A Different Destiny / Merthur

Long Live The King

Morgana could feel her heart racing as she strode along the corridor.  She was still shivering, not yet recovered from the shock of the night air, and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. 

The draught didn't help. 

The castle walls had always been draughty.  And there was a time, though it now seemed so long ago, that Morgana had found their chill refreshing: like the crisp air of a Spring morning.  But this time it felt different.  The walls felt unsafe, as though the outside world could easily leak through and take the castle in its clutches, destroying it from the inside out and leaving behind nothing but crumbled stone and dust. 

Morgana pushed the thought from her mind.  Giving in to despair wouldn't help anyone.  And, she reminded herself, she was the bringer of good news: all the villagers had made it into the castle.  Most were unharmed, though obviously still in shock, and those with injuries were safe in the hands of Gaius and the team of helpers he'd managed to assemble.

But Gwen was still unaccounted for.  Many of the servants who'd rushed to put out the flames had yet to return but, as Morgana forced herself to remember, many of the fires were still raging.  Those who hadn't returned must still be busy.  They had to be.  She refused to believe the worst. 

And then there was the other news.  News which, as Morgana entered the final passage  leading to the throne room, she was yet to decide how to take. 

The dragon had reportedly vanished.

In one sense, that meant an end to the destruction, and hearing this lifted the fear from many hearts.  But there was still a sense of foreboding.  She'd seen the look in Leon's eyes when he'd delivered the news, and knew relief was far from his mind.  Because if the dragon had disappeared, and following Merlin and Arthur no less, where exactly had they gone?  What if they got hurt?  What if—

Morgana stopped short. 

The throne room door was closed.  Completely shut firm.  She stared at it.  Something didn't feel right.  Under normal circumstances she'd have just walked in, without pause, and announced her news but, for some reason, she found herself hesitating — hand hovering over the handle like a moth above a flame.

She heard voices.

Just two of them, it seemed, and they sounded on edge — not that that should be surprising, given the circumstances — but there was something else too.  A sort of hostility, perhaps.  But it was hard to tell. They were both so hushed.

Quietly, Morgana lowered her hand to the door handle.  Then, in one quick movement, she turned it and, ever so slightly, pushed. 

The door creaked.

She held her breath. 

Nothing happened.  In fact, the voices continued, utterly undisturbed.  Feeling a little braver, she moved herself forward just enough so that she could see through the crack she'd made in the door. 

There were two men stood in the throne room.

Most striking was Uther, decked in a golden crown and silver chain mail, sword at hand on the table beside him as he stood firm in front of the throne. Agravaine was much less impressive. He was messily dressed and pacing back and forth, dipping in and out of sight and encompassing Uther in a circle of footsteps: round and round and round.