Eliza Dushku was right

--3x06 The DarK Tower--

"Eat, here." Morgana pushed the plate a little closer across the table. “Food always makes me feel better.”

Gwen made no move to do so.

Morgana reached toward the platter. "Would you prefer some chicken?"

The silence stretched between them.

With a sigh, Morgana lowered her hand. "You must eat," she said quietly. "You’re fading away."

"I do not know what cruel trick you are playing," Gwen replied, "but I will not be broken by you."

Morgana let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "I thought this would be nice." The bitterness in her voice caught Gwen off guard.

"I know how lonely you must be," she continued. "All by yourself in that room." Gwen eyed her wearily. "At least you're not shackled," she added almost absently. "There's daylight. You can move. You can see."

Gwen stared at her in utter disbelief. "You expect me to be grateful?" she spat.

Morgana met her gaze. "I too have suffered, Gwen." For the first time, there was no challenge in her voice. No anger. Only exhaustion. "I spent two years living in darkness. I spent two years chained to a wall at the bottom of a pit." Her voice cracked on the final word.

Gwen's brow furrowed.

For a moment, Morgana simply stared at her, the hardness momentarily slipping from her expression. "You did not know?"

Slowly, Gwen shook her head.

"I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this," Morgana said, an edge to her voice as her features hardened once more. "Do you want me to take you back up there?"

Gwen's stomach twisted in dread as she thought of returning to that cold room – the loneliness, the uncertainty, the fear. She couldn’t bear to think of the endless dripping sounds or the screams or the hallucinations and she realized she was shaking her head ‘no’ without ever having decided to.

A small, almost sad smile touched Morgana's lips. "I didn't think so," she said, her focus returning to the spread of food before them. Gwen, however, could not stop staring at her.

Two years.

The words seemed impossible – impossibly large, impossibly terrible. And, gods, something in those two years had changed Morgana’s measure of cruelty so completely that being caged in a tower with whatever was hanging from the ceiling and twisting her mind into horrors felt merciful by comparison.

"Morgana...,” she said, voice soft. "You said you were…chained?"

Surprise flashed across Morgana's face. Then it gave way to something older. Something infinitely more tired.

"Yes."

Gwen swallowed. "For two years?"

Morgana laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "Not every moment."

The answer somehow made it worse. Not every moment. The thought turned her stomach. People did not unchain prisoners out of kindness, and that Morgana was unchained often enough for a distinction to be made frightened her almost as much as the chains themselves.

"Who did this to you?" Gwen asked, barely above a whisper.

For a long moment Morgana said nothing, slowly tracing her finger around the lip of her goblet. Then, finally, "The Sarrum of Amata."

Gwen blanched. She knew the name – everyone did. He was a warlord and tyrant known far and wide for his cruelty.

"How?”

Morgana looked up. "What?"

"The Sarrum." Gwen hesitated. "You are a high priestess. How did he manage it?"

Morgana’s jaw twitched. “I walked into a trap, if you must know,” she muttered.

“But surely once he had you, he must have known he couldn't keep you forever," Gwen pressed. “How on earth could he have contained a sorceress as powerful as you?”

"You think he locked me in a cell?" Morgana snapped, rounding on Gwen.

Gwen's stomach dropped. "Morgana--"

"No.” Morgana snarled, cutting her off. “You asked how he kept me? I’ll tell you. He closed me in a pit deep beneath his dungeons, wrists chained directly to the wall above my head – a cage so dark that I stopped being able to tell if my eyes were open or not.”

A quiet “Oh” slipped from Gwen’s mouth.

Morgana was breathing hard. “Anything else you want to know, your highness?”

Gwen looked away. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

Morgana let out a short, derisive laugh. "No," she said. "I guess you didn't."

Gwen's throat tightened. "If I had known—"

Morgana's eyes snapped to hers. "What?"

Gwen faltered. "I..."

"What would it have changed?" Morgana demanded.

"Morgana—"

"No." Morgana leaned forward. "Tell me. Would Arthur have marched an army across the sea for me? Would Camelot have suddenly decided I was worth saving?"

Gwen looked down at her hands.

“No. Of course not.” Morgana said, popping a grape in her mouth and taking her time to chew. “You’d have left me, alone and afraid, just like old times.”

“That’s not what happened,” Gwen said, voice low.

“Isn’t it, though? You knew I had magic, Gwen. You knew I had prophetic dreams. So where were you, that last year in Camelot? That year before Morgause took me?”

“I…” Gwen began.

“You were falling in love with my brother,” Morgana snapped.

“That’s not true,” Gwen said. “I was right there with you the entire time.”

“So I’m sure you could feel the chasm growing just as well as I could.”

Gwen pressed her lips together, tears pricking at her eyes. The silence hung thick between them.

