Death of A Son
The Destruction and Death of King Arthur
Morgana sat on the edge of her son, Mordred's, bed, stroking his hair gently, a small smirk gracing her crimson lips. "My son," she whispered as she watched his peaceful slumber. "My Mordred. You will bring about the vengeance I so crave. You, my son, will seize the throne."
She saw his small body twitch and heard a small groan as he started to stir. She frowned, knowing he had not slept nearly long enough for one so young. She leaned closer to him, still stroking his hair. "Hush, my child, the darkness that is hatred for your father will be forever within you and you will take back that which belongs to you."
Mordred quieted and drifted back into a deep sleep, knowing his mother was by his side, always there to keep him safe while he slept.
Once Morgana was certain Mordred was deeply asleep and would not wake for a long while she slipped out of his room, pulling the large wooden door closed behind her. She walked swiftly toward her council chambers, her velvet skirts whispering against the cold stone floor. She smiled when she saw Morgause already present and awaiting her.
"sister," Morgana smiled, embracing her.
"Morgana," she acknowledged, returning the embrace. "What does the boy know now?"
"Fear not, my sister. I am shaping his every belief, his every thought, regarding Arthur." The bitterness in Morgana's voice was something that no one who had known her in her time at Camelot would ever have thought to hear. "He knows what I want him to know. He learns just a little more each day. You must be patient, dear sister. The older he grows, the more he learns, and the more he hates his father and his father's transgressions."
"Does he understand what his father did?"
Morgana laughed bitterly. "Understand his father's trickery? Understand what Emrys did to destroy me? No, of course not. He is but a child, Morguase, he is far too young to understand. And I have not told him. I have told him only that my brother, our King, is a horrible man who cannot keep promises to anyone. Not to his sister, his people, and not even promises to remain ever faithful to his wife. Mordred knows only that his father is everything evil in this world and that he must be destroyed. The people of Camelot must know what kind of man their beloved King truly is. The throne must be taken."
"His father stole your crown, and Mordred knows this?" Morgause demanded, afraid her sister had too much love in her heart for a child born of trickery and rape.
"Of course he knows. He knows that his Grandfather, Uther Pendragon, murdered my father and the throne rightfully belongs to me, and therefore, to him in turn."
Morgause merely nodded, unconvinced of her sister's absolute dedication to the cause. "And your dreams? Have they returned?"
Morgana narrowed her eyes at her sister, now suspicious. "They have," she admitted. "Does it truly matter?"
"What happens in these dreams? Does Mordred defeat Arthur? Are you then Queen?"
"I am."
"Then why delay, Morgana? Teach him everything, tell him everything. Take back that which is yours."
"He is utterly guileless, Morgause. He is too innocent to the ways of the world…"
"Do not go soft on me, Morgana!" Morgause snapped. "Remember the way of his conception!"
Morgana's eyes flashed in anger. "He will learn to hate Guinevere, the common girl who married my brother. My brother, the traitor. Mordred will expose Arthur's and Guinevere's darkest secrets. He is the proof of Arthur's betrayal, of his lack of loyalty, both to his wife and to his people. Arthur is so easily manipulated, he is anyone's puppet. Mordred's only loyalty will be to me."
"Your vengeance will soon be one, sister."
"With each day he grows older, each moment of every day I watch my vengeance unfold. He is the child of my body, the flesh of my soul." Morgana turned her face away from Morgause, hoping to hide the tears threatening to fall.
"What is it, Morgana?" Morgause asked solicitously.
"Mordred will die in returning the throne to our family."
"Mordred is not a child you wanted, Morgana, remember this. Mordred is a child born from unfaithfulness, trickery, and rape. He is not a child you wanted."
"He is still my child, Morgause, it is difficult to send him into a battle I know he will both win and lose."
Morgaus frowned. "You have become too fond of the child, Morgana, you must use him to take that which is yours by right."
15 years later
(Mordred's 18th birthday)
A smile both proud and sad graced Morgana's lips as she tightened the final strap on her sons armor, preparing him to head into battle against Arthur, the King of Camelot, Morgana's half-brother, and Mordred's father.
Morgana's dreams had told her this would be the last time she saw her son, he was to die in this battle against his father. Both Mordred and Arthur would die. Morgana knew she would be far too busy fighting Merlin in a battle of magic. The simple serving boy she had once loved, whom she believed had once loved her. Oh how different things could have been if only Merlin had told her of his magic. If he had helped her. But Merlin's fear of discovery and uncertainty of his own abilities had left her to fend for herself. She had run to the druids for help and Uther had sent Arthur and a number of Knights to slaughter the druids and bring her back to Camelot. She was certain Merlin had not betrayed her whereabouts.
Morgause had offered the help and the care Morgana had always craved, the acceptance and lack of judgment. She had always longed for understanding and the love of a family. Uther had killed her father and stolen her mother, she had not known a family love since she was eight, when her father had been killed in battle. A battle Uther had sent him into, knowing there was no way he would ever return.
Morgana was at the hilltop when she saw the old sorcerer, Emrys, try with every ounce of his power to stop Mordred's blade from piercing Arthur's heart. The sword Morgana had given Mordred this day, his birthday and the day of his death, had been enchanted with the strongest magic she knew to prevent any other magical being from using magic against it. The sword found its mark, Arthur's heart, just as Arthurs sword ran through Mordred's body. The two men collapsed to the ground, swords protruding from their chests, as blood poured from their bodies. She heard their last, gasping, breaths of life.
Morgana's scream of pain and rage was a sound no soldier within hearing range would ever forget. For all her denial and her act of resentment toward her son, she had loved him and watching the sword driven through his chest was like a knife to her own heart. She fell to the ground, her body wracked with sobs as Emrys came up behind her. She no longer cared for her own life. Her son, her only family who truly cared, the only family after Morgause's death, had died. She had no one left. Emrys murmured a spell, though she knew not what words he spoke or what they would do, nor did she care. Within seconds a comforting blackness had overcome her and she knew no more.