A/N: Morgana's quest to Catha.
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Out of Order
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The night is cold when she leaves Camelot. The chilly breeze brushes down her neck, just like it did all those years ago, when she was young and afraid, looking for answers. Only to be brought back by force, her hopes thwarted, the druids slaughtered.
The citadel that looms beyond, white and majestic - this once home, twice lost dungeon of dreams and failures, still haunts her dreams at night and plagues her mind through the days, not letting her be. If she conquered it, the place and the memories that tied her to it, she could finally be at ease. The yearning for home would be quenched.
Morgana mounts her white mare, hidden in the nearby woods. There's hardly any wind this night, the forest is silent, the crackle of branches and the gallop the only sounds in the night. She come to ride here, back in lighter days. Sometimes with knights, sometimes with Arthur, betting and laughing as she won the race.
Arthur denied it later, embarrassed by his defeat. I may be a girl, but I can still beat you. Uther just laughed.
How confident and naïve she had been, buying into the King's goodwill. Her guardian only loved her when she was tameable: cross him and he would turn into a hard-handed brute, his ward a mere subject he could throw into the dungeons. His own flesh and blood meant nothing when he grabbed her at the throat in the council room, disowned her with a blink of an eye. Nothing, nothing could make her forget that.
Morgana growls angrily, the mare sputters as she digs her heels to her sides too sharply.
Getting emotional never got the work done. Morgause's teachings are wise, but futile. Even after his demise, Uther still gets to her, provoking tears of anger and self-pity. Merlin thinks the matter is finished. Thinks she should stop now. But it's not done - far from it. For though she got her vengeance, Arthur got her throne.
After everything she went through. The time and work and lives lost.
Patience sister, patience. Morgause is like a part of her mind now, a reassuring voice when she's feeling overwhelmed. It's not her sister, though; just an image, like a reflection in the river. How she misses her. Her cold hands and her stern brow, her arms circling her body, assuring her of her ends, advising her not to think in hurt but in purpose.
Thus, Uther became her purpose, her game. One she had won. Then why does it still hurt?
Morgana passes the standing stones. It's a long journey, but she can afford to a brief stop. This place is like an old friend.
She presses her palms onto the rough surface. The stone is cold and indifferent. Untouched by darkness or light. It simply is.
A sacred power pulses from its base, seated deep in the ground. It's magic is ancient, older than the citadel and woods around it. It was left untouched by Uther for its power is only known to a few, those who carry the gift. A landmark for those born of the Old Religion.
Merlin should be able to find it, too. Did he sense her like she sensed these stones? Radiating yearning and familiarity, a bond surpassed by relations of blood. The bond of magic... It all made sense now - their meetings, the secrets she'd shared - in the light of this discovery. Long after his betrayal.
A mere servant, she had thought then. Angry, humiliated, beyond reason. How could he, sister?
The truth only makes it more bitter.
Merlin was Emrys. Emrys was Merlin. How unfortunate. Or perhaps - for the better. Their connection is still there, an obstruction for them both. Leaving both undecided, unable to kill the other.
She had loomed over his dozing form - slowly drifting into dreams - yet she would not lift her hand to retrieve the dagger from her pouch. Destiny protects him, like an armor, solid an impenetrable. She could not get so close with an ill intent. All that's left for her is to reason. To persuade him, again and again. Turn his stubborn heart towards hers. Not Arthur's.
What had he done to deserve it? What had she not? Did he really care so little?
Morgana closes her eyes, reminding herself of the opposite.
He had refused to kill her, no matter of her taunts. She had jabbed at him, challenged him, cornered him and taken all she could. Given all of herself in return. That should've been enough. What more could he want?
Again - getting too emotional... Perhaps her dreams had made her such? Sleeping without her bracelet closeby was a dangerous feat. Morgause had warned her against it. Now she saw why. It was not just the nightmares that got blocked - it was her hidden wishes, fears and desires. All that which made her the person she was, the myriad of emotions that called to her soul. Made blissfully silent.
