Merlin woke up that morning sad, as always. Empty, as usual. Full of regret, as expected. It was the same thing every day. He was so tired of it.
When he dressed, putting his deep blue shirt on, he stared into the small piece of mirror hanging from his cupboard. It showed a young man, aged years beyond his body by decisions, love, regret, and sorrow. His blue eyes, darkened by second-guesses, wondering if things could’ve been different. If he could’ve changed what he’d done. He tied the familiar red scarf around his neck, clenching his jaw while he did so, breathing in deeply, willing himself to clear his thoughts and get through the day. Just one day at time, that’s how it had to be.
Arthur had been considerably understanding with his manservant, and Merlin was so happy about it. The prince wasn’t stupid; he knew that Merlin was having trouble with her death. Arthur himself couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t affected him- of course he missed her. But of course, the prince still wondered why Merlin seemed lost these days, seemed detached from his job, from Camelot, from the world.
Merlin had hardened at his past; it had transformed him into a different person. It had been a long time since she had died, and Merlin had saved so many people before then, and after, but nothing could erase what he’d done to her. The only thing keeping him going was that maybe one day he would save enough to people to ease his mind, to wash away that one deed, to clean the blood off of his hands. Her blood. Why had it been her? Anyone else, he thought, and it wouldn’t be this way. My world would not be this way.
But he had to clear the thought from his mind, clear his conscience, at least for a little while, as long as he could hold off the guilt, and go perform his duties. He had to clear her from his mind. “Morgana,” he whispered, inaudible, but full of sorrow and pleading. He gave the mirror a weak but brave smile, and slipped out the door.
“Merlin, how are you?” came the kind voice of Gaius.
“Fine, just going to work,” replied Merlin, a little coldly.
“Merlin, please don’t be angry. I know you were upset last night… for good reason. I was too. But please, don’t make it a reason to be angry with me.”
“I’m sorry, Gaius, I just-“ Merlin caught his words in his throat, remembering the events of the night before. It had been the one year anniversary of Morgana’s death- of her murder- and Merlin had been so upset that he had gotten out of control, arguing with Gaius over every little thing. It was unlike Merlin to be out of control of his emotions, but it happened so often lately. He’d ended up telling Gaius that there was nothing left for him there and threatened to leave. Of course, after a few hours shut up in his room, Merlin had realized he didn’t mean any of it, but it didn’t take the edge off of his guilt, his grief, his broken heart. “I was just upset, I didn’t mean any of it.”
Gaius nodded and smiled sympathetically. “I know Merlin.” The old physician gave his ward a look that simply told him to go on to work, and that it was alright, that everything would be alright.
Of course, Merlin was used to that look, and it was hardly ever true. At least, it had been quite a lie of late. Nothing was ever alright anymore.
Merlin left the room quickly, and went down the steps and out of the tower. He made his way into the main hall, slipping down the corridors, occasionally looking out the windows at the blinding gray sky. Was the sky always that color now? Or was that just the way Merlin saw it?
He walked down the hallway, leather boots clicking against the polished stone. He absentmindedly let his hand run down the rough wall as he rounded a corner. He stopped in his tracks; he had, without thinking, taken his old route. His route from the days of waking up and taking a sleeping draught to the Lady Morgana for the following night, checking in on her, trying to help her. He gazed up at the marble spiral staircase, clenching his fists, desperately tearing his azure eyes from what used to be Morgana’s room.
He kept himself walking, lost deep in his thoughts, but now on his way to Arthur’s chambers. He sighed as he bounded down a flight of stairs, passing the main door to the palace. Light shone in from the outside, but it only illuminated a small rectangle of marble. Merlin avoided it, because he had no love of light anymore. She was good, she was light, and he had taken that away- the light simply brought remorse to him, and he had no wish to bring fresh pain on himself again.
But it was also ever-nagging in the back of Merlin’s mind- he had pushed it as far back as he could, not wanting to remember her faults- that Morgana had made her choice, and her choice would’ve meant his death, and so many others. She had misused her gift, the gift he only ever wanted to explain to her, but knew he couldn’t. But that was his fault too, in his mind, at least- maybe if he’d told her, she wouldn’t have made that choice. She would still be there now, and she would be full of love, and life, and she wouldn’t be afraid of being alone anymore. He would be in her chamber now, checking in on her, asking her how she’d slept, sharing that knowing look with her as she smiled at the secret between them.
He was finally at Arthur’s room now, knocking on his prince’s door. Arthur ordered him to enter, and Merlin heard his commands, and his words of sympathy, and saw him leave to go to training, but Merlin still felt like he himself was only half-there. This detached feeling had consumed him lately, and he hated it almost as much as he hated what he’d done.
He held Arthur’s shirt of chainmail to be cleaned as he retraced his steps, walking down the same corridor again, away from Arthur’s chambers and towards the courtyard. He was one turn away from the main door when he felt it- a presence, a sense of someone…that he hadn’t felt in… in…
A year.
