Nor could she ever foresee without fear - Gwen/Morgana, PG (camelotsolstice)
My camelotsolstice fic, finally! I only waited until more than a month after reveals, of course. This is part 1 of 3 due to size, although I realize that I could've mashed it all into two parts. *headdesk*
Nor could she ever foresee without fear - Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin preslash - PG - 10,973 words
Summary: Camelot is astir with the quest for the witch, the traitor. Morgana.
Author's Note: I want to give a big thank-you to my betas, who did an excellent job at finding all the little mistakes and all the big ones. greywash and infernallysly, thank you both so much for betaing this, and on such short notice! ♥ Title for this taken from an Old English poem which I found translated into modern English here.
Nor could she ever foresee without fear (Originally posted here)
The latest execution Morgana watches from a window. This sorceress had been middle-aged, ragged and sad-looking. When Uther tells her the reason, Morgana's blood chills to ice in her veins.
"She had the gift of prophecy," he says. "She claimed she had visions all her life."
"So you executed her for something she was born with?"
"Because," Uther corrects her, tries to placate her, "because she was a sorceress and believed she had the right to tell people their fate. People are not meant to know their destiny; it is why they don't See! Her running about Camelot telling people their fates caused mayhem. I cannot have a witch stirring up my people!"
Morgana can see Uther's eyes flash even as he turns away from her, and she whips around to face him once more.
"She had children," Morgana protests, voice deep, eyes wet. This, above all else, rends Morgana's heart; the little ones hadn't been seen since their mother was taken from the home, but searches were out for them, to test them for magic. "She had children," she repeats again, softer.
"Their mother was mad," Uther retorts, quietly.
She huffs a laugh. "And now they have no mother, mad or otherwise - nothing but the world for them now. Does your heart feel lighter now you've sent them into that wilderness, rather than keep them safe at home?"
"She might have killed someone if she had gone unpunished much longer," Uther says.
"You know this for a fact?" Morgana asks, and any further inquiries are cut off when Uther responds.
"Sorcery is illegal, whatever its form. I cannot let crime - and the crime of sorcery, above all - go unpunished."
He leaves the chamber before Morgana can say anything else. She lets out a shaky breath and looks out the window once more, to the stragglers of the execution who watch servants clean the blood off the stones.
Morgana blinks until her eyes are clear again, holding her hands to her hot cheeks, leaving the chamber, dress flowing behind her limply.
--
"My lady, what's wrong?" Gwen is preparing the hearth, and she stands and looks at Morgana worriedly as she enters.
Morgana smiles gently. "I'm exhausted, Gwen. I think it's straight to bed for me tonight."
Gwen curtsies, willing to let Morgana evade if she wishes it. "Don't forget to take your tonic," she says gently.
"How could I?" Morgana responds from behind her changing screen. "It tastes horrid enough that I couldn't possibly forget it." She emerges and picks up the small vial on her bedside, downing it in one swig. Despite her complaining of its taste, she's grown so used to it that she doesn't make a face at it as she swallows.
Morgana climbs into bed and reaches one hand out to Gwen, who sits on the edge of the bed and takes Morgana's hand in response. "Thank you, Gwen," Morgana says.
They sit still for a moment, Morgana drowsily looking up at Gwen from the pillows. Gwen leans in to kiss Morgana, her lady's lips soft, though her breath is still bitter with tonic. Gwen's grown used to Morgana's exhausted state lately, and though Gaius has recently increased the strength of the tonic yet again, Morgana seems only to grow increasingly distant - often, it seems, dreaming even in her waking hours. Gwen could only hope Morgana's daytime dreams are better than her nightmares.
"Sleep well, my lady," Gwen says. Morgana is asleep before Gwen is out the door.
--
The shouting is unbearable, Uther's voice rising above them all. Morgana can also hear Arthur, Merlin, Gwen: furious, confused, crying.
Witch.
Morgana is grabbed by the guards, who drag her down to the dungeons, despite her clawing and screaming and sobbing. Her voice grows hoarse with pleas to Uther, to her friends - but in the dungeons, she barely uses her voice. There is, she realizes, no hope. They are letting no one see her, keeping twice as many guards around the room she's encaged in and a few within. She can barely sleep, eat, or blearily look at the world around her without someone staring back at her, their eyes full of hatred.
Witch.
They keep her there for an eternity. She soon goes insane, staring at the walls, at the guards' boots, dipping her finger into the soupy rations they deliver to her and watching liquid sink into the swirling mazes of her fingerprint.
And then they take her out into the bright day; the sun blinds her, hot on her skin. Morgana's last prophecy comes when she thinks to herself, I am going to die.
The fire is hot when it touches her skin, then cold, and soon she doesn't feel anything at all, falling asleep in the flames as they lick her skin. She is fascinated by the swirls of smoke her clothes and hair and her own burning flesh create. It rises up with the flames, dark gray and blue gracing the sky in flickers.
She wakes with a start. She's breathing heavily and clutching the sheets. She gasps for air, for-
"Water," she croaks, and Gwen enters the room with a pitcher. As Morgana downs the contents, Gwen stares at her, expression riddled with worry and confusion. She drinks so quickly and carelessly that some water sloshes onto her nightgown and the bedclothes, and once she pulls away, she's soaked.
"Oh, dear," Gwen begins, turning away to retrieve something to dry her off.
