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Chapter 6

The whole of Camelot clattered to the sound of sparring- the tournament's first day was now well and truly under way and in the main arena our Lady's match was nearing it's end;

Block, parry, block, block, parry. Things were not going to plan but Morgana could not afford to lose this match...not now! She had been wounded once already, a large gash that cut across her thigh, deep into her flesh and she felt faint as the warm blood seeped down her leg, soaking the combat breeches in which she was clad.

"Oof!"

She was slammed back into the red-painted fencing that both outlined the ring and kept the crowds at bay. Her opponent had given her a solid blow to the gut, taking the breath from her body while a wave of nausea came crashing over her but worse still, the spectators were going wild each time she took a hit- this young lad had brought his followers with him!

The Knight in question was a new one she had never seen compete before. He hailed from somewhere in the North and spoke with an accent she couldn't place. Well, spoke after a fashion- right now all she heard were the great cries he gave every time he hefted the weighty blade above his head to bring it crashing down onto her.

Drawing on every last reserve the dark-haired witch had within she called on a strength she had not used in as many months since. Lunge, thrust, thrust, slash, lunge. Yes, she was actually knocking him back! The cheering gallery erupted into mass hysteria! She was steadily beating him backwards to the far end of the arena before knocking the knight's blade out of his hand with a sharp blow to his wrist and kicking it away. She threw herself forward, using her entire body weight and the sheer denseness of Morgause's armour to knock him to the ground. Then it was over. He fell flat to the ground with a great puff of the sawdust underneath, gazing up at her with wide blue eyes that she could just make out through the slit in his visor. The tip of the young Queen's blade settled upon the man's throat before lifting it with a lightness of ease which belied her current condition. She flicked the point upwards and lowered her hand, inviting the stranger to his feet. After all, she was nothing if not a merciful queen!

She removed her helmet to congratulate her opponent on a bravely-fought bout. The young man was gracious enough but under the veneer his teeth clenched and his jaw was set firmly. The Queen was satisfied. She had little use for warriors who accepted defeat with ease. One day, she hoped, he would use his bravery for Camelot. She would be in-touch with him soon enough, thinking it wise to let his rage at losing to a slip of a girl cool before trying to negotiate terms.

Using her sword as a kind of crutch she limped back to the Armouries while behind her the knight was greeted by an old man with thinning ashen hair and dressed in a well-worn long red robe that fastened at the neck. After confirming that the worst the young man had suffered was a dented ego and a bruised hand where Morgana's clout had sent his sword flying from his grip the ageing form lumbered off after the retreating woman, his round medicine bag swinging wildly from his shoulder in his struggle to catch up.

Once inside the safe darkness of the underground Armoury the Queen was free to slump heavily onto the nearest bench with a great huff. Gaius knelt before her, staring worriedly up into the tired face that loomed above him. Morgana was beyond doubt a rare beauty but the toll of the last few months was beginning to make itself known. Narrow lines had started to form at the corners of her mouth & between her eyebrows and the normally creamy skin around her eyes had taken on a decidedly dark tinge. The worst of it was she would never think to ask for help or perhaps it was simply that given her position she did not think she could.

Too much like her father, he thought wryly to himself as he considered how long the two of them had battled against each other, chafing under their numerous similarities then coming to blows because of their differences. He was brought from his musings by a strained voice;

"What can I do for you Gaius?"

"It is what I can do for you, My Lady. You must let me tend to your wound or it may become infected."

The young Queen turned away in something akin to disgust.

"Then let it infect" the tone was not of anger but despair, something which was somehow more disturbing than the fury she had shown in times past. It was true that she should have been celebrating her victory but she felt sick, wretched even and could think of nothing but the fool she had made of herself the night before. Throwing herself at a servant girl indeed!

The old man didn't know what to think but risking regal wrath he finished the task of removing the greaves from her shins, something the Queen's squire had begun until Gaius had waived him away. As the tight leather bands were untied and the constrictive metal plates were taken away Morgana's flesh began to breathe, causing a fresh stab of pain to shoot its way up her leg making her yelp in response but otherwise she made no further protest as the veteran surgeon removing the saturated breeches.

