The Castle had once been a grand shrine; somewhere that would make it into history books. Where artists would come to sketch their craft, present it to courtiers and courtiers would have little knowing of the fact that this beauty belonged to a place of the Old Religion. But now, it was in ruins; stone crumbling down and algae gathering upon stones of ivory. The she-witch had watched as ivy climbed the walls and she mimicked them in the way she would feel as if she were climbing the walls in her loneliness. It felt akin to insanity. Checking the crystal in all its knowledge every now and then bore little resemblance to doing something with her life for she would see nothing – she had seen her sister priestess shot down by a harsh bolt of lightning. But she knew it was a necessary sacrifice. There had once been a time when she had feared the work of Emrys, believed him to be a do-gooder that would ruin all chance they had of magic reigning once more. But the Dragon had got to him; and soon, they would meet.
He was even younger in the flesh though his face was somewhat gaunt – something that would come from working in the darker works of magic, Morgause supposed.
"Emrys," she greeted, head dipping in a bow of much renown. Prophecies had spoken of this man since the dawn of time – but friend or foe, she was still unwilling to place a label upon him. "I trust nobody saw you come."
"No, nobody saw me," Merlin promised, pressing his lips to her hand. "Are you prepared for tomorrow, my lady?"
"Yes, sir," Morgause said, near bristling at the thought of it. "My sister has recovered?"
"From what?" Merlin seemed uncaring and it unsettled something within Morgause.
"I heard what happened with the witch-hunter," Morgause began, brows furrowing in worry. She didn't want to see her sister killed but she knew that she had been blinded by the cerulean gaze of the man who had promised her the world in one hand but was crushing her destiny in the other. Arthur Pendragon and Morgana le Fay were enemies in the prophecies; friends turned foes but the writings had never mentioned them becoming lovers within the middle of it. Merlin, of course, saw the desecration that their love would bring were it to blossom and she prayed to the Old Gods that they would be able to cut it at the root.
"Yes - she's fine," Merlin said with a curt smile. "I shall see you tomorrow, my lady. The path has been cleared for your arrival and the men paid. Do not let your heart be troubled by fear of what may happen to your sister, Morgause. I can assure you that Morgana will join our side soon enough. The Old Religion will reign and Arthur Pendragon will perish at my - our hands."
It all seemed very well-rehearsed, his speech; but Morgause swallowed it.
"On the morrow, then," she said, bowing her head once more.
When it rose, Emrys was gone.
"Oh, do stay still, you're like a child," Morgana laughed, fingers clasping the small crown that Arthur was required to wear at official ceremonies. As she laid the golden spiral down upon his golden hair, it stuck up in awkward tufts that wound their way around the jewels and oh, he did look a precious sight. Her fingers smoothed down the tufts and she smiled up at him, pressing up onto slippered toes to kiss his cheek.
But he did not smile. He did not even spare her a glance.
"-What is it?" she asked, worry settling.
"Nothing," he shrugged stiffly.
"Arthur…"
"It's nothing, Morgana," Arthur sighed, the sound a lament for his cheeky nature that once held true to him at all times. Ever since the Witch-hunter, he had been distant. "Hurry along, you've not even done your hair yet."
"And I shan't until you tell me what's the matter," she huffed, stomping her foot like a child in a tantrum.
And that was enough to make Arthur smile.
"Are you quite finished?" he asked, amusement twinkling his gaze.
"Oh, I haven't even begun," she teased, but her demeanour softened as she raised a hand, pressed it to his cheek. "This is still about the witch-hunter, isn't it?"
"We came too close," Arthur snapped, pushing her hand away from him in a motion that was so abnormal for him that Morgana felt her face dropping some. He seemed to realise this as he sighed, tucking her small, precious fingers into his larger ones. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean - I almost lost you. It terrified me. It's happening too often, Morgana."
"I can look after myself," Morgana promised, fingers brushing over his knuckles. "Come, now. We'll be late."
Hand in hand, elbows clasped to elbows; the pair ventured into the grand hall. The smell of roasted pork and warm wine filled the air and the Prince drew in a deep breath of it. He'd never cared much for the stuff but he could tell by the twinkle in the eye of his companion that she had already spotted the scent, too. It made him chuckle, tuck his hand closer to hers before they parted, making their way to their appropriate sides at the King's flank. Morgana on the left, Arthur on the right; the way it always had been and they had never really known why. It was a position they had fallen naturally into.
Uther greeted both of the youths with a bow of his head before he gestured for all company to take their seats. It took little time for the guests to dive into the feast and the sickening sound of Uther's teeth grinding against the bones of the roasted pig had Morgana's stomach churning. But every now and then, she would catch Arthur's gaze and her heart warmed.
