Hawthorn Tree

-Your body burns away the winter's cold. Stand by me and shade me from the sun-

Hawthorn tree, by Heather Dale- worth a listen.

Morgana couldn't have lived in Camelot for as long as she had without having a place where she could escape. A private, secret hide-away where she could sit and think, away from the madness of the castle.

She had arrived at the castle when she was ten years old. Her father, recently deceased, had asked Uther to look after her, and Uther had no choice but to honour his friend's dying wish. And so she was taken from her childhood home and dumped in Camelot, left gazing up at the high towers with an empty feeling inside.

Uther had been kind then. Everyone had been too kind, smothering her. Morgana could remember just wanting to be alone, left to think and feel, rather than living with the emptiness that resided where her heart used to be. Her only comfort was Uther's son, Arthur, who was a breath of fresh air in the blanket of care and compassion she was wrapped in. He treated her with disdain, looking down at her because she was a girl, and couldn't fight. Well, she'd shown him that some girls were just as handy with a sword. More than once. Sparring with the prince, both verbally and physically, kept her sane. Kept her human.

But it wasn't a cure, merely prevention. In the end she was going crazy. Anxious to keep her safe, Uther made sure she had a companion at all times, and she hated it. Finally, she managed to slip away from whoever was looking after her, and running full pelt despite the long dress, she left the castle boundaries, went through the lower town and out into the woods. She still ran, but finally stopped at a clearing near a lake. In the middle of the clearing stood a hawthorn tree, with a hollow beneath the trunk, in which she curled up and sat, finally in peace, and cried for her dead father.

She cried for her old home, her nurse who could not leave her own family to come with her to Camelot. She cried for herself, abandoned orphan, friendless and alone in the world. When she ran out of tears, the emptiness was gone. She could feel again.

She stayed there for the night, unable to go back just yet, and returned to the castle in the morning, soaked with dew and shivering violently. Everyone had been relieved to see her, and smothered her once again, but now she had an escape. Two years later she discovered a passage in the west corridor which led to the outside of the lower town. The hawthorn tree's hollow grew larger and more worn through the years, from many visits. She began to see the tree as a friend, someone she could trust to keep her safe without the overpowering care she'd experienced at Camelot. It stayed the same, despite changes to the surroundings. The snows came, but the tree never seemed to hold the flakes on its branches. The autumn failed to dusk its leaves, which stayed on year to year. It was unchanging, a comfort as the face she saw in the mirror grew stranger every day. Finally she looked at herself and saw an ice-cold beauty, which did not portray the lost little girl that still lived inside the woman's body.

She told the tree all about her nightmares; the ones that grew in detail and numbers as she grew, despite Gaius' assurances they would go once she grew older. She always knew that the dreams showed her events yet to come- the future. She hid the knowledge from herself, knowing the penalty for magic, and she continued to take the sleeping draughts Gaius prepared for her, even though they wouldn't work.

When Gwen became her servant her life became rosier. She had a friend, someone who was not a tree with whom she could be her real self. Though she shared many things with Gwen, some she kept to herself. Herself, and the tree. The nightmares and the emptiness that occasionally came back and gnawed at her heart, she told no one but the hawthorn.

She grew again, and went through phases as she adjusted. One time she thought herself to be in love with Sir Leon, another time with Sir Bedivere, and once, embarrassingly, with Arthur. But these all passed, but her visits to the hawthorn continued.

Then, he came. He came to Camelot with his lovable grin, his mop of black hair, his large ears and wise eyes. At first he was just a peasant who saved Arthur's life, and she mentioned it in passing to the hawthorn, but didn't really think in too much detail about him. Then he somehow weaved his way into her life, becoming Arthur's hopeless, yet somehow permanent, manservant, befriending Gwen and helping them save the city from the afanc. She began to notice him, and he came up more often in her conversations with the hawthorn.

She believed him to be in love with Gwen; the way he was so desperate to save her made her think he had to be, as men did not care that much about others unless they loved them. Or so she thought, but as she watched him do the same for Arthur, and countless others, she began to see that it was just who he was. She had been jealous of Gwen finding such a lovely man, but then their relationship stayed platonic and he was soon the only thing she talked to the tree about.

He saved Mordred and trusted her enough to tell her; she repaid him by trying to save the boy and discovering she started to feel a fondness for the druid child. Was this how he felt? Loving everyone he knew so much he would die for any of them? And she, of course, counted herself as one of those.

He was the one who she confided her magic to; she wondered why, the next hawthorn visit, but then she realised. He was always the same, always willing to listen. He reminded her of her tree. A living, breathing, flesh version of her tree. And it was at that realisation when she began to fall in love.

But then he did the unthinkable. He changed. He poisoned her, gave her the water to drink to stop the curse. She felt him hold her in his arms as she choked, felt his warm tears drop onto her skin. She tried to fight him off- he had just poisoned her- but in his arms felt like the hollow of the hawthorn tree, and she had wanted to be there for so long…

She lost consciousness, but, to her surprise, woke up once more. She had not died. Morgause, her sister, had saved her.

