Thank you for all reads/ reviews

Ice Cream Bean- Thank you lots :) I've always thought that, even though she was the main antagonist in Series 3, Morgause is quite a mysterious character. So I do enjoy writing this :)

Mike 3207- I do try very hard to write so I'm glad you enjoy :) And, do not fear, there will be some Morgause pairing in the next few chapters, so keep reading :)

Chapter 3

As hard as she tried, she could never repeat her gift of prophecy and, despite how long she stared into the crystals, she was reserved to seeing only the present. And, with this, her memories of the Lady Ygraine and the mysterious Lady Vivian dimmed, leaving her with little more than the ghost of Ygraine's smile and the healing bracelet that never left her forearm, once she realised it would stop her midnight visions, signifying the coming of her full magical abilities.

The Priestesses, Taegan notably, watched with pride as Morgause grew from the little, hyperactive yet talented girl to a beautiful, strong woman of twenty years, her magical gifts as enhanced as any they'd ever seen before. Her golden mane had grown, thankfully, into controlled ringlets, she was slim yet powerful, Taegan could imagine her being an agile warrior if she ever learnt to sword fight. But she retained her large, chestnut eyes, the only part of her that had any resemblance to her mother.

But what amazed Taegan most, as she watched Morgause reading hard in the library, or practising her magic for hours on end, was how safe she seemed to be. For she had lived through much that would have broken someone weaker. Only three months after the Lady Vivian's visit to the Isle of the Blessed, and the reunion with her daughter, though this was unknown to Morgause, Vivian had died, passed away giving birth to a daughter, Morgana. And a year after that, Ygraine was also dead, lost due to the death of her son, Prince Arthur of Camelot. Meanwhile, Uther did not stop his purges; he persecuted those with magic more fiercely than ever before, his obsession verged on mania, and it seemed High Priestesses were becoming a rare breed.

But Morgause was happy. In fact, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the World. The breeze was gentle through her loose, golden locks as she explored the mossy ground underfoot. Green light shone through the foliage, casting a warm glow on all that surrounded her, a sight that could only lift Morgause's heart. Above her, she could hear the chirping of birds and their chicks, the surest sign of the Spring month that had just begun.

Behind her, her blood red gown rustled over the forest floor and she grimaced with each noise. It was certainly the wrong choice for the task she had been set. She'd been ordered out that morning on a search for replenishing Taegan's collection, which had fallen dangerously low during the icy Winter, when it was impossible to cross the lake to reach the isle. And she'd underestimated what the journey would be. Locked away on the Isle of the Blessed, she'd forgotten just how the seasons affected the Kingdom around her. Most notably, how wet the ground became, and how this would stain the trail of her gown behind her. Still, she could not prevent her smile from widening with each step, as she felt the sunlight warm her bare skin.

She'd been out for over an hour by the time she finally spotted the first of the herbs Taegan required. She picked it gently, holding the delicate, silvery fern between her two forefingers elegantly. She knew its uses: relief from headaches if inhaled, lessening of swelling of used as a paste, mild pain relief if eaten. It was useful, surely? Small but useful? She couldn't prevent a small, mocking question form at the back of her mind: like yourself?

Morgause frowned, she couldn't afford to think like that. After all, would it be so bad to just play a small part life? If she was useful? Just as Taegan was, aiding travellers, helping educate, it was all good surely? No, it wasn't. Morgause felt freer than she had been in months as she trailed the airy forest. Just feeling the springy forestry beneath her feet lifted her spirits higher than she'd felt within the stone walls of the isle. For it was beautiful, more beautiful than the castles of Camelot and Titadel combined. And she was at peace on the Isle of the Blessed, surrounded by women just like her, the air perfumed with magic, something she knew was a rarity in the cursed times of Uther Pendragon.

But Morgause wanted more. As much as she tried to fight the feelings on entrapment, she couldn't. She wanted to battle, to fight for magic, rather than let Uther's tyrannical persecution continue. She wanted the deafening roar of a battlefield, the hot stench of blood, a sword in her hand. But more. She wanted to find herself. She knew the priestess in her, the magic that so few could feel and control. But she had nothing else. No family, no great destiny to accomplish. She had tried asking about her past, but she had learnt little. Only that she had been given to the Old Religion to protect her. And this lack of knowledge, when she knew so much about everything else, frustrated her.
Still, as she left the forest, reaching the edge of the lake, the tiny herb between her fingers still, she felt all thoughts slip from her mind as she stared skyward. The sun was blinding, but beautiful, the sky clear and serene, and Morgause couldn't help but feel invincible as she basked in the sun's rays.