When everyone had finished supping, Uther stood and rose his goblet, immediately capturing the attention of all those around him. He gestured for Arthur to rise with him and he did, anticipation making his fingers flex.
"We are gathered here tonight to welcome some of the bravest men in our service to join the Knighthood," Uther announced, loud and proud as he took a swig from his wine. He'd had a fair amount if the swag of his form was enough to go by. He drew his sword, stepping around the table with Arthur on his heels before the men all queued to be Knighted. Some wept when backs were turned, most could not keep the grins from their faces.
Morgana clapped politely at each of them.
The final man (nothing more than a boy, really) received his Knighthood before the doors clattered open with a sound that rolled like thunder. An armoured warrior swaggered easily into the Grand Hall, a helmet covering them and their hauberk doused in bright blood. All stood to their feet, drawing their swords and sobering immediately. Morgana reached for a knife, as she always would when these feasts were often interrupted.
Silence reigned.
Until the clang of the warrior's gauntlet twanged the room, right at Arthur's feet.
Morgana's heart rose to her throat.
Arthur stepped forward with ease and bowed his head in respect to the warrior that had no doubt just slaughtered many of their men – taking fathers from babies and husbands from wives. But he was a man of honour, as all Pendragon men had been raised to be.
"I, Arthur Pendragon," he declared in a voice so bold, "accept your challenge. We will duel tomorrow at midday before my Father and Camelot."
The warrior nodded, still as a statue.
"Upon one request," Arthur inputted, "- you will show me your face."
The warrior hesitated for but a moment before lifting their gloved hands to their helmet, prying it forth from their head before they shook out long locks of golden hair. It was plaited in some areas, curling around to the crown of her head.
Morgana gasped, as did all of the hall.
"My name is Morgause," the woman warrior replied.
With blood smearing the curve of her cheek, she lifted her gaze to Morgana's and their eyes met. Recognition sang within her veins and Morgana felt her ankles becoming shaky – she knew who she was. Not the name, not the face – just the very aura of her bound her to her. Like it had with Mordred, the young druid boy upon whom she often wondered his fate.
"Midday, then," Morgause continued, finally freeing Morgana from her eyes before she left the room.
It was customary in Camelot, as stated Uther in an unwilling voice, that this Morgause was to be given a chamber for the night and it was to be guarded by their soldiers so that she would neither be able to escape to kill Arthur off in the darkness nor would Arthur be able to do the same. Arthur had scoffed, throwing a plate across the room to express his displeasure but Morgana remained unusually quiet as Uther would put it. But recognising someone that you hadn't met before was something too close to supernatural, or so she thought so she kept herself silent, stating that she was merely unnerved by the happenings of the evening.
That night, she and Arthur parted to their separate chambers in silence.
Dawn rose and Morgana still could not find the strength to go and visit Arthur. She knew his strength well enough but the woman had made it through the Castle and sliced her way through any man that had crossed her path. She was dangerous, a menace; and she could have any sort of tricks hiding up her sleeve. But that was why Morgana would be especially vigilant while watching the fight – she would intervene if needs be because by the old Gods and the new, she would not allow Arthur to fall before the rest of Camelot. She wanted him to die as an old man, wrinkled hand in hers and they would pass to the next world together.
Not like this when he was so very young.
She watched as Morgause walked onto the muddied field, testing the weight and balance of her sword before she rested the tip in the ground, waiting guardedly for Arthur to arrive. It did not take him long to, his eyes steely as he looked up at Morgana and his Father, gave a bow of his head.
He whispered something to Morgause and if the tight-lipped reply she gave in return was anything to go by, he was offering her an escape from this.
The battle began beneath the hand of the King and Arthur and Morgause flew into the dance of death and violence, swords clanging and metal's song singing into the arena. Morgana's nails dug into the wood of the barrier as she watched.
But when Arthur was knocked back onto his spine, Morgause's sword pressed to his heart – Morgana stood to her feet, feeling magic burn within her veins, begging for release. But Morgause pulled her sword away, speaking loud enough for all to hear, "I will spare your life if you meet me outside Camelot within three days."
"Just kill me," Arthur hissed.
"I do not wish to kill you, Arthur Pendragon," Morgause continued, voice like satin. "All I ask is that you accept whatever challenge it is I may pose to you."
Do it, Arthur, Morgana pleaded internally for surely they would be able to find a way to fight this together. Uther was tensed behind her, a spring ready to unravel.
"-Agreed," Arthur reluctantly spoke, holding up his hand to her so they could shake on it. Once she had tightened her grip upon his wrist, she pulled him to his feet. She then bowed – but not to the King.
She bowed to Morgana.