The Sins Of The Father.

[danny]

The woman walked to the castle steadily, firm, men’s (yet small sized) boots slapping the stone ground with eagerness. Her strides held purpose and her body was bursting with strength. Nobody would have guessed her gender as she strongly took her steps, right up to the castle entrance. A guard was already there, ready and waiting for any attack. She pitied him. With a smirk, Morgause drew her sword from her side, a metallic sound echoing through the air as the metal blade scraped against it’s sheath. The sword was thin enough to slice through the air quickly and meaningfully, yet stout enough to cut through even the fattest man’s ribs. An original silver in colour, it was her favoured and one of her most deadly weapons. She met her opponents own sword in glee, and then stuck her blade once, twice, and then three times against his chain mail. The clanging sound vibrated through the air as he continued to ward her off, yet it was over in mere seconds. Soon, with a final strike and blow to the heart he had fallen, dead rather than unconscious; though that was her usual.

The armoured lady, complete with a sword, shield, and helmet that concealed all of her face except for her eyes, paused. But only for a second. She tore her glance away from admiring her handiwork on the dead body and hurried along, she had a challenge to place! Beautiful dark eyes glowed a satisfied, lighter hazel as she flicked her sword over her shoulder and heard it clash against the sword of the guard that had crept up behind her. She had a sense for slyness, after all she was experienced in it herself. She would make the mortal pay though for attacking her! Morgause pivoted on her heels, swinging around her blade left and right. The guard was good at meeting her sword yet he was so occupied with her fast moving that he hardly noticed her suddenly go for his chest. He gasped as the sorceress kicked him away, he went flying into a wall and crashed there. And now for the third, for Morgause had known there would be a third. She would make this one quicker than the last two.

A silver-armoured guard came at a run towards her, sword poised in the air. The woman jolted her shield against the metal and then struck her own blade across his neck. He made a choking sound, a gurgle, that was cut short by another blow to his head. A pretty smile crept upon her strong features and then she swiftly turned away and marched past his fallen figure. It was time now. She was ready, more than she would ever be. Morgause adjusted her helmet to make sure it was properly concealing her feminine face, and then the witch jogged to the wooden door that was the only thing between her and Camelot’s fate.

The lady took a breath and then swung open the door, at once striding in, her posture that of a Knights. Sword and shield at her side, draped in chain mail and armour, she looked exactly like a warrior. And she was. Though not the one you would expect to arrive at Camelot. Her ferocious gaze flicked through the crowd quickly, sharp eyes quickly drifting from those that were merely an annoyance. Before her, was a large group of people watching fighter’s be Knighted. In the middle of it all lay Uther and Arthur. She had to restrain herself from slaughtering Uther as she had imagined doing all her life. No, she would take him down the patient way. Morgause locked eyes on Arthur now, she met his blue optics and then quickly continued walking until she was a few metres away from the royal’s and the knights. Her sword was back in her sheath for the moment, yet who knew what she would attempt? But it soon became clear what she wanted. The female, for the moment known as an obvious male, lifted one hand and grasped her silver gauntlet. She ripped it from her armour and threw it with precise aim, it skidded to the ground and rolled in the general direction of Arthur’s feet. And now, Morgause silently watched as her plan began to fall into place. How long she had dreamt of this moment.

Tag: Arthur, and Merlin!
Setting: Camelot Castle, a Hall where men are getting Knighted.
Timeline: Season 2, Episode 8, "The Sins Of The Father".
Time of Day: Dusk

[Arthur Pendragon]

Today was an occasion worth celebrating. A handful of men were being accorded the honor of being Knights of Camelot; of joining a great army. These knights were Arthur's newest brothers; ones that would battle with him in combat. Ones who displayed the skill and traits of a true knight: honor, loyalty, respect . . . everything that was required of them, they fulfilled. He could not be prouder for it was men such as these who granted the army of Camelot with such a strong reputation; men such as these were who consisted of this group of combatants. And the greatest honor for Arthur Pendragon, was to lead such men. He stood by his father in the elaborately decorated grand where all eyes rested on each man as the tip of the sword was placed on their shoulder and they were formally announced as knights of Camelot. Arthur felt so much pride in them, yet his expression remained formal. Even when his father touched his shoulder and told them to live by his example.

