Hey everyone latest update, yah! I decided this chapter to visit with some characters we don't see as much as well as advance some important plot points from other character POVs. There is also a very brief classic Doctor Who reference (blink and you'll miss it), and a pun masquerading as a tense error. :D There are a couple of triggers warnings at the listed in the author notes at the bottom, so check those if you need 'em. Finally as always thanks so much for reading and please leave me a review. Now onto Chapter 33 The Queen's Time.
Previously in The Exile:
For a long moment Arthur stared down at her body. She was broken it seemed in a hundred different places. Limbs bent at strange unnatural angles, eyes sightless, it looked so painful. He sighed and crouched beside her. He wanted to speak but the heaviness of his heart would not let him part his lips. Arthur ignored the crowd gathering in the courtyard and touched gentle fingertips to her lids. He shut her eyes and covered her face with the rough white canvass...The Exile, Chapter XII, And the Truth Will Out
"He's a beautiful animal."
The girl looked up and saw one of the soldiers standing in the doorway watching her with deep set pale gray eyes and crossed arms. Her mother had told her to avoid the soldiers; they were mercenaries not to be trusted. Haf rose, still holding onto her pet, uncertain about what she would do next.
"Hefin, right?"
"Yes." It was a boy's name, but so similar to her own that her common nickname, Haf, would raise no suspicion.
"Well, Hefin, my name is Leofren, but you can call me Leo if you like. Thank you for making up the room."...
Leofren strode across the room and halted close enough for her to smell mead and a faint scent of myrtle. She started to take a step back, but the bed was just behind her. He was a tallish man, taller than she but not as tall as her father, and his dark hair was thinning. He had a narrow straight nose and thin lips.
"Cats are perfect hunters."
She nodded.
"Perfect killers."...The Exile, Chapter XXI, Spring Flowers
Leofren and Gerry, with swords and armor, were fighting. She watched Gerry try to guard, try to sidestep, try to get his shield up, watched him give ground…Saw Leofren swat him with the flat of the blade more than once and though he wore armor, from the way Gerry cried out at those swats, she was certain they would leave marks. Finally her brother stumbled backwards and lost his footing. He yielded and Haf breathed a sigh of relief. She ran to her brother's side even as Leofren helped him up.
"Are you hurt, Gerry?"
Leofren laughed…..The Exile, Chapter XXI, Spring Flowers
"Janet."
She opened her eyes; it was almost entirely dark in her little room. The light of the half moon spilled in through the bedroom window. Nacio was sitting on the edge of her bed; his pale eyes glittered in the moonlight. She sat up fully awake.
"Nacio," she said pulling the thin coverlet over her bare body. "What are you doing here?" Fear began to churn in her stomach, while she waited for his answer...Chapter XXII, Wartime Tales, The Blighted Blossom
"Efan, I have an audience with Morgana," he said entering the kitchen. Grigor faced Janet who sat at the table eating the food Efan had given her. "Your arrest stands, but the captain wants you taken to the palace to be tried by the queen's court."
"Oh," she replied gray eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," Grigor looked away as he said it, unable to meet her eyes.
"That's all right," she wiped her small dark hands on a napkin and pushed to her feet. "I arranged my hanging the moment I stabbed him."...The Exile, Chapter XXXI, I Swear
The Exile
-Part II: Guinevere Called Jenafeare-
Chapter XXXIII : The Queen's Time
-They smashed pottery, jam, pickled fish into the dirt, ground them under boots, into clothes, and bed linens. She'd never witnessed such wanton destruction. And the screaming-
She followed the sound somehow; and saw a girl -naked, perhaps fourteen years of age- running from the soldier's camp. Cheers, hooting, laughter followed and there was more screaming. One of the soldiers pissed on a man's corpse.-
-Her own face looked back at her. Behind -brush in hand- stood a darker skinned woman. For a confused moment, she thought the women was Gwen, but this woman had blonde hair and gray eyes.
"I'm sorry, your majesty. I'm no good at this."
"Of course not," she turned to the other woman and took her hand. "You are to serve me, but as my apprentice, not my maid," Morgana shook her head with a smile. "No, you're no Guinevere."
"Certainly not majesty," the woman declared, tone affronted.-
-The helmed man was surely Arthur, and his army -though motley- covered the hillside. But she did not worry. Camelot was secure, her magic strong.
And then he pulled the sword, thrusting it aloft.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, to be caught on the metal of the blade. The light bounced back at them, blinding, and bright. They ducked, shielded their eyes, or lost their sight altogether.-
-the wound in her back burned with fiery pain, while her fleshed burned from fevered infection. The only thing keeping her alive was the healing bracelet and-
-Gwen knelt before Arthur arrayed in gleaming purple, and creamy delicate lace, only to be raised to his side as queen-
-the man's face was smeared with dirt, his bushy thick beard and hair littered with bits of broken leaves and twigs, and so was the rest of him and beneath it the darkening stain of thick sticky blood. But she did not shrink back when his bloodied hands reached out to her, nor was she surprised at their gentleness.
"When Morgana, when was the last time you were the most important? Probably not since the death of the father you rejected. Tintagel is not in Arthur's domain. Morgana give up your ambitions and let me take care of you."
She was so tired, so alone, so lost-
Clean linens, soft bed, a mound of pillows...Morgana smiled and ran her fingers over the soft, familiar lambswool blanket. She had her own bed and chambers back, but the luxury, the comfort had not yet grown stale. She revelled in the feel of softness against her skin, instead of the cold stone from her dream.
She had dreamed true. The sorceress frowned and concentrated; it was important to remember when you dreamed true. She'd been lying on the floor-
-At that moment her chamber door rattled under a pounding fist.
"Urgent news, your majesty!" Helios' shout came to her through the heavy wooden door even as the sound of her maid decrying the interruption reached her ears. Morgana sighed.
"Enter, Helios," she said sitting up in bed.
The door opened and Helios entered pushing a young boy in ahead of him, her chambermaid Mirilla bustling through behind them. Mirilla went right to the heavy drapes pulling them open. Light flooded the room, the stained glass casting strange shadows on the floor.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, to be caught on the metal of the blade. The light bounced back at them, blinding and bright. They ducked, shielded their eyes, or lost their sight altogether.-
"Tell her majesty what you told me," Helios ordered. Morgana turned her attention to the boy Helios had presented.
The Moorish nobleman shot her a quick glance, his dark eyes serious, his usual smug good humor absent.
