OK, so we're past Series 2, this is the beginning of the year inbetween Series 2 and Series 3. Please enjoy!

Chapter 9

Knights patrolling the corridors like ferocious felines, awaiting their prey. A sword swung down at her as she sits, huddled, on the stone floor, praying desperately for mercy. Her prayer answered as the sword stops mid-air. Merlin, her friend, someone she thought she was close to, passing her a flask of water, telling her to drink. Then the sinking realisation as the water catches in her throat, choking her, killing her, that Merlin had poisoned her. And it felt like the World around her cracked just as her dying breath was leaving her body.

She woke panting. Morgana's eyes flickered open slowly, the peridot orbs large in fear. Dark circles surrounded them, as though she had not slept for weeks, though the last night's sleep had been the deepest she had ever had. Her body was covered in sweat, and she felt the sheets sticky against her. Through half awake eyes, she could see the dawn breaking, the room filled with the palest pink light. Which was strange, because Gwen never opened the curtains this early. Morgana frowned.

'Gwen. Gwen.' She tried to call, but her voice came out more of a whisper than a shout. She put a hand to her throat, an immediate reaction to the sharp, dry pain of speaking. A sweet yet dirty aroma hung in the air that reminded her of something, some part of Camelot. But why? She needed a drink, water, wine, anything, to take away what felt like spikes in the back of her throat. With one hand, one shaking hand she noted, she lifted her body up to a sitting position. It was then she realised she was not alone.
Golden hair, glinting chain mail. Arthur? No, long, golden curls falling over the face, blocking any details, but Morgana could recognise them anywhere. Morgause. But, what was she doing here? So openly, as well? Morgana stopped as she felt herself take in the rest of the room. These were not her chambers. The walls were dark, cold despite the light from the breaking dawn. Red silk hung in places, next to blood stained weapons. A large ornate mirror sat on a dressing table accompanied by ancient, leather bound books. And this woman, this female warrior, sat on a plain, wooden chair beside the bed, as though she had been there if only to keep watch on Morgana.

She stirred, lifting her head from its slumped position. Morgana froze as Morgause sat up straight, bleary eyed, locks of stray hair still hanging over her face. Then, her chestnut orbs widened as she looked up at the girl in the bed, who was still, almost paralysed, in fear.

'Morgana, you're awake.' Morgause reached out a hand, to take Morgana's, only to see her withdraw them under her bedcovers, and she smiled instead. 'I was so worried for you.'

The ebony haired girl attempted to reply, but could only cough and make a raspy noise, as though from one who was taking their last gasp of air. At this, she shrank away, trying to submerge herself back under her covers, in a desperate attempt to wake from the nightmare she must be living.

'Morgana.' The blonde stood up, putting the back of her hand against her sister's forehead. 'You're burning up. I was worried in the night; you were so hot, just tossing and turning. I sat all night with you, just to make sure you would be alright.' She smiled once again, and Morgana felt her worries ease slightly with this. At the sight of the girl's slight relaxation, Morgause turned, taking a dented, metal goblet from a low table and passing it to her sister. 'Drink this, it'll cool you. And it should rid you of the pain in your throat. Oil your voice.'

She took the goblet, her hand still shaking. But all she could remember was the cold stream of water passing down her throat as she looked up at Merlin, then the sudden choking sensation and the stab of betrayal. Something in her face must have given her away, for Morgause sat on the bedside, reaching a hand to tuck a loose lock of raven hair behind Morgana's ear, ignoring her slight flinch.

'It's quite safe, Morgana. I promise. I saved you; it would be nonsense to poison you now.'

And, in one crazy, yet completely trusting move, she drank. And, Morgause had been right. The water was not cold, but it had probably been sat there since yesterday, if Morgause's story rang true, yet it was welcome still. And, indeed, it cleared her dry throat, replenishing it as if it were rain on famine ridden soil.

'You saved me?' She sounded like a lost child, all full of shock and wonder. She hated it.

'Of course.' Morgause frowned. 'Do you not remember?'

