REVIEWS:

hannahleanda: OH, thanks you so much. Yes I never wanted to look into the problem of war from one unique pointview. The handling of it is different to different people, and usually, that is so hard to show, I'm glad you liked. I would think Morgana is trying to act more mature than she actually feels, but it might wear her thin after a while. XD

Michele: Thanks so much! Yes, passivity can be annoying, but they have their reason to refuse. I always understood there was an uneasy sort of truce going on with the persecution and the druids, and I imagine it must be hard to leave that relative safety behind in exchange for declaring a side so openly. THey have other reasons too... It's fair to say things aren't as simple as Morgana or us would like it to be. At least I'm trying to make it so. XD

Guest: Any society is always more prone to change when it is guided by their youth, so it was interesting to explore that idea here. Thanks a lot and here is the next chapter. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.


TRIALS PART I.


The storm seemed to cease just as soon as the cave collapsed and that, in itself, was enough to make one very suspicious.

Now, as Merlin pulled up a handful of rocks from the entrance and whipped the sweat from his forehead, he paused a bit. Panting under his warm clothing, he watched the world covered by a white sheet of fresh snow under a sudden blue sky. He watched and he mulled over the strangeness of it all, with Gaius' warnings ringing in his mind like a scolding. Overall though, he was much aware of the grunts and curses coming from his back, and the occasional roar when Percival dislodged a particularly large boulder and got it out of the way.

He couldn't help fidgeting in place, his breath smoking in front of his face as her turned to watch the progress. It was minimal, he couldn't help but notice. The cave was tight shut, whether it was magic or nature it didn't matter. What mattered was that he wasn't nearly as sore as he could be, and everyone was doing their job. Getting up, he snapped his back into place and joined Elyan by his side, trying to pick small stones in hopes of getting the bigger ones out. Gwaine and Percival were trying to open the cave from the top, while Lancelot was going around trying to find another entrance. He hadn't returned, but the Grove of Brineved wasn't so big it would take too long.

"Don't stop Merlin! We got get to Arthur!" Elyan said, calling him out.

Getting to work, Merlin allowed the effort to hurt a much a possible. If he closed his eyes, if he paused for too long, he would see it happening before his own eyes all over again. They had dismounted away from the cave itself, marching by a sacred territory that he could feel in his own bones. Seldom he had been so in sync with the magic around him, the last time had been in the Crystal Cave. No one believed him when he pointed that out of course, they marched on, swords at their hips and wariness in their eyes. Arthur was ahead, like always, one of the many thing that made Merlin's life as stressful as it could be. He had gone ahead, even after they all turned around to hear the scream coming from the forest. He had gone ahead as if he was deaf, and then… When Merlin realized that Arthur was still moving, it was already happening, a glimpse of blue panicked blue eyes was all he got before the cave collapsed.

His fault of course.

He should have paid attention. He should've known there would be tricks involved to keep him out. They would want Arthur alone and defenseless to do as they wished. Or what Morgana and Morgause wished, and that thought alone was enough to send him into a panic. He couldn't let them get to him, he couldn't allow Arthur to be hurt. He was alone in there, and alone the possibility of him doing something stupid increased tenfold. He needed to be there with him, to protect him, to….

"Merlin!" He snapped out of it, meeting Elyan's worried eyes. He had started to dig in a frenzy, disrupting the pile. Any wrong moves and their work would get even more difficult. Guilty, Merlin looked away.

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"Don't worry Merlin, Arthur will be fine, we all care for him you know?"

"I'm aware."

"Besides, he is the best fighter in the land, he knows how to take care of himself."

"Right…"

"We'll get to him." The knight concluded. "We have to."

We can. He thought silently. It would only take a moment, a few of his strongest spells would probably be enough to rip every stone and boulder from their path. A lurch of power and he would be in Arthur' presence again. Probably to be tried and executed, but if Arthur was fine it wouldn't really matter, would it? Blinking to his hands, Merlin run his gaze to the rest of the knights. He knew them, or at least he got to know them. He knew Percival hated magic, as it was Cenred's magical army that killed his family. He knew Elyan was particularly averse to it after both him and his sister suffered under its shadow. Gwaine was the only one he guessed could be convinced. He would probably be the one to defend him for long enough to save Arthur… Slowly, he got to his feet, considering that maybe it was finally time to shed the guide, to roll the die and be who he truly was.

"Lancelot!" At Gwaine's call, everyone turned to watch the arrival, Merlin been the first one running to meet him.

"Did you find another way in?" He asked, eagerly, but Lancelot's eyes told him all he needed to know.

"There's no other path, Arthur is stuck in there."

A chorus of curses sounded from the knights, and Merlin tasted iron when he bit his tongue by accident. He pulled back, ready to get back to work, when he felt Lancelot's hand around his arm.

"Merlin, wait."

"We don't have time"

"Can't you use it?" Merlin frowned, turning around to meet his friend's eyes. Lancelot was nothing but loyal, nothing but truthful, nothing but honourable.

"I will…"

"All right then." Lancelot brushed a hand over his hair, smirking. "I'll find a way to distract the others, and you do it. It's only way. And you better come up with a good explanation as well."

"Got it."

