A/N: this was written to be a Christmas gift for a friend on the Convergence RP forum: Rose. Usual penname being Thelis Hanna. Hope she enjoys; first Merlin fanfiction ever.

The very first concept of giving, in Morgause's mind, came not from the gift of life from her mother, or the gift of being born into a noble household by her situation. No, it comes from the fact that it was Morgause herself was given away, into the arms of the man called Gauis, and delivered to a High Priest one night. The King of Camelot told of the child's death, and both Morgause's mother and nobility, stripped away in that one act. The gifts that fell upon her, naturally by birth, taken.

It is no small wonder that eventually, Morgause herself does the taking. She's raised on it, after all; takes the shelter the High Priest gives her, takes his food, his care, his supplies. Takes his teachings, and his lessons; and when the holiday ball is thrown in the castle of Camelot, Morgause experiences her own noble little night where the High Priest offers her a pretty charm of a gem, hanging from her neck with a leather cord. She of course, is so young at the time, that she doesn't have anything to offer in return – it seems wrong, to the young blonde girl, to take without giving back. The High Priest reassures her that it is alright; a hug to his knee is enough.

Eventually, that philosophy dies, along with the High Priest. Death must agree with her change of heart – it takes him, after all, and gives her nothing back. She's hollow, but that's alright. The quiet call of vengeance whispers in her ear just as the High Priest's voice once did, and it's enough. Take. It's a command and a request all at once; that quiet whisper is her closest advisor. Take. Take. Take.

Take the kingdom. Take the throne. And if not for herself, than for the sister that she was taken from long ago. Take her back, that little sister that was born into nobility, and raised amongst royalty – who probably had danced and celebrated many a Christmas ball without knowing her true identity, or the hidden golden thread tying her to Morgause herself. Strangely enough, it isn't envy that she feels; strangely enough, she doesn't want to take what her sister has for herself. She wants to take it, because there is something better for Morgana; taking her sister's current life, so that's she brings herself into a better one, it is something that she can finally give. Far better than a pretty necklace from the High Priest, who never asked to be repaid; and thus, who never was.

Morgause hasn't ever given anything in her entire life – here is her chance.

But to get to that point, she takes.

And she takes.

And she takes.

Winters pass; she uses to the cold to reign havoc upon those who lower their guard to celebrate for a short time. She plots, and she plans, and she schemes.

Morgause fits in perfectly with the winter backdrop; a blonde woman of ice and cold. There's a frigid temperature in her gaze, and she's as rigid as stone. Few see the sweep of her sword, or the flutter of her magic. She takes, and she knows she'll burn in hell for it, but oh; some people were born in fire, even when surrounded by the cold. Some would say that's what marks the worse of someone – when they can bring such evil, without remorse. And even as she chants her reasons and her cause – the freedom of magic, is there any better reason? – she's not blind. She's not foolish. She fights fire with fire, she tries to end death with more death. She's ending a slaughter with a bloodbath, and Morgause isn't fool enough to call herself a crusader, or a savior, or a heroin.

She's a taker. That's all. Born one, and who is she to deny who she is? She'll do the taking, and Morgana will sit in the hollow shell that she scoops out.

You will see, sister. Everything will be as it should be.

And they get so close. She takes until, for the first time, Morgause isn't sure that she'll be able to take it all. She tries, though. She freezes her heart a little more, and runs her mind a little harder. She takes lives and hopes and dreams and grinds them under her boot, ever time trying to raise her chin a little higher. She's a relentless, unstoppable force.

Even when it all falls apart, falls between her fingers as if they were simple webbing, and her takings mere sand… she tries to take. Take courage by listening to her sister's words.

Even as she finally feels that whispering voice finish taking almost all that she has to herself. That precious advisor, that echo in her mind – she's always tried to ignore how it takes as much as she does. More even. It sucks every good and decent thing there is about her, and burns it in ash. The fuel for the fire that keeps sparking, and burning, and wavering.

Until there is no more fuel. Until she's nothing more than a hollow husk – all that's left is her body to burn, and what better way to give up a burnt offering of herself than by giving that sacrifice to her sister, to do as she pleases.

Give.

She allows herself to be used for Morgana's spell, and lays on the altar without a fight. Give. She's giving something – there is nothing for her to take at this point, when she's been entirely taken herself.

It's the first time Morgause has ever, truly given something. And it may not be on the same day that the kingdoms throw their balls, and the High Priest gives his jewels. It may not even be cold out really – but Morgause has enough of a chill in her to make up for that. She gives Morgana that as well.

It's her first gift. It's her last gift. It's cold and savage – a literal self-sacrifice.

But it's a real smile that flutters over Morgause's lips; unlike all those arrogant, half-smirks and laughs that came with taking. Then again, it's the first time she's ever had something real to give in the first place.

Take it, sister.

The last action of Morgause's life is to give it all – all the empty, hollow pieces of it – to Morgana; and she is content when Morgana takes it. And at least when her pulse goes silent, so does that little voice.

The voice has nothing left to take either.