“Where did you think I was for the last two years?” Morgana finally asked, voice low.

“Morgana, you’re not being fair.” Gwen protested.

"Fair?” Morgana laughed bitterly. "I was chained in a hole for two years, Gwen. The things that were done to me...” she looked away. “I stopped caring about fair a long time ago."

“No,” Gwen said, staring at her.

“No?”

“I don’t believe that.” Gwen shook her head. “You always cared about what was fair.”

Morgana swallowed the bite of food she’d taken, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and set it down, smoothing it flat on the table before looking at Gwen.

"Do you know how it happens?"

Gwen frowned. "What?"

"How someone becomes like this." She gestured to herself.

"No one deserves what was done to you." Gwen said.

"That's not what I asked." Morgana growled.  “Do you know what being in a hole for two years does to someone? What living in darkness, all alone, will do to a person?”

"Morgana..." Gwen whispered, desperation in her voice.

"Do you!?"

“No!” Gwen shouted, tears in her voice.

Morgana nodded, sitting back in her chair. “Do you know how a person learns to beg?"

"What?" Gwen choked out, aghast. Morgana was silent for so long that Gwen thought she might not answer.

Finally, voice dangerously low, she said, "Do you know what it takes to make someone like me beg.”

"Beg?" Gwen asked, confusion briefly replacing her horror.

“Yes, beg,” Morgana spat out. "I spent two years begging men for scraps of mercy." Her eyes were ablaze. "Pleading not to be left in the dark again, not to be chained again, for the pain to stop."

Gwen choked back a sob.

"They would drag me out of that pit, hurt me, humiliate me, then toss me back in and chain my bleeding wrists back up.” She laughed bitterly and looked away. "They liked to hear me cry, to hear my panic. They wanted to hear the moment that hope left me.” Her jaw tightened. “They would stand above the pit and laugh. But not a one of them would ever speak to me – only the Sarrum was allowed that – and I was only brought out under his orders."

Morgana's fingers tightened around her goblet.

"He liked hearing me beg," she said through clenched teeth. “He’d make me cry until I could barely speak and then ask me what I was willing to give them – he liked watching me decide what I was willing to sacrifice to make it stop.”

Gwen felt sick.

"I used to promise them anything," she continued, the venom draining from her voice. "Anything at all."

Silence settled between them, and Gwen didn’t dare breathe. She watched the reflection of the fire dance in Morgana’s pale eyes as she’d done millions of times before.

“But, your magic, surely..” Gwen began.

“I couldn’t use it,” Morgana ground out.

“But surely you must have fought.” Gwen argued. “You were the one who stood up to Uther when no one else would. The one who defended servants and villagers and anyone who couldn't defend themselves.” Her voice softened. “You never gave up.”

“Of course I fought him” Morgana spat, pushing back her chair and standing up, leaning across the table. “I threatened him, screamed at him, scratched him, kicked him, hit him, bit him…I refused to do anything he asked whether it mattered or not but you know what happened each time?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Nothing!” Morgana shouted, slamming her hand on the table.

Gwen flinched. “Morgana—”

“That woman you keep remembering,” Morgana continued, “She screamed herself hoarse in the dark day after day after day!” Angry tears were gathering in her eyes, but she barely noticed.  “That woman learned exactly how much pain she could endure before she’d start promising someone anything they wanted to hear.”

Gwen's eyes filled with tears. “Morgana, please—”

“That woman spent two years waiting for someone – anyone – to come,” she hissed. “And you keep talking about her as if she still exists?” Morgana's chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

Gwen stared at her from across the table. For the first time since entering the tower, she forgot she was a prisoner. Forgot she was angry. Forgot everything except the woman sitting before her who had once laughed in Camelot's gardens, teased her over embroidery, and seemed incapable of breaking.

But perhaps that had always been the mistake - not believing Morgana could break.

Gwen swallowed. "How did you bear it?" The question was barely above a whisper.

Morgana laughed once - not bitterly this time, just tired. Slowly, she lowered herself back into her chair. She fussed with a fork that hadn't moved, straightened a goblet that didn't need straightening, anything to keep her hands occupied.

"I don't know," she admitted. "For a while, I survived by remembering things…The sound of my sister's voice, the view from my chambers when I was young..." A faint smile touched her lips. "And the smell of those purple flowers in the windowsill."

To her surprise, Gwen found herself smiling at the memory as well.

"Every day I would escape into those memories," Morgana continued quietly. "They were the only things the Sarrum couldn't touch." The smile vanished. "And then one day..." She stopped. Swallowed. "And then one day I tried to picture Morgause and I couldn't."

Gwen frowned.

"I knew her hair was fair. I knew her eyes were brown. I knew the scar on her face, but..." Morgana shook her head. "I couldn't see her."

