SMOKE AND MIRRORS

She tripped over legs that were weak and tired, her feet crunching the snows under her boots while her breath seeped from her lungs.

By all means she should have stopped by then, but her body moved on, ignoring the painful healing of her muscles and skin to take the thousandth one more step. Inevitably she faltered, fell, the cold embrace of the ground surrounding her while the snows and winds whistled past her ears, a call of wraiths in pain, seeking her soul for their realm.

You fool. She heard Morgause saying and she was probably right. Foolish trip. Foolish words. Foolish decisions. That was her legacy.

"I had a dream… A nightmare…"

Arthur's laughter followed as her tears froze and cracked, peeling the skin around her eyes and turning into crimson droplets, peppering the ground at her feet. Gasping was all she could do, almost as if she could feel the frost spreading through her veins. She was cold and like the ice of a river she would shatter at any moment.

When she closed her eyes, she also felt the warmth falling by her side, the white world eclipsed by a scaly wing, while the rumble of her love reverberated through her body. Safe and warm she fell into the darkness willingly and opened her eyes in paralyzing fear, her name sneaking past her lips in a gasp.

Aithusa.

The dream vanished and right away came the realization that the body on her side was not scaly and although warm, it wasn't by any means as warm as the inner flame of a dragon. Still, Morgana recognized Dahut's pale coloration as she came to.

Through no recollection of building a fire, she heard an alien sound close by, a humming melody drifting into her ears and slowly shaping itself into words.

"And the swift touch of love's cruel smirk, fell upon their world in that winter's eve…" Her fingers twitched, her heartbeat pulsing in a chorus of panic. "…It was, they say, a love for the songs, for in this dark place it did never belong…

That is what they say of their story for us

That is what they say of their dance long go

That is what we remember, we poor sad souls

Who live in a world, from where love has been gone...

The voice hummed the music along, repeating the verses here and there as the embers climbed the smoke all the way to the dark skies. It kept singing even as Morgana remembered riding Dahut away from the grove, and who she was fleeing from. It kept singing as the sadness she thought to have abandoned found a familiar heavy spot in her heart, and it was still singing as she angrily sat up, groaning in pain both from the wound and the memory of Arthur stabbing her with his sword.

"How remarkable" Immediately her guard was up, following the male form as it dumped fresh wood on the fire. His eyebrows were raised as he rubbed his hands over the flames. "I must admit, I thought you might die there for a while, but a high priestess' capacity to survive never fails to impress. You can stab them, drain them of their magic and yet their bodies will inevitably recover after a short visit to the land of comas."

The dwarf finished with an all too knowing smirk, standing before her on a pair of stunted legs which seemed even smaller as he wrapped himself in a thick wolf skin. Frowning cautiously, Morgana tried to move only for the pain to return and land her on her arse.

"Oh, you shouldn't do that, your body can barely summon enough magic to keep you up, the wound will take time to heal." She was well aware of that. She was also aware of the meaning behind his observation, that she was defenseless.

"Who are you?"

"I am Grettir." The dwarf said, spreading his arms around in a grand presentation before pointing at her face. "And you must be Darkness."

I'm annoyed, she thought, deepening her frown. "Did you help me?"

"Not at all, you don't need my help. You've survived worst or will anyway. No, this little fire here, I build it for myself since I got bloody cold waiting for you to wake up. And now, you woke up" He pointed out, walking across from her and snapping his fingers. Morgana immediately felt the shift of magic in the air as he turned a small log into a chair to seat on, which he did, squeezing himself on it and peering at her with green dark eyes.

"If you're not some kind stranger out to help unconscious women…" Morgana said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Then what on earth are you doing here?"

"That is a good question." He told her. "I'm here because I chose to be, a choice I had to make due to the choices you yourself have made. That is how it works isn't it? We choose, we act, but the consequences always go far beyond ourselves. Take your actions before the sacred court for instance."

Morgana casually leaned back on Dahut's side, feeling the assurance of the warm body so close. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm here wondering what in the name of the Other World you were thinking."

She studied him carefully, the sharpness of his eyes glinting with wit behind his pleasant demeanour. "I bet you already know."

"Yes, yes, I know. I know you suddenly gained the ability to uncover all those precious feelings you once tried to ignore, feelings you killed, maimed and burned to ashes suddenly spreading wings like a reborn phoenix inside your soul. Very poetic. Under any other circumstances it would be quite beautiful." The dwarf grimaced, leaning his chin on a fist. "The thing about phoenixes though, is that they're just as dangerous and deadly as they are pretty. A phoenix eye for instance can do a whole lot of harm, yes?"

"What?"

"A phoenix eye, you have used one before." He explained with a smirk. "I've met the gallant prince once, in a time when he had a gift around his wrist, a gift he claimed to be from someone very very dear."

Morgana huffed, feeling the memory jumping to the front of her mind like a slap to the face. "I should've dropped poison into his wine and be done with it." Looking back, she should have dropped poison on all their cups. They could all die together, her, Arthur and Uther and people would sing songs about the Purple Feast or some other nonsense like that. "I should've killed everyone."

"Why didn't you?"

The question sounded fair enough and yet Morgana didn't have an answer to offer, not even now after so long and so much – supposedly – wisdom. "Because I was a foolish little girl, perhaps."

