Third Person's Point of View
[Two weeks since Merlin's return to Camelot]
Morgana smiles distantly to herself, running the rough bar of soap Hunith had gifted her down her arms. She hasn't had a proper bath since before she'd escaped Camelot, and the cool water feels soothing to the soul. She dips down so it rushes over her shoulders, tilting her head back to immerse all of her hair.
Dirt and flakes of dried leaves drift away, leaving her hair bare as she runs her fingers through its tangles. The trees nearby whisper to her, speaking in an ancient language long dead to anyone who could understand. But it calms her, and she feels nothing but peace in their presence.
She moves the bar up to her neck then rests it on a rock, submerging herself completely. She emerges, clean, refreshed, pure. There's a rustle from the shore, and from the tree line Merlin walks. He smiles at her, raises a hand in greeting.
Emboldened, she steps from the water so that it laps at her waist, revealing her breasts. A coy smile paints her lips. Merlin should be blushing, but rather he looks confident as he comes towards her – fully clothed – into the river.
He reaches her in only a few short steps, and for a moment they one stand across from one another. He gazes at her, then reaches out a hand. He rests it against her neck, down her collarbone, to her breast, his finger skimming her nipple.
She shivers, goose-flesh popping up along her arms. She leans forward and kisses him soundly, stepping so they are flush against one another. His hands roam her body, slipping down to her hips, fingers firm. She knows he's not supposed to be here, didn't he just leave? But she doesn't question it, only moans low in her throat as his hands move up over her belly and towards her chest.
His touch wanders until he's tangled his fingers in her hair, mouth slanting against hers, tongue probing experimentally. She can only sigh against him, allow him, not a single part of her willing to deny him. All she feels is pleasure, all she knows is pleasure and this lust that overwhelms her.
His fingers move to her neck, thumb nail skimming her pulse. She can feel the callouses on the pads of his hand, feels the heavy warmth as they circle her throat. He squeezes, and at first she doesn't realize what he's doing. Then she gasps, unable to take in air. She tries in vain to pull away, eyes wide.
He stares at her, unseeing, his eyes as black as night, his grip growing tighter. She scratches at his wrists, choking. And suddenly she's in Camelot's throne room, and she is not naked rather she is in a green dress she still sees in her nightmares, and he's crying as he holds her. But this time he's staring her in the eyes as he takes her life, unseeing.
He shakes his head as her chest grows tighter and her lungs burn, "If only you'd open your eyes." He says. She can only choke a gasp from her throat. "Open your eyes!"
Morgana bolted up in her cot, chest heaving, and a light sheen of sweat coating her skin. She breathed heavy, shivering, Merlin's unflinching black gaze stuck in her head.
She stumbled from under her blankets, hand searching for purchase against the wall. The mirror across the room called out to her. She reached for it with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched at her reflection.
Bruises in the shapes of fingers – quickly darkening – lined her throat.
In the morning Morgana stood from her bed, pulling her night dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet and she pulled on a dark blue dress, lacing the sleeves at her wrists. When Hunith woke she helped her to tie up the back as well as her brown leather waist bodice. She did not ask about the bruises.
Once in the yard, tools in hand, she knelt down in the garden, using her trowel to pull up a batch of radishes. She moved in familiar quick movements, allowing her thoughts to blur until all that she knew was the constant numbing movements of monotonous work.
But it only worked for so long. No amount of time spent with her fingers in the dirt could erase the image of Merlin's sightless gaze from her mind, the feeling of his hands wrapped around her throat. She rubbed her head, leaving behind a smudge of dirt. She wanted so desperately to pretend it hadn't happened, to pretend it hadn't meant anything.
But she knew, the next time she saw him, the next time he walked towards her, she would flinch. The thought of him made her chest ache, and her heart pound. Only days ago she thought of him with nothing but affection and fondness, and the first moment of him that leapt to the forefront of her mind were his lips on hers. Now it was his hands on her neck.
