Merlyn's Final Truth

The Darkest Hour P3

Morgana hadn't quite accounted for the utter loneliness she had to face without Morgause. Even after only a few days had passed, she missed her sister desperately, her presence one of the few comforts the witch had in her new life. After the pair had escaped, they had sheltered in a rather remote part of the forest, secluded by the ancient trees. Despite her crippled state, Morgause had set to work, sending ravens to potential allies, her strength only weakening as Morgana watched her shrink in despair. There had been nothing to be done. And yet, the witch cursed herself for refusing to fight, for accepting her sister's fate. She was so alone.

She had never been good at waiting. Fearing discovery, Morgana hadn't visited Camelot, knowing her traitor would update her soon enough. There was no use killing innocents if their deaths meant nothing. She refused to die by her own careless hand, frozen by a dorocha.

The sound of her front door opening disturbed Morgana from her thoughts. She barely had time to hide, silently drawing her dagger. If it was a simple intruder, then they would feel cold, remorseless steel before they even saw her coming. Perhaps it was the Cailleach's prophecy, the thought of Emrys heightening her paranoia.

A cloaked figure slipped into her hovel, a far cry from her lavish chambers back in Camelot. Still, she could hardly complain.

The man was stooped slightly so not to hit his head on the ceiling, his shoulders broad, but not from muscle. Morgana would recognise the greasy, slicked-back hair anywhere. Carefully touching the point of her blade to Agravaine's back, she sneered, unimpressed at how easily she could have killed him. Unfortunately, she still needed him, even if he was little more than a snivelling coward.

"My lady?" he questioned, his voice an octave or so higher than usual. Morgana couldn't hide her smirk: she held little respect for the man. If only she could convince Merlyn to become her traitor, or maybe Gwen. Then, at least, she'd have some relatively pleasant company.

"My lord." she managed through gritted teeth. He certainly hadn't earned that title. "I trust you bring me good news. Tell me."

She sheathed her dagger, fairly sure that Agravaine wasn't about to stab her in her back. He was simply too weak and, admittedly, cunning to try such a thing. She walked further into her home, a candle lighting the dingy room with little more than a thought. The witch frowned, surveying her meager possessions. The rightful Queen of Camelot shouldn't be living in such squalor. She'd have to rectify that soon, perhaps build an extension. Camelot castle aught to do it.

"The kingdom is on its knees." Agravaine reported, a gleeful smile ugly on his pug-like face. Morgana did her best not to wince: even she couldn't speak of innocent deaths as something to be celebrated. Her brethren were just as vulnerable.

"How terrible." she murmured, contemplating whether she'd truly done the right thing. Part of her wondered if her fight for freedom was worth the loss of life. Maybe Arthur would've listened to her, would still listen to her if she just tried.

Agravaine didn't quite seem to catch her tone, chuckling merrily. "Indeed."

"What of the poor people?" Morgana asked, wishing there had been some way to target only those who deserved her wrath.

"More fall every night." the traitor said, sounding almost smug. This was not his victory. He didn't feel her responsibility, her loss.

She frowned deeply, doing her best not to lose her composure. "Such a shame."

"You should know that Arthur intends to vanquish these creatures. He makes ready to go to the Isle of the Blessed as we speak." Agravaine warned, catching Morgana's attention once more. Morgause had told her that few things could reverse the spell; the witch had been intending the curse to continue until she was on the throne.