Merlin dropped the chainmail in the hallway, sprinted around the corner to stand in the main doorway, looking out amongst the bustling courtyard, searching it for what he felt. It seemed like an hour had passed when his eyes found what they were looking for.
There, at the mouth of the gate, she stood, cloaked in a familiar green cape, standing as still as the stone, but as fierce as the wind.
His heart leapt into his throat, he pushed down his fear, he tried to make sense of what was going on. It couldn’t be her, there was no way. He had done it, he had watched her die. And then it all came flooding back, everything he had pushed away for so long…
He had helped her protect Mordred, he had respected her drive to help the boy, and he had protected them both, amazed that the woman before him felt the same way he did.
She had come with him to protect his hometown, knowing that it might’ve meant their death, knowing that she wanted to repay the debt she owed him. But what he didn’t know was that it was more than debt pushing her to help him- it was love.
He remembered how close she had stood to him after Gwen’s father died, how her warm breath felt on his face, her hands on his chest, her strength in the whirlwind of power and oppression swirling around her every moment.
He had watched her struggle with her newfound magic, resisting the urge to tell her what he was, knowing that it would only put her in danger. He told her to go to the Druids, he had helped her escape from the castle and seek them out. He had gone to find her when the knights of Camelot went after her; he had sacrificed himself, willingly, to buy her more time to escape. “I’ll never forget this,” she had whispered to him. He only hoped she hadn’t.
It was then that he’d known that he loved her, and that was the reason he had opted to stay behind to save her. It was love.
He remembered every day after that, just stopping in to see her, to admire her dark hair, the way she stared at him mysteriously with her emerald eyes, as he just tried to embrace that delicious tension that hung between them, every sight of each other reminding both of the past they had shared, the things they had done together, the magic they had kept secret.
He remembered the look on her face when the witchfinder had accused him of being a sorcerer, how horrified she looked, as she tried to determine whether he really was a sorcerer or whether he had just given himself up to save her from an evil fate. Again.
He remembered the time after the witchfinder was gone, when she had confronted him about what had happened. It had turned into their first kiss… when nothing had mattered but the way it felt to hold her in his arms, the feel of her silky hair in his hand, the other hand on her neck, pulling her closer to him, how soft her lips were, pressed against his, as the passion they had built up after so much time finally broke the dam of their self-control, and they let it flood their very senses and inhibitions.
But then she’d turned her back on Camelot, he’d caught her stealing Arthur’s keys, as she’d taken the Crystal of Neahtid, only to be used by a renegade sorcerer who played on her emotions. She had cared about that sorcerer- Merlin had seen it in her eyes- and he couldn’t help but wonder that, if she had known what he himself really was, maybe she would’ve been looking at him that way. Not that she hadn’t before… but as far as she was concerned, Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer, and that was that.
But he kept her secret still, right up until the end. He remembered the Knights of Medhir, fighting them in the bowels of Idirsholas. He could see her eyes, green as the sea but pale as the moon, when Arthur and he had returned to Camelot. The fear coursing through her entire being had scared him, too.
The knight hadn’t killed her, the dragon had condemned her to death, and he was caught between killing the woman he loved and killing the entirety of Camelot, its king, its prince, and all its people.
She’d put him in that place with her misplaced trust and her selfish decisions. Of course it was her fault.
He’d tipped the vial into the water pouch, watching the poisonous liquid drain out of the deadly bottle. He’d given it to her, waited for her to drink.
He could still hear her struggling to breathe, as her lungs convulsed under the poison. It resonated in his heart and his mind and his soul to this day. Her eyes, burning with accusation and hatred, bore into his own icy stare, even now, a year later. Her face had screamed repulsion at him, at the friend, the lover, who had murdered her. The man who had protected her through so much, helped her when she was in need, and loved her when she was alone, was murdering her, and it ripped her heart from her very being, as she died.
He could still feel her arms, losing strength by the second, trying to push him away from her as he tried to gather her in his arms. The embrace she had welcomed so many times before, that had made her feel safe and separated from the evil in the world. But she had no strength or willpower left to resist her killer now, and Merlin remembered her weight falling into his chest, as he cradled her to her death. His cold tears of hatred for himself falling into her fragrant hair as she grew more still yet, her breath still coming in bare, throaty squeaks, as she grappled for the last bits of air she could get before her throat constricted from the poison completely. She had writhed against him, holding the arm that was around her with a loosening grip.
She went limp in his arms, and he held his forehead to hers, watching her face grow paler, whispering quietly and chokingly in her ear, “I’m sorry, Morgana, I’m sorry…” and he had kissed her cheek softly.
That was when the grief and guilt and realization of what he’d done overtook him, and even after he’d saved the kingdom and watched Morgause take her away with the empty bottle of hemlock, Merlin had doubted she would ever come back, or that she would even live.
The love of his life, the one person who was just like him and yet completely different, had died in his arms because of him, because of her.
He came rushing back to reality at immense speed, unaware of the deep pools of tears in his eyes, as he broke into a run towards the gate.
