Arthur nods rigidly to Merlin as he mounts his horse. His friend looks distinctly uncomfortable on the horse as he always is. The drill is just beginning, with the Five Kingdoms taking the left position of the pincer.
"Don't fall off your horse," he deadpans. The sorcerer groans.
"Don't you start on that time again."
"If I don't, who will? They're all too scared of you to do it."
"Morgana," Merlin retorts. "And it's all your fault."
Arthur stiffens at the mention of her name. He turns to the troops, raising his hand to give the signal for the first wave to charge.
The war bugles blast out three notes in quick succession, echoed as the signal spreads to the legions on the far side as well. A wordless roar rises from the men as they fill the empty plains. Cenred has taken the front flank with Morgause, while Alined has taken the left, furthest away from the enemies. Bayard has taken the right flank with Olaf, and Camelot connects the two prongs of the pincer by taking the pivot point. Arthur sees the flood of men slowly merging into a distinct pincer formation on both ends, threatening the invisible enemies on its front. It would be a successful maneuver- if it hadn't been formed too small to properly surround what the Saxon army is expected to number. As the sweat rolls down his forehead, he allows them to follow through the customary drill for the first stage. He picks out Cador nearby mounted on a horse. Alined remains to the back of his legion, where he will be most protected. Morgause and Cenred are gleefully going through their troops.
The men strike out in unison with their wooden swords at imaginary enemies, their ranks organized. The commanders shout orders to direct movement at perceived points of weakness, and everything is done with a military precision. One, a march forward. Two. A sequence of blows. Three. Adjusting to fill the gaps again. One. A march forward.
He turns to watch the second prong on the right. March, strike, adjust. Comprised of Caerleon, Cornwall, Meredor, Logres, and Nemeth, they move through their drills laboriously under the midday sun. He catches glimpses of the mounted commanders there too; there, Annis with her son Bedwyr at her side, here, Godwyn and Odin. And to the side, he sees Keredic, looking distinctively uncomfortable as he regulates the drills and- why is Morgana so near the prince right now? He quickly thinks back to the positioning decided on in the council meetings; Nemeth covered the left with...with Cornwall. Except he'd only been thinking of Rodor, gods damn it. His son, he hadn't even been thinking of.
He shouldn't be feeling jealous. This is what he'd wanted, isn't it? He sent Morgana to meet the princes so that she'd be able to achieve some sort of bond with them, so they didn't feel as if they were sub-commanders dependent on their parents. Granted, it was a last-minute decision to send Morgana to the princes' already planned luncheon instead of keeping her with him. He still hasn't reconciled himself with Morgana's actions in today's raid- still can't think about how she ordered a hundred support non-combatants slain. His Morgana couldn't be that heartless.
Except he's seen her in war before.
He needed to be away from her intoxicating presence. He can't deny that it did played a role in her sudden 'demotion' of sorts- she is entitled to a seat in the Council of Kings as a representative of Cornwall, and is therefore ranked higher than the princes accompanying their parents. But he had wanted her to become friendly with the princes. She seems to have succeeded with Keredic, although Cador and Bedwyr are noticeably colder to her. And he shouldn't be feeling relieved that the remaining princes aren't chummy with her either.
He's angry at her and confused and feeling as if she's turned into someone else, but he still feels jealous about other men approaching her. It shouldn't be happening. The words she'd thrown at his back still ring in his ears.
"What makes this battle right?" she'd cried, "What is it that makes us entitled to slaughter the Saxons for our people?"
He was harsh to her. She'd been shaken, but he had been overwhelmed with the monstrosity of the deed. Still is. But Morgana is one of his closest allies, the one who'd brought him the High Kingship, and he cannot toss her away easily.
"Tell me, Arthur. What makes this right?"
Her voice wanders through his mind. He'd wanted to apologize, after the luncheon. He'd wanted to tell her he didn't mean to be so abrasive, that he was lost and needed to know why she'd done it. And he would have, armed with the wildflowers Merlin had thrust at him when he'd found out what he wanted to do.
He would have done it, if Keredic hadn't been three inches from kissing her.
He shakes himself out of the reverie and watches the rest of the troops complete the drills given. One, two, three. March, strike, adjust. March, strike, adjust. When they start moving into the second phase, Arthur brings down his hand swiftly in the "stand down" signal. The bugles sound once more, and the men march back to their previous area. The message to widen the range of the prongs is relayed to all of the commanders, and after the messengers all return, he gives the signal once more.
The men charge, tireless in the entirety of their namelessness. In their full chain mail, it cannot be easy for them to run for so long. But they form the double-pronged attack formation well. They run through the cycle of the first drills again, the movements carefully rehearsed. After they have all completed the first phase, Arthur gives the second signal- the signal for the ranks behind to spread to form a semi-circle to bolster the forces.
At first it seems like they are all following orders. March, strike, adjust. March, march, march. But then a detachment seems to become confused; the group of men mill around the middle, disrupting formation. Another group notices, then stops the drill to look confusedly at the meandering group. They soon mingle, heedless of the drill sergeants' bellows. The legions nearby are forced to stop lest they strike someone, then begin breaking formation as well to try to adapt to whatever they are attempting to do. Soon, the entire formation has dissolved into a mob. The commanders bellow ineffectually- the men try to right their mistakes and backtrack, confusing the legions even more.
