Characters: Nimueh, some Merlin
Pairings: One-sided Merlin/Nimueh
Summary: Nimueh wants Merlin, and it's boarding to the point of obsession.
Notes from author: After the airing of Le Morte d'Arthur I couldn't resist writing a fic about them.
Warnings: Fairly dark!fic; contains spoilers for 1x13.

From afar the old witch watched the young warlock in Camelot.

Faithfully, everyday, she would watch him in her waters. She would smile at every mistake he made, every trauma he faced, and every bit of pain in his life. Yet she also smiled when he was victorious over every antagonist he faced, as his powers grew stronger and stronger; she watched every moment with glee.

She was fixated on him.

She would reach towards the waters that showed his face, as if he might feel her if she did. Maybe he did feel her watching him. There were times, while he was walking around, he would stop dead in his tracks as stare forward. Nimueh smiled then too. It was like he could see her through the water. It gave her a strange thrill. The thought of him knowing she was there and yet doing nothing told her that maybe he liked she was watching him. And if he didn't know, then who was getting hurt?

It was a fascination of hers.

When she reached out to touch him in the water she would close her eyes and imagine what he felt like. It had been twenty years since she last took pleasure in the joys of the flesh. She had almost forgotten what a man felt like.

In those moments she could feel her hand brushing over his forehead, pushing back his hair. Every morning he would awaken with an innocent dazed expression on his face, his hair stood on end, and his hands covering a yawn. A very innocent boy considering the power he possessed. It was an innocence that Nimueh wanted to possess, the clutch in her hands, and to take apart, piece by piece.

It was a mania that drove her mind.

Twenty years ago the younger men had always set her blood alight with their hair on end when they woke in the morning. Merlin was no different. She imagined how she would own him; how she would possess him. She would steal him away, convince him of her usefulness to him, and take him into her confidence.

It was a thing she had thought about a long time.

Then she would set about the destruction of his innocence. She would fill his heart with the same dark despair that had also entrapped her soul. She would show him the evil of Uther and those who destroyed the old ways, and show him the glory and brilliance of the old ways, the old gods who created him and made him flesh; a dream realised. She would open up the heavens to him and show him that birthright.

She would turn his pity to hate and his hate to pity wherever and whenever it pleased her. She would aid him in focusing his magic, making him into the great warlock he was meant to be; the one that Gaius was preventing him from becoming, the one that his foolish little book of magic tricks were insulting him with.

She would groom, grab, pet, preen, coax, caress, seduce and squeeze every last ounce of that abominable, adorable innocence of the boy, and mould him into the man. He would be a man of unlimited power who would bring kings down with a snap of his fingers, who would bring terror to the people and who armies would flee and run away from upon seeing.

He would be her little hobby.

And in the background, or standing beside him, or holding his hand leading him along there she would be. He wouldn't be her puppet, but her pet. She wouldn't be his master, but his mistress. She would bask in his dark glory as the world fell to its knees before him. They would bring magic back to not only their land but every land all over the earth. She would be the one who owned him.

That would be an ideal world, an ideal outcome.

But for now he was still just a boy teetering on the line of manhood. Yet she wanted to reach into that water desperately, take him and quench her thirst for him. It was very rare for such young blood to fire up an old witch's heart. But all that mattered to Nimueh was that it did, and she would satisfy her infatuation of him.

The question was how could she satisfy this lust?

She knew her deep routed infatuation that would horrify his old mentor, desperate that his innocence not be lost too soon. The idea of stealing Merlin from under his adoptive father's nose was delicious.

Then one night she finally stopped watching, just for that night, and went to see the young warlock while he slept in his bed. Standing beside him as he slept soundly she considered him with anticipation. This was Emrys. He was the one foretold in the old religion; the boy who had no father, who had the might and fury of a dragon, the man who would live in history, immortal, when all the rest of us were dead.

Nimueh had never considered he would be in the form of a young man, a human that she could touch, a personality that could be shaped. The idea that he was flesh and blood yet all powerful drew her to him. The idea that he lay their dreaming instead of never sleeping was alluring.

He stirred as if a bad thought had crossed his sleep. Nimueh stroked her hand over his face, hushing him silently with a secretive smile. He was so beautiful. In the end she couldn't resist drawing closer and whispering her deep rooted thoughts in his ear, like an incantation.

As he stirred again she moved closer to his face, and placed her lips gently to his. For the first time in twenty years she remembered what a man felt like, and how vulnerable they were when they slept.

What she wouldn't have given to take him away with her now, to own him now. But he wasn't ready, even for her. Her desires had to be put away, her lust forgotten for a while. But she would wait. Wait until the time was right. He could kill her a thousand times and she would still wait. She would plague him as surely as he haunted her.

She would die happy if she could steal once piece of that innocence. She couldn't help herself. It had become an obsession.