The sun's rays though, that shouldn't be glowing orange. And shouldn't be that warm. Morgause felt her pulse race as she looked towards the isle. Towards her home. Her heart stopped in her chest when she saw the flames. Flames that tore out of the shattered windows, licking the masonry like a dragon's tongue. Towers that had been so strong lay crumbled on the isle in piles of ash stained rubble. And all Morgause could do was stare.

She knew she shouldn't have. She knew it would not be safe. That the chance of any survivors was so slim it was almost impossible. But the Isle of the Blessed was her home, and she couldn't abandon her home so quickly. Her foot was shaking as she stepped from the rocking wooden boat on to the crumbling isle. Breathing deeply, she darted into the temple, the wooden doors blown off by whoever had intruded on the sacred home of the Old Religion. Smoke hung in the air, as if to barricade all from entering the doomed building, but still she continued, her thin sleeves all that prevented her from choking as she attempted to cover her mouth. Destruction lay around her, dead, mutilated corpses lay on the scorched floor, many of them unrecognisable. But she didn't need to know. They were all the women she'd eaten with that morning, studied with in her free time, lived with for her whole life. Morgause felt a tear streaming down her cheek as she continued to run through the smoke polluted corridors, searching wildly for any signs still of life. Flames roared and, distantly, she heard footsteps. But no screams, no signs of fear. She was lost in the smoke, the temple she had grown up in now an enemy to her. Fire and smoke blocked her vision, her head beginning to spin madly. Above her, she heard a crash and, cursing, she dived out of the way of the collapsing stonework, the rubble further crushing the bodies beneath. Morgause felt a sudden pain in her arm as she slammed down on the cracked floor and looked in horror at the blood now seeping from beneath her ripped sleeve. But she had no time. She was now gasping wildly, the smoke taking its toll on her slight frame.

Footsteps. She turned, only to see a young man come marching towards her, ash staining his pale hair, sweat dripping down his long face. But still, he held his sword in front of him, bloodlust in his eyes. His lips turned cruelly upwards as he met Morgause's gaze. His prey, just as all the others had been. Sword raised, he never noticed her eyes flash gold, just felt the burning of the white heat of the metal above him and the blade fell from his grasp, only to be thrust through his stomach by the young woman before him. Morgause stumbled back in shock, pulling the sword with her, watching the boy, for that's all he was, fall forward, spluttering blood as his breath escaped him. She expected to feel a loss, a sadness, at his death, for she had never expected to become a killer, but she felt nothing for him, instead a determination to continue the search of what had been her home. She wiped his bloody sword on his own crimson cape, noting the golden dragon crest as she did so, and continued with a deadly glint in her chestnut eyes. For she recognised that crest. In fact, there was few who would not. The blood red with a golden dragon.

The crest of King Uther Pendragon.

A scream. Morgause felt her eyes widen in sudden response. There was someone left. Someone alive. The sword was burning the delicate skin on her palms, the smoke more suffocating with every breath, and the scream meant heading further in. But she couldn't leave it.

Taegan lay on the stone floor, paralysed in fear. Her gown, her most precious item, the symbol of her priestess status, hung off her in tatters, the silk burnt beyond repair. But she knew there would be no chance ever for repair. Slowly, she raised her gaze, vision blurred from the smoke that clogged the Hall, once so beautiful, but now as a scene only visible in Hell. The stained glass lay shattered on the floor, pieces underneath her weak figure, tearing into her skin. The intricate columns were cracked in the heat as flames licked the walls around them, bits of dust falling from the collapsing ceiling. Taegan felt herself shiver, despite the crackling flames around her, their shadows dancing on the cracked floor, as she looked upon the devil before her.

'You're a monster.' Despite her fear, she felt her choking voice whisper, barely audible through the roaring inferno around her.

The man before her laughed, deep and cold, wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead with an armoured hand. 'I am no monster, Witch. You are the only soulless creature here.'

'You have killed hundreds, hundreds, of people like me.' Taegan crawled up, shaking uncontrollably in heat and fear. 'People who meant you no harm.'