Men mill around on the wide plain, and the operation disintegrates to complete chaos. Some trip in the mess that results. This is not good. With the entire force gathered here, this could be disastrous.
Arthur orders the Camelot knights to lead their legions out and to wait. He delves deeper into the throng, riding past the confused soldiers to try to reach any of the commanders. But the only one nearby is Morgana.
He groans inwardly- he really doesn't want to see her right now. But he has to start somewhere.
Arthur slowly tries to make his way to her. Morgana turns, notices him, and frowns a little. She quirks her head, shouting something to him that is lost to the noise of the soldiers. He shakes his head, giving the signal for standing down.
Morgana nods. But instead of ordering her soldiers out of the mess as well, she whispers something to Keredic and stands up in her saddle. Arthur watches, mystified, as she points to the sky.
A deafening roar suddenly slices through the din, followed by another. The thunderous sound rings through the flat plain. The soldiers fall silent, and it takes a minute before Arthur realizes what they are staring at.
The image of a red dragon unfurling its wings and raging at the world has appeared directly over his own head in the sky. It flickers in and out, smoky and ethereal, but it is very much visible. It's a mirage, he knows, but it's bold and immediately attention-grabbing. He can see the symbolism; the red Albion dragon for Arthur Pendragon. Everyone's gazes are now on him. Morgana sits back down in the saddle, watching him. He takes advantage of the silence created by the dragon.
"Return to your marching positions in legions," Arthur orders, pitching his voice to reach everyone. "We will begin this drill again."
He nods, and Morgana lowers her arm. The red dragon dissipates.
She shakes her head a little as if tired, and leads her men back to the starting positions. Keredic rides over and touches her on the shoulder, twisting a lock of her hair. They have a brief conversation that he can't hear.
He turns away. The men await the drills.
Arthur is numb to the passing of the next two hours. It takes two more tries before the second phase of the pincer attack is coordinated to satisfaction, and by then, the troops are exhausted. It is a good thing that the scouts have confirmed all of the Saxons to be ranging from a week to three weeks out, because if there is a surprise attack now, they would be woefully inadequate. Merlin grimaces at his side.
"I can't feel my bottom anymore," he complains.
"You're not the only one," Arthur tosses back, "but I don't hear anybody else complaining."
Merlin gives a dramatic groan and flops onto the neck of his horse. "Tell me this is going to be over soon."
He has a point. They should rest now, lest they be too tired to continue. It's the hottest part of day, in any case, and it would be good for everyone to have a rest. A gentle wind starts blowing from the northeast, and he relishes in the cool it brings before finally nodding.
"Might as well. We don't want to run them into the ground."
"Finally," Merlin cries, throwing up his hands. Arthur gives the signal for break to the war horns, and they blow out the trio of notes that spread the message. Relieved sounds are released throughout the troops as each commander gives the order.
"One hour," Arthur calls. "And then we continue on."
The orderly lines of warriors disperse. Some return to their tents to grab some rest, while others throng around each other, talking as they swig from leather water skins. Arthur joins his knights briefly.
Lancelot, who's been in charge of dawn training since before the war, wipes the sweat off his forehead. "If I didn't know how much more miserable I'd be if it was cold, I'd wish it was winter."
"At least it's not raining," Gwaine points out while taking off his helmet. "Your precious armor would be rusted."
Leon fiddles with his chainmail hood. "Sire, if it's alright to say…"
Arthur nods at him to go on. "What is it?"
"I'm not too keen on trusting all the troops," he mutters ashamedly. "Just five years ago, we were quarrelling with Cenred. And Camelot has never been friendly with Meredor. And now we're expected to be comrades in arms?"
"It's difficult," Lord Elyan adds, "you can see where we're divided along our nations."
The problem. He knew it would have surfaced eventually- the antagonism of a hundred years must linger a little even in the face of a common enemy. It is a relief that the first to come to him were his trusted Camelot knights.
"It is necessary," Arthur says slowly, "because it is painfully clear that if we are divided amongst ourselves, we will all fall." He looks around. "Thank you for your honesty. Is it the thought of being on the same side that bothers you, or are there specific things that make you uncomfortable?"
Gwaine shrugs. "I'd be fine with working with ev'rybody to beat those Saxons, as long as I didn't have to fight side by side with them. Backstabbing's painful."
"It's not that we're allied, it's that we have to fight together as one unit," Leon offers. "We were fine with it when we were all besieging different citadels."
Arthur nods. "This first confrontation is inevitable, but we'll be sure to form future strategies with that in mind."
The knights all look relieved, turning to lighter topics. Gwaine grins at Merlin, who's wandered closer.
"Fall off your horse any?" he asks. Merlin gives another groan.
"Not you too. Between you, Arthur here, and Morgana-" he cuts himself off. Arthur barely notices, because his attention is already caught by Morgana, sitting a little further out.
Keredic's with her.
They've known each other for all of one afternoon, and they're already buddies. It took more than three years before Morgana let down her walls around him, and they were even imprisoned in the same dungeon the second time they met. That should have been a bonding experience, shouldn't it? Granted, they were on opposing sides of warring nations for quite a large percentage of their lives, but that doesn't mean she can just open up to whatever prince that comes along as long as it's not him. He was brought up to hate magic and Cornwall, but he didn't keep her at arm's length. He nods absently to whatever Merlin says- it's snarky and probably insulting as well, but he really doesn't care- and excuses himself to walk over to Morgana. He swears he can hear some of the knights sniggering behind him.
