Chapter Text
There is one more rule, it turns out, when visiting Camelot. Never, and I mean never, upset Morgana. If you do, it will not end well.
* * *
Morgana hates Camelot. She hates Arthur. She hates Uther and smiled on the day of his death. She hates that Uther, her father , turned on her for something she couldn’t control. For something that is a part of her. She hates that Arthur was a coward and did nothing to protect her. She hates that Arthur, then, made magic legal only a year after becoming king. Morgana wasn’t enough for him to fight for magic. But do you know who was? Merlin.
Morgana hates many things. She hates cabbage. She hates the sound that goats make. She hates Lady Melanie because she’s a gossiping toad. She hates when sand sticks to her feet after stepping out of water. She hates many things.
Most of all, she hates Merlin.
She has her reasons. Merlin, her supposed friend, betrayed her in so many ways that she lost count. Sure, she betrayed him plenty, but, really, he started it. Maybe he would say that it was her because she sided with Morgause and that is what led him to poison her for the sake of Camelot. But he really started it when he realized she had magic but never confessed himself. They were friends, for Goddess's sake. He could have trusted her—at the time. But instead, she left her to fend for herself in a kingdom where having magic would have seen her burnt at the pyre, regardless of her status. Uther wouldn’t have cared that she was truly his daughter. He would have watched her burn with glee.
So, she hates Merlin. She hates Merlin with a fiery passion unlike any other. And she hates Arthur almost just as much for being her brother but betraying her almost as equally. And maybe because she feels that she wasn’t good enough, but Merlin was (not that she would ever admit that out loud).
She keeps an eye on Camelot. Her goal is to avenge herself, no matter who she has to kill to do it. She’s been working on her plans to take Camelot for a while now. They are quite good if she must say so herself, even though her army is full of stupid men that hate the Pendragons for some reason or another. They aren’t stupid for that reason. That may be the only sense of intelligence they have. They are stupid for various reasons, one being by the name of Hubert, who once thought that a carnivorous plant was a daisy and gave it to her. She nearly let it eat him out of spite.
Stupid Hubert.
Anyway, Morgana hates Merlin. A lot. Like so much it even angers her to think about it. So, when a letter appears in front of her, one evening, while she is dining by herself—she would never dine with her idiot followers—at a slightly crooked table that Hubert and his equally stupid friend, Dorcas, stole from an inn a few towns over, she is appalled that she can even recognize Merlin’s stupid handwriting. She almost burns it on sight before marching on Camelot to burn Merlin. Instead, she decides to open it, but only because she is bored and should probably read what Merlin has to say before burning her for his traitorous ways.
Lady Morgana,
Don’t burn this on sight. I know you want me, but I beg you to hear me out.
Morgana snorts. Merlin begging—now that would be a pleasing sight.
I am sorry.
Morgan snorts again.
I have done so many things wrong. And I could apologize numerous times, but I feel I could never make up for my mistakes. Still, I hope that you are willing to read what I have to say and that maybe we could put our animosity aside for the sake of Camelot.
She rolls her eyes. Every time Merlin uses the word “Camelot”, she could just as easily replace it with “Arthur”. That is what he really means, after all. He claims to do everything for Camelot, but, in reality, he only cares about Arthur. Merlin would watch Camelot and all of its people burn to the ground if it meant keeping Arthur. She is not a fool. She knows how those idiots feel about each other. Anyone with eyes can see how sickeningly in love Merlin and Arthur are. It’s more than sickening. It’s disgusting.
Not because they are men, of course. She doesn’t care about that. People should be able to love whomever they please. But Merlin and Arthur—she hates Merlin and Arthur. There is nothing more to be said, then, about their ridiculously embarrassing infatuation that neither of the idiots seems to recognize.
And, if not for the sake of Camelot, then for ourselves. Hatred is…it’s consuming. There have been moments where I swore I hated people, and I would be lying if I did not include you. To me, you were a friend. A kind person who fought for the justice of the people. Then, you turned to Morgause. And maybe that was my fault because I should have told you about my magic. You could have turned to me and I could have done something. I could have helped you. Gaius could have helped guide you as he has me. We could have fought for the legalization of magic together.
But I was so scared, Morgana. Unlike you, I had Gaius and Lancelot to rely on, but, at the same time, I felt so alone. People kept talking of destinies—of all the power I was meant to wield and of all the things I was meant to do—and all I was truly doing was trying to survive each day without being burnt at the pyre while also trying to keep Arthur alive. That was a job for a hundred all on its own.
I had nightmares every night of being burnt while Arthur watched in disgust. In hatred. I imagine telling him the truth and him turning me in himself. Then, I thought of you, and I wanted to trust you. I did. But part of me was so afraid that you would turn on me and if you did I would have to leave Camelot. I wouldn’t be able to protect Arthur or Camelot. I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my destiny. And then you did turn on me, and I was so angry. Most of all, I was sad. My nightmares turned into things I could've done better—ways I could’ve protected you from Morgause. I know she was your sister, but she was blinded by her own hatred. Uther does that to people. He was a terrible man. He caused so much pain and hatred. As a king, he failed Camelot. But as a father, he failed you. Arthur failed you as a brother. And I failed you as a friend. I’m sorry. I know you hate me, Morgana.
But there were many reasons, that on my worst days, I hated you too. You failed Camelot. You turned to Morgause so easily, someone you barely knew. In doing that, you also failed Arthur as a sister. He can be an idiot, but he loves you. Yes, I say that in the current tense because he still does, even if he sometimes says he hates you too. I don’t blame you for turning on Uther, but you turned on me, Arthur, and Camelot before we even had a chance to prove that things could be different.
Once Arthur became king, things became better. And, once I realized that my fears were what led me to my failure with you and gained the courage to confess to Arthur about my magic—even though, admittedly, I had a feeling that he knew about my magic since the Griffin incident, but he just pretended not to know because he’s a cabbagehead; I digress—everything became even better. Camelot is still improving every day, gradually. The one thing that seems to be missing is you.
I will be honest with you, Morgana, Arthur does not know that I have written to you. I worry about how he will react. I have spent the last few weeks mulling over whether I should even try to reach out to you because I have decided that hatred has only ever caused harm. I could continue to hate you, and you, I. We could fight an unnecessary war that will inevitably result in many deaths, maybe even our own. Or we could try to be better. I want to try to be better.
I’m hoping that writing to you will open a way of communication. Maybe we could discuss our problems and reach a solution that doesn’t include war. My mother has always said that communication is key. I’m hoping this will help.
That is to say, I’m hoping that we can come to an agreement that will see your peaceful return to Camelot. We miss you, Morgana. Gwen does. Gaius does. I do. And Arthur does, even if he won’t say it. But if you aren’t willing to return, we will accept your choice. I’m just hoping we can still find a way to be at peace. I truly think it will be to our benefit.
Now, I must go. Arthur just found out that I told Lady Melanie that his first kiss was with a goat and he is in search of me. I bet he’ll think before forgetting my birthday again.
Still, your friend, even if you hate me,
Merlin
Morgana purses her lips. Merlin is right: She does hate him. Plus, if she makes peace with Camelot, she won’t be able to be queen. She does understand his point though. A war will likely result in many deaths. She wouldn’t be too heartbroken about losing her followers. They are just brawn, no brains, after all. But she would be sad about losing her own life, she supposes. She would be far happier to slit Merlin's throat, but she recognizes that the odds are relatively slim if her small army is put against Camelot’s army and Merlin’s, dare she say it, strength.
She pens out a response.
Dearest traitorous fiend,
I suppose I will return in peace, but only if I am crowned the rightful Queen of Camelot and my insolent brother steps aside. If he does not, I will continue my plans to take the crown myself. There will be no peace, and I will strive to gut you like the pig you are. I hate you, Merlin.
Yours in hatred,
The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot
P.S. For record’s sake, it was a sheep. I made it clear to you that Arthur’s first kiss was with a sheep. He says it was an accident, but we all know better. Get your facts in order, Merlin. Furthermore, also for record’s sake, everyone knows your birthday is on the first of spring. It only proves further that Arthur should not be king if he can’t even keep dates straight.
“M’lady, I have brought you a vase of flowers for your table, picked for you by Sir Hubert,” Dorcas says as he presents her with a chipped vase filled with questionable-looking flowers.
