Ok, so we've finally reached Camelot. Set during Series 2: Episode 8, The Sins of the Father. Enjoy!

Chapter 7

It had been another long night. Dreams and nightmares seemed to chase each other around her mind, intermingling to form some sort of fantasy horror show, made just for her. Bursts of red, as ruby as blood, and flashes of the brightest gold exploded as a kaleidoscope under her eyelids, almost as soon as she closed them. Faces circled: her father, Arthur, Uther, Gwen, all becoming a strange blonde woman in a long brown cloak, handing Morgana a glittering blade as she lay down on a stone altar. And she watched helplessly as she raised the knife and brought it down with a piercing scream. It was only as she woke, heart pounding and throat sore, that she realised the screaming hadn't come from her dream.
Morgana sat up, attempting to take deep breaths through her panting. She wanted to shout for someone, anyone to talk through her dream with. But Gwen had gone home, Morgana wouldn't let her stay in the citadel after the fire incident months before, for she was dangerous it seemed, even when she was supposed to be most innocent. And besides, the dream had gone, faded quicker than breath on misty glass. But she couldn't sleep again now, for she knew it would only return, more terrifying than before.

She climbed slowly out of bed, lowering her feet slowly onto the cold, stone floor, as if to prepare herself for its icy touch. Grabbing her purple cloak, she flung it over her shivering shoulders as she stood by the window, looking out through the clear glass. The night was still, the silence only broken by the occasional murmuring of the guards on patrol, their cloaks chestnut in the dim light. But there was something unearthly about how the golden dawn began to surface through the moonless sky, about the way the plants stood motionless, no wind to caress them. Something foreboding, as if everything were too quiet to last. Yet all this could instill in Morgana was a racing pulse and a growing, desperate need for escape.

Arthur had known something was wrong. Even that morning, he realised, he had felt this moment arising like an ancient beast awakening beneath Camelot after a thousand years of sleep. He had sat awake for hours, watching the golden sunrise seep through the dark night like blood. At the time, he couldn't pinpoint what had woken him, but it must have been this; the overwhelming sense of danger, that he felt now. And the threat? The metal glove at his feet, thrown there carelessly by the figure before him, dressed entirely in chain mail, no cloak, no crest, no sense of identity.

He bent to pick it up, out of duty, habit, more than anything. For he could not think of anyone who had quarrel with him to desire the challenge, and curiosity was just foolish.

'I accept your challenge. If I am to face you in combat, do me the courtesy of revealing your identity.'

They were brave words considering the quickening of his pulse as he contemplated who this mysterious force was.

A flurry of gold, like a tumble of coins from a treasure chest, as the figure pulled the helmet off. Large chestnut eyes set off with heavily darkened outlines.

'My name is Morgause.'

Morgana, stood behind Arthur, felt her heart stop as she met the stranger's gaze that passed over her, like a cold wave on the beach, rendering her completely open.

'Everyone leave,' Uther stammered, his mouth stumbling over the order. He soon regained his voice however, as his temper began to rise. 'Everyone leave! I need to talk to my son and council in private. Someone show Morgause to some chambers.'

Morgause smirked as she inspected her chambers. They were large, considering what she'd been used to at Cenred's. She was surprised they let her stay in the citadel at all, in fairness, so close to the royals. Especially since she'd just challenged the Crown Prince to a fight to the death. Though she was still a guest, even if a surprising one.

She knew exactly why Uther wanted to call a meeting of the council. He would want to find a law against her challenge, outlaw her for her sex, the nature of her arrival, her protected identity, anything to protect his precious son. And the beautiful thing? He would find nothing. For any challenge in Camelot was acceptable, any way for Knights and Kings alike to show off their superiority. And, in this, they had knotted their own noose and wrapped it around their own, helpless necks. In this, Uther offered his son up to slaughter with a knife forged in Camelot's own superiority. And all she could do was accept it with a smile.

But Morgana. She'd known her instantly, the wide, peridot eyes, the sleek raven hair. And she'd been more than the crystal had shown Morgause when she was a child. So, so much more.

'You don't think he'll really fight Morgause, do you? I mean, no-one knows who she is, why would she challenge Arthur?' Gwen asked curiously as she folded a pile of Morgana's linen. 'And he can't fight a woman.'

'Why not?' Morgana was sat at her mirror, unpinning her hair absent mindedly as she stared deep at the reflection facing her. She was the same as always, why didn't she feel it anymore?

