Note: This story works as backstory for both Ruins of Camelot and A Different Battle, but you don't need to have read those to make sense of this.

Ruins of Motherhood

Morgan woke up in bed with a man she didn't know, aching in familiar places and with a mind too fuzzy for rational thought. Blinking, she turned to stare at the rather disappointing looking fellow in the bed next to her. He was snoring heavily, a habit she hated, and drooling on the already-stained pillow. They were in a ratty inn of some sort; she couldn't remember the name, but she didn't recall it having had any particularly redeeming aspects when she'd chosen to drink here the night before.

Guilt welled up immediately, and Morgan felt her stomach start to churn. She'd wanted to drink the pain away, but that hadn't done a damned thing. It never did. All she really could do was face the facts: she had taken a child's heart, sacrificed a young girl to stop Danns' a'Bhàis. In the grand scheme of things, she had certainly done the right thing, but she would never forget how that girl had looked at her. I thought you were supposed to help, the girl had told her with haunted eyes. All Morgan had been able to tell her was that this would help the world, and that her sacrifice would not be forgotten.

Yet she'd been a coward and drowned herself in drink once the deed was done. The Heart had been delivered, and Morgan had come here, to this disgusting inn to drink with a jolly but shady man who…who had what? She didn't remember.

Her companion made an unintelligible noise, snorting in his sleep. Sneering, Morgan levered herself out of the bed, grabbing for her clothes as she did so. He was even less impressive now that she was sober, and she couldn't remember having been terribly interested in him even when she was drunk. I have certainly lowered my standards. This was not well done. Quickly, she pulled her dress on, using magic to tie the laces so she could leave quickly. She had been a fool, and now she had to pay the price.

"Leaving so soon, love?"

The slurred words made her spin just as Morgan got her boots on. "I'm not your love," she spat.

He giggled drunkenly. "Nah, you didn't seem that…soft, last night. Angry. Not very helpful."

"Not very helpful?" Morgan felt her nostrils flare. What was he implying? Had the fool any idea who she was?

Her only answer was a snore that reminded her of a very large pig. For a moment, Morgan contemplated turning her magic on him, but no, he was not worth the price. Even tying her laces with it had been foolish, but staying in this room left her feeling increasingly dirty. Still, she had not the power to waste on a disgusting cretin such as this, particularly since her own drunkenness was at least as much to blame as he was. Did I consent? Morgan wondered before she could stop herself. She could not remember. She'd been angry and lonely and feeling so down…yet even this fool admitted that he'd not been able to romance her.

Still, she would not have put it past herself to screw him out of sheer misery and fury, so Morgan refused to place any definitive blame on the idiot. But that didn't mean she ever wanted to see him again.

Unfortunately, the fates would not be so kind.

Nine months later, she found herself face to face with the half-drunken sot again. This time, he was playing follow the lady for a bunch of even drunker fools, and tricking them out of paltry sums of money. Morgan herself was sober this time, for she held in her arms the most sobering thing of all: a fully-human child who could not survive in her crystal cave. Long-lived though I may be, but even I will not live to stop Danns' again without taking extreme measures, she reminded herself. Morgan knew that no one else was going to fight for humanity, not with Merlin gone and the few Saviors who had risen unworthy of the task. She was all that was left, aside from Mordred in Camelot. He had slowed time in his own way, and Morgan had her own, but this child could not live with her.

Literally. Her own newborn could not survive any longer with her dwindling number of people; another few days and the magic of the cave would suck him dry. He hadn't a bit of magic to him, despite his impressive maternal lineage, and that should have made her decision easy. Yet watching the boy's father—and cradling her child in her arms, holding him close one last time—made her feel unexpectedly guilty.

It's for the best, Morgan. Do not hesitate now. Not you, who has hesitated so few times in your life, even when you should have.

Squaring her shoulders, Morgan stepped forward once the fools finally dispersed, only to find that her prey—such as he was—was heading away. Chasing him with a child in her arms would have been unbearably undignified, so Morgan followed at a safe distance. Besides, she didn't want to wake her yet-unnamed child; his crying would have drawn eyes she did not want to draw. And she at least owed him a nice nap, given how she was about to give him away. To his father, she reminded herself. That was not abandoning her child, was it? She was going to give him his best chance to lead a human life with his human father. It wasn't like she'd done terribly well by her other children, anyway. Of all the children she'd borne, only Mordred survived, and Morgan knew her son's weaknesses. She loved him above all else…but Mordred was hardly a shining beacon of virtue, particularly now.