He doesn't know why he's going to her right now. Her cold-blooded massacre chills him to the bone, and he can't help but question everything he knows about her. There's morality and darkness and the never-quite-carefree girl underneath that, and he needs her to make him understand.
Why, Morgana? Why would you do such a thing?
He's never known her to be unnecessarily cruel. She fights with grim efficiency, dealing out clean death where she can help it. Her mirthless laughter in battle has always bothered him, but that can be set aside, explained off as the bloodlust that takes many warriors simply so they can go on fighting.
That she would order innocents slaughtered is incomprehensible.
He's arrived in front of her before he has a chance to gather his thoughts or even figure out why he's gone to her. But then he sees Keredic's hand lazily playing with a strand of Morgana's hair, and all thoughts go out the window.
"Princess Morgana," he bites out sharply. Morgana's gaze snaps up to meet his. She rises from the ground, face apprehensive.
"My lord," she ventures. Keredic gets up, still grinning. Arthur glowers at him, too. The prince doesn't seem to notice.
"High King Arthur."
He can see Morgana look between them, a crease appearing between her brows.
"My lord, I don't believe you've been personally introduced to Prince Keredic-"
"We've met," Arthur interrupts abruptly. "I was engaged to his sister."
Morgana's face turns blank immediately. He feels a small vicious satisfaction. Keredic nods obliviously.
"Mithian and High King Arthur were betrothed for a little while," he explains. "My father thought it'd be a good way to cement an alliance and finally get that horrible mess over Gedref sorted out for good." He nods to Arthur. "You were a prince, then."
"What happened to the engagement?" Morgana asks. Arthur can tell she's making her voice deliberately light. He shrugs.
"We both decided it wasn't the best idea. I liked her- she's a good person- but there was Guinevere and my duties." She flinches visibly at the mention of his ex-almost-betrothed. Before he can comment, Keredic speaks.
"Not to mention there was that little issue of me having magic. The late king of Camelot wasn't too keen on having me as an in-law." It's Arthur's turn to flinch at the mention of his father.
"Don't get me wrong, Sire," the prince continues, "but you and I both knew the real reason your father wasn't upset about the broken betrothal was because of my dirty little secret. Everyone kept sweeping it under the rug the whole time I was there." He tugs a strand of Morgana's hair again. "You never had to visit during those dark, dark days," he tells her. Morgana's face is clouded- with what, Arthur can't tell. During those dark, dark days, Morgana was fighting a war against Camelot. Right now, he wants to punch Keredic both for bringing up his father and for playing with Morgana's hair. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her so casually. He turns to Morgana.
"Tie up your hair already," he snaps. Morgana's eyes go wide.
"Excuse me?" she demands. "I don't understand what my hair has to do with anything, my lord."
"It's distracting and impractical in battle," he retorts. "I'm surprised no one's ever tried using it against you."
"That's because they can't," Morgana grits out. "I ward it against that, or don't you remember?"
"Tie up your hair," he repeats. Morgana's about to lash out, but Keredic distracts her by pulling out his handkerchief. "Here, now I get to show you the scalpel spell I was talking about," he says, laying the square of fabric flat on the ground. He extends one finger and gives a decisive stroke down. The fabric is sliced neatly, yielding two rectangle of cloth. Keredic presents the thinner one to Morgana.
"A ribbon for milady," the prince says. Morgana still looks as if she wants to strangle something, but accepts it graciously and puts her hair in a quick ponytail, securing it with the ribbon.
"Happy?" she asks Arthur.
"Perfectly." He knows he's being petty, and he also knows it's an ugly look on him. But it's been one day and Morgana's letting Keredic close enough to play with her hair. He needs to get away from her now before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.
He nods curtly to the both of them and stalks away. There's a little voice that keeps calling him fifty different kinds of idiot, but he ignores it as he concentrates on walking away from the both of them.
Morgana toys with the ribbon holding the ponytail as he watches Arthur stomp away. White spots blur the edges of her vision- whether it's because of the anger rising in her or the tiredness that's been dragging her down, she doesn't know. She takes a breath to calm herself.
"I could have sworn he was a decent fellow," Keredic remarks off-hand. He looks sidelong at her. "He's not in love with you, is he?"
Exhaustion, from the way Arthur's been acting, the magic of the mirage, the raid, the confrontation, and all the worries of war crashes down on her like a wave breaking. Keredic suddenly sounds very far away.
She doesn't understand. If Arthur no longer cared for her because of what he's seen of her today, he wouldn't have bothered coming to her and bickering about her hair, of all things. But his eyes aren't warm anymore when he looks at her, and it feels like the distance between them has suddenly increased tenfold. It's cold without him.
She wishes he'd make up his mind faster. If he doesn't want her near him anymore, she'd rather he tell her faster. This half-hearted state of things stretches her to the limit, making her worry about everything she does, what Arthur would think.
Morgana doesn't regret today, just like she doesn't regret the lives she takes for her people. She figures she serves penance by the way of the tormenting specters. And it was necessary- never let it be said that Morgana of Cornwall shirks her duty. Arthur is her cause, and she will do whatever is required of her.