'Where am I?' Morgana's voice was stronger now, she sounded older, more as Uther had taught her to be around people. To demand respect. Instantly, however, she could see a pained look shoot across the blonde's face and she regretted it.

'This is where I live.' Morgana noted she did not say 'home'. She wondered if there was anywhere this woman could ever call home. 'I had to bring you here, to save your life. We swore allegiance; I could not let you die.'

Morgana frowned, creasing her porcelain forehead. 'You stormed Camelot, with the Knights of Medhir. You're a witch.'

'I'm a sorceress. The last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess. You know I am no witch, Morgana.'

A guilty look spread across her face. 'I am sorry. Uther ensured I was taught the dangers of sorcery.'

'And yet you possess magic, Morgana.'

She stopped; face paling further, until she resembled little more than a spectre. 'You cannot know that.'

'Morgana, you need fear nothing. Magic is no curse, it is a gift.' Morgause took one of her shaking hands that she had removed from under the bedcovers, reveling in the girl's slim fingers and smooth skin. She spoke quickly, a World away from the calm figure that had made her way into Camelot for that first time. She was nervous, or excitable. 'I was told you might have magic a very long time ago, by someone I was once very close to. But you confirmed it when you joined the Druids, months ago. The Druids are peaceful, they do not kidnap. Thus, you must have joined them yourself, because you were scared of your magic.'

She had been following her movements, Morgana realised, keeping track of her. With that, she fell silent, still feeling Morgause's hand on hers. It felt strange, alien, the cool against her boiling skin. It made her shiver, like the first snow over Camelot's turrets. When Morgana finally spoke, her voice was cracked once more, a young girl's voice. 'Morgause, why am I here?'

'In the attack, Morgana, you were poisoned.' She watched her sister's face crumple at her words, and she instantly cursed her blunt speech, her lack of grace.

'I thought I dreamt it.' The brunette spat out the words, a bitter realism in her voice. 'It was Merlin, wasn't it? Arthur's serving boy?'

'I am sorry, Morgana.' She did not ask about their relationship, if the two had ever been close. The pained expression on her sister's face told her all she needed to know. Taking a deep breath, the blonde continued, 'He did not regret it. He said it was all you deserved for your alliance with me.'

She hated the lies; she could feel them burning her tongue like the white tip of an iron poker. But it would be easier, surely, for Morgana to believe in Merlin's hate, than to see herself as a sacrifice for the greater good or Camelot. Besides, Morgause desperately needed her loyalty, her love, and Morgana could not be divided.

Morgana bit her lips; dry with what she supposed was the after effects of the poison. She looked up into the face of the blonde woman in front of her, black smudged around her eyes from the previous day, long hair tangled in inelegant curls, yet still gleaming gold in the dawn. But, Morgana couldn't prevent her heart racing within her chest, not with adrenaline or spine tingling excitement as before, but with plain fear.

She felt herself repeating, 'Morgause, why am I here? Really, Morgause, why did you choose to save me? Hundreds of those born with magic have been slaughtered under Uther's reign, yet you only choose to save me. Why?'

'You must be tired. I shall leave you to rest.' Morgause smiled, yet she could feel the words sticking in her throat as she spoke. Morgana nodded, but she could not miss the fear in her peridot eyes, fear of her surroundings, of the previous events, maybe of Morgause herself, and it cut to the bone.

Morgause patrolled the castle like a caged animal that day, pacing the corridors with feet as light as lion's paws, yet all the rage of one also. She'd seen the fear in the girl's eyes, fear that washed out any hint of colour until her eyes seemed as empty as teardrops, a fear she had never seen there before. Not even at Uther's side, trapped in the iron walls of Camelot. She'd seen desperation there, but never fear. Morgana saw her as lower than Uther, a more terrifying being than the heartless tyrant himself, and that was despite being her saviour. How she would react to discovering the true relationship between them, half sister to the woman she herself called 'witch'.

