The Ragged Truth Part 1

Morgana scanned the provisions she'd arranged on the stone floor, laid out and ordered as best she could in the shallow cave. Her living space had to be share with dragons., only a hundred meters deep from the cave entrance and half as wide. Kilgharrah usually nested outside near the entrance, ever watchful, in meditation, or mentoring Aithusa.

He'd never shown interest in conversing with her and when they did, it usually ended in bitter confrontation. Today, he'd flown off somewhere the moment she rose from another fitful night of sleep to begin her dull, daily routine passing time away. Hopelessness abounded. If it had not been for the company of the baby dragon, the bleakness of her isolation would drive her mad.

She glanced at the white baby dragon, curled beside the fire several meters from her cot, and she smiled, her eyes softening. Aithusa was fond of her and nestled her tiny head against Morgana sometimes, purring as a young dragon should when she was happy.

The tiny creature comforted her, too, instilling in her something akin to belonging, maybe even love. It'd been a long time since she'd cared for something, and after some of the horrible things Kilgharrah had said about her half-sister, she was starting to doubt now whether her affection for Morgause had ever been real. She fidgeted the bracelet on her wrist when her stomach rumbled, jarring any further notions of love from her thoughts. She looked over her supplies again.

The first cart of provisions sent by Camelot had only essentials, including a small bevy of caged doves for eating. She had no idea how to prepare fowl for consumption without magic and Kilgharrah left it to her to figure it out. Though he did lend his fire to cook them, he laughed when she finally figured out to properly pluck the feathers before roasting them on the spit.

She settled for the hard cheese and apple for breakfast. Retrieving the paring knife, the food, and a water skin, she sat on the cot that had come with the supplies, the wool blanket she used for covering tossed aside. Cutting into the fruit, she wondered how long Arthur would provide for her. Forever was unlikely, but not so her punishment. What did the Triple Goddess want of her? What must she do as penance while imprisoned on an isolated mountain peak?

Morgana wiped apple juice that trickled down her chin with the hem of her apron. She'd been wearing only a shift when the dragon had rescued her from the executioner's block. The dingy wool blanket he must have stolen from who-knew-where was the only other garment she'd had, and she was sure the dragon took pleasure in her discomfort those first miserable days.

The peasant clothes and shoes also included were comfortable, less confining than her noble-class finery, but degrees lower than her fashionable tastes. The patched shawl was a warm relief for her head, her scalp more exposed to the cold air of the mountain top.

A comb and brush were also packed with the goods and just looking at them had ignited her fury. With a piteous roar, she'd hurled the grooming pair into a dark patch of the cave and wailed atop her meager possessions. She'd frightened Aithusa that day, the little dragon scampering over to her parent for comfort.

Kilgharrah though, had snickered with delight, the low rumble of his spiteful glee heard even through her heaving sobs. She sliced the apple and bit into the piece, her eyes slipping to the comb and brush still in the unceremonious spot where she'd thrown them in emotional despair a week ago.

Kilgharrah's absence was a small blessing for her, despite the loneliness. The distrust and hatred of each other kept them on opposite sides of the camp. He despised her and she abhorred him. He blamed her for their predicament and had made it clear that his rescue of her was by no means an act of kindness, mercy, or allegiance on his part.

You are the only reason keeping Albion from rising.

He minced no words, and his cruel assertions against Morgause troubled her also, unveiling doubting questions about their sisterly relationship. His accusations about their misuse of power planted seeds of skepticism that now invaded her dreams, stirring uncertainty about her very existence.

She cut another piece of apple and chewed it, the crunch stirring the caged doves under the blanket. She was alive, but to what end? To fade into obscurity alone and cursed while Arthur and Gwen ascended into glory? Death would be better than living with that knowledge. But she was alive, and aided by her enemies to remain so, thanks be to the goddess.

It didn't help that Kilgharrah hadn't returned with her mother's gift when he'd brought the second load of supplies. She was desperate for it, but feared that Arthur and Gwen had likely destroyed it and any other remaining remnants of her. That was what she'd tried to do to Gwen's belongings when she'd taken over the castle. The only thing she'd treasured more than herself was that book. It would have brought another kind of comfort to her that surpassed the life-sustaining supplies.

Morgana finished her meal, discarding the core in the fire pit and leaving the knife on the cot. She strode to the entrance, staying closer to one side as she always did because Kilgharrah usually nested on the other side and partially blocking the opening; he wasn't there today.