Even from there, Morgana could see his warm blue eyes staring into her. She had always felt that his eyes could see into her very soul, leaving her naked and unprotected from his insight. Yet, simultaneously, he made her feel so safe in his presence, so secure and happy. Until he’d killed her.
She remembered all their times together, everything he’d done to protect her. She remembered when he had sacrificed himself for her, and she’d promised him she wouldn’t forget it.
She hadn’t. That was the only thing stopping her from killing him right then.
Well, maybe not the only thing.
He had protected her from the witchfinder, saved her from the siege on the druid camp. Long before, he had saved Mordred for her. He had done everything for her.
It had taken Morgana some time to realize it was because Merlin loved her, and also to realize she loved him back. She had started noticing new things about him… how blue his eyes were, how dark his hair was when in brushed his eyelashes, and how softly he spoke to her when she was afraid. Their first kiss- the way his strong arms wrapped around her, one hand caressing her neck, the other sliding its way down her back. How gentle he was with her, yet how strong he could be in the face of danger and deceit and all other things evil. How safe she had felt, in Merlin’s kiss.
But he killed her. She was the source of the evil spell, and she knew it too, that she had pushed the only one she loved to the breaking point, forcing him to choose between hundreds of innocent lives and one undeserving woman. But she had seen the tears in his eyes, felt his staggered breath as he held her in her dying moments, she had even heard his final words to her and felt his soft lips press against her cheek, just before everything went chokingly black, deafeningly silent, and unnervingly detached. She knew he hadn’t wanted to do what he did.
Morgause had taught her to control her magic, it was her power to use now, not power to use her. Her sister had informed her of all the secrets kept from her, everything she had needed to know for so long. She remembered standing atop their hidden fortress when she was still regaining her strength, gazing out in the direction of Camelot, seeing the smoke billowing from its turrets, the small speck that was the great dragon in the sky that was breathing fire down on the castle and wreaking its havoc everywhere else, feeling the tears sting her eyes. Unwanted tears of hate, repulsion, sorrow, pity, guilt, fear, and love. Lost love.
Morgana was shocked back to her senses, seeing the young servant sprinting his way across the courtyard towards her, through crowds of totally oblivious and unsuspecting people, none of them knowing that the two most dangerous people in all of Albion were either about to kill each other or forgive unspeakable faults on both sides.
She had her justification, he had his. Both were right, both had been wrong. Both loved the other, both hated themselves. The anger and hatred that each of them desperately tried to direct at the other only covered up the repulsion they really had for themselves.
And yet again, Merlin and Morgana shared everything.
Except for this- because of their decisions, their loyalties, their destinies and paths- they were on different sides of the chess board. What they both wanted couldn’t happen anymore.
He was nearly to her when she felt her defenses crumble, felt the bottled up tears spring to her eyes, felt the love in her heart shine through the black despair and hatred and revenge.
Merlin reached her and threw his arms around her, despite everything that told him not to, despite everything that told him that this couldn’t be real, his own tears falling onto her cloak.
She embraced him back with just as much ferocity, her eyes wide with incredulity. He killed me, she told herself… he killed… he…
But she forgot everything that was happening as he kissed her.
Merlin met her lips with his, pouring out his soul, full of darkness, sweetness, sadness, and weakness, into the kiss, passion flaring as she kissed him back.
She was as sweet as he remembered. He tried not to think that he had actually tried to take that away from the world.
He was as sweet as she remembered, but she pushed it from her mind that she had forced such an innocent man to make an impossible decision, a choice he could never have won.
He wove his hands into her thick hair, lost in his memories of doing so, as she pulled her hands to his chest, moving one up to grip his neck. She pushed herself against him, willing her actions to erase their past, her tears to wash away their faults and leave them with nothing but that moment. It was all they truly needed.
It wasn’t want that drove Merlin, he was beyond that. He tried to tell her with his passion that he loved her, he’d forgiven her, that he had hated every fiber of his very being since the day she had died.
It wasn’t need that drove Morgana, as it might have once, when she was alone and simply sought a companion she could trust. She strove to convey that he was still the only man she’d ever truly loved, that she knew they were the same now, that she’d forgiven him even though part of her hadn’t, that every day they’d spent apart had been consumed by inconsolable grief that had morphed into the monster that is self-disgust. She’d broken the only good man in Camelot, who had never hated anyone, and made him hate not only himself, but life and everything in it.
So much passed between them in one kiss that when they broke apart, it was all they could do to restrain from kissing again. Merlin rested his forehead on hers, remembering the last time he had done so… he had to break the silence. He had to hear her voice.
“Morgana,” he said, his voice cracked beyond recognition, his tears flowing freely now.
Morgana’s were doing the same as she raised his chin, stared into his eyes, realizing how much she had missed his pure blue eyes, saying, “Merlin,” and she smiled tearfully.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t- I never wanted- I would’ve given my own life so many times to avoid- please don’t- don’t hate me-“ her green eyes pierced his blue stare. As he tried to rattle out the hundreds of thousands of things he’d imagined saying to her if he ever got the chance, he watched her eyes burn with a fire he couldn’t recognize. He didn’t know if it was repugnance or passion, but he figured it was both, and that’s why it blazed within her.
