Un-betaed. Please leave a review! :)

Chapter 2 – Castle Pendragon

Igraine took a deep breath, looking at the land that surrounded the castle from the window.
She remembered all, from the small river far at east, to the willow forest in the northern territory.

She barely remembered, though, the journey of the previous day, the one that brought her to Castle Pendragon. Igraine had gone to Arthur and convinced him that her place wasn't at Camelot; somehow, he agreed and Merlin reluctantly gave in. She was surprised that she wasn't escorted, or maybe she had been because there were rumors that carrying the Pendragon flag wasn't a sufficient talisman against bandits anymore. She had to admit that she felt betrayed by her own people, letting her go on her own, right into the serpent's nest, but in their defense, Morgan had proved herself loyal and obliging, her true intentions covered by magic. They all fell for her machinations.

Perhaps she could really work from within and help Arthur and Merlin. Maybe she could really deceive Morgan, for as impossible it might've seemed – trying to go against a sorceress, maybe that was the dumbest thing she could think of, but honestly, what else she could do?

Igraine paced slowly through the corridors, and time seemed to stop. For years she'd walked those floors, for years that had been her home; she had given orders, feasts, she'd spent nights at Uther's side and now she was nothing more than a guest, or a prisoner, to be precise.

Morgan liked to tease her, but she tried her best not to give her any satisfaction. She had given her her old room, the one she once shared with her father, the one in which Uther died by her hand. She wasn't given any maid, nor any food as far as she remembered, and now her stomach was grumbling in protest, but Igraine wasn't expecting anything different.

She smiled tentatively to anyone she stumbled upon and felt terrible when no one replied with kindness. She thought of running to the gates, stealing a horse and going back to Camelot, but being free in her prison was no matter to be taken lightly; Igraine knew better than that.
Morgan had plans. Her job would be to uncover them, or at least, try to.

Igraine walked her way to the great hall, where Morgan was elegantly seated on the throne looking confident and powerful. Before her, the table was filled with fruit and hot dishes for breakfast; she had to admit that she had missed Castle Pendragon's meals and felt quite odd in front of all that opulence when at Camelot they had much less.

Morgan didn't even seem to acknowledge her, continuing to densely chat with her nun, waving every food she'd been offered with a dismissive frown.

Igraine was getting frustrated and even though she knew that that woman was only trying to get on her nerves, she yielded and played her game.

If Morgan had decided to ignore her, she would ignore her too. Even if she had been banned from it, that was still her Castle, after all.

She sat down at the only chair available by the table and gracefully started to eat. She kept her stoic composure when she heard that the soft murmur coming from her back had suddenly stopped and continued chewing on some nut loaf.

"What do you think you're doing?" Morgan's voice echoed through the room.

Igraine drank slowly from her cup before turning to her.

"I thought I was your guest, Morgan." She replied, giving her the sweetest smile. "I don't see shackles on my wrists." She pointed out.

Morgan glared at her, rolling her eyes as she sighed loudly.

"Don't test me, Igraine." She warned, narrowing her eyes.

Suddenly, the older woman felt all her boldness sliding off her body like melted wax. She felt exposed, trapped and she wondered if it was one of her many powers or if it was just her, realizing how much she could do, see how far her powers could go.

Why would she keep teasing her? Why would she just killed her and get over with her bloodthirst and vengeance? Why would she keep her alive in the first place and why did she think she could control everything so easily? There were many flaws, apparently, but Morgan wasn't stupid. Being unable to at least guess her plans was driving her mad: why leaving her free to wander around the castle, why was she so sure she wouldn't cause any problem?

"Then why don't you keep me in chains?" She inquired, her glance demanding. Wouldn't it be easier to keep her captive in the dungeons and bring her out at need? Igraine could run away, she could even set the castle on fire – why Morgan looked so confident, unworried by all the possibilities and bothers she might've caused?

Morgan let out a peel of laughter.

"Why would I?" She asked rhetorically, shrugging her shoulders dismissively.

Igraine stared blankly back at her. There were so many things she could do, but the first thing that came to her mind was fleeing. Wasn't self-preservation one of the basic instinct?

"To keep me from running?" She asked in a dim voice.

Morgan smiled sweetly at her. Her angelic expression made Igraine's stomach constrict: she always had that innocent look on her face, since she was a little girl, but now that she knew that she was concealing a devil inside, everything had gained a different meaning.

"Oh, I know you won't." She said confidently. "Come." She added then, bending forward into her throne and beckoning her with crooking twice her forefinger.

Igraine started at her, immotile. She felt that every eye in the room was on her, studying her movements, wondering whether she would follow Morgan or ignore her still, ultimately testing her wrath. The woman reluctantly left her chair and walked, closing the distance with the mistress of the castle.

