Morgana knows about Merlin the moment she sets her eyes on him.

Oh, she doesn't show it of course. She knows what a gamble that would be. As she plays the role of the gracious and beloved first lady of Camelot, she watches with sharp eyes as he saves Arthur- and Camelot- time and again. She sees much more than anyone suspects.

What she doesn't tell Gaius is that her Sight extends much farther than the occasional nightmare of the times to come. It shows her the past and present in stronger flashes and visions- those she welcomes, because those she can control. Those give her the power to know and see so much more. It's just when they riddle her sleep with terrifying images and things that she has no idea what to do with that she loses it.

She knows she's probably insane. But she's a good actor, and it's her secret alone.

What she doesn't tell Gaius is that she knows Uther must die, at any cost. She can see a world where Arthur rules, his fair head crowned by a golden crown, and there is peace, and there is justice, and no girl has to sleep in fear that she will be discovered and killed by the very man who houses her and considers him her daughter.

She knows she isn't. His daughter, that is. She has Seen it, one frightening evening, Gaius and Uther talking over her sleeping ten-year-old form. Uther telling Gaius to keep her ignorant, at any cost, since she is his daughter. Illegitimate. Morgana would have been shocked, had she not already known that she was truly a child of Gorlois through yet another vision in which a desperate Vivienne casts a spell to see whose heir she was. But she tucks that knowledge into the back of her mind and pretends to be the unknowing, loving ward of Uther. As if she was not hurt that he would still treat her as an outsider despite thinking her his own. As if she was not revolted by his treachery twice over to her true father.

But his son- golden, shining Arthur- she cares for him like no other. She laughs at his not-innocence, at the way his arrogance shields the noble spirit and that vulnerable half-boy, half-man in him. He is blind- they all are, to Morgana, but him even more- blind to the way he lights up the fragments of her shattered sanity, blind to how she becomes more vibrant around him. Blind.

"Arthur? Arthur!"

He turns, annoyed. "Morgana. For the last time, I am not bringing you on the hunting trip.

Morgana tosses her hair. "Why not? You did the last time we went. And may I remind you who took down the first deer?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "That, Morgana, was because we were 15. 5 years ago. You're not in any shape to do things like that now."

She retorts, "You may be an arrogant berk, but that doesn't mean that you can dictate whether or not I can follow along." She pivots on her heels. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'll ready myself."

Arthur grabs her shoulder. "Now look, Morgana. You can't follow us, and that's final. We're leaving now." He stalks off.

Gwen sidles up to her. "He refused you again, didn't he?"

Morgana smiles sadly. "Don't worry- Arthur's a prat. I've known that for a long time now." Gwen smiles, relieved, and goes on her way.

Left alone in the corridor, Morgana's smile drops. It's times like this that she wishes Arthur could see what she sees- that this peaceful, teasing prelude will soon come to an end.

He is attracted to her, especially when she is on display and playing her part. On some days she thinks he could care for her, more than as a foster-sister or an object of chivalry, but for herself. She can see glimpses of it in his eyes when they banter, when they fight, and whenever they interact. But it's only glimpses. And no matter how great his love for her could be, it will always take second place to his duties for Camelot. Arthur's love for his people will never be surpassed, not by his love for his father, not by the hold of any woman. And so she smiles, and she goes about her duties with that permanent mask fixed on her face.

Arthur will never admit it, but she does as much work as he does for Camelot's wellbeing. He is a man of action; she does all the paperwork and taxes, land husbandry and intelligence on neighboring countries. Uther trusts her and Arthur more than any of his courtiers, and he has made them the twin pillars holding up Camelot. Arthur carries Uther's orders out while Morgana supports him in doing so. Uther knows she is indispensable; she is suited to the task as they are not, and she does her job well. How can she not? She sees far more than the limited reports tell her. If she ever turned traitor, she would not need subterfuge and grand plots to bring Camelot down- she could simply make a few casual mistakes in her daily duties and have Camelot fall from the inside. And that is the reason Uther will never let Morgana come to harm, and the only reason Morgana feels relatively safer despite her magic. There is a chance Uther will keep her alive, if only because she is useful.

The three of them are at work; Arthur briefing Uther about the state of the army, and Morgana seated at the table sorting through the logistics.

"Cenred's not going to stay quiet for long," she remarks, looking at the scattered reports that the border patrols have sent to the Citadel. Of course, they say no such thing. But she has Seen the troops being mobilized yesterday, heard of the freak storm that has wiped out the west side of Cenred's kingdom and led to a near-famine. There is no doubt that Cenred is planning to raid its nearest neighbor, Camelot.

