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The scent of apples from the orchards of the Isle of the Blessed and the pots of herbs on Morgana's balcony scents her room. She loves the Isle. She also loves the time before she drifts off to sleep, especially in when she's on the Isle. She feels safe here; it is a place of power, and nurturing to Morgana.

She remembers when she first came to the Isle as a child. She was angry and grieving for her father Gorlois. At first, she was resentful toward her mother, who had only visited Tintagel intermittently during Morgana's childhood. It was her father who had doted on her, protected her, and been the center of her world. She cried bitterly at his loss. She'd missed the sea. Tintagel stood on a promontory of rock high above the sea. She missed the changing sounds of its waves, the clean, salty smell of it, the cries of the seabirds - and the light. The glorious light from the meeting of sun, clouds, and the vastness of the water; she still dreams of the sea sometimes.

But sometimes . . . she dreams of the future, and it frightens her. Morgana feels the magic growing within her and it the sheer power of it terrified her.

Tomorrow she will leave the safety of the Isle of the Blessed to travel to Camelot, the domain of the man who'd been her father's lord, Uther Pendragon. Now he was dead as well. Gorlois had died in Uther's service. There were whispers it was because Uther Pendragon had failed to send reinforcements. Gorlois and his men had bought the Pendragon time - but at such a cost.

Enough of these thoughts rushing about in her mind, Morgana must get to sleep.

She's dreaming, she is in a place, she knew it was a real place, where she's never been. It's a vast cavern, redolent with the stench sulfur, and with the presence of magic, ancient, vastly powerful, almost elemental magic. She also knows that whatever possessed such magic does not wish her well.

A massive iron chain dropped from above and a dragon climbs down. Its eyes are burning gold, sooty scales with red-gold touches gleam dimly. Morgana had heard that all the dragons had been destroyed; yet, this one had survives.

The dragon preen on a rock and bares its fangs in a grotesque approximation of smile. "Well, well, little witch, you begin your journey to Camelot. It is one of several possible futures. It would be better for you if your life's path does not bring you there. You may impede my plans."

"What plans, Kilgharrah?" Morgana has no idea of how she knows the creature's name, it has simply sprung from her mouth.

The Great Dragon pulls back his head in surprise. "How can you know my name? You do not have the power on your own for that. Ah, I see, Arianrhod, an aspect of your goddess. She has a fondness for you. More the pity, girl, those who catch the fancy of the gods rarely lead happy, and, very often, not long lives."

"You gloat at me?" Morgana marvels, "You the great Kilgharrah, who allowed Uther Pendragon to trap you, and place a chain of cold iron upon you. Due to the ancient magic to which you belong, you cannot break the chain yourself, you must find someone to remove it. Until then you languish under Camelot. Oh, yes, I know where I am."

Kilgharrah makes a wheezing chortle, which rises to an echoing roar, the laughter of a dragon. Morgana realizes he's quite mad, mad with grief and hatred, and most of all, the need for revenge.

"You are safe in your bed on the Isle of the Blessed, Morgana. I am in your dream, little witch. I warn you, stay on the Isle of the Blessed where you will one day be the chief priestess, the Lady of the Isle. There is nothing for you in Camelot. The Pendragons only mean tragedy for those of your blood."

"Uther Pendragon was no friend to magic but he didn't touch the Le Fays."

"Stupid girl, you are the get of Gorlois of Cornwall. There is much of him in you, as much as there is of Vivienne. Gorlois was Uther's right hand, a gifted commander, a great strategist - and Uther left him to die because it was expedient. Ah, well, it's only politics, and Gorlois was only a soldier, while Uther Pendragon was a politician, as well as tactician. Stay out of my way. Do not meddle in the affairs of Camelot. I have plans to destroy the House of Pendragon and I will not be thwarted. So, be a good little witch and play with the priestesses and the Druids, learn the art of healing, and how to control the Sight that grows within you."

Kilgharrah spits a column of flame at Morgana.

She awakes screaming, yet no sound comes. She gasps as she sits up tangled in the bed linens.

Morgana knows she has an enemy waiting for her in Camelot.


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