The usurper queen sat in her throne room, alone. The silence had settled in comfortably, obviously planning on staying awhile. Morgana watched the grand doors, waiting.
The audience she'd set up to hear the problems of her people had already run half an hour over. She had even banished her undead guardians from view since her last audience, afraid they were frightening her people away. Turns out Morgana needed no help in that department. She allowed herself the luxury of a sigh. Uther had never had this problem. Arthur had been the most popular king in a century. Where was the justice in that?
Just as Morgana had decided to stop wasting her time sitting in an empty room, the sound of footsteps approaching made her perk up. An older-looking man with an edgy disposition entered the room. She sat up straight, greeting the man who entered with a bright smile that she hardly even needed to force. Although everything about him from the tension in his shoulders to the nervous twitch of his brow betrayed his trepidation, he smiled genuinely as he saw her, bowing low before her. She recognized him after only a moment.
"Godfrey! It is so good to see you."
He stood, kissing her outstretched hand. "I'm honored, my queen," he said warmly. "You are very kind. I'll confess, I did not think you would remember me. I know I'll never be able to thank you enough times for what you did for me."
"I only righted a wrong. You should never have been locked away for the 'crime' of expressing your natural talents. You and I are kin, we should look after each other."
"I only wish more people thought like you, your majesty. I'm afraid I've hardly been welcome in Camelot after my stay in the dungeons. Everyone knows what I am now." He chuckled weakly, eyes traveling somewhere distant. "Despite everything, I don't think I could ever go back. I am who I am, and damn the consequences." Morgana grinned broadly.
"I am glad to hear it. We are done hiding."
"I am sorry to take up so much of your time, your majesty. I am just so— overwhelmed as of late. Everything is so new and different to me now. I can't help myself—going on and on like an old fool."
Morgana shook her head, hiding an amused smile behind her hand. "Please, speak freely. I am delighted to listen to whatever's on your mind, Godfrey."
"Well—if your majesty insists," he said, brightening. "The truth is—that is, not long ago—" He laughed at his own fumbling words. "I've—I've met someone. We're a lot alike."
"Oh?" Morgana wondered, the picture of innocent curiosity. "A woman?"
Godfrey rubbed the back of his neck. "Her name is Isobel. I've been teaching her a little magic. She seems very interested in it."
Morgana smirks slyly. "Are you sure it's the magic she's interested in?"
"Oh, I—I wouldn't know—" He was flushed a pleasing red color from the neck up, and his small smile lit up the entire room. "I really like her," he admitted quietly.
"I can tell," Morgana hummed. "And from the way you describe her—I believe the feeling is mutual."
"Time will tell," he said with a little sigh. It was clear something else was on his mind.
"What's troubling you?" Morgana asked seriously, eyes narrowing. "Is someone threatening you?" her voice came out flat and toneless, and there was a hard gleam in her eyes. Godfrey remembered who he was speaking to, straightening his spine. He stood in the presence of possibly the most powerful sorceress living. The boom of her voice called lightning from the heavens, shaking the earth even miles around. He suspected even those in the outskirts had experienced a slight tremor.
"I am capable of protecting myself if a situation arises," Godfrey insisted. "My power is a sliver next to yours, your majesty, but it has served me well."
"I don't doubt it. What has you worried so?"
"Rumors." He shuddered. "A beast, terrorizing farmers, killing livestock, attacking travelers. Yesterday—while in the woods away from town, Isobel saw a huge shape fly overhead. It was fast, she said, a dark, slithering mass too far up to get a good look at. It kept shrieking and flapping about. We hid for hours until the horrible noises finally stopped."
"You didn't see where it went?"
"It sounded like it went east, after a while." Godfrey paused, hesitating. "When we returned to the city that evening, there was a giant commotion. Everyone was gathered around The Rising Sun. The roof had caved in, and a portion of the wall had crumbled away. It looked as if something had torn into it. They said they heard a terrible wailing noise before the roof fell in."
"Was anyone injured?" Morgana asked, a growl ripping from her throat. How had the incident simply passed her by? Didn't anyone think to inform her about it? No, of course, they didn't. They're more afraid of you than the rampaging beast!
"Yes. At least a dozen people. Three people didn't walk away that night."
"Three dead?" Morgana hissed, pounding her fist against the armrest. Godfrey flinched, nodding gravely. He bowed his head in submission.
"Yes, your majesty."
Morgana took a moment to gather her rampaging thoughts, breathing in slowly. She closed her eyes, then let it out. Her fists uncurled, and her posture loosened. She opened her eyes. "Thank you for telling me, Godfrey. Please accept a small token of my gratitude. Anything you want, a favor to cash in whenever you should need it."