'Well, Arthur could hurt her; he does have a clear advantage over her.' Gwen shrugged after a second or two of deep thought. Morgana turned on her stool to face her servant, a look of wonder on her face.

'Gwen, Morgause killed five guards just to get inside Camelot's walls and none of them even scratched her. You cannot underestimate her merely because she isn't Arthur,' Morgana reminded her, perhaps too passionately, for a dark look passed over Gwen's face.

'That's nothing good, though. She's just wicked, without morals, she had no more quarrel with those guards than she has with Arthur, yet she slaughtered them. Many people can reach Arthur without mercilessly killing people; there are tournaments for proving how good a swordsman you can be. Why did she not just enter one of those?' Gwen had stopped folding by this time, and was stood by the window, watching Merlin power through the courtyard, carrying Arthur's heavy armour in his arms. At Morgana's silence, Gwen tore her worried gaze from the window. 'My Lady?'

'I'm just not sure Morgause is only trying to prove her ability with a sword. I think there's something else,' the King's ward mused. 'What if she's proving a point to Uther?'

'What point could that woman...?'

'Morgause.'

Gwen nodded, attempting to control her irritated temper, at Morgana's correction of her. 'What point could Morgause be trying to make?'

'She could be showing him that women can fight too, show him how outdated Camelot really is. Women can't enter tournaments or become Knights, when we can be just as good as men, even better sometimes,' Morgana argued, joining Gwen by the window. 'Uther wouldn't have let me learn to fight if it were not for the 'rising threat of sorcery', as he sees it. But what if this is Morgause's point? It would make sense, would it not?'

'I'm not sure, My Lady.'

'There must be more to it than just fighting Arthur, surely?'

'It will hardly matter, Morgana.' Gwen shrugged, trying to dismiss the subject, sick of discussing such a morbid subject. 'I just hope Arthur will not kill her too brutally.'

'Who is to say Arthur's life won't rest in her hands?'

Sudden silence at Morgana's question. She stood, staring out of the window, a fiery gaze in her eyes. The courtyard had emptied with the setting sun, one lone figure stood on the cobbled ground, armour clad with long, golden curls. As the blonde warrior looked up, meeting Morgana's wide eyes, Morgana felt a shiver down her spine. A feeling she couldn't place, but had waited all her life to find.

'I feel as if I know her from somewhere.'

Gwen had returned to the linen. She looked up, surprised. 'Where would you know her from?'

'I don't know.' Morgana's eyes remained fixed on the blonde's sword strokes as she practiced, slashing the air as ruthlessly as she would to any enemy. Morgana couldn't help but be entranced.

'Morgana, you've unpinned your hair, haven't you?' Gwen called the raven headed woman, in an attempt to distill the atmosphere. Morgana turned at her name. 'Come; let me tighten it again before dinner.'

Morgana smiled, sitting herself at her dressing table once more, and let Gwen work at her hair. Yet she was silent, and Gwen worried what was passing through the ward's head, most notably about Camelot's surprise guest.

A knock on the door. Morgause raised her head, suddenly alert, as a creature in the wild. Clutching her sword tightly, she crept to the wall behind the door, the cold metal in her hand proving a reassurance. She'd already had Arthur's servant visit her once, begging for her withdrawal. It had disappointed her. She'd been expecting Arthur to be a warrior, he was Camelot's most famous Knight, Uther's pride and joy, yet he was as cowardly as any man, it seemed. She'd say as cowardly as Cenred, but at least he killed any opponents while they slept, he would never offer safe passage as Arthur had done. In a way, it made him chivalrous. But it also made him weak.

'Morgause.' An unfamiliar voice. She clutched the sword closer, raising the blade as a stalking lion prepares to pounce. The door began opening slowly and the young man who entered was met with a blade tip at his throat, in the tight grip of the blonde woman before him. He stepped back, arms raised. 'I am unarmed. I apologise for the intrusion, I have been sent by His Majesty, King Uther.'

She stared at him quizzically for a few seconds, truly seeing him through large, chestnut eyes, before she lowered the blade. 'I thought the King would want to talk to me himself. Isn't that what happens with these challenges?'

'I am afraid King Uther does not believe the challenge is serious, as you are...'