She could hear the moan of the wind before reaching the mouth, its constant song of isolation dominant in the lingering silence. The sky was clear above the ring of clouds hugging jagged mountain peaks. Gusts of crisp air bit into her. Hugging herself, she started the return to the warmer insides only to see Kilgharrah in the distance, soaring across the skies of their desolation.

She grimaced, in no mood for his acerbic countenance. He'd just make the day turn even sourer.

Morgana blinked. As he drew closer, she could see a rider on his back. Suddenly growing cold, she shivered.

"Merlin."

Her lips trembled; her heart pounded in her chest. He'd invaded her dreams, too. Recurring, conflicting nightmares that made no sense.

In one dream, she was in his arms and they kissed with a desire she'd never felt. In another, he slew her with that fancy sword Arthur had wielded when he snatched Camelot from her.

Both outcomes were hellish, repulsive. Surely not visions, but warnings. Her pulse spiked and she backed farther into the shadows. Was Merlin coming to kill her now? She couldn't stop him. Kilgharrah wouldn't stop him. She had hoped to never lay eyes on him again.

She darted inside and desperately searched for a weapon, but all she laid eyes on that could do any damage was the paring knife, and it wouldn't do much harm. She prowled with wide eyes, trapped; no magic, no allies, and nowhere to run. She dashed for the paring knife on the cot. Anything was better than nothing. Perhaps, she'd take an eye before he ended her.

Morgana crept toward the entrance, staying close to the cave walls and in the shadows as best she could. Kilgharrah's thick neck and great torso shielded the rider from view as his great hind legs touched ground and massive wings collapsed into his sides when he came to rest.

Merlin. Her mouth deepened into sneer as she glared at them.

The creature had carried her in his clawed foot like a sack of grain. With Merlin, his dragon lord, he gave the privilege of riding him. Her enemy jumped the short distance and landed steadily on his feet.

"Thank you," he apparently said to the dragon.

The knife slipped from her grasp and clinked inertly on the stone ground, for she could swear that Kilgharrah bowed his head to the man. Swallowing, she was at their mercy.

She watched him intently as he glanced curiously around her strange prison. Vivid memories of his innocent, ever-presence flooded her thoughts again.

Each time something went right for the oppressed, Merlin had been there. When something went wrong for the wicked, unarmed Merlin was not far away from the scene. It was as if every unexplained event that caused her to fail came into focus. Morgana quaked with fury, grinding her teeth.

"I was a fool. Made to look inept."

At every turn, Merlin had been two paces ahead of her, there to thwart her plans. Her lips thinned into a deep frown and her jaw hurt from grinding her teeth so fiercely. How could she not have seen it?

Aithusa squawked happily behind her, the lithe creature bouncing past her and out of the cave, her thin wings flapping wildly and giving her lift along the way. She trilled with delight approaching Merlin.

Resentment simmered within Morgana as she watched Aithusa eagerly greet him. Of course the young dragon would recognize Merlin and not fear him. He was her dragon lord, too.

Merlin laughed as he petted her gently, speaking to her as if the poor thing could speak back to him. Morgana's fists balled as tight as her clenched teeth, her eyes burning in their sockets as her jealousy boiled over. Still, she couldn't move, glued to the spot that could very well be the last place she'd stand on earth.

She noticed Merlin's bright smile, his eyes tender as he nurtured the creature with his kindness, but his gentleness did not move her. She knew that, while he was capable of extreme compassion, he was also capable of extreme violence, proving that he was as dangerous as he was deceptive.

Her eyes wandered to his clothes. They were different, much finer than what he used to wear; and they suited him. Things had truly changed for the servant.

How he'd deceived them all. What would Arthur do, she wondered, if he found out what she knew about his manservant?

Merlin glanced away from the baby dragon and looked directly at her standing inside the cave, near the mouth of it. Her breath hitched; she lifted her chin, holding his gaze and standing firm.

After the briefest pause, he came toward her. She noticed that even his walk was different, confident and regal, an arrogant combination she'd seen before. His eyes swept over her and she pulled her shoulders straighter. She felt as plain and simple as she appeared, degrees below her once noble station, but she still had her dignity—and a paring knife at her feet.

His eyes glistened. He wore a small smile. "Hello, Morgana."