She sat up straight and turned her attention to the child even as Helios did so. This news must have been urgent indeed. Here she was in bed, hair tousled from sleep, and his attention was all for the child. The man almost never missed an opportunity for a flirt.
"Your majesty, I'm a page; I haven't been a page since you've been here, but-"
Helios shook the boy.
"Tell her about the magistrate."
"Right, sir, sorry, sir." The boy nodded and swallowed."Well, ma'am, you wanted to know where King Arthur is," the child bit his lip. "The magistrate knows. The magistrate met with King Arthur for a full two hours before he left, ma'am."
Morgana felt the corners of her mouth starting to turn upward. This was the first true lead she'd had on King Arthur's location in the weeks she'd been here.
"You're certain?"
"Oh yes, your majesty," his eyes brightened. "I fetched the magistrate myself, your majesty." There was pride in the child's voice.
"This is indeed good news, Helios, well done."
Helios nodded and grinned, flashing white teeth in a dark face. Her maid Mirilla returned, dressing gown draped over one arm.
"I remember Magistrate Grigor," the sorceress said thoughtfully as she got out of bed. Mirilla helped her into a deep blue dressing gown as she rose.
"He was one of the few men at court not intimidated by my father." She explained to Helios. "He is also married to Arthur's nurse; he will most likely be loyal to the king." Morgana considered a moment. "I think it likely, that Arthur did indeed confide his mysterious quest in him."
"If he is loyal," Helios paused, "we must make him talk."
"Indeed, " she grinned then turned brusque. "I must bathe and break my fast. Grigor is a valuable tool. I will think carefully on how I wish to handle him."
Morgana turned her attention back to the child.
"You must be our guest for the day child. Tell me who are your parents?"
"Lord Aelwyd and Lady Bettrys . My father insisted that I tell you, your majesty. He said it would be very valuable to you."
"Your father is very clever." Morgana turned her attention back to Helios. "We will meet and discuss this sometime after the council this morning, Helios. In the meanwhile find this child something to do."
"As your majesty wishes." Helios bowed and left, taking the boy with him.
"You are a natural seer, Morgana. You must wake slowly each morning, and concentrate on the details of your dreams, taking the time to commit each to memory…"
-Sunlight broke through the clouds, to be caught on the metal of the blade. The light bounced back at them, blinding, and bright. They ducked, shielded their eyes, or lost their sight altogether.-
The sorceress felt her hands clenching into fists. Her dreams had not yet told her where Arthur was to be found. Only of things that she already knew. As long as he lived, Arthur was a threat to all her plans.
Arthur was the legitimate son to Uther, and Uther was dead and buried when he was crowned. There was no law to dispute his being king. When he sought aid, the rulers of other nations must aid him or weaken their hold on their own thrones. She had to find him before he could reach out to allies, assuming that he had not already done so.
-the man's face was smeared with dirt, his bushy thick beard and hair littered with bits of broken leaves and twigs, and so was the rest of him and the furs he wore were stained with dark rust patches that she somehow knew to be dried blood. Yet she did not shrink back when his bloodied hands reached out to her, nor was she surprised at their gentleness.-
What had some filthy blood-stained hunter to do with her or any of her concerns?
"If the meaning of what you dream is not clear, you must take time to sit and discern." Again Morgause's instructions echoed through her mind.
Morgana looked out into the courtyard -the summer sun was bright white on the castle stones- recalling yet again the blinding bright light bouncing off the sword her brother held aloft.. Seeing took time. She shook her head, and the blood-stained hunter might be of a future that never came to pass. Grigor was a more certain lead than any flash of insight come through a dream.
"Your majesty, I have your breakfast," her maid spoke, and she turned away from the window. Footsteps in the outer chamber alerted her to another visitor.
"Your majesty," her secretary, Bevan, bowed as he entered the room. "I have your schedule for the day."
"Good," Morgana sat down at her worktable, recalling for a moment the breakfast she used to share with Uther. "You shall read it to me over breakfast."
No, she did not have time for dreams.
Once her fast was broken, Morgana bathed and dressed. Then it was off to the first council of the day.
Whoever had designed the council room had made it rather brilliant. All of its features were simple stone, sanded and polished to a soft sheen. It housed only a long rectangular wooden table, but at the far end behind the space reserved for the king or in her case, a queen, was a row of windows, all fitted with stained glass, allowing the sun to shine into the room for much of the day and giving to whomever sat at the head of the table a certain magnificence. Morgana sat there now.
The first report was on the whereabouts of King Arthur, after that the position of her troops and supplies, and then the situation in the north. The North was perhaps her greatest worry. Where her men had gone expecting surprised capitulation, they'd found ready resistance.
Ready resistance was not quelled with ease. They had been warned somehow, even as she had been maneuvering her army into place.
"The revolt in the North has grown worse," Commander Armid explained."Armed men and women roam openly bearing the crest of the golden dragon. There are knights amongst them some bearing only the king's banner, others carrying both the king's sigil, along with the insignia of their own lord. More troops-"
For just a moment Morgana did not see the long rectangular table at which she sat as head, nor did she see the heavy square stones that made up the walls of Camelot's council room or the columns soaring into the arched ceiling. She did not even see the face of Armid, she saw instead violence, chaos.
-They smashed pottery, jam, pickled fish in the dirt, ground them under boots, into clothes, and bed linens. She'd never witnessed such wanton destruction. And the screaming-
She followed the sound somehow; and saw a girl -naked, perhaps fourteen years of age- running from soldier's camp. Cheers, hooting, laughter followed and there was more screaming. One of the soldiers pissed on a man's corpse.-
The sorceress frowned. Her soldiers had abused some villages in spite of her instructions.
"And yet your men looted and razed a northern village populated by simple peasant farmers, making an unfriendly territory more unfriendly still."
He froze mid-sentence staring while the other councilors shot nervous glances at one and other.
"Y-your majesty, I assure you the men involved have been punished."
"Have they?" She leaned forward a bit, eyes narrowed.
"Yes, your majesty, they were punished the moment I learnt of it."
"Yet I was not made aware of this."
"N-no, your majesty." He bowed his head. "The men were punished and there was nothing more to be done for it."
"You decided I did not need to know and yet I do," Morgana emphasised the last three words.
They all watched her, fear evident in their eyes as they absorbed the meaning of her words.
"It was an error, your majesty."
"Indeed, you have done good work up until now, and it is only for that reason that you are safe. I do not want to learn of such mistakes in the future," Morgana leaned back in her chair.
The room seemed to sigh, and she felt some satisfaction at that. It was best that they not be able to predict when, where, or upon whom her anger might fall.