His head jerked up in surprise. "Thank you, your majesty," he said, eyes wide with recognition. The weight of Morgana's promise was not lost on him.
That night, Morgana slipped into the woods on horseback, wrapped in a dark cloak. She kept to the shadows as she crept through the city, heading east as she passed through the gates. To start, she examined the clearing Godfrey had mentioned, slowing her horse to a halt when she was reasonably certain she had reached it.
"Hleapung leoht," Morgana whispered. A procession of flickering indigo flames sprang into existence, whispering and humming to each other like little will-o'wisps. Morgana traveled alongside them at a trot, watching for any traces left behind. Before long, Morgana began to spot a few trees bearing heavy scores. Deep, nasty marks caused by what she could only imagine were a vicious set of claws. The beast was bigger than she had first imagined—and angry. It seemed to have a personal vendetta against nature itself, tearing up everything in sight and ripping into whatever or whoever got in its way. As it was, following the trail of destruction it left behind was not difficult. There were a few long stretches where the landscape was spared, wherein Morgana imagined the beast had taken to the sky.
It was nearly dawn when Morgana started to hear the wailing. Her exhaustion evaporated, a cold dread settling in her gut. The wails were uncanny, almost unearthly. They were terrible, horrible, everything that had been described to her, but—they were more than just that. They were miserable. Whatever they belonged to was in agony. She followed the noises into the low light of dawn, her stomach twisting and her heart clenching in her chest as they grew closer.
Her horse whinnied and shied away nervously.
"Calm, Móna," Morgana soothed, stroking her horse's flank. The horse snorted her discomfort, nostrils fluttering, eyes wide and frightened. "Just a little further," she urged. The sound of claws tearing into the earth ahead seemed to heighten the horse's terror, a flash of a writhing shape just ahead in the corner of her eye. Móna reared up, screaming. Morgana clutched to her neck for dear life, but couldn't hold on. She toppled to the ground, scrambling out of the way of the startled horse's flailing limbs. Móna tore off in the opposite direction at a full gallop, leaving Morgana abandoned in the dirt heaving for breath. The wailing stopped. Suddenly, two eerie blue eyes were peering directly at her. They were wide and frenzied and utterly beautiful.
Morgana gasped, horrible realization washing over her. This was no beast. She leaped to her feet, stumbling away. Something had taken hold of her—some primal fear driving her to flee completely against her own will. At that terrible moment, Morgana knew nothing at all except that she had to get far away. She fancied herself the predator, the hunter, how absurd!
A long white tail thrashed out at her, impacting against the back of her legs. Morgana cried out, crumpling to the ground in a sorry heap. The dragon leaped forward, its lithe body twisting. Its scales glinted iridescent white in the dimness—like contained moonlight. Morgana heaved herself away from the clambering claws of the dragon, crawling through the dirt and forcing herself up on trembling legs. The dragon ripped into the ground where she was a moment earlier. It kept raking the earth as if it had caught her, shredding her into imaginary smithereens. It cried out, its wail piercing her ears. She held her head in her hands, grimacing.
The dragon whirled on her, nostrils flaring. Its eyes were huge, pupils dilated into black pools. It crashed toward her head first. Morgana leaped out of the way, her cheek splitting open from the force of the displaced wind. The dragon crashed into a tree with a crack, nearly splitting it in two. It seemed rather slow and clumsy. Instead of targeting her again, it began to bash its head repeatedly against the tree until, with an ominous creak, it began to topple. Morgana watched in awe as it crashed to the ground. Her cheek was raw and stinging. The dragon buried its head into the ground, its long body writhing in the dirt. Its tail whipped around dangerously, causing Morgana to leap and duck for cover.
Something was off. This was not the natural behavior of any creature. Morgana scanned its body, looking for some trace of an injury. Nothing that she could see. Her stomach turned. Could it be something magical? A curse? In that case… she would have to get close enough to it to sense it.
Something called out to her. The desperation in the dragon's eyes—maybe. It just didn't seem right to leave it like this, in any case.
"Byre becnyttan!" Morgana howled, eyes flashing. At the familiar pull of energy from within, she pushed every morsel of strength she could spare past the floodgates, feeling it rush from her hands in an almighty gust. Her fingertips felt cold, the wind knocking out of her lungs. The dragon thrashed about wildly as the tunnel of wind wound around its serpentine body, binding its limbs. Its wings unfurled, filling the entire clearing. It roared, deep and guttural, its call rumbling through her body and making the ground tremble underfoot. With its limited mobility, it began to flap its wings, crashing into the canopy above and injuring itself further.
