Alright, I'm back with another chapter. This story just refuses to leave me alone, but guess what? I'm totally fine with that :) So, in answer to AndreKl's review, yes, I do want to make this a pure redemption fic, however, with that being said... I will have Aithusa's magic play some sort of part in that. I still find Morgana's character arc in the series a little... unbelievable. It didn't really make sense to me... But, don't worry, Morgana will be in full control of her thoughts and actions, I promise you.
When I wake up, it's to blinding pain, my hands bound securely by metal chains. I groan, trying to lift my head in an effort to take stock of my situation, when my vision blurs and the world spins violently on its axis. I barely manage to roll over in time before I empty what little was in my stomach, the violent convulsions sending a ripping pain through my stomach. Instinctually, I reach out to grab at the pain, only to come into contact with a gaping, wet wound. With a frown, I pull my hand away and stare at the blood coating my palm.
All too suddenly, the world and all my surroundings come crashing into me. A dull, painful throb emanates from my left thigh. My joints and muscles seem to ache from within, almost as if I had been repeatedly pummelled with a mace. A slight breeze whispers over my skin, both a blessing to my overheated skin and a curse as cold, uncontrollable shivers dance up my limbs. Perfect, as if my wounds weren't enough, now I also have to contend with fever, most likely caused by infection in my wounds. Just then, a loud snore rumbles through the air. For the first time since waking, I notice the flickering campfire, the heat barely reaching my shivering form. I snap my gaze to a sleeping bandit, mere feet away from me. My heart beats to an erratic dance. Why would these vermin still need me? Where are they taking me and on whose orders?
During my travels away from the stifling walls of Camelot, the first and most important lesson I came to learn, was that bandits would do just about anything for a few bags of coin. This made it almost comfortably easy to strike any bargains with them, albeit very temporary. Most times, this was the fastest way to get things done with a little extra help, but it could very easily become a double-edged sword. For just as quickly as they accept bargains, they are just as quick to turn on you. Learning to deal with them efficiently had taken a lot of time and even more patience. It takes a lot of their own game to keep up with them. And perhaps, a little seduction, just enough to keep the men interested. A shiver of another kind runs up my spine. It would seem these bandits have little to no interest in striking any kind of deal with me. No… someone else has managed to catch their attention with quite a hefty bargain. That's the only explanation as to how I'm still here, bound and wounded… and very much alive.
"I see you are finally awake," a deep voice rumbles to my left. Heavy, fur coated boots step into my line of sight. When I look up, I am met with a cordial smile and sinister eyes the colour of night. Sheathed at the man's hip, is a barbed sword. The man who had run me through, I realise.
"Who are you?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
The man shrugs, coming to rest in a kneeling position to my side. "Well, that's up to you. I can be friend, or foe. The choice is yours to make."
I scoff, shaking my head. "How can I trust a friend who would rather run me through, than extend a hand in greeting?"
"I assure you, our… actions were well founded. Drastic measures had to be taken. Stories of the dark witch from Camelot is known far beyond the land of Albion."
"They are not stories, I can assure you of that," I hiss through clenched teeth. Fresh anger claws its way through the surface of my disinterested façade. What could this filth possibly know about me?
"Of course," the man placates. "Not so long ago, you were betrayed by those you had once held dear… perhaps you still care for them, but you keep that part of yourself locked very, very far away. It was… his betrayal that cut the deepest, though, wasn't it? A man who plays at being your brother's man servant. Perhaps he played at being your friend? No matter… it was ultimately the death of your sister that finally sent you tumbling over that cliff… What would Morgause think about you now, hmm?"
I shut my eyes against the sudden urge to cry. Memories jump to the forefront of my mind; Merlin's hand extending to offer me the poison-laced water, his blue eyes pleading. Morgause's face just before I plunge the dagger deep into her chest. And that's when I feel it, the light, barely-there tugging at my conscious. Magic.
"Wouldn't you like to see her again?" the man whispers, his voice a seductive pull. I clench my jaw, my breathing becoming rapid.
"Or is it the throne of Camelot you truly desire above all else?"
I shake my head against the probing thoughts. This man was reading my mind, somehow… but how is that possible? No such magic exists here.
"Not here, no," the man chuckles darkly. "Where I come from, far to the east across the seas, my land is fraught with magic. People like us are accepted there. That is why our leader has chosen to recruit you, Morgana."
Slowly, I open my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"We have come to free Albion of its restraints. But, my leader needs your help, Morgana. Without you, his dream cannot be realised. You understand?"
A tight knot forms in my throat. My eyes slip shut to welcome the sight of warlocks and witches, roaming the cities and towns of Albion without fear hounding at their heels. Little children, playing with their gifts in the open, a better Camelot, more open to change, more accepting. Perhaps if Arthur was willing to listen, he could lead Camelot into a brighter age. I feel a wistful smile pull at my chapped lips.
"So pathetic. It makes my stomach churn," a voice drawls from within the shadowy confines of the forest.
I snap my head up. "Who's there?"
"You should know, Priestess."
The figure steps forward into the flickering firelight. I choke back a sob when the familiar features make sense to me. Dark, matted hair, black dress, hollow eyes.
Me.