Unobstructed, she dreamt again like a greedy child, loving and fearing it in equal measure. There was too much of old Camelot in those dreams. Futures that had long become impossible. Pasts that could've been. Yet despite their vivacity, her Future remained elusive, uncertain like herself.
Now, more than ever, Morgana needs clarity again. A solution. And she knows who could give it to her.
The Old Religion will come to her help.
She reaches the city just at the break of dawn. The sun shines over the southern sea like glass or field of ice. A single bridge leads to the gates accross the water. The streets are filled with scents and sounds, the barking of dogs and shouts in a language she does not know. It's a place for traders, left untouched by wars and kings.
A city indifferent to all laws. All but gold.
Morgana leaves her horse at the entrance to the Catha temple, one of the last ones left today. The halls are thick with incense and strange artefacts. Countless of candles heat the air. The priest is seated, deep in meditation, but she knows he can see her, even as she circles the room to face him.
"You are Alator of the Catha, warrior and priest."
Alator awakens from his trance, eyes transfixed on her.
"You are Morgana Pendragon, High Priestess of the Triple Godess, and last of your kind."
Morgana bows in reverence, pleased by the welcome. Not many like him remained in this world. The priest stands, too.
"What do you seek here?"
"My sight is dim, faded from the lack of use." Morgana extends her hand with the bracelet on her wrist. "I want it to be reinstated, made pure again."
Alator studies the item, carefully between both hands.
"This item has held magical properties since the day it was forced, yet the silencing power is but a spell from recent times. Undoing that will take time and concentration." He measures her, assesing her with a gaze that could pierce armour. Morgana won't move or flinch. "You have indeed come to the right place."
He bows, and shows her to her chambers.
The ritual is long and it takes nearly a week to complete.
Morgana has been sweating and chanting, her tongue bending around foreign syllables. These methods are new, but she's learning fast. Her mind is getting lighter. She's almost there. The haze around her mind is clearing, blowing aside like mist in the wind.
Soon, her destiny begins to reveal itself.
A bright castle begins to form, it's tall and strong...
Yet when she reaches out, the picture changes, showing her things she does not want. She does not need Merlin. Not here. Nor anywhere.
"The priestess is conflicted about her goals," Alator observes.
"I know I am destined to bring back the old ways," Morgana assures. Many have said that before. She herself has seen it.
The warrior priest won't deny it, but adds, mysteriously, "Yes, but you won't have to do it alone."
Morgana rises from the mat. Shock and curiosity blind her for a moment, the visions becoming clear.
Is it possible then? Will she be able to convince him? Will Emrys see her way?
Without an explanation, Alator exits the room, his bodyguard following him like a shadow.
Warrior and a priest. Servant and master. Two sides of a coin.
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Having washed and changed out of the ceremonial robes, Morgana packs her belongings and leaves. Her mare has grown impatient with her absence. She hushes the beast and takes the bridles, guiding them through the bustling streets. On the market, the merchants are busy selling exotic fruits and oils, expensive fabrics, incense and spice. She savours the scents and smoke in the air, reminiscing about her dream.
It is far from clear, but it's only a matter of time now.
Morgana's journey comes to a brief halt. The city gates are blocked by a caravan of goods so long it requires guarding. Knights in chain mail laugh and joke with the servants, some of whom looking strangely familiar. With a shock Morgana notices the emblem, a golden dragon on red, and realizes that these carts are all headed to the very castle she hailed from.
"Is that all for Camelot?" Morgana asks, puzzled, and the gatekeeper nods.
"Why would Arthur need all these things?" she laughs, wondering if the King has turned greedy.
"For the royal wedding, of course."
A/N: I was disappointed when the show decided to "cut off" Morgana's dreams with that bracelet. This is where her ability to relate to the pain and suffering of others was particularly evident. Morgause had plenty of reasons to do that, but to me, it seemed like the first step away from the old Morgana.
Next: back to Camelot. Thank you for reading and your feedback. Hope you enjoyed the update!