"No," Morgana says, breathing heavily, "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Gwen asks, concerned. "You'll catch cold." Morgana only nods. Gwen hesitates; Morgana says her name softly, and only then does Gwen leave reluctantly, kissing Morgana on the forehead before she does.
Morgana slumps against the pillows, hair clinging to her wet face, and though her eyes are still heavy with sleep, her mind is also heavy, with shards of fear and worry digging under her skin with every hazy thought. She resolves not to go back to sleep, but instead watches out the window, looking into the deep darkness until it turns gray with dawn. The cries of her friends from her nightmare echo through her mind as she lies there. When she realizes what her dreams may mean - she had the gift of prophecy, Uther's voice seems to be saying of her - she shivers and pulls the bedclothes up around her.
--
Weeks later, the dream hasn't left her.
She is in the town buying parchment. She'd donned her hood: not because it was a particularly chilly day, but because she hadn't wanted to be recognized.
She'd heard whispers of it in the castle: but only whispers, and nothing more. Here in the town she heard more of it. Supposedly there was a woman in town who would tell you anything you wanted to know of your own heart or mind, or your future and destiny: a soothsayer.
Morgana stops at a corner, barely glancing up at the people walking by. She decides, suddenly, to visit this woman, this soothsayer. She hears two young women talking about the woman as they approach; Morgana steps out before them and lowers her voice. "I need to find the soothsayer."
The women stop and look at one another: Morgana can tell even though she hasn't dared to meet their eyes.
"Behind you."
The women walk away quietly, glancing back at Morgana occasionally. She turns around and looks at the small building she'd been standing in front of. The curtains are drawn. She knocks, and when no one answers, she opens the door herself. It creaks on its hinges and a waft of strange-smelling smoke greets her. She looks about her with wide eyes: it is dark, and the strong-smelling smoke lazily circuits the room. There stands a table in the middle, with a rounded shape atop it covered with a shimmering fabric. She steps closer to it.
"I knew you would be coming." Morgana jumps at hearing the voice that comes from some indeterminate corner of the room. "Who's there?" She calls back, warily. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all.
A slight form steps out of the smoke to meet her. "You sought me, and so have you found me," the woman says. "And I have been awaiting you. Sit." She walks away toward the small table and indicates that Morgana should sit opposite her. Morgana glances at the table and the object atop it warily, not sure what she shall face if she approaches.
"Sit," the woman repeats. Morgana has no choice but to obey.
"You've heard of me, I presume," the woman says. "My name is Sybil." Morgana nods at her. Sybil continues, "And you are the Lady Morgana."
"How did you-"
As if in response, the woman draws the fabric from the object, revealing an orb. It appears to be solidly gray, but as Morgana is compelled to gaze upon it she notices the contents within swirl, fluid. She shifts in her seat, unsettled by the way the orb's contents move about more rapidly the longer she looks upon it.
"You are troubled," Sybil comments, staring deeply into the orb.
"I don't often come to the lower town on my own," Morgana says shakily, hoping to seem nonchalant. "Of course I would be troubled."
"There is something else on your mind," Sybil says, looking up at Morgana as faint images dance across the sphere in front of her. It suddenly turns a deep red as Sybil's eyes flash gold. Morgana gasps and grips the arms of the chair. She feels breathless.
"I have-" she begins, and chokes. "Dreams."
"What kind of dreams?" Sybil inquires. Morgana would ask her to stop, for she knows only Sybil can be causing Morgana this pain, but feels compelled to answer her questions.
"Frightening ones," Morgana gasps.
"Do you see the future?"
Morgana nods furiously; she can do nothing but. By now she feels just as she did when she dreamed of being burned alive by Uther: skin hot, thirsty for water and air alike. She gapes like a fish, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers twitching.
"You are a sorceress," says Sybil, softly, just as Morgana seems to be released from the spell. Morgana breathes deeply and watches Sybil as she stands to retrieve a pitcher of water. Putting her hand to her heart, Morgana slumps in the chair.
Sybil hands Morgana the pitcher and watches as she gulps down its contents. She calmly pulls the cloth back over the orb as it returns to its steady gray. Morgana sets the pitcher down on the table and leans forward. "I demand to know what that was," she says, "besides witchcraft." Suddenly she can almost understand Uther's hatred of it, of the horrid and ugly magic just as she's seen - and felt - just now.
"All that you have just felt was your own doing," Sybil says quietly, expression closed.
"Do you try to evade claims of sorcery? How did you know I…I…"
"I do not evade anything. Much of what I do is merely a pretty fiction - give me a giggling maiden and I will spin a tale of the wealthy man she is to marry. Give me an unlucky drunk and I will predict he will win his bar games thereafter. It needn't be true. On occasion, however, I will See something. As I have with you and your… powers. Your gift."
"So it is true," Morgana says as she pulls her hands back from the table - vulnerable to Sybil's gaze - to the warmth of her cloak. "I'm a sorceress! So what that woman - the one accused of sorcery - said about having a gift of prophecy her entire life is true? And I have it as well?"
"It would seem so, wouldn't it?" The corners of Sybil's mouth curve up briefly. "Not only can you See the future in your dreams, but if you tried, you could certainly… do magic."
Morgana huffs. "Under Uther's nose? It would be the last thing I do."
"You could flee Camelot." Sybil ducks her head as she says it, and the shadows hide her face. "I certainly know enough from what I've seen - and experienced - to know that your powers will soon manifest themselves, and considering the situation you are in, they may manifest themselves against Camelot, against Uther."