"Really?"

"Yes" Maybe it was her exhaustion, but she couldn't really stop herself from talking. "A foolish little girl stumbling through this world as if she had any idea what she was doing, too foolish to realize not even her own Goddess was on her side of things and her best intentions are doomed to failure."

"That is a very fatalistic view of life."

She scoffed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"It's probably the tiredness talking. I've always heard that accessing the realm of the crone demands copious of amounts of magic. The fact that you brought someone from there, well, I'm surprised you're even alive."

Morgana remembered the effort that it took to reach beyond the material world, the effort it took to pull Arthur from the clutches of a Goddess, a sensation not unlike dying, and yet she was sure she had only managed to do it because the Disir didn't interfere. Gulping, she turned back to Grettir whose face was clearly amused. "I grow weary of you."

"Really? And here I was, just beginning to like you" He smiled, she didn't.

"What do you want?"

"What do I want? That is a complex question. I'm afraid the last real want of my heart was to see the man I loved freed of his curse. But that wish was already fulfilled. If you meant something more casual, I'd say I want what every creature wants, to be safe, to be fed and to be in peace, but our wants can change." He paused, his smile seeming sincere for the first time in the conversation, but just as quickly turning again into an act. "I shall take a wild guess here, so please tell me if I'm wrong. When you used that phoenix eye, you wanted the death of Arthur Pendragon, but you also couldn't stand the sight of his dying, so you didn't want to, as you put it, drop poison into his wine. Really, had you been that same person and left him to the Disir to do as they wished, I think you might've been forgiving, your Goddess would probably reward you or maybe not. After all who can understand the wants of a god?" He asked the last question almost mockingly, and she paused.

"I understood what they wanted very well."

"Did you?" He asked daringly.

"I did." She answered. "They said they wanted to correct what I had changed."

"They wanted to keep what had already happened. Although it might not seem like it, the gods sealed many fates already. They won't risk be challenged in such straight manner as you do with your deeds."

"So you are on their side, then."

"Not really."

She ignored him. "They were trying to turn Arthur mad."

"And it would've been very efficient. Arthur loses his mind to whatever they show him, his nobble heart gets backed into a corner and he goes to war, a hero in shining armor. You face him for your own reasons, maybe to defend yourself, maybe to reason with him, but that boat has sailed and you two die in the field of battle, just like before, it doesn't sound so bad does it?" She pierces him with a look that he takes as a silent inquire. "They don't understand these things you know? The fear of battle and the pain of losing a loved one. For the gods this would be just a small drop of blood on a very big curtain, and the curtain is crimson and in a very dark corner of the castle, so who cares that it is there?"

"I care."

Grettir nodded. "For them we're children you know? Raucous, misbehaving children that should stay in our place and listen to them." He sniffled. "Like every parent however they seldom understand their own child, and even more, they almost never expect for them to rebel, until they do."

Morgana closed her eyes, those words sounded very important, but she was so tired that her mind almost missed the obvious signs around her. "You seem to know a lot about gods."

"I've been on their sight before, I've challenged them and I've paid the price."

"Have you?"

"I have."

"And now?"

"Now, I have their mercy and also, I have the path that can bring you forgiveness." He explained. "You're a high priestess, but you committed a sin that even your Goddess cannot turn a blind eye to. So the Disir have an offer to make."

"What offer?"

"One life."

The answer twisted out of his mouth in smoke, the understanding settling into her guts like led. Her answer was immediate. "No."

Grettir pierced her with his gaze. "Wé cēap - wé wig. War or bargain. That is what you said before, and that is your answer. Instead of bending the world to its original fate, they want one life, and if you refuse, well, would you really dare to war against the gods?"

"I've had enough of them."

"Well, yes you did, and all of us do hate our parents once in a while, except some can be very straight forward when challenged."

From the mists of the past, she felt rough - leather covered - fingers squeezing at her throat. Her answer was a snarl. "I can protect myself."

"Oh, but the gods don't attack with pouring rain and dark skies child. Although you might push them to do so. No, they attack with something more delicate. Fate, destiny, some might call it doom."

Morgana inhaled sharply, the world shifting around her to Emrys piercing blue gaze one more for a whole terrible moment. Blinking back into the present, she allowed Grettir's eyes to take her in. "How do you know?"

A pause.

"As far as promised kings go, Arthur Pendragon is not the first and won't be the last. All of this has happened, a thousand times over in a thousand different places and when those tales offer defiance and sins, the ruin comes from the hearts of those involved." He told her. "Tell me if you heard this one before. A wise king rules, justly and well. A good friend stands by his side and a knight serves him faithfully. But the gods are not happy with them, so they sent forth their judgement. Not a horde of powerful beings, but threads these hearts can't help but follow."

"The gods know of our hearts you see? They can read them in the glow of our soul as easily as we read words on a book. So when the knight's love is put on trial, they know the king's heart is built on laws of iron and mercy will be short. They know the limits of the knight's love and it breaks in splinters of blood. They know the heart of the good friend, and know that his eagerness to help will make him sacrifice his own morals and his own spirit will eventually corrode. That is what the gods know, Morgana, not the future or fate, but the choices that are inevitable to us... If you refuse my counsel, know this. Your kingdom will crumble under the weight of its own heart."

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