Arthur hasn't faced the Saxons before, not like she has. Camelot only has a small strip of coastline after all, while Cornwall is a seaside nation. This isn't the first time the Saxons have attacked.
But it hurts, having Arthur angry at her. She wants his acceptance, for him to show that he still cares.
Her eyelids droop, and she curses and shakes her head to clear it. Keredic raises an eyebrow. "You don't have to be so emphatic in your answer, Princess Morgana."
What was he saying? A beat, and she realizes that he'd asked her a question. An awkward question, at that. Her brain feels fuzzy, but she rolls her eyes in a half-hearted attempt at wit.
"Arthur is a decent fellow on only specific dates, my lord. You just have to catch him at the right times."
Keredic snorts, and she gives him a forced smile before flopping down in the grass.
They come before long in the brief silence. The boy with the dirk comes first, his eyes glassy and dead. He doesn't talk, simply walks closer and closer and closer with his arms reaching out for her throat. She hears them mutter, the ones that aren't visible yet, keening and cursing her and pleading for life in their own foreign language.
This is an improvement. At least she doesn't understand what they're saying.
Morgana shuts her eyes before the ghostly mirage can touch her. The darkness before her eyes is even worse though, because they peel themselves from the dark and march inexorably towards her. The five magicians, pleading for mercy or chanting spells. The muscular woman with the club, her innards spilling out from where Morgana's cut her open. The man who was going to die anyway from the stomach wound even before she slit his throat.
She knows every one of them are daughters and sons, breadwinners, fathers, sisters, a favorite of a doting grandmother even. She knows the lives she takes has more meaning than a simple death, of the love and heartsore that each leaves behind. They chant their life stories to her, always chanting and pleading and asking her why she's torn them away from their world- only this time, it's in a foreign language. It goes on for days and days, until their spirits fade away from her mind.
It's her magic. The magic traps the souls and keeps them to torment her before releasing them. She can't explain it any other way.
She opens her eyes, and all her victims are there, talking over themselves and crowding her until she can hardly breathe. In truth, this isn't so bad. She can almost pretend it's a natural part of the world because there are so many of them.
The past week has been torturous. She'd been sent on reconnaissance where they'd inevitably run into small lagging bands, skirmishes where only a handful were killed. When the last mission's specters faded, she'd have another scouting mission to go on, more hauntings to earn.
They're the worst in her sleep. There, they aren't restricted by the realm of the living. She's in the same shadowy world they exist in before they fade. And in her dreams-really, the simplest, healthiest thing for her to do is stay awake.
She gets more work done that way, too. It's better for everyone involved.
Her vision blurs, and she's in the haze of half-asleep, half-awake state again. It's come too fast today- usually she can make it past sundown before this happens. She huffs.
It's Arthur's fault. If he wasn't so aggravating and confusing, she wouldn't be concentrating so much on him. And she wouldn't be feeling this tired right now.
A hand gently shakes her from her stupor. She blinks a few times before sitting up.
"What is it?"
"We should mount now," Keredic tells her. "It's not yet time, but we should be ready sooner."
She nods, and calls for the horses. The page who's been keeping her mount comes to her, shaking.
"Nervous about the drills?" she asks as she takes the reins. He gulps and stammers a reply. She nods to dismiss him.
Keredic groans a little. "Wish me luck."
As Morgana raises an eyebrow, Keredic takes a little hop skip run and launches himself at his horse. The heavy armor weighs him down a little, and he slides down from the saddle. Morgana hides a smile.
It takes Keredic two more tries to get a decent seat on his horse. When he's finally up there, he looks at Morgana. "Well, milady?"
Morgana smirks as she strokes the neck of her horse. It' s her regular warhorse, but he's a little skittish today- she briefly thinks that it's the presence of so many people and sounds. A pat, and she smoothly jumps to the seat on the saddle.
As soon as she alights on the charger's back, it gives a frantic neigh and bucks violently. As she tries to grab the pommel, he kicks his hind legs. The force of the kick throws her before she can find her seat. She's dislodged from her seat. The ground comes to her in a blink of an eye.
It's a gentle fall, as falls go, but she's shaken by the fact that she's been thrown. It's the first time in seven years that something like this has happened.
Keredic jumps off his horse. "Are you alright?"
"I'm-I'm fine," Morgana answers, catching her breath. Her head is a little dizzy, but it's not much worse than from before. In the corners of her vision she can see Arthur walking towards her from the far side of the field.
The horse neighs again and prances around with nervous energy. Morgana slowly raises herself from the ground, dusting herself off.
"Something's wrong," she says to herself. The horse has never been panicky, even in full-scale battles. As it raises itself on its hind legs, she grabs the reins and tries to bring it back down, soothing it with nonsense words.
"You'll have to get on that horse again," she tells Keredic as she calms the horse, "you should have stayed on."
He shrugs, and she jumps on again, settling herself down swiftly.
The horse whinnies painfully. It bucks desperately, trying to dislodge her. It stomps, shaking its head and blowing steam from its nostrils. There's something seriously wrong with her horse. She doesn't understand- it rears, front legs flailing, and all of a sudden her seat's shifting.
Somebody's loosened the saddle. Blood drains from Morgana's cheeks.