"Now more troops is not an option; finding the king is at the top of our list of priorities." She may have had a lead in Grigor, but Grigor's audience with Arthur had been nearly a month ago. Who knew how helpful his information might truly be. If they did not find Arthur, the situation in the North would not matter.
"Fear not though," she smiled now. "There will be some magical aid for your men. Now,Galan,
you have something to report."
The man took a deep breath.
"We may have situation at Gogwyn."
"A situation?" Agravaine asked. "Gogwyn and Ogmore were the rally points for the knights and soldiers of Camelot. They were the first points secured."
"Ogmore, yes." The man took a deep breath, and she could see him steeling himself. "We never heard from the men initially sent to hold Gogwyn nor from subsequent patrols sent to investigate."
"Never, heard-"Morgana felt her anger stirring and gripped the wooden edge of the table."How many patrols?" She asked forcing herself to remain calm.
"Two your majesty," he said growing nervous.
"So two patrols, in addition to the original cadre?"
"Yes, your majesty."
She looked at him now, face pale with cool anger.
"Gogwyn is in the North, is it not?"
"Yes, your majesty."
"And you only bring this to my attention now?"
"We-well, your majesty, we did not think-"
"-No, you did not think," Morgana's tone was cool.
"I assure you, your majesty, we'll-"
"-You'll do nothing. There is a rebellion brewing on our doorstep. I will handle the situation in Gogwyn, and you will be flogged. I shall oversee it myself." She grinned and surveyed the room a moment before sniffing."It would seem, gentlemen, that all of our business is concluded?"
"Yes, majesty."
Morgana rose and the council members did so as well, bowing to her as the council concluded. The sorceress smiled truly now, pleased by their submission.
"Agravaine, Helios, you're with me."
Morgana stepped away from the council table, leaving the other two men to follow her as she swept from the room. They'd only gotten about ten feet when Captain Penrith, face red and furious, entered the hall.
The man bowed upon sighting them, but his eyes caught Helios' and she found her curiosity piqued.
"Captain, what brings you up from the lower town?" Morgana asked.
"It is nothing worthy of your attention, your majesty."
"You were going to report to commander Helios."
"Yes, your majesty."
"Well you've found me. Walk with us and tell me of the outrage, that furrows your brow."
He took a deep breath, "As you wish, your majesty."
Morgana continued toward her suite, and the captain walked alongside her.
"One of your soldiers has been killed, your majesty."
"Well, soldiering is a dangerous job, they do, die."
"Of course, your majesty, but this one was murdered as he slept, by a peasant woman."
"She'll be executed of course," was Morgana's reply.
"Of course, your majesty, but the Magistrate Grigor, has taken her under his protection."
She laughed now.
"What can that petty little yeoman do?"
"Well, your majesty, he is insisting on a trial for her. She says she was defending herself against his a-" the man paused searching for a word "against his unwanted advances and by rule of law, she has the right to defend herself. "
"Captain," she sighed. "Did I not tell your men to satisfy themselves at the whorehouses?"
"Well- yes."
"And now we've got trouble over a peasant girl with enough balls to stick one of your men while he was doin' her?"
Agravaine gasped and blushed at her vulgar word choice, but Helios chuckled. The captain merely swallowed and looked uncomfortable.
"If he weren't dead, I think I should have him flayed alive. I should have you flogged," she paused a moment and met his worried eyes. "I still might," Morgana bit her lower lip suppressing a grin a she contemplated the prospect.
"M-majesty-"
"Shut-up. Grigor will have his trial. It shall be by ordeal in the queen's court. Fetch the woman Janet here immediately. Also," she shared a pleased smiled with Helios, "it is time we had a word with Mr. Magister, fetch him as well, captain."
"Yes, your majesty," the captain bowed and left.
They were outside her chamber now.
"Lord Agravaine, review the weapons in the vault and the situation in the North. Prepare a recommendation for what will be most helpful to the men there. Commander Helios will know the troop strength; he will help you."
Agravaine looked prissily annoyed as always; Helios only grinned his smile. Helios seemed to enjoy the effortless way in which he bothered the nobleman.
"Of course, your majesty," Agravaine bowed.
"As you wish, majesty," Helios said. "I am ever your humble servant."
Helios bowed and both men departed.
The door of her suite opened then and Mirilla greeted her.
"Your lunch is all prepared, majesty."
Hafreen
The summer sun washed down, over, and through her creating a pleasant and often savored warmth from the roots of her hair, through her long limbs and into the tips of her toes. On any other day Haf would savor standing in a hot beam of summer sun. Today, though, she watched her father marching off to audience with Morgana. He was not arrested -only Janet was shackled, but it felt somehow as if her father were arrested too.
Back in his sling, Kitty pressed against her side. Kitty was recovered, but he had grown used to the sling and insisted that she sometimes carry him in it. She turned and saw the soldier Leofren standing there. Haf felt a sickening twist in her stomach. It was only Leofren that made Kitty want to burrow into her side.
Why was he in her room?
"You're a brave lad, tougher than I would have believed."
"Thank you," she said unable to resist giving a polite reply to an adult.
He smiled.
"You should join us, Gerry and I that is."
Haf shook her head.
"Right your father, and brother the Great Lord Enfys," his tone mocked her now, "you're waiting for them."
"I am a good and dutiful son just as the commandments say," Haf said with pride.
"I am a good and dutiful son-" He mimicked her with a chuckle.
"I have chores," Haf declared and started for the door intending to go around him, but Leofren grabbed her arm as she passed him. He wasn't hurting her, but she could feel the strength he was tempering as he grinned down at her.
Her heart began to pound and she swallowed when his grip tightened.
"Still a weakling." He pulled her close pressing her against his side, and Haf drew back in fear. He smiled down at her, a wolf's grin.
And in that moment she understood something; it was as if light filled a dark room. He was like an animal. Predators such as cats, foxes, or wolves looked for fear and responded to it on instinct. You could not show them fear if you were going to nurse them. Leofren had found fear in Gerry, and this was how he had convinced Gerry to accept his training. Now he wanted to find it in her, so he could-
-She didn't understand what he wanted, but it was not good. His so-called training of Gerry was the proof of that.
Only a few hours ago her father had confronted and controlled a mob of angry soldiers, handling them with only the force of his will. Haf drew herself up as straight as she could and willed her eyes to show him contempt. He was a weak man, bullying children.
"I know what you are," she said, voice cold.
His smug grin froze, and his eyes narrowed.
