Morgana's point of view from the end of my Season 4 AU. In summary – Arthur and the knights arrived at the Tomb of Ashkanar before Merlin could hide the dragon's egg. By the end of Season 4, Arthur and Merlin had reconciled their differences and Morgana also knew Emrys' true identity. Arthur's change of heart did not stop her from allying with Helios and taking Camelot with Agravaine's assistance, but she was defeated. It was not Aithusa who found and saved her but the Druids led by the child, Mordred.

The pattern repeats again, Morgana thought. She sat alone on the ground in her favourite spot not far from the Druid camp where the Forest of Ascetir gave way to more open countryside. As the ground sloped down beyond her resting place, it became rockier with chunks of stone poking holes in the green, but here she could sit comfortably, even stretch out flat on the ground when she chose.

She glanced at the dark red sleeves to remind herself what it felt like to be wearing colour again after she had lived in nothing but unrelieved black for so long. Her discarded gown had been better quality material than her Druid apparel, but it was inappropriate to wear mourning when she no longer felt sorrow as she no longer felt happy or angry or anything else. Her red robe was also better suited to her daily tasks as part of the Druid community. She had combed the tangled snarls from her long black hair and tied it with a simple cord to keep it away from her face while she worked.

When Morgana first found herself living in the Druid settlement, she had thought the man they called Iseldir was their leader but it was very different from the ultimate control exercised by kings and nobles. Iseldir was leader only as long as the people agreed his words and actions were worth following. Even then, if someone chose a different path, that person was free to act in accordance with his or her conscience as long as it did not harm the community. Decisions were made by consensus and the leader – such as he was – was chosen by the elder women who monitored his actions and advised his decisions. It was absolutely foreign to Morgana who had grown up in a hierarchy where Uther had ultimate sway over all those in his kingdom and enforced his authority with laws and weapons, burnings and beheadings. Not that there were no laws among the Druids, but the punishments she had seen generally involved ostracizing the offender until he or she made recompense to whoever had been injured. The greatest punishment was banishment.

It was one of those who had been banished who had caught her attention earlier in the day as she had deftly separated edible roots from inedible leaves, her shoulders twitching under the rough cloth of her tunic. Iseldir had called the visitor Ruadan and had refused to invite him to join their morning meal. That was strange because the Druids were usually welcoming to any of their kin, sharing food and hospitality regardless of how little there was to spare.

Ruadan bore a Druid tattoo on the right side of his neck but he carried a sword and weapons like a knight. A spark of interest had touched her through the apathy which clouded her days and Morgana found herself staring at him. Once he had seen her, he turned back to Iseldir with a triumphant glint in his eye at which Iseldir crossed his arms and refused to say anything more.

Ruadan had left the elder standing there to approach her. "My lady Morgana Pendragon."

She started at hearing the title which no one had used to address her in nearly a year.

"Could I speak with you privately, my lady?"

She had glanced at Iseldir but he gave no indication of whether or not he thought it wise for her to converse with the stranger. With a shrug, she silently led the way further from curious eyes and listening ears.

The balding, grey-haired man had hesitated, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I should tell you first that the reason I am no longer welcome here is that I chose to take up arms against the persecution of my people."

Morgana's gaze had returned to the sword which looked so incongruous with the Druid tattoo.

"I have trained long and hard and consider my skills with the blade to be as good as any knight of Camelot."

Morgana doubted the truth of that but he did not make any effort to try to persuade her. She wondered if it could be more than an empty boast because in her experience braggarts were intent on convincing their audience of their claims.

"When I obtained the information I was searching for, I planned to find you so I could support your campaign to bring back magic. It had been my intention to offer you my services until …"

When he broke off she finally responded, although she could rouse only the slightest curiosity. "Until what?"

"Until my spy sent me information that caused me to put my plans on hold."

Morgana waited silently, unsure what any of it had to do with her now.

"My informant told me King Arthur repealed the ban on magic, even that a known sorcerer is serving as an advisor on his Council and rides to battle with him."

He stared at her intently and again Morgana wondered what that had to do with her. She had had no part in Arthur's about-face on his attitude to magic.

"Why would he do that?" Ruadan demanded.