He watched the knight joining the others, and slowly felt his body relaxing. Oddly, it was relief that reached him.

His secret was safe, and Arthur would be as well very soon.

I can do it.


Once upon a time she would come to his chambers much in the same way. She would open the door and stand there, in her robe and shift, a candle-holder in her hand and a smile that was both comforting and mischievous. Once upon a time, he would invite her in, and they would talk their way into the night, shedding their daily armour for something more intimate and real. Now, that memory was faded, thorn and weathered. Now, she came from the shadows of a cold and wet cave, wearing thick fur coat over glimmering chainmail, and the light came not from a candle but from her own hands. Now, instead of an invitation, he dragged his blade out of its sheath, holding it threateningly in front of him.

From her part there was no reaction. She stood there quietly, just staring, and the weight of her eyes was almost too much.

He had wondered for so long what would happen should he see her again and now whatever speech he might have rehearsed, whatever accusations he might have mulled in moments before bed, escaped him in exchange for gasping through the heavy stone lodged inside his chest.

"Morgana…"

Her name seemed to be enough of a permission for her. She stepped closer until she was standing inches away from his sword, a weapon he so often used to defend her, now aimed at the centre of her pale throat. Her eyes darted to his, briefly, like the sting of angry bee, and then to the collapsed entrance at his back.

"Is anyone else out there beyond your servant?"

"No." He lied, swallowing thickly. He could feel the weight of the stones breathing against his neck, blocking his exit, and his friends. Not even his voice seemed able to reach them, and quickly, he drew his own conclusions about it. "Did you do this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did you do this? Is this your idea of a trap?"

For an instant he could see all the pieces fitting together. Morgana sending some minion with a delivery for him, bringing him here with legends and tales that would entice Gaius' fears, and then, rid Camelot of its prince. If she had been capable of lying for months while scheming with Cenred and Morgause, then surely this wouldn't be beyond her. In answer to his angry question however, she chuckled, a sound that held no mirth or joy. "Oh, Arthur, although the idea has a certain appeal, this isn't my doing, no. I wasn't even aware of your presence until I heard your tantrum a moment ago."

"T-that wasn't a tantrum!" Arthur sputtered.

"It sure sounded like one."

"You would know." Her lips twitched.

"Growing up with you? Of course I would know."

It was such a simple answer, something that caught him off guard, and no doubt made him look stupid. He hated that, and he hated that she could do that. He also hated the idea that those smug green eyes could resemble those of better days. His guts sinking, Arthur's gaze followed the fire, dancing like velvet around her fingers when by all means it should be boiling and peeling the skin from her bones. The reminder was enough for him to raise his sword – which he absently lowered – and angrily pull the stupid clay trinket from his satchel.

"Are you telling me you weren't responsible for this?"

She caught it in the air, scrutinizing it with a frown that quickly changed into a strange expression. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. "I'll give it to you, this whole situation looks very convenient. This thing, the cave collapsing, the prince of Camelot stuck with me, defenseless and vulnerable…"

"I'm not vulnerable!"

"… ready to be struck down." She shook her head. "Don't worry though, apparently we're both about to be judged for our sins."

Her fingers snapped, moving in harmony and then, a second runemark appeared in her hands, both displaying an eerie golden glow that pulsed in sync. "What…" Before he could voice his confusion, a sudden shrill sound echoed through the cave, piercing his ears and forcing him to drop his weapon to block the torturous sound. He might have screamed, but he wasn't really sure, and then, just as it started it was gone. Shaking his head, Arthur hesitantly lowered his hands, staring at Morgana who seemed only mildly bothered by the ordeal. "W-what the hell was that?"

"Theatrics." She scoffed. "The runemarks interacted with each other like a beacon. The Disir summoned both of us here and they clearly want us together." Her lips pursed. "If they had any sense of humour I would say they are laughing right now."

"Together?" Still reeling from what he just saw, Arthur spoke through clenched teeth. "Why?"

"How would I know?"

"Aren't they supposed to be on your side or something?"

"The Disir take no sides. They serve the will of the Goddess, and I don't pretend to know how the mind of a god works." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm actually surprised you're here at all."

"And why is that?"

"I seem to remember you been prone to turn the old ways into nonsense and superstition. Someone must've talked you into this, your servant perhaps." He didn't answer, not in the slightest because he didn't want to admit how right she was. At his stubborn silence, Morgana shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter, we'll be stuck here until they get what they want."

Arthur frowned. "So there are no other exits?"

"Oh, there are, I could probably clear the entrance too, but I doubt they would allow it. This is the heart of their power after all, if anything we're both about to practice some humility."

Morgana pronounced the word as if it tasted badly. She walked away without waiting for a retort, disappearing around the curb and taking the light with her. Arthur watched her go half wishing he could plant his feet in the ground and stay behind, waiting until his men could clear the entrance. Instead, he blindly picked up his sword before following the glow of her magical fire. In the dark he tripped twice, and stumbled one last time before he finally came around to where she was, and although Morgana was looking down he caught her amusement clear in her face.

"Shut up." He said, feeling his cheeks horribly warm. Morgana didn't drop her smile. She was gathering a heavy knapsack over her shoulder, and bringing it to a pale four legged shadow, waiting for her. "Is that a horse?"

