My first Merlin fic, hello!
Okay, so I honestly don't know how long this is gonna go or what I'm really doing with it. I got obsessed with the show and have been working on this for fun ever since. I'm taking classes in writing at my university and I basically wanted to do some character-study work, and I thought a good exercise for that would be fanfiction and trying to fit myself into the perspective of a character that's not orginially my own. I have a lot of fun writing for Morgana, there are so many gaps in the show that fanfic is letting me fill...oooh, I'm so excited.

Pairings are all implied, especially Mergana, Merwaine, and Morgwaine (I ship all three) and I'm not sure where this fic is going to fall most strongly yet. All is going to be Morgana's perspective, at least so far.

Apologies beforehand-this is NOT beta-ed at all, so sorry about spelling and grammar errors. Also I'm American, so if I ever make it painfully obvious without realizing it, all you UK people, feel free to give me a heads-up! I really want to stick to the world of the show.

Okay, here goes nothing! (Disclaimer: These awesome people and this awesome show aren't mine) PLEASE READ AND REVIEW

Have Been and Could Be

Elyan charged at the closing cell gate as her guards locked it in his face. "Where are you taking him?" he yelled. His shaking voice echoed off the dungeon walls with the clanging of the bars as he shook the door furiously. She smiled slowly at the youngest knight and watched the fire in his eyes flicker under her silent stare—she enjoyed their anger by now.

It was the third time Morgana had made Gwaine sing for their supper, and she made sure to signal the guards just when Guinevere's brother thought his friend would be safe. Immediately after Gwaine had dropped the hunk of stale bread and collapsed on the unforgiving cell floor into Elyan's arms, the guards jerked him up again at a sharp jerk of Morgana's chin.

"Don't look so frantic, Elyan," she said soothingly, "Your friend has performed admirably thus far, you needn't worry. He's far to amusing to die just yet." She turned on her heel.

The cell she had ordered her southron guards to empty for him was in the corner furthest from the populated side of the dungeon. They threw the barely conscious Gwaine once more onto the floor with a crash, locked the metal gate, and walked away leaving Morgana staring quietly at the bruise of a man. He didn't look bothered by the fact that he was again on cold ground—instead he shifted slightly and stretched out his scraped arms as if he were embracing the floor like an old friend. She watched until he began to snore quietly, and she could have almost sworn she saw him smile in his sleep. Away she swept out of the dungeon, listening to the echo of her steps shiver through the stone hallway.

"Why'd you move me?" he asked the moment he saw her the next day. The swelling on his face had gone down just enough for her to read his expression—his sculpted jaw was raised slightly as if in wait of some attack, and his eyebrows were pulled down and together apprehensively.

Morgana pulled the corner of her lips slowly up into the smirk her soldiers knew her for. "Well, you see, Gwaine, you've become something of a favorite for my men," she said casually, leaning against the wall opposite his bars. "And they work so hard, you know. I'd hate to disappoint them, so for their entertainment I've decided you'll be a nightly feature," she could feel her smile widening as she watched him absorb that, still staring at her through his swollen eyelid. "This being the case, I thought you deserved your own cell—free from distractions that might wear you out even more, like old men and weak knights who can't handle torture quite so well as you."

Those fine brows of his drew even further together. "You think Elyan is weak for that?" he asked incredulously. Morgana saw the muscles in his bare torso tense automatically with fury, and felt a little triumph at seeing him wince at the reminder of his beating.

"Oh, spare me the nobility, Gwaine. You know how it doesn't suit you at all. Though yes, I do suppose you're right…" Morgana conceded thoughtfully "—that was unfair of me to say of dear Elyan. He gave me what I wanted, after all; there's no need for me to disparage him." Gwaine stopped looking at her and stared straight ahead, seeing and saying nothing.

Morgana waited through the pause for a second or two before she sighed with over-exaggerated boredom. She walked closer the bars, deliberately into Gwaine's line of vision. The flash of gold burned in her already beautiful eyes and she sat down somehow in midair, on some invisible conjured seat. It was one of the flashiest bits of magic she'd learned with Morgause, and she could tell Gwaine was fascinated by it against his will. "The truth is, Gwaine," she continued, "—I have a confession to make; it is not just my knights who find you entertaining."

He met her gaze again finally. "Is that so?" he asked.

Morgana shook her head, her smile mocking sadness. "I'm afraid watching you mock my brutes to pieces has become the best part of my day, as well. It's so exhausting, you see," she gestured out the tiny crack of a window above Gwaine's head "…ruling over this deranged little lump of a kingdom. I thought you could help take some of the weight off my shoulders. So," she finished, clapping her hands together and leaning back in her magical chair. "Go on, then, Gwaine. Amuse me."

The caution that had been halting him seemed to crack—after staring blankly at her expectant face for a few seconds, a rough laugh choked out of his dry throat. He dropped his head between his crossed arms and let it rest on his knees; the laughter shook his broad bruised shoulders. "I daresay I could amuse you, milady," he coughed, shaking his head and lifting it up again to smile up at the gray ceiling, "…had I not already broken so many bones. As it is, juggling a few balls or torches while balancing on a rolling barrel of ale might prove to be bloody well impossible."

