Chapter Text
She comes awake clawing for air, images and sounds spinning away from her, and the cold of the room making her gasp. Her dreams hadn't been cold, they'd been full of fire and heat and overwhelmed by despair.
As usual, Gwen is at her bedside to wake and calm her before Morgana has let go of the vision enough to snap back to reality. For a moment, she sees long flowing tresses instead of Gwen's hair carefully pinned up, demanding blue eyes instead of Gwen's loyal brown, and she wants to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her instead of let Gwen reassure her.
"It was just a dream, my lady. It was just a dream." But was it, really? Morgana's been having the same visions for weeks now. First they came with images of Merlin conquering Albion with magic in his hands and Arthur by his side, and all lay peaceful and happy at their feet, but her visions have been changing. Peace shifting into war, prosperity into neglect, and while Merlin and Arthur were still riding side by side they weren't riding across the hills of a united Albion. Merlin didn't wield his magic, and they were staying close to Camelot, and everything was falling apart in their hands.
It's horrible, and Morgana can't understand it. She shakes her head to clear it and gives Gwen a weak smile.
"Can I get you anything?" Gwen is still smiling reassuringly and holding her hand, as if she could possibly frighten away Morgana's nightmares of the future with her very presence. No, that is unkind. She knows Gwen, sweet Gwen, is only trying to help her.
"No, I'm fine. Please, don't let me keep you from your rest," Morgana says, and shifts a little on her mattress, as though to get comfortable and sleep again. She can see that Gwen doesn't believe her, but she's too polite to say anything, so she is forced to withdraw from the chamber after a few more half-hearted offers to fetch drinks or a potion from Gaius or build up the fire.
In the silence that follows, Morgana gazes sightlessly at the curtains around her bed, and tries to drag her thoughts away from the woman in her dreams. She's tall and elegant; she smiles and beckons at Morgana, and for a very short while the destruction slows. Stops. For the smallest of moments, Morgana can look into her blue eyes and return her smile and believe in a better future than she's been seeing, and then the woman fades away and Albion burns once more.
It's insane. Morgana doesn't know who she is, or even if she's real, but she feels safer in her visions while she's there.
* * * * *
She's terrified the first time she has a vision while she's awake. It feels like there are a thousand images laid over each other that she's racing to keep up with, and she can see Arthur reaching to catch her at the same time as he kneels to accept a King's crown. Merlin is running to fetch Gaius, and he's killing a dragon, and he's telling Arthur that he will always be by Arthur's side. Gwen is fluttering around her, and she's waving to a crowd of people, and she's kissing that fake knight… what was his name? Lancelot, she's kissing Lancelot, and Uther is dead many times over, and there's so many things happening and so much noise and it hurts, it hurts, and that's about when Morgana thinks she passed out.
When she regains consciousness she feels the cool press of lips to her forehead and sees black hair and blue eyes, and the tail end of a red dress slipping out the door, and then there's Gaius standing over her and Uther behind him - and for a second, Morgana quakes to the bottom of her very soul. She had a vision in front of Uther. Did she speak, or moan, or give herself away? Is she already in the dungeon, or… no. She's on her own bed and everyone looks very concerned.
"Lady Morgana, can you hear me?" Gaius is very definitely hovering, so she struggles to choke out an affirmative, but everything aches and it's difficult, as though her own body is rebelling against her.
"Is she alright?" Uther demands and steps closer, not quite shoving Gaius out of the way while Morgana watches Uther with wide eyes, because even a King knows better than to remove the physician when you want his patient to recover.
"Just a touch of dehydration, Sire, like I said. Our days have been very hot lately, despite our cool nights, and the current court fashions are very heavy."
Uther's shoulders fall in relief, and Gaius respectfully steps back from the bed and instructs Gwen and Merlin to fetch fresh cloths and water for her, leaving Arthur and Uther on either side of bed like soldiers guarding the gate. The look on Uther's face still resembles the look she saw on Arthur's as he rushed to catch her, and she supposes one of them must have carried her up here, but it's all too difficult to puzzle through now so she just smiles at them and lets herself drift off to sleep. Her head still hurts, but she fancies she can feel delicate fingers combing through the hair at her temples.
