No Other Way
Deep down, Morgana knew Mordred was right. She could never forget all the reasons she had for fighting – the freedom of her kin, their very life that was so often forsaken in the bloody altar of the Pendragon Line, the terrible imbalance of a world that denied the magic that held it together.
So much had happened since she had met Mordred for the first time – things she could never forget. The fear, the pain, the loneliness – all things she had feared and fled from – had reached her in the end. She didn't shy from acknowledging it that her own sanity had broken during the years she spent chained in a dark cell, only words of hatred and lustful, greedy hands on her body when she couldn't fight anymore.
Her spirit had been broken. Even the desperate need to fight Morgause had ingrained in her had disappeared on the desperate need of revenge, of voiding that others had to go through what she went through.
And even as she denied him, even as she called him naïve and silly, she had wondered if the man she had known her whole life could have turned so much like his father that he'd agree to such things; he had loved her once, hadn't he? And Gwen said they knew nothing about it before – could it be that he didn't know?
Then again, he had chosen to ally himself with the likes of Sarrum. How different could he be?
She wanted nothing more than to ask for forgiveness – to have love and friendship, a safe place to be herself, and once she had held all the tools to guarantee that Arthur would never become like Uther. She had lost herself in bitterness, and lost her chance – now the world word was doomed.