"What are you saying?"
"I have Seen that your powers will soon reveal themselves and, should you deny them, they will only get out of your control, and you will burn at the stake; should you acknowledge them, you will be able to control them as they grow. But nonetheless, someone you trust may betray you, should he - or she - learn of your powers…"
"My only chance is to flee," Morgana repeats, voice monotone.
"Precisely."
"But-" She can't flee Camelot. Not only has it been her home a good deal of her life, but there are people here- Gwen-
"I can tell you one thing: Arthur will become King sooner than you might think, and he, my lady, is your only hope. However, treasonous secrets make heavy hearts, and heavy hearts do not well keep secrets. You cannot simply wait for Uther to pass, for you will be found before then. As for those you may leave behind… perhaps you will not worry so much if you know that one of them will betray you…"
"I can't-" Morgana's voice becomes thick and heavy, her mind barely able to formulate concepts of anything but Camelot, even if it means being without Uther's brutal reign over her.
"And yet you must," Sybil says, quietly. "I know where the druids dwell - they are magical beings. You would be safe with them. I can deliver you to them and you needn't worry about Uther any longer-"
"How can you promise that?" Morgana's temper suddenly flares, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He will send a search if he thinks I've been kidnapped, even if he knew I'd gone of my own volition. I am his ward, he is not going to let me alone until I've been caught."
Sybil places a hand on Morgana's shoulder. "Perhaps," she says, "but I also have the druids' protection - even now, as my mission in coming to Camelot was to rescue you - and if you leave with me the magic will protect you as well. You might stand directly in front of Uther's men and they would not see you." Her eyes flash quickly and Morgana suddenly feels reassured.
"You say," Morgana's voice is soft and hoarse when she responds. "You say that Arthur is my only hope. Does that mean I will be able to return, safely, once he is crowned King?" Sybil nods. Morgana can only hope it will be soon, just as Sybil said - but how soon is soon?
Morgana sits motionless for a moment, realizing she must do this, no matter what it means. She must flee, must leave behind everyone she loves; she must also leave behind the man who may murder her. She stands to leave, shaky hands smoothing out her dress.
"Midnight," Morgana says. "I will meet you at your door."
Sybil nods again, and Morgana sighs shakily, breathing deeply to dry the tears out.
Sybil steps closer. "You will grow used to being away. Once you are with others of your kind - others who understand you - all those you know here will soon become distant memories."
Morgana isn't sure whether she's more reassured or chilled as she steps out the door and into the bright day. She looks around quickly, pulls the hood down over her face, and returns to the castle, completely forgetting to buy her parchment.
Tonight.
--
The rest of the day has Morgana by her window, worrying. She must go alone, and mustn't tell Gwen, of course, but… how could she do anything else? She is used to keeping secrets from Gwen, keeping her dreams stirring around in her own tumultuous mind rather than burden her maidservant with them. It's hard enough waving away Gwen's attentions as she sits and ponders, but how will Morgana survive the trek, and her life away from Camelot? Perhaps Sybil was right in saying she would forget all those she saw so vividly before her eyes now, but that wouldn't make it any better. Forgetting Gwen, forgetting any of them, is something she would never want to do. On the other hand, forgetting them would perhaps be easier if she were to be forced to be without them for so long - it seems to her that forgetting would be the only way to survive so far away from them.
A knock comes at her bedchamber door followed by a tentative, "Morgana?" Gwen, polite as she is, knows one thing: she is entitled to come into Morgana's bedchamber whenever she pleases. It is the only reason some secrets of Morgana's have ever been unearthed, as Gwen has often found her in tears or in anger at this very window. As much as Morgana has appreciated being able to confront her fears and hatreds, this is not the time for Gwen to enter, not now when Morgana knows she must inevitably - and not only inevitably but soon - leave her.
Morgana flicks her gaze over to the opening door and the worried look on Gwen's face as she peeks in, and despite Morgana's tangled mind, she feels relief wash over her and welcomes Gwen warmly. She knows that even the little things - the furrow of Gwen's brow, the scent of her as she comes to hug Morgana, the way she worries about Morgana's dress - she knows these will all soon be gone and already she appreciates them more, wishes to treasure them.
"Whatever is wrong, my lady?"
"Nothing to burden you with, Gwen." Gwen gives Morgana a disbelieving look as she pulls back. "Really," Morgana adds.
Despite the smile on her face, Morgana can't help but continue to feel worried. She tries to hide it the best she can, however, and Gwen smiles gently in return and leaves the bedchamber quickly.
She returns with a vase of freshly-picked flowers. "This might do something to soothe your worried mind, my lady," she says. Morgana smiles and receives the proffered vase, placing it atop her chest of drawers.
"Thank you, Guinevere," she says. She steps forth, and Gwen does not step back. It's been so long, Morgana barely feels human anymore and from dusk to dawn wades through nightmares. Gwen, she can only imagine, feels somewhat the same for catering to her in the middle of the night and worrying over her both night and day, as only Gwen can do.
When she presses her lips to Gwen's, Gwen lets out a shivering sigh, breathing out Morgana's name when their lips part briefly. She exposes her dark, smooth line of neck, and Morgana traces old marks, kissing them over so that they might heal sooner, so that all Gwen's present and future wounds will heal. Morgana knows she'll need it.