"You're… You're -"
"Yes, I'm you. At least… a better version of you," she spits, dropping to her haunches over me. "Stronger, less fearful."
Her hand snaps forward, fingers clutching around my throat. I gasp at the sheer hatred in her jade eyes.
"Why don't you just take it?"
I shake my head. "What do you mean?"
She tilts her head, her mouth pulling into a snarl. "Not too long ago, you would have revelled in the sight of Camelot's torment. All that anger, all that… will to fight, to survive, where has it gone? What happened to your unwavering quest for vengeance, witch?"
As if from another life, memories stirred by old feelings come back to me. Yes, my hatred for Arthur, my desire for the throne… those feelings come rushing back, as if they were long forgotten. That is what I live for, that is my sole purpose in life. Once, not so long ago, I made an oath to see that desire fulfilled. The people of Camelot would feel my anger and they would learn to fear me. They would quiver at my feet and bow to their queen. And Arthur…
Arthur would learn to repent for the sins caused against my kind and me. He would know true darkness, true pain. I feel the vestiges of a smirk pull at my lips. The apparition of myself responds with her own menacing grin, eyes glinting. She pulls her face closer, her fingers around my throat becoming tighter. "Yes… take it, take the offer," she beckons in a soft whisper. "Kill them all…"
A rustle sounds to the side. A figure in white and soft blue circles around the fire, slow… calm. "Leave her be."
I flit my gaze to the side. Me… another me, pure and kind, eyes sparkling with hope, catches my eyes with a smile. "Morgana doesn't have to kill anyone ever again."
The darker version of myself snaps to her feet. "Well, well… if it isn't miss Prim and Proper. Come to gloat about how holy you are?"
The lighter version of myself chuckles. "I've only come to remind Morgana."
"What do you mean?" I ask, unable to help the tremble in my voice. What's wrong with me? What's happening to me?
Dark Morgana cackles into the night. "She's come to call you back to the side of good. I'm afraid you're several years too late for that."
Light Morgana keeps her gaze locked with mine. "That's not entirely true, is it, Morgana?"
I shake my head and shut my eyes tight. "What's happening to me? You're… you're not real," I whimper.
Light Morgana smiles reassuringly. "We're as real as you make us out to be."
I cradle my head between trembling hands. "No… no! This is… this is the fever. I'm hallucinating because of the fever."
Dark Morgana scowls at me. "Oh, would you shut up? Your rambling is really starting to grate on my nerves."
"No… no, no, no…"
The man kneeling over me tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful frown pulling at his brow. "You are ill, Morgana. Your magic is divided."
"What do you mean? Who are you?" I demand through my ragged breaths. In the corner of my eye, I notice the two versions of myself share hateful glances with each other.
"My name is Roland, Court Sorcerer to King Asger of Idunn."
"Idunn? I've never heard of such a place," I mutter, averting Roland's penetrating gaze. Is he reading my mind again?
"No, you wouldn't have. It is far from Albion. You are fighting it."
"What?"
Roland places a warm, calloused hand over my forehead, his eyes slipping shut. I try to pull away, but his hand holds fast. "That's why you are ill, you refuse your magic what it needs."
"And what exactly would that be?" I grumble.
"The need to guide. You must let your magic free. Or you will surely perish," Roland opens his eyes, the gold of magic fading to reveal his dark irises. "Help us, Morgana, and I will extend my hand to you in assistance. What say you?"
I hesitate, rolling my head to the side to stare at the dancing flames. With one, simple answer, I could be one step closer to ending my fight. The throne would finally be mine, and Camelot would truly fear me. Arthur and his knights will be a thing of the past. Gwen will no longer stand in my way. And Merlin… perhaps, the Camelot dungeons would be a fitting place for the likes of him. He will suffer for the rest of his miserable life. He will know my pain.
I feel an all too familiar darkness pull at my conscious. This Roland of Idunn is practically offering me my dream on a silver platter…
"You would trust the man who tried to kill you?" Light Morgana questions, a deep frown pulling at her brow. Dark Morgana crosses her arms with a scowl.
"I hate to admit it, but Miss Proper has a point. There was no remorse when he decided to run you through."
They're right, I think to myself. How can I trust anything this man says? Who's to say he won't try to kill me again? What if I'm nothing but expendable to him?
"You will help us?" Roland asks.
I turn to pin Roland with a scowl. "No, I will never help you. My vengeance is my own."
Roland sighs, his smooth jaw clenching. "There is a war coming, Morgana. You would be wise to choose a side."
"I take no sides. My answer is final."
Roland shakes his head. "That is a pity. King Asger will not be pleased to hear this. No matter, you will serve one last purpose." Roland's eyes glow a deep gold as he mutters a string of words. "Min hordcofa earon uncer."
"You will warn Arthur Pendragon of his coming doom and then you will die."
A heavy weight settles over my mind. Thoughts snatch at my attention, their claws of suggestion sinking in. Against my own volition, the thoughts take permanent hold of my mind.
"I will warn Arthur Pendragon of his coming doom and then I will die," I hear myself repeat Roland's words almost mindlessly.
"Bedyrne ge! Astyre ge panonweard!"
In a flash of swirling winds, I feel myself transported.
