The salt air of Tintagel's shoreline scoured Morgana's face where she stood at the water's edge. The wind from the sea whisked her tears away and pulled her hair free from the hood of her cloak, eventually tugging the hood itself away from her face to drape over one shoulder. Time had yet to temper her grief at Morgause's death, but the autumn winds helped cool her rage. Rage that her sister was dead while Arthur still lived, and that Morgause was dead at Merlin's hands. If it would have brought her back, she would fly to Camelot right now and strike the whelp down, but Morgause had always counseled patience and calm, and so Morgana would approach the matter with all the serenity she could muster. "Make me a stone," she thought, "Cold, unyielding, eternal. I will outlast my enemies. Their blood will fuel my revenge until I see the last one fall."
Morgana held up the circlet gripped tightly in her hand. Even through her gloves, the iron was painfully cold. She had been warned about the effect, but the reality was different. Morgause had not told her about the eerie fascination she would feel just looking at the runes inscribed in it, or the weird desire to put the thing on to understand what it could do. . . It seemed to call to her, a faint vibration tracing up her arm and ringing in her head like a distant, discordant song that fragmented her thoughts. Morgana gasped and opened her eyes, the sting of the salt air and the frigid spray put her thoughts back on the proper track. This artifact was not for her, despite the efforts she had made in retrieving it from the Isle of the Blessed. It had a different purpose.
"Morgana!" Accolon's voice sounded over the wind. She turned her head toward him, but kept her eyes on the sea until he came up behind her, rocks clattering under his booted feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She sighed and leaned into him, a small but contented smile tugging at her lips. It was easy to forget how cold it was out there among the waves and the wind. The warmth of his body against hers soothed her heart as much as the frigid air cooled her anger. "Must you always slip away like this? You know how I worry," he said into her ear.
She laughed and reached up, winding her fingers into his hair to keep him close. "You shouldn't worry about me. The Goddess is here with me, and She would never let me come to harm."
"I can't help it, My Heart." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Love makes us do ridiculous things." They stood together for a time, two dark figures against the gray expanse of the sea's edge, black and white against the stone and the water, watching as the day dawned and turned the clouded sky a brighter shade of gray without breaking through the clouds. "You're cold as ice," Accolon finally broke their quiet, "Come back to bed with me. I'll keep you warm."
"In a while," Morgana said. She raised the iron circlet to her eyes again, gaze fixed on the runes as she slowly turned it round and around between her fingers. The discordant song rang at the edge of her consciousness.
"What is that thing?" Accolon closed his gloved hand over hers. "You went through so much effort to find it, and yet you haven't used it. I don't understand. What's it for?"
A catlike smile spread across Morgana's face. "It's not for me. This is for my enemies. It's called the Deireadh Croí."
"But what does that mean?" Accolon hugged her tighter. His deep laugh rumbled through both of them. "I don't speak the tongues of magic, My Lady. I don't have your wisdom."
"The Deireadh Croí is a powerful artifact of the Old Religion," she said, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes, dark as the sea beyond the stones. "The Priestesses used it to control their enemies, to tame them. To pull their teeth, as it were." Morgana saw the dawning understanding in his eyes. "Deireadh Croí means, 'The Heart's End'. It's what I'm going to use to destroy Merlin."
"When?"
"In due time. No need to rush things," Morgana smiled, "Morgause always counseled patience, and I will take her advice. Events are moving in the North that will keep Arthur occupied until I am ready to strike."
Accolon lifted Morgana up and twirled her about, setting the both of them to laughing as her skirts flared around them. "And then," he set her down and kissed her lightly, "You will be Queen of Camelot"