds that the girl's father was strong enough or lucky enough to fight off a disease.

But that kind of thing happened all the time under Morgana's father's rule. King Uther Pendragon lost all sense of reason and judgement when he believed magic was involved. Arthur, her brother Arthur, was not like that. Why then had she seen him consign his manservant to the pyre?

Was it because of her? Was it possible Merlin would try to save her from the witchfinder the way he once tried to take Gwen's place in the flames? That made no sense, either. She considered him a friend despite the vast difference in their stations but that would hardly prompt him to die for her the way his love for Gwen had prompted him to nearly sacrifice himself. No one had ever loved Morgana that much. Lust and greed were the only emotions she saw in the faces that gazed at the king's daughter.

Perhaps it had been merely a nightmare after all, her fears for herself entwined with some casual event of the day in the way dreams often did. Morgana slowly pushed back the bedclothes and slid her legs over the side, but paused before getting to her feet. Her eyelids were heavy and she felt as though she had no strength to dress, let alone leave her room. The food on the tray Gwen had brought, freshly-baked pastries along with fruit and a pitcher of wine, warm and sweetened with honey, did nothing to stir Morgana's appetite.

"May lady, do you need assistance to rise?"

Gwen had promptly come to her side when Morgana sat up. She shook her head and forced herself to stand. The woven carpet did little to cushion her bare feet from the marble floor.

"Are you hungry, my lady?"

"No, thank you, Gwen. Please choose a gown for me."

The maid nodded and went back to preparing Morgana's clothing.

Morgana moved to her window, blinking a few times at the intensity of the day's sunshine. The sky was a bright, empty blue; the air was still and warm already warning of the heavy heat to come. Morgana looked down at the palace courtyard below her window.

Prince Arthur strode across the smooth cobblestones, his habitual chain mail and red cloak embroidered with a gold dragon marking him as a knight, the royal brooch clasping the cape under his chin and the silver buckle of his belt marking him as heir to his father's throne. One step behind him as ever was his manservant, a red cloth tied around his skinny neck, his blue tunic belted with a length of rope under his coarse brown jacket.

The pictures flashed in front of her eyes: Arthur's cold nod, Aredian's flaming torch, Merlin screaming in the flames. Morgana's hands clasped the sill of her window, nails scraping against the stone, then she turned and raced toward the door of her bedchamber.

"Morgana!"

The maid's shout stopped her wild flight. Morgana lifted a shaking hand to her head, realized her hair remained loose and unbrushed, and looked down at her thin sleeping shift tied with green ribbons.

"Gwen, I must dress. Please hurry."

Eyes wide, the maid assisted her lady to exchange her nightdress for a proper gown and began to brush her hair.

"Just a simple braid, Gwen," Morgana said.

The maid efficiently plaited the princess's long, dark hair and stepped back.

Though she wanted to run, Morgana forced herself to appear calm as she got to her feet and walked quickly to the door of her chamber.

"My lady, don't you wish to eat?"

"No." Morgana heard the curtness in her own voice and twisted the corners of her mouth up in what she hoped resembled a smile. "I find I am not hungry right now. Just leave it and I will have a bite later."

Ignoring the concern that shadowed Gwen's eyes, Morgana left her bedchamber, her gait measured despite the urge to run.

Morgana waited in an alcove, hands curling in the silk of her skirt, her breath coming in rapid bursts. Merlin assisted his guardian, the Court Physician, on his morning rounds and typically they called on deaf, old Lady Elaine after attending to the king which meant they passed through this corridor at about this time. The heat of the day crept through the corridors and the air hung unmoving. Morgana felt dampness stain the gown under her arms and below her breasts. A trickle of sweat ran down her back.

Finally she heard the physician's shuffling steps followed by the light footfalls of worn, brown boots and the rattle of a medicine bag of foul-smelling remedies. The old man shambled past and then Morgana's hand darted out from the alcove to close around the boy's skinny wrist under his blue tunic and brown jacket. The rough material of the jacket snagged against Morgana's fingers. She pulled and Merlin turned to face her in the alcove while the physician continued on his way.

Merlin's blue eyes under his untidy mop of dark hair were startled. "My lady?"

Now that the moment had finally arrived, words rushed up and choked her. Her hand squeezed the wrist she still held and a buried part of her mind was conscious that her grip might actually be hurting him.

"Merlin, the witchfinder, burning, fire." Her voice was high-pitched and too loud.

He gave her a wary look and glanced down at the hold she had on his arm.

