A/N: Disclaimer saying I don't own these characters, I just take them out to play sometimes, thanks for the loan BBC, and hope you enjoy the story. That is all. :)

The windswept hills spread out, a pale, mossy grey-green in the dim sunlight. The clouds filtered out all the brightness, dulling the days to twilight in their finest hour. A stone cross with a Celtic knot design carved across the center towered over the crossroads. The manor was not much further along the road. The little girl squirmed in her seat atop the small horse, whom she had named "Peat" because he was a dark brown like the peat from the bogs after it was dried. He was really more pony than horse--his stature put one in mind of a miniature of a "real" horse. She squirmed again, turning to see if her father was behind her. The guard ahead of them took no notice.

"Father! Look ahead, Da, look! We're nearly home!" she exclaimed.

Her father smiled. "Yes, Morgana, very nearly. I imagine Cook has some hotcakes waiting for you. She knows how you love them."

Morgana smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling. Upon first notice it was difficult to discern just what about the child was so striking. At age ten she was shaping up to be a real beauty someday, with long dark curls and a smile that melted every heart around her. She was smart as well, intelligent enough to express herself and her often strong and stubbornly-held opinions clearly and with passion. It was her eyes, however, that drew the eye of onlookers. Her right eye was a soft blue with flecks of a glinting violet, and her left was green with spots of gold.

So unusual were her eyes that a sooth-sayer, not much more than a local witch doctor (who claimed descent from a powerful clan of Druids), commented not long after Morgana's birth, "She will have the Sight, just you wait, Lord Gorlois." Thus far it had not come to pass that Morgana exhibited any outward signs of magical ability. For this Gorlois was secretly relieved as his Majesty King Uther Pendragon, whom Gorlois served faithfully, had a well-known hatred for any and all doers of magic, seers of prophecy and any Druids who had somehow survived the scourges of Britons and Saxons. Nearly ten years earlier Uther defeated the last great Dragon and trapped the poor creature in a cavern beneath the castle at Camelot. Any with magical ability hid it now, or fled the kingdom. This hatred of sorcery extended well into the Eireann hills where Gorlois' castle was situated.

Within a short while of Morgana's exchange with her father, their home loomed into view. The manor was, typical of the area, built from local stones. More a gloomy keep than a house, Morgana's late mother (about whom Gorlois never spoke) had attempted to keep the manor cheerfully decorated in bright tapestries (which kept out the cold) and fresh flowers (which hid the scent of mustiness).

"Da, may I ride ahead? Please may I?" the child implored. Her father peered at the gate, which was lowered in anticipation of his return.

"I don't see why not, my dear, but do remember to stop Peat before he runs down any of the servants this time?"

Morgana laughed at the memory and nodded. "I'll be more careful!" she tossed over her shoulder, nudging Peat with her heels. "G'yap!"

"I hope..." Gorlois whispered, "I hope that she never grows into a sorceress." Why the old seer's vision should suddenly accost him he did not know. He had nearly forgotten it entirely until that moment.

Over supper, Gorlois entertained Morgana with tales of the battle he was going to fight in the coming weeks. The Druids were gathering forces and some local chieftans still held loyalties to them.

"When you come back I can ride out to greet you as I did today, can't I, Da?" Morgana asked eagerly. "And you'll raise the standard and shout, 'For Albion, for Camelot!', won't you?"

"Indeed I will, child," he answered.

"But...what will happen to the Druids?"

Gorlois' smile drooped slightly. "What do you mean, my dear?"

"Well, are you going to kill them all? Wipe them right off the island of Eireann?"

Her father's face now took on an entirely more serious countenance. "Yes, child."

"But...why can't King Uther just outlaw their magic? Does he need to kill everyone? What about their children? Are there girls and boys he'll kill? Children just like me?"

Now her father was concerned, and his dark eyes were sad. "Morgana, you're too young to think of these things. Please...don't trouble yourself. Magic-users are evil and they plot the downfall of our kingdom. We mustn't think that just outlawing their wicked ways will stop them. All of them have to die. That isn't a concern for you, my child. Think of the glory of our coming victories."

Morgana grew silent. Her father knew that she was brooding over the fate of the Druids. He knew better than to interrupt her contemplation, so instead he quietly motioned over Morgana's nurse, Melia. "Make sure that she gets to bed, won't you? I've some correspondence to attend to, but I'll check in on Morgana in a bit."

"Yes, my Lord," Melia answered, and Gorlois nodded and swept up to his chambers to brood for himself.