'A woman?' She narrowed her eyes at this, a look of anger passing across her face, her golden curls giving her the air of a lioness. Still, she relaxed unexpectedly, turning back into her room and pouring two glasses of water from a dented, steel jug on the wooden table behind her. 'Expected. So, I guess, you are here to set the terms of my challenge, instead?'

'Indeed, my name is Sir Leon.' He followed her, taking the glass from her outstretched arm, glancing down at the golden bracelet on her wrist, incongruous to the rest of her masculine dress. 'I am one of Uther's longest standing and most trusted knights.'

Of course he was. Morgause recognised the scarlet cloak draped around his shoulders, the golden dragon shimmering threateningly. Just the sight of it brought back the smoke that had enveloped her, choked her, as she had plunged the sword into the young Knight before her as she had searched the inferno desperately. And though she knew Leon before her could not have been one of the arsonists of her home, she couldn't prevent her blood from boiling as she met his eyes.

'And Uther's challenge then?'

'He cannot be easy on you.' Leon hesitated, pushing back his hair with his free hand as he spoke; it reminded Morgause of Cenred, curiously. 'It will be a fight to the death.'

'I am not asking for any lenience from anyone. I made this challenge based on a battle to the death, and that is what I expect.' Morgause was emotionless as she spoke, her voice unwavering. Leon couldn't help but be in awe, she was either one of the most confident swordsmen he'd ever met, or the stupidest for presuming she could beat Prince Arthur in combat. The man he had trained with for over five years, who dedicated at least two hours a day to training. Morgause had to be crazy.

'Very well.' Leon nodded. 'Uther has set the duel for mid morning, and it is to be a public affair.'

Morgause remembered the dark haired girl watching her from the window, the haunted look in her misty, green eyes. 'Very well. Tell Uther I accept his terms.'

She must be insane, that was Leon's thought as he left her chambers to report back to Uther. For no woman could ever defeat Arthur, surely? Though the fiery look in her chestnut orbs caused him to shiver every time he thought of them.

Arthur could feel his heart pounding as his armour was fitted. Every piece that was strapped to his lean body seemed only to increase the pressure he could feel weighing down upon him, as if he were trapped at the bottom of the ocean, every piece of armour a new wave washing over him. He could feel Merlin jerkily adjusting his shoulder straps as he stared outside towards the arena he would later be in. In his head, he pictured every sword stroke, every step he would take, yet why did it bring him no comfort.

The feeling of a smoothly adjusted shoulder strap attracted his attention.

'Morgana, where did you come from?' He turned to meet the brunette woman's gaze, her hands still outstretched from where she had been adjusting his armour. At her quizzical expression, he quickly explained, 'You sorted the strap out too well to be Merlin, he is still hopeless.'

'I have had a lot more practice than he has.' She motioned for him to turn again, and she continued applying his armour with swift movements. She was quiet, though; she would usually be mocking him for something, in her twisted way of showing she cared.

'You're silent, Morgana, are you nervous?' He asked solemnly, as she continued to work.

'I think that question would be better for you, Arthur, are you nervous?' Under her fingers, she felt his body shift uncomfortably, and she realised he had answered her question unconsciously. 'You will be careful, won't you, Arthur?'

He turned again, smirking slightly. 'Well, Morgana, I never knew you cared so much.'

She frowned, a delicate crease in her pale forehead. 'I just don't want...'

'To see me hurt?' The Prince teased, causing Morgana to smile mockingly, her eyes narrowed. 'Don't worry, Morgana, I've been trained since birth.'

'Yes, in being a complete prat, I presume?' She said dryly. 'I just know how easily I've beaten you in the past, I don't want you to let that put you off.'

'You think she'll beat me?' Arthur exclaimed. Picking up his sword, he spun it in his right hand and took his helmet with his free hand. As he headed out of the room, he called back to the ward as she stood alone, 'Don't worry, I'll prove you wrong.'

'Be careful!' The words escaped her crimson lips before she could stop them, and she realised, as she spoke, the only person in her mind was, not Arthur, but his challenger, whose golden curls and chestnut eyes seemed livid in her mind. And Morgana frowned.