--
As soon as Sybil's door closes behind Morgana, the boy sits up and stretches his muscles, cramped from where he's been sitting behind the screen in the corner of the room.
"Was that her?" he asks Sybil, as if the way she'd called Morgana my lady could indicate anything but that they'd found their victim.
"Of course it was, Liir." Sybil pushes a chair underneath the handle of the door instead of locking it. "Do you remember the story?"
Liir pauses for a moment to think, sighs, and repeats what Sybil has ingrained in him, not as elaborately as he will repeat it to the King, but enough to cause Sybil to grin.
"Perfect," she says. "I'm to be meeting my lady at midnight. I want you to hide when she comes, and at daybreak - no sooner, no later - set out for the castle. You must get to Uther, as quickly as you can, no matter what."
Liir nods. "And what about after?"
"After?" Sybil turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "I suppose you can wait for me. Here, if you like… though that may come to be dangerous. Perhaps Uther will keep you at the castle." She shrugs. "I'll find you regardless."
Sybil could just as easily abandon him completely, but he'd latched onto her so early in her expeditions and proved to be at least somewhat valuable. He'd acted as her servant, her son, her brother, even had passed as her husband, depending upon the situation. He would certainly be valuable in the future, as someone young and nimble: and should Sybil seek more quests as this one, she wouldn't be able to act alone, and it might prove too risky to find someone new each time. Liir, she knew, was faithful, as he had nowhere else to go, and their exploits garnered them weapons and money that was used for clothing for the growing boy, but, more often, the sweet incense and drugging herbs they bought off dodgy venders.
"What's this?" Liir asks, moving toward the table and retrieving a glimmering object from the floor. He holds it up. Sybil recognizes it as the bracelet Morgana had been wearing; she grins and goes to Liir, who gives it to her.
"Perfect," she whispers. She examines it for a moment and gives it back to Liir. "Take it with you when you meet Uther. It will prove useful."
"Of course," he says, putting the bracelet in his pocket.
"Now," Sybil says, fluttering about the room to gather things to take with her. "Remember, Liir-"
"Use a fake name," he finishes for her. "I know."
--
That night Morgana barely touches her food. Or that's what she wants to do, so absorbed is she in planning for running off tonight, but then Gwen insists she eat up.
"Please, Morgana," she says, "you're already ill enough as it is."
Morgana pushes the food around on her plate. "That's why I don't feel like eating." Gwen looks at her sadly and leaves the room. Morgana stares at the doorway for a moment before realizing that, ill as she may feel, she has a journey ahead of her and may not be eating amply for a while. She looks down at the plate quickly and grabs a pouch from her chest of drawers, wrapping some pieces of food in cloth and putting them in the pouch. She manages to hide the pouch once Gwen enters again, and tries to look more cheerful.
"My," Gwen says. "Feeling better?" Morgana can do naught but nod, and the way Gwen's face lights up is worth the lie.
"In fact," she says, "Gwen, could you bring me some more?"
Gwen nods and is out the door. Morgana wraps more food up and returns the satchel to its place, returning to the table to down her wine.
--
Gwen doesn't believe her when she says she'll be alright.
"If you need me to stay in here for tonight, Morgana…"
"I'll be fine, Gwen." At Gwen's disapproving and reluctant look, she adds, "Really." She leans forward to kiss Gwen on the forehead, and when she pulls away a tear is glistening on her cheek.
"Morgana-"
"I'm fine, Gwen," Morgana says hastily, cupping Gwen's cheek. "I'm only tired." As much as she tries to control her voice, it cracks a little. Gwen suddenly hugs her, holding her tightly against her chest.
"I want you to tell me," she says, "tell me if anything - anything - is wrong." Gwen's voice, now, is just as hoarse as Morgana's, her cheeks just as tearstained.
"Always," Morgana says, and digs her nails into Gwen's back, unwilling to let go.
--
Once Morgana's certain Gwen's asleep, she climbs out of bed and hurriedly slips on a comfortable old dress that she might wear to town. She gathers her cloak and takes a small book with her that Gwen gave her not long ago. She might pen small poems in it on occasion, but tonight she plucks one of the flowers out of the vase Gwen had brought earlier and, pulling the stem off, places it near the end of the book, closing it tightly. She ties the string around it and, retrieving her pouch she'd put her supper into earlier, places the new items at the bottom of the pouch and ties it onto her belt. Underneath her hood, it will be protected from all, and Morgana finds pleasure in the fact that she can just feel the edge of the book brushing against her hip, a reminder of her love.
She carefully opens her door, peeks out. Gwen's asleep on her couch. Morgana runs back into her room to gather a candle and sneaks out, careful to tread softly, aware that her servant sleeps lightly. She manages to make it into the corridor undetected, and, making sure she doesn't look suspicious, she treads the halls proudly, so that if someone sees her, she would declare a night stroll; after a quick explanation of her nightmares and the soothing quality of Camelot at night, anyone will understand. Underneath her veneer, however, Morgana is deeply agitated, and while she is prepared for being caught, she dreads it. Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she pulls her hood on and blows out the candle, leaving the castle through a back exit that the guards always stand around in drunken stupor. Every step she takes may be taking her somewhere safer, but it certainly doesn't feel like it; for she knows that with every step she takes, she is distancing herself not only from the man who she betrays, but also from the man who might save her as well.
