Copyright infringement not intended.
Word Count: 327.
Warnings: Spoilers for 3x13.
A/N: Well, I donno how this will go .. Hopefully she's in character. I enjoyed writing it .. Hmm. Ah, well, enjoy! Review. (:
Pray To
no reason,
no meaning
- just hatred.
"What do you pray to?" A hunch-backed, crooked-nosed elderly witch sneers, leaning across the rickety table they sit at. Her breath reeks of alcohol, and if Morgana hadn't been focusing on the question, she would have recoiled at the stench. The witch's hand snags her wrist, clammy fingers tightening around her skin. "What do you pray to, Morgana le Fay? What is it that you hold faith in?"
What does she hold faith? It is an obvious answer, one that leaves her lips before she can truly comprehend it. "My sister," she replies, glancing down at the wrinkled fingers that hold her wrist. "Let go of me." Uneasiness is gathering in the pit of her stomach, heavy like a stone as the grip tightens uncomfortably.
The witch cackles madly for but a short moment, before she lurches closer. Her grip on Morgana's forearm is now iron-like, restraining her, and her glassy eyes narrow accusingly. "You lie, my lady," she informs her, gaze dancing across her features; glee and resentment war on the witch's wrinkled face. "You lie and lie again. Think hard; what is it that you hold faith in?"
Squirming, Morgana tries to wrench her arm away from the woman's grasp. "Unhand me," she orders, for all the world Uther's commanding ward again. The witch's eyes narrow further, searching for an answer she isn't sure she is ready to give.
"Emrys." The witch mutters, her narrowed eyes widening abruptly. Just as suddenly, she releases Morgana and leans back into her chair, an aghast expression decorating her weathered face. Clumsily, Morgana pushes herself away from the table and jumps out of the chair, clasping her freed hand as she leaves the tavern, not looking back once.
When Morgause asks her why she is so quiet that night, both of them sipping red wine and waiting for Cenred, she does not answer. The witch's final word to her echoes in her mind for a very long time.