A Lady's Treatment

"Take the boy to the dungeons. I'll escort the Lady Morgana to her chambers."

Arthur's voice was sure, but Morgana knew him well enough to know that if the guards hadn't been all around them, he would have let them go. He was shaking with fury, but she couldn't stay quiet.

"He's just a child" she pleaded, but he said nothing, just kept on walking by her side. "I couldn't…"

"I'll hold on until the morning to talk to my father" he said, coolly. "You should get some sleep and make yourself presentable to see him in the morning."

"How can you…" she started, but the look he gave her made her silent.

"I'll do what I can to assure your lives are spared" Arthur offered, swiftly. "But you know my father. He cares little if it is a boy or a grown man."

Morgana had to fight to keep herself from crying, but she managed to nod to him, acknowledging his offer. They spoke no more as he held the door open to her and called for the guards to stand at the doorway – not for her safety, but to stop her from trying to help the boy once again.

She felt the impotence and fear inside her very bones, she was tired to the very core of her being, but she couldn't sleep. How could she rest when she had promised the boy that nothing would happen to him only to get caught? They had made such an effort – hidden him for days, treated him during his illness, only to lose it all when they were almost free of the shadow of execution.

If he died, it would be Morgana's fault. She should have let Merlin take him – it had been foolish to try and do it herself when he probably had better ways of making sure they'd reach their destination. Still, she couldn't help but fear what would happen if he was caught – how much she would be losing with his death; how much the kingdom would be losing with this death.

It was too late for what-ifs now. She unfastened Gwen's gown, taking it out and hanging it on the screen. Morgana picked one of her simpler dresses, made of plain wool and dyed in green to use in the morning. For a long while, she just stood there, looking around to the room that had been her dwelling for the last thirteen years, wondering if she'd ever see it again – for all her brave words to Merlin and Gwen, she wasn't completely sure Uther wouldn't turn against her.

Once, she might have cried, but now, she felt too broken even to burst into tears. Was that the land that was meant to mean home to her? A place in which kids were executed for the crimes of people long dead and for the anger of a man that turned his grief into hate…? How could she stand by and allow those things to happen? And how could she leave?

She was still sitting in her dresser, her mind spinning with questions, when Arthur arrived to take her to the Council Chamber. Upon seeing her, Uther dismissed everyone but the Prince, and stood by, the table, unable to even look at her face.

"All this time, you've been hiding the boy in my own palace. How could you betray me like this?"

There was true disappointment in his tone, and she could understand it – it was the same thing she felt upon hearing that he meant to execute children.

"I would not see him executed" she answered, truthfully.

"I've treated you like a daughter. Is this how you repay me?"

This, of course, was what he said every time she did something he didn't agree with.

"I did what I thought was right" – as her father had taught her; to follow her conscience rather than other's.

"You think it's right to conspire with my enemies against me?"

"Conspire?" she repeated, amazed. Uther had always had a vein for being overdramatic. "How can this child be your enemy? He's just a boy."

It seemed completely unreasonable to accuse a child, not even ten years old, to be conspiring against the throne.

"He's a Druid" was the king's only answer.

"Is that such a crime?" she spitted. The whole thing was absurd.

Her tutor walked towards her, angry.

"His kind would see me dead and this kingdom returned to anarchy and you would help them!"

This may as well be true – maybe anarchy was better than tyranny. Still, she knew it wasn't the time to make such considerations. The boy's life depended on her.

"Then punish me… but spare the boy. I beg you."

Morgana would gladly trade her own life for his – there wasn't, after all, that much worth it; while the child had his whole life ahead of him, full of possibilities.

"Make arrangements for the boy to be executed tomorrow morning" he said, turning towards Arthur.

"No! Please" she begged. "He's done nothing."

"Let this be a lesson to you" Uther said in a dismissive tone, but she wasn't ready to give up. Morgana walked closer to him, trying to make him see what a monstrous act it was.

"You don't have to do this."

"Do you hear me? I want him executed at dawn." The King was already walking away, ignoring her words.

"Yes, father" answered the prince, mutely, and the quiet acceptance in Arthur's words sparkled her anger more than Uther's terrible judgment; not only he was behaving like and insane person, but also he was turning his own child into a merciless soul. Not only the boy's life would be lost, but hundreds of others – on this reign and the next if the King had his way.

"What have these people done to you?" she questioned, raising her voice and marching towards her tutor. "Why are you so full of hate?" she went on, grabbing his arm.

The man turned around, grabbing her by her throat and squeezing it a bit as he walked her back and pressed her against the back of the nearest chair. No one had ever touched her that way before, and there was insanity in his eyes, burning, making her fear that he'd strangle her there. She couldn't see Arthur, who was either paralyzed or already so numb to the kind of behavior that was considered kingly in Camelot under Uther's reign that he didn't even care anymore.

"Enough!" said Uther. "I will not hear another word!" not, of course, that she'd be able to say anything under his grip. "Do not speak to me until you are ready to apologize for what you've done!"

With a final shake, he left her and Arthur followed. All she could do was to hold her own throat and wonder how he had become such a monster.