The huge pale body ruffled at his question. "Her name is Dahut, and I would think twice before insulting her."

"Why would I insult a horse?"

"Because you're insufferable."

Arthur scoffed. "Charming as ever, I see."

"I'm always charming." She argued, gently cooing the animal who seemed oddly calm in the cramped tunnel. Beyond her shoulder, Arthur peered into the darkness to find it disturbingly empty. "That is where we have to go."

"I didn't think this cave was so big."

"It isn't." She said, pausing. "Are you scared?"

The idea itself was laughable. If this Goddess was so powerful, he did wonder why she couldn't simply make everyone happy and dandy instead of dragging his arse all the way here. He would be dammed to be scared, when he came here with the sole purpose of demanding answers to their so called judgement. He certainly didn't remember any Goddess healing burned crops or melting the snow from his suffering people. "Obviously not, but I can pretend if it makes you feel better."

Morgana just nodded, her eyes holding a strange familiarity. As he followed her lead, walking deeper into the cave, Arthur wondered why he was surprised at all. It wasn't like she had suddenly turned into someone else, although it was easier to think so. It was however a mistake to imagine that she wasn't just tricking him again, that they were just Arthur and Morgana and not enemies. This conversation, it was a ruse, a safety net he was eager to jump into, but duty bound to ignore. He stepped over the uneven ground, pausing to let her through a place where the stalagmites grew into a tight passage with one man's width. She passed through, brought her horse along, and paused briefly to wait for him and Arthur realized with sudden clarity that they were both feeling the same. Rehearsing every action with care, as to not disturb the cracked clay of whatever this was.

They weren't friends anymore. He had to remember that. Morgana was a sorceress now, her power displayed for all to see, and walking by her side was painful and confusing. The glimpses he caught of the chainmail underneath the warm furs told him she was ready for a fight, but so far nothing indicated that fight was with him. She hurt him nonetheless. Late at night or during the day, as he roamed the citadel or the lands nearby, it was inevitable that he would feel her presence. Memories had been carved in every corner, groove or chamber through the years, starting by that cold day when he received her in Camelot for the first time, feeling tight and uncomfortable in his furs, while she moved nimbly and graciously out of her carriage. A sparring under the moonlight, a teasing during dinner or a kiss of clumsy inexperience, every bit of it was a wound, inflicted by the moment he saw her sitting on the Throne of Camelot, a crown on her head and his father at her feet.

Suddenly, Arthur had to purse his lips, holding his hands into fists in hopes to hold the angry tide inside of him. The more they walked, the more he felt her and the more it bothered him that she had done so much and didn't seem to care. It was all an illusion, a dream. He raised his sword at her, and she just kept acting like she was the Morgana he knew, but she wasn't, not really. Or maybe he had never known her at all. Maybe she never really cared.

"I heard that you're a queen now." Around him Arthur could feel the cave closing in. His chainmail felt suffocating and his hands, they felt sweaty and clammy. Her silence was such that for an instant he thought he had imagined himself asking the question, but then, finally, came her answer, mocking and nonchalant.

"Were you jealous?"

"I was surprised." The accusation seemed to go right over her head as their steps seemed to grow louder to his ears. "Did you really wanted a crown that much?" Morgana might've flinched, it was hard to tell; He changed his tone, making his voice softer. "Please, tell me you know none of this will end well."

"I don't know that, no one does."

"I do." He insisted.

She sighed. "We are not here to discuss politics, Arthur."

He shook his head, stepping in front of her. He saw by her clenched jaw that he was getting on her nerves, but he didn't care. This might be his only chance. "You gathered sorcerers and beat a member of a powerful family out of his own land, I think we should talk about it."

"We don't…"

"Yes we do!" He exclaimed, and when she tried pass he blocked her path again. "Morgana, please, this is serious. You've gathered an army of sorcerers! You have to know how dangerous that is! The Five Kingdoms…"

"The Five Kingdoms will rue the day they dare to challenge me." She said, green orbs dancing with fire. "You hear me, dear brother? When those sniveling kings meet you, tell them that! Tell them to come, I'll meet each and every one of them, and make sure they regret it!"

She stepped around him, hitting his shoulder, but Arthur barely paid attention. Through her answer one word rung more powerful than all the others. "D-don't call me that!" He stammered.

"What?"

"Brother, d-don't call me brother" Even saying the word was suddenly hard, like he was spitting venom and trying not to choke. In answer to his demand, Morgana looked down, rubbing her temples with a painful grimace while the mare eyed them with a peculiar sort of indifference.

"No, I suppose I shouldn't." She commiserated. "You were always slow to accept changes, things out of your control. You would rather ignore an unpleasant truth than the face it."

"That is not truth."

"We grew up together." She pointed out. "I know you."

"I wish I could say the same." Her eyes widened only slightly, but he saw it and was glad for the reaction nonetheless. "I always thought you were kind and compassionate, but everything I've seen and heard has shown me otherwise."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes I do." He rebuked. "Father was never the same after you… After what you did. I understand what he did was wrong, but he didn't deserve that." He looked to wall at his side, where the rough limestone shifted under the burning colours of her fire whenever a draft came along "I had to take over the kingdom and everyday there would be people in court, people who lost family and kin to Cenred's army, but that wasn't even the worse. The worse was when I heard about your actions. About how you gathered a crowd in the courtyard and had your men shoot at them. People who knew you for a Lady of the Court, who thought you would keep them safe, you shot them and let the corpses rotting on the cobblestone."