Surprised by the man's intensity, Morgana's forehead wrinkled. "Why are you asking me? You must know I have not been welcome in Camelot for almost three years, nor have I had much to do with my brother in that time." She was supposed to be bitter about that, Morgana thought to herself. She was supposed to be angry but somehow she could not dredge up much feeling about anything, as if she had spent all her emotions and there were none left.

Ruadan was taken aback by her response. "Is it a trick?"

A flicker of amusement crossed Morgana's face. "A trick? No. Who would Arthur be attempting to fool?" It was ludicrous to think there was an elaborate plan to thwart the man when she had never heard of him before and doubted that Arthur had, either.

"There was a time when Uther countenanced sorcery, even took advantage of it himself, before he made magic his enemy. Will his son do the same?" Ruadan appeared unwilling to believe that his lofty goal had been accomplished without his assistance.

Morgana considered whether Arthur would resume his father's war on sorcery. "No," she said with finality.

"How is it possible that a Pendragon could be responsible for freeing our people?"

It was ironic he would address the comment to a Pendragon, one he had intended to ally with at that. "It was the work of Emrys," she said. A flicker of anger sparked inside her before the emotionless cold settled in once again. She could not rekindle the outrage she should feel that her destiny had been usurped, her dream of returning magic to the land stolen by the person who tried to kill her.

"Emrys?" the warrior Druid repeated in shock.

"Emrys is Arthur's closest friend and advisor."

She saw a look of determination come over the man's strong features before he abruptly took his leave of her. She had not the slightest doubt he intended to confront Emrys himself and she wondered what that might mean for her, if Ruadan told Merlin she was alive and where she was. But she could not make herself care even about that.

Even now, watching the moon grow brighter as the sky darkened, the strange man's visit barely intruded on her thoughts as she sat alone. In her past lives she had preferred company, always happiest when she was surrounded by others, but now she grew tired of constant companionship and the babble of voices. By the end of her daily chores she longed to rest in isolation with no sounds except insects and birds and forest creatures.

She liked this spot because it was a private place. There were no berries or useful herbs to draw those who spent the evening hours picking plants, no stream or pool for those who wanted to bathe, just the shelter of the trees behind her and a view of the unsettled land stretching into the distance which she knew became the arable fields surrounding Camelot. Her mind skipped through the twists and turns of her life, reviewing it dispassionately as though it had happened to someone else.

The first time her life had been upended, she had been a child. A stranger had come to Tintagel with a message which sent the household staff into an uproar. Morgana had been curious because the stranger had been dressed in royal livery. If her father had been there, she would have asked him what had happened, knowing he would answer her questions. Since her mother's death, her father had been what Hedda termed "over-indulgent," said by the nursemaid with a disdainful sniff behind Gorlois' back. She would not have openly criticized him despite her secure position. Of course, as Morgana herself was quick to point out, she was much too old for a nursemaid but Hedda had been taking care of her since she was an infant and it seemed natural to continue in that role. Morgana was put out that Hedda had yet to come and explain the flurry of activity the messenger had engendered. Instead, it had been the dour-faced housekeeper who bossed around the maids and usually treated Morgana with detachment who respectfully but coldly ushered the girl up to her room and told her to dress for a long journey.

Sensing something was terribly wrong but uncertain what to do about it, Morgana had uncharacteristically done as she was told. Once she was properly attired, she sat in the most comfortable chair in her bedchamber and waited, watching as the maids packed her things and cast pitying glances in her direction and listening to the sounds of upheaval elsewhere in the house. Morgana heard the family carriage draw up to the courtyard below her window, the horses stamping and shaking their harness.

Finally, she could stand the suspense no longer and jumped up, intending to march downstairs and demand answers; demand to talk to Hedda, demand they send for her father, when Hedda's voice came through her closed chamber door.

"What do you mean you haven't told her?"

Hedda rarely shouted and Morgana sat back down, alarmed to hear her nursemaid so angry.

"She is not setting one foot out of her room until she knows what has happened and has some inkling about what to expect!"

"The child has been told to dress for a long journey." It was Alvain's voice. He had full responsibility for the keep whenever Gorlois was away, which was often. "What more does she need to know?"