She forced herself to breathe deeply. "Merlin, please listen, you have to believe what I tell you. I had a dream. Not just a dream, a dream of the future, and I saw Arthur order your execution. I saw him order the witchfinder to light your pyre and you were burning, you were dying. Please, you have to believe me."

His eyes fixed on hers then, the wary look replaced by a piercing blue gaze that seemed to see right through her into her nightmare. Then he pulled his arm away from her, turned, and strode away down the corridor.

Morgana watched him during the following days. She noticed how his eyes fixed on her as she passed in a corridor, his brow furrowed. She saw how he distanced himself from the prince and regarded each action, each word, of his master as though weighing them. When Arthur made some cutting remark or slapped him, Merlin's good-natured smile disappeared as soon as the prince looked away and the manservant stared as though seeing Arthur for the first time.

She herself waited anxiously each time her father held court, each time he and Arthur met with the council, each time a strange face appeared in the palace hallway that might herald an accusation of sorcery. Her dream may be imminent or it may have shown her a distant future. Merlin's time might be short or his execution may be years away. Morgana found it difficult to focus on conversations over dinner or at court, her ears constantly tuned to a stray whisper of Merlin's name.

The next time the dream haunted her, she did not hide her exhausted, red-rimmed eyes from her maid.

"My lady, please allow me to request a stronger sleeping remedy for you."

"Yes, Gwen," Morgana said. "Ask Merlin to deliver it to me before bed."

When Merlin knocked on her door that evening, Gwen admitted him and gestured silently toward Morgana who sat at her dressing table, watching them in her mirror of polished silver. He approached slowly, his eyes fixed on hers in the mirror.

She turned to face him and held out her hand for the remedy clutched in his long, thin fingers. She spoke quietly so Gwen would not overhear. "I had the same dream again: Arthur, the witchfinder, you burning in the pyre. You must beware, Merlin."

His blue eyes held hers as he gave a slight nod. Then he left.

The sleeping remedy did not help. Morgana knew it would not; it never did. Some dreams could not be stopped. She lay in her bed staring up at the white canopy though all she saw were images from her nightmare. Beyond her window it was dark and moonless. A dog howled, a man cursed, the dog whimpered and was silent.

In the quiet of the night, a knock sounded on her chamber door. Morgana frowned. No one had reason to be at her door at such an hour when she was alone in bed. The knock came again. Morgana pushed back the bedclothes and got to her feet to slip a silk robe over her nightdress, shivering slightly as cool air touched her sweat-damp skin. She opened her door a crack and blinked into the torch-lit hallway.

Merlin stood there, red cloth knotted around his skinny neck, still wearing his brown jacket and blue tunic as though he had not yet gone to bed that night. She swung the door open further and ushered him quickly inside, glancing up and down the corridor to ensure no one had seen. Then she shut the door tightly and turned to face him, black brows arched.

His face was paler than usual, his blue eyes haunted when he looked up from the floor and searched her face. She went to the small table in her dining chamber and poured a goblet of wine. She offered it to him but he only shook his head.

"Your dream, are you sure Arthur is the one that …"

He did not finish the sentence but she answered anyway. "Yes, I am. I don't know why or what happened, I only see the execution." Wine, red and sticky, dripped onto her fingers and she realized her hand was shaking. She set the goblet down. "Merlin, if it's because of me, if you burn because of my magic, don't do it, I beg you." He was just a servant, his life was worth little, certainly less than hers, but she could not bear for someone to meet the horrific fate she feared she would face one day.

She met his eyes and the cool determination in them surprised her.

Without taking his gaze from her face, Merlin cupped his hands and lifted them to his mouth. He whispered a word and she could have sworn she saw his eyes flash gold, then he stretched his closed right fist toward her. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers. On his palm was a small flame, burning without touching his flesh. A flame he had created with magic.

Her breath backed up in her throat. She blinked dizzily, trying to draw air into her starved lungs so her whirling thoughts could make sense of the sight before her. Then she gasped, and the rush of indrawn breath brought with it a lightness of heart she had not known since magic first stirred in her chest.

She was not alone. She was not the only one in this citadel who spent her days hiding her thoughts, burying part of herself, thinking about which method of execution would be least painful when she was caught and sentenced to die. Laughter bubbled up, spilling out of her like a cup overflowing.

The seriousness faded from his expression and he smiled back. She stepped closer and took his right hand in her left while her other hand passed through the flame hovering over his palm. She felt the heat but it did not burn her.

The flame melted away and he turned his palm over to grip her left hand tightly in his. "You're not alone," he said. "I know exactly how you feel."