Morgause told her that he had known, somehow, that she was the one who held the curse. She said that the only way he could, would be if he, too, had magic

At first she protested, unable to believe that he would not have told her. Her head became full of confusion and her vision blurred. She asked Morgause if she had a hawthorn tree; her sister had been confused by the request, but had answered yes, there was one n the courtyard. She ran out to find it, but it was not the same. It did not listen, it had no comfortable hollow, and the leaves were turning brown as the autumn approached. She had lost her non-changing aspect of life, just as he had changed, and she cried, before blasting the hawthorn tree, the wrong one, into a pile of ashes. And, like those ashes, her heart turned black.

One night she crept out the castle, saddled a horse and galloped towards Camelot. She turned back as she reached the road, and she saw Morgause watching her, smiling softly. She faced the road again and spurred on the horse.

Camelot was burning; she saw the smoke and her charred heart drooped. Was he alive? Then she came upon a field that had the Camelot Knights in, and a huge dragon. She slipped of the horse as she saw him, standing unprotected. She didn't turn a hair as the knights, and with them Sir Leon, once an object of her affections, were roasted by the dragon. She watched impassively as her almost-brother was thrown back and lay as if dead. Her heart was too dark. A small measure of emotion flickered in her pale green eyes as she watched him stand up to the dragon, and her mouth dropped open as he began to speak to it, in a strange, guttural language. After a conversation she could not hear, the dragon flew off, and he ran over to Arthur. She crept closer, and heard him tell Arthur he had killed the dragon. His selflessness made her heart warm, and the pain she felt as it thawed made her almost cry out. If he had that much goodness, why had he tried to kill her?

She mounted her horse and headed towards her tree, which still stood where she had left it, exactly the same. She huddled in the hollow and told it everything, and uncovered an unwanted truth. She had been against Camelot since the she had stolen the Crystal of Neahtid, and he had known. It had hurt him to do it, but he had poisoned her to save Camelot. And she knew he would never have done so unless he believed she had lost all faith in the great city. And she had. She had wanted to be herself, free from all the fetters which surrounded her, not having to hide her magic, something that was a vital part of her soul. But if he had magic, and he could live with the current regime, maybe she could wait until Uther was gone, with him…

She didn't know how long she had stayed, curled up in the hollow with the hawthorn tree. All she knew was it was light when she heard the crackling footsteps, and she ran to hide in the foliage as the unknown person stepped into the clearing. She gasped at the sight of him, but he carried straight past the tree as though it did not exist. He reached the water's edge of the lake, and sat by the water.

He began to talk, as though to an unknown person, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine it was to her. She listened intently to his story about his father, the dragonlord, and his death. He told thin air he was now a dragonlord, and she amazed at his power as he talked about what he'd done, and how he had seen the events happen in the crystal. She had not seen anything in the rock.

Her heart hardened as he began to address the unknown person as 'Freya'. When he ended his speech on, 'I love you', she could take it no more. Unsuccessfully stifling a sob, she dashed back to the clearing, only to find it empty. Her tree had disappeared. A crash of branches told her he had discovered her, but she lay curled where the hawthorn had been, and refused to look up. So she was surprised when his arms curled around her, much like the hollow, and he held her as she cried. She talked to him as though he was the hawthorn, and he had a similar feel; he stayed quiet and let her pour it all out. When she finished, she looked up into his blue eyes, which seemed to contain endless power and depths, and kissed him. At first he was surprised, but then his lips moved in synch with hers and Morgana began to feel whole.

She went back to Morgause, and he went back to Arthur. They met occasionally over the years in the hawthorn clearing, but they kept it secret from their respective sides. But eventually the peace broke- at Camlann Arthur and Mordred died, killed by the other with a singular sword stroke. Morgana broke once more, but joined Merlin as they sent Arthur off to his final resting place in Avalon, ready for his return. After the battle she stumbled back to the clearing, where Merlin was waiting. He held up his arms and she embraced him, crying her sorrows onto his warm shoulder but, on drawing back, Morgana saw that she was the only one in the clearing. Merlin had vanished. And her hawthorn tree was once more in its rightful place.

'It was you, all along,' she said, but she knew that he could no longer hear her. She lay down in the hollow for the last time, and closed her eyes.

One thousand, four hundred years ago, King Arthur was supposed to have lived and reigned in Camelot. He is said to rest in a cavern underneath a hawthorn tree, which is separate from other trees in the respect that it is not affected by the seasons, and its leaves stay green all year round. There is also supposed to be a hollow at its foot, in which a rare purple orchid blooms for three weeks each year, in the winter snow. Despite only appearing then, the roots stay present all through the year and are entwined with the hawthorn's. This mythical tree, said to be the great sorcerer Merlin, has never been found, as the site of Camelot has never been discovered.

A random one-shot after listening to Hawthorn Tree by Heather Dale. Please review, and listen to the song!

Meg