She sees Sybil outside her home before she reaches it, a dark form against the doorframe. When she approaches her, Sybil glances up to be sure it's her and, turning away, says, "Come." Morgana follows her.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Nor could she ever foresee without fear - Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin preslash - PG - 10,973 words
Summary: Camelot is astir with the quest for the witch, the traitor. Morgana.
Author's Note: I want to give a big thank-you to my betas, who did an excellent job at finding all the little mistakes and all the big ones. greywash and infernallysly, thank you both so much for betaing this, and on such short notice! ♥ Title for this taken from an Old English poem which I found translated into modern English here.
Nor could she ever foresee without fear (Originally posted here)
The latest execution Morgana watches from a window. This sorceress had been middle-aged, ragged and sad-looking. When Uther tells her the reason, Morgana's blood chills to ice in her veins.
"She had the gift of prophecy," he says. "She claimed she had visions all her life."
"So you executed her for something she was born with?"
"Because," Uther corrects her, tries to placate her, "because she was a sorceress and believed she had the right to tell people their fate. People are not meant to know their destiny; it is why they don't See! Her running about Camelot telling people their fates caused mayhem. I cannot have a witch stirring up my people!"
Morgana can see Uther's eyes flash even as he turns away from her, and she whips around to face him once more.
"She had children," Morgana protests, voice deep, eyes wet. This, above all else, rends Morgana's heart; the little ones hadn't been seen since their mother was taken from the home, but searches were out for them, to test them for magic. "She had children," she repeats again, softer.
"Their mother was mad," Uther retorts, quietly.
She huffs a laugh. "And now they have no mother, mad or otherwise - nothing but the world for them now. Does your heart feel lighter now you've sent them into that wilderness, rather than keep them safe at home?"
"She might have killed someone if she had gone unpunished much longer," Uther says.
"You know this for a fact?" Morgana asks, and any further inquiries are cut off when Uther responds.
"Sorcery is illegal, whatever its form. I cannot let crime - and the crime of sorcery, above all - go unpunished."
He leaves the chamber before Morgana can say anything else. She lets out a shaky breath and looks out the window once more, to the stragglers of the execution who watch servants clean the blood off the stones.
Morgana blinks until her eyes are clear again, holding her hands to her hot cheeks, leaving the chamber, dress flowing behind her limply.
--
"My lady, what's wrong?" Gwen is preparing the hearth, and she stands and looks at Morgana worriedly as she enters.
Morgana smiles gently. "I'm exhausted, Gwen. I think it's straight to bed for me tonight."
Gwen curtsies, willing to let Morgana evade if she wishes it. "Don't forget to take your tonic," she says gently.
"How could I?" Morgana responds from behind her changing screen. "It tastes horrid enough that I couldn't possibly forget it." She emerges and picks up the small vial on her bedside, downing it in one swig. Despite her complaining of its taste, she's grown so used to it that she doesn't make a face at it as she swallows.
Morgana climbs into bed and reaches one hand out to Gwen, who sits on the edge of the bed and takes Morgana's hand in response. "Thank you, Gwen," Morgana says.
They sit still for a moment, Morgana drowsily looking up at Gwen from the pillows. Gwen leans in to kiss Morgana, her lady's lips soft, though her breath is still bitter with tonic. Gwen's grown used to Morgana's exhausted state lately, and though Gaius has recently increased the strength of the tonic yet again, Morgana seems only to grow increasingly distant - often, it seems, dreaming even in her waking hours. Gwen could only hope Morgana's daytime dreams are better than her nightmares.
"Sleep well, my lady," Gwen says. Morgana is asleep before Gwen is out the door.
--
The shouting is unbearable, Uther's voice rising above them all. Morgana can also hear Arthur, Merlin, Gwen: furious, confused, crying.
Witch.
Morgana is grabbed by the guards, who drag her down to the dungeons, despite her clawing and screaming and sobbing. Her voice grows hoarse with pleas to Uther, to her friends - but in the dungeons, she barely uses her voice. There is, she realizes, no hope. They are letting no one see her, keeping twice as many guards around the room she's encaged in and a few within. She can barely sleep, eat, or blearily look at the world around her without someone staring back at her, their eyes full of hatred.
Witch.
They keep her there for an eternity. She soon goes insane, staring at the walls, at the guards' boots, dipping her finger into the soupy rations they deliver to her and watching liquid sink into the swirling mazes of her fingerprint.
And then they take her out into the bright day; the sun blinds her, hot on her skin. Morgana's last prophecy comes when she thinks to herself, I am going to die.
The fire is hot when it touches her skin, then cold, and soon she doesn't feel anything at all, falling asleep in the flames as they lick her skin. She is fascinated by the swirls of smoke her clothes and hair and her own burning flesh create. It rises up with the flames, dark gray and blue gracing the sky in flickers.
She wakes with a start. She's breathing heavily and clutching the sheets. She gasps for air, for-
"Water," she croaks, and Gwen enters the room with a pitcher. As Morgana downs the contents, Gwen stares at her, expression riddled with worry and confusion. She drinks so quickly and carelessly that some water sloshes onto her nightgown and the bedclothes, and once she pulls away, she's soaked.
"Oh, dear," Gwen begins, turning away to retrieve something to dry her off.
"No," Morgana says, breathing heavily, "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Gwen asks, concerned. "You'll catch cold." Morgana only nods. Gwen hesitates; Morgana says her name softly, and only then does Gwen leave reluctantly, kissing Morgana on the forehead before she does.