A commotion jolted her from her thoughts. From the direction of the village square the sound of a horse broke the quiet. Hooves thundered and several voices echoed around them, their words unintelligible. A scream split the air.
Hunith appeared in the doorway to the house, eyes wide and startled. "What's going on?"
"Get inside. Bolt the door."
"Morgana, no-"
Her eyes burnt gold and she flung out a hand, the door slamming shut before Hunith could utter another word. She felt the lock move into place in her head, and only then did she turn away from the house.
Confident Merlin's mother would be unable to get herself into any trouble she lifted her skirts and ran to the shed. Against the wall rested her father's sword, a gift Arthur had sent with Merlin when he'd visited. The pommel was smooth and the grip felt familiar and comfortable in her hand.
She held her skirt up with one hand and her sword in the other, then turned and ran towards the chaos.
Sir Leon rode with a small band of knights, horses eager, and faces bright. Times were peaceful, and their patrols were mostly spent directing druids to Camelot and scaring off mercenaries hoping to leap on the defenseless people.
To say the knights had been denied any serious action in the past month or so would be fair. Leon smiled to himself as one of the younger men had trouble reigning in his mount, bumping into an older, less tolerant knight.
Shaking his head Leon nudged his horse up a bluff that overlooked the forest, their last stop before turning and heading back for Camelot.
"Sir Leon!" the younger knight, Roan, called from where he stood to the left.
He rode towards him, "What is it?"
"There." He pointed. Rising tall above the trees, thick and black, was smoke.
"Leon? Should we wait for the next rotation?"
He shook his head. "No, we'll go ourselves."
He gathered the rest of the knights and they made their way cautiously, quietly, towards the smoke's origins. Not far from the bluff they had spotted it from, the fire was large and surrounded by men. Soldiers, and mercenaries, sharpening swords and raising tents. They were many, overwhelmingly many. An army. They carried an unfamiliar sigil, bared on flags staked into the ground.
Leon gaped at the sight before him, backing his mount into the trees. With his knights rallied beside him he rode for Camelot, to tell his king of the threat looming on the not so distant horizon.
"Your Majesty, there's an unidentified army approaching Camelot's borders. They carry no recognizable sigil."
Arthur looked up from his plate, distantly wondering why it was always Leon who brought him bad news. He stood, fists clenched. "Guinevere, gather the women and children. Get them to the citadel."
"Of course."
Arthur led the way to the throne room where the rest of his knights already waited. He took his seat, indicating for them to follow his lead. "What information have you gathered?"
Gwaine cleared his throat. "Most of them looked like mercenaries."
Percival nodded. "I believe Agravaine is with them." He murmured.
Arthur turned sharply, "Percival, this is a serious accusation."
"I know my lord. But he's been acting quite suspiciously, and on more than one occasion he has been reported leaving the gates without leaving word. I only just spoke with his servant, and he says his master has not been seen since the night before, and as of yet cannot be located."
Furious, Arthur thumped his fist onto the table. "I want him found and questioned. If what you say is true, he's committed treason against his king."
Percival nodded and dismissed himself from the room, taking with him a few men to search for his uncle. Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"My Lord, shall we establish a perimeter?" Sir Leon suggested.
"Yes, go. And find Guinevere, tell her I need to see her when she's done."
Leon nodded and left the room, the rest of the knights going with him. Merlin stepped forward, laying a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "He will pay for this Arthur. We'll make sure of it."
"I just don't understand. Why would he do this? He's my uncle, who or what could have possibly convinced him to turn against me?"
"Perhaps it's magic?"
"I don't know Merlin. What am I supposed to think? Has everything, every encouraging word, ever opinion been a lie? How am I supposed to handle yet another betrayal?" he dropped his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair.
Merlin looked away. What could he say? He couldn't imagine what it must be like to know your own family member had turned against you.
"Everything will be alright Arthur." He murmured. He hoped it was true.