Behind the throne, there were little wooden buildings that resembled villages, castles, and lands of Britain; it reminded her immediately of Redwald, his daily games and for a moment she wondered if the boy would miss her. She thought it was another of Morgan's tricks to tease her, until she noticed the biggest one, in the middle, bearing a quite familiar shape.

"It's Camelot." She whispered in a daze.

"Of course it is." Morgan confirmed and, apparently carelessly, she poked one of the wooden soldier placed on the nearest hill. "You really didn't think I'd left my dear brother's castle unguarded?" She mocked.

"You have them in your grasp." Igraine whispered in horror. The castle, the soldiers, the surrounding lands and the hills were detailed. She wondered if it was created by magic.

"One order of mine and my finest archers will set Camelot on fire." Morgan smiled proudly, basking in the other woman's defeated expression. "You could try to run away, but you know better than me, Igraine, that we have the fastest falcons in Britannia and every message travels quick. Camelot would turn to ashes before you're even half-way through." She pouted, taunting her. "And then all your efforts would be incredibly futile, don't you think?"

So that was the reason why Morgan was so confident and arrogant: she had them all in her hold and she was the only one to know the truth. Igraine had no other choice if not oblige her in her every request. As things were, she was superior – her step-daughter could actually win.

"Oh, Morgan." Igraine breathed out, utterly impressed and therefore terrified. "You are a fine tactician." She conceded, then raised her eyes and locked her glance into hers. She saw so much of Uther in her, she was smart as much she was ruthless. She was stronger, she was more determined than Arthur – but he was trying to make a different kingdom, one based on loyalty and honor, so different from the past, while Morgan only knew how to rule with violence and blood, just like her father. "You would make an extraordinary king." She said sorrowfully, speaking the painful truth.

Morgan smiled broadly.

"That I already know, Igraine." She replied, serene.

So that was her plan: trap Camelot, letting them think she saw loyal and inoffensive when in truth she was ready to kill them all when she pleased. Of course, to gain people's trust and rightful wear the crown, she couldn't just set everything on fire on a whim, but she would have if things would get rough. With Arthur's death, the only relative alive to inherit the crown would be her, but that was too easy for Morgan.

Igraine imagined that she intended to humiliate her half-brother, taking the crown under his nose, only to enhance her power and success. Wasn't revenge what she sought, in all its forms? After all, it was exactly what she was doing with her, already.

Still, she could have taken others, instead of her. Guinevere, for instance, but still she'd chosen her. Morgan had taken the opportunity, but there was something more specific about her choice and Igraine could feel it. She had no reason to treat her that good, giving her old room, letting her dine at her table – to her right no less – if she hadn't something in mind.

Igraine followed the slow movements of the other woman with her glance, how she walked, how she lifted her dress to sit back on her throne, ready to welcome the people from outside to hear them, offering them the best she could give.

"Morgan, why am I here?" She asked befuddled, walking closer to her.

The other woman didn't bother to turn and face her. She just let out a sigh, after which her lips bent into a peaceful smile.

"You're the heart of Camelot, Igraine." She stated. "Castle Pendragon needs a heart too."

The former queen stared blankly at her for a moment. She was about to welcome her people like a real queen like she herself used to do – and, imagined, Morgan's mother too, when she was alive. She was wicked, but as she knew, also smart: she wanted to gain the people's trust in the old way, but she didn't have enough experience. She was doing her best, but clearly, Morgan felt that her best wasn't enough.

"You want me to teach you?" Asked Igraine in befuddlement. If she indeed gained the people's heart, she would have everything, all odds on her side.

Surprisingly, Morgan snorted.
"Don't tempt me." She mocked, then her face fell serious. "No. you were already Castle Pendragon's heart once, you shall be it again."

"What?" Igraine stammered even more confused than before. What was she offering? A place by her side? To what end? Why would she ever accept to conspire against her own son and Merlin? That was madness.

Morgan was staring somewhere right in front of her, then her face frowning and she started to talk, seemingly to herself, like she was thinking aloud.
"Camelot offer wars, battles." She mumbled, almost disgusted. "Arthur and his little army are fighting against every threat without thinking, without responsibilities, like bulls on heat."

Igraine fell silent. Sometimes, she thought that too: they were too impulsive. They had tried, once, to be a real court, but they abandoned the idea soon after, rather focusing on extending the territory.

"Arthur is not suited to be king." Morgan continued. "He's merely a puppet into Merlin's hands." She shook her head. Igraine agreed, on some level, but of course, she couldn't tell that to her. "We, on the other hand, can offer an army, but also so much more." She added, her voice becoming stronger and passionate. "We can offer shelter, protection by the finest men, we can offer growth, a future for everyone, a home." She paused, then nodded to herself. "They'll turn to us, in the end."

Igraine had listened. Without even realizing it, the door of the great hall opened.

The people were welcomed by Lady Morgan, on the throne, and much to her dismay, former queen Igraine standing right by her side.