Morgana eyes the vase with contempt. “Why didn’t Hubert present them to me, then?”
“He had an allergic reaction to one of the flowers, m'lady, but I promise none of them will eat you. I checked myself.” He then scratches one of his hands. “To be honest, m’lady, I think I might be allergic to them too. But they are beautiful, aren’t they?”
Morgana stares at him before approaching the vase and stopping far enough that she can just see the leaves from here. She tries not to cry from the sheer stupidity. “That is poison ivy, you idiot!”
“Oh,” Dorcas says stupidly. “That is not good, m’lady. I’m feeling rather itchy, m’lady.”
“Get rid of those immediately!” Morgana shouts. When Dorcas is just at the threshold of the door, she says, “Take Hubert and find the bloody healer in town while you're at it!”
“Yes, m’lady.” Dorcas scurries out the door. Morgana stares at the letter. She doesn’t know how to magically send this to Merlin. That isn’t something Morgause thought to teach her before Merlin caused her death. “And fetch Martin! I have a letter for him to send, but don’t touch him!”
“Yes, m’lady,” Dorcas yells again. She definitely needs better knights if she is going to take on Camelot.
She sighs. Morgana really does hate everything.
* * *
It takes a while for the next letter to pop up in front of her. Likely because the trip to Camelot took Martin a week. He still hasn’t returned, but Merlin probably responded to her immediately.
It appears in front of her while she is surveying a map of Camelot, searching for its weakness. There is a spot near Camelot’s eastern border where she knows Merlin used to collect herbs for Gaius. He probably still does on occasion. She could have a few men scout the area, and see if he has a schedule. They could attack him, then move on to Camelot. The border is at its weakest there.
She decides to take a break to read the letter. She doesn’t mind humoring him. It will distract him into thinking she won’t attack.
Lady Morgana,
I’m afraid it won’t be possible for Arthur to give up his crown, though I suspect you already know that. To be honest, the fact that I received a response was more than I expected, though, so we can start from there.
While you can’t become Queen of Camelot, as Arthur is the rightful heir and the Once and Future King, there are positions that we would love to bestow upon you—Arthur still doesn’t know I am writing you, but he’ll do as I say and I know he would be happy to have his sister back. He’ll never admit it, but he is quite lonely. There are some things that I, the knights, and even Gwen and Gaius, can not provide for him. His parents are dead, even if he never met his mother and his father was a right prick. His uncle betrayed him. And his sister turned on him. He knows he has us as family, but we will never be you.
Anyway, the positions that you could be given are Court Sorceress—I could use all the help I can get—and we could make your status as a princess official. It is one that should have been given to you from birth and of which you will be rightfully bestowed if you make your peaceful return to Camelot. You will have all the rights it normally grants. If you don’t wish to be Court Sorceress, I would understand. You can do nothing but live in the castle if you so please.
We just want you to come home, Morgana.
And I know you hate me. Though, I hope that one day you will no longer feel that way. I have decided that I no longer hate you. You will always be a friend, Morgana. And to prove this, I have written the spell that will show you how to send letters magically below. I’ll be waiting for your response.
Y our friend,
Merlin
P.S. I’m almost positive you said it was a goat. Didn’t he claim to be giving it mouth-to-mouth after knocking it out with his sword? Nevertheless, I won our argument. We had a lovely picnic and he bought me five magic books as an apology for forgetting my birthday. Also, I’ve sent Martin with some of your favorite scones from the bakery. They are not poisoned, but you can check if you’d like. Happy Birthday, Morgana. I hope this year finds us at peace.
Secretly, Morgana is salivating at the thought of those cranberry stones. They are scrumptious. Just as secretly, she eagerly reads over the spell that Merlin has written at the bottom of the page. She doesn’t have access to many books on magic. Most were banned from Camelot and she is still close enough to its borders that the trickle effects have caused no information of magic to be in this realm as well.
She wonders what it is like to have access to more information. She could learn so much. She wonders what it would be like to officially be a princess. Secretly, too, of course. She missed the nice clothing, though. Her gowns are growing old, and she often has to restitch them. She misses the gardens too. And her rooms. They were twice the size of the entire hut she is currently staying in. She would like the power too. It wouldn’t be equivalent to the queen, but princesses can do many things. She could help bring power to women in Camelot.
No. She hates Camelot. She hates Arthur. And most of all, she hates Merlin.
She decides to write Merlin back again, but only because he has a modicum of intelligence and she has been lacking intelligent conversations these past few years.
To the traitorous fiendish bastard,
If Arthur truly missed me, he would write to me himself. But given that you haven’t even told him of our correspondence, I hardly believe you are telling the truth. Arthur turned his back on me. You are right. He did fail me. Why should I return to Camelot to fall under his rule? He does not miss me. He does not love me. I hardly think he ever did.
Not that I mind. I don’t need him. Make no mistake, Merlin, I need no one. I will kill you all. One by one if I must.
Camelot will never be home to me again.
Yours in hatred,
The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot
P.S. It was a sheep, you fool. Though he did claim to have knocked it out with his sword. I knew better. And if you think scone will win me over, you have another thing coming, Merlin. I will kill you, then eat the scones as a reward for doing such a splendid job.
She eagerly recites the spell and watches the parchment disappear before her eyes as it supposedly appears before Merlin in Camelot. What a fool. Now that she has this spell, communicating with her men will be so much easier. Camelot will be hers any day.
* * *
“M’lady,” Hubert says as he enters her hut. “Martin has returned bearing gifts from the Queen of Camelot.”
Morgana spits out her tea. “The what? When did Arthur marry? How was I not made aware of this? Where is Albert? He is meant to be relaying information like this to me. We could use this against Arthur. I should have him beheaded. Albert, that is. And Arthur. His queen too. How dare someone take my title? I shall torture her, then kill her.”
Hubert squirms under her gaze. “We spoke to Albert, but he claimed there was no wedding. The people have deemed the Court Sorcerer their queen. I apologize. I thought Albert had spoken to you about this already.”
Morgana barks out an unladylike laugh. Surely, this must be a joke. “Merlin? The Queen of Camelot? Dear Goddess, Uther must be rolling in his grave.”
“That’s what we’ve been told, m’lady.”
“Tell Albert to return to Camelot immediately. I need more information before I proceed.” And by proceed, she means to behead Merlin. He dares to try to convince her that they are on friendly terms when he usurped her simultaneously? A traitor. That’s what Merlin is. That is all he will ever be. “I want him to return by the end of the week with intel.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Hubert says, just as Dorcas pokes his head into the hut.
“I have your gift from the Queen of Camelot, m’lady,” he says, holding out a satchel that undoubtedly has her scones in it.
“Don’t call him that! Merlin is not a queen. He is a traitorous fool!” Then she squints at the crumbs surrounding his mouth. “Did you eat my scones?”
She snatches the satchel from Dorcas as his eyes go wide. “I had to make sure they weren’t poisoned, m’lady. I took a bite of each one for your safety.”
She opens the bag and notices that each scone has a rather gigantic bite taken out of it. One of them looks like two bites were taken out of it. She closes her eyes briefly and questions her life choices. Then, she opens them and refrains from punching Dorcas in the face. He may be an idiot, but he is a faithful idiot. “Maybe next time you could take smaller bites, Dorcas?”
Dorcas rubs the back of his head. “Sorry, m’lady.”
Morgana huffs. “Go speak to Albert. I wish to eat my scones in peace.”
“Yes, m’lady,” they say in unison before scampering out the door. She hears Hubert hit Dorcas and call him a toad just as they close the door. She pretends not to hear the ensuing scuffle that has them shoving each other into the walls of her questionably sturdy hut.
She has eaten one scone—which is as delicious as she remembers—when another letter appears. It has been a few days since she sent her response. She was expecting Merlin to respond sooner given their easy way of communication, but she supposes if he is playing as some sort of pretend queen, he likely has quite a few duties.
Lady Morgana,
I have spoken to Arthur. In the interest of remaining transparent with you—as I feel communication is one of the primary causes of our disagreements—he did not take it very well. He is infuriated that I have communicated with you without his knowledge. I told him that he would have never taken the first step and that he needs to write to you. We had a bit of an argument, but I know he is just upset that I am right. He won’t admit to missing you, but he does. I’ve found him in your chambers more than once, sitting on your bed, staring at the wall. Since you left, he insisted it is kept exactly the same and be cleaned once a week. He’s never changed that rule. I think he’s hoping that when you come home, you’ll be happy that it was just as you left it. He’ll never admit to that either. You Pendragons have a way of bottling your emotions as if it’ll be your downfall to show them. I blame Uther as I do with most things.
