So in my jealousy of everyone's holiday fics, I decided to try my own. Except my muse refuses to give me cute, fluffy ideas, so instead I pulled this piece of angstyish reflection together. It's more of a character portrait than anything. I seem to like doing those with Morgana.
Well, I hope you like it! Even if you don't, let me know what you think!
Home for the Holidays
She'd never before been away from Camelot for Yule. Even before her father died and she was placed under guardianship of the tyrannical Uther Pendragon, she and Gorlois used to travel to the castle every year for the celebratory feast.
Her earliest memories of Yule included Arthur, his fancy collar just a bit too high for him, sneaking drinks of wine when he thought his father wasn't looking. Against her will, Morgana smiled at the thought. Insufferable though he often was, she and Arthur had been raised as brother and sister even before she became Uther's Ward. Her hatred for the prince wasn't as strong as that of the king.
In fact, gazing from afar at the beautiful stone structure she once called home, Morgana almost found herself tempted to see Arthur again. He made her laugh, sometimes. He had moments where he genuinely made her proud to call herself a Lady of Camelot.
The snow fell gently on the land around. Last night had brought a furious storm, obscuring her vision as she traveled to where she now crouched, but today during the Yuletide celebrations, the sky merely dusted the world with small flakes. The white lived in stark contrast to the dark of Morgana's hair, but melted into nothingness as quickly as it came.
No one ventured outside the castle walls, for even the commoners were permitted to attend the feast tonight, and they were all busy preparing themselves to sit among royalty.
It wasn't so for the woman hidden behind a dune of snow, her dress splaying elegantly and gathering moisture. It would be soaked for the ride home, she knew. Morgause would chide her for risking illness in the wet and the cold.
Morgana couldn't bring herself to care what her sister thought. Today of all days, she wanted so much to forget why she wasn't with her friends inside. She longed to pretend she could sweep into the great hall right that minute and continue with life as though everything were normal.
She whispered a few well-chosen words; a small flame appeared in her hands, warming the skin and eating away at the biting chill felt by her fingers.
This was what prevented her from marching straight through the gate and running into Uther's welcoming arms. He couldn't handle the truth. One false move, and she would be next on the pyre. More than that, she could not stand to watch her kin burn while she suffered in silence.
If anyone inside the castle knew that the missing Lady was alive and well and just beyond the walls, they would shout from shock and joy and declare her the guest of honor. Gwen would cry, probably. Perhaps Uther would, too, while Arthur tried to pretend her absence hadn't affected him as much as it had.
And Merlin? How would Merlin behave if she strolled through the doors like nothing happened? She hoped the shock would kill him.
Nevertheless, while snowflakes drifted to their deaths on her pale skin and the sun winked away on the horizon, a flicker of the old Morgana made its existence known in the hidden witch. What kind of woman was she, if all it took was a little trip home for the holidays to shake her resolve?
They all deserved to die, she reminded herself, but the hollow pit in her stomach persuaded her otherwise. At least, it tried. At the end of the day, when she lay her head to rest, she remembered that Camelot was meant to fall at her feet.
For tonight, though, the castle and the people in it were allowed to stand tall while they had the chance. The merriment and laughter could ring through the stone halls all it wanted. She hadn't the heart to take from them this one occasion.
But she would return once and for all, when the holidays were over and the time was ripe to take control. Only then would she eradicate the joy the people in Camelot felt.
Morgana pushed herself gracefully to her feet and began the long trek through the snow to find and mount her horse. She never glanced back, but still in the snow remained the impression she'd created from hours of sitting and watching.
The snowfall, however light, would do its job to cover that imprint, but not until the flesh and blood Morgana had long since abandoned the spot.
When night fell upon the land, it had faded to nothing. No one the next day was any the wiser that the Lady Morgana had been so close. Yet while they went on with their work and their lives, Morgana stretched herself on the bed she called her own in Cenred's unwelcoming castle. She slid between the covers, blew out the candle, and watched the snow continue to descend on the other side of the window.
And she cried.