Unforseen Repercussions
By Simply Shelby

For the second time in Morgana's life, Arthur Pendragon stood over her in the dungeons.

It couldn't have been more than a few days since she'd last been here, her wrists clapped in cold iron, her fury hidden in the depths of Camelot. Yet so much had changed. All her spirit seemed to have evaporated and she was collapsed across the stone floor, gown stained by blood and mud, with her hair strewn across the bed of grime and straw. And even at her lowest of low, Morgana Le Fay was a beautiful woman to behold.

When Arthur had entered the cell, she had refused to move from her desolate position, but met his eyes loftily. She remembered when Arthur Pendragon, the Crown Prince and heir to the throne of Camelot had walked through that door. He had been the epitome of royalty and honour and mercy as he ordered the guards to set her free and warned her to tread carefully. The entire time, his eyes hadn't even strayed towards hers.

Now though, Arthur Pendragon, the King of Camelot stood before her and his gaze connected with hers and she was captivated by the emotion bleeding from his eyes.

This king had ordered her contained by chains and stone and iron bars, but not for her brash manner or abrasive words. Taurin had been killed on sight for treason and asassination of the King of Camelot. She knew she should have been too, but--

"It's not an order I can give," Arthur murmured softly, his voice thick with several conflicting emotions Morgana was hard-pressed to name. He was standing stock-still just beyond the reach of her chains and he would have been staring at the wall if he had been able to break the intense gaze between them. "But I must, Morgana. You've left me no choice." His face was haggard and drawn with sadness and stress; his fists were clenched in barely-contained anger. Anger directed at her. Not the simple annoyance or frustration that was often traded between siblings, but true anger.

The sort of anger she'd had.

The sort of anger that killed.

It was an emotion that looked misplaced in a man so noble, so passionate, so caring. And it frightened her.

"What were you thinking?" he swore harshly at her, his voice coming from deep in his gut.

As usual, her tongue moved before she could bite it. "I did you a favour."

"A favour!" His reaction was explosive. If the matter hadn't been so grave, she would have found the fact entertaining. "A favour by killing my father, my king! By forcing me to sentence you to death? I--I cannot watch you die and live with myself knowing I gave the order!" What scared her was that he had not moved a muscle as he raged at her.

She had never forfited a fight with Arthur and she wasn't about to begin now. "You're king now," she pointed out.

The new King of Camelot shook with contained emotions. "You think that compensates for losing my family in one fell blow? I am nowhere near ready to be king! And the entire kingdom is aware! You've brought more chaos and evil upon Camelot in one day than Uther had in his entire life!"

She gazed intently at the young king. Was he really not as ready as he seemed? He seemed terrified, desperate, and damned. Perhaps he wasn't so ready as he'd been putting on. Perhaps she wasn't as good as reading him as she thought. Perhaps she had brought Camelot to its doom. "You've been practising your entire life for this."

"All the practise in the world cannot prepare a man to lose his father at the hand of his sister and have to condemn her to death!" With that, he turned on his heel and fled from her presence, the iron door of bars clanging forebodingly behind him.

Morgana awoke, suddenly, her breath stolen by a dream.

Her mind buzzed with the afterefects of the terrifying dream, her body glossed with a thin sheen of cold sweat. Her throat was dry and she was breathing heavily, dazed from returning so quickly to reality. She snatched up her velvet dressing gown and flew down the hallway, her feet taking her unconsciously towards comfort.

Arthur, still the prince and heir and not yet king, appeared at his door after her second rap, bleary-eyed and slightly grumpy, but alert and poised for action. He apparently did not expect to see a clearly upset Morgana knocking at his chambers in the middle of the night.

"Nightmare?" he questioned without fuss, covering a yawn.

Morgana nodded through her tears and Arthur shepherded her inside the room. He sat her in a chair beside the fireplace, tucking a thick rug around her shoulders, before dropping to his knees to build a fire. The Lady Morgana shivered visibly and made to tuck her feet beneath her body, but it seemed to be an impossible feat.

"It's freezing," he nodded towards her bare feet, "Where are your slippers?"

"Forgive me," she ducked her head, pleadingly, "I never meant to hurt you."

Arthur frowned for a moment before tilting his head and giving her a puzzled look. "As much as it pains me that you were not in the mind of remembering your slippers, I doubt that's what you meant." Patiently, he waited. Even on his knees, he seemed so noble.

"I had a dream," she began vaguely. "And I thought I knew what I was doing..." she shook her head, dark tresses veiling her face, sheilding her tears. "But I was so wrong. I hurt so many people. I hurt you... I brought Camelot to its doom."

Frowning at her, he demanded, "Have you, by chance, seen Gaius lately?"

Morgana's head flew up at the suggestion, fire alight in her eyes. "I'm not crazy, Arthur Pendragon, so don't you dare mock me!"

He much preferred a riled Morgana to an upset one and found he was relieved when she lashed out at him. However, he needed to explain. "I only meant to infer that you've received a new draught. Perhaps one that seems to encourage your dreams instead of dulling them?"

She quieted quickly. "Nothing seems to work. I can't escape. I deserve such torture, I suppose."

The prince clambered deftly and swiftly to his feet. "Don't say that," he admonished.

"It's true," Morgana murmured.

For once, Arthur didn't take her up on her offer to argue. "You're welcome to spend the night in my bed, if you so choose," he offered. "I've some papers that need my attention anyways." He cast an irritated glare at his desk which was, indeed, blanketed in parchment and scrolls.

"You won't mind?" Out of character, she was timid.

Grasping her hands, he guided her from the chair to the bed and forced her to lay down. "It wouldn't be the first time, my lady." Drawing the bedclothes to her neck, he bent and kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, fair lady."

Unfortunately, Morgana Le Fay rarely slept well, her dreams plaugued with things unforseen.