“Merlin, please, I’m sorry, I just- I just want your forgiveness.” She stuttered.
Merlin placed both his hands on her face, saying as gently as he could through his tears, “You’ve had it since the day you died.”
“Merlin,” she whispered, gazing up at him, “I’ve tried to hate you every day that we’ve been apart, but I couldn’t. I… I love you… and I lied to you and pushed you over the edge. I don’t deserve you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you deserve me. I want you here with me, I wanted you here with me, but I thought you were dead, and now, seeing you, I-I…” he sighed. “That’s all that matters now. That you’re alright.”
Damn Uther, Arthur, Morgause, and the rest of Camelot- in that moment, it was all that mattered, and she was the only thing he cared about.
“I know.” She said, and she smiled, a real smile, her face unused to the gesture. “Don’t let me go,” she breathed.
He didn’t. Merlin pulled her closer, relishing her being there, next to him. He loved her so much. Too much to put into words or even actions. He let the love consume him, willing it to overpower all the other swirling emotions battling in his heart.
“Morgana,” he said once again, just enjoying the way it tasted to say her name again, to her face.
She pulled away suddenly, and he struggled to keep her in his arms. He grabbed her shoulder, raising his other hand to cup her cheek, wiping away stray tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Morgana, please…”
But she had a faraway look in her eyes now, just like she did the day she had died, and she pulled herself impossibly close to him. “Merlin,” she said, so close to him now that her breath was warm against his ear, “It cannot be the same again.”
“No,” he said, “No. What are you talking about?” his voice was hardly a whisper.
“We cannot be the same yet again. No matter how much we love, we save, we help, we cry, we hurt, or we give to each other, the past cannot be erased. It cannot be forgotten. It is written across my heart as much as it is yours.” She kissed him slowly, savoring the last moment they had together, amazed at the electricity surging through her veins and telling her not to break away, to keep going, to stay forever… she brought his hands from her waist and her neck to interlock with her fingers. “But we will try. I will love you so much for it, and you will love me back.”
“I already do-“ said Merlin, but he was interrupted by the fierce intervention of her lips again.
She gazed up at him one last time, her eyes meeting his, telling him everything he needed to know and yet leaving him with even more questions, as she began to pull her cloaked body away from his, unweaving her fingers from his, pulling her lips off of his in a desperate act of denying herself what she really wanted, and she said, “Darkness, sweetness-“
“Sadness, weakness,” Merlin finished for her.
“I love you. But I don’t deserve you.” She murmured.
“I love you, and I don’t blame you. I don’t care about what happened anymore.”
“I know. But you don’t have a choice.”
He saw her emerald eyes once more before the world dissolved.
Merlin bolted upright, his bed a mess of twisted sheets from a restless night. He ran a hand through his hair, remembering his dream like it had been real. It was so real, so perfect, that he wept without the slightest consideration of self-control.
Morgana opened her eyes, gasping at how her hands were shaking, how her blood was pumping from the dream. She raised one to her face, feeling the sticky tears that lined her face, tears cried in sleep. It had been so real, total perfection… she could feel his hands in hers and feel his lips against hers… so how was it not real? How was it a dream?
She glanced around at the matted grass where she had made camp. She was alone in these woods, but she wasn’t afraid as she might’ve been once. She could see the turrets of Camelot stretching towards the sky through the trees, and she stood up slowly, stretching. Another thought shocked her out of her daze- she was a seer. She had defied Morgause and almost made her way back to Camelot… and now she saw this in a dream. It was everything she wanted, and she had foreseen it. Now it had to come to pass. She turned towards the path, her hope restored, and started off again.
Merlin dried his tears. He had seen his heart’s desire in that dream, everything he wanted dearly. He stood from his bed and moved to his window, and gazing out he saw… he saw…
She stood in the main gate, as he had seen in his dream, and even from the there the fire in her eyes burned towards him, he could feel it.
She’d made it to the main gates, and there she waited until she saw the young servant reach the doorway, saw him break out into a full-fledged sprint across the courtyard, and she couldn’t help the smile that broke out across her face.
He was coming. He loved her, she knew it.
And she loved him, and he knew it.
But they hated themselves, and it would forever be between them, what they had lost, what they had given, and the choices they’d made that shaped their very future.
But it was the moment that counted.
They both pushed everything aside, except for the love neither could deny, as Merlin enveloped Morgana in his arms.
The murderer, and the victim.
But not necessarily in that order.
Their undying love would erase what it could. It had already made such a difference in the world, for neither were dead, and neither wanted anymore blood to be spilt, and because of this, there was still hope for them.
Destiny awaits.
That doesn’t mean you don’t shape it with your own choices.
When he dressed, putting his deep blue shirt on, he stared into the small piece of mirror hanging from his cupboard. It showed a young man, aged years beyond his body by decisions, love, regret, and sorrow. His blue eyes, darkened by second-guesses, wondering if things could’ve been different. If he could’ve changed what he’d done. He tied the familiar red scarf around his neck, clenching his jaw while he did so, breathing in deeply, willing himself to clear his thoughts and get through the day. Just one day at time, that’s how it had to be.
