LotS/Camelot Fic: Birthright - Part I (3/10)
Title: Birthright - Part I (LotS/Camelot Crossover) 3/10
Author: TheDawn
Pairing: Cara/Morgan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence against children (some Mord-Sith training, and some dark magic stuff)
Word Count: 1833
Disclaimer: Neither Legend of the Seeker or Camelot are mine - but you'll never convince me that this didn't happen.
Summary: Morgan Pendragon's life was turned upside down when her mother was killed to make room for her father's new wife. When a mysterious Sister arrives from across the sea in D'Hara, she enters a world she never could have imagined - and was always meant to know.
Author's Notes: Here's where it starts to get a little weird, and I'm totally taking liberties with bits of LotS canon, but hopefully it works okay. Also, this chapter's a little bit shorter:/ It won't be a trend, I promise. See Chapter One for full Author's Notes.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Birthright - Part I (3/10)
“These men are fools!” Morgan proclaimed exasperatedly, slamming the book closed with a loud thud. It was the same book Sibyl had set in front of her years ago, the one with the gilded cross on the cover.
Sibyl concealed a satisfied smile. “Why do you say that, Morgan?”
“They simply let themselves be guided by the whims of some magical being that claims to be omnipotent,” Morgan sneered disdainfully. “A true man would make his own destiny."
“Ah, but child, that is the most important lesson you will ever learn.” Now Sibyl let the smile come out, as she sank down into the chair next to Morgan. “Men are fools. Easily guided. Your task as a woman and as a Mord-Sith is to bend them to suit your own purposes."
Morgan looked over at the Mord-Sith, arms crossed over her chest. “I could have learned that without suffering through that drivel. An hour in the training rooms simply watching you work is sufficient to demonstrate the concept.”
The breaking of men was not as common an occurrence here as it was with the more popular temples, like Jandralyn or the People's Palace, but it was done. Over the past few months, Sibyl had begun allowing Morgan to observe from time to time, to demonstrate the many frailties of man, the intricacies of the human mind. It was not a privilege usually granted to a trainee until they had earned their leathers; until they had sufficiently proven their loyalty to Lord Rahl. It was just one more reason Morgan was shunned by her sisters.
“You are meant for more than mere torture, Morgan,” Sibyl responded, her eyes taking on that familiar gleam. “If you are to rule a people, you must understand them - understand what makes them believe as they do, and understand how to use it to control them.”
Morgan scoffed. “The people of Britain are sheep. They are not concerned with what their ruler knows, only that he is of the proper bloodline.” She shrugged dismissively. “Since my father has yet to produce a male heir, I am the only logical choice.”
Sibyl's face grew hard to read, then; some hidden knowledge glimmered behind the stoic mask of the Mord-Sith, and Morgan's eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher it.
Before the girl could say anything, Sibyl rose briskly from her seat. “Come, it is time to return to my chambers.”
*****
It happened once a year, in the fall; Morgan's training was cut short, and she was taken to her chambers before dark. Sibyl would leave for most of the night, only returning when the first tendrils of light were creeping through the stained-glass windows. She never said what she was doing, or why this particular night was significant; a Mord-Sith was not required to explain herself to her subordinates.
That didn't mean Morgan wasn't curious, though, and with her growing self-confidence came an arrogance that swiftly overcame her hesitance to question her Mistress. The year that Morgan turned fourteen, she no longer felt the need to hold her tongue.
When Sibyl escorted her to her chambers, leaving orders to tidy the rooms and finish reading her latest assignment - this one was some obscure D'Haran philosopher with interesting ideas about the value of pain - Morgan called after her before she could leave.
“Where do you go?”
Sibyl tensed, looking stiffly back over her shoulder. “It is none of your concern, child. Do as you're told.”
Morgan stepped forward, grabbing Sibyl's arm to keep her from leaving. Her bare hand contrasted starkly with the crimson leather, and a conflicted look came over the Mord-Sith's face as she looked down at her arm. Morgan noted it with interest.
“Tell me.” The order was a gamble; her Mistress had been growing more and more reluctant to punish her for her transgressions, but such blatant insubordination still carried risk.
Instead of lashing out, however, Sibyl stiffened further, as though battling some invisible force within her. Finally she stepped forward, closing the door securely before turning, a look of pained resignation on her features.
“A chamber, deep in the heart of the dungeon. The presiding Lord Rahl has a unique relationship with the Keeper of the Underworld,” Sibyl explained quietly. “He has told us only what we need to know; that the Keeper offers him power in exchange for certain...offerings.”
“So you disappear once a year to sacrifice people to the Keeper?” Morgan asked skeptically. “That hardly seems worthy of such secrecy.”
Sibyl's hand tightened unconsciously around her agiel. “It is more complicated than that, Morgan. The Keeper does not ask that we take lives; he requires vessels,” she continued reluctantly. “We offer him the girls who don't have what it takes to become Mord-Sith. Every year he chooses one girl, imbues her with his power so that she may serve him in the world of the living.”