It was moments such as these when Arthur felt that immense pressure. He did not meet his father's gaze but rather kept a strong formality in his expression and stance, gazing ahead, looking at his new brothers in arms. While he was confident and exuded this confidence, deep down he was always afraid of failure. Any life lost was his burden to bare for it was his fault. These men trusted him to lead them into battle and any one of them dying was blood on his hands. Of course, to die a knight was often the dream of many, the highest honor and privilege that they could be rewarded with . . . but that never made it easier to lose a member of this team. To have to watch the burning flames claim their body; watch them disappear in flesh, but live on in spirit. These were such fears that Arthur felt for his men, and why he was so determined to protect them.

Right now though, it was cause for celebration, nor remorse. They were commemorating the newest additions to the army, not mourning over losses. There would be a time for that when it happened, and now was not it. When his father finished one of his sentences -- but not his entire speech -- the otherwise silent halls suddenly filled with the echoing of sword fighting. Arthur's guard immediately raised and everyone eyes turned towards the doors. The king, and each knight swiftly pulled out their swords from their sheaths fully prepared and determined to protect Camelot with their lives. Arthur did the same, pulling his sword out to the side. He did not stand back though. He took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of the line of knights, waiting for the intruder to make themselves known. He looked intently at the doors as they burst open, a dark knight entering their presence, his footsteps seeming louder in the large silent hall. The first thing he had noticed was the man's petite size and frame. Arthur could tell they were of a smaller figure, despite the heavy armor they wore.

The Prince's mind wandered back to the last time something of a similar incident occurred. It was when he was being crowned prince of Camelot. That knight had charged in, challenging him to a duel, and Arthur had lost two brothers in their attempt to protect him. Why couldn't they just have one bloody ceremony without an attack, or an intruder to disrupt it?! He kept his eyes locked on who he now deemed as their enemy, for he knew without seeing it, that he had killed all the guards that stood in his way. The castle had been securely protected, so Arthur knew that the other knights were dead. The time to mourn would be later . . . not now. For right now, he was going to find out the motives of this man. What possible reasons he had for charging into the castle, killing innocent knights, and now approaching him. His curiosity was not put at rest though, not even when the knight ripped off their gauntlet and threw it right down at the prince's feet. Arthur did not look down at it. Instead, his gaze was completely fixated on the darkly armored clad knight. Not even a flare of surprise crossed his expression. He remained stoic, determined, and not pleased.

The tense silence felt like several minutes, when in actuality it could not be more than a few seconds. He could feel all eyes on the intruder, on him, and on the gauntlet that laid at his feet. No one moved to pick it up. It felt as if no one even dared breath as this tension was far too burdening. Finally, he broke his gaze on the knight, and swiftly bent down to pick up the piece of armor, one that symbolized so much. He looked back at the knight, his expression unwavering. "I accept your challenge." His voice was strong and sure. Deep down, he wondered though. Who was this knight? What grievance did he have against him? Arthur did not enjoy these sort of combats for if they were unnecessary and avoidable, he much preferred a more peaceful means to solve a problem. One that did not involve blood shed. He had fought many before -- Odin's son flashing in his mind -- and with each victory, came the loss of life. Usually, there was a reason though. And right now, Arthur was completely oblivious as to what that reason was.

"If I'm to face you in combat, do me the courtesy of revealing your identity." It was not phrased as a question, but more, almost a demanding request. He was not happy with this, that much was clear, but if he was going to fight this man tomorrow, he wanted to know who he was. He wanted to see if he knew him from before, if he was a dark shadow from his past. If so, would there be an alternative way to solve this? Would they withdraw and the two be able to reach some sort of mutual understanding? A peaceful solution? Though this was a hope, Arthur strongly doubted it would be this simple. This man had fought through his guards, killing him, and without a moment's pause, hesitation or ounce of reluctance of any kind . . . he had thrown down the gauntlet. It was clear he was anticipating a combat with the young prince. Though it did not show in his entirely composed demeanor, he waited anxiously for the challenger to remove their helmet, and make their identity known before him, and the entire hall.