Although he was ostensibly Hedda's master in the absence of Gorlois, the determined expression on Hedda's face when she opened Morgana's door indicated the woman had utterly ignored whatever instruction he had given her. He looked about to reprimand her but apparently decided he had better things to occupy his time than have a shouting match with a servant. He turned away as Hedda shut the door on him, holding her temper in check enough to keep from slamming it. Then she saw Morgana and her anger melted away completely leaving an expression of sadness that sent a shiver up Morgana's spine.

"Leave us for a moment," Hedda told the maids who had quickly resumed their packing duties, pretending not to have gaped at the scene in the corridor.

Both women left the chamber.

"Come here child." Hedda sat in her favourite chair, the one she told Morgana she had used when nursing her, and held out her arms. Hesitantly Morgana approached, thinking she had grown too old to sit on the woman's lap and yet needing that comfort.

As gently as possible, Hedda explained Gorlois was dead and Morgana was going to live in the palace in Camelot. The shock of her father's death was nearly more than she could bear; the thought of leaving home before she could even grieve for him made it harder.

Of course, she had assumed Hedda would come with her never considering Hedda had a life in Tintagel. Although Morgana had been to court more than once, always it was with her father and Hedda by her side. When the woman explained that King Uther would provide for her needs including any staff she required, Morgana felt the last pillar supporting her whole existence fall away. Hedda held her through her sobs for her father and for her own uncertain future.

In time, Morgana built a new existence for herself, finding her place within the busy centre of Camelot's power. Eventually she grew more comfortable with the enigmatic king her father had regarded so highly but who had been only a distant figure in her life until then. Of her previous visits to the palace, only during her final trip with her father had she been deemed old enough to sit in the banquet room with the other ladies during the feast. King Uther and his son were the focus of much attention, but Morgana was more interested in gaping at the ladies with their extravagant court dress when she was not staring open-mouthed at the sheer volume and variety of food in front of her. She had been frightened of Uther then. The imposing figure wearing a crown, sitting on a throne, surrounded by people whose lives he held in his hand – including hers.

The first time the king addressed Morgana directly was when she was presented as his ward. He had smiled at her. The blond boy beside him frowned at seeing his father's smile and had given her a sour look. Immediately she decided she did not like the boy. She had been proud of herself the first time she knocked him flat. He had been surprised and even more offended, and she had realized wounding his pride was the surest way to show him she would not be ignored. Although she was older, the boy had quickly grown bigger than she was, so she learned to use a sword and beat him at that. If this was to be her home, she would be a presence in it.

She had grown to know the corridors and halls and chambers of Camelot's citadel better than she remembered the keep where she had spent her early years, as she had become familiar with the best areas to hunt and the prettiest forest paths. She had grown accustomed to fine clothes and the abundance of food. And she pondered whether she would actually marry Arthur when Uther proposed the match. Of course she was aware that the oldest courtiers favoured Elena as future Queen, but those rumours died off when Morgana reached marriageable age. Morgana concluded the match was the only reason for Uther's continuing to support her, wondering as the years passed why the king had yet to make any announcement.

Then thoughts of marriage had been swept to the back of her mind by the discovery of her magic. It came to be the focus of her thoughts almost constantly; the fear of exposure but also the thrill of the power she could feel. She wanted to explore and learn all she could, frustrated that she was cut off from anyone who could teach her and frightened she could not control that power. She approached Gaius but he would never risk Uther's displeasure by assisting someone to learn the forbidden art. And then for the second time her life was turned around completely.

She was ripping the blanket into strips to use as a sling, her hands working mechanically, her mind fogged by the insanity she had been living since waking that afternoon. A burning feeling tickled her throat, sliding down into her stomach, increasing in strength until she found it difficult to draw in air. Her forehead wrinkled in consternation, wondering what restricted her breath, and she glanced down at the waterskin Merlin had handed her. The burning and choking followed the path of the water into her system and she knew. She looked up at him in horror. His back was turned to her, unnaturally stiff, and she saw his hand come up as though to swipe at his cheek. He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned to meet her accusing gaze and gave a slight nod. She remembered fighting as his arms went around her, struggling against his hold as her murderer tried to offer her comfort and then her vision dimmed and the world went black.