He forced the words out one after the other, glass tearing at his throat and stealing his breath. By the time he was done she had turned her back to him. Arthur sought something in her body language, a shift in her braided hair, but more and more he felt like fishing on a dried up lake. Trembling, he asked in a brittle voice. "You've got nothing to say?"

When she answered, her voiced sounded dead. "Last time we spoke you seemed adamant that I was corrupted."

"Well, maybe I was right." He regretted the moment he said it, but he couldn't stop talking. "Every sorcerer we ever met has only brought us trouble, but you, when I saw you in your chambers that night I thought you regretted what you did, I thought you were going to stop with this sorcery, and then…" He paused. "And then, suddenly, I'm hearing about how you painted the Sarrum's hall with his blood."

At her side, her free hand clenched into a fist, and he imagined her nails biting into the skin. "He deserved it"

He deserved it.

The words sent cold blade cutting down his spine. In his mind he heard about the rumours all over again. How the Sarrum's screams could be heard for miles, how he was mutilated and torn apart piece by piece by the evil sorceress with eyes of a demon. In some tales, Morgana had gutted the man with claws, and in others she went so far as to devour his flesh in front of his people. Although these were ludicrous, the truth underneath was real enough and this woman he had watched crying over a sprained ankle had been responsible. Suddenly he was shivering, he couldn't look at her.

"He deserved it" She said again, quietly, when he made to walk past her. "I don't regret that, he deserved it."

"Morgana."

"He was a cruel and monstrous man."

"T-that is not the point."

"What is the point?" She demanded from out of his sight. "You started this conversation, dear brother, might as well finish it."

For Arthur, there had been moments before in his life when he felt powerless. This was one of them. He dreaded what she might have to say almost as much as what he secretly wanted to say. He dreaded the deep twirl of darkness, thick and heavy, that pooled into his heart almost as much as he dreaded facing her, and yet, the hitch in her voice, the tiny clue that she was as scared as he felt was enough.

"It was wrong. It was not honourable, it was not right, nothing of what you did was right, but we can fix this." He tried, feeling small. His eyes meet the flame in her hands, finding it a good excuse for the burning in his own eyes. "Maybe this isn't you, maybe you can stop. We were always told about magic. Father always told us. How it twists your soul, until your humanity is gone for good, and I'm so scared that it has done so with you, but maybe you can stop. Maybe there is time for you to stop and we can go back." Yes, that is want he wanted, Arthur realized, and then he was reaching out, eager to cross the wasteland between them, but when she escaped his touch, he knew for certain that he had failed.

"You fool." Morgana hissed, the hurt in her eyes glared at him as if it could burn his soul.

"Morgana…"

"You stupid, clueless, you fucking…." Her voice hitched into a sob, and Arthur moved to comfort her, but when his gloved hand pressed the fur on her shoulder and the chainmail underneath, she recoiled. The fire in her hand pulsed and jumped between them. "Get away from me!"

"Morgana…"

"Curse you! Curse you Arthur Pendragon, and curse your father!" Her eyes glowed golden and the fire got bigger, erupting in heat and light, illuminating the whole cave like a sunrise and Arthur had no choice but to step back, pressing against the side of the cave. "Your father is a monster! He is a liar and a tyrant with no right to judge anyone! And guess what? You are just as ignorant and arrogant! You're no better than him!"

He stopped retreating, his own anger set aflame. "Neither are you!"

Morgana scoffed. "So you admit it then!"

"That is not what I said! He is my father, he is a good king and he was a good guardian! He raised you and took care of you! He is not a tyrant!"

Her eyes were like ice now slowly melting under the heat and when she threw her head back, she laughed, a chilling cold sound. "See this? This is what I'm talking about! You blind yourself to what he is! Have you forgotten his deeds so easily? How his pride almost let Camelot starve? All the times he lured you in with kindness only to throw you into the dungeons the moment you disagreed with him? Have you forgotten how he was almost responsible for killing precious sweet Gwen and clumsy innocent Merlin?" She was grinning now, but it was twisted, wrong. "You think the purge was some mighty quest for good? It was not! It was your father burning people at stakes, innocent people, cutting them down and throwing babies into wells!" She was in a rant, each word a stab into his heart, and then, suddenly, her voice quieted into something sad. "You talk of magic as if it's a choice, so tell me Arthur, what choice does a baby have?"

"That is a lie" He said weakly. He had his sword, as if it could protect him from her words, but never a piece of steel felt so useless in his hands. As a child he might have run to his chambers now, or maybe hers. How ironic that now she was the one tearing him apart.

He expected her to continue at any moment now, her anger gaining force like wildfire. Instead the light diminished. It grew weaker and weaker, like a sick man slowly burning out. In front of him, Morgana seemed to shrink into herself, looking as small and defeated as he felt.

"I didn't come here to argue with you, I lost hope for it a long time ago."