A cold knot formed in Gwen's stomach.

"I couldn't remember your face either." The admission was so quiet Gwen almost missed it. Morgana looked away. "I remember panicking. Trying to hold onto something. Anything." Her voice trembled. "I remembered when I forgot my father’s voice – Gorlois – it felt like losing him all over again and I…I wondered if that was my fate – to lose everyone I loved twice over.”

Gwen's breath caught.

Finally, Morgana looked back at her. "That was the first time I was ever afraid of living."

Tears were silently slipping down Gwen’s cheeks.

Morgana drew in a slow breath. "I had nightmares."

Gwen blinked. "What?"

"Not prophetic ones. Just nightmares." A humorless laugh escaped her. "Apparently being buried alive for two years does that to a person."

For the first time that evening, Gwen almost smiled.

Almost.

Morgana's gaze dropped to the table. "I didn't always remember them afterward." Her fingers tightened around her goblet. "But the Sarrum did."

A chill ran through Gwen. "What do you mean?"

Morgana stared intently at her plate, moving the food around aimlessly with the fork in her hand. Then, so quiet Gwen had to lean forward to hear her, she said, "One day he asked me who you were."

Gwen went still.

"He must have seen something in my eyes," she continued. "Because after that, whenever I stopped giving him the reaction he wanted, he would mock me."

"Mock you?" Gwen asked. “How?”

"He'd repeat things I'd said in my sleep."

Gwen frowned, understanding hovering just beyond reach. "I don't..."

“Please,” Morgana intoned in a mocking voice. “Gwen, don’t leave me.”

Before she could stop herself, Gwen reached across the table and covered Morgana's hand with her own.

Morgana froze.

For a moment she simply stared at their joined hands as though she had forgotten what kindness felt like.

"I can hate you later," Gwen whispered. Morgana looked up. Tears filled Gwen's eyes. "But right now, I'm going to be your friend."

Something raw flashed across Morgana's face – confusion, disbelief, hope, terror. "What?"

Gwen's fingers tightened around hers. "I still love you, Morgana." The words settled between them. Not forgiveness, not absolution. Just truth. “I never stopped.”

Morgana stared at her. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Gwen watched emotion after emotion cross her face too quickly to name. The anger that had burned there moments ago seemed to gutter out, leaving something far more tender behind – hurt, grief, longing – for one terrible heartbeat, she looked like the Morgana that Gwen remembered. The friend she'd mourned long before she'd ever lost.

Morgana's eyes shone. "I know," she said softly.

Gwen's breath caught. It was the gentlest thing she'd said all night – the gentlest thing she'd said in years. Hope unfurled inside Gwen before she could stop it. Morgana saw it happen, Gwen knew she did. Saw the hope, the relief. She saw the desperate, foolish part of Gwen that still wanted to believe there was something left to save.

For a long moment, Morgana said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. A thin, foreboding thing that sent a chill down Gwen’s spine.

Morgana's gaze dropped to their joined hands. Her thumb brushed once against Gwen's knuckles. An old, familiar gesture.

"That's why you're here," she said, pulling her hand away.

The hope that had begun to stir inside Gwen died instantly. "What?"

Morgana tilted her head. "Did you really think this was about Arthur?"

Gwen stared at her.

"Did you think I dragged you all the way to the Dark Tower because you're his queen?" Her smile widened. "Please."

"Morgana—"

"Arthur would die for his kingdom," Morgana interrupted. "Merlin would die for Arthur." Her gaze sharpened. "But you?"

Gwen's stomach twisted.

"You would die for anyone." Morgana laughed softly. "A servant. A stranger. A frightened child. A king who barely notices you're gone." Her eyes locked onto Gwen's. "Or me."

Gwen felt suddenly, horribly exposed. Morgana had always seen too much.

"I spent years wondering what kind of fool loves people that way," Morgana said.

"And now?" Gwen asked, fury creeping into her voice.

"Now I know." Morgana stood. "It's the kind of love that can be used."

Gwen flinched. "No."

"No?" Morgana echoed. "You crossed a kingdom for Arthur. You would throw yourself in front of a sword for him. For Elyan. For Merlin." Her voice darkened. "For me."

Gwen's eyes filled, and Morgana took a slow step closer. "Even now, after everything I've done, you're sitting here crying for me."

Gwen couldn't answer her. She couldn’t say anything in her own defense because she was. Gods help her, she was.

Morgana's expression softened and somehow that was worse. "That's what makes you different from the rest of us. We learned to stop." Her voice dropped. "You never did."

Gwen looked away, but Morgana took her chin in hand and forced her to look at her. "And before this is over, Gwen..." The smile returned – small, terrible, certain. "That love will belong to me."

Gwen's blood ran cold. "No,” she said, jerking her face away.