This is a dangerous situation she's in right now. She can't do anything, but an aggravated horse with a loose saddle spells out disaster. The horse gallops in circles, trying to shake her off. The saddle shifts again.
Before she can roll safely off, it slips entirely. With another kick of the horse, the saddle slides to the side, hurling Morgana bodily from the seat. She flies off, her light frame of no use in staying on.
Morgana herself can hear the sickening crunch as her body collides with the hard, grassy ground. It's the last thing she hears before everything goes dark.
Arthur is running to her side before her body even hits the ground. He pales at the sound of her body slamming into the ground, pushing people away in his haste to get to her.
"Morgana!" he shouts, trying to get to her.
She's not moving. Morgana's limp on the ground, and he can't even tell if she's breathing. His heart freezes in terror.
He finally gets to her, kneeling beside her and cradling her in his arms. She's unconscious, but he can feel her shallow breaths on his cheek and his heart starts beating again.
He moves a stray strand of hair from her face, examining her for any sign of injury. She's light in his arms. He's scared that she's not going to wake up, because the last time he spoke with her was a petty argument about tying her hair, and he hasn't apologized or reconciled with her yet. She means too much for him to lose her like that.
Morgana stirs a little, and Arthur clutches her tighter. Prince Keredic kneels beside him, and Arthur bites back an order to stay back.
"I don't know what happened," Keredic says. "The horse was finicky today, but I swear I saw the saddle moving."
Arthur stiffens at his words. Laying her gently on the ground, he walks over to the prancing horse. Its eyes are wild, and Arthur has to take a step back to avoid its hooves as it rears. He grabs the reins and forces it down to heel.
The saddle is hanging sideways, loose and barely hanging on to the horse's back. His chest fills with ice-cold anger.
This is sabotage. Someone loosened her saddle so she'd be hurt. Morgana is an expert horsewoman; in all his years of knowing her, he's never seen her unhorsed. He unbuckles the saddle and moves a hand down the horse's form, trying to soothe it.
There are several deep lacerations on the charger's back. When Arthur passes a hand over the wounds, the horse jumps and kicks again. Merlin comes to his side.
"What's going -" the sorcerer stops. "Is that-?"
Arthur wordlessly turns over the saddle. There are several large burs stuck on the bottom of the saddle, where it would have been in contact with the horse's back. They're sharp, and they match the bloody scratches. His anger flares, turning bright-hot.
"There is no way that they got there on their own," Merlin breathes. Arthur grits his teeth.
"Somebody did this to hurt her." He hands the horse to another page, tossing down the saddle. "I'll kill them."
He walks back to Morgana's prone form, his hands shaking with barely controlled rage. Keredic looks up, brows furrowed.
"She's stirring," the prince says, "but I don't know if she's been hurt-" the words trail off as Morgana lets out a barely audible moan. Arthur immediately kneels by her side.
"Morgana?" he calls. Morgana grimaces, and her eyes open slowly.
"What's going on?" she rasps, trying to raise herself to a sitting position. Arthur immediately supports her back.
"Somebody meddled with your horse," Arthur grits, temper barely restrained, "and they're going to pay in blood."
"There were burs under your saddle," Keredic explains quietly, "and they dug into your horse."
Morgana takes a breath. Keredic and Arthur both protest as she stumbles to her feet.
"Have the drills resumed yet?" she asks. "How long was I out?"
"Less than 10 minutes," Keredic replies before he can. Morgana gives an involuntary whimper as her legs give out from under her. She stays down. Her hand unconsciously drifts to her left leg to brace it as Arthur watches.
"You need to start the drills," she tells him. He grits his teeth and nods. It's painful, but he walks away from her to order everyone to get in formation again. The orders are relayed, the bugles trumpeting the three notes over and over again.
He mounts his horse swiftly, riding to each of the commanders to give them more detailed orders. As he's talking to Olaf, Prince Cador rides up to him.
"My king, it's an honor to see you up close," the prince says, his face open with boyish enthusiasm. Arthur nods and clasps arms with him, but he's too preoccupied by thoughts of Morgana to pay much attention to the flood of admiration. He snaps to attention when Morgana's name is mentioned.
"I heard Princess Morgana took a fall," Cador says, a strange expression on his face. "Perhaps she is unfit for duty, my king?"
Arthur curbs his temper before he lashes out. "Princess Morgana is the most capable general I know. Whoever sabotaged her saddle will be made an example of martial law."
Cador's face is darker. "Yes, my lord."
He finishes talking to Cenred and Morgause, only briefly answering Morgause's questions, and rides back to where Morgana is.
She's not faring much better. Her face is paler than her usual cream and she hasn't been able to get to her feet.
Arthur takes a breath. He wants desperately to order her back to her tent. Driving down that protectiveness, he speaks.
"The men are in formation, Princess Morgana, Prince Keredic. It's time to begin."
Morgana nods, but Prince Keredic looks at him incredulously.
"Are you joking?" he asks. "You have to excuse Princess Morgana."
He shakes his head, biting back the temptation to agree and force her to rest. Morgana raises a hand to silence both of them. Her hair damp from sweat, she tries to raise herself up to no avail. The sight pains him, but he makes no sound. Morgana exhales sharply in frustration.
"She's tired," Keredic bursts out, "she's in no state to take part. You can't make her."