Morgana slumps against the pillows, hair clinging to her wet face, and though her eyes are still heavy with sleep, her mind is also heavy, with shards of fear and worry digging under her skin with every hazy thought. She resolves not to go back to sleep, but instead watches out the window, looking into the deep darkness until it turns gray with dawn. The cries of her friends from her nightmare echo through her mind as she lies there. When she realizes what her dreams may mean - she had the gift of prophecy, Uther's voice seems to be saying of her - she shivers and pulls the bedclothes up around her.
--
Weeks later, the dream hasn't left her.
She is in the town buying parchment. She'd donned her hood: not because it was a particularly chilly day, but because she hadn't wanted to be recognized.
She'd heard whispers of it in the castle: but only whispers, and nothing more. Here in the town she heard more of it. Supposedly there was a woman in town who would tell you anything you wanted to know of your own heart or mind, or your future and destiny: a soothsayer.
Morgana stops at a corner, barely glancing up at the people walking by. She decides, suddenly, to visit this woman, this soothsayer. She hears two young women talking about the woman as they approach; Morgana steps out before them and lowers her voice. "I need to find the soothsayer."
The women stop and look at one another: Morgana can tell even though she hasn't dared to meet their eyes.
"Behind you."
The women walk away quietly, glancing back at Morgana occasionally. She turns around and looks at the small building she'd been standing in front of. The curtains are drawn. She knocks, and when no one answers, she opens the door herself. It creaks on its hinges and a waft of strange-smelling smoke greets her. She looks about her with wide eyes: it is dark, and the strong-smelling smoke lazily circuits the room. There stands a table in the middle, with a rounded shape atop it covered with a shimmering fabric. She steps closer to it.
"I knew you would be coming." Morgana jumps at hearing the voice that comes from some indeterminate corner of the room. "Who's there?" She calls back, warily. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all.
A slight form steps out of the smoke to meet her. "You sought me, and so have you found me," the woman says. "And I have been awaiting you. Sit." She walks away toward the small table and indicates that Morgana should sit opposite her. Morgana glances at the table and the object atop it warily, not sure what she shall face if she approaches.
"Sit," the woman repeats. Morgana has no choice but to obey.
"You've heard of me, I presume," the woman says. "My name is Sybil." Morgana nods at her. Sybil continues, "And you are the Lady Morgana."
"How did you-"
As if in response, the woman draws the fabric from the object, revealing an orb. It appears to be solidly gray, but as Morgana is compelled to gaze upon it she notices the contents within swirl, fluid. She shifts in her seat, unsettled by the way the orb's contents move about more rapidly the longer she looks upon it.
"You are troubled," Sybil comments, staring deeply into the orb.
"I don't often come to the lower town on my own," Morgana says shakily, hoping to seem nonchalant. "Of course I would be troubled."
"There is something else on your mind," Sybil says, looking up at Morgana as faint images dance across the sphere in front of her. It suddenly turns a deep red as Sybil's eyes flash gold. Morgana gasps and grips the arms of the chair. She feels breathless.
"I have-" she begins, and chokes. "Dreams."
"What kind of dreams?" Sybil inquires. Morgana would ask her to stop, for she knows only Sybil can be causing Morgana this pain, but feels compelled to answer her questions.
"Frightening ones," Morgana gasps.
"Do you see the future?"
Morgana nods furiously; she can do nothing but. By now she feels just as she did when she dreamed of being burned alive by Uther: skin hot, thirsty for water and air alike. She gapes like a fish, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers twitching.
"You are a sorceress," says Sybil, softly, just as Morgana seems to be released from the spell. Morgana breathes deeply and watches Sybil as she stands to retrieve a pitcher of water. Putting her hand to her heart, Morgana slumps in the chair.
Sybil hands Morgana the pitcher and watches as she gulps down its contents. She calmly pulls the cloth back over the orb as it returns to its steady gray. Morgana sets the pitcher down on the table and leans forward. "I demand to know what that was," she says, "besides witchcraft." Suddenly she can almost understand Uther's hatred of it, of the horrid and ugly magic just as she's seen - and felt - just now.
"All that you have just felt was your own doing," Sybil says quietly, expression closed.
"Do you try to evade claims of sorcery? How did you know I…I…"
"I do not evade anything. Much of what I do is merely a pretty fiction - give me a giggling maiden and I will spin a tale of the wealthy man she is to marry. Give me an unlucky drunk and I will predict he will win his bar games thereafter. It needn't be true. On occasion, however, I will See something. As I have with you and your… powers. Your gift."
"So it is true," Morgana says as she pulls her hands back from the table - vulnerable to Sybil's gaze - to the warmth of her cloak. "I'm a sorceress! So what that woman - the one accused of sorcery - said about having a gift of prophecy her entire life is true? And I have it as well?"
"It would seem so, wouldn't it?" The corners of Sybil's mouth curve up briefly. "Not only can you See the future in your dreams, but if you tried, you could certainly… do magic."
Morgana huffs. "Under Uther's nose? It would be the last thing I do."
"You could flee Camelot." Sybil ducks her head as she says it, and the shadows hide her face. "I certainly know enough from what I've seen - and experienced - to know that your powers will soon manifest themselves, and considering the situation you are in, they may manifest themselves against Camelot, against Uther."
"What are you saying?"