When she woke, she found herself on a comfortable bed in an entirely unfamiliar room. The enigmatic blonde woman named Morgause was her only company except for a young girl who tended her needs but never spoke. Morgana remembered being ill for days, only regaining consciousness for short periods of time to see Morgause's concerned face bending over her or the serving girl wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. Slowly the periods of wakefulness lengthened and she was able to take stock of the chamber she occupied.

Morgause lived in comfort; the sleeping chamber was nearly as large as the apartment Morgana had occupied in the citadel, certainly as large as her old room in Tintagel. As the stomach pains and headaches faded, Morgana recognized the familiar sounds of a large, busy keep as well as unfamiliar music played on foreign instruments, a ringing like a blacksmith working metal, and voices chanting strange words in unison at odd times of the night.

Despite the instinctive connection to the blonde woman Morgana had felt at their first meeting, she was reluctant to ask bluntly where she was and how she had gotten there. She realized the strange events in Camelot were connected to her meeting with Morgause at night in the woods: everyone falling asleep and the terrifying black knights whose faces were completely covered as though nothing human lingered under their helmets. That the knight had not killed her did not entirely reassure Morgana of her safety in spite of the care with which Morgause tended her illness.

Finally Morgana had awoken to bright light streaming in the window of the bedchamber, her head completely clear. Her lucid gaze met the appraising look of the serving girl who had immediately left, apparently to fetch Morgause because the beautiful blonde arrived minutes later wearing a lovely red gown which was entirely different from the loose blouse and pants she had worn under her amour.

"My dear," she said. "We almost lost you! I am so relieved you are well again."

"I must have you to thank for that," Morgana said. Her mind whirled with all the questions she wanted to ask.

Morgause gave her a knowing smile. "I know you must be confused as well as curious."

The blonde woman sat on Morgana's bed and patted her hand which was as close to physical comfort as Morgause ever came.

"Where am I and how did I get here?" Morgana dared to ask.

"Please do me the favour of allowing me to begin at the beginning," Morgause replied. "It is a long story, and it starts with my parents. Our parents," she added meaningfully, looking directly into Morgana's eyes.

Morgana had been shocked to discover a sister she had not known existed, yet a part of her whispered in her mind that she had known. Certainly she had recognized the woman on some level when she first laid eyes on the blonde as she doffed her helmet, standing there in Camelot's banquet room wearing the light armour that Morgana belatedly realized must of course belong to a woman.

Discovering she had a sister had been one of the truly great joys in her life. After the deaths of her parents she had always felt deep down that she was alone; even though King Uther and Arthur had become like family, everyone knew she was only part of the royal household on Uther's sufferance, she had no birthright to be there. So they thought. She had believed that herself, another lie in the series of lies her life had been: Gorlois was her father, she was an only child, she was an orphan, her prophetic dreams were just a sleeping malady and not because of magic. When Morgause saved her life and then explained about their mother, it had been like a light illuminating her whole past existence, wiping out the lies.

That this sister had traded a kingdom for Morgana's life, giving up at the moment of victory for her sake, struck her deeply. As much as her father had doted on her, she knew his duty to his king came before his love for his child. Without doubt she had never come first with Uther whose love for himself, his kingdom, and his son outstripped any tender feeling he may have harboured for his bastard daughter. In the same way, Arthur made it clear that Camelot would always be his first concern. Even Hedda and Gwen had had other loyalties besides Morgana. But her sister had shown she was the most important consideration to Morgause. More important than anything else in the world.

Morgana had always considered herself strong, but it was Morgause who had grown up sure of who she was, certain of her purpose in life, aware of her own power – and not afraid of it. That her sister shared the gift of magic, indeed had been trained since birth by powerful High Priestesses, was another joy. Finally, Morgana was able to explore her own powers, eagerly soaking up anything her sister had to teach. Morgause was a hard taskmaster who displayed little patience, but Morgana bent herself to whatever exercise Morgause chose to set and took pleasure at any small sign of satisfaction when her efforts were successful. Although Morgause never said so, Morgana's sister was pleased with her quickly-developing magical ability. Her sister's approval had become dear to her, and she quickly revised her opinion if ever her sister seemed disappointed in anything she did or said.

