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Chapter 3 – Revelations

Morgan took a deep breath, letting her lungs expand to their full as the cold air from the morning invaded her nostrils. She padded undisturbed through the castle, enjoying the quietness of the hollow corridors and rooms, for everyone were still asleep, being so early.

Few guards were manning the main entrances for safety reasons and she wisely avoided them, easily slithering through the passages toward her chambers. She was looking forward to having her bath, clean the mud and the smell of the forest off her skin, put on one of her dresses and sit on the throne to play the queen for the rest of her day, nodding and judging people while her mind wandered on her many plans and how to get to the crown.

She'd almost arrived when a soft pacing made her tense. It wasn't the quiet walk of Vivian, nor the hurried and heavy feet of Sybil, that walk was light and confident, which could only belong to a queen or a former one. She didn't quite manage such a walk yet.

"Where have you been?" Inquired Igraine and her voice echoed through the hollow corridor.

The younger woman spun on her heels, trying not to show her surprise and uneasiness. It was quite alarming to see that woman out of her room so early in the morning, fully dressed and looking impeccable; to be honest, Morgan didn't remember one time she saw Igraine slightly disheveled, while she, on the contrary, was padding through the castle practically wearing nothing and with her hair down, knotted by the wind. Anyone who saw them could've easily separated the queen from the fraud, and it got on her nerves.

"None of your business." She replied dryly.

Igraine sighed, sounding almost vexed. She crossed her hands gracefully in front of her and took a good look at her; suddenly, Morgan felt naked under her clear eyes.

"You're wearing that thin cloth and you're barefoot."

The younger woman instinctively held her own elbows, curling her toes as she looked with the corner of her eye at the muddy footprints she'd left behind her. Somebody would naturally mind those, but that wasn't the point.

"You went to the woods?" Guessed Igraine, giving her a perplexed glance.

Morgan tightened her jaw and in a motion of sudden rage, she closed the distance with her.

"Yes, why?"

The former queen frowned, gasping in confusion.
"You can't just go in the woods-" She stammered, her face bearing the signs of dismay. Morgan could almost read her mind: Igraine thought she was unworthy, acting like a spoiled girl and wandering into the woods with no purpose, which wasn't how a proper queen should behave. She could feel her judgment, or so she thought. "You're going to catch a cold!" She scolded surprisingly.

Morgan was taken aback.

"Why do you care?" She snorted, half diverted and half shocked.

Igraine herself seemed to have said something she didn't intend; she was shaking her head dismissively. Everything she could say would end up sounding wrong: she could really say anything and turn out like the recommendation of an apprehensive parent. Morgan was right: she shouldn't have cared for her, not in the least. And yet Igraine was there.

If dark magic hadn't been involved, if she hadn't threatened the whole Camelot, if she could be sure that not only lies were coming from that lips and if that would've been a fair fight, she would likely stand up to her plan, devoting body and soul to Morgan's ideal kingdom.
Of course, she couldn't admit it in front of her, because her victory would be too great.

If only she could support Morgan, show her a better way. Maybe she could cooperate with Arthur and merge their plans, to rule Britannia together: the best of the two siblings, with no more fighting, rushes to the crown, feuds.

"I care because I listened to you, yesterday." Whispered Igraine, getting some of her confidence back. "If you could just abandon your evil doings and talk to Arthur about your plans, you could-"

"Say no more, woman." Morgan snapped, glaring at her. "You're here for a purpose and your loyalty is to me, from now on." She reminded her. She could've done so many awful things to her, instead she chose to have her by her side; yes, it was for personal gain, nonetheless, she had given the former queen a prominent role within her court. She only had to show the woman her gratitude, so when Morgan moved closer to her, the other bowed slightly her head, obliging. "Know your place, Igraine."

She lifted her head only when she was sure that Morgan was locked inside her chambers. Her place was now by her side, apparently, and Igraine didn't need anything else.

...

Igraine woke up in the middle of the night to some horrid screams coming from afar.
At first, she thought it was the wind, howling loud in the valley as the storm raged outside. The rain was pouring against the windows and the soothing sound was sometimes followed by the flash of a thunderbolt. She curled up in her blankets, trying to find another comfortable position when she heard it again.

She frowned and decided to investigate the source of such noise.
She thought she needed to visit the dungeons, already imagining the horrors she could find there: in the past, she only went down there once in her life, to free a very young Morgan from one of her father's punishment; Igraine doubted she even remembered it, beaten up as she had been. To be honest, Morgan had every right to hate her parent. From the first moment, she had tried to befriend the king's daughter, but as a substitute for her own mother, Igraine's efforts had never been enough, and then she was sent to the nunnery.

Igraine sighed, warding off those painful memories, and cloaked her shoulders with the closest robe. She had carried some of her clothes with her, but Morgan had provided her a whole new wardrobe, similar to hers even if a little less flaunty.
The woman tried to remember the quickest way to the dungeons as she quietly stepped out in the corridor. She peeked in both directions before slipping out of her room and closing the door behind her. Igraine started to tiptoe, but again she heard that noise and she halted: she was going in the wrong way, in fact, it was coming from behind her, echoing through the hollow corridor like the lament of a ghost.

Igraine gathered all her boldness and followed it to its source.

She eyed cautiously all the closed doors, guessing in which the nun would be and which one would be empty. The wails intensified and Igraine's head snapped up when she finally found the last door and remembered in a flash that that lonely room belonged to Morgan.

She wondered why she had chosen her old room when she could have a bigger and more comfortable place to be in, basking in those awful memories of her childhood rather than creating new ones in other larger chambers, more suitable for a queen. Again, though, she shouldn't have cared.