"You're an animal." It was her turn to smile. It was all a game of bluff. All she had to do was convince him that he would be hurt tangling with her. All she had to do was believe it herself, and believe it she did. How many had been in that mob? He was, but one man.
"Now. Let. Go. Of. Me." She cloaked herself in the same confidence her father used and willed his obedience with every fiber of her being. He released her arm. The girl's instinct was to bolt, but just as her father would, Haf stood her ground. They had not run from the mob in the street, and she was not going to run from him now. Instead she walked away spine straight, steps long and confident, and she continued in that way, down the stairs and into the kitchen to find her mother.
Janet
Janet studied the knife in her hands. She'd done her best to clean Ignacio's blood from the gleaming metal, but there were still traces of the sticky liquid growing dark and thick on its surface. She didn't understand how the soldiers hadn't found it on her person when they'd marched her down the streets for hanging.
She'd remembered sitting in her room, waiting for him to come to her again, wishing the knife invisible. She'd fallen almost into a trance, letting her eyes trace its smooth clean lines over and over again, all the while imagining the moment when she would plunge it into his flesh. He could not find it; he must not find. Somehow in that wishing, and willing, she had marshaled her inconsistent, untrained magic to make it so.
Janet heard the clatter of boots on stone and quickly wrapped the knife in her kerchief before stuffing it into the waistband under her bodice. She could not know when her magic might fail yet again.
"You have a visitor."
Janet pursed her full lips into a frown. Who would be visiting her here? No one would bring her grandmother to such a place, would they? The magistrate's son had come earlier with a little food and couple of worn, but clean linens.
The cell door opened, and Leolin walked in. She nearly leapt to her feet, but stopped, twisting the blue serge of her skirt in her hands as her mind summoned the memory of his rejection at the magistrate's home. The moment of weakness with Nerien had no more been her fault than Nacio raping her, but the memory of Lin's eyes cold, unforgiving, his face twisted with disgust kept her frozen in place. She let her eyes follow the weave of her skirt, listened to his breathing and waited for his first words.
"Oh, Janet, why didn't you tell me what was happening?"
His tone was heavy with sorrow, and she looked up at him in shock.
"Ugh! Of course you didn't tell me. Not after the way I acted with the bracelet." They stared at one another a moment, and then he sat down beside her on the pile of straw. He took one of her cold hands in his, and the heavy iron cuff chaffed her wrists, chains rattling with even the slightest movement.
"I'm sorry, Janet, this is my fault. I had so many chances to trust you, to accept you, to believe in you, in us, and I didn't. I'm sorry."
She met his eyes now, dark with sorrow and regret, the whites red from sleeplessness or crying; there was a cut on his lip. Had he been fighting?
"You would have been in my home, been my wife. Things might have been different, or maybe we would have been happy for at least a little while. I'm so sorry, Janet."
"No, Lin, no, this is not your fault," Janet shook her head."It's only that awful soldier's fault, and if I had been in your home then perhaps a different soldier would have abused me, and if you'd fought him-" she had to pause a moment as her throat grew tight and tears stirred. Her calm was entirely gone now. "You are only one man, Lin."
"But-" he looked away, lips pressed together in a long, thin, line of misery. When he looked back, there were tears in his eyes. "I told you before I never stopped loving you, Janet. I meant that. I wish, somehow, that we might still be married."
"Oh Lin," Janet felt a trembling set out over her body as tears slipped from her eyes. The calm acceptance of her fate that had settled over her when she'd stolen Grigor's knife evaporated completely now.
"Lin, I love you so much." In that moment the memory of that first kiss from her lover's lips tingled sweetly on her own.
He released her hand then and took her face between his work roughened palms, stirring a frisson of pleasure on her cheeks. In the next moment, his lips were on hers, mingling the salt of their tears with passion sweetened on death's doorstep.
He filled her heart and mind, then his lips, his eyes, his laugh, the salt of his tears...The knowledge of happiness ripped from her grasp and the suffering he would endure, the suffering she seemed to always be enduring crashed down her, a fall of water powerful in its mass, obliterating everything in its path.
The anguish of a lifetime froze her throat, overwhelmed her heart, and drained her strength so that she could only speak in the barest of whispers. When the guards came to collect her, to take her to trial, she offered no resistance to them mind and heart caught in her own sea of sorrow. Only a few quiet tears leaked from her eyes to show the anguish inside.
Morgana
Morgana sighed as she settled on her throne. Captain Penrith was most assuredly going to be flogged, perhaps the Magistrate as well. The trial would be a quick, a simple formality. She had far more important things to do than preside over murder trials of damned fool soldiers who couldn't keep their cocks in their pants.
Still, Jane, or whatever her name was, would have to be punished. Her soldiers could not simply be murdered. Grigor would excuse this woman, if given the chance. She could not allow that. When she'd done with Jane, it would be time for Grigor's audience, and then she would learn what was truly happening in Gogwyn.
The doors at the far end of the throne room opened. Jane stood there head down, covered by a fraying kerchief though tufts of blond curls escaped round the edges. She was flanked on either side by two guards.
"Bring her forward."
At that moment the air in the room caught fire. Not literally of course, but all along the edges of her skin from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes magic sizzled, and it was not her own. She looked around the courtroom for the source of the magic, and her eyes came again to Jane.
When they reached the foot of the throne, the soldiers forced her to her knees.
"This, is the woman, Janet," the herald said. "She is being presented for the crime of murder and is accused of murdering one of her great majesty Queen Morgana Pendragon's soldiers called by the name of Ignacio."
At that moment another sizzle of magic and Morgana could feel the anger and anguish in it calling to her own memories of anger and suffering. It had to be this Janet.
"You murdered one of my soldiers?"
"Yes," it came out in a sob, and Morgana felt herself frowning.
"Look at me," she commanded. Another cascade of magical energy and this time, the heavy drapes stirred, though there was no breeze. Janet looked up tears in her gray eyes. She leaned toward Janet, no telltale ring of golden fire lit the woman's eyes, but if the magic was not being actively used….She extended a hand toward the other woman, to take her chin between her thumb and forefinger, and felt again the shimmer of power, like the spark of energies sometimes stirred in woolen rugs on dry winter mornings.
"You're a witch," Morgana said grinned.
Janet pulled back and ducked her head, the instinctive need to hide taking over.
Morgana set back in her throne.
"This trial is over. There will be no more harming or killing of witches," she said. "Take her back to her cell."
Janet
"Your majesty," Janet got to her feet and curtseyed. What was Morgana doing at the door of her cell?
