This can't be happening, Arthur thought as the short swords blade pressed closer and closer against his throat. Pain began to cloud his vision and blood began to run in hot red trickles down his neck. He was forced roughly to his knees by some unseen hand. His foster sister leered down at him, her knuckles white on the hilt, maliciousness swaying in her eyes. This can't be happening. Gwen screamed and pulled side the outermost layer of her skirt, revealing her own sword hanging loosely in its scabbard.
"No, no, no Gwen," Morgana chided as if speaking to an unruly child. "We can't have that. Be a good girl and sit down. Enjoy the show." Flexing her fingers she sent her maid sprawling to the ground. Momentarily the glow of magic remained in her eyes, before ebbing away like the fading light of the sunset. Arthurs eyes widened nearly to the point of splitting. Morgana chuckled at his reaction and then shot a sideways glance at Gwen to take in hers. Glee seemed to fill her, coming together in a smile so poisonously sweet and icily terrible that it could've chill the heart of the devil himself.
"Did I never tell the two of you I was a sorceress?" she looked up at the Pilgrim, who sat ramrod stiff on his tree stump, expression unreadable. "You presumably already knew. With all your talk of prophecies destiny and the magic you supposedly possess you must have known. How it is you know however I cannot say. No matter. In a few moments you will no longer be a factor 'Pilgrim.'"
"So this this is how you've chosen to reveal yourself, my dear," the Pilgrim deadpanned, seemingly unperturbed by the mocking of his name. His aged blue eyes darted around the village and watched as the charging horsemen herded Ealdor's occupants like terrified sheep into the center of town. "Must things truly come to this? Have you really resorted to the destruction of a village just to draw the attention of a single man? Rather reckless tactics for one as intelligent as yourself."
Morgana's brows arched quizzically. A vein twitched in her temple and her gleeful look became one of confused anger, though no less dignified.
"How is it that you know such things, old man? Do your prophecies speak of this as well? I find it rather bothersome that cryptic songs woven a century ago are able to divulge our intentions. My sister will find this rather troubling."
"No specifics were given with the verses," the Pilgrim told her. "However that's to be expected. Prophetic poetry is meant to be interpreted by the listener, rather than reveal its truths outright. But I did not need the assistance of prophecy to know your intentions, Morgana. Those I have known for centuries. Admittedly I have not been looking forward to this day, and yet here it is."
By now Sir Leon and the rest of the knights had engaged the horseman in a pitched and fierce battle and the sound of steel on steel joined the screams. Camelot's finest stood their ground, but it was clear at once that their efforts would be for naught. Foot soldiers were always ineffectual against cavalry unless they were specially trained spearman, and alas, for all their skill the knights possessed only swords and shields. The Pilgrim watched the fighting for a moment. Then he raised a wrinkled hand. Gold flashed in his eyes and the staff that lay on the ground at his side leapt into his grasp.
"Angeli Casi," he tapped his staff once. As if they were a single cohesive unit the horseman's mounts all reared up on their hind legs and shook their riders to the ground. Fear commanding their senses, the beasts turned and fled the village, letting out a nonstop string of terrified whinnies as they went. On the ground Cenred's soldiers struggled to their feet and looked in bewilderment after the horses.
Many had lost hold of their weapons, and the opposing knights were ready to take advantage of that. "Fundo," spoke the Pilgrim with another tap. Hissing noises filled the air as each and every weapon, whether carried by knight or soldier, began to glow a heated orange red. The glowing intensified, and within a few moments the weapons had melted into brownish dust. "Siste!" A shimmering purple light encased itself around each of the fallen men, keeping them from pummeling each other to death with their bare fists. The Pilgrim turned back to Morgana.
"There shall be no death here today Morgana," he decaled, standing up. "No blood shall be shed because of your petty need for vengeance against your father."
"'Petty'?" Morgana shot back fiercely, tightening her grip on Arthur, who looked about ready to explode from a combination of shock and steady blood loss. Her blade had remained intact, protected from the spell by her own magic. Arthur's sword lay discarded on the ground, inches from his grasp."Obviously you know far less than you claim. My vengeance against Uther, who is NOT my father, is anything but petty. You've just shown that you do indeed possess magic, and yet you do not understand this. Have you not been hunted, tormented, and hated, for your gifts? My vengeance is the least pertinent factor here my friend. Uther will die by my hand one way or the other."
"Vengeance is perhaps the most pertinent factor here, for if it were not for vengeance we would not be standing here at all."
"Indeed," Morgana agreed. "If it were not for Uther's thirst for revenge against Nimueh for the death of his queen the great purge would never have taken place." She peered down at Arthur, and told him in tone full of smugness. "Conceived of magic, and borne to a barren woman, that's what you were my dear brother. So desperate was your father for an heir that he turned to the High Priestess of the old religion for help. She explained to him the laws of life and death, that for a life to be created, a life must be given."
"He accepted the deal, and unknowingly condemned his beloved to death. So lo and behold you were born and Ygraine was dead, and thus the king brought genocide to those who practice magic. Supposed retribution for his foolish mistake. Is that petty revenge Pilgrim? Does that not justify our plans? In what way were Uther's actions justified? For years I have lived in fear of what he may do to me. Death is all that man deserves, and an eternity in hell. My revenge is justice, and my people will be free."