"How can you know that?"
"I don't. I have faith."
"In what exactly?" he spat.
"In you."
Arthur looked up. "How can you possibly believe in me?"
"I have watched you go from a young, spoiled, prat of a prince, to someone who believes in the difference between right and wrong. You stand up for what is right. You saw that what your father was doing was wrong, and you've changed things for the better." He sat down beside him. "I believe in you Arthur, because you are a good man, and a great King."
Arthur smiled, somewhat taken aback. "What would I do without you Merlin?"
"Crash and burn probably." He quipped.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that wonderful rally of confidence Merlin." He stood. "I'm going to find Albius, perhaps some of his sorcerers are seasoned enough to help in whatever fight is to come." He made to walk away, but turned. "Merlin, have you given any thought to Morgana?"
Merlin frowned. "In what way?"
"Do you think we should get her? Bring her here, for her safety?"
"Ealdor is not a part of Camelot, perhaps she'll be safer there."
Arthur nodded, seeming distracted. "Of course. Right. Well, why don't you help Gaius prepare for any wounded. I'll find you later."
Merlin tipped his head, watching as Arthur made his way to the square. He could only hope this battle would be short and cause little bloodshed. He tried to mentally list anything he should gather for medicinal purposes but found himself distracted by Arthur's question regarding Morgana.
Was she safe in Ealdor? It may not be a part of Camelot, but it was certainly possible that it was in the path of destruction. He knew Morgana was strong, she had beaten Arthur more than once when it came to sword fighting and had more than proven her prowess as a sorceress, but he could not help the feeling of dread that settled over him. He only hoped she would be safe, and keep his mother from harm.
The first man she saw rode on horseback, blood spattered across his face. He swung a mace through the air, and howled in excitement when he saw her. Morgana gritted her teeth, dodging the blow as he rode past. She turned as he wheeled his horse back in her direction and threw her hand forward, her eyes glinting gold. He soared from his saddle, landing heavily in the dirt, the wind knocked from his chest.
She strode forward, and lay the tip of her sword at his throat. "Why are you here?"
He smirked, wheezing as he gathered his breath. "For you of course."
Her heart skipped a beat and she narrowed her eyes, thrusting the sword through his heart. He gasped, blood dribbling from the corner of his bearded mouth. She frowned and turned away, making for the village center.
Already the bodies of men, women, and children alike littered the ground. Dismayed she stared, recognizing the young girl with twin braids who'd crafted a flower crown for her, the older gentleman who'd slipped her an apple from his stall, the kind innocent people who done nothing to earn such a tragic and needlessly violent ending.
She held back her sorrow; she would grieve when vengeance had been wrought. At the center of the chaos she stood, watching as the people who still lived were dragged from their homes and thrown to the ground.
The mercenaries and soldiers laughed as they stepped over the bodies of those they'd killed. Morgana raised her hands, the sword falling to the ground at her feet. The men looked towards her. The blue of her eyes was overtaken by gold, and the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair swelled.
The very air moved to her whim, mist and smoke gathering and wrapping itself around the suddenly prone bodies of the soldiers and mercenaries alike. She let herself smile with grim satisfaction as their very breath was torn from their lungs, their eyes rolling back in their heads as they dropped to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.
Only one remained, his weapons dropped at his boots, his hand wrapped around his neck. He gasped, staring with bewilderment at his fallen comrades.
Morgana walked slowly to the man she had spared, a gradual smirk turning up the corners of her lips. "Do you see the fate that has befallen your fellow men?" she murmured. He nodded frantically. "Good. Now you will tell me why you have come for me, and who sent you. Lest you rather suffer the same fate."
i hope everyone enjoys angry vengeful morgana as much as i do :)
(sorry about the delay in posting this chapter here, I put it up on ao3 and was going to do it here but then life got in the way- though it's no excuse -and I completely forgot. So I apologize, and I promise to try my best to get a new chapter up ASAP.)