"Open it."
The wooden door of the cell opened with a creak, and Janet watched in shock as the Queen of Camelot walked into her cell.
"You may go," Morgana said without looking at the guard, thoughts and eyes fixed on Janet.
When he stood unmoving and indecisive, Morgana turned and glared at him.
"I'm hardly in any danger from one, unarmed woman."
"But, your majest-"
"-I said go."
"Ma'am," the guard ceased his protest, bowed and left.
"Look at me; no need to bow your head," the queen said.
Janet raised her eyes, and was surprised to see a warm and gentle smile on Morgana's face.
"Surely I'm in no danger from a sister witch, am I?"
"No, your majesty," Janet mumbled her answer and trained her gaze on her feet.
"Janet."
She felt Morgana's hands on her shoulders, and it took all of Janet's willpower to stand unmoving rather than shrink back in disgust.
"You need no longer feel afraid."
Confused Janet looked up at the queen now searching for any hint of deceit and met the other woman's eyes, their color murky and muddy in the dim light of the cell. She saw gentleness softness, but there seemed to be some smug twist in it.
"No further harm shall come to you."
"What do you mean?"
"You suffered under my father, didn't you?"
Janet swallowed and resisted the stirring of tears even as she nodded and looked away.
"My father and brother were burnt at the stake."
"As were many good people, but you're one of us, and you don't belong in this foul cell. Agree to serve me loyally, and I shall teach you to use your magic so you need never fear again."
For a moment she considered pulling her invisible knife and plunging it into the other woman's throat. She could do it before anyone could stop her, but then all of Camelot would be at the mercy of the foreigners.
"I swear, your majesty," she said thinking of her friends Sarah, Rolfe, and Gwen. Nobles never paid attention to servants. She doubted it would ever occur to Morgana that Janet might have reason to bear her a grudge.
"Good," the other woman's smile widened. "Come along then."
She turned toward the cell door.
"Guard."
A moment later the guard reappeared.
"Open it and then release her." The guard did as commanded. "Come along then," the sorceress said as she started toward the cell door, dry, moldy rushes crunching under foot. "My sister-witch does not belong in a place like this."
Janet followed Morgana out of the cell, thinking of Gwen who had also once served Morgana. Had she gone from the boiling pot and into the flame?
Hafreen
Haf ran from room to room of the house, closing and latching the shutters against the pull of sudden icy wind. She spared a glance for the northern horizon out of her bedroom window and saw heavy, dark clouds in the distance. In her short life she'd never known a storm to come up so fast. The shift had been sudden, fast moving, cold wind stealing through their open windows, pulling at hair and clothing and tipping over lightweight items like lamps- and candles.
Already it was growing dark,the air heavy with humidity. Storms were dangerous, but they stirred the idea of adventure in the mind, and Haf felt a growing excitement mingled with worry for her father and brother. With the last of the shutters latched, she headed back to the kitchen to help her mother finish preparing dinner. The soldiers had been summoned to the hold shortly before the first signs of the storm. She hoped the weather would keep them there.
"I hope your father and Gerry make it home safe," her mother said as she entered the kitchen.
The girl didn't say anything, just gave her mother a hug and leaned her head on her shoulder for a moment, an increasingly difficult feet as she gained inches of growth.
"Thank you, baby," her mother kissed her cheek, and Haf returned to tending the apples she was stewing for their dinner. The wind howled against their windows and afternoon grew darker still.
They were preparing a meal of fresh pork for dinner tonight, apples stewed with cinnamon, nutmeg and honey, and a flaky quiche made with spinach and cheese. Efan had made up the pastry for the quiche early in the day, and the rest of the menu was simple and quickly done. It was the first meal of fresh food in weeks.
The recent quiet in the city meant that they had been able to get meat at a tolerable price from the butcher. They had their own hens for eggs and even a few goats for milk, butter and cheese, but they couldn't eat any of these animals for meat. A small vegetable patch in their backyard provided food as well, but otherwise they relied on the butcher for meats, the miller for flour, and a stream of fruit and vegetables from the fields around Camelot to load their dinner table.
With Morgana had come isolation, and for a few weeks that flow of goods had ground to halt. With the South resting uneasily, but quietly the flow had begun again, not as thick or deep, but there was pork on their table again and apples and figs. They still had to use the salt sparingly, but there was hope for more.
Haf tasted the syrup stewing around her apples and smiled with satisfaction. She lifted the iron pot of apples from the chain suspending them over the hearth and moved them to the stone counter.
Glaring white light flashed thru the shutters, and not long after there was crackle of thunder and the house shook.
Efan clucked her tongue, and Haf glanced at her mother.
"I mislike the look of this storm." The older woman sighed. "Light some candles, child."
"It did come in very fast." Haf said going to cupboard, wondering if, like herself, her mother thought there was something unnatural about it. "And the wind- I don't think I've ever felt a wind this cold during the summer."
Efan chuckled at that as Haf grabbed a few of tallow and beeswax candles.
"In your long twelve summers, hmmm?"
She poked out her lips knowing her mother was teasing her.
"Twelve years is a long enough time, and I've never seen anything like it," the girl insisted.
"Well, we shall agree on the latter, my dear child, and I can add quite a few more summers to tell you it is not natural."
Haf felt her eyes widen in excitement.
"Do you suppose a devil will appear?"
"Devil?" Efan narrowed her eyes.
"They say there was terrible storm in Powis and a devil came and burnt everything up. That's what Ninian's older brother says anyway."
"And you believe everything Ninian's older brother says?"
Under her mother's challenging gaze, Haf felt a bit silly.
"No, I suppose not."
"That's right, you're a smart-"
In that moment a fierce wind shook the house, and they heard the sound of a shutter loose and banging in the wind. A chill gust poured through the house, extinguishing the candles in the kitchen and other rooms, plunging the pair into almost complete darkness. The lowering storm had turned afternoon into night. The only light in the kitchen now was the dull red that came off the hot stones in the hearth and slipped through the vents in the brazier.
Haf shivered recalling stories of the devil of Powis. The kitchen brightened momentarily with another crack of lightning and then a boom of thunder behind it. Somewhere the loose shutter banged.
"Go close that shutter, child." Her mom's voice was soft, subdued.
She considered protesting. Haf did not want to meet a devil in the darkened hall, but the annoyed look her mother had given her at such tales let her know there'd be no sympathy there. Her mom was right, probably.
"Yes, ma'am."
