There's A Bond Between Us.

Morgana was beautiful there was no doubt about that, but she was a beautiful monster. Even seeing Merlin caused anger to pump through her veins, but there was also the hint of sadness, and an aching emptiness that was deep within her hollow vessel. She would never admit that though.

Could that be the old Morgana still buried under there? That she was still upset over the whole situation? It was something that she would never, ever admit, especially to him. She would never let him see her weak again. Hearing him say her name and then pause, caused a single brow to raise, and then taking a single step back, her emerald hues sparkling with mere curiosity. She then frowned, her arms crossing over as she waited for him to continue, getting all the more impatient as each moment passed. Then finally — he spoke. Thank the Gods. “I am not afraid of the backend of the citadel, Merlin.” her voice was firm, but quiet, completely aware that they could be in earshot of guards, knights or even Arthur himself. So she was careful. “Why are you here?” she demanded, gently tilting her head to the side.

It was a sudden flash. Without warning, a sharp pain found it’s way into his head, taking residence against his forehead and behind his eyes. He looked at her and her face changed. He was back in the banquet hall, clutching Morgana’s body as his seized, her chest panting against the constrictions in her throat. Merlin could feel her body begin to sweat as it struggled for breath, and he wanted to clutch at her again. 

Then just as quickly as it came; it was gone. The memory evaporated and in it’s place was Morgana’s hard glare. He blanched, then hardened, vowing from that point on he would not let his resolve fall. Merlin knew he couldn’t let her see his shame, it would only give her fuel to use against him. 

“I don’t thing I ever said you were, just curious about why you’ve decided creepy seclusion is how you plan to keep up your facade with Arthur, “ He countered. 

Things had changed since she found her way to Camelot again, and she herself had changed. Well, according to Arthur and Uther she was still the same Morgana, but no she was something else. Bitterness riddled through her veins, and her heart didn’t pump with love and kindness like it used to, instead it was full of Anger and Hatred.

Merlin had betrayed her. She trusted him more than anyone in Camelot, even shared her secret with him, and then he almost kills her, All for what? All because of Camelot. If he had found another way… like he perhaps would have if it came to Arthur — but no. She would never, ever forgive him for what she did, and one day she would make him suffer for what he did to her. For a long time her sister had to put up with her grieving, because that friendship that she cherished was dead – no more, and from that moment on she knew that she could only ever trust Morgause.

Her beautiful silk dress that was the colour of sapphire blue hugged her figure beautifully, whilst her long raven curls bounced on her shoulders as she walked. Crimson lips pierced together into a frown as she heard footsteps behind her. Instinct was to stop sharply, and quickly turned on her heels to see that it was none other than Merlin himself. Her whole being tensed, and she had to stop herself from doing something she would regret publicly. “What. Do. You. Want.” Her voice was a quiet hiss, voice dripping with venom as she locked eyes with him.

He stalled, hurt. If only Morgana had known the love he truly had for her, how much he had treasured their friendship, their camaraderie. If only she knew how Merlin held her failing body close to him, sobbing his own tears of regret, and had wished for nothing more than another answer. Too late now.

He was far too late for that.

His expression changed, taking over the oof-of-a-manservant grimace was a haunted look he wore so often in private. The visage of a man who had seen too much, done too much, required too much.

“Morgana,” He started, then deflated.

Merlin often acted on instinct, and frankly didn’t have the inclination or time to think things through. Such was the case for parading behind a venomous she-devil vendetta fueled witch. In retrospect, he could have attempted to maybe, I don’t know, tip-toe or something, but instead let his clumsy feet stomp behind her.

He had so much he wanted to say. Standing in front of her now, though, his throat was tightening like he had poisoned himself.

No. He was Emrys. He was not to blame, he did what he needed to. He wasn’t allowed to regret. She wanted Arthur dead. That made her his enemy. Toughen up, warlock, the world you long for means sacrifice and --- he swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

Okay, fair, that may be putting it lightly, but Merlin didn’t particularly want to put more thought into his description. As it was, every time he thought of Uther’s ward, his stomach churned and his chest burned with guilt. Shame. Anger. Refusal.... and dammit, see! Now he was thinking about it and gods, he felt sick. 

Their half-arsed glances in the hall of Camelot were like flashes of war battles. They never opened their mouths or brandished a weapon, but the flickers of their eyes were enough to wound. He supposed they hated each other. But, then he would remember the beautiful should-be princess who stood beside Arthur at banquets, challenged Uther in solitude, and was forced into magic just like he was. He missed that Morgana. He wished he had helped sooner, had shared his secret. 

But, no. Arthur was his destiny. Albion was his future. He couldn’t bring her comfort amidst her confusion. There was too much to risk. 

He caught the tail-end of a royal blue dress dart behind a pillar - the expensive silk immediately alerting him to who it was. (Shut up, can’t a man admire dress textiles? Jeez. You sound like Arthur.) The bubbling in his gut was back.  Acting on instinct, he followed her haste footsteps, barely trying to keep quiet. There was, he’d admit, some part of him that wanted Morgana to know he was there.