The words warmed her heart as much as the tiny flame had warmed her fingers. She lifted her right hand and brushed his cheek, the faint stubble snagging her skin the same way the coarse fabric of his coat had. Then her fingertips touched his soft lips.

He bent down and she reached up to press her mouth to his.

"Close your eyes. Concentrate," he said, so she did.

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, took several deep breaths, and tried one more time. She stretched out her hand, probing inside herself for the magic that rushed out of her when she least wanted but stubbornly refused to surface when she called for it.

"Concentrate on lighting the candle."

His voice was sweet, so close behind her that his breath stirred the hair beside her right ear.

"Byrne," she whispered.

A tingle went through her and her eyes flew open to see a spark touch the candle's wick. The tip of the wick glowed for a moment, then brightened to a small flame.

"I did it!"

The flame reflected dully from the damp walls of the catacombs and lit the sandy ground in which they had stuck candles. The grey stone was black where moisture bled down the rock.

"I knew you could." Merlin smiled at her.

Despite the coolness of the tunnels she felt warmth rush through her when her eyes met his blue ones. The light from the candle outlined his sharp cheekbones. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she wet her lips.

"Now try the next one."

Morgana closed her eyes once more and reached out a hand. The tingle came more quickly and easily this time, and another wick sprang to life.

"Very good," he said in her ear.

A shiver went through her, settling in the pit of her stomach. Heat uncoiled deep inside along with the magic she was only beginning to be fully aware of. For a third time she incanted the spell and another candle lit. All three glowed brightly, illuminating the stone archway which curved over their heads and the pale sand which covered the floor and stuck to their clothes where they sat.

"Hoppaþ nu swilce swá lieg fleogan," Merlin whispered and all three flames lifted from their wicks, still glowing.

His eyes flashed again and the orange flames turned yellow, then green, then blue, then purple, then red. He gestured and they circled each other while the colours continued to flicker.

For a moment she was mesmerized by the dancing coloured lights, then she looked at him in chagrin. "Every time I master a new skill, I find you can make it ten times better with half the effort."

At a wave of his hand the flames settled back, each to its own wick.

"You'll be able to do all of it in time," he said. "It only takes practice."

Her brows drew together. They had been working together every hour he was able to steal from his chores, day in and day out, and only now had the flame come to her call. "How long did you have to practice to light candles by magic?"

A sheepish look settled on his face. "I don't really remember but my mother claims I was two when I started lighting fires just by looking."

"I'm sorry I asked."

Red crept up his neck into his cheeks and he stared down at his hands, twisting the end of the rope he used for a belt.

"Merlin." She laid a hand on his, stilling his movements, and waited until he looked up again. "Thank you for teaching me. It feels wonderful to use magic and to have someone encourage and help and to just be myself." She reached up and laid her other hand against his cheek, her fingers brushing the sharp planes of his face. "Do you understand?"

His lips curved up. "Better than anyone."

The courtyard was packed with onlookers. The noise of dozens of taunts and the smell of the tightly-packed throng of sweaty bodies drifted into the citadel corridor through the window on a slight breeze.

Morgana had refused to attend the execution, yet she could see the spectacle from where she stood, one hand braced against the cold stone of the window ledge. Although it could not possibly make any difference to the condemned woman, Morgana felt she owed it to her to witness her death.

The woman had been a palace servant, working in the kitchens. Audrey had caught the girl with a talisman that was supposed to reveal who her true love would be. The king had immediately sentenced her to death.

Uther Pendragon stood on a balcony above the courtyard, his heavy silver medallion around his neck, a black coat with silver buckles and silver thread glittering in the bright afternoon sunshine. His jeweled crown hid the thin spot in his greying dark hair as he lifted his hands and pronounced the words of the sentence.

"You have been adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. For the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass."

Prince Arthur was by his side, a jeweled circlet on his gold hair, his red cape fastened with the royal brooch, frowning down at the girl being forced to kneel beside the chopping block. No wonder he would turn on his own servant and consign him to the flames; it was precisely the course of action his father had taught him. Morgana's hand curled into a fist, uncaring of a sharp-edged rock that scraped the edge of her palm.

She heard a soft, booted footfall on the marble floor behind her. Under cover of the folds of her skirt, Merlin's hand clenched hers tightly while he stood behind her, head bowed. She knew he could see the girl on the execution block below.

The king raised his arm higher and then brought it down. The axe was lifted. Morgana shut her eyes and turned her head slightly, holding her breath. The thud of the sharp blade was dulled by the soft flesh it cut through to bury itself in the wooden block.

