3.37 – Shatter

Author’s note: Lots and lots of anger. And snowballing. And snowballing anger. 😐

“What do you mean, no?!”

One of the guards coughed, awkwardly averting his gaze as he looked absolutely everywhere but at the middle of the throne room. The Iron King seemed completely unfazed by Morgana’s outburst. With a cold expression, Uther stared her down.
“I believe I made myself perfectly clear,” he spoke. “For the foreseeable future, you are not to leave this castle without permission. You will not go out riding without an escort, either. Do I make myself clear?”

“You’re locking me up?!” the budding witch snapped. Uther shook his head at her.
“No. I am protecting you. We are at war, Morgana. It wouldn’t be strange for the enemy to appear from anywhere at this point. I want you close by where I can see you.”
“By confining me to the bloody castle?!”
“By keeping you safe. This is for your own good.”

His tone of voice left no room for discussion. Morgana knew her father well enough to know when her arguments would have no effect- but she couldn’t lose her freedom. Not now. Not with Beltane right around the corner. She couldn’t afford to be trapped. The sorceress quickly backtracked on her anger, thinking on the fly as the grabbed for the easiest way out that she had.
“Fine. If you’re that worried, I will get Lancelot to escort me instead-”

It had been meant as a way to pacify her father- but her words had the exact opposite effect. Uther immediately flared up, his cold demeanour vanishing as it made way for a wild, unbridled rage.
“You will not go anywhere with Lot’s son! Do you hear me?!”

“What? But he’s-”
“Enough! I will not allow it! You are not to leave these walls with him, or any of the other knights- that is final!”

“You will not go anywhere without my permission. Do I make myself clear?”

…Bollocks.

Morgana knew that she couldn’t win. Not while Uther was acting like this. His explosive temper meant that she wouldn’t be able to get through to him at all – any rebellion on her side would just cause him to erupt in anger again and restrict her in her freedoms even more. She didn’t have a choice. Not right now. The sorceress would have to fix this later. With an expression of begrudging surrender, Morgana averted her eyes and looked down at the ground.
“…fine.”
“Good. This is for your own good, Morgana. You’ll soon see that, too.”

She highly doubted that. Morgana had no idea what had caused her father’s sudden protective outburst – they had been at war since last Autumn already, after all – and in a way, she didn’t care. But Morgana knew that she had to do something to fix it. Something that would soothe his temper.
And she had to do it soon.

Morgana just hoped that she could figure it out before Beltane arrived.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Uther spoke, drawing her back out of her musings. “We haven’t shared a meal in a while.”

It would have been a decent place to start doing damage control. But Morgana had to control her temper, too. She was so filled with anger over her sudden restrictions that she couldn’t do it. Not now. The Princess angrily crossed her arms, scowling at Uther as she turned away from him.

“Forgive me. I have other matters to-”

“That was not a request. That was an order.”
“What? Father-”
She could see the anger behind his eyes, flaring up dangerously close to the surface as Uther stared her down.
“You will address me with your majesty.”

–

Sarah Elison was having a bad day.

At her age, most problems that popped up in castle Camelot glanced off like water off a duck’s back. The maidservant had gotten incredibly skilled at either ignoring or quickly removing everything that could be counted as “annoying”.

But even Sarah had her limits. And this morning, for the first time in a while, those limits had been reached.

By him.

Reginald. Arthur’s most recently promoted manservant. He’d not just reached her limits, either – the man had barrelled straight through, shattering her morning calm without any hope for salvation. Sarah and him had a history of intense mutual dislike that, at times, crossed into outright hostility.

Normally, the maidservant managed to avoid him.

Today was not one of those times. As Arthur’s personal servant, Reginald would usually not be found anywhere near the kitchens. They were Sarah’s domain. But today, the Prince had suddenly decided to get up early. That meant that Reginald did, too. And as his master left to take care of tasks, Reginald was left with no royal bottoms to kiss.

The windbag had made his way into the castle kitchens instead. For the last twenty minutes, every single one of the maidservants had steadily grown more annoyed at his presence. Reginald complained about everything. He wouldn’t stop nagging, giving unwanted advice over and over again until even Guinevere looked like she wanted to hit him over the head with a spatula.
And he wouldn’t leave.
Sarah grit her teeth, trying her best to ignore him as she got started on a vegetable salad—

“Oh, one more thing. I’ll need additional jelly tarts for Prince Arthur, Sarah. In a hurry. Chop-chop, now.”

If only.