"I have Seen that your powers will soon reveal themselves and, should you deny them, they will only get out of your control, and you will burn at the stake; should you acknowledge them, you will be able to control them as they grow. But nonetheless, someone you trust may betray you, should he - or she - learn of your powers…"
"My only chance is to flee," Morgana repeats, voice monotone.
"Precisely."
"But-" She can't flee Camelot. Not only has it been her home a good deal of her life, but there are people here- Gwen-
"I can tell you one thing: Arthur will become King sooner than you might think, and he, my lady, is your only hope. However, treasonous secrets make heavy hearts, and heavy hearts do not well keep secrets. You cannot simply wait for Uther to pass, for you will be found before then. As for those you may leave behind… perhaps you will not worry so much if you know that one of them will betray you…"
"I can't-" Morgana's voice becomes thick and heavy, her mind barely able to formulate concepts of anything but Camelot, even if it means being without Uther's brutal reign over her.
"And yet you must," Sybil says, quietly. "I know where the druids dwell - they are magical beings. You would be safe with them. I can deliver you to them and you needn't worry about Uther any longer-"
"How can you promise that?" Morgana's temper suddenly flares, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He will send a search if he thinks I've been kidnapped, even if he knew I'd gone of my own volition. I am his ward, he is not going to let me alone until I've been caught."
Sybil places a hand on Morgana's shoulder. "Perhaps," she says, "but I also have the druids' protection - even now, as my mission in coming to Camelot was to rescue you - and if you leave with me the magic will protect you as well. You might stand directly in front of Uther's men and they would not see you." Her eyes flash quickly and Morgana suddenly feels reassured.
"You say," Morgana's voice is soft and hoarse when she responds. "You say that Arthur is my only hope. Does that mean I will be able to return, safely, once he is crowned King?" Sybil nods. Morgana can only hope it will be soon, just as Sybil said - but how soon is soon?
Morgana sits motionless for a moment, realizing she must do this, no matter what it means. She must flee, must leave behind everyone she loves; she must also leave behind the man who may murder her. She stands to leave, shaky hands smoothing out her dress.
"Midnight," Morgana says. "I will meet you at your door."
Sybil nods again, and Morgana sighs shakily, breathing deeply to dry the tears out.
Sybil steps closer. "You will grow used to being away. Once you are with others of your kind - others who understand you - all those you know here will soon become distant memories."
Morgana isn't sure whether she's more reassured or chilled as she steps out the door and into the bright day. She looks around quickly, pulls the hood down over her face, and returns to the castle, completely forgetting to buy her parchment.
Tonight.
--
The rest of the day has Morgana by her window, worrying. She must go alone, and mustn't tell Gwen, of course, but… how could she do anything else? She is used to keeping secrets from Gwen, keeping her dreams stirring around in her own tumultuous mind rather than burden her maidservant with them. It's hard enough waving away Gwen's attentions as she sits and ponders, but how will Morgana survive the trek, and her life away from Camelot? Perhaps Sybil was right in saying she would forget all those she saw so vividly before her eyes now, but that wouldn't make it any better. Forgetting Gwen, forgetting any of them, is something she would never want to do. On the other hand, forgetting them would perhaps be easier if she were to be forced to be without them for so long - it seems to her that forgetting would be the only way to survive so far away from them.
A knock comes at her bedchamber door followed by a tentative, "Morgana?" Gwen, polite as she is, knows one thing: she is entitled to come into Morgana's bedchamber whenever she pleases. It is the only reason some secrets of Morgana's have ever been unearthed, as Gwen has often found her in tears or in anger at this very window. As much as Morgana has appreciated being able to confront her fears and hatreds, this is not the time for Gwen to enter, not now when Morgana knows she must inevitably - and not only inevitably but soon - leave her.
Morgana flicks her gaze over to the opening door and the worried look on Gwen's face as she peeks in, and despite Morgana's tangled mind, she feels relief wash over her and welcomes Gwen warmly. She knows that even the little things - the furrow of Gwen's brow, the scent of her as she comes to hug Morgana, the way she worries about Morgana's dress - she knows these will all soon be gone and already she appreciates them more, wishes to treasure them.
"Whatever is wrong, my lady?"
"Nothing to burden you with, Gwen." Gwen gives Morgana a disbelieving look as she pulls back. "Really," Morgana adds.
Despite the smile on her face, Morgana can't help but continue to feel worried. She tries to hide it the best she can, however, and Gwen smiles gently in return and leaves the bedchamber quickly.
She returns with a vase of freshly-picked flowers. "This might do something to soothe your worried mind, my lady," she says. Morgana smiles and receives the proffered vase, placing it atop her chest of drawers.
"Thank you, Guinevere," she says. She steps forth, and Gwen does not step back. It's been so long, Morgana barely feels human anymore and from dusk to dawn wades through nightmares. Gwen, she can only imagine, feels somewhat the same for catering to her in the middle of the night and worrying over her both night and day, as only Gwen can do.
When she presses her lips to Gwen's, Gwen lets out a shivering sigh, breathing out Morgana's name when their lips part briefly. She exposes her dark, smooth line of neck, and Morgana traces old marks, kissing them over so that they might heal sooner, so that all Gwen's present and future wounds will heal. Morgana knows she'll need it.
--
As soon as Sybil's door closes behind Morgana, the boy sits up and stretches his muscles, cramped from where he's been sitting behind the screen in the corner of the room.