Arthur had been considerably understanding with his manservant, and Merlin was so happy about it. The prince wasn’t stupid; he knew that Merlin was having trouble with her death. Arthur himself couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t affected him- of course he missed her. But of course, the prince still wondered why Merlin seemed lost these days, seemed detached from his job, from Camelot, from the world.
Merlin had hardened at his past; it had transformed him into a different person. It had been a long time since she had died, and Merlin had saved so many people before then, and after, but nothing could erase what he’d done to her. The only thing keeping him going was that maybe one day he would save enough to people to ease his mind, to wash away that one deed, to clean the blood off of his hands. Her blood. Why had it been her? Anyone else, he thought, and it wouldn’t be this way. My world would not be this way.
But he had to clear the thought from his mind, clear his conscience, at least for a little while, as long as he could hold off the guilt, and go perform his duties. He had to clear her from his mind. “Morgana,” he whispered, inaudible, but full of sorrow and pleading. He gave the mirror a weak but brave smile, and slipped out the door.
“Merlin, how are you?” came the kind voice of Gaius.
“Fine, just going to work,” replied Merlin, a little coldly.
“Merlin, please don’t be angry. I know you were upset last night… for good reason. I was too. But please, don’t make it a reason to be angry with me.”
“I’m sorry, Gaius, I just-“ Merlin caught his words in his throat, remembering the events of the night before. It had been the one year anniversary of Morgana’s death- of her murder- and Merlin had been so upset that he had gotten out of control, arguing with Gaius over every little thing. It was unlike Merlin to be out of control of his emotions, but it happened so often lately. He’d ended up telling Gaius that there was nothing left for him there and threatened to leave. Of course, after a few hours shut up in his room, Merlin had realized he didn’t mean any of it, but it didn’t take the edge off of his guilt, his grief, his broken heart. “I was just upset, I didn’t mean any of it.”
Gaius nodded and smiled sympathetically. “I know Merlin.” The old physician gave his ward a look that simply told him to go on to work, and that it was alright, that everything would be alright.
Of course, Merlin was used to that look, and it was hardly ever true. At least, it had been quite a lie of late. Nothing was ever alright anymore.
Merlin left the room quickly, and went down the steps and out of the tower. He made his way into the main hall, slipping down the corridors, occasionally looking out the windows at the blinding gray sky. Was the sky always that color now? Or was that just the way Merlin saw it?
He walked down the hallway, leather boots clicking against the polished stone. He absentmindedly let his hand run down the rough wall as he rounded a corner. He stopped in his tracks; he had, without thinking, taken his old route. His route from the days of waking up and taking a sleeping draught to the Lady Morgana for the following night, checking in on her, trying to help her. He gazed up at the marble spiral staircase, clenching his fists, desperately tearing his azure eyes from what used to be Morgana’s room.
He kept himself walking, lost deep in his thoughts, but now on his way to Arthur’s chambers. He sighed as he bounded down a flight of stairs, passing the main door to the palace. Light shone in from the outside, but it only illuminated a small rectangle of marble. Merlin avoided it, because he had no love of light anymore. She was good, she was light, and he had taken that away- the light simply brought remorse to him, and he had no wish to bring fresh pain on himself again.
But it was also ever-nagging in the back of Merlin’s mind- he had pushed it as far back as he could, not wanting to remember her faults- that Morgana had made her choice, and her choice would’ve meant his death, and so many others. She had misused her gift, the gift he only ever wanted to explain to her, but knew he couldn’t. But that was his fault too, in his mind, at least- maybe if he’d told her, she wouldn’t have made that choice. She would still be there now, and she would be full of love, and life, and she wouldn’t be afraid of being alone anymore. He would be in her chamber now, checking in on her, asking her how she’d slept, sharing that knowing look with her as she smiled at the secret between them.
He was finally at Arthur’s room now, knocking on his prince’s door. Arthur ordered him to enter, and Merlin heard his commands, and his words of sympathy, and saw him leave to go to training, but Merlin still felt like he himself was only half-there. This detached feeling had consumed him lately, and he hated it almost as much as he hated what he’d done.
He held Arthur’s shirt of chainmail to be cleaned as he retraced his steps, walking down the same corridor again, away from Arthur’s chambers and towards the courtyard. He was one turn away from the main door when he felt it- a presence, a sense of someone…that he hadn’t felt in… in…
A year.
Merlin dropped the chainmail in the hallway, sprinted around the corner to stand in the main doorway, looking out amongst the bustling courtyard, searching it for what he felt. It seemed like an hour had passed when his eyes found what they were looking for.
There, at the mouth of the gate, she stood, cloaked in a familiar green cape, standing as still as the stone, but as fierce as the wind.