In any matter, Arthur will admit I’m right sooner or later. Likely sooner as I have confined myself to my room and am refusing to leave until he agrees to stop acting like a stubborn cabbagehead and write to you. Until then, I’ve suddenly found plenty of free time in my room if you wish to continue our correspondence. I’ll be waiting to receive your reply.
Your friend,
Merlin
P.S. I’ve told Lady Melanie that it was actually a sheep. She was delighted to amend the story to half the nobles in Camelot. Arthur was infuriated again, but he should’ve thought about that before kissing a sheep. And the scones weren’t an attempt to win you over. They were a gift from a friend because that is what we are: friends. And friends don’t kill each other, Morgana. That isn’t nice.
Morgana…Morgana hates Arthur. And she hates Merlin. But sometimes, secretly, she thinks about what it would be like to return to Camelot. To have friends again. To have a family. To be loved. And maybe to find love of her own. It’s tiring hiding out every second of every day. Of course, there is an end goal in mind, but her funds deplete daily and her men grow weary. Not Humphrey and Dorcas, but they are idiots.
Nevertheless, sometimes she does, in the deepest pits of her dark soul, admit that she misses Arthur. He might be an idiot, but he was always around when she was growing up. He used to be someone she could rely on. He isn’t anymore. The only person she can rely on is herself. She learned that the hard way. But, occasionally, she feels an ache in her stomach and thinks it’s because she is missing something. Or a lot of things.
She shoves these thoughts deep into her mind before warring over whether to respond to Merlin. If he has locked himself in his room, this could put stress on Camelot. Arthur will be infuriated, no doubt, and be trying to find a way to break Merlin out. This could be the perfect time to attack. Maybe if she continues to write Merlin she could find a good time to break through Camelot’s guards and take the castle. That, and she’s also rather bored.
Queen Merlin (or so I’ve been told is your new title),
I don’t know what sort of joke it is to name you queen, but surely it must be a hilarious one for most of Camelot to be telling it. To think I thought you were genuine for even a tiny, minuscule of a second.
This is a lie, of course. Morgana thinks Merlin is a lying manipulative toad, but a little lying never hurt anyone.
Instead, you take my rightful crown. Tell me, how did you do it? I’ve been told there was no marriage between you and Arthur. To be honest, I’m not all that surprised. It must have been your goal from the start. First, you wrapped Arthur around your finger, then you turned me against him, had me kill Uther for you, and I basically delivered you the crown! Maybe I am the fool, Merlin. Maybe we all are, but you. You just play the fool so no one suspects you’re conniving ways.
Maybe I should write to Arthur after all. Maybe I’ll tell him the truth about you, and we’ll have a reunion after all as we slit your throat together. What a lovely sight that would be.
I hope you enjoy your moments of solitude. It will surely be some of your last.
Yours in hatred,
The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot
P.S. I’m glad you corrected the story. The truth is necessary for situations like these. As for our friendship, you can forget. It was lost the moment you betrayed me.
Morgan lets out a pleased noise as she vanishes the letter. Let Merlin make of that what he may. She is just finishing her scones and dreaming of barricading through the castle when the next letter pops up in front of her.
Lady Morgana,
I don’t know what to say about the queen situation other than the fact that it is some gigantic joke that I can’t seem to put an end to. The knights call me the queen behind my back when they think I’m not around, but I’ve noticed. I always notice. They’re stupid but loyal. What can you do? If you’ve heard of it, it must have reached more people, though, which is slightly concerning. Now that I think of it, I think Queen Dahlia of Kent might have gotten the wrong message too. I think they call me that because I'm the head of the household. I took over after Uther died and the last one retired. No one seemed to jump to the position and Arthur was too busy and upset about his father’s death to assign one, so somehow the task got passed along to me. I didn’t mind because it took some stress off of Arthur, and I guess I just stuck with it. Maybe they also call me the queen because I take care of Arthur, or at least try my best to prevent him from being skewered as a result of his stupidity. The queen normally takes care of the king and the castle, right? Maybe that’s why I’ve been attributed the title. I assure you, I’m no queen, though. Most of the time, I feel as though I’m barely keeping Arthur alive, let alone a whole kingdom.
With that being said, I truly did not plan to have as much power as I have acquired. I only strive to keep Arthur safe and to help him be the best king he can be. I do it because it is my destiny. To be by his side as he ushers in the golden age of Camelot. I’ve also been told we are two halves of a coin more times than I can count, so, admittedly, I also do it because I can’t imagine a life without him. That’s selfish of me, to put my feelings for Arthur above everything else, and I hope you can one day forgive me for it because you were one of the many affected by that choice. It took me a long time to realize why I chose to poison you. For a long time, I said that it was you or Camelot. I was doing my duty and protecting the kingdom so that it could one day be a shining beacon that united all of Avalon. It wasn’t until recently that I admitted that I really saw it as a choice between you and Arthur. Morgause chose you to be the source of her enchantment on Camelot, and I knew if I didn’t act soon, I could lose Arthur. I didn’t hesitate, but I do have regrets. I wish it hadn’t been you more than anything, Morgana. But you have to realize that I will always choose Arthur. I’d choose him over everyone, and I wish I was more sorry about it. I wish I wasn’t so selfish. I can’t change anything about it though. I can only hope that you will realize why I’ve made the choices I have—that maybe I would choose Arthur over you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you. Maybe I choose Arthur over everyone else, but I still try to protect you all. Sometimes I wish I could shove everyone I loved into the castle and put a protective enchantment over it that will never allow anyone to harm us again. Everyone would stay in the castle and never leave. We’d never age. We would all be happy and safe.
Life isn’t that easy, though.
I wish I was enjoying the solitude more. I’m afraid it’s rather lonely, though, as the word solitude implies. I miss Arthur mostly. But I’m also angry at him for being a cabbagehead. And, anyway, I can’t miss him too much when he is standing outside my door, yelling like a banshee. I can picture how red his face is. I’ve laughed a few times, which has only made him angrier. I have a feeling he is going to be extremely stubborn about this, but no worries. I’ve put up with his little temper tantrums for far too long. I’m not going to crack. You will receive your letter from him.
Your friend,
Merlin
P.S. I still cling to hopes that our friendship is salvageable. How were the scones? Martin should have returned by now.
Morgana flips the paper over to scrawl out her response—parchment is expensive after all.
Traitorous fiend also known as Merlin,
I am in no way extending an offer of friendship by relating to you, but I do know what it is like to have to deal with loyal idiots.
She watches through her window as Dorcas trips on a stick and is mocked by Hubert and Martin, only for Dorcas to beat them with the stick moments later.
Unfortunately, I’ve learned that loyalty often outweighs stupidity when it comes to trustworthiness. Especially considering any idiot would have a hard time betraying me. Unlike you who only played the fool.
Nevertheless, I shall believe that the title of queen has been thrust unwillingly on you if only because the people of Camelot would be stupid enough to do such a thing as name you queen. Idiots, the lot of them.
I’ve always known that you chose Arthur over me. It was never a question of Camelot but always of Arthur. Even a blind man could see that. Which isn’t to say it is an excuse.
Though, very secretly in a way that it’s almost a secret from herself, she thinks it’s fair to say that it is an excuse. Even before everything had gone sideways, she could see the utter devotion in Merlin. When she had written otherwise, it was only to make Merlin angry—not to incite an all-but-love confession. She always saw that same devotion in Arthur from the moment Merlin drank poison for him. Sometimes she was jealous. She had never had someone so devoted to her before. She had never seen someone look at her that way. Arthur and Merlin have always had an unbreakable bond. After Merlin, Arthur did change for the better. He turned from an arrogant prince to a man worthy of being a king—not that she would ever admit that because the crown is still rightfully hers.
Although, I suppose I do not know what it is like to love another as you do Arthur.
She nearly crosses that out but decides to leave it. She still has many other reasons to hate Merlin, giving a little on this point doesn’t change her ambitions to destroy Camelot and all of her enemies that reside within it.