'You are freaks, unnatural freaks.' The man spat, thick eyebrows knitted together into a harsh frown. 'You only mean harm to anyone not like you. You are disgusting.'

'No.' Taegan looked up from where she was sat on the cold stone and met the Knight's eyes defiantly. 'It is you who persecutes innocent beings, murders and attacks those who do not fit in with what you want. It is you who is disgusting.'

She felt her body slammed into the rubble beside her, her cheek burning from the metal fist slammed into her face. Around her, she heard a scream echo in the Great Hall, and it took her seconds to realise it was her own, terrified scream. Above her, she saw the glint of steel, and prepared herself for the pain of what was sure to follow.

The Knight positioned himself over the old Witch, the hag, his sword in his hands. She was the last High Priestess and he would, undoubtably, be fully rewarded by Uther for her death. He would make it painful, make it a lesson to those who practised the black arts. Justice would prevail...

Footsteps stopped him just as he raised the blade. Footsteps that did not come from the heavy lined boots of the Knights of Camelot. He turned slowly and felt himself sneer at the person who dared challenge him.

'You declare yourself my opponent?' He jeered at the incongruous sight before him. She was slim, clothed in a torn, charcoaled gown that had once been ruby. Blood dripped freely from one limp arm and her pale face was ash stained, but not enough to conceal her beauty.

'I'm sure I can take a reward back to Camelot with me.' He laughed, coldly, as he met her doe eyed stare. The stony glare of the chestnut only enticed him further. 'And you'd be a more than a fitting prize...'

His speech was cut short as he watched the woman thrust a sword through his gut, crimson blood leaking from the wound, staining his tunic, as she pushed the sword forcefully further through his torso, burning him with a searing pain.

'This is my prize,' she hissed hatefully into his ear and she quickly withdrew the blade, watching him stumble, clutching his gaping wound, before she slashed wildly at his throat. He fell, dead, a bloody waterfall cascading from his ripped neck.

Morgause stood over her work and couldn't prevent a cruel smirk playing across her lips. She felt something with his death: pride. The blood didn't repulse her, the wound didn't disgust her, in fact, they made her feel alive.

'Morgause.'

The blonde dropped her sword at this voice, little more than a whisper, and she searched through the choking smoke to find the speaker. She found Taegan lying awkwardly on a pile of rubble, her eyelids flickering, as if she was desperately trying to fight sleep. Morgause knelt beside her, she began trying to lift the aged Priestess but she dismissed her with an exhausted wave of her wrinkled hand.

'Morgause, there's little time, and I have much I need to tell you,' she rasped, putting up her hand to stop Morgause's attempt at interrupting her. 'Do not stop me, Morgause, we both know I speak the truth.'

'You could tell me everything when you are recovered, Taegan,' Morgause protested desperately, her eyes threatening to well up at the sight of the noble High Priestess reduced to the weak, limp figure before her. Taegan's silence, though, dispelled any hopes the blonde woman had. 'At least let me move you, away from this chaos. Away from the fire.'

'I would not survive the move, my child.' Weakly, with a shaking hand, Taegan pulled the cloth of her gown over her stomach, revealing a long slash, and a bloody mess beneath. She smiled sadly. 'But the fire will not get us. Do you think a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess would be damaged by a mere fire? No, this is why the Knight came after me, believing me to be the last surviving Priestess. But he was wrong.' She let her head roll back, a contented peace pass through her eyes. Slowly, she grasped one of Morgause's burnt hands. 'I am glad it is you here, Morgause. There are things I must tell you that would have haunted me in the Other World had I not.'

'I understand, Taegan.' Morgause attempted to reassure the dying woman before her. She wanted to look strong, when she really felt weaker than the crumbling building around her. 'My destiny, to rebuild the isle. To fill it with magic once more. I understand.'

'No.' Taegan squeezed the blonde's hand slightly before sighing, feeling a tear slip from her tired eyes. 'There is more...it is about your family, Morgause.'

'I have no family,' she scoffed. 'No, that is wrong. You are my family.'