The words were strangely hurtful. They reached some place deep inside him, and held it down with clawed hands. After a moment, she walked past him. After another moment, he felt the horse brushing his side with her snout, and then, numbly, he was following her.

Silence was their reign for the rest of the way.


The woman was pale, shaped from marble until every crease and facade seemed so real, Arthur almost expected her to blink under the glare of the sun. Her sculpted braided hair gave the impression one could run fingers through each strand. Her clothes were far from common as well, the shapes of leather and iron running up and down her body, to a skirt parted in the middle to free smooth legs that ended on a bare pair of feet.

Her weapons, however, drew his curiosity the most. The bow was made of ash, smooth and polished, while the sheath of arrows dangled loose from her shoulders. Knifes and daggers hanged from her pockets, and around the other shoulder, a rope would swing whenever the wind came by. Her other hand also held out an apple, bright red and fat, giving the impression it would explode sweet juices under the slight pressure of his teeth.

"This is unreal." Arthur noticed.

It was the first time he used his voice since he felt the heat of her fire on his face. They had walked in the dark he didn't know for how long, their strained company making the air thick and hard to breath, each step was heavy and laboured, an unending path that eventually ended. All at once, the cave seemed to vanish from their surroundings, landing they here on this oddly green meadow. Wherever he looked, Arthur saw tall beech trees, high and healthy, green grass and blooming flowers, as if he was suddenly in the high of spring which he knew to be impossible.

At the feet of the statue Morgana was busy brushing away the moss and vines, which although had not touched the woman, had clearly covered the pedestal upon which she rested. Underneath, the three moons of the Old Religion, waxing, full and waning, glared at Arthur like an enemy.

"What are we doing here?" He asked, tentatively navigating the cracked glass of their bond. Thankfully, Morgana seemed to be doing the same, with her short answers and emotionless voice.

"Hunting." She climbed to her feet, looking the statue in the eye and abruptly taking the bow and one arrow from the sheath. Strapping the weapon on her shoulders, she still avoided his eyes. "Wait here."

She walked a determined path towards the forest, clearly having a destination in mind. Frowning, Arthur looked back at her horse, who was idly feeding from the grass and ignoring everything else. Inwardly, he wondered if it was normal to feel this stupid, and concluded he didn't have to luxury to think on it. He couldn't risk letting her go. Besides, he spent his whole life making sure to not bow to her and he sure as hell wasn't starting now. Walking forward, he remembered his empty stomach and remembered his rations stayed behind with the other. He looked at the statue briefly, taking the apple from its hand and to his pouch. For later.

Morgana was a little ahead, but he was soon keeping up with her pace. If she was bothered by his presence, she said nothing, and so, Arthur threaded his path over roots and craggy surfaces, his eyes looking up but not recognizing anything from his surroundings. God, he hated magic.

She had told him she was hunting, but along the way he twice saw signs of a track, or animal droppings, signs that seemed to go right over head as she trudged on. He wondered if she was even paying attention, but for once, he refrained from making a biting observation. It felt like any word from him would set off more hurt and disappointment for both of them.

She was hurt. And it was his fault this time, although the memory made his head pound, and breathing grow short just because of her words. Her accusations. He had his own right to be mad at her. Hell, he had more right to be angry. Raising himself over a steep hill, Arthur stopped short, cursing at his hurting feet. Then his eyes snapped to his side.

He waited with a baited breath and after a while there it was again. He looked ahead, but Morgana had disappeared behind the hill and she clearly didn't give a damn about his presence. Well, screw it. Searching for the noise, Arthur followed a trail around the hill, moving forward to the east, from where the noise came from. It was a choir, muffled, but recognizable, human voices.

Sword in hand, Arthur moved behind a tall beech tree, hiding behind the cold moist bark and watching for tracks and signs of movement, but his eyes still found nothing. He crouched low, squatting behind a pair of bushes and meeting the sight of tiny, green yellowish flowers he immediately recognized.

It was like a drape was pulled away, and Arthur could finally see. Getting to his feet, he begun to truly see some of the place around him. While before it was all strange and foreign, now it looked as familiar as his bedchamber. These were the Darkling Woods. He was in the Darkling Woods, he was as sure of it as he was sure of the sky been blue.

He was just thinking if he could find Camelot from that point when he heard it. It was distant, but it was there, the barking of a pack. Hurrying along, he run to meet the sound, letting it grow louder and louder, finally joined by the wild and boisterous voices of men. When he identified Sir Leon crying out above all the others he almost screamed in relief, until he remembered this couldn't possibly be home. When he left it was winter, this was not winter. Besides, he was in some crazy magic cave of all places. All at once, his steps stopped and then, bounding from among the trees, the doe came jumping down, racing past him like he wasn't even there. Then came the dogs. They broke through in a killer frenzy, the mouths open in angry snarls.

Arthur didn't have to think. Finding himself on the other end of those sharp teeth, his panic brought him to a single conclusion.

He run, his two legs pushing him forward as he jumped over roots and bushes, the doe seeming a pale blur in front of his eyes as he tried not to wonder at the feel of a dog's bite around his leg. He huffed, his legs burning as the weight of his armour and heavy winter cloak begun to pull him down. Desperate, he released the clasp, letting the cloak go, then his furs. He thought he heard the dogs tearing it apart, but he might be mistaken.