Haf banished thoughts of devils and dashed into the hall, certain the loose shutter was in the parlor. She'd lived all her years in this home and on more than one occasion traipsed its halls in the dark. She found the parlor by memory and another flash of lightning showed her the loose shutter. The girl went to the window. Fumbling in the darkness, she found the shutter latches even as the first few drops of rain slanted through the window.
There was another ground-rattling flash of lightning, and now the thunder seemed to almost match it, booming through the air in a deafening crack. Rain was coming down fast now, and Haf got the shutter latched. It would keep out most of the water, leaving the rest to drain through the scullery.
A moment later she heard a banging of a different sort and realized that someone was pounding on their door. Did devils knock? Then she remembered her father and Gerry and ran to the door. Peaking through the little window in the door, Haf saw both her father and Gerry there.
"Mooooom!" She called projecting her voice over the sound of the storm. "Dad and Gerry are back!" She unlocked the heavy wooden door and pulled it open, relief flooding her. Her father was safe.
They sat down to dinner under candlelight, Grigor telling the most surprising and unexpected end to Janet's tale. That she was a witch and would thus be spared, as long as she pledged her fealty to Morgana. She had always gotten the sense that her parents didn't agree with the king's policy on magic. But they didn't seem at all happy about this either.
Normally supper was completed in time enough for Haf and Gerry to clean up as afternoon light waned into evening. Alis' job as housekeeper was largely to assist their mother, which meant chores for them. Efan had said to them more than once "I'll not have you spoiled like so many nobles who think they are too good to wash a dish or wipe their own arses."
With the total darkness of night upon them, they did not have light enough to clean so they stored the remnants of dinner in the cellar and set the dishes to soak.
Gerry didn't talk much as they cleaned, but that was common for him these days, and as soon as they were done he headed up to his room.
With the house free of soldiers a carefree feeling settled over Haf, and she roamed the house, Kitty at her side. If the storm had not come, she might have gone outside to look for her friends. As it was, Haf lay down on a bench in the front room eyes closed, Kitty in her lap, the drumming of rain in her ears. The earlier fierceness of the storm had mellowed into a steady, soothing flow of rain- that Haf let quiet her thoughts. Relaxed and content, the girl dozed until a cramp disturbed her peace.
Ready to retire, the girl sought her parents in the parlor to wish them good night.
"-can't be certain." She heard her mother say.
"Of course not, but it's the most likely thing."
Instead of going into the parlor, Haf chose to stand outside the door listening.
"She didn't care one whit that I'd interfered with the mob one way or another. It was a just a song and dance to put me off, worry me."
"Did it work?"
She heard her father's warm, rich chuckle in answer.
"Of course not, darling, don't be silly. Morgana's as much a child as Arthur. And her two lackeys-" She heard a tch-tch.
"How could I have ever doubted my great husband's steadfastness?"
Haf grinned. She could almost hear her mother rolling her eyes.
"You may hold those three in contempt, but Morgana is queen, and Helios and Agravaine are two of her favorites. You see them as foolish brutes and perhaps rightly so, but brutes can crush you with sheer power, darling, remember that."
"I shall do my utmost." It was clear to Haf by her father's tone that he did not take her mother's concerns seriously at all. A moment later Efan's annoyed sigh confirmed it.
"You truly believe that Arthur has been seen?"
Haf felt her eyes go wide.
"It must be. She'd just started to question me about the audience with the king when the messenger interrupted. I did not hear the message, of course, but she was completely uninterested in me after that."
"I suppose so," Efan's voice rose with hope, and Haf felt herself smiling. King Arthur lived!
"It has to be; consider it. As long as Arthur lives, he is a threat to her. She finds a clue, some unexpected answer and then discards it. There is but one thing that could make that clue unimportant."
She heard a rustle of fabric and the creaking of furniture.
"You logic is clear. I just hope and pray that this also means he is well."
"I believe it must. Otherwise, she would most surely be crowing it from the tallest towers of the palace."
Haf knocked then on the parlor door then.
"Come."
"Mom, Dad."
They were sitting close on the parlor's bench, arms around one another.
"Going to bed, sweetheart?" Her mother asked taking in her nightshirt and bare feet.
"Mhmmm."
"Well, give us a hug and kiss then."
She wanted to ask them about the king, what they thought would happen next, but then they would know she'd been eavesdropping.
"I'm glad you're unharmed, father," Haf said as she hugged her dad. "I love you, Mom." She had her hugs and kisses and headed up to her room, but once upstairs she saw light spilling out from underneath Gerry's door.
"Can I come in, Gerry?" Haf asked as she knocked on his door.
"Of course."
A solitary candle cast a glow of soft white light over her brother's figure. He was sitting in the bedroom window, wearing his nightshirt, back resting against the smooth plaster wall.
"Can I sleep in here?" Haf asked remembering the way Leofren had surprised her in her room.
Being the only girl, Haf had had a room to herself since she was ten years-old. Gerry and Enfys had shared this room until Enfys had gotten married.
Gerry smiled and nodded. Already sleepy, Haf got into Gerry's bed. A few moments later her brother put out the candles and joined her. Of course, rather than going right to sleep, she told Gerry about the conversation she'd overheard between their parents, and the two of them began discussing what they would do when King Arthur inevitably attacked Camelot.
It was an exciting conversation for a while, but the steady drumming of rain on their roof, the dark of night eventually lulled both into sleep.
The room was dark, completely dark. She felt Kitty's warm weight settled in the crook of her knee and then the sound of a muffled sob. It took a moment to realize that it was Gerry in bed beside her- crying?
Another sob and Haf didn't say anything. She just rolled over and put her arms around her brother pressing his long lean frame against her own. At first he cried harder, but after a time he stopped and clutched at one of her hands.
"I'm glad you're here,sis," he said, voice a hoarse whisper.
She hugged him tighter.
"What, what's wrong?"
"Should we pray for a bit, Haf?"
She wanted to repeat her question, but only said: 'very well."
"Hail Mary, full of grace," he began voice still hoarse from crying.
They lay in bed together reciting their prayer until time, darkness, and repetition soothed both children into untroubled sleep.
Morgana
Up and back, up and back to the window and then the door, a worried circle of pacing, the gem bright blue silk swirling about her legs with every step. Arthur had led a revolt at Caer; not a single patrol sent to Gogwyn had returned.
After leaving Janet in the hands of her maid to be cleaned and more appropriately dressed, she had gone to her audience with Magistrate Grigor. Things had only just gotten interesting when the interruption had come.