“Power?” Morgan's eyes gleamed with interest.
“It is not what you think, child,” Sibyl warned, her tone deathly serious. “The girls chosen by the Keeper are given dark magic - magic that is not meant to be combined with that of a Mord-Sith. It matters not that they have not earned their agiels, that they are not yet true Mord-Sith - they have had enough of our power beaten into them that the magic granted by the Keeper cannot fully take hold in them. The two forces battle within them, and they die. Most within mere months.”
“That doesn't sound like a very profitable arrangement for him,” Morgan mused absently, her mind still focused on the promise of power.
Sibyl stepped forward, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. “The Keeper cares little for how long they live; he will have their service, whether in this world or the Underworld. But you are meant for much greater things!”
Morgan smirked, shrugging Sibyl's hands off of her. “So you keep telling me. But how am I meant to achieve these greater things if I am constantly plagued by debilitating headaches? Surely the power the Keeper would grant me would be sufficient to rid myself of them.”
The older woman sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “The headaches are themselves caused by magic,” she admitted with some difficulty.
“I have magic?” Morgan asked, pinning Sibyl with a cold, accusing gaze. “And you never told me?”
“Your training is the only thing that's kept your power under control,” Sibyl elaborated. “Otherwise the pain of the headaches would have killed you already.”
Raising an eyebrow, Morgan smirked. “And I am supposed to trust that you are telling me the truth, even though you have lied to me for this long?”
Closing her eyes and returning her hand to her agiel, Sibyl gathered her strength. “Morgan, you will not be offered to the Keeper. I will not allow it.”
“Yes, you will.” Morgan's voice was almost the cold steel of a Mord-Sith, and Sibyl would have been proud were it not for the circumstances. Morgan lunged past her toward the door, and Sibyl caught her arm in a tight grip.
“No, Morgan, I will not,” Sibyl said with some effort, shoving the girl away from her. She was still the stronger and more skilled of the two of them, and Morgan stumbled back against Sibyl's bed. The distance allowed the Mord-Sith enough time to slip through the door, slamming it shut behind her. As she turned her key in the lock outside, Sibyl let out a quiet sigh of relief, as though a great pressure had been lifted from her chest.
*****
Morgan was not so easy to deter. Once Sibyl's footsteps faded into silence, the girl was hard at work. The knowledge had lingered unused at the back of her mind for years, but she had never forgotten how she used to slip out of her room at night to curl up with her mother. Uther had taken to locking her in for the night, so Morgan had been forced to teach herself how to pick the lock. After her mother was killed, it became a subtle form of defiance; it drove Uther mad to lock her in every night, only to come to fetch her in the morning and find the door wide open.
The Mord-Sith brushed their hair with harsh brushes - the bristles long and stiff and made of metal. Morgan pried two loose now, yanking them out of the wooden base before making quick work of the lock on the door. While Morgan had never seen the chamber Sibyl had spoken of, she could have made her way to the dungeon in her sleep.
The dungeon was eerily quiet tonight; there were no screams of agony echoing through the stone halls, none of the familiar slaps and thuds and sharp cries that indicated training. It made it all the easier to follow the distant sounds of chanting.
Green light flickered inside the chamber, casting a sickly glow into the hall outside. Morgan heard a deep, unearthly voice booming within, and eagerly slipped inside.
She froze in the doorway as she looked into the room. There were five girls standing in a circle in the middle of the massive chamber, their faces filled with fear as green flames rose before them. Apart from Sybil, there were only three other Mord-Sith in the room, standing well apart from the circle.
Sibyl was the closest to the doorway, and she snapped her head around, eyes wide. “Morgan!” She hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I don't believe I would have been born with this power only to be killed by it,” she replied cockily. “If the Keeper chooses to grant me his magic, it can only serve to strengthen me.”
The older woman looked almost frantic as the disembodied voice fell silent. “Child, your arrogance will be your undoing. Get out now while you still can!”
“Who disturbs my ritual?” The Keeper's voice echoed through the chamber.
Morgan threw her shoulders back, straightening proudly. “Morgan Pendragon. I have come to offer myself as a vessel for your power.”
The Keeper laughed - an unsettling sound. “It has been a long time since I had a willing sacrifice.”
There was silence then, and a feeling that she was being examined from the inside out; it made her skin crawl, but she stood firm and unwavering.
The next thing Morgan knew was pain, greater than any she had been subjected to in her time at the temple. Her blood boiled in her veins, and sharp blades of agony stabbed into her muscles, deep into her very bones. It felt as though she were on fire; if she had been able to open her eyes, she would have seen the green flames dancing over her body.
When it was over, though, her mind was clearer than it had ever been, and she could feel power surging through her, sparking from her skin. She would not be having any more headaches.