'That is an endearing gesture, my child, but you have a true family.' Taegan took a deep breath in an attempt to control herself. She noted Morgause's slightly gaping mouth. 'That, meanwhile, is no attractive look for you. But you must not interrupt me as I speak, I have little time and much information for you.' She watched with narrowed eyes as Morgause nodded reluctantly and she prepared herself for the information she was about to give. 'I have always tried to treat you as though you were any other Priestess here, but I fear I have always failed. You are not like the others, not only in magic potential, but also in origin. For you have a mother, Morgause, and a father somewhere...'

'I do not under...'

But the woman once again raised her aged palm to silence her. 'You were the result of a brief affair between your father, a Druid man, and a noble woman. She was unable to keep you, in the fear you would inherit your father's gifts and would be persecuted. So she had you brought here, in the hope we would keep you protected.'

'But who was she?' Morgause was reeling, feeling her head spinning with the news she now possessed. Her father was a Druid? It clearly explained her grasp of magic, but her mother was noble? It made no sense to her.

Taegan looked up into Morgause's earnest gaze as she spoke, 'You've met her, Morgause, though whether you'll remember her is another question. She gave you the bracelet.'

Instinctively, Morgause grabbed the metal bracelet on her forearm, though it was burning to touch. She hadn't thought of the benefactor for years, but her mind now instantly flicked back. She was a child once more, gazing in admiration at the dark, beautiful woman before her. 'Lady Vivian Gorlois?...But that is impossible.'

'It is true, my child.' Taegan sighed. 'Though I wish, for your sake, it weren't. She had you secretly in Camelot and then smuggled here...'

'Then I must find her.' Morgause's eyes widened, the chestnut gleaming as though just been struck by an awe inspiring idea. 'She will want to see me, surely?'

'Morgause...' Taegan began slowly, unsure of how to breach the next subject. Silence hung between the two women, around them the chaos had calmed, the fires were dying, leaving merely ash. The ageing Priestess adjusted slightly on the rubble beneath her, in a desperate attempt to comfort herself, before deciding she needed to merely give Morgause the news outright. 'Morgause, my child, the Lady Vivian is dead. We told you at the time but it was so long ago, no-one was sure if you'd remember.' The horrified look on Morgause's face, of one whose just lost all hope after the promise of redemption, showed that she had, indeed, not remembered this fact. 'It was only a few months after her visit here when you were a child. She died in childbirth, giving birth to a daughter.'

Soot cascaded from Morgause's curls as she shook her head, almost manically, attempting to take in the news. 'Then I will find my father, that must be it, surely?'

'Morgause, I do not even know his name. He was a Druid, impossible to track down at the best of times.' Taegan could feel her throat closing as she spoke, her breath attempting to leave her, and she began to speak quicker. She couldn't part from the World without helping the figure before her, whose tear stained, ashy face looked so hopeless. 'He may even be dead, there is no point in searching for him.'

'Then what...?'

'Listen to me, Morgause.' Taegan squeezed her hands sharply. 'There is little time left, you must focus. There is one person left, Lady Vivian's daughter, your half-sister, Lady Morgana. And she is in danger. Gorlois is dead, killed in battle, serving Uther. And, in return, Uther has taken 11 year old Morgana as his ward in Camelot. Currently, she is safe and protected, but there are rumours she suffers nightmares. They could be nothing, or, as a believe, they could be a show that she possesses magic and is, potentially, a seer. When you were a child, Morgause, you said you would be her warrior. Prove this.'

'Lady Morgana?' Morgause could see the figure once more, the pale, ebony haired woman on horseback, that she'd seen in the crystal all those years ago. 'How?'

'Seek protection with King Cenred. He is egotistical and a coward, but he accepts magic in his kingdom and will keep you safe. And he suffers with the weakness of all men.' Taegan raised a shaking hand to stroke Morgause's cheek, wet with tears. 'As long as you are there, you will be protected. Use your time wisely, your magic is powerful, but you lack physical strength. Learn to fight. You were lucky today, you had the element of surprise, but you will not always have that. Expand your knowledge, learn history, study maps, philosophy. You must be faultless, Morgause. For one day, when the time is right, you will be needed.'

Her breath was now short, her chest heaving exhaustedly. Taegan could feel her eyelids growing heavy and, fatigued, she let them slowly close, a contented smile pass across her pale face. From her lips, white from pain, she whispered, as light as breath, 'You have a great destiny, my child.'

And the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess was left clutching her mentor, and friend's, limp figure, smoke billowing around her from the dying embers that littered the cold Hall, and she howled in loss.