I’m glad you are having a terrible time in your solitude. It seems a fitting punishment for the likes of you. I do, admittedly, laugh a bit at the picture of Arthur’s banshee-like face. I can remember him throwing tantrums whenever I beat him in a duel when we were younger. I cannot wait to be him at another and plunge the sword into his heart.
Until then, I shall wait for him to crack, as you say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him win an argument with you. Even when you were his serving boy. I’m sure his letter will be an eloquent apology that I will nevertheless not accept.
Yours in hatred,
Morgana
P.S. Although I see your stance on the poisoning, our friendship is unsalvageable for several other reasons. The scones were amazing. Annabelle will be one of the few that remain unscathed when I purge Camelot of its traitors.
The reply comes much quicker this time.
Morgana,
I certainly understand what it is like to put faith in an idiot. I put faith in Arthur, after all. I suppose I know what it’s like to love an idiot too. I’ll have you know that this is the first time I’ve said that allowed. Or, I suppose, the first time I have admitted to it in general, given I am not saying anything aloud.
I miss Arthur terribly, which is a bit ridiculous because he is currently right down the hall from me, likely to return soon to yell at me some more. He is quite angry about me writing to you. Still, he is only angry because he doesn’t want to admit that we are all at fault. We all made mistakes and it is time we own up to them to make things right between us. That is why it would help me to know why else you have come to hate me. It might help us find peace.
Your friend,
Merlin
P.S. I’m glad you see my stance on the poisoning. I regret that it was you, but I cannot say that I wouldn’t make the same choice if confronted with it again. Although, there are many choices that I would make differently when it comes to you if I could. And I can’t argue with your choice to leave Annabelle unscathed. Her scones are almost as good as her blueberry pie. Also, I attached extra parchment to this letter in case you are low.
Merlin,
I haven't a clue what you have admitted to other than believing Arthur to be an idiot. Your writing was rather unclear.
Of course, she knows exactly what Merlin is trying to say, but making him admit it straightforwardly was always something she wanted before everything went downhill. Sometimes she just wanted to shake him until he admitted it. The way those two have always looked at each other—apart, possibly, from when they first met, but even that was fueled with sexual tension that left Morgana and Gwen scarred for days—it is so obvious that they love each other. But, even now, so many years later, they still dance around each other. For Goddess’s sake, people call Merlin the queen. How much more obvious could they be? Idiots. They are all idiots.
Naturally, I do agree that Arthur is an idiot. Did I ever tell you about the time he tried to throw an egg at me, but hit Uther instead? It was in the middle of a feast, no less. Uther was infuriated. When Arthur tried to run away, he ran into one of the maids, who was carrying food. It was stew for the late Lord Galvin, who had no teeth. It landed on Lady Melanie’s mother, Lady Patricia. She was covered in it. Arthur was forbidden from leaving his chambers for two weeks. I spent as much time as I could playing outside, right in front of his window, so that he could see what he was missing. Then, of course, we have the sheep incident, which really says it all.
It is a bit ridiculous that you miss Arthur, considering it’s barely been a day. Maybe some separation wouldn’t kill either of you. Or maybe it would. Please do remain in your room, if only for my sake.
I don’t appreciate you saying we all made mistakes. As far as I can see, I have only been defending myself, while you and Arthur have betrayed me left and right. You tried to kill me on my birthday—and think scones will make up for it. You killed Morgause. You hid your magic from me. The list could go on forever, Merlin. And the longer it becomes the more my urge to kill you grows.
Yours in hatred,
Morgana
P.S. Maybe there are a few things I would have also done differently, but it is nothing compared to what you have done to me. Furthermore, aren’t you allergic to blueberries? I thought Arthur banned you from eating them after that one incident with Sir Thomas?
Morgana,
You know exactly what I meant, but I suppose I’ll say it if only to appease you: I love Arthur. There. I said it. I hope you are happy now. Arthur doesn’t need to know though. He isn’t in a position where he is ready to admit that he feels the same. You know how he can be. An idiot, as you are fond of saying.
You never told me about the Uther incident. I assure you I will be bringing it up to him the moment he admits that he is in the wrong and writes to you. I will also be telling anyone willing to listen. I’m sure Gwen will get a kick out of that story. I would have loved to be there just to see the expression on Uther’s face! Gods, that must have been wonderful.
Morgana, we have all made mistakes. You plotted with Morgause against Camelot. I understand that you were scared and that I should have helped you more. I should have told you about my magic, but, as I’ve said, I was terrified. I felt like every mistake I made was the wrong one, and it was, in the end. But you turned to her, after barely knowing her, when you had Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and me. Maybe it doesn’t feel this way now, but you could have trusted us. Instead, you trusted a woman you barely knew and let her manipulate you. That is what she was doing, Morgana. She saw you as a way to gain power and used to get it. I didn’t intend for the blow I dealt her to be fatal, but I am not sorry for killing her. She tried to kill Arthur and destroy Camelot. What was I supposed to do? I am sorry for how it made you feel, though. I know she meant a great deal to you.
And for as much as you say I have betrayed you, you betrayed me too. You left me for the serkets, which I barely survived. You used mind control to try to make me kill Arthur, which I still have night terrors about succeeding. You have tried and, in some cases succeeded, in hurting every person who ever truly loved you. Especially Arthur. He is your brother, but you chose her over him. But none of the things you have done has made us stop loving you. And that is the most important thing. I swear on Arthur’s life that I truly want to make amends with you—that I truly want you to come home. Camelot is your home. It will be waiting for you to return, as will its inhabitants.
Also, I didn't mean to push you down those stairs. That was an accident. I was just trying to stop you from killing Uther, which I know sounds odd given that he was an utter ass, but it was the right thing to do.
Merlin
P.S. We have both made mistakes, but they shouldn’t define our future. We can change the future together, you and I. And maybe Arthur too if his big head doesn’t get in his way. And I thought we agreed to never talk about the Sir Thomas incident again? That was not my fault. If anything, it was Arthur’s. And Sir Thomas. I hate Sir Thomas.
Merlin,
Did you truly write what I think I did? Do my eyes deceive me or did you finally admit to loving my idiot brother? I thought the day would never come. Granted, if you still won’t admit it to Arthur, I suppose it hasn’t. I’m sure you two idiots would dance around this forever if you could.
Fine. I suppose I can admit that I have also made mistakes, but only because I was led to make them. It’s not as if I suddenly made those decisions overnight. If you had told me about your magic, I might have trusted you enough to turn to you. How was I supposed to know that Gaius or Arthur wouldn’t turn to Uther? Arthur would have done anything for his approval, and Gaius was one of his most trusted men. I would have truly never guessed that he had been aiding your magic abilities the entire time. And Gwen, she was my servant, but she was also my friend. I didn’t want to risk her head too. I always thought that maybe she would come with me when I left. But she didn’t. She took your side. And part of me hates her for that. How is she, though? Rumor has it that she is in love with Sir Lancelot and their marriage is inevitable.
As for Morgause, she loved me. I know she did.
Maybe Morgana says this more for herself than Merlin. Morgause was her sister. She had to have loved Morgana. But Morgana has agonized for many nights over that though. Maybe she was her sister, but did she truly love her? Or is Merlin right? Could she have been using Morgana to her own ends? Maybe it was both. Maybe Morgause did love her, in her own way, but still sought to use her to her own ends. Was she fooled because she had no one else to turn to, so she trusted the first person who seemed as though she actually loved her for who she was? She shakes her head.
We were going to rule together. We were going to make magic legal. But it would have never come to that had Uther not made it illegal in the first place out of his own mistakes. He killed thousands because of his mistake. And Arthur helped him. Maybe he has made magic legal now, but back then, he wasn’t someone I could trust. Uther had him under his thumb. I’m glad he is dead. Everyone in Albion is better off now that Uther is dead. I can’t say it would have been wrong to kill him. Just as you don’t regret killing Morgause, I can never say I regret trying to kill Uther. I’ll never understand why you stopped me.
I didn’t want to hurt any of you, but some of you hurt me first. Others…I can’t quite remember who did the hurting first but it has felt neverending since.
She stares at that sentence for a moment. She contemplates lighting the parchment on fire, but she doesn’t. Instead, she wipes the water off her cheeks that must have dripped from the hole in the ceiling, then pens out the following sentence, instead.