"Was that her?" he asks Sybil, as if the way she'd called Morgana my lady could indicate anything but that they'd found their victim.
"Of course it was, Liir." Sybil pushes a chair underneath the handle of the door instead of locking it. "Do you remember the story?"
Liir pauses for a moment to think, sighs, and repeats what Sybil has ingrained in him, not as elaborately as he will repeat it to the King, but enough to cause Sybil to grin.
"Perfect," she says. "I'm to be meeting my lady at midnight. I want you to hide when she comes, and at daybreak - no sooner, no later - set out for the castle. You must get to Uther, as quickly as you can, no matter what."
Liir nods. "And what about after?"
"After?" Sybil turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "I suppose you can wait for me. Here, if you like… though that may come to be dangerous. Perhaps Uther will keep you at the castle." She shrugs. "I'll find you regardless."
Sybil could just as easily abandon him completely, but he'd latched onto her so early in her expeditions and proved to be at least somewhat valuable. He'd acted as her servant, her son, her brother, even had passed as her husband, depending upon the situation. He would certainly be valuable in the future, as someone young and nimble: and should Sybil seek more quests as this one, she wouldn't be able to act alone, and it might prove too risky to find someone new each time. Liir, she knew, was faithful, as he had nowhere else to go, and their exploits garnered them weapons and money that was used for clothing for the growing boy, but, more often, the sweet incense and drugging herbs they bought off dodgy venders.
"What's this?" Liir asks, moving toward the table and retrieving a glimmering object from the floor. He holds it up. Sybil recognizes it as the bracelet Morgana had been wearing; she grins and goes to Liir, who gives it to her.
"Perfect," she whispers. She examines it for a moment and gives it back to Liir. "Take it with you when you meet Uther. It will prove useful."
"Of course," he says, putting the bracelet in his pocket.
"Now," Sybil says, fluttering about the room to gather things to take with her. "Remember, Liir-"
"Use a fake name," he finishes for her. "I know."
--
That night Morgana barely touches her food. Or that's what she wants to do, so absorbed is she in planning for running off tonight, but then Gwen insists she eat up.
"Please, Morgana," she says, "you're already ill enough as it is."
Morgana pushes the food around on her plate. "That's why I don't feel like eating." Gwen looks at her sadly and leaves the room. Morgana stares at the doorway for a moment before realizing that, ill as she may feel, she has a journey ahead of her and may not be eating amply for a while. She looks down at the plate quickly and grabs a pouch from her chest of drawers, wrapping some pieces of food in cloth and putting them in the pouch. She manages to hide the pouch once Gwen enters again, and tries to look more cheerful.
"My," Gwen says. "Feeling better?" Morgana can do naught but nod, and the way Gwen's face lights up is worth the lie.
"In fact," she says, "Gwen, could you bring me some more?"
Gwen nods and is out the door. Morgana wraps more food up and returns the satchel to its place, returning to the table to down her wine.
--
Gwen doesn't believe her when she says she'll be alright.
"If you need me to stay in here for tonight, Morgana…"
"I'll be fine, Gwen." At Gwen's disapproving and reluctant look, she adds, "Really." She leans forward to kiss Gwen on the forehead, and when she pulls away a tear is glistening on her cheek.
"Morgana-"
"I'm fine, Gwen," Morgana says hastily, cupping Gwen's cheek. "I'm only tired." As much as she tries to control her voice, it cracks a little. Gwen suddenly hugs her, holding her tightly against her chest.
"I want you to tell me," she says, "tell me if anything - anything - is wrong." Gwen's voice, now, is just as hoarse as Morgana's, her cheeks just as tearstained.
"Always," Morgana says, and digs her nails into Gwen's back, unwilling to let go.
--
Once Morgana's certain Gwen's asleep, she climbs out of bed and hurriedly slips on a comfortable old dress that she might wear to town. She gathers her cloak and takes a small book with her that Gwen gave her not long ago. She might pen small poems in it on occasion, but tonight she plucks one of the flowers out of the vase Gwen had brought earlier and, pulling the stem off, places it near the end of the book, closing it tightly. She ties the string around it and, retrieving her pouch she'd put her supper into earlier, places the new items at the bottom of the pouch and ties it onto her belt. Underneath her hood, it will be protected from all, and Morgana finds pleasure in the fact that she can just feel the edge of the book brushing against her hip, a reminder of her love.
She carefully opens her door, peeks out. Gwen's asleep on her couch. Morgana runs back into her room to gather a candle and sneaks out, careful to tread softly, aware that her servant sleeps lightly. She manages to make it into the corridor undetected, and, making sure she doesn't look suspicious, she treads the halls proudly, so that if someone sees her, she would declare a night stroll; after a quick explanation of her nightmares and the soothing quality of Camelot at night, anyone will understand. Underneath her veneer, however, Morgana is deeply agitated, and while she is prepared for being caught, she dreads it. Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she pulls her hood on and blows out the candle, leaving the castle through a back exit that the guards always stand around in drunken stupor. Every step she takes may be taking her somewhere safer, but it certainly doesn't feel like it; for she knows that with every step she takes, she is distancing herself not only from the man who she betrays, but also from the man who might save her as well.
She sees Sybil outside her home before she reaches it, a dark form against the doorframe. When she approaches her, Sybil glances up to be sure it's her and, turning away, says, "Come." Morgana follows her.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3