The interruption turned out to be far more important than anything else. King Arthur had led a revolt at Caer. She wanted to turn her full thoughts to to Caer and Arthur, but Caer was at least five days away on horseback, riding hard. Which meant the revolt had been five days ago. Who knew where Arthur was now? That he was not on his way here with an army was certain. The Caer revolt had been peopled almost entirely by locals, and the locals at least would remain in Caer holding the town against her.
Up.
Morgana halted in her pacing, and glanced out at the busy courtyard. Servants scurried across it ladened with baskets of laundry or food. One of her generals on horseback rode away on some errand. Lord Aelwyd and Lady Bettrys walked toward the gate looking rather pleased with themselves. It looked much as it had in Uther's time.
Back.
Gogwyn was a day's march away. If an army was gathering there, she needed to know most urgently. She did not yet know where Arthur had gone, but he must inevitably come to Camelot. He could not find allies at Gogwyn when he did.
She had planned to simply flog Galan's back until the skin peeled away, but now. Morgana let a low growl of frustration. She would have him flayed, and if that did not kill him, his entrails would be pulled out through his anus.
Morgana shook her head and took a deep breath.
"Enough of such thoughts for now. Gogwyn first and then Caer, then punishments." She called to her maid Mirella and directed the woman that she must not be interrupted for the next hour.
Morgana was practiced enough in her meditation that she needed no special preparation. She laid her protective stones in a circle about the most comfortable seat in her parlour and sat down. With eyes closed hands resting lightly on her knees, Morgana took a deep soothing breath. Some used incense or special herbs to ease the passage into trance, but given the nature of her gift, Morgause had insisted that she be able to slip in and out of trance in the winking of an eye.
-"When you dream true, you must take a moment upon waking to hold all that was shown to you in sleep in your waking mind and keep it there so that you may pour over each moment like the pages of a book."-
Queenship was a selfish companion, leaving little time for sitting and thinking.
She'd seen nothing of Castle Gogwyn in her dreams, but if enemies were gathering there, than she must know.
Morgana slipped with ease from light trance into deep. Her breath and functions so slight that to anyone observing, she would appear dead. And thus her body became so light a weight upon her spirit that she stepped out of it as one might a dress.
For a moment, she surveyed her body. The first time she'd looked upon her entranced form had shaken her to the core. Her body looked pale, drained somehow, but Morgause had been there and called her attention to the fact that everything of the living world looked muted.
And this was true. Plants, animals, food, manmade things had a faint, muted look as if they could float away at any moment. Around her though, she saw swirls and whorls of color. Many had no shape that meant anything to her, but sometimes the swirls and whorls of shimmering energy took on the shapes of buildings or even beings.
Freed of her body, she saw the gleaming white towers of Camelot were overlaid by a shimmering castle of violet.
Morgana started toward the window and stopped, hairs on the back of her neck rising. She'd never truly understood how her spirit could not be in her body, but have so many of the same reactions. Including the same sensation of warning when someone was watching her. The sorceress froze and turned quickly. Yet her eyes found nothing, but empty air.
She was no fool; there was another spirit present. Not someone like herself. Somehow she knew it was the spirit of someone dead. Morgana considered a moment, her body was in no danger, her protections were in place, and spirits were everywhere. That this was the first time she had sensed a spirit was perhaps worrying, but Gogwyn and what it held was far more urgent than any spirit. It would have to do something other than watch.
Morgana went to the window and did not bother opening it. Walls, glass, windows, doors,all made by the hand of man had no meaning for a spirit. Only her own will prevented her from slipping through the floorboards. The packed earth being the only matter upon which a spirit might stand. She walked through the glass as if it were not there and crouched on the ledge waiting for a northerly wind. The sensation of being watched rose hairs on the back of her neck again, and gooseflesh on her arms. Again, she ignored it.
If she'd known Castle Gogwyn, Morgana could have willed herself there, but with no memory, no essence of the place she'd have to travel the long way. Thankfully riding the wind was far faster than going by foot or horseback.
Warm blasts of wind from the South had been blowing the last three days, buffeting them with the occasional hot caress. The sorceress surveyed the courtyard below her and felt a tingling twist in her stomach or rather phantom stomach. They were four stories up. High enough for her body to hurt itself, perhaps even be killed if she fell from this height. She reminded herself that there was no danger now and crouched, waiting for the southerly blast that would carry her toward Gogwyn. The sensation of being watched grew, and she resisted the urge to turn her head. When the wind came, there would not have much time.
She looked south scanning the horizon for signs of a current and felt one washing over and through her before she saw any evidence of it. If she were less practiced, Morgana would have missed her ride altogether. But instead she dove and found herself swept up and away with the current, leaving who or whatever watched her behind.
The wind swept her through the courtyard and swirled her and everything caught in it over the palace and around its towers. Little zephyrs came to her like warm tickles whispering in her ear, tugging her phantom clothes and patting her skin.
"Hi!Hi!Hi!Hi!Hi!Hi!Hi!"
They did not speak in words, of course, but their greetings were friendly, curious, and burst over her like a gaggle of bursting bubbles.
"Hello." She could not resist a smile. Wind sprites were gay little things, too light for anger or fear, and grief. Being surrounded by them now recalled Morgana to the happy days of her study under Morgause, when they had ridden the wind together.
"Slow!Slow!Slow!Slow!Slow!"
Morgana felt the gale she was riding ripple as they shared this information amongst each other with excitement.
"Well, yes," she agreed.
More of a sense of giggling. As the wind gust dove downward and then the ground was rushing up at them. She had just enough time to feel the first few moments of fear, before the gale was shooting upwards and climbing again.
The zephyrs cheered and whirled, dancing at the gust's force.
"Where do you go sorceress?" The gale's words rumbled through her mind.
"A castle, its a day's march north of Camelot, where I joined you."
"Hmmm, I know nothing of marches, but this might be your destination."
Morgana looked to the horizon and saw stark gray towers against the afternoon sky. This was almost surely Gogwyn. Here was the tricky part. Riding the wind, much like swimming, try to stand and you would sink.
The castle was rushing up now. No time to think.
She stood up and slipped right through the hot summer current.
"Thank you," she called to the current as she drifted downward. Gales joined and rejoined each other growing in strength and mass before separating into little sprites again. When they did, they shared information, knowledge, news. One could not ride the winds if they had a reputation for being impolite.
"Bye!Bye!Bye!Bye!Bye!"
Her spirit, which had almost no mass, drifted downward with all the urgency of a feather to make a soft landing on the castle turret.
Morgana looked down into the castle courtyard, and the buoyancy of spirit she'd felt evaporated.