Morgause slammed her fist into the stone wall, regretting it instantly as ruby droplets began to slide down the wall, staining the stonework gruesomely. But she could not shake her fury. Not at Morgana, she did not ask to be a pawn in Morgause's chess game, the damsel in distress in need of saving, but at herself. How could she begin to dream of Morgana's loyalty? Morgause, the strange visitor who had bested Arthur in one duel, or Uther, the man who had taken the orphaned Morgana in as a ward over ten years ago, treated her as close as he would his daughter. She felt herself slam her fists into the wall once more, ripping the skin on both hands, causing a further torrent of blood. And she continued, every hit causing the wall to echo at her. Fool. Fool. Her fists were stinging with every blow, blood running down her wrists, sinking into the white material of her shirt. Bitter tears filled her eyes, through fury, grief, pain, until she could see nothing but blurred shapes swimming before her eyes.

'Stop! Morgause, stop.'

A soft voice, yet raised in panic and confusion. Morgause looked to the sound, to see a figure stood in the corridor. She felt herself sink to her knees as the speaker came closer, first hesitantly, than as fast as possible until she was on her knees besides her, holding her bloody hands in her own. Morgause looked up, large red eyes almost hidden behind her lion's mane of curls, and met the steady gaze of the Lady Morgana, eyes alive with Spring compassion.

'Morgana, you're supposed to be resting. You shouldn't be out.' She felt she should have been removing her hands from the girl's grip, yet could not bear to move.

'I heard a noise. Besides, I have survived most of my life with poor sleep, plagued by nightmares; I have never been one for resting.'

'I did not mean to disturb you. You should return to your bed, I am little to worry about...'

'Morgause, I am sorry.' The words escaped before the raven haired girl could stop them. But, she did not want to. 'I have treated you appallingly, Morgause. I have looked on you with fear, rather than the respect you deserve. You saved my life in Camelot, you gave up your own plans just to rescue me and, whatever the reason may have been, I should have been more grateful to you. As I am truly grateful now. I just wish I could let you know how thankful I am to you.'

'It was I who asked for your assistance, Morgana, your alliance. I could never have left you there.' The blood still dripped from her hands, falling onto the sleeves of Morgana's emerald gown, creating a growing ruby stain. The girl looked down, then took the hem of her gown and began to tear strips from it. Morgause's eyes widened. 'Morgana, stop, what are you doing?'

Morgana looked up, smiling slightly. 'The dress is ruined anyway, and it is nothing that cannot be replaced.' Using the ripped fabric, she began to bind the blonde's hands. She pulled tightly on the material, clearly practised, yet Morgause made no sound as she watched the pale hands on hers. The brunette spoke, still not looking up her makeshift bandages. 'You did only what was necessary, Morgause, had you not saved me, I would have died at Merlin's hand. And had we not forged an alliance, I would have died at the hand of the Knights of Medhir.' She spoke plainly, as though talking of trivial matters rather than her own life. But, at the last moment, she looked up, straight into Morgause's dark eyes. 'You gave up your chance for a Kingdom for me. No-one has ever done that before, for me.'

'You, Morgana, will shape the future for all that is to come. You have a great destiny.' Morgause smiled, yet she could hear Taegan's voice echoed through her words. 'For anyone to choose a Kingdom over you would be foolish. To choose anything over you would be foolish.'

Morgana had stopped, captivated by Morgause's words. The blonde lifted one of her hands, now tied with green material, and reached out to cup her sister's pale cheek when she suddenly turned her head, putting her hands quickly to her mouth.

'Morgause, I...'

She had little time to finish her utterance before she began vomiting violently on the stonework. Blood and bile, mixed in some unseemly mess, splattered against the flooring as the girl retched. Bloody dribble ran down her lips as she sat, as though she was some unearthly, cannibalistic creature, but her wide orbs could not hide her fear. Again and again, she felt her stomach flipping and she heaved. Splatters caught the walls, some dripped onto her gown. Then, her head slipped back, plunging towards the stone floor and the stomach churning mess left there, her eyelids flickering as though fighting an overpowering urge to sleep. A strong hand, however, caught her head while another slipped around her waist like a snake, and she was lifted from the cold stone, Morgana's last conscious thought being overwhelming gratitude to this blonde saviour of hers.

