A/N: This is written before Series 1, when Morgana and Arthur are, in my opinion, in their early teens. Gorlois is dead, and Morgana is (and always will be in my mind) definitely his daughter.
Arthur Pendragon pulls his horse to a halt and looks down over the low ridge. He is alone; he has always enjoyed the solitude of an evening ride. The citadel is sometimes a little crowded.
Suddenly he hears cruel laughter in the trees below him. It sends chilling shivers down his spine. Squinting, he makes out a group of people surrounding a boy about his age. A little way off he can see a light and the smoke from a fire, and yet more people, sitting around it. He's fairly sure they are bandits. Who else would be this brazen so close to Camelot?
Curious, he dismounts and ties his horse firmly to a tree branch. Then he makes his way cautiously down to their level, and peers out from behind the branches of an old oak.
It feels wrong, somehow, to be spying on these people, but he reminds himself that they are breaking the law.
The laughing man is obviously the leader. Arthur can tell by his clothes; a black shirt, leather jacket, black breeches and boots. He is not tall, but more than compensates with his build, which resembles that of an ox. His hair is lank and dirty blonde, and his weathered skin burnt the colour of oak apples by the sun. Beside him, a tall, lean man with sallow skin and greasy dark hair runs his fingers over a whip.
Arthur's gaze turns to the boy. His blue cotton shirt is dirty and badly in need of mending, as are his brown breeches and grubby cap. He is obviously little more than a slave, as he is barefoot, and hangs his head like a dog. Suddenly the boy looks up, right at him, and Arthur's heart stops as vibrant green eyes meet his.
This is no slave boy. It is not even a boy. It is Morgana.
A/N: This is the first fanfiction chapter I have ever published, so I'm more than a little nervous. Please bear this in mind when reviewing, but I'd love to hear any criticisms or improvements that I can make.
K