Chapter 6

His thundering snoring woke her. With a groan, she flickered her eyes open, allowing them to become used to her dark surroundings, the only light from the full moon, winking through the dirty glass windows. She sat up in her place, having fully abandoned the idea of sleeping again, and looked down at Cenred's figure beside her. How damned peaceful he looked, she thought harshly, having to fully restrain herself from smothering him with the feather pillow behind her back. Still, it was these moonlit hours that she treasured to herself, if only for her own reflection.

It had been nine years, nine long years, since her seduction of Cenred. Since, drunkenly, she had taken to his bed, drunkenly given into the hunger she thought would consume her, as naive as she had been. For she regretted it now, more than anything.

Morgause sighed, she was being ridiculous, it was too early for this thinking. After all, she was safer now. She was Cenred's chief advisor, free to challenge him on everything from the welfare of his people, to his policies on warfare. He was a coward, more so than ever, with no heir to place on his throne after him. Though it was surprising, considering how many whores he surrounded himself with. He accused her of thinking only with her sword, the blade being a practice she had picked up quickly, faster than any of Cenred's men, and more developed than any in the Kingdom, they said. And her magic had developed; she was strong, strong enough to win all of Cenred's battles for him. Those he fought, anyway, those he didn't sit cowering in his citadel to avoid.

But she was trapped, once again. She felt like a butterfly trapped under a bell jar, wings fluttering desperately as she was slowly suffocated, looking at freedom through thick glass as her own life slipped from grasp. She was safe, of course, but she longed for danger, for threat, and for the freedom these brought her. Morgause sighed, a defeated dullness reflected in her dark eyes. What did she have in the World to leave for, anyway? Here, she was safe, she could practice magic without danger, she was the Kingdom's best swordsman, she was the King's chief advisor. But out there? Nothing.

Still not even her healing bracelet could stop her dreams of the ancient castles, with cold corridors and crumbling stonework, and open plains, acres she could ride over, a mysterious chain mail clad figure once more, which lay beyond Cenred's dominion.

'I have important news, my Lord.'

Cenred lifted his gaze from the chipped, stone flooring beneath his feet, to focus on the man on bended knee before him. From behind his greasy curtain of hair, Cenred could recognise the man he entrusted as foreign ambassador, his pulse quick in the veins visible in his dirty, thin neck.

'Speak then.'

Stood behind Cenred's throne, notably at his right side now, Morgause spoke. Her voice was low, threatening, and the ambassador felt himself gulp in fright, he had heard stories of those who upset the sorceress who was now resting her hand on the top of the King's wooden throne.

But Cenred raised his hand leisurely, looking up at Morgause with his jet eyes, glittering as the polished stone itself. 'Now, now, Morgause. He will speak in his time.'

The ambassador nodded eagerly in fear and Morgause relaxed, perching herself on the arm of Cenred's seat. Cenred smirked darkly and motioned for the man before him to continue with his news, news he'd felt so important as to barge into the Hall unannounced for, only moments before.

'I've been at Camelot for the past few weeks.' He stammered, sweating slightly from the white heat of the stares directed at him. 'Strictly business, of course.'

Cenred smiled at the comment; ambassador in this court basically meant spy, and he was proud to have one positioned in every neighbouring court, at one time or another.

'And Camelot is in uproar, just yesterday the news hit. I know not of any change since then but...'

'Is this getting anywhere?' Morgause asked, impatience dripping from her voice.

The ambassador swallowed, looking up with worried eyes. 'Uther's ward has been kidnapped.'

Morgause's head snapped up, her eyes wide, any irritation she felt towards the man had vanished with his utterance. 'Uther's ward?'

'Yes, my Lady.' The man nodded, confused at her change in tone, from cold to sudden interest. 'The Lady Morgana, daughter of Gorlois.'

'Ah, Gorlois, I know of him. He was a good man, a better man than Uther Pendragon. And his daughter? She must be about 22 now?' Cenred thought aloud, before he shrugged, his face emotionless. 'But why is this relevant to me?'

The man was backing away nervously, attempting to distance himself from his seemingly useless information, when Morgause shook her head, golden curls flailing about her head. She stood from the chair arm, a concerned frown upon her face. 'Kidnapped? By whom?'

'Uther believes it was the Druids, my Lady,' the ambassador stammered, preparing for the attack which was bound to follow from the notoriously unstable sorceress. Yet all he saw were her chestnut eyes widening as she turned on her heel and stormed from the Hall, her crimson gown sweeping behind her like a bloody tail.

'Leave.' Cenred ordered and the man scuttled from the Hall, face pale, and Cenred looked back towards Morgause's disappeared figure, curious.

Cenred woke early the next morning. Through the dirty glass window, he could see the icy blue sky, splashed with the rose pink that signified the sun had yet to rise and warm the cold horizon. The room was dim still, walls barely illuminated, the air cold. He sat up groggily, why wasn't he dressed? His chest was bare, goosebumps prominent along his naked arms, the dark hair stood up in the low temperature. Blinking rapidly through the ringing echoing around his head, the King thought back to the night before. He had held an impromptu feast, in honour of the Druids who had kidnapped Uther's ward. There had been drink. A lot of drink. Morgause had been quiet, reserved, strange for her. That had changed, of course, Cenred smirked as the rest of the night came back to him, and he realised why he was undressed.