Merlin's hand squeezed her fingers so tightly she gasped. She opened her eyes to look up at him. His blue eyes stared back at her, bright with moisture, then he turned and hurried away.

She watched him go, his back straight and his stride long. She remembered the feel of his cheekbones beneath her fingertips and his full lips pressed to hers. She remembered that same beautiful face twisted in agony, mouth open wide in a scream. Her heart clenched painfully.

"How could you? She was only a girl and a loyal servant of yours." Morgana's raised voice echoed back from the columns of the Council chamber where she faced the king.

Prince Arthur opened his mouth as if to interrupt her tirade but a glance at his father's furious face dissuaded him. He dropped his chin and stood silently.

"Be quiet, Morgana. I grow weary of your faint-hearted whining." The king turned his back on her and began to walk away.

His refusal to listen made her even more furious. She rushed forward to grab hold of the black sleeve of his royal robes.

At her action, Uther spun and raised a hand to grasp her by the throat. He shook her slightly as he pushed her backward. Her spine slammed against one of the high-backed Council chairs behind her, the king's chair at the head of the long table, trapping her.

"I am the one who has kept this kingdom safe," Uther said. His eyes were frozen chips of ice. "And I will continue to do so despite your childish tantrums."

For a moment, staring into her father's grey eyes, Morgana thought he might strangle her. Then his hand was gone from around her neck and he stormed off. Arthur shook his head at her before he followed his father from the room.

Haltingly, Morgana lifted a hand, her long green sleeve hanging nearly to her waist, and touched her bruised throat beneath the silver links of a necklace with green gemstones. A necklace the king had gifted her. For a moment her fist closed on the delicate chain as if she would rip it off, but instead a cold, daring thought clamped around her heart and stilled its wild beating. There was a way she could stop this madness; she only needed a little help to accomplish it.

Morgana waited for the right time to share her plan with Merlin. He had remained loyal to his master and to his king despite the doubts she knew were eating at his devotion. It frustrated her to see him jump every time Arthur called, always walking a step behind the prince or standing behind his chair, his time taken with a thousand trivial duties the prince saw fit to dump on his head.

Merlin so far refused to believe the worst of his prince and even looked to find good in his king. He did not truly acknowledge his own danger. She locked away the screams she wanted to hurl at him; her dream terrors would only cast doubt on her sanity. It would do Merlin no good for her to rant and rave. She would have to convince him to go along with her.

"No, there must be another way," he said desperately, his eyes darting around the room they were closeted in alone.

She shook her head. "There is no other way." She stepped closer to take his face in her hands, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead with her thumb. The feel of his skin was so familiar to her fingers, the softness of his dark hair no longer a surprise. "Uther must be stopped, and Arthur cannot be allowed to continue his father's work." She would never allow that butcher to harm Merlin, nor would her brother be allowed to stand coldly aloof as his manservant perished in flames.

Merlin's blue eyes fixed on her, his forehead creased. His arms went around her waist and she could feel his body trembling.

"Think on what I have said," she said. Patience. She would save him, she would ensure his safety.

He nodded and pressed her closer for a kiss.

For days Morgana held her impatience in check. She sat with her father and brother at the royal table for meals, eating little of the sumptuous spread of meats prepared with rare spices, vegetables with creamy sauces, stewed fruit, and fresh-baked bread, picking at her plate with her eyes on Merlin where he stood behind Arthur's chair. She sat in the throne room in her smaller throne behind the king and prince, her gaze darting sideways to where Merlin stood next to the wall nearest the prince.

Merlin watched Arthur closely, evaluating the Prince's words and actions without making any move to openly challenge his master. The manservant must have talked to his guardian as well, but the Court Physician had always been loyal to Uther so Gaius would advise his ward against rebellion. It frustrated Morgana, yet she could not carry out her plan alone. She needed an army, or she needed Merlin.

She waited in the alcove again. When his soft boots approached, her hand struck out and grabbed his rough brown jacket, pulling him off balance.

"Have you forgotten the witchfinder, the pyre?" she said in a furious whisper. "Need I remind you that it was your face I saw in the flames, burning while Arthur looked on? How long will you wait until you act?" Did he not believe her when she told him he was in danger? Did he not care that she was in danger? None of them were safe while Uther reigned or his son after him.

Doubt and indecision darkened Merlin's face. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

Her hand clenched his arm tighter. "You cannot continue to stand by. We must do something, sooner not later."