“No. Arthur is not getting any more sugar today,” the maidservant answered instead, scowling angrily as she began to chop up the vegetables in front of her. “They had pancakes for breakfast already. I’m not making him any more and he knows it.”

Reginald huffed; a nasal, high-pitched sound that reminded her of a deflating wet windbag.
“It’s precisely that attitude that is getting you nowhere in life, Sarah,” he said. “This is a request from the Prince himself-”
“The Prince is a spoiled eighteen-year-old with a severe honey addiction and no sense of restraint when it comes to pastries. He’s not getting any.”

“Do you truly not see the potential here?” Reginald complained, taking a step towards her. “I thought you were intelligent. For Watcher’s sake- they’re just jelly tarts, Sarah. A few extra won’t kill him.”
“I am not enabling his sugar addiction.” The maidservant growled. Exasperated, Reginald threw his hands into the air.
“So he’ll put on some weight! Who cares? Think of how pleased the Prince would be with us if we give him daily pastry servings, Sarah! Don’t you want to make use of this? Do you really not want to be favoured by the future King of Camelot?”
“No,” Sarah scowled in response. “I’m not here to be liked.”
“Clearly,” he scoffed. “This is why you have been stuck in the same position for over a decade. Your bad attitude is blocking any ambitions you have. Tsch. What a waste.”

As Sarah resisted the urge to hit him over the head with a frying pan, Reginald suddenly walked up behind her. She could smell the scent of parsley and old soap as he leaned forward, peeking over her shoulder with a clear look of disapproval.
“That needs more tomatoes, by the way.”

I could do it. Nobody would miss him.

“And some salt, too. My, my. You’re really losing your touch, aren’t you?”

It would be a community service. Maybe I’d even get a ribbon.

At the last moment, Sarah decided not to filet Arthur’s manservant for dinner. The resulting hanging just wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, she continued to chop up the ingredients in front of her, quickly reducing the remaining lettuce to a shredded mess.
“Guinevere, go put the lamb on the stove, please,” Sarah growled.

“Guinevere? Today, please.”
“…Yes, Sarah.”

Sarah frowned, following Guinevere with her eyes as she made her way across the kitchen. She’d been acting strange all morning. Guinevere had barely responded to her usual teasing, acting incredibly withdrawn and distracted. Sarah could tell that something was wrong. The maidservant wanted to hurry up and finish meal preparations. Then she could take a break, draw Guinevere aside and find out what had happened—

But that wet windbag in front of her kept delaying them, being an eyesore in ten different ways.
“I do not appreciate being ignored, Sarah,” Reginald frowned, almost as if on cue. “It testifies of a great lack of manners. Remember, I still outrank you—”

“I don’t give a skamelar’s arse about your ranking,” Sarah snapped, losing her last bit of patience along with her polished vocabulary. “If you can yap away at us like a bloody alley mutt, then you can make yourself useful. Go sweep the floors, or something,” she added, aggressively pointing at the broom next to them. Reginald turned up his nose at the gesture.

“Of course not. Perish the thought,” he replied. “My duties lies way above such a degrading, lowly—”

“I don’t care what your bloody duties are. If you’re in my kitchen, then you either make yourself useful, or I kick you out. Your choice. Now pick up the bloody broom.”
“This is preposterous. I wouldn’t have to be in your ill-maintained kitchen for this long if you would just make the blasted jelly tarts already-”
“Are you deaf? I said I’m not making them. Go do it yourself.”
“Now look who is hard of hearing. Cooking pastries is not part of my official duties. That is your job, scullery maid.”

“Oh?” Sarah asked, her voice slowly growing venomous. “And what is your job again, exactly? Do you have more duties than the last time my performance made you utterly redundant?”

“That was a fluke,” Reginald hissed. “The Queen simply wanted a maidservant to talk to instead of the services of a more competent-”
“Oh trust me, competence had nothing to do with the reason that she sacked you.”
“How dare you! My services are immaculate!”

“You know, I might have a jelly tart for you, after all,” Sarah hissed. “Why don’t you take one and shove it up your polished, immaculate-”
“FIRE!”

Sarah blinked. It took a moment for the meaning of the word to fully register. She could feel her gaze being pulled to the left. Her eyes passed over Reginald as she turned towards the source of the commotion, hoping that it was a false alarm.

It wasn’t.

Sarah watched in shock as a lamb roast turned into the start of a blazing inferno before her eyes. The flames were enormous, shooting up from the tiny frying pan and hungrily reaching for everything nearby. Sarah could see them expand, leaking onto the surrounding tableware and grabbing for the maidservant in front of them-
“Guinevere, get back!”

“Guinevere!”

