Ancient Help (A Harry Potter and Merlin Crossover)

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Day of Samhain

The air was thick with death but Morgana steadfastly ignored it.

Morgause lay moaning on one of the cots in the hovel that she had built with magic, acting as their temporary home. Although it paled comparison to the lavish rooms that Morgana was used to living in, she thought that such frivolousness was petty, especially when she had far greater things to think about.

Like Morgause's wound.

After they left Camelot, Morgana had done everything that she could to cure her half-sister. She spouted spells at her bedside every day and night, seemingly becoming like a litany of prayers to those who could hear her to heal the only family that she had. Her researches grew more extensive from all the medicinal books that Morgause kept, but none worked.

Morgause had told her that a powerful sword gave her the mortal wound. She even suspected that it was forged by a Dragon's breath. The only thing that could cure her from this wound was from the help of a Dragonlord. Seeing that all of them died during the Great Purge, there were no Dragonlords left to cure her half-sister. Once again, her hatred for Uther's ruthlessness reawakened and her passion to cure Morgause grew as days passed by.

Now, seeing her sister moaning in pain, sometimes crying softly in delirium, Morgana did not know what to do anymore. She found herself bent over huge tomes of books, crying bitter tears for the injustice around her.

She was once again softly crying, distressed that a promising spell had failed to cure Morgause from her mortal wound.

"Sister," the High Priestess rasped out, reaching out a hand to her. Morgana immediately grasped it and placed it against her cheek, willing to wait for the words that were to come from Morgause. "You must stop now."

"No," Morgana mournfully said, her tears increasing.

Morgause lightly smiled and placed a hand on Morgana's cheeks. Gently, she brushed away her tears. "My end is coming," she added in a whisper. "But I want to be useful one last time."

Her watery, grey eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, softly sniffling.

"In the Isle of the Blessed," the High Priestess croaked. She paused and took a deep breath, already panting from the energy that she had to use just to talk. "On the day of Samhain. Sacrifice me in order to open a tear between the living and the dead - "

" – No - "

" – it is the only way," Morgause harshly interjected. A look of pain appeared on her face and coughs started to rack her body. Morgana held onto her hand tighter, opening her mouth to speak, but the High Priestess held a hand. "You must do this, Morgana. You must be strong. Doing this will affect everybody, even you. Opening the tear will unleash horrifying monsters that will bring our enemies to their knees."

Morgana closed her eyes and slumped her shoulders. "You are asking too much, sister," she whispered.

"It is the only way," Morgause repeated, cradling the lady's cheeks in her weakened palm. "I have nothing left in this world." She slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "By the power vested in me, I appoint thee Morgana Pendragon as the High Priestess of the Old Religion."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Sister..."

"You must continue our ways and fight for our freedom," Morgaused shakily rasped. "Now, we must make haste. I fear that my time is nearing. You must kill me in the Isle of the Blessed in order to put our plan into action."

Morgana's lower lip trembled. She knew it was useless to fight against her sister. Therefore, with one mighty heave, she helped Morgause into her feet and helped her wear her cloak.