Morgana trudged wearily through the dimly lit forest, trying to ignore the towering trees that pressed close on either side... looming, sinister, as if they might come to life at any second and snatch at her with their gnarled limbs, then crush the life out of her fragile body.
Disregarding her fear was becoming easier as the hours passed, purple twilight having long ago faded into the inky blackness of night. She'd stopped gasping in fright at the sound of night birds, the sudden rustle of small woodland creatures that stirred in the brush as she passed. When a howl echoed in the distance, low pitched and feral, she didn't even flinch, only quickened her steps along the seemingly unending path.
It wasn't that she was any less afraid as the night deepened around her, she was just becoming too uncomfortable to pay it much heed. No, other feelings were far stronger now... the hunger that clawed at her belly, as she cursed herself for not having had the forethought to pack supplies. A chill breeze bit mercilessly into her skin, as she pulled her velvet cloak more closely around her shivering body and wondered why she hadn't thought to dress more warmly.
Worst of all was the thirst, causing her to lick her parched lips until they bled, wincing at the raw ache that had settled in her bone dry throat. If nothing else, she could at least have thought to bring along a water skin. How could she have been so foolish?!
But she knew the reason behind her carelessness, chastising herself even as her thoughts returned to the single-minded terror that had driven her to seek out the Druids. Magic... sorcery... certain death. How could anyone stop and think logically about proper supplies with threats like those looming over their head?
It still made her angry that it had even been necessary to flee her home, the one place that should have promised safety and acceptance, in search of a strange, unknown people who were the only ones who might be able to give her the answers she desperately needed. She resented the way she'd felt she had to sneak away under cover of darkness, like a criminal, despite the fact that she'd never done anything to hurt anyone in her life.
Morgana had just stepped over a fallen log that lay in her path when she heard it... the distinct sound of gently bubbling water only a short distance away. She swallowed hard, flinching at the jolt of pain as her raw throat practically screamed in protest. And then she was crashing through the underbrush, no longer caring what hidden creatures, or if even the trees themselves, came down upon her head. Water... she needed water.
It was a tiny spring, but the water was cool and clear, impossibly refreshing as she threw herself down on her stomach and drank deeply, letting out a helpless moan of pleasure as the soothing liquid seemed to immediately heal her painfully cracked lips. Down her throat it traveled as she continued to drink, then lower still, not only acting as a balm for her thirst, but somehow filling the hollow ache of her undernourished belly, as if she were back in Camelot and had just devoured a three course meal.
Completely sated, she pillowed her head on one arm, suddenly so weary she simply couldn't find the strength to rise. A few minutes... just a short rest, and she'd be on her way again...
"Morgana?" a familiar voice murmured softly. "Morgana, wake up."
She moaned in protest, pulling a finely brocaded pillow over her eyes as the bright light of a flaming torch filled the chamber. Her chamber... what on earth was Merlin doing in here in the middle of the night?
Merlin smiled a little sheepishly as she sat up and stared at him with a bewildered expression. "What...?"
"I'm sorry, but it couldn't wait," he apologized, politely averting his eyes while she reached for her dressing gown and pulled it around her skimpily clad body. "Uther commands your presence in the council chamber. Immediately."
Morgana felt a cold chill in the pit of her stomach as she stared, not at Merlin's face, but at the flickering torch in his hand. Fire... she had set her room on fire only a couple of nights before, and was still not quite certain how she'd done it. Magic, sorcery, there had to be a connection... an unmistakable link that the king was obviously aware of now, too.
She trembled violently. Her throat suddenly tightened as unbidden, her eyes filled with tears that spilled over, wetting her cheeks as she shook her head in fierce denial.
"H-how does he know?" she stammered, barely even noticing when Gwen entered the room, disguising a sleepy yawn as she hurried over to the wardrobe and withdrew a green velvet gown. "Did Gaius tell him?"
"No," Merlin said softly. "I think... I think he figured it out for himself. But Morgana, it isn't..."
"You have to get me out of here!" she interrupted with a sudden cry of panic, leaping to her feet and snatching the gown out of Gwen's waiting hands, then hurrying behind the screen to dress. Despite the fact that she had a maidservant to help with such things, she accomplished the task with surprising swiftness, emerging to glance from one face to the other with desperate, pleading eyes.
"Please," she begged softly, a distinct note of hysteria in her voice. "Merlin... Gwen... please, say you'll help me. I don't want to die."
Gwen stepped closer, placing what was obviously meant to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Morgana, it isn't like that. The king has already made it clear that he has no intention of killing you. You don't have to be afraid."