"Oh, but you see, Gwaine," Morgana said, leaning forward and slouching her elbows on her knees, "—you're doing right already. If all it took was a little brawl, and a little blood, I'd gladly let Elyan alternate nights with you. You'd each fight, you'd each be beaten, and you'd each get a day of rest before going back out and facing the ring all over again. But you're the one they want to see because you taunt them. You make them angry, you make it a game," Morgana's eyes livened as Gwaine turned face her. "That's why I want you to amuse me, Gwaine. Use those words you like so much. I'm starved for full sentences around these soldiers," she said, casting a bored glance towards the other end of the hall, where her guards stood for the rest of the cells. "Now talk, Gwaine. Your queen commands it."

Gwaine was silent, though, save for a gruff chuckle to himself as he turned his eyes again to the floor. "Don't see why I should, milady."

"And why is that?"

"You seem to be doing enough talking for the both of us."

Morgana lifted her chin and looked down at him. "According to Agravaine, that's usually your job."

"Hmm, only when I have a full stomach," he replied with a tight grin, "…and only around people I have things to say to."

"And you have nothing to say to me?" Morgana asked casually, pulling a browning apple from thin air and throwing it hard through the bars.

"Not particularly, milady," he caught it and shrugged, wincing a little less now.

"I see," Morgana said, as if filing away information. "And how would you like it then if I stopped feeding dear Elyan and your precious Gaius?"

He lowered the apple from his mouth. "You wouldn't."

"I'm royalty, Gwaine," Morgana laughed. "We're all spoiled, through and through. I get what I want, and someone is punished when I don't." She paused to watch him go still with tension. His eyes were burning past the purple of his bruise…brown eyes… "Won't you amuse me, then? Do you have anything to say to me now?" she asked, leaning slowly forward.

Gwaine still looked frozen in place, but Morgana realized he was staring at something about her. "You haven't changed your clothes," he said suddenly.

Morgana felt her eyebrows jump, and she smiled to calm them. "I beg your pardon?"

"When I first came to Camelot I saw you. You were at the melee," he coughed and tried to straighten his shoulders. "Still under Uther's care…you were sitting next to him and you wore fine things, with color. Well, you got your castle back, so why don't you wear the actually decent clothes of yours that are here?"

The warm fury of magic pricked at her eyes before she could stop it, and without realizing it she was on her feet. Gwaine was thrown against the back wall of the cell with a strangled yowl. "Uther gave those to his ward, the girl he invented to love him." Morgana said through a tight jaw once she regained her composure. "His daughter is the woman who killed him, and she would rather wear black."

Gwaine choked and groaned as he struggled to lift himself off the ground again. "Shame," he got out, giving up and slumping his back against the wall. "The ward in the stands was beautiful."

Morgana smirked at that. "If it's my vanity you mean to offend, Gwaine, you'll be sorely disappointed. It's been a long time since I cared what any knight of Camelot thought of me."

"Oh, alright then," he said disinterestedly, rolling his head to one shoulder and back, as if testing for pain. "I just thought you still wore that black dress because you couldn't find the other ones."

Something inside Morgana froze. "What?"

Gwaine glanced up at her, his neck still bent down. "Your dresses. Arthur offered them to Gwen, you know, but of course she wouldn't take them. After that, Arthur left them in Merlin's hands, told him to burn them."

Morgana felt something familiar, like an old forgotten wound, sting at her skin. Her hands, especially—she looked down at them and realized that was her fingernails digging into her own palms. They'd been clenched in fists, hidden by her draping sleeves, without her realizing it. Turning back to Gwaine she saw him watching her. He tilted his eyes up at the ceiling as if remembering something. "You know," he continued thoughtfully, "…I was with Merlin that day, and I don't actually think he did burn them. They're probably somewhere in Gaius's quarters, if you want to go looking for them," now he was leaning forward, his eyes somehow smiling through those bruised lids. "What do you say, milady? Going to find out which cupboard it was where Merlin shoved most of your life away?"

Morgana bent slowly to level her stare to his. "What, exactly," she hissed, "—are you trying to do?" Her words sounded dangerous and cold, but what scared her was the fire that edged them. She felt it flickering at her chest, ready to lash from her fingertips and tongue at any moment.

"I thought I was only doing what you asked of me," Gwaine countered, and Morgana couldn't help but notice that his stance was similar to what it was in the ring; halting, waiting and ready. "You said I made for good show because I taunted your men, that I mocked them, provoked them and made it into a game." That gruff grin was still there as he inched closer to the bars. "Milady, didn't you want to be amused?" She could see his teeth for the first time—normally he kept his lips closed. "Don't you wish to join in the games?"

When Morgana's magic lashed out this time, it was through her hand. The gold in her eyes left claw marks in addition to the red weal left behind after she'd slapped his cheek. She left the dungeon, deaf to all of Gwaine's groans of pain and left only with the sound of her heart's old beat, the one so vicious and rapid, that she hadn't felt in years.