Father and son look up at her. Uther comes over to the map laid out on the other side of the table.

"Where do they plan to attack?" Uther asks. Morgana frowns. She can predict a vague direction, but that is all. She arranges the little markers denoting troops on the map, placing a cluster of pieces on the eastern border. Arthur looks at her.

"They're going for a raid, aren't they?"

She shrugs and says, "That's my guess. But it could turn into an unofficial war by the numbers."

Uther stares hard at the table. "We need to prepare for that eventuality. Arthur. How many troops can we spare?"

As Arthur speaks, Morgana tunes him out and looks at the topography marked on the map. She thinks for a while.

"Here. And here," she says, pointing to two spots on the map. "We need to set up camps there to ensure we can keep a supply line."

They both frown. "Are you sure, Morgana? Those are hills you're pointing at. It's winter," Arthur comments. "We might lose a few men setting up camp."

But Uther shakes his head. "That may be, but if it drags on into war, it will be advantageous to be on higher ground. Spring will come soon enough."

He turns to Morgana. "How would the situation of our supplies be?" She knits her brows and carries out a few calculations on the back of a piece of parchment.

"We can spare about a month's worth of fighting. But it needs to end before two months."

"We need to get ready," Uther says. Arthur nods and heads out with Uther. Morgana stays and starts figuring on establishing the supply chain. She knows Escetia can't last longer than Camelot, being that the purpose of these hostilities is to raid supplies. She needs to plan accordingly.

Ironic, in a way, that her forbidden powers make her that much more useful to Uther. But in any case, it keeps her aloof from the other court ladies and their way of life. She is barred from feeling at home with the domestic life of a lady by her duties and prevented from joining the mens' society by her gender. It's always at the boundary she ends up in, neither one nor the other. She tells herself that she doesn't need things like that- tells herself that the power she wields and her importance to Camelot is enough. But still she can't help wonder.

That's why, when Merlin and his inexorable destiny comes along, she suddenly sees the light. She is suddenly more alive, and life is not a dull cycling of seasons after all. She rejoices in the lovely visions of a far-off time that she is treated to for a few seconds whenever she looks in his eyes. She trusts him. Without breaching court etiquette, she finds ways to talk to him.

And slowly, he becomes her friend- one of the very few she can count on. It is to him that she goes, when her only other friend Gwen is accused of sorcery. She knows it is his fault, although it truly was an accident.

"Turn back, Morgana. Father would clap us both in chains if you got hurt," Arthur snaps. The caverns are dank and dark, and Morgana is more than a little frightened. But she cannot show him that.

"So could you," She says. It comes out more vulnerable than she wants, so she adds on, "If you don't get out of the way."

Merlin is there, and she knows it's his power that saves them in the end. She almost lets the cat out of the bag when she sees him again, but she covers it by mentioning Gwen. As expected, he turns bright red, and the secret is safe. In more ways than one.

When Merlin brings in the druid boy, she can feel the beginnings of the net that fate has made tightening around them. But she does her part, and so does Merlin, and they both survive. And through the adventures that she can see both Merlin and Arthur go through, she smiles as she sees the glorious vision that is Arthur's Camelot come closer than ever.

"It's not your fault, Arthur."

"I'm glad you're alive."

"You're a better man than your father."

She only wishes that she could be a part of their adventures, to be as close to her boys as they are to each other. But all she can do is assist them in the littlest ways- and she knows that in Arthur's eyes, she is more of a burden than help.

"Sometimes you have to do what's right, and damn the consequences."

She sees his death. Countless times, poisoned, drowning, bitten, slain by a dagger to his ribs. Each time, she is more terrified than ever. Valiant, Sophia, the Questing Beast, every time he goes off into battle- there is nothing she can do except warn him, and warn him, and warn him again. The helplessness floods her every time, choking her and drowning her until she is nothing but little shattered pieces held together by sheer willpower.

Morgana steps into his chambers, towards him staring out the windows. "I don't want you to fight tomorrow."

He snorts a little at that, not looking at her. "What're you worrying about?"

She looks down. "I don't know what it is." She pauses. "Please, I'm begging you."

His voice is little more than a whisper. "I have to do this."

"It's my duty."

She looks at his form, almost hoping to memorize every detail.

"I understand."

But she doesn't have to like it.

When the men come bearing his body after the Questing Beast, she feels as if the world has been swept out from under her feet. It is then that Morgana realizes just what he means to her.

Silly child. You've fallen in love with him.