Morgana let out by humorless laugh as she hastily wiped away a fresh onslaught of tears. "Well, I don't want to spend the rest of my life in the dungeons either!"
"He's not going to punish you," Merlin said quietly. "You have to trust us. Now please, we have to hurry."
She didn't know why she followed the pair of servants through the torch lit corridors, her heart thudding frantically in her chest as she fought down the urge to run headlong in the opposite direction. Was it the gentle reassurance in Merlin's eyes as he glanced back at her? Maybe the comforting smile on Gwen's face as the other woman reached out and squeezed her hand? Morgana wasn't sure, but something compelled her to keep moving forward.
Perhaps it was simply that she'd never been a coward, for she lifted her chin and met Uther's eyes with her own unwavering gaze as she passed through the doors of the council chamber.
His expression was unreadable as he studied her face. "Come closer."
Morgana stepped forward without hesitation.
"You have magic."
She flinched, but made no move to deny it. Having heard that ironclad certainty in his voice many times in the past, she knew how useless it would be to pretend otherwise.
"The penalty for magic is death."
"Yes," she said softly.
Uther registered no emotion when he spoke again. "You have always disagreed with my policies concerning sorcery. Now, I understand why."
Morgana shook her head vehemently, anger suddenly boiling up in her chest as she responded. "I didn't even know... I didn't do it for my own sake!" she snapped, never flinching when evidence of his own temper suddenly flared in his eyes. "I protested because you were wrong! Because you were punishing innocent people through hatred and ignorance! I fought it because..."
"Gaius seems to believe you were unaware of your powers until very recently," the king interrupted smoothly. "Is this true?"
"Yes! You can kill me if you like, Uther, but I didn't choose to be this way! If I'd had a choice, I would have never... knowing what I'd face? Knowing how much you would despise me?"
He ignored her obvious need for reassurance. "Tell me," he said instead. "Tell me why you believe that those with magic should not be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law for their crimes?"
Somehow, Morgana sensed that this was a pivotal moment. She forced herself to swallow her anger, fought back the underlying fear that was causing her hands to shake, desperately searching her mind for the argument that would be the most logical, the most convincing, in getting through to a man as hard and unyielding as Uther.
"People with magic are not criminals," she said, looking deeply into his eyes as she spoke in a soft, appealing voice. "You may say we are dangerous simply because of the powers we have, whether we've used them to harm another person or not. But that is a grave injustice, when you equip your guards and all your loyal knights, with deadly weapons every day of their lives. Just as you reward the man who chooses honorable combat, and punish the one who uses his sword for senseless slaughter, it should be the same for those with magic. The punishment should fit the crime itself, not just the threat of it."
"It's not the same thing," Uther insisted stubbornly, though something wavered in his gaze as he suddenly avoided her eyes. "Sorcerers are corrupt by nature. They are poisoned with magic. It is an infection, a disease that bleeds away any goodness in a person's soul, replacing it with nothing but hatred and lust for power."
Morgana cringed. She'd heard him say these hateful things a thousand times, but somehow, the fact that he could still voice them aloud when he knew she was one of those people he condemned made it infinitely more painful. And yet, she sensed a change in him... slow, reluctant, but there was some hint of uncertainty that stole the conviction from the beliefs he'd clung to so fiercely in the past.
Swallowing hard, she took a step closer to the throne and studied his face intently. He was staring at the floor, then examining the rings on his hands, anything to avoid her penetrating gaze. And suddenly, she realized that he appeared old, tired, somehow far more vulnerable than she could ever recall seeing him in the past.
"Look at me," she said softly.
He hesitated, but he did so, meeting her eyes directly across the short distance between them. Despite his numerous flaws, Uther had never been a coward either.
"Do you really believe I could ever be evil?" she whispered, coming closer still as he watched her. She reached out and took his hand, encouraged by the fact that he didn't pull away. "You know me, as well as if I were your own daughter. Do you think I would ever wish to cause any harm? Do you think I'm so weak that I'd allow myself to be corrupted, by magic, or anything else?"
Uther said nothing.
"Do you think I deserve to die for who I am? An innocent person you... you claim to love? Is it your wish to watch as my head is severed from my body, or listen to my screams as I burn upon the pyre in agony? Or maybe it would my easier to order drowning in my case, where you wouldn't have to see or hear the evidence of my suffering? Like..."
Like the children you executed.
The unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them. Uther stared at her with hollow eyes, suspiciously moist, as he let out a ragged sigh.
