Sorry if this upload has taken a while, found it quite difficult to write so I hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 10

The clanging of metal against metal forced Morgana's eyes open. Swords. All she could think of were the Knights of Medhir, and the sword that had come within centimetres of taking her life. Had Morgause brought them back? To rid her of the troublesome girl she had saved? No, it was impossible, there would be no warfare if they were sent to kill her. She must be being rescued. Uther wouldn't abandon her, however cruel he was, surely? She had been his loving ward, almost like his daughter, for so long, she could easily just return to that, couldn't she? But, just the thought made her skin crawl. To live back in Camelot, to live in fear once more. To be alone. Was that better than where she was? Besides, there was only the sound of one sword, it could not be a rescue party. Still, her curiosity could not be so easily contained and she felt herself tread barefoot on the stone floor, wincing at the sudden cold as a hand reached to the heavy curtains and she looked down on the courtyard.

Another clang, as the long sword in Morgause's hand slammed hard against the metal dummy in the centre of the yard. The sound echoed threateningly around, as if to serve a reminder of the force the blonde warrior still held. Her blonde curls whipped in the early morning air, the blood red of the sunrise catching them like spun gold. She was certainly majestic, beautiful as a hunting lioness. A spin, nimble as a dancer, and her sword made contact once again, this time in the neck of the model. Morgana leant forward, resting her chin lightly on her hands, eyes glittering, a captive to the woman before her. Around one finger, she felt herself absent-mindedly twisting a lock of hair as she focused on the combat. It was certainly more splendid than Arthur's practice. He swung aggressively, but heavily like an armoured rhino. Morgause was graceful, her movement as elegant as if she was dancing a single ballet, and Morgana felt sure she could never tear herself away. But, the minute the warrior turned, and her deep chestnut eyes rose to meet the peridot gaze of her sister, Morgana felt her stomach turn unexpectedly in fury, bile bubbling within her at the memory of the last night's conversation, and she let the curtain fall coldly back over the window.

Morgana turned her back to the heavy curtain, on the sight of the woman in the courtyard, whose dark orbs were so wide in desperation. Her sister? No. It was impossible. She accused her mother of whoredom, cuckolding her father with a nobody, a Druid, he did not even a name. That wasn't her mother, she could not have been such a woman. Her father worshipped her, he never spoke of her, his grief was so great. Everything she knew of her was from Uther, her noble roots, her beauty, her good nature. Why would she throw all that away for a meaningless night with a Druid?

Morgause was a liar. She brought her here to corrupt her mind, take advantage of her hatred of Uther to take Camelot for herself. Maybe with the help of Cenred, if they used to be allies, if allies were all they used to be. She would be a pawn in the Priestess' game, used for nothing but greed and revenge. Morgana could feel tears forming in the white heat of her fury, slipping down her cheeks, and she wiped them away, frustrated by her own weakness. As she brought her wrist down, she saw the bracelet still against her skin and she tore it off with a savage anger. That witch was not her sister, could never be her sister, it was ridiculous. She'd been a fool to throw away Camelot for her.

But then, she saved her. Morgause did not need her. If her quest was for Camelot, she could achieve that without any assistance of the King's ward. Cenred had a huge army, and Morgause had magic, they would be unstoppable. And Morgause hadn't hurt her, Morgana had shouted, been cold, been hurtful, but Morgause laid no finger upon her. Instead, she nursed her. She had slept a night beside her, why would she do that if she only wanted her for Camelot? And why lie? They shared the Old Religion, Morgause could guarantee safety from persecution, that would be enough for an alliance.

She sank onto the bed, salty tears smeared across her face. Besides her, the bracelet still lay and she picked it up, gazing in vain as if she hoped it would reveal some great truth to her. She felt her lips murmur softly as she sat, hunched, atop the crumpled bedding,

'Who are you, Morgause?'

The sun was only just rising, its rays bleeding bloody light across the pale sky, as Morgause took up her sword and entered the courtyard. Wincing slightly at the dawn sun, she realised this would be her seventh morning of rising early for her sword practice, and all had been unsuccessful.