When he thought he was losing steam, his breath growing haggard, he finally broke through a long steep hill, only to pause at the sight of the rising walls of dirty. The doe was as surprised as he felt, her skinny legs struggling to climb the slippery slope only to be pulled down by the loose soil. Cornered, they were both cornered.

"Stop the dogs!" He screamed at the forest, hoping some kennel master could hold back the hunting party he had clearly stumbled upon. "Stop the dogs! Dammit! Can anyone hear me?!"

But the barks continued and he had no choice but to raise sword, cursing under his breath and drumming heart.

When the dogs burst through the tree line, Arthur was ready for them. When they passed by him, he was befuddled. Growls turned into violent shrieks, then the barking grew louder and through his confusion Arthur recognized the forlorn cacophony of a prey being caught.

Hunting dogs were never trained to kill. No, they would be taught from birth to go after a prey, bite legs, hold and break them, but never kill. It wasn't something he was very fond of, with the exception of the obligatory hunt to entertain important guests, Arthur always preferred his activities to be personal. As he turned to watch the doe writhing in pain as she tried to climb on a wounded rear leg, he couldn't help but observe the activity and understand each and every action.

Then he heard the delighted laughter and felt his legs growing weak.

His father looked so young, it was haunting. There was no grey tinging his hair and the wrinkles were feel upon his face, although his scar looked much more clear as the sun bathed it. Around him, the knights were spreading around, crossbows and spears in hand while the kennels master came running along to pull the dogs back.

"Magnificent! And here I was starting to think we would lose the day." The king observed from atop his horse, his gloved hand coming down to slap a small shoulder at his side. "I was hoping we could catch a boar for your first kill, but this will have to do! Come son, go ahead, draw some blood."

The boy was so young and he looked terrified. His eyes were glued to the blood on the ground while the dogs were still biting and barking at the doe. The animal was wounded from a dozen spots now, the dogs' bloodthirsty and poor training making it hard for the kennel master – Arthur remembered him now, he remembered sacking the man as soon as he realized he could do it - to control them. Finally, Sir Leon, beardless and short haired, came up to help and the dogs were pulled back, barking all the time. Always barking.

"Arthur" He jumped and the boy did the same, looking up to his father. Suddenly, Arthur could see every thought in that young mind. He could feel how everything was loud, and confusing. He could remember the smell of blood in the air and feel the pressure burning down his eyes, pushing the tears all the way to the edge, and how that gut wrenching fear was only overwhelmed by his wish to make that great strong king proud.

Instead of asking to get back home the boy climbed down from his horse, and Arthur knew his legs felt mushy and useless, he knew his heart was hammering against his small chest as he pulled the crossbow from the saddle, and took aim with a trembling hand. The doe let out a high pitched sound, almost human, and then it repeated along in a mute cry for help. The boy winced. "F-father…" He whimpered, but the bark swallowed his words.

"Aim for the neck!"

The boy gulped. Arthur hadn't realized he was getting closer until he stood right in front of the boy, torn between comforting a ghost and closing his eyes to all of it. The doe was still writhing in agony, the men were grimacing, barks, the boy sniffled.

"F-father… Can we…"

"Do it Arthur!" The voice startled the boy and the bolt went loose. It hit the doe on the hindquarters. It wouldn't kill right away. It caused more pain. The boy jumped, his back colliding with the king who now loomed behind him. "Again."

"Sire." Sir Leon called, but the king held up a hand.

"Father…"

"Again!"

It took a while to load the crossbow, his hands were shaking too much. The dogs kept barking, the kennel master was screaming at them. Arthur closed his eyes. He didn't need to see. He remembered. He remembered dropping the bolt. He remembered his father's eyes burning at his back. He remembered the humiliation of feeling his cheeks wet when he finally managed to hit the neck, bringing the prize down.

When Arthur opened his eyes the boy was still staring, getting a clap to his back that Arthur couldn't remember feeling as the hunters finally came up to do their jobs, to cut the doe open and prepared for transport.

He was still staring at the boy's distant eyes when he felt the Darkling Woods blurring and disappearing from his surroundings. When his knees met the ground again, Arthur remembered being that boy, scared and afraid and wishing for home.


He heard the steps first of all, a crushing of leaves and twigs followed by silent contemplation. Then, the shifting ground when she sat down by his side. When he looked up, his vision blurred, she still refused to meet his eyes, but right then he didn't care.

"I told you to stay back." She told him weakly, as if even she recognized those were useless words about a poorly made warning. "Here…"

Her fingers were pale, her nails broken and dirty, but when he reached out and accepted her hand in his, it felt like the world finally made sense. The ground stopped shifting from under him, and the soft cold skin calmed his desperate heart. The world felt real again. The breeze, the sun and the ground under his knees. Real.

"What is this place?" He warily asked, basking in the sensations while holding her hand like a lifeline.

"This is the Hidden Temple for the Triple Goddess, and we're in the Chamber of the Maiden." Morgana explained, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "Sometimes you can have visions around here, especially when you're unprepared."