Arthur knows that, thank you very much. He knows how she looks when she can't go on any more. And he saw her fall, how it aggravated her old wound- the one he knows because he gave it to her. She's in pain and tired, and he knows that she hasn't rested yet after the raid.
But he also knows she'd never forgive him if he ordered her off the parade grounds right now.
She'd think it as destroying the troops' respect for her; Morgana works twice as hard as any man to show that she too is a general in her own right, worthy of being followed. There are always mutterings against women in the battlefield, and if he takes her out now, she'd lose face she can't afford to lose.
"Princess Morgana," he tells her, hating himself for it, "You are required in the drills."
Keredic makes as if to protest again, his brows knit together. But Morgana grabs the prince's forearm, still breathing heavily from shock. She shakes her head.
"I...I understand, my lord", she says to Arthur. Her voice is trembling. She looks at Keredic imploringly. "Could you...?"
There's a sudden stab of white-hot anger in his mind as he watches Keredic gently support her up. She looks small and vulnerable, a side she never shows to him if she can help it. He should be the one helping her, giving her strength. She's known Keredic for all of one day, and he's the one who went on a quest with her. His gloved hands tighten on the reins as he watches her lean her head on Keredic's shoulder.
"Princess Morgana," he warns. The men are starting to look their way. She wouldn't want to be seen like that.
Morgana gives a shaky nod and walks- almost stumbles- to her new mount. Shaking a head at Keredic's offered arm, she swings herself up, finding her seat and looking relieved when this horse doesn't try to throw her. Keredic mounts his own horse, riding closer to Morgana and putting a hand on her waist.
Arthur can see her wince when the prince touches her old wound.
The two turn and ride to Arthur. Keredic looks angry, clamping his mouth against words he wants to say to him, while Morgana's pale and a little disoriented. She inclines her head.
"I apologize for holding up the drill," she breathes, "It won't happen again."
Arthur raises a hand to her cheek, but she flinches away and he drops it. He turns, riding back to where everyone else has congregated.
They go through the rest of the drills grimly. Arthur won't let his mind wander to Morgana and Keredic. He pretends he doesn't see the prince watching her with something more than concern, and her going through the drills with silent desperation.
When he finally calls a stop more than three hours after, the sun is setting over the horizon. The men disperse quickly to dinner, the legions mingling. The generals remain for a little longer, awaiting further orders from the High King.
"The Escetian legions are always ahead by a little," he comments, "We need to move as one to ensure there are no gaps for them to exploit."
Cenred smirks. "We'll be sure to slow down for the rest of you." Arthur nods.
"Well done, everybody. We will continue tomorrow."
Bedwyr and Cador leave first, the latter with a strangely smug expression on his face. Arthur has a feeling it has something to do with Morgana, but watches them leave without saying anything. Annis and Caerleon ride off together, as do Cenred and Morgause. The rest of the kings wander off in groups.
Soon the parade grounds are deserted. Arthur immediately turns to where he knows Morgana is- she's been in a corner of his mind the whole time, and he's subconsciously been watching her. He rides over.
Morgana still hasn't dismounted; she's' swaying gently, eyes unfocused. The reins drop from her nerveless fingers, and she looks up confusedly. When he's closer to her, he sees her eyes widen and her face turn even paler- it looks like she's seeing things that aren't there and being frightened by them. A gasp, almost a sob, escapes from her lips.
Keredic, who's been right next to her all this time, touches her arm gently and whispers something in her ear. Morgana shivers a little, but she seems to have woken up from her trance. Arthur dismounts.
"Morgana," he says, "it's over." He gives Keredic a tight nod, although the prince is glowering at him.
Morgana exhales a quick burst of air, swinging her leg over the saddle slowly. Keredic jumps down from his horse and steadies her before Arthur can do anything. Morgana drops into his arms. She gives a tired, dazed smile.
"Thank you, Keredic," she whispers, so quietly Arthur can barely hear it. Keredic looks down at her in concern.
"You should have been excused," he says a little angrily, glancing at Arthur. "They shouldn't have made you do it."
She leans her head on his shoulder again, seemingly unaware of where she is and who she's being held by. "I had to."
Arthur comes closer, and Keredic glares a little more. Morgana glances at Arthur's face and turns to Keredic.
"It's alright." He slowly lowers his arms until she is standing unsupported. Morgana tries for a smile.
"I'm just a little tired-"
Her knees buckle under her and she sinks to the ground. She's trembling harder now, and her breaths come in short gasps. Arthur rushes to catch her as she falls. Morgana's kneeling, her eyes haunted and her limbs tightly curled. Her hair falls over her shoulder, still bound in the ribbon Keredic's made.
Arthur kneels in front her and cups her face with his hands. "Morgana," he whispers, "look at me."
"I...I'm looking," she shudders, "I don't...I'm not…"
Morgana's eyes flutter shut, and Arthur shakes her in a fruitless attempt to wake her. Keredic stops him.
"You're only making it worse, your majesty," he says coldly. "Haven't you done enough?"
Arthur glares back at him. He can't explain to Keredic, and the prince wouldn't understand. What did he know of Morgana, past her pretty face and charm? He doesn't know the warrior who orders armies slaughtered for the greater good, he doesn't know the princess who'd sacrifice herself in desperate times. He doesn't know the lady whose prowess in battle translates to utter clumsiness in the ballroom, the girl whose vanity leads her to spell her hair for battle.
