A/N: I wanted to start by saying that I hope this doesn't seem like the ridiculous storyline ever. I hope it can be taken seriously...but I did have a whole lot of fun writing this prologue.

This takes place in season two, some time after "The Nightmare Begins." Morgana is not exactly evil yet...and I don't really intend to turn her evil in this particular story.

Well, here it goes. Any feedback is appreciated greatly.


Prologue: The Purple Vase

The Lady Morgana had never thrown up in front of anyone before.

She had especially never thrown up in front of Prince Arthur's servant, so labeled at times by Arthur himself as Merlin the Idiot, who with an armful of chainmail, had tripped over Morgana's foot, and dropped absolutely everything.

But then again, that was more her fault than his.

After another almost sleepless night, Morgana had dressed herself and decided to take a walk through the corridors, hoping to refresh herself in some way. She was hardly ever up this early and it fascinated her…so many people hurrying this way and that, greeting the day, living their lives. Did it really take this much effort this early in the morning to keep the castle running smoothly?

She had been standing at the window in one particular corridor, watching with great interest as the people of Camelot began their day in the streets below, when her stomach had heaved and clamping a hand over her mouth, she had run to the nearest object – a large, purple vase next to a large white column, just across the hall from the window she had been standing at.

Morgana had fallen to her knees, feeling sicker than the dog she often saw wandering outside the city gates. The dog that looked positively diseased but that was most likely not, Gwen had assured her, and just suffered from unfortunate genes. Morgana kept the image of the dog in her head now as she tried not to think about vomit.

And that's when she had felt someone trip over her outlying foot and a soft, ringing crash as chainmail fell to the floor. Morgana had turned, absolutely mortified that anyone would see her in such a predicament, and had seen Merlin on his knees as well, surrounding by scattered material.

She supposed she should have been relieved that it hadn't been Uther who had caught her throwing up in his expensive, pretty, castle vase in public. But she wasn't relieved. Merlin was her friend and she didn't like looking helpless in front of her friends.

The chainmail hadn't been Merlin's top priority. He had inched closer to her, concern filling every feature of his young face and practically exploding out of his deep, blue eyes.

"Milady, are you all right?"

Morgana had forced herself to put on her most presentable smile. "Of course I am," she said, in an effort to be cheerful and to get him to go away, so she could figure out what to do with her vase full of puke.

Merlin gave her a disbelieving look, one that she saw him sometimes give Arthur when they were out in the woods hunting and Arthur was trying to navigate the way. He clearly didn't think she was all right. And maybe she wasn't.

"I'm just not feeling well today," Morgana tried to assure him, still holding tightly to her attempt at cheer. Desperate to get away from his searching gaze, she unsteadily got to her feet and walked a few feet away, to where the chainmail was scattered. She began to pick some of it up, but Merlin quickly scrambled to his feet and gathered up the rest.

"You should rest," he told her.

Morgana placed the chainmail she had gathered on top of the pile in his arms. Not knowing what else to say, she said what she supposed would be the right thing. "I'm sorry for tripping you, Merlin."

"No need to be sorry," he told her, as he began to back away, as if afraid that she would collapse or something ridiculous if he turned. He stopped for the slightest moment. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," Morgana said, pulling out her radiant smile once again. "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin gave her a nod and a sweet smile of his own, before turning and going on his merry way. Morgana stood by the window, to give off the appearance that she wanted to continue to people watch.

But as soon as Merlin turned the corner, she spun around and snatched the purple vase and hurried away with it.

And because this happened to be one of the most unfortunate days of her life, Morgana ran into one of the last people she wanted to see at that moment in time - Arthur. What was he doing up so early?

"Morgana," he said, looking down at the vase before looking back up at her. "Where are you going with that this early in the morning?"

Morgana met his gaze confidently. "I really, really like this. And I'm taking it to my room so I can look at it forevermore." And with that, she hurried away, not even bothering to turn back and notice the bewildered look on Arthur's face.

When Morgana got to her room, she got to her knees in front of her fireplace and tried to light a match. Over and over again she tried, occasionally looking at the closed door, knowing Gwen would arrive at any moment. "Light," she murmured. "Light!"

It wasn't until she heard footsteps outside in the corridor that her desperation heightened. "Light!" she practically pleaded in a loud, demanding tone. She felt a sudden force within her as she looked at the fireplace and realized that she had lit it herself.

With her magic.

Quickly, she threw the purple vase into the fire. It shattered before the flames engulfed it.

Thoroughly exhausted by her morning adventure, the Lady Morgana crawled back into bed.

It had been an ugly vase anyway.