'My dear Morgause, I must say you were exquisite last night.' Cenred chuckled and he looked down beside him, and frowned as he looked down at the vacant place beside him. She'd been there, singular golden strands remained on the pillow, and her scent remained in the air, seeming to dance around his nostrils. Slowly, he could feel rage beginning to boil in his stomach; she'd never done this before.

With a low growl, gritty like that of a mountain lion, he clawed his way from his bed and stumbled; still intoxicated it seemed, to his chamber door. He'd find Morgause, even if he had to wake the whole citadel.

'Morgause! Witch! Soldiers, get her back to my chambers!' He tore the heavy door open, roaring, only to find his doorframe blocked by two women, arms linked, their eyes glinting mischievously. Cenred's voice fell in a second.

'Morgause had to leave early this morning, my Lord,' one of the women, with fiery locks to her narrow waist, said, a ghostly smile haunting her painted lips.

'But she told us to tell you that if there's anything you desire, anything at all, we are here,' the second one said, smiling seductively as both the women lowered their eyes momentarily. Cenred looked down, following their gaze, becoming suddenly aware of his distinct lack of clothing. After an initial bout of panic, he smirked.

'Anything at all, ladies?'

'Anything at all.' Their voices rang out in unison.

Cenred couldn't help but smile at Morgause's logic; she leaves, with no word, gives him two harems, presumably as a last gift. Well, he couldn't be ungrateful. With a broad grin, as a child receiving an unexpected present, the King ushered the women into his chambers, closing the door silently behind him.

By this time, she was miles away. Wind flew into her face, pushing her hair wildly, causing the blond curls to whip her neck furiously, as though forcing her onwards. Rain splashed down upon her, a torrent enough to drown one that was foolish enough to dare face it. But she wasn't a butterfly trapped under a bell jar anymore. She was Morgause, High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, the very last of her kind. And she could face anything.

She'd stolen a horse once again and, once again she'd stolen it from a dead man. But no-one would find Cenred's Stable Master; dagger plunged into his bloated stomach, until it was too late. Besides, Cenred owed her. He owed her considerably more than a horse but what else she'd claim from him was still a mystery to her.

Before her lay plains and plains of open grassland, an ocean of emerald for miles in every direction. But all the blonde witch could do was smile, she had no fear. This was her destiny she was heading towards. She felt it in every heartbeat. Tasted it in every breath of cold air. And destiny was no place for fear.

It was not magnificent like the Isle of the Blessed had been; there was no stained glass, no intricate carvings. But it was still more beautiful than Cenred's castle had ever been; magic and mystery seemed to haunt the bleak walls and crumbling towers. But, most of all, it was hers. Morgause's own castle. Her own home.

It had been a lucky find, of course. She'd heard Cenred's men talk about castles like this, inhabited by sorcerers in the time of the Old Religion, castles found beyond enchanted waterfalls, through harsh terrain, but allowed absolute secrecy when found. Morgause had stolen a map in desperate hope. It had paid off.

The execution block in the courtyard had surprised her, the blunt axe still leaning against the stone wall, ivy threatening to tie it there forever. The block was stained red still and she couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul had left this World at the stroke of the axe, the sound as it sliced the air the last thing they heard. A shiver ran down her spine, despite the heavy chain mail, as she stared at the block still. She never wanted to die by the blade. Never.

Before she had arrived, she had visited the Isle of the Blessed, once more. Salty tears had struck her chestnut orbs at the sight of the ruins, despite the ten years it had been. Dragons now haunted the ruins, remnants of Nimueh, the outcast Priestess, and her last stand on the Isle. The scorches on the stone had caused Morgause to grimace, but she continued in her search of the Isle. She had found it eventually, covered in ash covered black velvet in a dingy room. The crystals from when she was a child. She had spent hours studying them, in hope of a single prophecy. And then the visions she had seen before Ygraine and Vivian, of the young, blonde man and her half-sister, Morgana.

Now she knew exactly how to use the crystals. How to mutter the dark incantations to view inside Camelot's fortified citadel. To see everything that Uther Pendragon kept from the outside World. His deepest secrets, his darkest fears, were at her very fingertips.

She gazed inwards at the young man within her vision. His straw hair under a thin, golden crown, the bloody Pendragon crest on his back. A light whisper slipped from her mouth. 'Arthur Pendragon, the battle for your soul is only just beginning.'

Morgause continued to gaze as her view became that of the raven haired woman besides him, a soft smile on her painted lips yet a haunted look in her peridot eyes, as though struggling to stop herself from collapsing on the stone floor.

The blonde witch smirked as she tore her gaze away. Besides her, she reached for the sword at her feet. She was ready.

Read and review guys :)

Mike 3207- Thank you for reading still :) I thought she must have learnt to fight from Cenred, I doubt the Priestesses would have ever taught her, at least not to the high standard she was at