There was only one way in which Morgana felt she let her sister down and try as she might she could not change her feelings. Morgause had discerned that Morgana was less upset at having been poisoned than she was at who had done it. Her sister did not understand why the actions of a serving boy would cause such hurt at his betrayal instead of outrage at the temerity of a mere servant daring to meddle in the affairs of his betters. Morgause was quick to point out the importance of their sacred duty to end Uther's reign of terror. Morgana never met King Cenred until Fryien Castle, but when Morgause returned from one of their meetings, the contempt in her tone as much as her careful instructions demonstrated how pawns should be treated. Morgana tried to emulate that single-minded focus, the utter disregard for anyone who was in the way or whose usefulness was spent. The only people who counted, whose actions were of any importance, were Camelot's rulers and the two sisters who were going to overthrow them to bring back the Old Ways.

Another new experience was learning the rituals and beliefs of the Old Religion which had been entirely absent from Morgana's life until she was living with her sister. Morgause devoutly undertook her sister's education in the significance of the turning of the sun and moon to the calendar of observances and festivals with patience and care. They travelled to the Isle of the Blessed when required even though few others joined them in the sacred practices.

When Morgana realized the seasons had passed one after the other and she had been with Morgause for a whole year, she had been shocked at how fast the months had sped by. It was already time to put Morgause's next plan into action. That plan had involved Morgana's brief return to a parody of her previous life in Camelot's citadel. It should have been only a few weeks, but when a combination of bad luck and the same troublesome serving boy thwarted their initial attack, Morgana's stay in the city stretched into months. At the end of that time, her life was turned upside down yet again.

All of Morgause's funds had gone into provisioning their immortal army, certain that Camelot's riches would replenish their coffers once Morgana was on the throne. The little that had been left after their escape from the city barely sustained the two of them while Morgana nursed her sister through the next soul-shriveling year. One by one the servants left to find food and a bed elsewhere until eventually Morgana was forced to take on all the chores as well as nursing Morgause. Her magic helped but it did not take the place of a household of servants. To her frustration, Morgana found she could heat a pot of soup with a glance but the potatoes in the stew would still be raw. And there was no dressmaking spell. She had heard of enchantments to conjure a rose or even a living creature like a butterfly and yet magic could not create a stitched garment fitted to size with just a blink. Of course, she mused now she about that, if magic could conjure a fine wardrobe Merlin would be better dressed.

During those agonizing months of watching her sister die slowly, Morgana had learned more than she ever wanted to know about gathering firewood, growing vegetables, berry picking, cooking, cleaning, and sewing. She had grudgingly earned a new appreciation for Gwen's skill as a seamstress. Morgana had abandoned the horses, unable to afford feed and unwilling to waste precious hours tending the large, smelly beasts. She had always loved horses when there were stable hands and grooms to care for them. Now they had become a burden. Finally she and Morgause had to abandon the keep, lugging all their worldly goods in a rickety hand cart to take shelter in a wooden hut.

It was Morgana who proposed the alliance with Agravaine. She had been pleased to contribute such a strong ally to further the dream which had cost Morgause her health. Morgana was determined her sister's final moments would be filled with pride at how she put into practice all she had learned about controlling pawns. One comfort now was that Morgause would never know her sacrifice had been in vain, that Camelot had not fallen to the Dorocha or to any of the plans Morgana put in motion afterward, ending in the final showdown in Camelot's throne room. Emrys had intended to kill her then, she had no doubt. And she would have died in the forest were it not for the Druids who found her and healed her. And now her life had been upended one more time.

The Druids asked no questions of her, merely accepted her presence and allowed her to assume her own place among them. Morgana participated in the rituals and ceremonies of the Old Religion yet they were different in subtle ways from those her sister had taught her: the tempo of the music faster or slower and there were occasional word changes which indicated a different translation of an ancient story. Still the familiarity was comforting as was the ability to use magic. It was not unusual for someone to ease a heavy workload with an incantation when it was useful and virtually all the Druids could communicate in the silent mind-speech.