Knights, soldiers, and what looked to be common peasantry all practicing. Some with swords, staves or flails; others practiced the bow and arrow; still others had pitchforks and scythes.
"A motley crew, indeed."
Morgana felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
"Another spirit," she muttered.
At that moment two men came marching along the turret, and Morgana stepped aside. She'd been walked through once, and had no desire to repeat the experience. When the patrol passed, she started toward the castle interior and that was when she felt the first stirrings of dread.
It wasn't just a few hundred rebels gathered here. The castle was full; she could hear it. A distant muted din that began to grow as she entered one of the towers and made her way down the spiraling staircase. Conversation, laughter, the tromp of booted feet, swooshes, shuffling, sweeping, pounding, the splash of water, crackle of fire, off-key singing... noise and life were everywhere in castle Gogwyn. And it was not only the living that filled the halls of Gogwyn.
The sensation of being watched was growing. If one spirit had watched her at Camelot, it seemed that many more gathered now.
Morgana concentrated on her mission. She needed to know more about what they would face from the force gathered at Gogwyn. It would not be spirits that would assailing the walls of Camelot.
People hurried through the halls on chores and errands. When she poked her head through walls and looked into rooms, Morgana saw them gathered in handfuls going about their day-to-day activities and chores, men and women alike. The last truly rattled her. Women here meant that the rebels were well supported by the common folk.
She moved briskly, feeling neither the summer warmed stone or soft rushes under ghost-like feet. She needed to know who led them, what they planned. Was it Emrys somehow working against to shelter a force here? The sorceress began to run now. Any castle only had so many rooms that would accommodate a war council and though that council might not be in session, whomever lead here would be quartered near there. She hurried toward the center of Gogwyn.
Where Ogmore was simply one of the old Roman forts, Gogwyn had, at one time, -before Camelot was raised- its own king and queen.
She checked the old throne room first to find it now served as another practice hall. A little further and she found the council room, at its center a large, round wooden table. Little of the late afternoon sunlight reached it, but the room was clean, torches in place waiting to be lit. For a moment she considered simply waiting here. Their war council would most likely come to this room again, but she did not have time to spend in waiting. One could only remain separated from their body for so long.
"Morgana." She turned at the sound of her name, but saw no one dead or living, and a course of fear washed through her.
"Begone!" She shouted in anger and started moving again.
She no longer bothered with halls or doors, but charged forward passing through stone walls and ignoring the chill that went with it. The spirits continued to follow her. She could feel them watching her as she moved forward, and she could hear them now, speaking in jumbled whispers only her name coming through with any clarity from time to time.
"It matters not." Morgana told herself.
She didn't bother counting the rooms she passed through, but at long last she came to what must have been the king's quarters. Seated at a narrow, worn looking table were two lords, a lady and- Morgana let out an oath. Gwen's brother Elyan, her lips twisted into a frown and something moved, she saw it out of the corner of her eye.
She turned her head and-
Had a shadow flickered in the corner. Nothing was there now, but- She fanned herself. How could she be growing warm? Morgana shook her head; this was most likely what she had come to see. She could not be distracted now. The sorceress turned her attention back to the four at the table.
"The destruction of Bayberry has been galvanizing. Many of those who sat undecided now join us."
"But not all Lady Jestina, some have sided with-"
Morgana felt a sudden shock like a burning pin being thrust into her side and started. Had her protections been disturbed. She scanned the room turning her attention away from the group at the table. Shades flickered around her in a semicircle now. Most of them a dull, leached gray, but some were red, some green, all of their faces in a blur.
"I may be here in your world. You may even play some unpleasant tricks, but you cannot affect me." A buzzing started amongst them and she heard sniffs, and Morgana sensed that there were many more than she saw. Still she only glared and turned back to four. The easiest way to keep spirits from harming you was to ignore them. They drew upon your attention to them.
The buzzing grew, and the sniffs began to turn into sorrowful wails.
"Then you believe we should wait no longer," the lady said.
The sorceress swore. Had she missed some essential part of the conversation?
"No. No, our ranks have swelled by another 500. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that Morgana will discover our presence, and gain supplies and allies."
"And," the Lady smiled and leaned toward her conspirators. "We now have word-"
At that moment the buzzing grew and whorls of lurid yellow streaked past her. The door opened and slammed shut, and the four at the table looked at one and other eyes wide with fear.
"I told you this place was haunted," Constantine's son said.
"It seems Sir Constantine, that your specters and spooks at last make themselves known," Lady Jestina remarked dryly.
"Mayhap they do not like our plan," Elyan remarked a wry smile twisting his lips.
More yellow streaks, they swirled around the table and lifted it into the air.
"Great Holy Mother above!" Elyan swore. The four shot to their feet and ran out the door even as it opened again.
Morgana moved to follow them, but the shades gray, green, red and yellow, buzzing or wailing moved as one imposing themselves between her and the door. Not that she needed it. It was easy enough to will herself into the hall now that she knew it was there. But the shades followed her making a ring, their wailing and buzzing grew so that the sounds of the dead in Gogwyn Castle now drowned the sounds of the living.
Sanguine clouds appeared in the hall; they had the heavy weight of storm clouds. But the living, muted and colorless to her eyes, did not see them. Lighting, in lurid yellows, and glaring white, streaked through bloody roiling clouds.
She looked at the shades again and despair oozed from them now, an effluvia of misery that wafted around her. Morgana felt the start of tears.
"No! I live and you are dead. You cannot harm me!"
One of the flickering shades seemed to come to sudden life. No longer gray, but a petite blonde woman with brown eyes.
"No one harms you." She said it with the force of an oath. "We give you what is yours."
In that moment, the blonde woman broke, her bones snapping before Morgana's eyes, and some unexpected force slammed her into the ground, and she shared the agony of snapping bones. Morgana screamed, as that same force compelled her to lift her head with her broken neck and see a man, a guardsman of Camelot. He was young, handsome. His stomach split before her eyes, and his guts spilled forth a foul, stinking mess. Morgana screamed again as the burning fire of a knife sliced through her gullet spilling her guts foul and stinking through her hands.
Battered with the agony of two deaths, Morgana curled onto her side tears pouring down her face as the wails of a thousand agonized spirits battered her. Lightning and thunder fell in the world of both the living and the dead.
Hey everyone, thanks for reading. It was a productive hiatus. Please, please, please review. I love your reviews and always try to reply. I hope everyone is having a good spring.
tw: mentions of sexual assault, torture