'I recommend you bathe, Morgana.'

The ebony haired girl stirred as she felt a dazzling ray of light hit her eyelids. Groggily, she sat up, putting a hand over her eyes as a shield. Morgause was stood by the window, throwing open thick curtains. Odd, Morgana thought, she didn't recall any curtains there before. But these were heavy, ruby coloured material, capable of blocking out any form of visible light. As she looked closer, however, she realised they were decorated with some golden pattern, dragons and warriors seemed to tell a story across the miles of material. They seemed to resemble the woman besides them, who had changed from her shirt and riding breeches to the crimson dress from their forest meeting, and whose hair seemed to burn in the sunlit morning. How hadn't she noticed the curtains before? Had she been that ill?

Something must have reflected in her face, for Morgause turned to her. 'You are right to be confused, I put them up while you were sleeping. You have slept for two days, Morgana.'

'Two days?' The girl frowned, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dazzling light.

'Yes.' Morgause sat on the edge of the bed, taking Morgana's hands in hers, still bound in the emerald bandages. 'I've prepared you a bath. I thought it would be wise considering your episode.'

'I am sorry.' Morgana looked down, her pale cheeks flushing rose slightly. 'I have not experienced anything like that since I was a child, when I lost my father. The shock meant I was ill for days, without being taken to Camelot almost overnight.' She looked up at the blonde woman. 'When my father died, I was alone.' She had no idea of why she was still talking, spilling countless emotions to the woman who had stolen her from Camelot, the place she supposed was home. But, part of her was grateful. And part of her was still drawn to this woman, despite all that had happened. Maybe because, despite all that had happened, this woman still took her for who she was, and still seemed to care. 'Uther tried to care for me, but I was a stubborn child. My father had let me run wild at Titadel, he was always away, fighting Uther's wars for him, yet I arrived in Camelot suddenly second to Arthur, expected to be a lady. I grew accustomed but I knew I was never truly welcome there. I never knew how easy it was to be alone, in a castle so full of people.'

'You are alone no longer, Morgana.' Morgause smiled, gripping Morgana's hands tighter, despite the sudden desire screaming at her to tell her the truth about them, to reveal the extent of their true relationship. 'Come, let me help you undress.'

Morgana froze, the warm smile that had been sat upon her lips seemed to turn to ice within seconds. 'Don't you have servants for that?'

'I am an enemy of Uther, Morgana, and hunted in almost every corner of the Five Kingdoms. The risk of betrayal is too high for me to keep servants.'

But, still, she sat rigid in the bed. For some reason she could not fathom, the idea of letting Morgause undress her caused her heart to skip a beat. Which must be through fear, for that was what had always caused her to respond in this way before. She was aware of the chestnut eyes boring into her, as of trying to read her very mind, and she forced a smile once more. 'Do not worry, I am very much capable of undressing myself. My servant, Gwen, always used to help me and I always saw it as unnecessary.'

'If you are sure...' Morgause stood up. 'Will you require any assistance?'

'No, thank you.'

She began to head towards the door, red silk sweeping the stone floor. As she reached the archway, taking hold of the heavy, iron handle to close the door behind her, she turned. 'I shall await you in the Great Hall, Morgana.'