Maybe I do wish it would stop, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can forgive and forget. I don’t know if I can ever call Camelot home again.
Morgana
P.S. Amending the past to change the future is much harder than it seems, even with Arthur’s big head to help. And I know you hate Sir Thomas. Everyone knows you hate Sir Thomas, Merlin. That doesn’t make it his fault. You scarred the poor man for life. It is acceptable to blame Arthur, though. I blame him for everything.
She wipes the last of the water off her face and glares at the ceiling. “Hubert!”
Hubert scurries into her hut with Dorcas behind him. He comes to a halt so quickly that Dorcas tumbles into him and they end up in a heap on the ground. Hubert groans and muffles out something that sounds like, “Yes, m’lady?”
Morgana pretends not to notice. “I need my roof fixed. There is a hole in the ceiling. I want it done first thing in the morning. I am going to bed now. I am not to be disturbed. Am I clear?”
“Yes, m’lady,” Hubert says as he scrambles to his feet and salutes her.
“Yes, m’lady,” Dorcas echoes as he trips on one of Morgana’s boots and nearly falls again.
Hubert leans forward. “Have you been crying, m’lady?”
Morgana growls. “No! The hole in the ceiling is dripping on my face!”
“But there is no rain—”
“Get out!” She flicks her hand and watches them run out of the hut. She decides that if Merlin writes back, he will have to wait until Morgana. Maybe he can take days at a time off to barricade himself in his room, but she can’t. She needs her rest. And she’ll have to tell them that there is a hole above her bed too because it seems her face is leaked on all night.
* * *
The next morning, she wakes to the sounds of screaming. She runs out of her hut only to find Hubert and Dorcas running toward her with their faces swollen.
Morgana takes a deep breath. “What happened now?”
“You see, m’lady,” Dorcas begins once he’s stopped in front of her. His arms and legs appear swollen too. “We were trying to collect some honey for your breakfast, but the bees—they didn’t like that, m’lady.”
“They were very angry, m’lady,” Hubert adds, the words coming out garbled. It appears his lips were stung.
Morgana takes another calming breath. “Go see the healer. Again. ”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“And make sure someone fixes my roof when you are finished!”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Morgana seriously questions why she keeps those two idiots around.
When she returns to her hut, she sees a letter waiting for her at her table.
Morgana,
We won’t dance around it forever. Arthur just needs to come to his senses. We’ll get there, though. Even if he is an idiot.
I could argue I was led to make the mistake I did too. There is always a reason that we make the choices we do. It’s important to realize that we still made them though. I chose to poison you. Maybe it was your life or Arthur’s, but I still chose. You chose to leave me for the serkets. Maybe it was because I poisoned you, but you still chose to do it, knowing it would likely lead to my death. I chose to keep my magic from you. You chose to trust Morgause. I chose to stop you from killing Uther. You chose to brainwash me. We made choices and many of them were mistakes. I could give you a million reasons and defenses, but I still made those choices and I’ll own up to them. I’m sorry, Morgana. Truly. I hope that you can understand why I made the choices I did, as I have tried to understand why you made the choices you did. Nevertheless, I’m sorry for everything that I have done to hurt you.
Gwen is doing well. She helps me run the household and does a million other things that keep this castle running. She misses you terribly. She is the only one that keeps your room tidy. She doesn’t let anyone else go in there. She would be overjoyed if you returned. You are her best friend. She and Lancelot are doing well. They are sickeningly in love, but I am happy for them. I’ve no doubt they will marry soon. And she didn’t betray you, Morgana. She just recognized the pull the Morgause had on you.
That being said, maybe Morgause loved you, but she also used you. I hope you can see that, Morgana.
Morgana does. She had thought as much last night. It still brings pain to her chest every time she thinks about it. She doesn’t think that pain will ever go away.
I say this not to hurt you but to be honest with you. You can love someone but still use them for your own purposes. Uther did it to Arthur. He did it to you too. I don’t blame you for wanting him dead. I surely did more than once. I protected him mostly for Arthur’s sake, I think. Also, admittedly, I take far too much advice from a dragon. He causes me more pain than joy, I think. And he’s always ridiculously cryptic. You should meet him. I’d love to see someone put him in his place. He is a nightmare, truly.
I digress. What I mean to say is that you also can’t blame Arthur for Uther’s mistakes. Uther raised him to hate everything magic, but he has grown from that. He has realized the error of that way of thinking and has legalized magic. Not just for me. But for you, Mordred, the Druids, and everyone else that was harmed by Uther’s hatred. Uther is dead now. I can’t say I’m quite sad about it either, but we can’t let him ruin our lives forever. We can’t let his hatred linger through us. We need to leave it behind with him. It’s the only way we’ll ever be able to move on.
I know you didn’t want to hurt any of us—even if you have said as much more times than I care to count. When I came to Camelot, you were one of the kindest people I had ever met. You truly cared about others. I know that Morgana is still there. She’s just been hurt so many times that she’s built a wall around herself.
Sometimes I can’t remember who began this cycle of hurt either. Truly, I think it was Uther. But, as I said, we can end it. We can stop the cycle and move on. I’m not asking you to forget. We can’t forget our past. If we did, we would be doomed to repeat it. We need to learn from it and try to be better. I’m willing to try. Are you?
Merlin
P.S. It was definitely Sir Thomas’s fault. It surely wasn’t my fault his arm was in the way. And I also blame Arthur for most things. Including this one incident with a cow. It truly was his fault but Arthur is a liar who will tell you otherwise.
Their correspondence continues like that. They write to each other all day during the next few days of Merlin’s self-imposed isolation. Morgana finds herself responding with fewer threats and more genuine responses as it goes on. She also finds that Merlin seems to be growing weary of his time apart from Arthur. She has no doubt that he will stick it out until Arthur is willing to write to her—Merlin is just stubborn like that—but his writing becomes slightly lackluster. She can tell he isn’t faring well. Although, never once does she consider attacking Camelot, even when Merlin tells her about Arthur trying to build a human staircase to reach him or the crowd in town rioting over the affair. Instead, she finds herself trying to comfort him with old stories of their times together. Then, she questions why she did this because she hates Merlin. She does. Really.
Maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as she thought she did, though. She’s trying to figure that out—what she truly feels for Merlin and even Arthur. She thinks maybe Morgause and Uther swayed her feelings in some ways. She is still angry that Merlin and Arthur did what they did, but Merlin seems genuine. Especially if he is willing to argue with Arthur for this long.
She also finds out that Mordred has been aiding Merlin. Merlin still says he hates Mordred, but she suggested he look into why he believes those are his feelings for Mordred, just as she has with him and Arthur. Mostly, she is glad Mordred seems to be happy and safe.
She doesn’t hear from Merlin on the seventh day of his isolation, so she hopes something good has come of it—though, she becomes quite angry when she finds herself worrying a little too much about Merlin’s health. She is still maintaining that she hates him at least a little bit.
It is on the eighth day that she receives a letter in different handwriting, one that she would recognize in an instant. It is then that she knows Merlin has won.
Morgana,
I’m not going to fill you with pleasantries and falsities about my feelings toward you. Part of me hates you, I think. Merlin says it’s impossible to truly hate someone you love, but sometimes I think you have broken that rule. You could have trusted me, Morgana. I would have never turned you into Uther. Even before I knew you were my sister, I always considered you one. Sure, we argued as siblings do, but I loved you. I still do, even though you betrayed me in possibly every way that matters.
Merlin says that you have been working out some of your own hatred toward us. I don’t blame you for that, but I wish you would see why I feel the way I do. And even if you said you did and that you forgave us, I cannot say that I wouldn’t have a difficult time trusting that it wasn’t a ploy to harm us when we fully trust you again. You have fooled me too many times already.
Nevertheless, I miss you, Morgana. It took me some time to admit it, but I do want you to come home. Camelot is your home, and it is sorely lacking without you. I wouldn’t hesitate to deem you the rightful title of princess that you deserve should you return home. I’m also willing to make you Court Sorceress if you are interested.
I don’t know what else to say to you other than that I am sorry. I hate that you turned against me, but Merlin has made me grapple with understanding the reasons why you did. I am trying to come to terms with it. I hope you are too. In the meanwhile, I hope we can avoid war if only for our own sake.