[danny]

The “man” almost chuckled. Her dark eyes flicked momentarily to the drawn swords of at least half the occupants of the hall. How she loved to make a dramatic entrance! But her gaze slid away soon enough, as if they were batting away the others in the room like flies. It was Arthur she had business with. She hesitated a little and then a hidden smirk fell upon her pretty face as Arthur stepped to the front of the crowd with his own blade out of its sheath. She would just let him try to attempt anything. Morgause registered the look of shock on his rather handsome face as her gauntlet was thrown at him, she narrowed her eyes as he carefully and almost successfully hid that look in a royal, prince like mask. She didn’t doubt his courage as he swiped up her gauntlet, yet one thing she did doubt was his intelligence! Her plan had worked! She did a little victory dance inside, and the female nibbled on her lip a bit anxiously as she thought of what came next. But of course she already knew. There would be a fight. And she would win. She was confident in her fighting skills, and she was very handy with the blade as she had demonstrated moments ago. And how she would laugh when mighty prince Arthur, future king, was defeated by a woman! “I accept your challenge” his rather surprised voice drifted to her ears, and her little face lit up. Morgause let her long lashes slide over her cheeks as she blinked in excitement. Her plotting was finally showing some outcome.

“If I’m to face you in combat, do me the courtesy of revealing your identity.” Her smart and pride-filled thoughts were vastly interrupted by a second hearing of his voice. She mentally sniggered. She also took in the fact he spoke to her as if she was a man. She rather liked it. She would have to go around in armour more often. Of course, people would soon see that she was a bit slight and small as a man, but then again, a lot of men were. Thankfully the bulky armour made her look muscled, and instead of clinging to her petite form and curves like her feminine dresses did, it fell gangly and spacious around her. Morgause silently giggled. So he wanted to know who he was? Wise boy. And she also thanked the stars for the opportunity to show off. The lady paused dramatically, on purpose, her body obviously tensing, hesitating. She let the dramatic pause go on for some time, hearing joyfully the sound of mumblings and little gasps from her crowd. She stepped back and forwards a little, pondering the idea of revealing herself. And her name! What if Uther recognized it? She despised Uther, if her plan went wrong because of his memory she would surely perish. She remembered instantly that time…

She had been a young child. Morgause was about three at the time, already known to have practiced magic and already categorized as one of the magical children. Some would say she was too young to remember the time where she had almost been killed but others told her magic did strange things to a persons memories and senses. And she remembered her past perfectly. How she had been playing one day with the other children, admiring the little baby Morgana and being cuddled by her mother. But then they had came. Came and snatched her away from her home. Somehow, Morgana was the only one of the magic children that wasn’t put into a cell. The rest were. Babies and children alike, screaming, crying, living in their own mess. The prison had been their home for a week. And then Uther had taken drastic action. Ordered them not only to be kept away, but instead be slaughtered mercifully, by the hand of an executioner. Morgause had watched them die. One by one, be taken away. And she had peeked out of the prison bars, heard their screams as their heads were chopped from their bodies. However, hope had come to her. In the form of Gaius. He had helped her. For unknown reasons, but she was grateful all the same. She remembered the old mans face clearly. The girl had been smuggled out of Camelot and given to the high priestesses, that was where she learned the majority of what she knew now about combat and sorcery. But she could have ended up like the rest. Headless, cold and dead. She would not forget what Uther did. She would never, ever forget. Morgause had sworn vengeance and somehow, someday, she would get her revenge. And that day, whenever it was, she was sure was drawing near. By this point.

Morgause flicked her thick lashes downwards and then let them focus on Arthur again. He would get what he wanted. And she would too- she would get what she lusted for. People to gasp and stare, to look at her and go wow. She’s different. Only a couple of people knew she was a lady who fought with a blade and she had loved the look on their faces when she had explained to them. This time, it would be no different except amazement would be on a higher level. So many people to see her for who she really was, a woman! She braced herself, still a little tense, arms spreading, darkened, polished armour gleaming. Morgause continued to lift her arms simply, and then quickly she let them fall upon her shiny helmet. The witch’s hands grasped the metal hard and then she pulled quickly, spreading the helmet so it came apart. Up and over her head the helmet was pulled until she had dropped it to rest by her hip, still in her armour-clad hands. And Morgause shook out an abundance of golden blonde, creamy locks. They spread to her shoulders, flying up in the air before drifting to fall neatly into place, hugging her face nicely. Her expression remained emotionless and she registered the gasps around her with a simple eye-blink. Morgause’s obviously feminime face became clear, her dark rimmed eyes contrasted very nicely against her pale face. Pink lips pouted a little, and Morgause shook out her long hair another time for good measure, looking at the floor with a frowny-pout. Then, she returned her gaze to where it had rested upon for a while now, on Arthur. And her soft, yet determined voice came from her mouth gently. “My name is Morgause.”