AN: With Wolf Moon looking down the barrel of completion, I wanted to write something else in the King Arthur universe. For a long time, I wasn't sure what I wanted to write. I had done a "Fix-It" fic with Wolf Moon. I wanted to work more of the "Magic" that is associated with the King Arthur legend into this fic. That element comes in many forms, but I've decided to go this way with it. Morgan is always Morgan le Fey, but I have gone a bit further back, to where the myth of Morgan might have come from. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Prologue - History

Morgan sat beside the sea, staring out over the waves as they crashed into the rocky coastline of northern Briton. The spray crashed up, soaking the bottom of her grey cotton dress. The water was cold, especially this time of the year, and yet it seemed almost a welcome chill compared to the fire that flared low in her belly.

She'd been on the island for weeks, watching. Simply watching.

She had watched too long and yet not long enough, it seemed. The water called to her, summoning her home, into its waves, and yet she had no desire to leave the land. She'd never known such a call before. Such a pain and yet such a welcome feeling.

She had never known loss in all of her immortal years. Being god spawn was a gift, and yet, a life as empty as hers had been until a few weeks ago was meaningless. Her father had given his daughters free reign of all of the oceans and all of the waterways in the world. She had spent hundreds of years exploring the depths of every body of water she could find, and yet, each time she looked to the land, she felt no desire to leave her safe haven. She was the only of her sisters that had ventured forth from their childhood water, and the only one her father loved for it.

That had been before.

She had been in a bay off of the northern coast of Briton when the boats came. Great, hulking things, they were with gill-necked women on their fronts. She followed them for a time, curious. She'd seen their ships in the past, in other waters on other continents, but never before had she seen them so close to Briton.

They were a warring people, and while the sea was violent on occasion, it was also calm, tranquil and understood a time and place for such things. Her father was not fond of them, and that was all it took to sway her mind. Her father had always been her favorite parent, and the only one she truly knew. A war goddess mother was not one to stay with her children, and Morgan only saw her when her calling brought her home, back to the embrace of her husband to plant more seeds and then again, when the seed was sown.

Her mother loved the men that sailed those vessels, and her favor kept them strong and powerful. Morgan would have done anything to see those men return to the earth, never again to cut out the sun from above her as their ships moved through the water.

She had followed them.

Beneath a sheet of ice, she had watched, as they marched across a frozen lake, their boots heavy on the ice. Death would soak the water there, and not in many minutes, as they neared the center, halfway toward a goal they had been chasing.

She had not seen the men that had come earlier, but they were few, just there, through the frozen water, standing along against her mother's preferred. Had it been springtime or summer, she could have churned the waters, making it impossible to cross. As it was, the ice on the top was too solid, too stalwart in its conviction to remain impassive.

They would die there. Her mother would be pleased, and the inky stink of death would fester in the water until the souls could escape to the Otherworld. Resigned to their deaths, she had slipped further into the lake, searching out the underground channel she had used to reach it.

In a shot, the ice above had splintered and fractured, releasing the water to her bidding. It reached up, swallowing her mother's favorites in its depths, drawing them down to drown. They went screaming.

All save for one. Weak from blood loss and with death so close, he had slipped into the cold lake like a lover, embracing it with a finality that she could feel in her bones. He was dead by the time she reached him, cold and bound for Annwn, land of the dead.

Above, she could hear a man's voice, breaking with anger, as his hands reached for the water, yearning for it and the man she held in her arms beneath the ice. His wrath was boiling, violent, eating and consuming like a storm. Long minutes later, he was gone, and Morgan had been left with the soul of a dead man.

The flesh of him would rot there, beneath the water, and in time, his soul would find a home in Annwn, the island Otherworld of her people. Something had sparked in her at that, and she had lead his shade through the water to that island and was back to Briton in the time it would have taken the boat-men to gather themselves again. She waited in the war-stink until they moved on, still tracking their quarry across the land.

There, for the first time since her birth, Morgan of the Sea rose from between sheets of fractured ice and laid foot upon the ground.

A great battle rocked Briton, and Morgan had watched in the way that all gods and goddesses watched war. Her mother was there, among the boat-men. Morgan could feel her spirit in two of them as they fought on the battle field, taking life.

A tide had—as they were likely to—turned late in the battle, and her mother's spirit fled one body, leaving it to die, a sword shoved through its neck. It hadn't been the death of the corpse, Morgan knew. Her mother hated one thing in all of the world, and that was defeat. The body of the boy did not matter. It was the father that would turn the battle, and it was the father that danced with a warrior the likes of which Morgan had never seen.

Fluid and grace like a river, he was match for her mother's fractured attention, but with her full force bearing down upon him, he too fell, desperate and dead as the dying boy across the battlefield took the life that took his. Both men lay dying, staring toward the sky, and for the first time in her existence, Morgan felt the influence of her mother in her blood.

A ghost of herself, she was beside a man in an instant, guiding his hand and pushing his conviction. It was an odd thing, killing, and it came as easy to her as calling the tides. The man was victorious, and her mother's anger was a wash of pain and agony as her presence fled to lick her wounded pride.

Frightened at what she'd done, she fled her champion, leaving him on the battlefield to find his own way and flung herself into the water. She saw every ocean and sea in the world in the next week, and yet still Briton called to her heart.

So, she had returned, once again upon the land, and watched as her champion fought to keep his land, to unite his people, even as he mourned his dead. Three graves were his breakfast, noon-meal and dinner. He stood before them, soaked in pain and wept until his tears joined the earth, water on land, and made her heart break.

As she sat on the rocky coastline in northern Briton, Morgan of the Sea made a decision. A decision that would alter the course of the life of Artorius Castus for all of history.

AN2: Sort of like the first chapter in Wolf Moon, I wanted to flush out my character a bit and set the stage for the story that is to come. Another bit of a "Fit It" fic, but done with the magical elements that the King Arthur universe so readily possesses. Let me know what you thought!