His dark brows creased with uncertainty. She threw away the skinny wrist and marched away down the corridor, torchlight shimmering on her white gown with the silver thread and tiny silver beads, conscious of his tortured gaze on her back.

It was to be a double execution this time. Servants and knights, nobles and guards, gaped in fascination as they passed the pyre being built in the courtyard, though no one dared to be caught staring as the pile of wood grew around two tall poles.

A woman had been found guilty of using sorcery to cure her young son of a crippling injury after he had been kicked by a horse. He was her only child; her husband had been a soldier who died in Camelot's war against Mercia. The little boy's miraculous recovery had been noted and now the woman would see the child she saved burn on a pyre beside her.

Morgana raged at Uther until she was certain her father would lock her in the dungeon and leave her there this time.

"You're an arrogant fool. You are deaf and blind to the needs of the people you profess to serve and protect! The people will tolerate it no longer!" Morgana picked up her goblet of wine and flung it at the tapestry on the wall. Red liquid puddled on the floor.

"I said enough!" Uther bellowed.

Their voices echoed around the chamber. The servants bringing food for their meal turned and fled.

Arthur tried to placate Morgana.

"And you." She whirled to face her brother. "You are no better. From this day on I disown you both."

"You will go to your chambers!" the king shouted.

"And you, Uther, you will go to hell."

She slammed the chamber door behind her as she marched from the room where the king and the prince remained to finish their meal, their appetites unaffected by the death sentences to be carried out the next day.

The palace guards did not flinch as Morgana stormed out of the room. She paused in the corridor, trying to decide if she wanted to go to her own chambers or get on a horse and ride as fast as she could as far as she could. She fisted the skirt of her gown in both hands, knuckles white, tormented by the thought that next time it could be her and Merlin on the pyre. She had to act.

When she looked up she saw Merlin had slipped out of the dining room from the servant's entrance and was watching her. He gave a tiny nod. A satisfied smile curled her lips.

"Thank you, Gwen. That will be all; I'll prepare myself for bed."

The maid curtsied and left.

Morgana waited until the busy palace grew as still as it ever did. The servants had finished their chores and returned to their rooms to grab a bite of cold supper and a bit of rest. Most within the palace were asleep except the guards who diligently patrolled the wing reserved for the royal family.

She wore the gown she had dined in with the king and prince, a red velvet dress in Camelot's royal colour studded with gems matching the blood-coloured jewels of the necklace around her throat. Her dagger was every bit as ornate, its jeweled hilt an echo of the king's crown. She tucked the dagger into its sheath tied about her waist and swung a red cloak over her shoulders, its hood large enough to curtain her face.

She avoided the guards as she made her way the few steps to the royal chambers. She waited in an alcove not far from the king's room where the shadows were not touched by torches set in sconces outside the king's door.

Even as closely as she was watching, she almost missed seeing Merlin in his brown jacket and pants and worn brown boots when he approached the two guards stationed as always at the entrance to the king's bedchamber. Merlin spoke no word, only his eyes glowed, and both guards were tossed aside like sticks to land unmoving on the marble floor. He nodded at her, then walked away as silently as he had come.

The display of power made her want to rush to him, throw her arms around his narrow shoulders, and kiss him but there was work to do. Soon now, very soon, they would be safe and he would be hers.

Morgana opened the king's bedchamber door and slipped inside, swinging the long folds of her red cloak through the entry and shutting the door behind her.

The king lay on his side, eyes shut. His face was more serene in sleep than she ever saw it in his waking hours, yet the lines around his eyes were more pronounced, the scar on his face more white. His greying black hair was tousled from his head having turned repeatedly on the pillow. She wondered if perhaps he did not rest as peacefully as he would have them all believe.

She had loved her father once, but fear and disgust had burned away her lingering affection. She had believed he cared for her, but if he even suspected what she was his false love would be cast aside without a thought. So much worse for Merlin if ever accusation fell on him for the magic in his veins. Any hope she once harboured that Arthur would be a better king was futile now. Merlin would be dead before his liege could be shown the error of Uther's ways. There was only one way she and Merlin could be safe.

She tipped her head to the side, eyes on her sleeping father. Then she loosed the dagger from its sheath and gripped it with both hands above him before she brought the blade down with all her strength, aiming for the exposed vein in his throat. His eyes flew open as blood spewed across the covers, soaking the blankets and her red cloak and running down the bedposts.

Morgana slipped from the king's room and pulled the hood of her scarlet cloak up around her face. If Merlin had played his part, the warning bell would soon ring, calling the knights to deal with the threat in the palace courtyard.

