Wishful Thinking - Merlin [Under Construction]

This One Has Quite a Few Setting Changes

 WARNING: descriptions of death and murder, mention of blood.

   Morgana and Grimhildr had stopped using the magic. They needed to save as much time as they could. They hadn't anticipated Lancelot walking into the room in the middle of their conversation, at least, not while they were in their natural forms. Well, Morgana no longer had a true "natural" form. That was part of what they were talking about.

     "Grimhildr, I thought you said that I would be back to normal over time!"

     "I did, and you will. Your transition is just taking a little longer than I had anticipated."

     "Why is that?" Morgana demanded. "You're the most talented and experienced Necromancer alive!"

     "That's not saying much, considering I'm the only one left. It's an art that has been long dead."

     "You know what I mean. You're supposed to be good at this! Why is this happening?"

     Grimhildr looked down, hesitant.

     Morgana's eyes lit up. "You know! You know why my magic hasn't fully returned!" She said, accusingly.

     "I might have some idea... I don't know for sure, though."

     "You've got to tell me what it is!" Morgana slammed her fist on the table. Her eyes were desperate.

     Grimhildr sighed. "Well, as I've said, it could be because of how long it took me to find your soul. The longer the body and soul are separated, the more difficult the transition is. You did Drift quite far..."

     "But you don't think that's it." It wasn't a question.

     "No, I don't."

     "Well, what's your theory?"

     "As you know, I've been doing this for a long time. I've brought back people who couldn't be brought back; those who had Drifted much farther than you. They were all back to normal within a few days. However, with you, it is different." 

     Morgana tapped her foot on the floor as her anxiety increased. "What do you mean?" She asked.

     "You're being pulled back to the afterlife by something more powerful than any type of necromancy. Your abilities seem to be the beginning of a chain. They're being pulled to Death, and they're pulling you. Your life is the rope in a supernatural game of tug-of-war. 

     "What's on the other side? And how did they get me?"

     "I have very little idea of what could be more powerful than I, except for something not of this world. As for how your soul was catapulted far enough into the afterlife to have been caught in just a day," Grimhildr grimaced, "there is only one major factor that could be affecting the intensity of your death. The way you were killed."

     Morgana's face grew dark. "It was him, wasn't it?" she stated more than asked, "Emrys."

     Grimhildr hesitated, but only for a second. "That is what I believe. The only other time I have heard of something like this is when the Triple Goddess herself killed a sorcerer. When something more powerful than this realm kills you, this realm isn't strong enough to get all of you back."

     Morgana had an expression of pure loathing on her face. "You mean to say," said the witch, "that the timid and clumsy servant of my brother, the foolish boy who used to wait on me . . . is as powerful as--"

     Suddenly, the door opened, and Morgana silenced herself. A masculine figure emerged. It was Lancelot. Morgana didn't move. She stayed still, as if that would prevent her from being seen. Grimhildr acted. She always kept a dagger on her person. Grimhildr threw the dagger, and it hit home. As Lancelot fell to the ground, landing with a loud thump, a thin stream of blood trickled out of his mouth. It was the only sign he was injured, excluding the dagger in his chest.