* * * * *
Merlin's riding a stallion. He looks vibrant and brave, and he wields a sword in his hands and looks able to ride and fight at Arthur's side alongside all the knights of Camelot. Merlin, fighting with the knights. Some part of Morgana is aware enough to know that it's absurd, because Merlin is so clumsy, not at all like a knight, and even if he was capable of riding into battle with Arthur and surviving, there was no way he needed to fight a battle with an ordinary sword.
"This is important," comes a whisper from behind her, and with it comes a hand that strokes her neck and tucks her hair away and out of her eyes so she can see clearly. "Look!" it cries, and Morgana doesn't need to turn her head to know who is speaking, so she looks.
The knights have all been knocked from their horses, and Morgana fights the keening sound rising in her throat when she sees how many of them are lying too still on the ground. Merlin and Arthur are deep in the fray, their backs to each other, and Merlin's sword is dancing almost as swiftly as Arthur's when a robed figure steps through the chaos and raises a hand towards them.
Morgana starts in surprise, and the scene seems to hesitate, pausing long enough for her to examine the face under the robe before the figure shifts and then he is shadowed once more. The eyes are the same, and the delicate features. His very skin still glows with a faint, luminescent kind of power. She raises a hand in grief to cover her face.
"Mordred," she breathes, and the voice behind her replies with a euphoric affirmation.
"Look," the woman says again. "He is important."
Which he, she wants to ask, but everything is moving again so fast she can barely keep up. Mordred starts chanting, and Merlin nearly loses his head it distracts him so thoroughly. Mordred raises his hand still more, and points at Arthur who is too busy fighting for his life to notice, and then Merlin lunges for Arthur as Morgana's ears are filled with the crackling sound of strong magic and everyone is thrown to the ground. When the disorientation passes, Morgana finds herself sprawled across the strange woman, who is stroking her hair and trying to help her sit up.
"What happened?" she croaks.
"Everything and nothing."
Bewildered, Morgana struggles to disentangle herself and looks for Merlin and Arthur. When she finds them, she almost wishes she hadn't. It's like her visions of Arthur drowned in a lake all over again, and for a second everything sways dangerously.
Merlin is crouched, sobbing over Arthur's still body.
"Why… what… why didn't he-
"He couldn't confess who he was, so he hid away his powers and let them fall into disuse."
"Merlin wouldn't do that," Morgana protests, and stumbles to her feet, only to trip over her own hems and rip open her hands on the uneven ground. She chokes back a wail. "He wouldn't, he wouldn't. He wouldn't let-
"Arthur can resemble his father in some things a little too closely," the woman interrupts and grabs her by the chin, eyes searching Morgana's face and a knowing smile teasing her lips. "I think you know what I mean."
"Arthur is nothing like-"
"He is alike enough!" she snaps, and throws a hand out wide. "This is what will happen because Merlin has lost the nerve to confess. He could have been one of the greatest wielders of magic and the old religion, and he could have brought greatness back to Camelot, but he still chooses not to!"
She stands, and throws a hard glance at Morgana. Her eyes are demanding again, as they always are, eventually.
"You have to wake up now, Morgana. Wake up, and remember what is important." And so she does.
* * * * *
Things go on like before. Morgana watches as Uther hardens himself still further against all things magic, until he's beyond even her pleas, and how trying to fulfill Uther's expectations twists Arthur a little more each day. On and on they go in the same old dance, and just as predicted, Merlin continues to hide his magic.
The night when Nimueh comes to Morgana in her dreams and confesses her name is imprinted forever in her mind. The rage and betrayal, a name she has only rarely heard but has never been connected with good. For a short while, every day does not seem to be like the other, but time passes and still Uther grows cold, Arthur grows conflicted, and lies continue to fall from Merlin's lips. Nimueh stays far, far away during all of this. Morgana doesn't know where she is, only that she's not in her head - but that doesn't mean she's not in Morgana's thoughts. There's no one to press intangible lips against her forehead when she's ill, or comb imaginary fingers through her hair when she's worried - and though Gwen does try to comfort her, she is still far too proper about the difference in their stations.