Chapter Four
Author: TheDawn
Pairing: Cara/Morgan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence against children (some Mord-Sith training, and some dark magic stuff)
Word Count: 1833
Disclaimer: Neither Legend of the Seeker or Camelot are mine - but you'll never convince me that this didn't happen.
Summary: Morgan Pendragon's life was turned upside down when her mother was killed to make room for her father's new wife. When a mysterious Sister arrives from across the sea in D'Hara, she enters a world she never could have imagined - and was always meant to know.
Author's Notes: Here's where it starts to get a little weird, and I'm totally taking liberties with bits of LotS canon, but hopefully it works okay. Also, this chapter's a little bit shorter:/ It won't be a trend, I promise. See Chapter One for full Author's Notes.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Birthright - Part I (3/10)
“These men are fools!” Morgan proclaimed exasperatedly, slamming the book closed with a loud thud. It was the same book Sibyl had set in front of her years ago, the one with the gilded cross on the cover.
Sibyl concealed a satisfied smile. “Why do you say that, Morgan?”
“They simply let themselves be guided by the whims of some magical being that claims to be omnipotent,” Morgan sneered disdainfully. “A true man would make his own destiny."
“Ah, but child, that is the most important lesson you will ever learn.” Now Sibyl let the smile come out, as she sank down into the chair next to Morgan. “Men are fools. Easily guided. Your task as a woman and as a Mord-Sith is to bend them to suit your own purposes."
Morgan looked over at the Mord-Sith, arms crossed over her chest. “I could have learned that without suffering through that drivel. An hour in the training rooms simply watching you work is sufficient to demonstrate the concept.”
The breaking of men was not as common an occurrence here as it was with the more popular temples, like Jandralyn or the People's Palace, but it was done. Over the past few months, Sibyl had begun allowing Morgan to observe from time to time, to demonstrate the many frailties of man, the intricacies of the human mind. It was not a privilege usually granted to a trainee until they had earned their leathers; until they had sufficiently proven their loyalty to Lord Rahl. It was just one more reason Morgan was shunned by her sisters.
“You are meant for more than mere torture, Morgan,” Sibyl responded, her eyes taking on that familiar gleam. “If you are to rule a people, you must understand them - understand what makes them believe as they do, and understand how to use it to control them.”
Morgan scoffed. “The people of Britain are sheep. They are not concerned with what their ruler knows, only that he is of the proper bloodline.” She shrugged dismissively. “Since my father has yet to produce a male heir, I am the only logical choice.”
Sibyl's face grew hard to read, then; some hidden knowledge glimmered behind the stoic mask of the Mord-Sith, and Morgan's eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher it.
Before the girl could say anything, Sibyl rose briskly from her seat. “Come, it is time to return to my chambers.”
*****
It happened once a year, in the fall; Morgan's training was cut short, and she was taken to her chambers before dark. Sibyl would leave for most of the night, only returning when the first tendrils of light were creeping through the stained-glass windows. She never said what she was doing, or why this particular night was significant; a Mord-Sith was not required to explain herself to her subordinates.
That didn't mean Morgan wasn't curious, though, and with her growing self-confidence came an arrogance that swiftly overcame her hesitance to question her Mistress. The year that Morgan turned fourteen, she no longer felt the need to hold her tongue.
When Sibyl escorted her to her chambers, leaving orders to tidy the rooms and finish reading her latest assignment - this one was some obscure D'Haran philosopher with interesting ideas about the value of pain - Morgan called after her before she could leave.
“Where do you go?”
Sibyl tensed, looking stiffly back over her shoulder. “It is none of your concern, child. Do as you're told.”
Morgan stepped forward, grabbing Sibyl's arm to keep her from leaving. Her bare hand contrasted starkly with the crimson leather, and a conflicted look came over the Mord-Sith's face as she looked down at her arm. Morgan noted it with interest.
“Tell me.” The order was a gamble; her Mistress had been growing more and more reluctant to punish her for her transgressions, but such blatant insubordination still carried risk.
Instead of lashing out, however, Sibyl stiffened further, as though battling some invisible force within her. Finally she stepped forward, closing the door securely before turning, a look of pained resignation on her features.
“A chamber, deep in the heart of the dungeon. The presiding Lord Rahl has a unique relationship with the Keeper of the Underworld,” Sibyl explained quietly. “He has told us only what we need to know; that the Keeper offers him power in exchange for certain...offerings.”
“So you disappear once a year to sacrifice people to the Keeper?” Morgan asked skeptically. “That hardly seems worthy of such secrecy.”
Sibyl's hand tightened unconsciously around her agiel. “It is more complicated than that, Morgan. The Keeper does not ask that we take lives; he requires vessels,” she continued reluctantly. “We offer him the girls who don't have what it takes to become Mord-Sith. Every year he chooses one girl, imbues her with his power so that she may serve him in the world of the living.”