And in that moment, Morgana saw the truth.
How many years had it been since he'd realized deep in his heart that his relentless war against magic was wrong? How long ago had he ceased to be a man who truly believed himself to be championing a just cause, transforming into an unyielding tyrant who cleaved to his rigid policies simply because he couldn't bear to face the implications involved in surrendering to a more merciful approach?
Uther had never been able to admit he was being a little too harsh in his attack on magic. For if he had done so, it would have been no different than confessing that he condemned hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent people to death.
And Morgana realized, with a sharp stab of the deepest love she'd ever felt for him, that she was the only person who'd ever had the power to break through his seemingly impenetrable defenses. She saw it all as he stared back at her, his eyes naked and vulnerable, filled with tears and a heartbreaking combination of tenderness and the deepest remorse.
"Forgive me," he choked out on a ragged sob as he buried his face in his hands. "Forgive me, I didn't mean it..."
Somehow, he was in her arms, the powerful body of the man she'd always viewed as indestructible heaving violently as he wept against her shoulder. "Forgive me..."
"We'll make it right," she murmured in a soothing voice, reaching up with a gentle hand to stroke his coarse gray hair. "Don't worry, it's not too late."
That wasn't exactly true, and they both knew it. There was no way to recover the countless innocent lives that had been lost throughout those dark years of tyranny and shame. Deep wounds that had been inflicted by oppression might never fully heal, and it would take quite some time to overcome the prejudices Uther had instilled in his citizens, simple people who viewed sorcery with the deepest suspicion without understanding the reasons why.
But this night was a new beginning... the first whisperings of a far more hopeful future for people born with magic. After tonight, no person would ever have to fear harsh punishment for the power he or she possessed, as long as those gifts were not used for harmful purposes.
Tonight marked a brand new world for the kingdom of Camelot, particularly for the king who allowed his grief exhausted body to find solace in the comforting embrace of his loving ward.
And it was all thanks to the Lady Morgana, who, simply by being true to herself, had provided the catalyst that would lead to the salvation of countless innocent lives.
The journey hadn't been an easy one. Morgana had fallen asleep somehow, awakening with some vague memory of stopping to quench her thirst, though there didn't seem to be a source of water anywhere near where she lay.
She'd risen to her feet and pressed onward with a surprising burst of energy, and then they had come upon her. Those creatures... those terrible, giant insects or whatever they had been, closing in around her as she had shivered in terror and prepared for certain death. She'd been wounded, an agonizing jolt of pain, and then she had felt the venom spreading through her body, dulling her senses, sapping her strength, stealing her life...
But when she came back to consciousness, it was with the overwhelming feeling that at long last, she had reached her destination. She was home.
It was in his eyes when she awoke in the unfamiliar tent, cringing with the memory of her earlier fear before she recognized her rescuer. The Druid knelt beside her there, his dark skinned face reminding her of an oak tree as she studied the gentle strength and compassion that was so apparent in his features.
It was there when little Mordred joined them, sweetly eager as he offered to take care of her the way she had once taken care of him.
Later, it radiated through the humble little camp when she finally stepped out into the sunshine, a quiet sense of peace, acceptance, and belonging she'd never felt before, one that immediately overwhelmed her with a rush of gratitude for its very existence.
Morgana knew then that it didn't matter what Uther might do if he ever became aware of her powers. It was irrelevant how many people he executed, what harsh decrees he put forth in his futile attempt to wipe magic from existence. He would never succeed, nor would Arthur if he disappointed her hopes by following in his father's footsteps.
The message was unspoken, but clear:
"We are who we are. Nothing will ever change that."
These simple people recognized her for who and what she was. They were fully aware, not of her supposed crime, but of her gift, meeting that knowledge with a loving acceptance. That simple kindness wrapped around her soul, chasing away any feelings of emptiness, fear, and loneliness… emotions she hadn't even acknowledged to herself until she saw the truth reflected in their eyes.
She tried to do the same in return, telling them what was in her heart with a trembling smile, amazed when they seemed to understand exactly what she couldn't quite figure out how to say. They were beautiful to her beyond all imagining, and the ignorance of a petty, hateful king in some distant palace faded to nothing in the face of the intrinsic connection that only seemed to grow stronger as the hours passed.
Magic wasn't simply a collection of special abilities, she realized in that moment. It was a way of life, even a privilege allowing those who possessed it to feel more deeply connected with each other, and even with the earth itself, than those without it could possibly understand.
Yes… for the first time in her life, Morgana had found a place where she truly belonged.