Words of the Ancient Tongue swam before her eyes. Pictures drawn in ancient ink, primitive yet petrifying pictures of men in writhing agony. One clearly showed a man drowning, yet he stood firmly on dry soil. Another was dancing as if stood on red hot coals, his feet singed until the colour of the pit of Hell, yet beneath his feet lay nothing but grass. And the last showed a man gasping for air, as poison closed his throat. It was this last picture that stole Morgause's attention from the leather bound book of sorcery before her, and directed it towards the rotting oak doors that sat opposite her as she thought of the girl she had left upstairs. Maybe she needed servants. Morgana was used to a way of life and she couldn't change that so suddenly. After all, it had been over three hours since she had left her, any longer and she would need to check on her, whether she would be welcomed or not. Morgause could almost laugh, this protective instinct was so new to her. She had always been the baby of the Isle of the Blessed, even when wielding the sword to save Taegan, it had been as a child defends a mother. She saved Cenred, that was true, but that was for pure, selfish gain. She'd needed his protection and, for that, she needed him alive. But Morgana, this was new. This was as though someone had taken away her mask, cracked her warrior facade, melted any ice residing within her, and left her open and new once more. It was sorcery, there was no doubt, but nothing quite as she knew.

A low creak. Morgause, despite staring at the door, felt herself jump at the sound. A smile crept across her face, however, as a slim, pale hand slid over the wood, followed by Morgana's face, wide eyes peering cautiously through the double doors. At the sight of the blonde Priestess, sat at the head of a mahogany table, long enough to seat twenty, Morgana's face flushed a curious rose colour, and she let herself give a gentle smile.

'You've been over three hours, Morgana, why is that?' Morgause asked, an amused tone to her voice.

The brunette girl pushed the door wider and began to approach the table. 'I must be more inadequate than I thought. I've been lying besides the fire for a while, attempting to dry my hair. Gwen must have had some knack to it for all I did was fall asleep.'

'I was worried you wouldn't last the bath, Morgana, you are far stronger than I have given you credit for,' Morgause took one of her hands as the girl sat beside her. 'But, then, I should have expected that. You are destined for great things.'

Morgana gave a grim smile. 'It's quite alright, I am used to being underestimated. In Camelot, you are only someone if you are male. No-one would give me a second glance over Arthur, I remained a child while he was seen as a man. The King's ward and female? I may as well have been invisible at times.'

'Then, they are fools.'

'But, of course, I am talking to one who bested Arthur in armed combat. No-one has achieved that before, not even one of Camelot's own Knights.' Morgana frowned playfully. She was feeling more comfortable now, warm from her bathing and sat as she would in Camelot, and, in that, her confidence around her hostess was growing. 'How did you do it? Where did you learn to fight like that?'

'No doubt you learnt combat, Morgana.' The blonde shrugged, attempting to change the conversation but her sister, with a curiously wicked glint in her eye, would allow nothing to deter her.

'Of course, Uther felt it was my duty to learn, so I could fight sorcerers but I never learnt to your level. It was deemed unladylike and a waste of valuable time, for a woman could never be a truly skilled warrior. So, who trained you?'

Morgause sighed. 'I learnt at the court of King Cenred.'

'Cenred is no King.' A true frown now creased the brunette's porcelain forehead.

'He has a Kingdom, and resides over it with a crown upon his head, a sceptre in his hand and a throne beneath him. That his crown is a helmet, his sceptre a sword and his throne mere wood makes little difference.' The Priestess felt herself say, defending the man in despite of herself, as if defending him would defend her right to sword craft. 'It was King Cenred who taught me to fight, it was under his guidance I grew into what I am now.'

'Cenred will not rest until he takes Camelot for himself. He has always been an enemy.'

'So has the Old Religion.' Morgause reminded her. 'Yet, you sit at the table of the High Priestess wearing a dress given as a gift by King Cenred. And, thus, all is not as it seems.'

Morgana fell silent, looking down into her lap, cloaked midnight blue from the gown she had found left on her bed by Morgause. A gift from Cenred? She forced herself to fight the itch in her fingers to tear the gown from her very body. For Morgause was right. Uther, the man she had looked on as a father figure for years, now only caused her blood to boil, like she was a wicked sorcerer's potion. Merlin, the boy who had been her friend, who she had trusted with her deepest secret, had betrayed her with no hint of remorse. Yet Morgause, the Priestess, the witch, had saved her, cared for her, welcomed her more warmly than any citizen of Camelot had. Could she be wrong, now? Her enemies be her new friends? Morgana could feel her head beginning to spin, as though someone had turned her upside down and asked her to walk on the vaulted ceiling.