"If you're following me for a good time, lassie, you don't need to keep your distance."

Morgan stopped cold. Somewhere during her musings, her former partner had turned to watch her, and now she was faced by a salacious leer that made her skin crawl. "I'm not looking for a good time."

Their son chose that moment to start mewing softly, and Morgan shushed him without thought, bouncing him slightly to soothe him. He liked that, liked physical contact and being held. I hope his father will realize that, she thought, surprised by how sad she suddenly felt. This was it. This was her giving up her child, and even if it was for the best, what little was left of Morgan's heart ached. I have no right to grief. Not after what I have done.

"No, it seems you've already had one." He grinned, looming forward. "Ugly little bastard, this one."

"He's yours." The words blurted out before Morgan could stop them, and she wanted to kick herself.

"What?" Shock played over his face, but it was quickly replaced by a low sort of cunning. "Oh, no, lassie. I'm not playing that game. No way that squalling, needy little thing is mine."

"No?" Goaded to anger, Morgan drew herself up to her full height—which she admitted wasn't very considerable, but she knew that she could radiate power. "Have you forgotten me so easily, then, thief?"

She knew what he was, even without having seen him swindling drunks. The fool had stolen a brooch from her when they'd slept together, and Morgan had been too ashamed to go back for it. She had no doubt he'd sold it by now—nine months had passed—but he should remember.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Perhaps you remember a brooch, then," she snapped. "One featuring a sword sinking into water, decorated with sapphires. You took it from me the night he was conceived." Morgan nodded at their son, and was glad to see the fool's face go white.

He shuffled nervously. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

"Whether you do or not is immaterial. This is your son." She glared, and was glad to see him grew more uneasy. "He cannot live with me, so you must take him."

He burst out laughing. "Me? A papa? That'll be the day. I can't take him."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not taking responsibility for a needy little worm like that!" He started to back away, but it was his look of utter contempt that made Morgan contemplate cursing him.

"This needy little worm is your child," she hissed, fury making magic begin to echo like crashing waves in her ears. But she had not the power to spend, not on this, so persuasion would have to win. "And I will of course pay for his upkeep."

"Pay?" That made him stop cold.

"Of course." She glared at him coldly, surprised to see a semi-charming smile coming to his face. "I am his mother. I want to see him provided for."

Now he was curious, even as his son drifted back off to sleep. Apparently, his mother's anger did not anger him much. He'll be a sweet one, this child, she knew. Morgan could not say the same for his father, though, even though the man was clearly trying to peer at the boy with something akin to warmth. "And does this mother have a name, lassie?"

"Morgan of Cornwall." She almost gave him her title, but stopped at the last moment. Her nation was gone, anyway, swallowed by the maw of Camelot. She was still a queen, but a queen without a kingdom was an empty being.

"A lady?" His eyes widened with avarice.

She snorted. "Something like that." Throttling back her instinctive contempt, Morgan took a deep breath. "I will see to his education, and make sure you are both comfortable. I cannot take him with me, but I can make sure neither of you want for anything."

"You should have led with that one, lassie." A giggle. "I'd have surely listened better."

"I'm not your lassie," she snapped, and the child stirred again. Morgan needed a few moments to soothe him, and she was half surprised to see his father waiting patiently. "But he is my son, and I wish for him to have his best chance."

"And where better to have that than with his Papa, hmm?" She thought his smile might actually be genuine, so when her one-time lover reached out for their son, Morgan handed him over. At least he knew how to hold a child, and he bounced him with practice enough.

It did not hurt to hand him over. It didn't. Morgan had to tell herself that, had to believe it. Her son had no chance with her, so she would not let herself feel. She would never see him again; he would never know her. But he would have a good life with his father. Responsibility often helped men grow into the best version of themselves. She had seen that often enough. Her boy would be safe with the one parent who could afford to love him. I will not weep.

The thief also took her money with enough practice, but Morgan was less concerned, there. She'd certainly given him enough to see her child through even the worst of times, and Morgan did not care for riches. Perhaps his father would remain a dishonest rogue, but she had always found having a rebellious nature to be a useful trait. Rogues could love children easily enough, after all. Her son would grow up secure, even if his father was a fool, and Morgan hoped that would be enough.