Thirteenth Challenge: "My Skin" by Natalie Merchant

Category: Gen (Canon Era, AU)

Characters/Pairings: Morgana, Sir Barri (OC)

Ratings/Warnings: M (violence/sexual assault)

Word Count: 400

A/N—This is an AU around episode 3x12, when Morgana becomes queen. Here, she recalls a horrifying event that changed her forever. Please note, this drabble contains sexual assault.

When one had been wronged as grievously as Morgana Pendragon, keeping the darkness at bay, not succumbing to evil, was impossible. She had been humiliated, denied her rightful claim to the throne, and made to feel as if her magical powers meant she was filth.

But those were not the only reasons rage flowed through her.

Years ago, at age seven and ten, Morgana had drunk too much mead during her birth anniversary celebration and had to be escorted back to her chambers by Sir Barri. He was like an uncle to her, twice her age, and kind. She'd spent many a fine summer afternoon wandering the castle grounds with him, lamenting about issues with Arthur, or snooty members of court. He always seemed interested, always listened.

However, on their way to her chambers that night, Sir Barri seemed… off. He leered at her as if she was a tavern wench, his eyes glassy, and the moment they reached her door, he shoved her inside her bedchamber.

Frigid dread coursed through her in that instant, but she decided bravado might help. "Barri, get out! This is ridiculous and inappropriate."

The rest happened so fast. He bolted the door and wrapped his hands around her throat, squeezing. "Shut your dirty whore mouth, or I'll choke you to death. Understood?"

His breath, sour from too much ale, made her eyes water. As his grip tightened, panic set in; he was going to kill her. So she submitted.

To this day, years and years later, Morgana could recall every moment of his assault on her. He bent her over the bed and forced her, pounding into her savagely. Then he shoved her to her knees and stuffed his cock into her mouth; she vomited all over him. Then… Then he pushed her onto the ground, face first. He fell on top of her and jammed his hardness into her backside. Gods, the pain was so blinding she could feel her flesh tearing, the blood coursing down her legs, even now.

At some point, the attack ended, and he left her—bloody and vomit-soaked—on the floor, defeated and broken. Morgana had never told another soul.

Well, now that she was Queen of Camelot, she held all the power. She would never submit to a man again. She would make them cower in front of her, on their knees, begging for mercy.

But Morgana would show no mercy.