A clash as she swung her sword against the dummy, pent up fury in her attack, and then twice more before she stopped to look up at the castle around her. The first morning, she had come to the window, she had bared to watch the practice, her peridot eyes seeing her just as they had in Camelot. But, then, nothing. Morgause had visited her chambers every day, leaving meals and a note to say where she would be that day, should Morgana choose to find her. But, nothing. She would find the food nibbled at, as though Morgana did not even want to touch food given by the Priestess. And so, each morning Morgause returned to the courtyard, in the hope of attracting Morgana's attention, to let her know there was hope.

But, although the ruby curtains seemed to stir, no slim fingers slid round, no pale face appeared at the window and Morgause swung her sword heavily against the metal before her. Swing after swing, echoing as though issued from an army, rather than from Morgause's unrelenting fury. Each hit was an enemy: Uther, the Knights, Arthur. But mainly herself, for if she could have hacked her own stupidity into a thousand pieces, she would not have hesitated. Forget Taegan and destiny and Camelot. All that mattered was the ebony haired girl who sat within the citadel, whose image haunted Morgause's sleep like a ghoul.

She stopped, breathless, her hair tangled, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and she looked up one last, desperate time. Wide peridot eyes met hers defiantly, refusing to break gaze, and like an eagle, the blonde warrior felt her heart soar. Hope.

Soft footsteps, light enough to belong to a woodland faerie, but enough to make the blonde suddenly aware of herself as she sat at the desk within her chambers. Slowly, she tore her gaze from the parchment before her, to the girl stood over her, this time clad in a glittering silver, with a matching steel glint in her eyes.

'Morgause.' She spoke as softly as she walked, yet there was still something in her voice. Hidden, threatening.

'Morgana, you have been avoiding me this past week.' Morgause lowered her tone, matching her sister's icy speech. If this was the way Morgana had chosen to play, Morgause would be a fool not to oblige. 'Why is that?'

'You used me, Morgause.' She held herself nobly still, yet she dropped all courtly courtesies, her speech blunt. 'You knew of my hatred of Uther and his ways, and you used me in your scheme. I don't know who you are allied with, who would help you take Camelot if I did not accept, I can only assume Cenred from your past association with him. You asked a great deal from me before, yet you had my allegiance, but you try to twist me further with your lies. We cannot be sisters, it is not possible, my mother, for that is all she is to you, would not do that. I will not believe you and I will not allow you to corrupt me to your evil.' Morgana stood straight, as though an oak tree, and spoke with as much emotion as one. Her eyes were hard as polished stones, alien in her previously sympathetic face.

'I know what I did, Morgana, but I saved you. I brought you back from certain death, whether not at the hand of the poison, then the hand of your guardian, from whom you would not have been able to hide your magic forever.' Something in Morgause softened looking at her sister, despite the sharp gaze directed at her. She felt like a creature under a microscopic glass, scrutinised, studied, a puzzle that Morgana needed to solve. She was aware of what she would see: a captor, an enemy. But, maybe she could see more.

'I was not in any danger,' Morgana said defiantly.

'You know that is not true. You might be daughter of Gorlois, Uther's ward, but you would be just another sorcerer should he have discovered your gifts. I know the persecution of Uther's reign, Morgana, I know the persecution all too well.'

'What do you want, Morgause? With Camelot? With me?'

'Uther killed the closest thing I have ever had to a mother, to a family. I have lived my life in fear, and hatred. I want only what I told you, a World without Uther. I want him to know how it feels to be hated and despised, to lose those closest to you.' Morgause stood, her crimson, silk train slipping onto the floor, and she stepped slowly around the desk.

'My mother was not killed by Uther.'

'You're right, but I was not raised by Lady Vivian. The High Priestesses of the Old Religion raised me, they taught me magic, they lived peacefully. Yet, they were all still slaughtered, the Isle burnt to the ground until it was nothing more than rubble and ghosts. And I was left alone. Just as you are, now.'

'I am tired of being alone.' Morgana did not stop the blonde woman stepping closer and taking her hands. She felt too heavy to do anything about anything. 'Yet, you are still lying to me. We are not sisters. Do you expect me to believe you could just arrive in Camelot, just as I appear to need someone, and for me to believe you are my sister?'

'You do not have to believe me, Morgana.' Her lips spoke, but she did not seem to be able to control them. And, in this, every word was as much of a shock to her, as it was to the girl before her. 'All those who could confirm anything are dead, dead and gone. They can return no more than Lady Vivian herself, to embrace us both. But, turn around, Morgana. What do you see?'