"Gebind! byrþen gebind!" Morgana wheezed, squeezing her hands together in a wringing motion. The bind tightened and hastened, pinning its wings to its side. The dragon plummeted like a rock, landing stunned on the ground. It whimpered, wriggling weakly as its chest heaved rapidly. Its eyes roved about, wide and panicked, as Morgana approached. "Relax, liegdraca. I only want what's best for you," Morgana urged softly, crouching down next to its head. The dragon's nostrils flared, chuffing out a nervous snort. It wiggled, the binds straining against its immense strength. Its jaws fought to part, gleaming white rows of needle-sharp teeth snapping dangerously. Morgana's bought time was quickly running down.
Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the dragon. She soothed her hand gently down the spines of its neck, closing her eyes to concentrate. "There, there, draca. What's wrong? What hurts?" she murmured to herself. The scales were warm to the touch like the exterior of a hearth, radiating a steady heat from within. She felt the restless pulsing of its powerful heart, the convulsing of its chest.
She focused on the feeling of the dragon's magic, pure and boundless like moonlight reflected on the calm ripples of the vast sea. The gentle rocking motions lulled her into a sense of safety and security, filling her up with a comforting warmth. Then, it found her. A dark tendril of malevolent magic struck out at her, a festering, polluting presence trying to worm itself into her soul. She felt it scrape against the well of magic within her, felt a terrible rush of agony pulse through her— Morgana recoiled, flinging her hand away with a gasp.
The dragon reared up in renewed pain, its jaws tearing open, unhinging, emitting a ferocious cry of rage. Its wings broke free next, the wind shackles snapping, recoiling, lashing out in all directions. Morgana turned away with a scream, her arms going up to block her face. The wind cut her arms to ribbons, sticky blood adhering to the tattered remains of her sleeves.
There was a rush of gathering heat as the dragon heaved in a breath. Morgana's eyes rounded in terror as her rapidly sealing fate became clear to her. The dragon's chest extended, a pillar of blue-tinged fire erupting from its maw. The air turned dry as bone, and suddenly Morgana couldn't breathe.
"S-Sċieldan!" she sputtered desperately. A moment late. Her skin bubbled and blistered, a shriek tearing from her throat. Her shield blocked the rest of the assault, flames billowing around the invisible force. Morgana fell to the ground, hissing and blinking back tears as she cradled her arms close to her chest. Her nerves screamed. She peeked open a single eye to watch fearfully for the next attack. The dragon shook itself, spines standing on end.
The rest of her binding displaced, her shield flickering into nothing, Morgana found her thoughts taking a dark turn. She'd had to reckon with death so many times in her life, she had so many chances—to make peace with it, welcome it. Chances she never took. Morgana's teeth aligned in a harsh grin, and her fists balled at her sides. "I won't go down," she growled. "You can't make me."
The dragon crouched, poised to attack. Morgana inhaled sharply, racing forward to meet it blow-for-blow. Just as the dragon leaped, Morgana flung her arms wide. They impacted clumsily, the dragon yelping in surprise. They fell to the ground in an entangled heap. Morgana wrapped herself around its neck, burying her cheek into its scales. She focused on that moonlit ocean, scouring for the pollutant beneath the waves. Before it could strike out at her, she wrangled it to submission, clutching the slippery curse as it writhed and wriggled.
"Þurhhæle," Morgana breathed, eyes flashing golden. Every last ounce of energy left within her aching body left her. The curse curled up and withered like a weed. The dragon began to cough and splutter, ejecting a puff of black smog. Morgana went limp, letting out a warbling laugh. The dragon blinked, its eerie blue eyes clearing like mist from ocean bluffs, contracting into pinpricks. The claws digging into her back slackened, making her shiver at the wicked bursts of pain. She curled into herself in the dirt, shuddering. Her nerves were on fire. Something nudged against her. Morgana forced her heavy eyelids open. The dragon brushed its snout against her shoulder, its wet tongue flicking out to lick the blood from her cheek.
Morgana smiled shakily. "Feeling better now?" The dragon licked the rest of the blood clean, emitting what amounted to an apologetic whimper. Those eyes glistened with intelligence, with understanding. The creature knew what it had done, what it had become. It circled her—long tail skating across the ground—curling up next to her. A leathery soft wing outstretched to cover her.
"Rest. Safe here under my wing."
Morgana couldn't account for the delicate voice in her head as she drifted off to sleep, chalking it up to an exhausted hallucination by the time she next woke.