It was similar to her existence of the past year: she mended her clothes, gathered and prepared food, and tended to her own needs. It was also a very different existence to do so as part of a community. Virtually all tasks were shared and each member knew his or her role. The elderly took care of the youngest, teaching the little ones with wisdom and patience. The adult men and women did the work required to supply the community with all its needs.

Morgana had little time to spend with Mordred. After the communal morning meal, he left with the other young men to do men's chores and she would not see him again until the evening meal. She assumed his transition from being with the children to working with the men was recent given the way he strutted to join the other young men in a way common to boys asserting their manhood.

Morgana drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them as the shadow of the rock poking up from the ground in front of her lengthened. The breeze that had kept her cool during the hard work of the day faded and with it the rustle of leaves died away. The sky grew dark in the east although a streak of blue still tinged the west, the sounds of insects and daytime creatures ceased but the sounds of nighttime creatures had not yet begun. In the silence and dusk Morgana got to her feet and returned to her crude bed for sleep.

Less than a week later, as Morgana began her evening meal, she glanced up to see Iseldir rise from his spot on the ground and leave his barely-touched trencher of food behind. It was not entirely strange and certainly not forbidden for someone to get up and leave during mealtime, but before she returned her attention to her own food, Morgana noted several others staring intently after the elder. As she resumed eating, she kept an eye out for the grey-haired man's return.

Before she had finished her meal, Morgana saw Iseldir rejoin the group followed closely by the man she had been expecting to see since Ruadan's visit. She watched as Iseldir invited Merlin to join them for the meal, saw the dark-haired man refuse, saw him glance around the Druids sitting haphazardly on the ground as they ate. Several acknowledged his presence as though they knew him well. He wore the same old jacket but his tunic and pants were of higher quality and better made than his servant's garb.

The last time she had seen him had been in Camelot's throne room. Although Arthur's forces had retaken the city from Helios' fighters, she had remained confident she could keep the throne, sure Merlin had been neutralized. Arthur's death would cement her position as the sole heir to Camelot. Instead Merlin had stopped her – again – and his final strike had been intended to kill her. She had transported herself away from where she landed on the hard flagstones of the throne room to the forest floor not far from this camp. She concentrated on that last confrontation in an attempt to dredge up fury or despair or even regret but felt nothing other than a flicker of her old anger.

She saw Merlin's eyes grow wide when they met hers, glimpses of all the emotions she no longer felt flashing in the blue depths. He stared until Iseldir captured his attention again, gesturing in Morgana's direction along with whatever the elder was saying. After a few minutes both men turned to look at her.

Morgana, she heard in her mind. Emrys would like to speak with you.

For the briefest instant she felt a touch of the fear that name had struck in her since she heard the Cailleach's prophecy. Then she shrugged and rose to her feet. She walked slowly into the forest, automatically heading in the direction she went each evening until she reached her favourite spot at the edge of the woods overlooking the stretch of rocky ground. She had not checked to see if he was following but she knew he was behind her when she came to a stop. She turned to face him.

"You tried to kill me." The accusation slipped out before she knew she was going to say the words.

"You stole my magic." Despite his guarded expression, the coldness in his tone revealed how much that blow had hurt him.

"And yet when you arrived in throne room with Arthur you had power enough to try to destroy me."

His restraint slipped a little and she saw remorse in his face quickly replaced by anger. "I asked you to make peace with Arthur. It was safe for magic again in Camelot, you had no reason to attack the city. All the people who died or were injured – it was for nothing!"

She knew he was right. Arthur was still king, he had married Guinevere, and magic had been restored; she had not changed anything. All her plans had failed, the assault had been pointless. But what right did Merlin have to censure her after all he had done? Outrage crept into her tone. "You are in no position to condemn my actions. I thought you were my friend, you told me I could trust you, and then you poisoned me!"

Red tinged his cheeks but his tone remained cold. "I had no choice."

Her green eyes flashed. "There is always a choice."

"And you made yours!" he shouted.

She saw him take a breath, trying to reign in his own rage and it infuriated her that he thought he had any reason to be angry at her for that despicable act.

"I read every scrap of information I could find on that sleeping spell," he said hoarsely.

