Ancient Help (A Harry Potter and Merlin Crossover)

Chapter Eighteen: Morgana's Vengeance

Lady Morgana looked far away from her bedchambers in the Castle of Fyrien, a deep, contemplative look on her face.

Whisked away from what she used to call home, the young witch found herself thinking often in the privacy of her new room. Memories from her childhood would often rush back into her mind, which then would leave her bitter and betrayed, knowing that all of them were mere illusions.

Uther was her father.

'How could he hide this from me?' she wailed inside, feeling her magic bubbling angrily in her system. A nearby handkerchief burst into flames and Morgana saw through her reflection on the glass window that her eyes were momentarily gold. With a sigh, she turned around, wordlessly willed the fire to disappear, before returning her eyes back to the window.

All her life, she believed that Gorlois was her father. Since he died when she was very young, her memories of him were somehow distorted and blurred. She could hear muffled, distant voices and laughter. She remembered playful afternoons in the vast field near Camelot. And there was a face, one that she knew was of Gorlois, but indistinct due to forgotten childhood memories.

Oh, how astonished she was when she discovered that the same man that she hated with all of her being was in fact her father. That day had somehow been bleak for the inhabitants of the castle. Morgana's incredible power was unleashed, wreaking havoc in her own bedroom, and it took Morgause's highly powerful magic to stop her from obliterating the whole castle.

Morgana then found herself sobbing mournfully at the middle of the messy room she had made, a pathetic heap that cried her very soul, now betrayed and tattered into unimaginable pieces.

Her eyes slightly narrowed at the thought that the blood of the same man that had killed most of her kind was running through her veins. Morgana actually felt disgusted of herself, clawing at her skin like there was an itch that wouldn't go away.

Now that Uther's deepest secret was revealed, Morgana's thirst for revenge intensified. Meal times with her half-sister and Cenred always consisted of Morgana's persistence to attack Camelot, to make Uther pay for his sins, and to claim the kingdom as rightfully hers.

"Patience, my dear sister," Morgause would always say. And Morgana would find herself bristling angrily on her seat and sometimes successfully blasting a plate or two away.

The lady was not entirely sure if Morgause understood the magnitude of her vengeance. She could see that the High Priestess of the Old Religion also had this certain degree of hate towards Uther. After all, it was him that had shunned the Old Religion away because of the death of his queen. But Morgana's anger was different, it was more personal, and it was definitely something that could not match up with Morgause's.

Through the glass window, she saw her door open and in came her half-sister. Morgana turned around, a questioning look on her face, especially after seeing an ornate box clutched tightly on the High Priestess' hand.

"The time you have been eagerly awaiting arrives now, sister," Morgause proclaimed, gliding elegantly inside her room. Morgana was once again struck by the fact that magic was thick in the air every time Morgause was inside. Perhaps it was because she held the highest position in the Old Religion, but Morgana swore that she could already seem some tendrils of crackling magic hovering above her half-sister's blonde hair.

"Whatever do you mean, Morgause?" she then asked, meeting her half-way.

Morgause then daintily opened the box and revealed a golden cup. Blinking in confusion, Morgana's hands immediately lifted the chalice from its velveteen pillow. Upon closer inspection, she could make out some Old English words lined at the rim. Just looking at the object made her feel its raw magic and as Morgana turned her eyes back at her sister, she was surprised to see a small smirk on her face.