Under the shadow of her hood, a tiny smile danced about her lips at the thought of Arthur and the knights facing Merlin. Morgana wished she could see her brother's face when he realized that the manservant he had mistreated could take him apart with less than a word, a mere wave of the sorcerer's hand.

A sharp clanging resounded through the halls. A deep sense of satisfaction uncurled inside Morgana along with the release of the fear she had lived with for what seemed a lifetime. The butcher king and his misguided son would never harm another sorcerer.

She paused at the junction of two corridors to remain out of sight when weapons rattled and booted feet pounded past. Then her soft steps took her back to her own chambers where she must be found when the guards came with the terrible news about her father and brother.

Patience came easily to Morgana now. The Council debated and argued all day but in the end they came to the only possible conclusion: with the king and the prince both dead, the crown must pass to the only living member of the royal family. Ambrosius had died without any heir except his brother, Uther, and Uther had no living relations except his two children; upon the death of his son only his daughter had a right to the throne.

None of Camelot's nobles could gather enough strength to put forward a claim to challenge Morgana's. Those who wished to succeed Uther were happier to see his daughter on the throne than one of their rivals and the others were content to settle the matter without further bloodshed or civil war. In the end, they agreed the king's daughter would rule and her children after her despite the rumours that implicated her in her father's murder.

Morgana entered the great hall wearing a red velvet gown trimmed in white fur. She looked out at the courtiers smiling and bowing when she took her place on the throne. She did not let them see her inner triumph, knowing they would just as soon see her stretch her neck for the executioner's axe as the royal crown, these fawning sycophants that had stood by while Uther executed her kin. Let them mutter behind their hands; they could not touch her now, nor could they threaten Merlin. She was safe. He was safe.

She did not smile at the glittering throng with their furs and gems lining their fancy dress, scented water and pomades desperately masking the odours of sweaty bodies under layers of rich clothing. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a tall, thin man with a red neckerchief and blue tunic under his rough brown jacket. She had not seen Merlin since their brief meeting outside the king's bedchamber the night of the murder and she ached for a glimpse of his unruly black hair and bright blue eyes, but there was no sign of him in the room.

In a tiny bedchamber within the chambers of the Court Physician, Merlin closed the door to his room, braced it with his arm, and leaned his forehead against the coarse brown material of his sleeve. He remained unmoving while the bells called everyone to gather in the great hall to witness the crowning of their new monarch.

Finally the corridors outside the physician's chambers grew quiet. Merlin lifted his head to stare at his hands, turning the palms up as though he was not certain whether they belonged to him. Then he pulled the door open and stepped down the few stairs to Gaius's workroom.

Merlin paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the shelf full of potions and remedies of various colours which emanated the noxious odour of medicine. One small vial was tucked back on the middle shelf, a skull and crossbones warning on the jar.

Slowly, Merlin approached the cupboard. His hand stretched toward the vial, his fingers closed around it, then his eyes studied the neat writing of the label. Finally he tipped the contents into his mouth and swallowed. His hand went to his throat before he fell to the floor.

Morgana turned to her left and nodded at the white-bearded man who stood beside her throne wearing a heavy medallion and a maroon cloak trimmed in fur. He began the long ritual, reciting the words of the coronation in his droning voice while Morgana waited, sweat crawling down her back in the stuffy heat of the Great Hall. She was anxious to be done with the ceremonies so she could be alone with Merlin.

"By the power vested in me, I crown thee, Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot."

At long last he lifted the jeweled crown and placed it on her head. Its weight settled on her brow.

"Long live the queen," Geoffrey of Monmouth said solemnly.

"Long live the queen!" a multitude of voices echoed back.

Liars and fools, eager for her approval when two days ago they had demanded her head. Not one of them understood, not one of them really knew her. None had watched her call flame to light candles or saw a soft-petalled rose conjured from the power that sang in her blood. None had shivered in fear each time the king was in a rage or an unnamed illness claimed a life or an unexplained event came to Uther's attention that might be blamed on sorcery.

She would be desperately lonely among this cheering crowd if not for Merlin; he had lived her fears and experienced the wonder of her magic as well as his own. Now they had years to share and explore their gifts. She would hold him in her arms, touch his unruly black hair and the planes of his beautiful face, a face that would never be mutilated by flames.

Morgana smiled.

Thank you to everyone who read, followed, reviewed, and favourited. I appreciate every one.

If you're re-reading this and you notice the edits, I would be interested to hear what you took note of.