Merlyn's Final Truth

The Darkest Hour P1

Morgana didn't know how much time had passed in utter darkness. She'd been helpless, watching as Morgause did nothing but weaken, her slow death agonising her every moment. Trapped, lost in a cell with no sunlight, her magic shackled to the cold stone, she seethed, stewed in misery. Never before had she felt so utterly alone. So useless. The time had changed her, the harshness of reality destroying her compassion, twisting her desire for revenge. She had watched her sister dying, and even after their escape, her soul remained cracked, shattered by the lost hope of salvation. Some part of her had believed that bright, blue eyes would appear in her hazy vision, followed by a bright smile and a flash of steel. But no saviours had ever found them; it hadn't taken long to realise that there was no one left to help her. How could Merlyn, could Arthur, save her when they didn't know she was in need of saving? And why would they? In their eyes, she had stolen from them, thrown them from their home, become everything they couldn't hope to love. They were heroes of their own story, certain in their morals. But Morgana knew they were so terribly wrong. Despite the horrors of abandoned despair, she could still remember the colours of the sky on her last night as queen, a reminder of the people she wanted to save. She'd had time to plot with her dear sister, to find some way to weaken her enemies. Morgause didn't have long left, her injuries far too great, but her death would not be in vain. She had to act to save the lives of those who needed her most; still, she wished that there was some other way. Her people would get caught in the crossfire, but their sacrifice would pave the way to freedom.

As she pulled her heavy cart up the rocky slopes of some long-forgotten pathway, she squinted through the dust, wishing that the wind would fade. She trundled upwards, her thick cloak doing nothing to cool the unusually warm sun, but she knew that dropping it was no option. Winter would be coming soon.

From behind her, she could hear the thundering of horses quickly closing in. She sighed, knowing her luck had to run out eventually. She'd spent far too much time in Camelot's lands; without a horse, she'd had no choice. Her path was clear, at least, in her mind; she wouldn't let a few pesky knights deter her journey.

"Halt!" she head the voice of Sir Leon, the first familiar echo for a very long time. "Stay where you are."

Morgana stopped, glad that her cloak obscured her features. Carefully, she dropped her wagon, smiling at the sudden relief she felt rush into her arms. Perhaps she could survive this encounter without revealing her true identity, allow the men to run off back to their false king. It didn't seem likely.

"Where are you headed?" Sir Leon asked, his footsteps nearing her. Still, she didn't turn around.

"The Seas of Meredor." she replied, disguising her voice with an ease that only came from necessity.

"What's in the cart?"

Morgana frowned. This had gone too far. She couldn't reveal her sister's weakness.

Turning so that her pale face was revealed to the errant knights, she was glad to see that their numbers were far less than she'd expected. It took a moment before recognition widened Leon's eyes, his surprise hardly shocking. She'd been lost for a long time.

"Lady Morgana!" he exclaimed, edging backwards, but he was far too late. With a wave of her hand, the knights were all sent sprawling backwards, collapsing onto the ground without enough time to even draw their swords. Morgana waited, her gazing washing over each man, but none of them moved. Clearly her spell had been more powerful than she'd thought.

Removing the hood of her cloak, she peered into the cart, ignoring the twinge in her heart at the sight of her sister. She'd wasted away, a feeble candle to the bonfire she'd once been, so very close to being snuffed out.