Your brother always,
Arthur
P.S. I did not kiss that sheep! Or a goat, for that matter! I thought I had killed it and was trying to revive it! Stop spreading lies!
Morgana doesn’t respond immediately to this letter. She spends some time working on the few enchantments that she knows, and finds things for Dorcas and Hubert to do. She receives a report from Albert that Camelot is once again at peace. Then, she has her men prepare lunch as she writes her response.
Arthur,
I never expect you to fill anyone with pleasantries as you are not a pleasant person, nor are you intelligent enough to construct any falsities. A large part of me hates you too. It has taken me some time to realize it, but I think Merlin is right—please don’t tell him I said as much or I fear his head will grow as large as yours. You cannot fully hate someone you love, and you are my brother. I suppose I have to love you if only for that reason.
Even then, how was I supposed to trust you? I had seen you stand by and allow Uther to kill magic users more times than I could count over the years. I can tell that you have seen the error of your ways, but you can’t tell me that your love for Merlin didn’t have a major impact on that. I wonder if you had loved me enough to make the same choice without Merlin to sway you.
I’m trying to understand my own feelings toward you and Merlin. I am doing so for my sake, though. Not yours. I’ve found, over my discussions with Merlin, that hatred festers. I do not think I want to spend the rest of my life filled with it. That doesn’t mean I forgive you. Words are useless things when it comes to apologies. I could apologize a million times, but it would mean nothing to you. And you can apologize to me as many times, and it will mean nothing to me. Actions speak louder than words, brother, and just as you aren’t sure if you can trust me, I am sure that I can’t trust you. Not yet. Maybe someday. But not now. You’ve done nothing to prove me otherwise, especially considering how long you were willing to argue with Merlin about writing to me. He was growing ill, you know? I could tell in his letters how terrible being apart from you was for him, but it took you a week to right your wrong! Another day and I wouldn’t have had to fight for Camelot. It would’ve fallen for me! That is your fault, Arthur. It wouldn’t have happened if you would have just seen reason sooner.
Not that I care for Merlin. I’m just making a statement about your unbearable stubbornness.
Maybe Camelot could be home for me one day, but we have a long way to go before it becomes as much. But, as I told Merlin, I am willing to try.
Sadly your sister,
Morgana
P.S. You kissed a sheep, Arthur. I saw it with my own two eyes. Those of which are scarred because of it. I’m not spreading lies as it is nothing but the truth.
And so, they try.
Trying mostly involves bickering back and forth between letters about whether or not Arthur kissed a sheep and a goat—Merlin and Morgana decide that it must have been both if they remember it both ways, which Arthur is infuriated about. But it also includes feelings and emotions, things of which Uther would be disgusted. That only makes it better, but no less difficult. Morgana finds that the roof of her hut is leaky in several places as she writes these letters. She has Hubert and Dorcas repairing it daily.
Then, Arthur goes missing. Most of the letters she writes are to Merlin as he is best at keeping up their back and forth. Sometimes Arthur takes a few days to respond so she doesn’t worry when she doesn’t hear from him. Merlin, on the other hand, takes time out of his days—which she has come to find are quite busy—to write her back once or twice. Sometimes more than that. So, when she doesn’t hear from him for two days, she grows—secretly—worried. She receives a hasty reply on the third day that he has set out to find a sorcerer named Wispy who has kidnapped Arthur and the other knights.
It is by the end of the night that she receives a letter confirming his safety—though she never doubted Merlin’s capabilities. That night, she lies in bed and questions why she felt so…scared isn’t the right word. She supposes she was concerned. And maybe a little scared. It was that same feeling she used to get whenever Uther sent Arthur on some ridiculously dangerous quest for no reason other than to prove his worthiness for the umpteenth time. Sometimes, she wondered if Uther wanted him to die. He was certainly careless with his son’s life more often than not.
Things go back to normal after that. Arthur writes to her about how Mordred is doing and she learns that Merlin is forging a better relationship with him. Apparently, it was him that convinced Arthur to stop being an arse when Merlin had locked himself in his room. Mordred was always a kind soul. She is not surprised that he cares so much for Merlin, even if Merlin has not trusted him since the day he entered Camelot as nothing more than a child. She understands why Merlin feels the way he does. Prophecies are so intertwined with magic that it makes it difficult to ignore them, but she is glad he is giving Mordred a chance.
Then, Merlin goes missing.
She notices something is wrong on the first day. She tries to send her letter to Merlin, only for it to pop up right back in front of her. At first, she grows angry. Maybe he has decided to forsake her after all. Then, she realizes that she is thinking irrationally. Nothing in their previous letters indicates that Merlin would stop writing to her. She tries five more times before she decides to write to Arthur instead. The letter is sent to him without a problem, but she doesn’t receive an immediate response. Then, she realizes that Arthur doesn’t have magic. Mordred is just a beginner, and the spell is a bit complicated. He likely can’t send her anything. So, if something is wrong with Merlin, if he for some reason is not with Arthur, Arthur has no way to communicate with her.
She isn’t far from Camelot. Her location is about a day’s ride, but she doesn’t think they know where she is. She doesn’t want to send someone yet. It could be nothing. But she can’t think of a reason why Merlin wouldn’t be able to receive her letters.
On the fifth day, two knights from Camelot arrive. It is Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival. The look on their faces tells Morgana enough that she isn’t even concerned that Arthur and Merlin must have known where she is all along.
Hubert, Dorcas, and a few other men form a blockade between the knights and Morgana. Hubert knows about her correspondence with Merlin and Arthur. She may or may not have vented to him one evening when she had a little bit too much wine.
“Halt!” Hubert shouts.
Gwaine and Percival stop their horses. “We come bearing a letter from King Arthur of Camelot for Lady Morgana,” Gwaine says.
“We mean her no harm,” Percival adds. Both men look as though they have not slept in many nights. Their hair is hazardous. Their eyes have many bags under them. Gwaine’s eyes aren’t steady though. He is scouring the entire camp as if looking for something.
“I shall receive the letter,” Morgana says, stepping between her knights.
Gwaine steps forward with the letter. “Do you have him?” he asks when he’s close enough to her that only she can hear him. “Arthur says you have been working on peaceful terms, but if you have him—”
“If you’re referring to Merlin, I haven’t a clue where he is,” she says, her heart beating slightly faster. She can’t be offended that he would ask such a question. She has kidnapped Merlin multiple times in the past. This time, though, it was not her. She doesn’t know who was involved. She doesn’t know anything. “I’ve been trying to reach him with my letters for days to no avail. I do not have him, Sir Gwaine.”
Gwaine stares at her for a moment longer. Whatever he finds must be good enough because he nods and steps back. She opens the letter.
Morgana,
Merlin is missing. He went to retrieve some herbs for Gaius by himself—which I’ve told him many times not to do—and we have not seen him since. Mordred cannot contact him through their mental connection. I have knights searching everywhere and, I, myself, have searched the surrounding area to no avail.
I know Gwaine has probably already asked and that we are on tentatively peaceful terms, but you cannot blame me for asking: Do you know where he is? I’ve searched everywhere I could think of before asking this of you because I hope our truce is true. But you have fooled me before, Morgana. I’m hopeful that you haven’t again. If you haven’t, then I should tell you that Gaius believes that if Mordred can’t reach him, your letters won’t be able to either. Merlin has never been unable to contact me for more than two days. It is going on four as I write this. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, please notify me.
I can’t find him, Morgana. I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this without him.
Arthur
Morgana stares at the letter. If Mordred cannot speak to Merlin and her letters can’t reach them…No, it mustn't be. Merlin survived a serket sting, for Goddess’s sake. Surely, he can’t be…no. He isn’t. He just hasn’t been able to escape yet.
She closes the letter. “I’ll pen my response to him and deliver it immediately. If you’d like to search the grounds for your sake of mind, there will be no harm done to you. I understand the concern given our tentative relationship.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” Percival says before he and Gwaine set out to search the few huts in the area. Most of her men take turns staying in the huts and sleeping in the tents. She waits until they are far enough away.