He doesn't know the woman who'd go for days without sleep for her cause.
She hasn't been sleeping, Arthur realizes. It's not just the fatigue of the day's raid or the shock of the double fall. She hasn't been taking care of herself, and no one has bothered to check.
"Her body's shut down," Keredic bites out, "from sheer exhaustion." He sweeps a stray strand of hair from Morgana's face. Arthur has propped her up against his shoulder, trying to get her in a more comfortable position.
"She needed to be here," he says quietly, "she wouldn't leave."
"She was in no shape!" the prince explodes, "you're the high king, you should take care of your generals."
"I am telling you," Arthur grinds out, "she wouldn't have left if I ordered her. I know her."
Keredic clenches his teeth. "I don't know the history between you and Princess Morgana, High King Arthur," he says, "but I know that she isn't being taken care of."
"You've known her for one day," Arthur retorts, "and you have no claim on her."
"Neither do you," Keredic whispers, "and one day is enough to fall in love."
Arthur freezes, his arm slowly falling to rest at his sides. Morgana stirs a little, and they both look down at her. She's muttering unintelligible words, and Keredic's face softens.
"I'm taking her to her tent," the prince states, scooping her up from the ground "I can at least help her recover."
Arthur's jaw stiffens. "I can't have you compromising her virtue."
Keredic turns, Morgana in his arms. "You're welcome to chaperone."
"I know the way to her tent," Arthur says bitterly, stalking ahead, "follow me."
Keredic's red with exhaustion by the time they reach her tent. Arthur notes that he's by no means a competent knight- his arms are far too spindly and the calluses on the prince's hands are in the wrong places. It's painful to see her carried by another.
One day is enough to fall in love, Keredic had said. Did that mean Morgana also…?
Now is not the time to think about such things, he chides himself. Morgana is ill, and there is time for speculation later. Arthur watches, face hardened, as Keredic gently lays her out on her cot. A pull undoes the ribbon securing her ponytail, and her hair comes down to frame her face. Arthur swallows a little.
His heart nearly jumps up his throat when Keredic starts unclasping her gauntlets.
"What do you think you're doing?" he growls.
"Getting her out of her armor," Keredic replies without even looking. "She can't sleep in it."
Arthur kneels by the cot and watches as the breastplate and chain mail is unlaced. The metal protection is all removed and laid out on the floor, until she is lying in her breeches and tunic. She looks so much smaller, devoid of the armor hiding her true figure. Keredic hesitates, his fingers gently passing through her unbound hair.
"She shouldn't sleep in those breeches," he mutters, "but we can't wake her up."
It's true- the breeches are made of leather for protection, and they are distinctly uncomfortable for sleeping in.
"She didn't bring her maid," Arthur sighs. "And her sister is...occupied." With her husband, he thinks bitterly. Morgause hadn't even glanced at Morgana before riding off.
"We'll wake her up then," Keredic says unwillingly, "We need to make sure she doesn't have a concussion, anyways. It'll be better for her."
Arthur taps Morgana on the cheek. "Morgana," he calls softly, "wake up."
"Not going to work," Keredic shakes his head, "her body's basically shut down. We need something stronger." He frowns at the dark circles prominent under her eyes. "Does she have a condition, where she can't sleep or something?"
Arthur grimaces. "She has bad dreams, sometimes," he says, "I've been told she has the Sight."
Keredic slumps a little. "That's even worse," he grumbles, "I can't tap her mind when she's already fragile."
"You have magic," Arthur states. It's not a question. Keredic shrugs.
"Honed to healing, mostly," he explains. He touches Morgana's wrist at a pressure point. A crease appears between her brows, but she doesn't stir. He looks at Arthur.
"We'll have to use physical force- either you slap her or I shock her."
"Shock her," Arthur orders immediately. He refuses to exert force upon her again, especially not now. Keredic swallows.
"Don't say anything."
He mutters something, tapping her wrist rhythmically. A dim burst of light, and thin strands of weak lightning flies from his fingertips to her skin. Stray hairs stand up on end.
She whimpers, immediately curling up into herself. Arthur balls his hands into fists, but keeps silent. Keredic looks pained, but continues with the lightning.
Morgana's eyes fly open, and she bursts up, one hand pulling a dagger from under the pillow and the other hovering protectively over her chest as she takes great swallows of air. Her hair flies wildly as she looks around in a panic.
"Get back," she warns, her eyes unseeing.
Arthur is first to respond. "Morgana, it's me. We're in your tent."
Her mouth twists up. "You're lying. You can't be him. He's not dead- he can't be dead." She points the dagger at him. "You can't have Arthur. I killed you. Return to the underworld, where you belong."
"Princess Morgana," Keredic cautiously calls. "We're real. It's me, Keredic."
She turns to him. "Prince...Keredic?" She blinks. "Not a ghost?"
Arthur glances at her in worry. A small part of him is jealous that she comes back when Keredic speaks to her. "Morgana-" he starts. Keredic holds up a hand.
"Princess Morgana," he says gently. "You collapsed at the parade grounds. You needed to rest, so we brought you to your tent."
Morgana frowns. "...parade grounds?" she murmurs. Suddenly, she snaps awake.