He had looked after her since she had first arrived in Camelot as a little girl and probably knew her reactions better than she did herself. It was with practised skill that he stopped himself from wincing as the young woman's wound was revealed. The enemy blade had taken a great gouge from her thigh, she would be off her feet for weeks. She would not see the tournament out.

In the stands of the main arena, disguised under heavy cloaks Arthur and Merlin looked on. Arthur had made it through his first challenge earlier that day, winning with ease and pleased that the early start gave him the rest of the day to scout for new warriors. Morgana had almost been handed a humiliating defeat, much to the surprise of both of them- apparently the Lady of Avalon would not be using magic to win her tournament. Still, the former Prince could not deny he had taken a liking to this new knight- offers would be made! Merlin had made various protests- mainly based on the feral-like look of the man but the discussion had ended when Arthur pointed out that anyone who had no qualms about dealing the new Queen such a death match had to be worth a look. In any case, the wizard's mind had turned elsewhere since laying eyes upon the hunched form of his former mentor.

While the rest of them had fled Camelot in fear of their lives Gaius had elected to stay behind. Despite Merlin's protestations the old physician had been adamant. He claimed he was duty bound to follow the wishes of the departed King and to do what he could to ease the city's transition through this difficult time but the truth of the matter was he had felt himself too old to go trekking halfway across the country to who-knew-where!

As Merlin watched him hobbling along after Morgana though, it occurred to him that Gaius was looking older than ever and he wondered exactly how hard the new Mistress of Camelot had him working? Morgana had good reason to despise the man who had nearly killed her sister the previous year and kept her own parentage a secret from her. To her, he embodied the perfect symbol of a traitor- one of magic who still sided with the King during the Great Purge. Merlin knew that was only half the truth but how much did Morgana know? He longed to call after the old man, talk to him even if only for a moment but he couldn't and now Arthur was pulling him away to go chasing after his latest target.

Late that evening after she had been bandaged up Morgana lay wakeful in bed, consumed by an agony that ripped through her limbs and echoed in her chest. Her lithe body was covered by a light sheen of cold perspiration. Gaius had cleaned the wound of all dirt but the terror that was gripping her now and made her tremble had nothing to do with cuts in the flesh. She just couldn't take it any longer. She could not get used to the other side of the bed feeling so cold and empty- could not get used to the loneliness. She wanted to cry even though she had no tears left inside but a knock at the door cut through the anguish. The dark-haired witch refused to answer, refused to let anyone see her like this. The person on the other side obviously did not feel that admittance was necessary and the door opened.

"My Lady?"

The voice was familiar but abnormally quiet. Aelwyd stepped into the room and gaped at the sight before her. There on the bed lay her Queen, the covers tossed aside and what remained was the near-naked, perfectly formed yet sadly weakened figure. All that covered the young woman's modesty was some very flimsy underwear, albeit very luxurious underwear. She took another step into the room and eased herself down, the mattress creaking under her weight as she sat. Lifting the cloth from the woman's night stand she dipped the rag into the bowl of cool water next to it and pressed it gently to her mistresses' brow.

"I came to see how you were after your injury. Are you in pain My Lady?"

The fragile whisper that came as response was faint but definite;

"Go, Aelwyd. Leave me."

But the serving girl remained where she was, her hand still holding the cloth to the other woman's forehead. At any other time Morgana may have been grateful for the attentive company or would have at least been gracious enough to thank her for it but right now the only person she wanted was not here and never would be. When the maid still gave no sign of moving the Queen sat up, throwing away the cloth, staring at the girl with wild eyes wherein there pulsed a clouds of magic that swirled and writhed like snakes ready to be unleashed. It was the effect of a cornered animal and the rage that flooded from her cry would have blasted the young girl from the room had she not already backed off.

With the door now closed to anyone who would dare disturb the witch Morgana sighed back into the bedding, her body now truly spent of its reserves. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she allowed herself to drift off into a fitful doze but at sometime during the night she could have sworn she felt a hand lightly caress her forehead. She would feel no more until late the next morning.