Igraine got closer, leaning slightly toward the door, waiting for another noise.

When she heard another tormented grunt, she pushed the door, surprisingly finding it open, so she slipped in.

Igraine stood for a moment without moving a muscle, her heart racing like never before: she knew she shouldn't have been in there and quite honestly she didn't even know what she was doing.

Morgan was tossing herself in her sleep, her bed reduced into a shapeless mass of sheets, blankets, and furs in which her body was entangled.

The older woman watched, transfixed. Even as a girl, she had always been afraid of storms and Uther had hated her for it, ordering to let her scream alone until she would overcome her meaningless fears on her own. It was heartbreaking how, even as a grown-up woman, she would still suffer the consequence of being neglected by her father.

Igraine felt guilty. She had never fought Uther about his decision on how to treat his daughter, she had never interfered, not even when, perhaps, Morgan just needed help. She had never been an attentive step-mother – the girl never allowed her to –, she was still being held as a prisoner and forced to cooperate with the enemy, she shouldn't feel any compassion for her. But she was a human being, overall, a lost and lonely one too.

"Morgan?" She tried, timidly at first, but of course, the woman couldn't hear her, so caught in with her nightmares like she was. "Morgan!" She spoke up again, more confident this time, and when she got nothing more than another anguished lament as an answer, Igraine walked by her bed to shook the agitate woman by her shoulder. "Wake up!" She demanded, her voice low and firm.

Morgan tossed around again, until, finally, her eyes snapped open.

Igraine immediately flinched off, suddenly scared by the furious expression on her face, which also carried the shadow of utter frighten, confusion and rage. She tried to calm her down by putting both of her hands before her, into a sort of surrendering position, but it didn't work, not in the least.

"What are you doing in my chambers?" Roared Morgan, her voice quivering and weary by the prolonged shrieking. "Get out!" She ordered, looking frantic as she tried to sit up.

Igraine felt particularly irked for a moment. She hardened her glance, showing no intentions to move.

"You were screaming in the middle of the night and nobody bothered to check on you, Morgan, you should think about that." She snapped back. Igraine drew a short breath, wondering if she should offer some apologies and run off to her room to avoid her jumping to her neck and kill her, but then all her thoughts got washed away when she noticed that Morgan was drenched in her own sweat and her neck and chest were visibly flushed.

"They know I don't want to be vexed while I sleep." Morgan lied, her breaths short. Actually, it was quite alarming that no one had come, no one except for Igraine. Where was Vivian? Or Sybil? Wasn't her room the closest now? And why that woman was giving her that peculiar look? She didn't like it.

Igraine sighed and much to Morgan's dismay, she took a sit on the edge of her bed. She stared in disgust, thinking of warding her off, call for the guards, anything, really, to have her away, and yet there was something in her manners that just left her speechless. It was that innate glow that Igraine had that made her special, a royal, something that made her superior and listened to, something that Morgan lacked.

"I told you, you would catch a cold." She whispered and soon after she raised her hand, cupping her cheek just like a mother would do.

Morgan glared, chasing away her hand with her own, with all the force she could manage.

"Leave me alone." She murmured. "I don't need your help."

Igraine sighed again, staring at her features. Maybe it hadn't caught a cold at all and maybe the nun was aware of her necromancy and all those screams were consequences of sorcery, which couldn't be used without paying a price, as Merlin told her, and that price was personal suffering and punishments, as long as she knew.

The woman felt ashamed. If only she would've spoken up when it wasn't too late, maybe she could've saved her from that horrible life she had, since she was barely more than a girl. And then again, when she returned home, she hadn't said a word, not even one.

"I should have done more." She whispered, bowing her head in guilt.

Morgan could read her thoughts right away.

"Yes." She agreed, her glance was unforgiving. "You should have. But the nunnery made me powerful." She stated proudly, her eyes glimmering with savagery like a wild predator.

Igraine stared back at her, unaffected. She had so much potential in her and she was walking on the wrong path, fulfilling her desires with tricks and deceptions.

"You don't need the black arts to be strong, Morgan." She lectured and the other tightened her jaw irritated. Igraine shook her head, sighing in defeat. "Send you to the nunnery was the worst idea I had in my whole life." She murmured.

Morgan was at her in a blink. She didn't even have the time to flinch back before their faces were inches apart.

"You?" The younger woman rasped in disgust, her face crumpling up with fury. "You're the reason while I was exiled?"

Igraine nodded in fright.

"Uther wanted you dead." She justified with a small voice, to which Morgan gasped in confusion, flinching back herself. "He couldn't bear the thought of having a daughter as heir and he wanted you killed. I persuaded to spare you and send you to the nunnery across the sea, instead." She told.

Morgan stared in shock.

"You? Saved my life?" She said without emotion, then she burst into a hearty laugh. It was amusing: the woman she hated for so long was, in reality, the reason why she breathed. Even if she had never done anything directly to help her, she still had managed to defend her, somehow, from the rears.

"I wish I would've done more." Sighed Igraine, giving her a timid smile.

Even if she didn't want to, Morgan thought about forgiving her, just for an instant. That woman was without magic and still she was able to charm her and bend her to her will. If that was what to be a Queen meant, then she would learn and absorb the craft from her.

"You can redeem yourself." Morgan smirked. "Help me build my kingdom."

Igraine stared at her. She could still work from the inside and guide Morgan to unity. She was a smart woman, and maybe, in the end, she would see what was truly best for Britannia.

She smiled, obliging, and lifted again her hand. When she tentatively reached out to feel Morgan's forehead, this time she didn't move, leaning into her hand too, closing her eyes.

"Let me take care of you, then."