“Dorcas, Hubert, follow me.” She leads them into her hut and closes the door. She keeps her voice low as she speaks. Some of the men at this camp would not be pleased with her tentative truce with Camelot. If she returns to Camelot—not that anything is official yet—she has certain men that she trusts whom she will bring with her. There are quite a few stragglers that she plans to leave behind. Luckily, most of them are hunting today, so they won’t question the Camelot knights checking their tents. “The two of you are to search the area for any sign of Merlin. I want no stone unturned. Start within a radius of a half day's ride. You don’t need to cover the grounds between us and Camelot. I’m sure their knights will do so if they haven’t already. I want you to expand further from Camelot. Check everywhere. If you find him, bring him to me unharmed. Am I clear?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“And I want you to make it clear to our outer ranks that we are still at odds with Camelot. I don’t want them to turn on us if we make our position clear too early.”
Hubert clears his throat. “What is our position, m’lady?”
Morgana purses her lips. “I don’t know yet. We have reached a tentative truce, though. Take Albert and Timothy with you. Report back to me every other night. We’ll extend the search further if necessary.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
They disappear out the door, leaving Morgana by herself. She didn’t tell them that she doubts there will be a Camelot to return to if they can’t find Merlin. If Morgana had heard this news a few months ago, she would have been thrilled. This would be the perfect time to attack Camelot. Arthur is undoubtedly frantic. The kingdom, itself, is probably a mess. In the letters from Arthur, he has told her how much the people love Merlin. She can’t imagine any part of the kingdom is currently running smoothly without him. If she had heard this news a few months ago, she would have attacked. She would have killed Arthur the moment she had him in sight. Now, she only hopes that Merlin is safe. She can admit that she has started to view him as a friend again. She has missed having friends. And family. She’ll lose both again if he is not found.
She grabs a piece of parchment and writes her response to Arthur.
Arthur,
I don’t know where Merlin is. I’ve been trying to send a letter every day to no avail. I wish I had more information for you. I’ll do my best to help you locate him. I’ve sent a few men into the surrounding area to see if they can find him or any knowledge of his whereabouts.
I know you are scared, but please be careful. Merlin would not want you to do something stupid. He would want you to be smart about this and to stay safe. I’ll update you if I find anything. Wherever he is, he must be okay. Merlin has survived far more than anyone—even me—could. He’ll be okay. So will you.
Morgana
* * *
On the eighth day of Merlin being missing, Morgana joins the search. She is sure one of these idiots, which includes Arthur and his knights, must have missed something. So, she decided if she needs something to be done right, she is going to do it herself.
On the twelfth day, she extends the search further. She keeps some men back at the camp and goes with the others into the caves a day’s ride away. She has already searched everywhere else. The woods. Nearby towns. The mountains. She doesn’t know what else to do.
On the fifteenth day, she returns to camp to restock. She still has hope of finding Merlin. Giving up would mean he is dead. And he is not dead.
Gwaine and Percival are waiting for her. This is their third visit. The second time, they brought her another letter from Arthur and the news that he was faring poorly. Once again, Morgana can tell that the news they bring is not good.
Dorcas tells her they arrived a few hours before she did.
“Lady Morgana,” Gwaine greets, his tone flat. He looks as though he has lost some weight. “The King wishes for you to return to Camelot as soon as possible.”
“Why?” Morgana says because it surely can’t be due to Merlin being found. Gwaine would have led with that.
“He’s not faring well,” Gwaine says. “The search for Merlin continues, but he wishes to see you.” Gwaine sighs. “I think it’s some sort of last wish of his to see you. He’s all but given up on the kingdom. Other people are doing most of the running of it while he searches for Merlin in the middle of the night. I think he plans to name Leon as his successor. While you would technically be next in line if you had been regranted your title, you haven’t and the people will not trust you. I think he just wants to see you before he vanishes into the night on a lifelong search to find Merlin.”
“So he has given up?” she says.
“On the kingdom. On himself. He’ll never give up on Merlin, though.”
“What do you think?” she asks. “Do you think he is…dead?” A flash of pain appears in Gwaine’s eyes. She can sympathize. She feels the exact pain as she speaks the words.
“I hope not,” he says. “I pray every night that he is not. Merlin is strong…stronger than anyone else I know. And he is my best friend. I will not give up hope on him. None of us will.”
Morgana squares her shoulders. “Then neither will I. I’ll be returning to my search. As will you and the rest of the knights.”
The smallest of smiles graces Gwaine’s lips, and she knows she has done something right for the first time in maybe a long time. “Of course, m’lady. You’ll be returning soon, though, won’t you?”
She cocks her head. “Only when the king and queen are both there to greet me. A princess deserves a grand welcome, after all.”
“That she does.” She watches them ride into the trees before returning to her hut.
Arthur,
I’ve thought many things of you over the years. I’ve thought you were an idiot (you still are), a stubborn prick, a traitorous arsehole, a spineless coward (mostly when it came to Uther), a besotted fool (for Merlin, of course), and many other things. I assure you, the list could go on forever. But I have never thought of you as a quitter. Once you set your sights on something, you never give up. So why are you now?
I’m not returning home just to be welcomed to your pity fest. Pull your shit together. You are the King of Camelot. Start acting like it. Your kingdom needs you. Your queen needs you. The next time I see you, it will be a grand feast dedicated in my honor with Merlin at your side. Until then, I’m not going to give up. There are many things we Pendragons can be called, but quitters is not one of them.
Morgana
On the nineteenth day, she receives word from Martin that Merlin is in Powys. Naturally, that is the exact opposite direction of where they were searching. Arthur will be entering the kingdom with an army. Morgana takes a breath of relief. When Hubert hugs her, she doesn’t fling him into a tree with her magic.
On the twenty-fifth day, she receives a letter from a handwriting that she feared she would never see again.
Morgana,
Arthur and Gwaine tell me that you helped search for me. Thank you. With all my heart. It means the world that you did so. It means even more that you tried to whip Arthur into shape for me. He tells me you wrote him a nasty letter telling him to pull himself together. I’m glad. Someone needed to do it. If it couldn’t be me, I’m glad it was you. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for not giving up on Arthur. Thank you for caring.
To be honest, I didn’t know if we would ever reach this point. I didn’t know if we could. I hoped. I hoped so very much, but I was always afraid that your hate for me was too strong. I’m glad it wasn’t. I’m glad you are my friend again. I have missed you so very much.
Will you return home soon? I swear we will have only the grandest feast for your return.
Your forever friend,
Merlin
On the twenty-fifth day, Morgana decides that it is time to go home.
Queen Merlin,
I will be home soon, but there are some things I need to do first. In the meantime, you can tell me why you were taken by Powys. I have not heard much other than your location.
Your forever friend,
Princess Morgana
And so, Morgana begins to purge her ranks. She rids her camp of the men she can’t trust. It takes some time, but soon she is left with only six men that she trusts unconditionally. A condition of her return is that they are to be made knights. There are a few other conditions, of course, but that was an important one.
She keeps in touch with Merlin and, occasionally, Arthur, throughout it all. A week before her return, Merlin tells her that she missed Mordred annihilating Gwaine in a duel. She laments not being there to witness it. He also tells her about his and Arthur’s engagement. She can’t wait to help Gwen plan the wedding. She can’t wait to see Gwen. And Gaius. And Sir Leon, who she grew up around. And Gwaine, who she has grown a bit fond of since their last encounter. Percival too. And Mordred, of course. She has missed him terribly. She has to threaten Lancelot too. If he breaks Gwen’s heart, she will break him. And a new knight named Karl, who apparently Mordred has fallen in love with. She will have to threaten him as well.
She can’t wait to see Arthur and Merlin. It’s been so long since they’ve been on friendly terms that she doesn’t know what to do or say. But her heart is filled with hope thinking of seeing them again. Her friends. Her family.
It is sunny the day she enters the gates of Camelot. Her men follow behind her on horses. A crowd surrounds the entrance. At first, she fears they will jeer at her or throw rotten fruit. Instead, it is rather silent as she enters. They stare at her as if unsure of what to do with her. She is only slightly perturbed until she sees Merlin, smiling brightly at the castle’s entrance, where most of the crowd has gathered. Arthur is there too, of course, but Merlin’s smile is so bright that it is hard to look elsewhere.
Hubert helps her off her horse. The sound of her boots seems to be the only noise as she takes a few steps forward. Merlin cocks his head as their eyes meet, his smile never waning. He seems to be waiting for Morgana to make the first move.
She does.
She is running before she realizes it, right into Merlin’s waiting arms. He spins her around, and she lets out the most carefree laugh she has had since she was a child. When he sets her on the ground, he still doesn’t let go.