Arthur gulped, inhaling through his nose to abate the tightness in his chest. "I-I saw myself in my first hunt, with father."

"I see."

"Have you…"

"I have yes." She said, making him frown. "I'm not telling you."

"Right."

Silently she squeezed his hand, an assurance that immediately grounded him. Understanding her actions now, he fully intertwined their fingers, wondering when was the last time he felt her warmth this close. Probably when he was still ignorant. What a sad thought.

"I hate magic." Arthur mumbled, regretting it when her hand pulled away, not unkindly. All at once the moment was gone and they were back to existing near one another, while Arthur cursed himself. Desperately, he searched for something to say, fearful of any lengthy pause in the conversation. "So that was…" He paused, clearing his throat. "So that was your Goddess back there?"

"Yes."

"Not much for modesty."

"You should see how the Horned God appears sometimes." She sent him a tantalizing smirk and Arthur forced himself to smile. Like a smith trying to hammer a vase back together and turning the pieces into sand.

He sighed, asking softly now. "What exactly are we doing here, Morgana?"

She fidgeted, he waited.

"To become a High Priestess of the old religion, a sorceress must come to the Disir to receive their blessing. This is one of three trials I must go through. When the cave led us here, I knew this is what they wanted from me, to see if I'm worthy."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not my first time." She answered cryptically.

"So you have to hunt something." She nodded. "Can't you just use your magic and have something dead at your feet?" He questioned, rising from the ground.

"I can use only what is given to me." She said. "The Maiden is a beacon of excitement and youth. She is resourceful and joyful, and ambitious. Her trial reflects that."

"I thought you hated hunting."

She shrugged. "Hunting isn't bad. When we do it to survive, when we are hungry or cold, or when we're threatened and in danger. In that case a hunter is many things, a provider and a protector among them."

"I see…" He remembered a doe in pain, and his mouth was suddenly dry. That hunt had been a disaster. "And these… visions?"

"They are a part of it."

"Part of it."

"Yes."

She was on her feet. At some point she had shed her coat, revealing the bright chainmail underneath tied to her waist by a simple leather belt. Her hair was thrown over her shoulder, and her eyes were staring at him almost apprehensively. He was wondering about it when it struck him what she meant by trials.

"High Priestess… It means you…"

"It means more magic, if that is what you're wondering." She interrupted, her body, her hands, the lift of her chin, she was ready for more fighting.

Arthur had never been eager to diffuse situations with Morgana, but he also wasn't completely at loss when it came to listening. He just hated the truth. The truth was ugly and cold and scarring. The truth made him feel everything he wanted to forget. The truth was a monster, a monster that he wasn't the only one to run from. He wondered if Morgana had that same problem.

"Where…" He hesitated. This wasn't an apology; he wasn't sure there would ever be one between them, but he had no wish to fight her. "Where are we going?"


The place Morgana was looking for turned out to be a small lake, born from a waterfall that descended from a tall wall of stone. It was a tranquil place, from which the fresh water was icy and good when it came down his throat.

Morgana was waiting for him behind the tree line, sitting cradled by the roots of a thick willow tree, her bow at ready, her eyes focused for whatever prey might find their untimely demise just for the bad luck of being thirsty at the wrong time. When he got there, she had an unwrapped bundle between them, filled with oatcakes.

"Eat." She said. Arthur eyed the food, remembering the apple in his pouch. It would be safer, no doubt. Slowly, he took one from the pile, running his eyes over the baked doe as if it might bite him. "It's not poisoned, if you're wondering."

He raised his eyebrow. "And how would I be able to tell?"

"If I wanted to, I would've killed you back in Camelot."

"Maybe you would want to do it without a fight."

Morgana snorted. "Trust me, Arthur, it wouldn't be much of a fight."

"I've fought sorcerers before." He felt the subject suddenly fall on them like a dead corpse, and quickly he sought something else to say. "I wasn't thinking it was poisoned, It's just that I don't like oats."

"I'm aware."

Morgana smirked, it was a tiny thing, but it lifted his spirits as he took a bite. They shared the oatcakes - which weren't all that bad - until the sun begun to move down towards the horizon, and the forest became painted in bright orange hues.

"How long have we been here?"

"It doesn't matter, in here the Disir control everything, even the time. It's most likely that for your servant the cave just collapsed right before his eyes."

"Magic."

"Magic"

Arthur fidgeted. Idly, he would look at her. She was still the same, more tired, colder, but the same. Her chin still had the same upwards tilt of her pride, her mouth would still show deep laugh lines if he managed to raise the right emotions from her, but under her eyes, he saw dark circles. On her shoulders, he saw a weight he didn't remember seeing, or perhaps, he had never looked for it.

"Father thinks you're under an enchantment." He said without thought. "He thinks Morgause has you under her control."

He expected her to shout again, but she didn't seem surprised. "Of course he would think that. Even now he would rather think I'm some mindless ghoul instead of a person capable of my own choices. It hurts less I suppose."

"It does." It hurt to think that everything that happened Morgana had done so freely and willingly, but if he had any hope of understanding, he needed to admit that first. Idly, he played with the grass at his side, plucking bits of it from the ground. "Can you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"No more games, no more shouting, please. Just tell me." He pleaded like a boy apologizing for ripping her favourite dress, like a lad who crested too soon and forgot about her pleasure. Like a man who lost someone and didn't understand when. "I promise to listen."