No-one had been expecting the duel that followed. With the sun beating down over the arena, and a gentle breeze if meant purposefully so the two opponents did not overheat in their heavy chain mail, the citizens of Camelot had witnessed Arthur, jewel of the Kingdom, beaten by an unknown woman. But none had been so surprised as the Lady Morgana, whose pounding heart and whitened knuckles as she clutched the wooden ledge before her caused her to sit breathless at the end of the duel. For she had wanted Arthur to win, of course she did, but her pulse quickened as she watched Morgause's sword strokes. Her breath had stopped when Arthur's sword caught the blonde guest's armour and the feeling caught in her throat as Morgause floored Arthur, someone as close to her as a brother, had confused her. She was loyal to Arthur, but something in her was drawn to this woman, in a way she had never been to anyone before as though she were a mere moth drawn to a blinding light. And it scared her.

'Her victory was perfectly acceptable, my Lord, there is nothing to say she acted unlawfully.'
Yet Gaius knew his words were in vain for Uther continued to burst into the empty Great Hall, flinging open the wooden doors as though they were struck by a tempest. The King had stormed from the arena after Morgause had claimed her victory, his voice sharp with rage. As he heard Gaius speak, he spun round, the light from the window illuminating his manic face. A leather glove covered finger was pointed menacingly.

'There is no way, Gaius, that Arthur was fairly beaten today. Not just by another competitor, an unknown competitor, but by a woman? It is impossible. He has been trained since birth. If she had not, for whatever reason she chose, spared his life, where would we be?' He spoke lowly, which was always when he was at his most threatening.

'I am not saying that Morgause did not have an advantage in battle, my Lord. She is a woman and Arthur no doubt struggled to fight her as he would a normal opponent. But she did nothing unlawful, that I can tell,' the physician explained, seeing a look of relief pass over Uther's face as he spoke, as though Arthur's defeat had caused the King a physical pain.

'Yes, that must be it. Arthur has only ever mock dueled with Morgana. It disadvantaged him, he is too chivalrous.' Uther nodded, lowering himself slowly into his throne. He was getting old, Gaius could see, and he was relying more on Arthur proving himself as a worthy heir to the throne. Failures such as today's were not helping him. Uther gestured to the guards at the door. 'Bring me Morgause!'

Her victory against Arthur had shocked even her. She had been expecting to win, but at the hand of sorcery. Yet it seemed Arthur was stupider than she'd heard, allowing her to retrieve her sword had been his downfall. She wanted to laugh at the irony, the son of Uther, the King who had claimed Camelot only by force, had become a trophy Knight, moulded by ideals he would never need and that would, eventually, kill him. And, as she was called into the Great Hall, where she'd made her first dramatic appearance, her stride had a new pace, one of lawful victory.

'Morgause.' Uther's voice was cold, cold enough for Morgause to feel the icicles dripping from his speech. 'You are victorious.'

'Thank you, my Lord.' She stood solemnly, yet she could feel the hatred bubbling in her stomach, as though an ancient potion concocted by an evil witch. Which, she supposed, was her. Though looking into Uther's pale eyes, she didn't feel the most evil person in that Hall.

'You didn't kill my son,' Uther stated. 'Which I thought was the point of a fight to the death. And so I ask, to what purpose was this challenge for?'

'I meant only to prove myself, my Lord.'

'Aren't there tournaments for that?'

'Tournaments in which women are prohibited from entering, yes.'

Uther's eyes narrowed as she spoke, her words striking into him, as though each were a needle's point. 'I presume you will be leaving Camelot today?'

She was about to speak, her lips parted, when Gaius raised a wrinkled hand slowly.

'My Lord, Morgause is injured. If you permit it, I will tend her wound and she can leave tomorrow morn, instead,' he said, directing Uther's attention to the rusty blood stain leaking through the blonde woman's chain mail.

'But, of course.' Uther shrugged, waving his hand lazily in a dismissal. Morgause gave a stiff bow, throwing the old physician a confused glance, and she stormed from the Great Hall, taking her aggression, directed at Camelot's weak King, out on the cracked stone flooring.

The ebony haired woman stood nervously outside the chamber door before her. She knew what the cool wood would feel like to her hands as she pushed the door open, she knew how heavy the door would be against her palms. Yet, she couldn't do it. Something in her, the same part of her that had encouraged this reckless journey now prevented her from taking a further step forward. But as she remembered the purpose of her visit, the golden Knight who had emerged victorious that morning, she found her own hands pushing open the door, and her own feet carrying her inside.

