Epilogue

When Arthur entered the throne room he hesitated. Morgana was sitting on the throne, clad only in a nightdress after being dragged from her bed. The fighting had continued all night and Camelot was now littered with bodies and smoke. Mordred sat on the carved steps by Morgana's feet and watched Arthur and his knights with a faint expression of bewilderment.

Morgana's shrieks had echoed across the room like a slap. "It will never be over! This is my right and I'll always fight for it. You may have won this time round but I'll be back with another army. Again and again. I will never stop!"

She screamed and threw herself at Arthur, her fingernails clawing at his face. She was oblivious to his words, deaf to any commands, and totally beyond reason. It seemed that she had finally cracked. There was a bright glint in her eyes now that was not fully sane. She had always been volatile but this was the push needed to send her crashing over the edge, wailing and shrieking. Arthur and a couple of his knights had to wrestle her to the ground before she stopped and even then she managed to spit in his face.

Mordred sat still and did nothing as the scene played out before him. He had prepared himself for the end - for the executioner's block. He'd stayed away from Morgana's chambers last night and instead walked the length of the castle walls, watching as the battle raged beneath him. He had been so sure of their future together and confident in their plans.

How had it come to this?

Arthur sentenced them with his gaze cast down, avoiding their faces.

The day of their execution arrived but at the last minute Vivienne, high priestess of Avalon, came forth to suggest that Morgana return with her to the misty island. There she would be able to serve the Goddess in silence while being kept under guard at all times. Arthur agreed, obviously relieved it would not come to an execution, but Morgana showed no such emotion. She laughed wildly but the look she gave Vivienne was one of pure loathing. Mordred was excused as well but exiled from Camelot and its surrounding lands. Arthur tried to maintain that Mordred had fallen under some spell of Morgana's no matter how many times Mordred contradicted him.

It was easier for him to pretend.

He woke too late on the morning of Morgana's departure. All that was left of her in the cell was a frayed shawl and a lingering scent of her perfumed skin.

He rushed to the window and watched as she was bundled unceremoniously into a waiting wagon. She was wearing a thick cloak of fur with the hood drawn but she must've felt his gaze for she looked straight up at him. A flicker of her lips and then she was gone. Gone to her island prison; walled behind old stone, mists, and enchantments. He would never see her again.

Morgana.

He tried to find her thoughts but her mind was lost to him now. Lost, probably, even to herself. All he could hear was screaming. Morgana, the First of Her Name, was now a shattered body of bones and memories.

He was condemned to a harsh life of solitude and loneliness. He was taken far away from Camelot, to a place of mountains and cold winds. Only once did he return with the intention of seeking Morgana but Avalon was too closely guarded and he could not summon the strength to pass the mists. Instead he sat at the water's edge, just hoping for a glimpse of the island beyond. He wandered the land for an age, growing older and older, until his beard was long and peppered with grey and he found it difficult to move his weak limbs.

Decades after their downfall the news came that Morgana had very purposefully walked into the lake and allowed the current to drag her under. On that day he heard her shout his name over and over in a chant. When he stepped into the icy cold water he let it pull him slowly under without hesitation. His own end was gentle and swift.

The Goddess forgive our sins.