His heart leapt into his throat, he pushed down his fear, he tried to make sense of what was going on. It couldn’t be her, there was no way. He had done it, he had watched her die. And then it all came flooding back, everything he had pushed away for so long…
He had helped her protect Mordred, he had respected her drive to help the boy, and he had protected them both, amazed that the woman before him felt the same way he did.
She had come with him to protect his hometown, knowing that it might’ve meant their death, knowing that she wanted to repay the debt she owed him. But what he didn’t know was that it was more than debt pushing her to help him- it was love.
He remembered how close she had stood to him after Gwen’s father died, how her warm breath felt on his face, her hands on his chest, her strength in the whirlwind of power and oppression swirling around her every moment.
He had watched her struggle with her newfound magic, resisting the urge to tell her what he was, knowing that it would only put her in danger. He told her to go to the Druids, he had helped her escape from the castle and seek them out. He had gone to find her when the knights of Camelot went after her; he had sacrificed himself, willingly, to buy her more time to escape. “I’ll never forget this,” she had whispered to him. He only hoped she hadn’t.
It was then that he’d known that he loved her, and that was the reason he had opted to stay behind to save her. It was love.
He remembered every day after that, just stopping in to see her, to admire her dark hair, the way she stared at him mysteriously with her emerald eyes, as he just tried to embrace that delicious tension that hung between them, every sight of each other reminding both of the past they had shared, the things they had done together, the magic they had kept secret.
He remembered the look on her face when the witchfinder had accused him of being a sorcerer, how horrified she looked, as she tried to determine whether he really was a sorcerer or whether he had just given himself up to save her from an evil fate. Again.
He remembered the time after the witchfinder was gone, when she had confronted him about what had happened. It had turned into their first kiss… when nothing had mattered but the way it felt to hold her in his arms, the feel of her silky hair in his hand, the other hand on her neck, pulling her closer to him, how soft her lips were, pressed against his, as the passion they had built up after so much time finally broke the dam of their self-control, and they let it flood their very senses and inhibitions.
But then she’d turned her back on Camelot, he’d caught her stealing Arthur’s keys, as she’d taken the Crystal of Neahtid, only to be used by a renegade sorcerer who played on her emotions. She had cared about that sorcerer- Merlin had seen it in her eyes- and he couldn’t help but wonder that, if she had known what he himself really was, maybe she would’ve been looking at him that way. Not that she hadn’t before… but as far as she was concerned, Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer, and that was that.
But he kept her secret still, right up until the end. He remembered the Knights of Medhir, fighting them in the bowels of Idirsholas. He could see her eyes, green as the sea but pale as the moon, when Arthur and he had returned to Camelot. The fear coursing through her entire being had scared him, too.
The knight hadn’t killed her, the dragon had condemned her to death, and he was caught between killing the woman he loved and killing the entirety of Camelot, its king, its prince, and all its people.
She’d put him in that place with her misplaced trust and her selfish decisions. Of course it was her fault.
He’d tipped the vial into the water pouch, watching the poisonous liquid drain out of the deadly bottle. He’d given it to her, waited for her to drink.
He could still hear her struggling to breathe, as her lungs convulsed under the poison. It resonated in his heart and his mind and his soul to this day. Her eyes, burning with accusation and hatred, bore into his own icy stare, even now, a year later. Her face had screamed repulsion at him, at the friend, the lover, who had murdered her. The man who had protected her through so much, helped her when she was in need, and loved her when she was alone, was murdering her, and it ripped her heart from her very being, as she died.
He could still feel her arms, losing strength by the second, trying to push him away from her as he tried to gather her in his arms. The embrace she had welcomed so many times before, that had made her feel safe and separated from the evil in the world. But she had no strength or willpower left to resist her killer now, and Merlin remembered her weight falling into his chest, as he cradled her to her death. His cold tears of hatred for himself falling into her fragrant hair as she grew more still yet, her breath still coming in bare, throaty squeaks, as she grappled for the last bits of air she could get before her throat constricted from the poison completely. She had writhed against him, holding the arm that was around her with a loosening grip.
She went limp in his arms, and he held his forehead to hers, watching her face grow paler, whispering quietly and chokingly in her ear, “I’m sorry, Morgana, I’m sorry…” and he had kissed her cheek softly.
That was when the grief and guilt and realization of what he’d done overtook him, and even after he’d saved the kingdom and watched Morgause take her away with the empty bottle of hemlock, Merlin had doubted she would ever come back, or that she would even live.
The love of his life, the one person who was just like him and yet completely different, had died in his arms because of him, because of her.
He came rushing back to reality at immense speed, unaware of the deep pools of tears in his eyes, as he broke into a run towards the gate.
Even from there, Morgana could see his warm blue eyes staring into her. She had always felt that his eyes could see into her very soul, leaving her naked and unprotected from his insight. Yet, simultaneously, he made her feel so safe in his presence, so secure and happy. Until he’d killed her.
She remembered all their times together, everything he’d done to protect her. She remembered when he had sacrificed himself for her, and she’d promised him she wouldn’t forget it.
She hadn’t. That was the only thing stopping her from killing him right then.
