Prologue

"What a joy it is to see you Arthur." She lied as Emrys body stayed still on the ground. Walking the few steps towards her goal, she watched the feeble struggles of the wounded king. "Look at you, not so tall and mighty now."

He said nothing in return, his eyes growing vacant as he turned for her, blue eyes, so faint. Maybe now he knows how she feels if only a little.

"You may have won the battle, but you lost the war. You're going to die by Mordred's hand." It was only fair, he took away another piece of her heart, one more to join the emptiness, it was still far from enough though, it was far from just. "Don't worry dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I'll stay and watch over you, till the wolves gorge in your carcass and bath in your blood."

"No, the time for all this bloodshed is over" She spun around following Arthur's gaze, to find that Emrys was on his feet again, a sword in his hands. That sight was clearly pathetic, why would the all mighty sorcerer go for a sword? He could barely hold it right as his eyes settled on her. "I blame myself for what you've become..."

"Merlin"

"...But this has to end."

You blame yourself? She wondered why she should even offer an answer to that. So even now he thinks this is all on his shoulders? He takes away my choices, and now he takes away my actions as well. It didn't even register to her that her brother had tried to speak, but as Morgana watched his approach she felt her heart thumping, why? His eyes, there was something familiar and yet menacing there, but she wouldn't allow herself to be afraid. "I'm a high priestess, no mortal blade can kill me."

Here, have some water.

Then the hard steel pierced her skin, and she felt the pain bursting through her body, taking away her breath.

He will be your destiny and your doom.

"This is no mortal blade. Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath." Emrys said, his eyes blue, blue like lightning, the blue of an unforgiving ocean. No! No! She wanted to scream, but each breath seemed to bring her closer to the night, her vision growing dark as his voice carried on "Goodbye Morgana."

Who did he think he was to say that to her, him the betrayer, the secret keeper, the monster who dared cast blame and take it away.

"You've brought peace at last."

Her brother mumbled and after so long she felt like crying.

Peace? PEACE? She wanted peace! She wanted freedom!

Now they were saying that her death brought peace!

No… She cried out, even as her magic deserted her. No, she sobbed in her mind, as her conscience drifted away. Barely aware that she was alone, overcome by the darkness at the doors of death, Morgana heard the gentle flap of wings.

Soft, warm, sheets greeted her back to the world, the gasp leaving her lips as she laid there in a shivering sweaty mess. Her heart pounding against her chest, Morgana blinked at the canopy, taking the furs closer to her body as if they could protect her from the pain of countless wounds, and yet they did nothing against the gash she felt tearing her heart apart in a thousand pieces.

She blinked again, her lips tasting the salt from tears she was unaware of shedding until she gathered enough strength to sit. A shaking hand moved to her face, clearing away the messy bangs from her eyes.

I'm alive.

The thought was oddly devoid of any comfort, instead it only seemed to grip her chest tighter, as a whole life vanished from her sight to show her what could be a dream and yet she knew to be real. An old room, that belonged to a person she used to be, warmer than anything in her recent memory. Close to the bed, she watched a familiar blond woman asleep on a chair.

Gasping and pulling away from the furs, Morgana made an effort to leave her bed, her bare feet feeling the assurance from the cold stone. Instinctively she covered her guts, but there is no wound there, no sword of dragon breath stabbing her, nothing…

I'm alive… So that was…

The realization felt like a punch to her chest, one that made her want to scream and thrash about, her feet staggering as the first sob racked through her body. Traitors… she thought vengefully, the word felt as sharp and menacing as Excalibur's blade… traitors, traitors, traitors…

"Morgana?"

My friends… The word summoned a bitter laugh from the depths of her being, and for once she couldn't question the vanity of being amused by the thought. My dear friends, against me, one after the other…

In that her vision had been clear.

A vision?

"Morgana, thank the Goddess you're all right." Strong arms took hold of her shaking form, and Morgana allowed the embrace to continue. It felt very real. Her sister. Alive. Was it a vision then? She had been close to seeing her visions as a gift, so close, it was there, teasing her soul, a resolve so powerful it could bring peace.

A vision that was gift them.

She saw her failure and her end… The end of everything, the deaths of so many and now she was in her room, under the soft glow of moonlight with knowledge beyond her wildest dreams and yet, she could only feel the pain, crushing, tearing, pulling her down, until she was sitting in the dark by the foot of her bed. Morgause's voice seeming muffled and distant.

I should feel triumphant. She thought. I should be happy, I can change all that, kill Merlin now, and Arthur, Gwen, and Uther, take the throne and rule Camelot for all eternity. I can do it. But her mind brought her only Merlin's tearful eyes and the horror of the poison taking root, her brother's anguish as she died, Gwen's noble defiance… The blood, the blood, so much blood… The Dark Tower, looming over dead lands, Morgause's last words, Aithusa's screams and the Sarrum's laughter…

Usually her visions would happen and she would feel the backlash, but still know in her guts that it was a vision, this felt different. The years, the tears, the pains, it was all there, as if she had merely reverted back to a far away past.

It can't be a vision then, not exactly.

And what does it matter?

Slowly, unflinching before the cold, Morgana rose from her place on the ground, walking towards the window. Her sister was calling her name, but she dared not disturb this sweet dream. Her shift moved around her body, a body free from the scars she felt in her skin. The Moon was high and the stars were countless, and Camelot unfurled before her like a heartfelt wish.

Maybe my death was real and this is the dream.

She laughed and laughed and feared she would never stop.

When she finally did, Morgana, High Priestess of the Old Religion, gazed upon the land of Albion and smirked.