If it were possible Arthurs face grew even paler. Memories flooded back to him. Morgause had shown such things over a year ago, visions of his mother, claiming precisely the same thing. He had dismissed it as an illusion and a trick, created to turn him against his father. No. none of it was true. It couldn't be true.
"Artorius, I am sorry that you learned the truth in this way," the Pilgrim told the prince with genuine sympathy. "Just know that your father did not know it was your mother's life that was to be taken. And no, Morgana," he cut the sorceress off as she opened her mouth to speak. "That does not justify genocide in anyway. But how is it that your actions are justified? Do you not seek to bring death to all those who ever loved you or called you friend? Your brother here has committed no such crimes against you and his prejudice against our kind has faded to all but nothing. And what of your friend Guinevere?"
"A son is loyal to his father," Morgana interrupted. "Arthur is no exception. And Gwen? She is loyal to Arthur, and would have betrayed me in time. That is certain." Gwen, who had said nothing during the whole exchange, looked hurt, as if an invisible blade had pierced her heart. Betray her? Why in the world would she turn her back on her best friend, even for the one she loved? She had never seen any conflict such as this between the two royals, how could she betray either of them, when in her eyes there had been nothing to betray? Hunnith huddled at her side with a single comforting arm around her shoulder, looking just as baffled and terrified.
"In what terrible way has she wronged you?" the Pilgrim asked. Sadness covered his face like a mask. "Justice? No justice is not what you seek. Has Morgause passed to you her belief in magical superiority; that your power gives you a divine right to rule over the common folk? I know that you intend to take the throne for yourself when both the king and prince lie dead."
"What if I do? What does it matter? If I were Queen those with magic would live free of fear and persecution. You would be free of persecution. Are you like Merlin in that sense, that you would turn traitor to your own kind?"
"Persecution must be rooted out, I agree. But not in this way my dear lady. Can you not see the blatant self-deprecating hypocrisy of your ways? Your father believes magic to be an evil and terrible force that can only bring death and destruction. Do you seek to prove him right?"
"Uther is not my father!" she shrieked. Eyes flashing gold and deranged she flung Arthur aside like a rag doll. He landed in the nearby grass, mostly unharmed. His hands went to the cut at his throat applying desperate pressure. Morgana's short sword landed with a clatter nearby. "He deserves no love from me! Justice will be done and I shall be Camelot's queen! No matter the cost! Agnis Wifaras!"
Gusts of wind gathered around her and fire crackled in her fists. The flames that ate away at the thatched roofs of the houses grew larger. The Pilgrim closed his eyes. Tears began to drip down his cheeks.
"'No matter the cost'? Have you grown so desperate that you would end the lives of the innocent simply to prove a point? So desperate that you would use your own womb to forge a weapon? Yes, I know that you are with child. Prophecy speaks of the child, of the things that he will do. Has Morgause acquired the chain that transcends time, or does she still search? If not then she is close. Her excavation of the isle of the blessed will be successful. You ought to know…"
Around Morgana the gathering elements faltered slightly. She gaped at him open mouthed. Subconsciously a hand scrubbed at her stomach, where a being of great power was being formed. The Pilgrim ignored her expression and pushed forward with his semi-prepared speech, his voice full of conviction, albeit saddened conviction.
"You asked why it is I am a 'traitor to my kind', I am no such thing Morgana. I am more than simply a sorcerer, I am a human being, and a native of Albion." He pointed to Arthur. "All I have done has been to make him for Albion. Every spell I have cast from the simplest flame to my last enchantment has been cast so that he may be king. For by the blade of Excalibur he will found the round table and its knights, and by his rule Albion shall be made into a kingdom united till the end of time. It is for that cause that I shall fight, and it is for that cause that I shall die….forgive me, Morgana, I beg of you. You have always been my greatest failure. You were always too stubborn to let me save you."
"Save me?" Morgana shrieked. With a roar the flames in her hands became twisting serpents of lightning. "From what?"
"From yourself of course," he replied simply. "Morgause's lessons have truly gotten the better of you then. You have ceased to be Morgana. That woman is dead isn't she, Morgan La Fey, the dark witch, the dark fairy?" Twirling his staff high above his head the Pilgrim's eyes burned bright with magic. "If it is a battle you wish of me then you shall have it. Both of us shall live to fight another day, for it is neither of our fates to destroy one another. But know this my dear. Destiny is a matter of choice, not of chance. The prophecies have painted you as a dark witch and you have become such by your own freewill. I choose to spare your life today because I know that I must and that it is right to do so, and….you've made all the wrong choices. "
Thunder clapped and lightning shot across the sky like splintered daggers.
Clouds thickened and blackened dark as night. Lightning burst from Morgana's fingers directly at the elderly man's heart. The Pilgrim's hand was there in an instant, and the electric energy made contact with his open palm. A streak of blue energy forked from each of his fingertips and shot upward. His opponents attack had been redirected. Beneath them the earth began to quake and the swirling gusts around Morgana ceased to flow. Gold left her eyes and she fell to her knees.
"Leave this place," the Pilgrim whispered. "And your life will be spared for now." A whistle escaped his lips, so loud that it could be heard clearly above the tumultuous gathering of the thunder clouds. Several trees at the forests edge cracked in two and parted the way for a single white gelding horse. Morgana's eyes locked with the older man. Traces of fear could be seen through her mask of anger and determination. And with that she clambered onto the animals back and disappeared into the woods.