“Power?” Morgan's eyes gleamed with interest.
“It is not what you think, child,” Sibyl warned, her tone deathly serious. “The girls chosen by the Keeper are given dark magic - magic that is not meant to be combined with that of a Mord-Sith. It matters not that they have not earned their agiels, that they are not yet true Mord-Sith - they have had enough of our power beaten into them that the magic granted by the Keeper cannot fully take hold in them. The two forces battle within them, and they die. Most within mere months.”
“That doesn't sound like a very profitable arrangement for him,” Morgan mused absently, her mind still focused on the promise of power.
Sibyl stepped forward, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. “The Keeper cares little for how long they live; he will have their service, whether in this world or the Underworld. But you are meant for much greater things!”
Morgan smirked, shrugging Sibyl's hands off of her. “So you keep telling me. But how am I meant to achieve these greater things if I am constantly plagued by debilitating headaches? Surely the power the Keeper would grant me would be sufficient to rid myself of them.”
The older woman sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “The headaches are themselves caused by magic,” she admitted with some difficulty.
“I have magic?” Morgan asked, pinning Sibyl with a cold, accusing gaze. “And you never told me?”
“Your training is the only thing that's kept your power under control,” Sibyl elaborated. “Otherwise the pain of the headaches would have killed you already.”
Raising an eyebrow, Morgan smirked. “And I am supposed to trust that you are telling me the truth, even though you have lied to me for this long?”
Closing her eyes and returning her hand to her agiel, Sibyl gathered her strength. “Morgan, you will not be offered to the Keeper. I will not allow it.”
“Yes, you will.” Morgan's voice was almost the cold steel of a Mord-Sith, and Sibyl would have been proud were it not for the circumstances. Morgan lunged past her toward the door, and Sibyl caught her arm in a tight grip.
“No, Morgan, I will not,” Sibyl said with some effort, shoving the girl away from her. She was still the stronger and more skilled of the two of them, and Morgan stumbled back against Sibyl's bed. The distance allowed the Mord-Sith enough time to slip through the door, slamming it shut behind her. As she turned her key in the lock outside, Sibyl let out a quiet sigh of relief, as though a great pressure had been lifted from her chest.
*****
Morgan was not so easy to deter. Once Sibyl's footsteps faded into silence, the girl was hard at work. The knowledge had lingered unused at the back of her mind for years, but she had never forgotten how she used to slip out of her room at night to curl up with her mother. Uther had taken to locking her in for the night, so Morgan had been forced to teach herself how to pick the lock. After her mother was killed, it became a subtle form of defiance; it drove Uther mad to lock her in every night, only to come to fetch her in the morning and find the door wide open.
The Mord-Sith brushed their hair with harsh brushes - the bristles long and stiff and made of metal. Morgan pried two loose now, yanking them out of the wooden base before making quick work of the lock on the door. While Morgan had never seen the chamber Sibyl had spoken of, she could have made her way to the dungeon in her sleep.
The dungeon was eerily quiet tonight; there were no screams of agony echoing through the stone halls, none of the familiar slaps and thuds and sharp cries that indicated training. It made it all the easier to follow the distant sounds of chanting.
Green light flickered inside the chamber, casting a sickly glow into the hall outside. Morgan heard a deep, unearthly voice booming within, and eagerly slipped inside.
She froze in the doorway as she looked into the room. There were five girls standing in a circle in the middle of the massive chamber, their faces filled with fear as green flames rose before them. Apart from Sybil, there were only three other Mord-Sith in the room, standing well apart from the circle.
Sibyl was the closest to the doorway, and she snapped her head around, eyes wide. “Morgan!” She hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I don't believe I would have been born with this power only to be killed by it,” she replied cockily. “If the Keeper chooses to grant me his magic, it can only serve to strengthen me.”
The older woman looked almost frantic as the disembodied voice fell silent. “Child, your arrogance will be your undoing. Get out now while you still can!”
“Who disturbs my ritual?” The Keeper's voice echoed through the chamber.
Morgan threw her shoulders back, straightening proudly. “Morgan Pendragon. I have come to offer myself as a vessel for your power.”
The Keeper laughed - an unsettling sound. “It has been a long time since I had a willing sacrifice.”
There was silence then, and a feeling that she was being examined from the inside out; it made her skin crawl, but she stood firm and unwavering.
The next thing Morgan knew was pain, greater than any she had been subjected to in her time at the temple. Her blood boiled in her veins, and sharp blades of agony stabbed into her muscles, deep into her very bones. It felt as though she were on fire; if she had been able to open her eyes, she would have seen the green flames dancing over her body.
When it was over, though, her mind was clearer than it had ever been, and she could feel power surging through her, sparking from her skin. She would not be having any more headaches.
Chapter Four