Scenes from the Battle of Us

The sun splinters in her gaze as she lifts her head to survey the valley below -- before her, a resplendent army in scarlet livery, their standards borne aloft by the wind, their swords prepared to be employed at a moment's notice. The knights keep a watchful eye on their steeds, steadying them, but she can feel the earth tremble with their impatient hooves. That it has come to this, that guardian and guarded should have assumed positions on differing sides of the battlefield, she thinks, is through no fault of her own. Such blanket oppression could not have continued for long, and, if she were the only one who dared to assume the mantle of resistance, then so be it.

Uther draws his sword, brandishing it toward the sky. She gives him the courtesy of a nod before drawing her own, then presses her heels against her horse's flanks, and the beast charges forward, the world tilting --

Morgana awakes with a gasp and wrenches her eyes open. The canopy of her bed is dark; it is still night, and the castle is silent. Her pulse settles, and she turns over, tucking the covers under her chin. The visions fade, and she reminds herself that it was merely a dream, nothing more. (But is a dream ever merely a dream?)