It was empty. Morgana couldn't decide whether to be disappointed or grateful for Morgause's absence. She had wanted to meet her, surely? And she certainly had no trouble in asserting herself over many of Camelot's other visitors. Indeed, she excelled in the tournament season. But this one was different. She couldn't imagine Morgause finding anything interesting in her, simple ward of Camelot. She had no battle stories, no accounts of bravery to tell. Her World revolved around Uther's World, as though she were merely a satellite in the night sky over Camelot. No. She couldn't do this. She had to leave before Morgause returned. She had to.

It was at this moment, the blonde warrior appeared from behind the curtains in the corner of the room, obviously oblivious to Morgana's presence. She had removed her armour, now only dressed in tight fitted black trousers and a thin white shirt. Through the almost translucent material, Morgana could clearly make out the tight bandages that had been used to bind Morgause's breasts for the duel. Though why she was looking there, she couldn't fathom. Increasingly, the silence between them was filling the room, like a swirling fog, and Morgause's stare made it increasingly apparent she was not going to break this moment.

'I didn't mean to intrude, I wanted to introduce myself. I'm the Lady Morgana.' Her voice was quiet, verging on a whisper.

'I know who you are.' Morgause stepped closer, attempting to restrain herself from getting too close to the raven haired ward of Camelot. Her half-sister. She could hardly remember the Lady Vivian; it had been so long ago, as hard as she'd tried to recount the memory. But she knew she had been dark, and beautiful, she wondered whether the girl before her knew her resemblance to her late mother. She doubted it.

'How's your arm? You were wounded.' She was softly spoken, it surprised Morgause. She had always been expecting someone like herself, yet this woman seemed so alien. Yet, so much more perfect than she'd ever wanted.

'It will heal, in time.' She stepped closer, she could no longer resist. It felt as if she were a mere piece of metal trying to resist the pull of a magnet. With every step, she felt herself studying the woman's face closer, as she would study an ancient scroll, with all the wonder of a new find. 'You look tired.'

Morgana's back was straight, almost rigid, as the blonde Knight stepped closer to her. There was something in this woman that cared little for typical court rules, although she must have surely known them. She did not seem to label Morgana as the King's ward, but merely some object, open to fascination and scrutiny alike. And all this did was cause Morgana's pulse to race quicker as her red lips parted to speak. 'I haven't been sleeping.'

'I know for myself how troubling that can be.'

And, again, the choking silence. Morgana felt herself making a passing remark, anything to keep her in the room with this woman. Something to do with the incongruous bracelet that hung off the blonde's wrist, glinting in the sunlight streaming from the windows. She did not expect the response. She certainly did not expect Morgause to hold out the bracelet to her, a gift to help her sleep.

'I must let you rest.' She was stammering, the bracelet still held out to her, hanging between the two women as some physical reminder of all that stood between them. But she could stay in the room no further, not without giving herself away. For she feared she would, she was struggling to contain herself now, like a pot that was going to overflow, if only stirred by the right person.

'I hope you will remember me fondly.' The ebony haired woman turned back around to see the crumbling of Morgause's facade. She was no longer a brave warrior, sword in her hand, but a woman still clutching the bracelet, desperation in her chestnut eyes. She wanted to help her, to turn back and take the bracelet and sweep the blonde into her arms. But no. She nodded, frightened at her own feelings, and hurried from the room, a heart beating a tornado beneath her rib cage.

Morgause couldn't fathom where her plan had failed. Yet as she stared deeper into the crystal, it clearly had. For Arthur stood not over his father's mutilated corpse, bloody sword in hand, but sat at his side, both laughing in unison. The blonde scowled, resisting the temptation to smash the crystal to the ground in frustration, and instead turned her back to the glowing white object. After all she had done, after everything she tried. She had told Arthur about his Mother's visits to the Isle of the Blessed, her desperation for a child that had grown so deep she even clung to the young Morgause. She played the sympathy act, bringing in the massacre of her whole community of Priestesses. And she had eventually shown Arthur his mother, magic so complex it had weakened her for days following. But she had assumed it would be for good purpose, and she would wake revitalised to a World no longer trapped under Uther's iron clutches. But no. Arthur was weak, just as his father was. The great destiny written in the prophecies was false. There would be no Albion under Arthur. And Morgause would be the one to make sure.

Thank you everyone for continuing to read and always commenting, I'm aware some of these chapters are ridiculously long :)

Olivia Jayne: Thank you so much, I just hope they continue to entertain you :)

Mike3207: I've tried to do it justice, though I am trying to avoid Wikipedia, the original story was good but a bit crazy (everyone was related!). I hope it didn't put you off too much :)