She wasn’t moving.

Sarah acted on instinct. The maidservant leapt over the table as fast as she could, sending food and kitchen utensils crashing to the floor as she jumped to grab hold of her pupil. She could feel the heat from the fire. She could see the flames reaching for the frills on Guinevere’s uniform. Sarah’s mind panicked as she saw the edges of her sleeves begin to burn.

She wasn’t moving.

As the flames began to leak onto the cabinets, Sarah grabbed hold of Guinevere’s arm, yanking as hard as she could and causing the maidservant to be pulled backwards. Guinevere immediately lost her balance. The young redhead crashed down to the ground, colliding with Sarah as both of them were sent sprawling.

“Reginald! Sand bucket! NOW!”

This time, Reginald obeyed her without question. The manservant immediately ran towards the corner of the room, grabbing the bucket of sand that they kept under the table. Sarah watched as he dashed back, pushed one of the other servants aside and frantically started pouring sand over the fire.

It worked. The flames visibly shrank, unable to jump to the objects around the stove as they were smothered with sand. The heat faded away. The red-hot glow vanished.
A short minute after the fire had started, Reginald and the other servants had successfully managed to put it out, leaving nothing but a scorch mark and a thick, biting smoke that filled the ceiling.

It was over.

“You two,” Sarah said, pointing at the other two women in the room. “Check for embers. Behind the stove, too. The last thing we need right now is for the support beams to catch fire on us.”
“Yes, m’am.”
“On it.”

As the two started to check for damage, Sarah turned back to Guinevere. The girl was slumped over on the floor, face down and unmoving. Sarah quickly placed a hand under her chin and lifted her up to eye height. For a moment, the maidservant was convinced that she’d have burn marks all over her face- but that wasn’t the case. Not even her eyebrows were singed. She seemed completely unharmed.
“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned. “Are you hurt at all?”
Guinevere silently shook her head at her.
“Are you sure? You were so close to the fire. There’s no seared skin? No burns anywhere?”
The young redhead shook her head again, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she mumbled:
“No. I’m… okay.”

Sarah let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself a moment to calm down.

Today was proving to be a bad day.

“Good. In that case… Guinevere, I need you to go home.”

It was as if Sarah had struck her with a whip. Guinevere shrunk into herself, looking up at her mentor with a look in her eyes that was rapidly turning from fear into desperation.
“…What? No, I…”

“You just caused a fire. I don’t know what’s going on with you but right now, you are a safety hazard. I need you to leave.”

“No, I can cook, I can-”
“You clearly can’t,” Sarah replied, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Leave. If you have to work, you can go and take care of Morgana. I will come find you later.”
“But-”

“Guinevere. Leave. I have no use for you if you can’t function.”

–

The sound of Morgana’s angry footsteps echoed across the hallway, reverberating against the walls and warning everything in her path to get out of the way.

She was fuming.

Morgana could feel the anger inside as she looked up at her father’s portrait. The sorceress scowled. As if she’d let a setback like this stop her. She would figure something out.

She always did.

The budding witch had made it halfway down the hallway already when a familiar voice called her back.
“Morgana!”

Her brother was looking almost as frustrated as she felt. Morgana immediately realised from his scowl that something had happened. Something that she’d probably have to fix for him.

Again.

“Arthur,” she spoke, giving him a forced greeting as he stopped in front of her. “It’s rare to see you up this ea-”

“Did you talk to Mithian?” he asked, cutting her off mid-sentence. Morgana raised a single eyebrow.
“…I talk to a lot of people, Arthur.”
“You know what I mean. Did you tell her?”

“Of course I did. Just like you asked—”

“Did you threaten to send her head to Nemeth in a box?!”

Ah.

Well, this is interesting.

“Oh? Is that what she said?” the Princess replied, immediately putting her mask back on. Arthur’s scowl deepened even further in response.
“Answer the question, Morgana. Did you, or did you not?”
“Does it matter? You have the result you wanted, don’t you?”
“It absolutely matters!” Arthur snapped, the frustration audible in his voice. “She panicked just from hearing your name!”
“So Mithian is afraid of me now? Just as well. She’s an enemy pawn—”

For the second time in one day, Morgana’s words had the exact opposite effect of what she was going for. The Princess watched as, almost immediately, Arthur lost his temper, a familiar anger flashing behind his eyes.
“Mithian is not a pawn!” he yelled. “She is a person! And you will treat her as such!”

The outburst came as a complete surprise. Morgana didn’t understand. Why would he care about the way that she solved his problems? He never had before. Arthur wasn’t supposed to care about Mithian at all, let alone worry about how he would get her to…

To…

Oh.
Oh, no.