Then another Druid falls under the axe of Uther's executioner and leaves Morgana filled with memories of both past and future, and that evening Nimueh comes back to her when she finally falls into a troubled sleep. Morgana rages with all of her strength. She yells and accuses and beats her fists against Nimueh, and Nimueh accepts it all. When Morgana grows weak and tired of being angry, Nimueh grabs her and drags her close, locking her arms tight around Morgana when she thrashes, and distracts her with the heat and passion of Morgana's earlier visions, the touch and passion she's been longing for.
"The things I'm accused of aren't told fairly," she says, and "I only ever made the choices I did because there were no other options."
She strokes Morgana's back and tugs teasingly at the ties of her dress, while she devours Morgana's lips and holds her close and weakening.
"You can be another option, Morgana," she promises, and leans forward to drop a kiss on her cheek.
"How could I possibly be another option? You may have noticed I'm not Princess Morgana." She frowns, but lets Nimueh pull them to ground and get settled more comfortably. The vision of battle that Nimueh first appeared in finally fades away, and the grass grows under them and flowers bloom at their feet when Nimueh reaches out to stroke her hair. Morgana doesn't want to let herself to lean into the caress and holds herself stiff, but neither can she find the strength to resist Nimueh's touch.
"No, but you could make sure Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur, so that when Arthur is crowned King they can bring magic back to Camelot."
Morgana pulls away at that. "I won't betray Merlin," she declares hotly.
"Not even for the good of Camelot, or indeed, for the whole of Albion?" Nimueh asks, and drops her hand to stroke Morgana's arm instead.
"To speak of Merlin's magic behind his back would be a betrayal," she states, but even she can hear the waver in her voice. Morgana has always stood by what she thinks is right, no matter the consequences, but how can she weigh this up?
"What if there was a way to help without… speaking of…"
Morgana's head shoots up and she looks around frantically, but Nimueh has faded just as quickly as her voice. Morgana is alone in what has now become a rather pleasant meadow. There is a tall oak tree, its branches thick and heavy with foliage, at the other end of the small clearing. Before there had been a shattered stump, its base surrounded by heaping corpses and the random destruction of battle. There is a familiar flash of red and Nimueh is standing before it.
"There could easily be some way to guarantee Merlin would reveal his magic to Arthur," she suggests and reaches up to toy with the leaves above her head, her voice carrying clearly across the meadow.
Morgana picks up her skirts and hurries towards her, imperially raising her chin and ignoring Nimueh when she laughs at her for using such a physically restricted means of travel here, where reality mean nothing. "And how am I supposed to arrange that in Camelot, of all places?" she asks tartly.
"A magical quest often requires magical means," Nimueh riddles, and pulls Morgana close to kiss her.
"Wait, how-"
"I'll remind them of the Grail," she smiles and begins fades away again. "It is morning, Morgana. Remember me then." When Morgana awakes, the whole court is already abuzz with talk of a new bard who comes bearing tales of quests and old artifacts able to bring peace to the whole of Albion. Morgana hides her shock with a smile when Merlin's eyes light up at the news and he starts tugging on Arthur's sleeve to drag him out of the room, and Uther sits and chuckles over the ridiculous thought of bringing a magic-free peace to Camelot using an ancient magical artifact.
The bard regales them with a song about magical deeds done to win a magical artifact that brings peace, and Morgana only wonders for a moment why everyone seems so deeply relaxed that the mere mention of magic in front of the King does not frighten them. It is almost as if the whole court has been subtly bespelled, and Morgana smiles sweetly over her goblet at the bard - making him falter minutely in his performance - while she thinks of red dresses, a laughing smile, and smug blue eyes. Some risk is worth the safety of all of Albion, she decides.
'Somebody has to take responsibility around here, of course I don't mind representing Camelot while Arthur is off playing with his toys,' she practices in her head when she's called for an audience with Uther later that day. 'Let Arthur and Merlin go on their quest.'