“I’m sorry,” she says. It’s the first time she has said that. Never in any letters did she say the words. She had refused, at first, to ever make an apology to him. She realizes, though, that she is sorry. She made mistakes, but she is fixing them. She is proud of that.
“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I’m glad you're home, ‘gana. We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. More than you will ever know.” She hugs him tighter. “Thank you. For never giving up on me. For…for always remaining my friend. Even when I did not deserve it. I will never be able to thank you enough, Merlin.”
Merlin pulls away and wipes a tear from her face. It is then that she realizes she is crying. It is not raining, and there is no leaky roof, so surely it must be tears that are descending down her face.
“You always deserved it. You always will. Don’t forget that, ‘gana. You deserve to be happy. I hope you can find that in Camelot with us.”
“Don’t be silly, Merlin. Of course, I will. You are my family. This is right where I need to be.” She didn’t think it was possible for his smile to grow wider. She is glad it is because of her.
She turns to Arthur, who is waiting patiently for his turn, and punches him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” he says, rubbing his shoulder. “He gets a hug, but I get punched?”
Morgana narrows her eyes. “That’s what you get for acting like a quitter! If you ever give up on your kingdom again, I will do far worse than that.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I would expect no less, ‘gana. Now, do I get a hug or what?”
Morgana is tempted to say “what,” instead she pulls him into a hug and whispers, “I’ve missed you, brother.”
Arthur’s shoulders relax as he whispers, “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re home, Morgana. It hasn’t been the same without you.”
“You are very lucky,” she says, “to have someone like Merlin. Don’t you dare ruin that.”
“I would never,” he says, and she just knows that he is looking at Merlin with those ridiculous lovestruck eyes.
Gwen is next. She starts crying again and hopes she will not be judged for it. She rarely cried in front of people before everything happened. She doesn’t wish to be considered weak for it. But emotions aren’t weak. And she hasn’t seen her family on good terms in years. And Uther is no longer here to tell her how to act—to pretend to be someone else. She can be herself now, whoever that may be.
As she receives hugs left and right and Arthur announces to the kingdom that she’ll officially be granted the title of princess, only for them to cheer in return rather than remain silent, she thinks that finally, she is happy. Finally, she is at peace.
The sun shines above them, casting a golden light above the kingdom, and it makes her realize that this is what Merlin has been talking about. The Golden Age of Albion. In that moment, she knows it has finally begun. And they will experience it together.
* * *
“No! I’m not doing it, Merlin, and you can’t make me!”
“It was one of her few conditions—”
“Few?! She sent an entire list! And don’t think I don’t know that you convinced her to add blueberries being allowed into the castle again to the list! I know you did it, Merlin! I know—”
“How dare you accuse me of that! It’s not my fault Morgana loves blueberries, Arthur!”
“Do you really think I can’t tell when you are lying out of your—”
“Finish that sentence, Arthur. I dare you.”
Arthur glares at Merlin.
Merlin glares back. “You promised. It was on her condition list.”
“I am a king, Merlin. She can’t—”
“Kings don’t break their promises, Arthur. And you promised.”
Arthur glares at Merlin.
Merlin glares back.
Arthur huffs. “Do I really have to?”
“Yes, it was one of her conditions, and she is already waiting for you. I have prepared everything.”
“Of course you have! You’re going to get a kick out of this, and it really isn’t fair to—”
“Shut up, Arthur.” He pulls Arthur down the hall, into the extra ballroom where all their friends are waiting for them.
“Wait!” Arthur shouts, digging his heels into the floor. “You said it would just be you and Morgana in a private room!”
“No,” Gwaine says, his feet kicked up on a table in the corner. “He said you would be in a private room, but he never said who would be in it. And if you think we’ll be missing this, princess, you have another thing coming to you.”
Merlin shrugs. “It’s just our inner circle, Arthur. They’ve seen you in far worse scenarios.”
“Karl hasn’t!”
“I was there for the incident with Lady Applebee.”
“Shut up, Karl!”
“Don’t be mean to Karl,” Merlin says, “or he gets to take a turn after Morgana.”
“There are no turns! Morgana gets five shots—”
“Ten!”
“Why are you defending her, Merlin? If anything, you should be up there too!”
Morgana rolls her eyes. “Merlin wrote to me all the time. We made up our differences. Your letters were lacking. There is still some residual anger. This will help.”
Arthur frowns. “I am the king! I was busy—”
“And Merlin is the queen, your manservant, head of the household, Court Sorcerer, and occasionally Gauis's apprentice. Quite frankly, you overwork him, Arthur. It is absolutely ridiculous how busy he is. Yet, he still found time to write to me several times a day, while I received short responses from you that Merlin had to remind you to write.”
“I don’t overwork him! He—”
Merlin shoves him. “Get up there, Arthur. The sooner you do, the sooner it’s over.”
“Yes, brother,” Morgana says, a maniacal grin on her face as she takes a spot next to a bowl of rotten fruit and vegetables. “Do hurry, you are wasting time. Mordred and I have a magic practice with Merlin after this. I’d hate to cut into that. Especially considering Merlin’s hectic schedule.”
If they didn’t know it, they would think Arthur was heading to the pyre. Instead, he is led to the stocks set up in the middle of the room. He grumbles the entire time as his head and arms are locked in place.
“This is ridiculous,” he shouts when Merlin steps away. “I am the King of—” The first plum splatters in his face.
“Excellent throw, Princess Morgana!” Gwaine shouts.
Morgana grins triumphantly. “Thank you, Sir Gwaine!”
“I hate you all!” Arthur shouts as a rotten cabbage is thrown at him. A piece of cabbage sticks in his hair.
Merlin laughs hysterically.
Morgana mocks him as she throws each item, reaching her target almost every time. Arthur looks like the bottom of a stew pot when she runs out.
“You’re out! Now get me out of here this instant!”
“I’m not finished yet, you cabbagehead!” she yells as she reaches beneath the table and pulls out another bowl.
“You tell him!” Merlin shouts.
She grins at Merlin, a twinkle in her eye that he has missed greatly. She picks up a rotten apple and holds it out for Merlin. “Would you like to throw one, my Queen?”
“Don’t you dare take that apple, Merlin!” Arthur yells.
Gwaine starts chanting. “Do it! Do it!” And soon, almost the whole room has joined in.
“Merlin, don’t you—”
Merlin dares. Merlin always dares.
He takes the apple and makes eye contact with Arthur before throwing the apple at him. He doesn’t throw it very hard in his defense. It’s soft enough that it squashes across his cheek. “That’s for all the times you put me in the stocks!”
“You deserved it! You were a terrible manservant!”
He throws a plum. “And you were a dollophead the entire time! You still are!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!” He picks up a spoiled potato. “And this is for banning blueberries!”
“You are allergic!”
“And this is for calling me a cheater!”
“You used magic with Mordred—”
“Prove it! And this is for the Queenly rules I have to follow!”
“They keep you—”
“And this is for the cow!”
“The cow was your fault!”
“And this one is for the cow too!”
“When I get out of here, I’m going to strangle you!”
“I’d like to see you try!” He throws another apple.
“Do another one for the blueberries!” Lancelot shouts.
Arthur gasps. “I thought you were loyal, Lancelot?”
Lancelot shakes his fist. “You took away our blueberry pie!”
“Yeah!” Merlin shouts. “This one is for the blueberry pie!”
“It was part of Morgana’s condition to bring it back because of you, you menace! I’m pretty sure half of those conditions were yours!”
“I have no clue what you are talking about, Arthur,” Morgana says, though the look on her face says otherwise. “Those were purely my conditions. They had nothing to do with Merlin.”
“Yeah!” Merlin shouts again and throws a cabbage. He takes a deep breath and looks at Morgana. “I feel a lot better now.”
“Don’t you? It’s very therapeutic. Maybe we should make this a recurrence. It might help keep things…peaceful around here.”
Merlin taps his chin and dutifully ignores Arthur’s cursing in the background. “You aren’t wrong, Princess Morgana. Shall we continue?”
“We shall.”
“And this one is for the sheep!”
“Merlin!”
And this time, they truly lived happily ever after because they finally reached the Golden Age of Camelot. Not through war and death but through a few letters, plenty of apologies, and by putting the king in the stocks. Did you honestly expect any less of Camelot?