“…Oh, Watcher. She got to you, didn’t she?” Morgana muttered, her eyes widening as she finally realised.
“If you mean me having to reassure her that she wouldn’t end up as a severed head in a jewellery box, then yes, she got to me. What were you thinking, Morgana?!”

He didn’t realise.

Oh, you absolute fopdoodle. You never learn, do you?

“Arthur, are you hearing yourself?” Morgana said, taking a step towards her brother. “What are you doing, consoling Mithian?!”
“I am fixing your mess-”
“No! You’re falling for her tricks! This is what she does, Arthur! Mithian knows how to play the victim like no other, and you’re falling right into her trap!” she continued, her voice growing louder with every word. “I have seen her do this before, Arthur! She’s manipulating you! Can’t you see that? You can’t trust her!”

“Because she’s from Nemeth?”

“NO, you mymmerkin!” Morgana snapped. “Because I’ve seen her do this exact thing, in the ballroom, for over a decade! She’s a viper, Arthur! A snake that toys with people’s emotions-”
“Like how you toy with people’s emotions?” Arthur retorted sharply. Morgana let out an audible growl in response.
“I learned how to do that in order to help you! Who do you think Mithian is helping? Because it’s not us! We are enemies with her entire family, and you’re letting that harpy get right to your weaknesses!”

“You can’t trust her,” Morgana continued, a thousand thoughts racing through her at once as she quickly rearranged the chess pieces in her head. “Look, just leave this to me. I will fix it—”

But Arthur cut her off again, his anger flaring up a second time.
“You will do no such thing,” he growled at Morgana. “You will not harm a hair on that girl’s head, do you hear me?”

You absolute buffoon. How badly did she get under your skin?

“I will do whatever I need to, Arthur. I always have. That’s not your decision to make—”

 “That is absolutely my decision to make!” he roared, catching her by surprise. “I am your PRINCE, for Watcher’s sake! I will not allow it!”

“You will not harm Mithian like that again, do you hear me?” the Crown Prince continued. “I will not stand for it. I am ordering you as your future King. You will leave her alone.”

As a child, Arthur Pendragon had tried to lord his status over Morgana at every turn. He’d tried everything, from ordering her to give up her desserts to trying to make her play with him even if she didn’t want to. But as soon as he’d realised what his position actually meant, the Crown Prince had stopped abusing his power. He’d grown up. He had started to rely on her. And ever since then, Arthur had never commanded Morgana. Not once. He had never crossed that line.

With him, she’d always been free.

Until now.

–

Morgana had not been able to calm down.

The sorceress balled her fists, anger seething inside of her as she looked at the immaculate room that was her bedchamber. She despised the gentle blues and whites that coloured the interior. She hated those delicate, fragile-looking chairs. The soft drapery that hung by her bedside. The exquisite artwork on the wall.

Morgana had never wanted to destroy something more than she did in that moment.

“Um. Milady, would you like some refreshments?” Guinevere muttered timidly. Morgana scowled in response, feeling the anger inside her flare up at the girl’s words.
“No.”

“Oh. O-okay. Do you… do you need me to run you a hot bath? You… you have dirt on your—”

“I said no,” Morgana growled. Guinevere never had been able to take a hint. She just wanted to be left alone. She just wanted her to shut up. Morgana took a few deep breaths, trying frantically to get her rapidly worsening emotions under control—

“Oh… a-all right. I could… fetch you some wine for later? I know you like Elderberry a-and you could-”



Morgana snapped.

“I said NO, Guinevere!”

 “I told you to leave me alone! Stop making decisions for me! I don’t need you!”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Morgana knew that she’d crossed a line. The anger immediately faded, making way for guilt- and then deep concern, as the sorceress could see something shatter in Guinevere’s eyes.

“Wait, Guin- no, wait, I didn’t mean that. Guin, I’m sorry-“

But she never got to finish her apology. The second Morgana reached out, Guinevere made a sound like that of a wounded animal. Morgana watched as her maidservant turned on her heels, dashing past her and bolting towards the nearest exit.
“Wait, come back! Guin! Guinevere!”

She didn’t stop. As Morgana saw Guinevere vanish through the door, the sorceress suddenly got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. A strange, inexplicable feeling of dread. All of the hairs in the back of her neck stood upright as an inner voice told her to move. To chase after her maidservant.

To stop her while she still could.

But Morgana had never been fast.

And by the time she’d made it into the courtyard, it was already too late. The redhead was nowhere in sight.

She was gone.