Behind them, a long, ornate looking glass hung, sunlight reflected off its gleaming surface. Morgana turned to see the image of two women, polar opposites. One as pale as death, hair darker than a raven, the other shimmering gold. Silver cloaking one, it must be her, like armour, the other clad in bloody red. Or a loving red, for she felt like the one whose heart was hard steel. Yet, their hands were clasped, in allegiance, or friendship. Morgana felt herself speaking, if only to fill the choking silence that seemed to hang like a noose.

'Uther told me often how I looked like my mother. Dark hair, the same stature. But, I always had my father's eyes. My mother had such dark eyes, apparently, deep chestnut. It was those that Uther seemed to remember do vividly. Those eyes that my father fell in love with...' Morgana had still been gazing into the mirror, but felt herself drift as she searched the blonde reflection, and found herself staring into large, dark eyes. She tore her eyes away to find herself looking into the chestnut eyes of Morgause beside her. Is that what Morgause had wanted her to see? Wanted her to realise? It meant nothing though, surely? But, without knowing how, she felt herself enveloped in the tight embrace, so comforting after so long, of this blonde Priestess, her sister, as she sunk to the floor in tears of revelation.

Before her, oceans of emerald grass lay out, enough to drown in should one be foolish enough to venture out. Occasionally, a dot of blue or pink lay amongst the endless array of green, as though the last remains of a poor soul trapped in the Earthly waves. Morgause felt herself shiver as a sudden wind blew across the plains, catching her as she stood on the crumbling battlements, staring down. She remembered when she had first arrived, so alive with purpose and promise and pathetic optimism. She'd had two aims: to punish Uther for the cold hearted massacre of her family and to rescue her sister. She had come so close to both, yet it now seemed she would have neither.

Morgause frowned, shaking her head so her blonde locks blew more fiercely in the wind. She had come out to think, to escape the pounding in her head and her tear sore eyes, but her head hurt worse than ever and she could still feel the salty wet on her cheeks where teardrops continued to fall. It appeared the Lady Morgana really did have an iron hold of her. She had not felt such a tempest of emotion for years, yet now, now her very being rested upon the shoulders of this girl, her sister. This passionate yet icy cold, virile yet as fragile as a looking glass, beautiful, courageous ward of Camelot. For the first time, she had held her so close to her, close enough to feel her warm breath against her skin, and her tears had dropped onto Morgause's lap. She had whispered into Morgana's ears, whatever she thought would soothe her sister, and she'd prayed they could have stayed like that for as long as possible. But, all too soon, Morgana had torn from her grasp and fled her chambers, as if realising exactly whose arms she was enclosed in, leaving Morgause to find solace on this battlement, stood amongst the elements. Something that had suited her before, had granted her peace, but now everything seemed to go against her, the wind, this endless desert of grass, the starless night sky that was unfurling above her. But, her heart wasn't there anymore. Her heart did not belong anywhere, now.

She could not say how long she had been stood outside when snow white hands suddenly appeared beside hers on the weathered stone battlements. Morgause did not have to turn to recognise them, instead she kept her gaze straight ahead as she spoke.

'You can return to Camelot if you so wish. It is a few days hard ride but, if that is your desire, I cannot keep you here against your will.'

'I cannot return to being Uther's loving ward. Not now I have escaped all of that.' Slowly, cautiously, one of the snowy hands was placed over Morgause's, a burning sensation passing through them despite the cold wind. 'I know I have been a difficult guest and I have said this all before, but I know the truth now. I know why you gave me the bracelet, and why you wanted my alliance. I know why you saved me and I could not be more grateful.'

Morgause withdrew her hand, slowly as though something was heavy on her mind. She took a few steps away, her back still to Morgana, who followed her with wide, hopeful eyes. Then, after a few moments, the blonde turned unexpectedly, and stood close to the raven haired girl, taking both her hands. She was close enough, almost, to hear Morgana's heart drumming in her chest. Morgana followed every movement of her lips as she spoke, her own parted slightly.