In front of him Morgana rested her head back, leaning against the tree. Around them the cicadas were singing, an owl hooted from the branches above and the waterfall rushed down with a serenity worthy of envy. As the night of spring embraced them, he saw a decision in her eyes.

"Leoth"

The fire sparkled from her fingers and jumped to float between their bodies, swirling into itself until it was a small sphere of light, twirling to some unheard song.

"Morgause is my sister." Morgana begun and Arthur drew a sharp breath at the name, remembering how the woman once tricked him into almost killing his father. Morgause was everything he despised about magic. "When she brought me to her home, she taught me many things. I never felt more like myself than when she was teaching me new spells."

"She gave you magic."

"It was always there." Her eyes were forlorn. "It started when I was young. I remember dreaming of my father's death before it happened. For a long time after that, I let myself believe it was just a trick of the mind. I was happy if it never happened again, until it came back. A dead dog on the street, bandits attacking, I would dream and these things would happen. And then, I started to see you as well, dying."

Her sleepless nights had always been such a cruel part of her life, to suddenly having her explaining it to him was surreal. Suddenly he had to look back, and again he felt his world shifting.

"I was seeing the future, truly. A seer, they call us, people blessed with the gift of premonition." She raised her knees, hugging them close. "It was the first sign of my magic rising from slumber. No one taught me. I didn't make a deal with the devil or sought out a book of spells. It was always there, it is always there, but without training and discipline it felt like I was holding a storm inside myself. A scare and suddenly there was a vase breaking, a startle and my drapes were on fire, and all it would take was one mistake for me to end up in a pyre."

His hands curled into fists, understanding dawning on him from a dozen instances with horrifying clarity. "What… Why…." His voice died away, without completing the question.

"I tried going to the druids, but that was a mistake." He winced. "From that moment I knew I had little choice. If I run, Uther would come for me, if I revealed myself I would be burned. Hiding in my shame and my fear was the only path I felt I could take. I was stuck, truly. Paralyzed."

"You could've told me."

"You have blood in your hands…" Her eyes flashed with anger and then they changed, looking at him with something like pity. "You were busy... I didn't trust you."

It was a simple truth, and he didn't have to think much to guess at her reasons. Arthur still felt the need to defend himself. "I would've helped you."

"You would've tried, in your own inept, clumsy way." She recognized. "When I was with Morgause, we would travel a lot." She took a deep breath. "This one time, we came to this village, it was peaceful there, serene, close to Camelot even. The populace caught a man using magic. He wasn't doing anything really, just happily using spells to wave baskets together so he could win some coin. They beat him, tied him up and lit the firewood. Can you imagine that, Arthur? A whole village, just like any other, turning into mindless beasts because a man was making baskets. He died in my arms; I couldn't save him. He died in my arms and I can remember the smell of his burned limbs." He thought she was going to cry at any moment, but her voice was steady. "After that I understood something. I couldn't wait, I couldn't hide and I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing. So I went to Morgause, and I told her we would do it, we would end Camelot's tyranny once and for all."

Arthur shuddered. "So when I rescued you, the bandits, your tears, all that time…"

"All that time I was working to see Camelot crumble." She sniffled, bringing up a hand to rub at her nose. "After that, everything fell out of control. I learned that Uther was my father and suddenly I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. All that shame I felt for having magic returned tenfold, and suddenly I just wanted to burn everything down, to end everything that made me feel like that."

Finally, hesitantly, her eyes met his own. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, if she could see how hard it was for him to breath and to keep himself from crying, because in her eyes he could see it now. That regret he was looking for, and so much more, rage and hurt all twisted together until her tears were finally falling, unbidden. He wanted to go to her, but something held him back and kept him stuck to the floor, an observer to her suffering.

It was a sharp rustle of leaves that lifted the spell from them.

Like one, they were both on their feet, peering down towards the lake where an innocent doe was leaning down for a drink.

Morgana held up a trembling finger, asking for his silence, and Arthur looked from her to the doe. He blinked, cleaning tears on his gloves while she pulled the arrow to her ear, taking aim with teary eyes. The tears tracks were glimmering under the moon, a badge of her turmoil, and still she was quick to pull herself together for the task. Arthur Pendragon stared, watched as the animal lifted her head, peering into its sides, left and right, and he could almost hear his father's voice, encouraging, demanding.

Aim for the neck!

Arthur reached out and lowered Morgana's arm, staring at her confusion as he tried to find the right words, words to give her something, as small as it could be. "We're not…" He wasn't a boy anymore, and this wasn't the same hunt, but still, this was as hard as begging his father to go home. He remembered her words from before, explaining her trial to him, and the epiphany hit him like a slap to the face. "We're not hungry or cold or in danger."

Her eyes widened in recognition, and slowly she lowered the bow completely. "We still need to move on though."

For the first time in that day, Arthur felt a smug, cocky grin making way to his face. Watching her dumbfounded expression when he pulled the apple from his pouch was enough for him to feel like some pieces could still fit together. It was also fucking satisfying.


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