So, too late he had tried to find another way.

"I learned that the person who acts as the vessel for that enchantment must do so willingly." He pinned her with an accusatory glare. "The person who acts as the vessel has to agree. You purposely helped Morgause render everyone helpless so she could murder us all – Uther, Arthur, Leon, Gaius, the knights, the members of Council, everyone who served Camelot faithfully – she would have removed all of us to complete her coup and you agreed to help her!"

Morgana was taken aback by the condemnation. She had not at that time planned to kill anyone, she only wanted Uther deposed so she could live without fear. She tried to recall exactly what had been said between her and Morgause at that meeting in the woods in the dark of night. "I only agreed I was with her, not with Uther, and I would help bring about his downfall," Morgana said. "I never thought about anyone being killed."

The flush of anger faded from Merlin's face and he paled. "Then it is my fault," he whispered.

"But you would do the same again?" she asked quietly.

He steeled his features even though his eyes were anguished. "Yes," he said. "It broke my heart but I couldn't stand by and watch everyone else I loved die, either. But you – you've never regretted anything you've done. You knew what Morgause planned for me when you caught me spying and you were confident I wouldn't survive the Serkets but you never looked back, then when I did show up alive you would have gladly cut me down in the crypt. And you threw me against the wall of your chamber and left me to burn to death without a second thought."

"I didn't intend to kill you then, you grabbed me and I reacted." It was the first time she had called that kind of power and she had been pleased to be able to do it. "The fire was an accident. It was not planned the way you poisoned the water and urged me to drink it." That barb struck home.

"There was no other way even though it was agony for me to do that."

It was guilt and not triumph she saw in his eyes. She was also aware that although her powers had grown, as had her knowledge of how to use them, even now her magic would not be a match for what Merlin had thrown against her. Emrys. Her doom.

She remembered the good-natured, clumsy serving boy she had assumed him to be, remembered, too, something she used to see in his expression; something that might still be buried there. She thought suddenly how strange it was that she had used every weapon against him except one. She had threatened him with Uther's vengeance, fought him with a sword, attacked him with magic, but she had never used the tool Morgause had controlled King Cenred with, the tool Morgana herself had wielded so successfully against Agravaine. Why had she never considered that the best weapon against a powerful warlock would be something so human? She looked at his thin form with his large ears and high cheekbones and blue eyes and silently admitted why she had never used that weapon with him, because that trap would ensnare her as well.

He watched her apprehensively as she moved closer until she was standing directly in front of him. Her eyes dropped to the opening in his shirt at the base of his throat where a little of his chest could be seen. He was dressed in finer clothing than he used to wear, the often-present neck scarf absent. She pressed her palm against the bit of exposed chest, sliding her right hand up his neck into his dark hair and her left hand into his hair on the other side until she was cradling his face. Her gaze followed her hands, then moved to his mouth. She brought her lips close to his, not quite touching, and waited, uncertain how he would react. Her gaze moved up from his lips to meet his eyes. The blue had darkened considerably, then abruptly his arms came around to crush her closer and his lips came down hard on hers.

The passion in his kiss surprised her. Momentarily she wondered at the strength in his embrace before she recalled that he had spent his life doing manual labour, then all conscious thought left her and the trap snapped back and caught her, too.

She had lost any sense of time when they broke apart to catch their breaths. She leaned her forehead against his chest, her hands in his hair, his arms clasping her tightly, and tried to sort through the wash of emotion.

After several moments, she realized he probably thought she was over-reacting to what was merely a kiss but, when she raised her head to look at him, she saw the same bemusement that she felt. Then he expertly masked whatever he was thinking and took a hurried step away from her, dropping his arms to his sides. She said nothing, watching the dark blue in his eyes fade to its normal hue as she tried to calm her wildly beating heart.

"I have to go," he said, his voice hoarse.

She watched him turn to leave. "Merlin," she said. He paused but did not look back at her. "I'll be in this spot tomorrow evening."

His back stiffened but he did not reply. After he walked away, Morgana stared out across the gently sloping landscape, green and lush except where rocks protruded. Then she returned to the camp to do her part in cleaning up after the meal.