'What am I to you, Morgana? When we met in the woods, you told me you would stand with me against Uther and Camelot, is that still true? You would help me to defend the Old Religion, bring back peace to those who sit in fear, who run from executioners for crimes no more than being born. Is that still your wish?' She asked, her voice calm but a panicked glint danced in her dark eyes. She could feel her pulse racing as she spoke, the whip of the wind doing little to comfort her. Each second of silence was more torturous, taking her breath just as if someone was squeezing her throat.

Then, a slight squeeze of her hands as the ebony haired girl held the Priestess' gaze steadily, a ghost of a smile across her lips. 'Morgause, you told me yourself, we are sisters. I know I doubted you to begin with, but I know the truth now. Even if we were not, as I believed, we are united in our ties to the Old Religion, which no-one can deny. I will help you with whatever you ask of me.'

'I cannot say what it means to hear you say that, Sister.' Morgause caressed the girl's cheek, burning under her touch, a smile playing on her lips at the final recognition of their relations.

'You told me that before, I couldn't understand why I meant so much to you.'

Morgause couldn't stop herself from breaking into a broad smile, her slight form barely able to contain all her unexpected joy. But, there was a serious topic at hand. 'Will you help me to bring down Uther, and the power of Camelot?'

Morgana's gaze stayed steady. 'All of Camelot?'

'Everything. Everyone who defies us. Uther, Arthur, his treacherous manservant who thought nothing of poisoning you,' Morgause whispered, her voice almost lost in the endless space.

'All of Camelot is an enemy to us, to anyone who remains different.' Morgana took a deep breath, as if needing to prepare herself for the exertion of what she would next say. 'I am yours, Morgause.'

Her fiery locks tumbled down her face, falling either side of her breasts, threatening to break free from the too tight corset that bound them. She might not be the most handsome woman, Cenred felt himself muse, but her behaviour when having drunk two goblets of wine would entirely make up for that. He smirked as she sat delicately on the arm of his throne, perhaps not as delicately as others had sat there before...or, at least, not as delicately as one woman had sat there before. In her hand, a dented, metal goblet sat, wine spilling out slightly as she gave an intoxicated giggle at a comment from the King, and bent forward to kiss him gently on the lips. With a hand, he went to cup one of her freckled breasts, giving a low chuckle.

'Sire, sire, there is urgent news.'

He scowled, pulling away from the woman's grasp as the Hall doors burst open and a young man, face covered in deep scars, ran to the foot of the throne, falling to his knees. Cenred bitterly resisted the urge to kick the man, his latest foreign ambassador, and leave him sprawled across the floor like the worm he really was.

'So, you have news, should I be impressed?' He drawled, voice low, threatening in tone. 'I thought I was not to be disturbed.'

'I am sorry, My Lord, but this news could not wait,' The man felt himself say, almost plead, attempting to shake off the polished jet of the eyes staring holes into him.

'Then, please share. Or you can share your entrails with this floor.'

The man's eyes widened. 'This is news that can only be shared while alone. No-one else may hear.'
Cenred's eyes flickered to the woman besides him, still sipping from the goblet, an intoxicated smile on her face. 'Ignore her, she will not see the morning. What is this news?'

At the King's speech, the man passed worried eyes over the woman, yet she remained oblivious. With a gulp, he began to speak. 'My Lord, I have just ridden straight from Camelot. King Uther's ward, the Lady Morgana, has been kidnapped.'

Cenred felt himself chuckle once more. 'Uther could never hold onto a beautiful woman, his own wife chose death over him. But, this does not concern me.'

'It is not that news, My Lord.' The man hesitated, breathing deeply before speaking once more. 'I got no name, but the talk was that the ward was taken by a witch. A witch in armour who fought like a man, yet with blonde curls like those of a noble woman.'

Cenred smirked, he had been waiting for news of this for months, since her disappearing act in the middle of the night. 'Ah, so Morgause finally makes an appearance. Yet, what could she ever want from the ward of King Uther?'

Thank you for everyone continuing to read this :)

Mike3207: That's what I thought, it's often done from Morgana's viewpoint if at all. And the cover is Morgause, but it must just be a bad shot, because she is quite blonde.

The King's Soldier: Thank you, I'm really enjoying writing this so I like to hear people are enjoying it. I think it's a shame we didn't find out more about Morgause in the show, she was a very interesting character.