Well, maybe not the only thing.
He had protected her from the witchfinder, saved her from the siege on the druid camp. Long before, he had saved Mordred for her. He had done everything for her.
It had taken Morgana some time to realize it was because Merlin loved her, and also to realize she loved him back. She had started noticing new things about him… how blue his eyes were, how dark his hair was when in brushed his eyelashes, and how softly he spoke to her when she was afraid. Their first kiss- the way his strong arms wrapped around her, one hand caressing her neck, the other sliding its way down her back. How gentle he was with her, yet how strong he could be in the face of danger and deceit and all other things evil. How safe she had felt, in Merlin’s kiss.
But he killed her. She was the source of the evil spell, and she knew it too, that she had pushed the only one she loved to the breaking point, forcing him to choose between hundreds of innocent lives and one undeserving woman. But she had seen the tears in his eyes, felt his staggered breath as he held her in her dying moments, she had even heard his final words to her and felt his soft lips press against her cheek, just before everything went chokingly black, deafeningly silent, and unnervingly detached. She knew he hadn’t wanted to do what he did.
Morgause had taught her to control her magic, it was her power to use now, not power to use her. Her sister had informed her of all the secrets kept from her, everything she had needed to know for so long. She remembered standing atop their hidden fortress when she was still regaining her strength, gazing out in the direction of Camelot, seeing the smoke billowing from its turrets, the small speck that was the great dragon in the sky that was breathing fire down on the castle and wreaking its havoc everywhere else, feeling the tears sting her eyes. Unwanted tears of hate, repulsion, sorrow, pity, guilt, fear, and love. Lost love.
Morgana was shocked back to her senses, seeing the young servant sprinting his way across the courtyard towards her, through crowds of totally oblivious and unsuspecting people, none of them knowing that the two most dangerous people in all of Albion were either about to kill each other or forgive unspeakable faults on both sides.
She had her justification, he had his. Both were right, both had been wrong. Both loved the other, both hated themselves. The anger and hatred that each of them desperately tried to direct at the other only covered up the repulsion they really had for themselves.
And yet again, Merlin and Morgana shared everything.
Except for this- because of their decisions, their loyalties, their destinies and paths- they were on different sides of the chess board. What they both wanted couldn’t happen anymore.
He was nearly to her when she felt her defenses crumble, felt the bottled up tears spring to her eyes, felt the love in her heart shine through the black despair and hatred and revenge.
Merlin reached her and threw his arms around her, despite everything that told him not to, despite everything that told him that this couldn’t be real, his own tears falling onto her cloak.
She embraced him back with just as much ferocity, her eyes wide with incredulity. He killed me, she told herself… he killed… he…
But she forgot everything that was happening as he kissed her.
Merlin met her lips with his, pouring out his soul, full of darkness, sweetness, sadness, and weakness, into the kiss, passion flaring as she kissed him back.
She was as sweet as he remembered. He tried not to think that he had actually tried to take that away from the world.
He was as sweet as she remembered, but she pushed it from her mind that she had forced such an innocent man to make an impossible decision, a choice he could never have won.
He wove his hands into her thick hair, lost in his memories of doing so, as she pulled her hands to his chest, moving one up to grip his neck. She pushed herself against him, willing her actions to erase their past, her tears to wash away their faults and leave them with nothing but that moment. It was all they truly needed.
It wasn’t want that drove Merlin, he was beyond that. He tried to tell her with his passion that he loved her, he’d forgiven her, that he had hated every fiber of his very being since the day she had died.
It wasn’t need that drove Morgana, as it might have once, when she was alone and simply sought a companion she could trust. She strove to convey that he was still the only man she’d ever truly loved, that she knew they were the same now, that she’d forgiven him even though part of her hadn’t, that every day they’d spent apart had been consumed by inconsolable grief that had morphed into the monster that is self-disgust. She’d broken the only good man in Camelot, who had never hated anyone, and made him hate not only himself, but life and everything in it.
So much passed between them in one kiss that when they broke apart, it was all they could do to restrain from kissing again. Merlin rested his forehead on hers, remembering the last time he had done so… he had to break the silence. He had to hear her voice.
“Morgana,” he said, his voice cracked beyond recognition, his tears flowing freely now.
Morgana’s were doing the same as she raised his chin, stared into his eyes, realizing how much she had missed his pure blue eyes, saying, “Merlin,” and she smiled tearfully.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t- I never wanted- I would’ve given my own life so many times to avoid- please don’t- don’t hate me-“ her green eyes pierced his blue stare. As he tried to rattle out the hundreds of thousands of things he’d imagined saying to her if he ever got the chance, he watched her eyes burn with a fire he couldn’t recognize. He didn’t know if it was repugnance or passion, but he figured it was both, and that’s why it blazed within her.
“Merlin, please, I’m sorry, I just- I just want your forgiveness.” She stuttered.
Merlin placed both his hands on her face, saying as gently as he could through his tears, “You’ve had it since the day you died.”