Morgause did not need to ask the girl why she was silent, head bowed, teeth chewing nervously at her bottom lip. She'd been there, alone, terrified. Maybe Morgana had one advantage, however. The blonde extended a hand and lightly caressed her pale cheek, ignoring her slight shiver at Morgause's touch.

'Uther is old, and trapped within his hate, Morgana. You cannot blame yourself.'

'I am nothing.' Morgause felt water on her hand, and realised it was Morgana's salty tears, slipping down her cheeks. 'My father brought me up to be strong, to think for myself. Yet, the longer I think, the more I realise I have let Uther shape me, change me, make me hate myself.'

'Morgana.' Morgause cupped her wet face, bringing her to meet her chestnut orbs. 'Uther is the only one who should hate himself, for what and who he is. He is blind to everything and hears only what he wishes to hear. You are nothing like that. You have defended sorcery, fought for everything, done what is right and have damned the consequences, every step of the way. Your father brought you up as you should have been.' She felt the next words slip out of her mouth before she had time to stop them, like wild animals trampling over any chance she had with this girl. 'Your mother would be proud of you.'

Morgana froze, eyes wide as though Morgause's words had landed her a physical blow. 'My mother is dead, she died in childbirth. My father never spoke of her, it broke his heart. Her death was what kept him fighting for Uther, for he could not bear to be in Titadel for too long, in fear of my mother's memory.'

'He fought for Uther long before her death, Morgana. He left Vivian alone in life just as she left him in death.'

'What do you mean?' Morgana shook free of Morgause's hands on her face, edging her chair slightly away. 'You cannot mean that. You did not know my father, he was noble, a good father and a good husband. My mother's death killed him.'

'No, I did not know your father but I did know your mother.' Morgause felt the bitter taste of the words in her mouth as she spoke, knowing every word she said would be a blow against her sister.

'That is impossible. She died when I was born...'

'I was only a child.' Morgause's hands shot out again, taking Morgana's tightly. 'Morgana, you must listen to me. I wanted to tell you this when we knew each other better, but I must say it now.' The ebony haired girl remained silent, looking down at the hands enveloping hers with eyes full of rage and curiosity. 'Morgana, it was your mother, Lady Vivian, who gave me the bracelet you now wear around your wrist.'

'That's not possible. You said it was a present from your moth...' She suddenly froze, halfway through her speech as if the reality of what she was saying had suddenly hit her. She frowned, lips still slightly parted in confusion. Then, her face hardened and when she spoke again, her voice was no longer soft, but sharp as the bloody instruments that hung around the castle walls. 'No! You lie. You lie, just as you lied to Arthur about his mother. Uther was right about you.' She was fighting to pull her hands from the blonde's iron grip. 'Let go! Let go of me!'

'Morgana, listen to me,' Morgause could feel herself pleading, as weak and desperate as a helpless child. 'I would not lie, not about this. My mother was Lady Vivian, but my father was a Druid man. She had to give me away to protect me from Uther, she feared I would possess magic. I was brought up without a mother, I myself knew nothing of this until I was one and twenty years. You must believe me, we share a mother. We are half-sisters, by blood as well as magic.'

But, fire danced in Morgana's eyes, mossy dark in fury. She snatched her hand away from the blonde, as though her strength had left her like Samson, and Morgana threw her chair back as she stood, the crash of the wood against stone echoing around the empty hall.

As she reached the double doors, she paused momentarily, turning just so Morgause could watch the shape of her lips as she spoke, her tongue a whip and each word a lash against the Priestess' heart.
'You will never be my sister, Morgause. Never.'

And she stalked from the hall, midnight material flying behind her in her haste, like a witch's cloak, as Morgause's head collapsed into her hands in despair.

Thank you everyone for continuing to read this, I hope it's OK for you all :)

LadyDunla: Thank you so much! That's why I started writing this, no-one's really written anything from Morgause's entire point of view, which is odd considering how important she is to Series 3. I hope you continue to enjoy! :)