"Arthur," she shudders, "Arthur is alive?"
Keredic freezes. Arthur slowly comes closer. "I'm here," he says.
She looks at him blankly for a few excruciating seconds. Slowly, recognition appears in her wide eyes. The dagger clatters to the ground.
"I...I apologize, my lord," she stammers. "I was…"
"Morgana," he says softly, "are you alright?"
He threads his fingers through hers, bringing her closer to him. Keredic's teeth grit audibly, but he says nothing.
She slowly lets go of him, one hand coming up to her forehead. "I'm sorry," she repeats.
Keredic kneels by her side. "Princess Morgana," he tells her, "You need to rest. We had to wake you so you could get out of your training clothes."
"Thank you, Prince Keredic." She looks at them. "You brought me here?"
They both nod. "We'll be outside while you change," Keredic says. "But I'd like to check you for any injuries afterwards. The fall you took-" he shakes his head. "Call us when you're ready.
They walk out of the tent together, standing outside of the flap. Keredic raises an eyebrow.
"She cares about you," he comments, a hint of jealousy in his tone. Arthur smiles wryly.
"Not as much as I do her," he says. Keredic looks at him sharply, as if he's sizing up an opponent.
"You've been through a lot with her," he guesses. He looks a little wistful. "You call her Morgana."
"She calls me Arthur," he replies. "She used to, at least."
"She's...something different," Keredic mutters, "She's like a fey come to visit."
Arthur snorts. "See if you can say that after she trips you up for the fifth time in a row while you're dancing with her."
"I heard that, you know," the lady in question calls out from within, "and it was only four times."
They both cough at that to disguise their snorts.
"You're not bad," Keredic admits grudgingly. "I was all prepared to hate you, seeing you today during the drills, but you're not bad."
Arthur blinks. "We got along well enough when you and Mithian visited; that's what you told me then, too, except it was about my betrothal to your sister." He smirks a little. "And you're forgetting I am your high king. Your father swore fealty to me."
"I'm older than you," Keredic retorts. "By a year and a half."
"You stink at swordsmanship, and you're lazy about it," Arthur replies.
"It's not my calling," Keredic defends, "I like healing."
"Doesn't mean you're not neglecting your duty."
"What can I say? Life's too short to fritter away on duties."
"Morgana would disagree," Arthur remarks.
"I admire her dedication, but I won't be emulating it anytime soon."
"You're just excusing yourself."
"There's no need to justify myself," Keredic grins. Before they can argue some more, Morgana calls to them.
"My lords?"
The two look at each other. Keredic waves a hand in a careless "after you" gesture. Arthur lifts the tent flap and enters first, Keredic directly behind. Arthur has a sudden vision of Morgana in only his shirt again, and clamps down on the desire to block Keredic from entering. Morgana's sitting on her cot, legs folded demurely to the side. It's her regular nightgown, thankfully, and she's wrapped a shawl around her to preserve her modesty. Her hair is still disheveled, but she looks almost innocent in the witch-light.
She looks up at them. "Thank you for taking care of me," she says, giving her most charming smile, "but I think I'm well now. I was just surprised by the horses."
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "I don't think so." He glances at Keredic. "You mentioned something about a concussion?"
Morgana's eyes flick to the prince, but she doesn't say anything. Keredic kneels, facing her.
"I would like to try some tests to make sure you aren't injured," he says to her. "If I may, Princess Morgana?"
Morgana nods reluctantly, flashing Arthur a glare. He shrugs at her from behind Keredic.
The prince comes a little closer to her, and gently threads his fingers in her hair. Morgana's eyes widen, and Arthur feels that stab of hot anger again. Keredic keeps his face smooth as he methodically searches for any raised bumps or dried blood. It looks like a lover's caress and Arthur suddenly wants to punch something. After an eternity, Keredic lowers his hands and he can breathe again.
Arthur continues watching sharply as Keredic tests whether her pupils dilate properly with summoned light, checks her breathing, and asks her simple questions. He wishes he could have been the one helping her, but he knows he'd have made a terrible mess of it.
Finally, the prince gently takes Morgana's wrist and feels the pulse, her thin wrists dwarfed by his larger fingers. A minute, and he smiles and tells her there's been no serious injury. His hand slides to take her own, and he brings it to his lips in a courtly kiss.
Morgana's blushing in earnest now. Arthur clears his throat rather loudly.
"She's alright?" he inquires. Keredic releases her hand. "Yes, sire."
Arthur looks at Morgana, drinking her in and checking her for any signs of injury. She shivers a little as she meets his eyes, her green eyes uncertain. He frowns a little at that; Morgana has been acting wary of him all day.
He doesn't like it. Morgana shouldn't ever have to be careful around him- she should have been able to trust him. He has to mean something to her.
Then he remembers the massacre, just this morning. That was her, too. He doesn't know what more he doesn't know about her; seeing her today, he's not sure he really wants to find out.
"Take care of yourself", he tells her gruffly, before gesturing to Keredic. They leave together, Keredic telling her to get some sleep before ducking out of the tent.
When he looks back as the flap swings shut, the last thing he sees is the crestfallen look on her face.
A/N: Thank you again for all the reviews! It's your encouragement that helps me go on with the story- I really appreciate any and all feedback!
Please feed this hungry author!