“Merlin,” she whispered, gazing up at him, “I’ve tried to hate you every day that we’ve been apart, but I couldn’t. I… I love you… and I lied to you and pushed you over the edge. I don’t deserve you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you deserve me. I want you here with me, I wanted you here with me, but I thought you were dead, and now, seeing you, I-I…” he sighed. “That’s all that matters now. That you’re alright.”
Damn Uther, Arthur, Morgause, and the rest of Camelot- in that moment, it was all that mattered, and she was the only thing he cared about.
“I know.” She said, and she smiled, a real smile, her face unused to the gesture. “Don’t let me go,” she breathed.
He didn’t. Merlin pulled her closer, relishing her being there, next to him. He loved her so much. Too much to put into words or even actions. He let the love consume him, willing it to overpower all the other swirling emotions battling in his heart.
“Morgana,” he said once again, just enjoying the way it tasted to say her name again, to her face.
She pulled away suddenly, and he struggled to keep her in his arms. He grabbed her shoulder, raising his other hand to cup her cheek, wiping away stray tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Morgana, please…”
But she had a faraway look in her eyes now, just like she did the day she had died, and she pulled herself impossibly close to him. “Merlin,” she said, so close to him now that her breath was warm against his ear, “It cannot be the same again.”
“No,” he said, “No. What are you talking about?” his voice was hardly a whisper.
“We cannot be the same yet again. No matter how much we love, we save, we help, we cry, we hurt, or we give to each other, the past cannot be erased. It cannot be forgotten. It is written across my heart as much as it is yours.” She kissed him slowly, savoring the last moment they had together, amazed at the electricity surging through her veins and telling her not to break away, to keep going, to stay forever… she brought his hands from her waist and her neck to interlock with her fingers. “But we will try. I will love you so much for it, and you will love me back.”
“I already do-“ said Merlin, but he was interrupted by the fierce intervention of her lips again.
She gazed up at him one last time, her eyes meeting his, telling him everything he needed to know and yet leaving him with even more questions, as she began to pull her cloaked body away from his, unweaving her fingers from his, pulling her lips off of his in a desperate act of denying herself what she really wanted, and she said, “Darkness, sweetness-“
“Sadness, weakness,” Merlin finished for her.
“I love you. But I don’t deserve you.” She murmured.
“I love you, and I don’t blame you. I don’t care about what happened anymore.”
“I know. But you don’t have a choice.”
He saw her emerald eyes once more before the world dissolved.
Merlin bolted upright, his bed a mess of twisted sheets from a restless night. He ran a hand through his hair, remembering his dream like it had been real. It was so real, so perfect, that he wept without the slightest consideration of self-control.
Morgana opened her eyes, gasping at how her hands were shaking, how her blood was pumping from the dream. She raised one to her face, feeling the sticky tears that lined her face, tears cried in sleep. It had been so real, total perfection… she could feel his hands in hers and feel his lips against hers… so how was it not real? How was it a dream?
She glanced around at the matted grass where she had made camp. She was alone in these woods, but she wasn’t afraid as she might’ve been once. She could see the turrets of Camelot stretching towards the sky through the trees, and she stood up slowly, stretching. Another thought shocked her out of her daze- she was a seer. She had defied Morgause and almost made her way back to Camelot… and now she saw this in a dream. It was everything she wanted, and she had foreseen it. Now it had to come to pass. She turned towards the path, her hope restored, and started off again.
Merlin dried his tears. He had seen his heart’s desire in that dream, everything he wanted dearly. He stood from his bed and moved to his window, and gazing out he saw… he saw…
She stood in the main gate, as he had seen in his dream, and even from the there the fire in her eyes burned towards him, he could feel it.
She’d made it to the main gates, and there she waited until she saw the young servant reach the doorway, saw him break out into a full-fledged sprint across the courtyard, and she couldn’t help the smile that broke out across her face.
He was coming. He loved her, she knew it.
And she loved him, and he knew it.
But they hated themselves, and it would forever be between them, what they had lost, what they had given, and the choices they’d made that shaped their very future.
But it was the moment that counted.
They both pushed everything aside, except for the love neither could deny, as Merlin enveloped Morgana in his arms.
The murderer, and the victim.
But not necessarily in that order.
Their undying love would erase what it could. It had already made such a difference in the world, for neither were dead, and neither wanted anymore blood to be spilt, and because of this, there was still hope for them.
Destiny awaits.
That doesn’t mean you don’t shape it with your own choices.
arthur and his knights find a little girl in the woods they go 2 her village and everyone is dead.when the girl regains her strength she says her name is vivian and that morgona destroyed her village but she wont tell them why.merlin investgates and finds out that vivan has powers but shes like merlin and uses them for good. she tells merlin that the reason morgona destryoed her village is morgona was looking for people to follow her and sense their villge was fulll of magical people morgona thought theyd go on her side.but she thought wrong.vivan is later asked by gwen to be their ward but gauise warns merlin to look after vivan because she doesnt understand she can be killed for using magic.through the season vivan grows close to all the people of the cort. soory for my spelling and i hope u like my idea!