exsilium | video ♛ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ sᴛᴏʟᴇ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ's ᴛʜʀɪʟʟ

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video ♛ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ sᴛᴏʟᴇ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ's ᴛʜʀɪʟʟ

Gwen? [ A beat. ] Merlin? [ Another beat. ] Arthur?

[ There is something distinctly off when the feed switches on, where there was once coldness now is warmth and concern. She looks around and the camera shakes a little before panning up to a face that looks so familiar but different at the same time. ]

If you're trying to scare me this is in very poor taste.

[ Here is a face some will remember, brave, stubborn, fierce; so full of the fire and warmth she had once upon a time possessed completely. She looks as if she stepped right out of the castle instead of looking as she had stepped right out of a hovel in the middle of a forest.

Morgana's brow furrows, her patience clearly reaching it's limit. What vague memories she has tells her they are here with her, but nothing more ─ so really stop hiding you jerks, it is not cool.

She sits nearby something busy (market most likely) judging by the sounds, tablet in her lap with a look of displeasure plain on her face. She had plans you see, though she barely remembers what they were, only they have been ruined by something; yet another thing she cannot properly remember.

Today is simply not her day. ]

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[ For a moment she thinks she does not want to see him, he's so angry for reasons she cannot place and it hurts, but it is quickly erase by the desire to see him ─ to prove she is not what he think she is. They have been friends for so long, as close as siblings, surely that counts for something?

She inhales, doing her best to steel herself as pointless as it is, he has already seen the worst of it and he can likely see through her attempts. She is hurt, scared, confused, and utterly lost. ]

Nearby the markets. [ She turns her tablet to show the closest landmark she can find, but also to take the camera from her face.

Though it is too short, soon enough she returns it to her face and her body tenses. ]

What are you going to do?

[There is no flash of triumph in her eyes--but she could hide that easily. Or could she? He doesn't know, and there is no one to ask; no time to find Merlin and seek his counsel, or Gwen-- You can do the right thing, Arthur Pendragon! You can show some faith in a loyal friend. I thought you were a prince, so start behaving like one!

And again, he thinks of his father, a great king, a king of self-assurance and wisdom--though not always of risk, and less so of mercy--he thinks of burnings and beheadings and trials that he's seen-- and Morgana, snarling at him--and this Morgana, pale and afraid and alone--]

Stay where you are. I'm coming to find you.

[ I'm coming to find you.

Morgana isn't sure if she should be relieved or concerned, it is difficult to tell. Either way she nods, eyes downcast, preparing herself for when he does in fact find her.

It is one thing to hiss angry words through the tablet, it is another to hiss them at her face ─ she may not be able to stop her temper then, then she has never been one for keeping her temper under wraps. She has always pushed and growled when ought not too. Yelling at Uther as if he was nothing more than another man instead of a King. ]

Very well.

[He shuts off the device brusquely. If she means to kill him, surely there would have been some light of triumph in her eyes--perhaps she looked down to shield that tell--but no. He is looking for things that aren't there. And he cannot allow himself even the faintest hope; she is a witch, and even if she renounced her magic and all that she had done, how could he forgive her?

And yet he buckles on his sword and goes out into the city to find her--only to see for himself that she has not changed. Or so Arthur tells himself.

It does not take long to find the market, and it is no difficult thing to spot Morgana. And she looks--different. Not the Morgana he saw in the picture on his device, when she first arrived in this city--but the Morgana he knows, the one he tries not to think of. It could be an act, he tells himself; it could be an act the same way that she acted while she worked to betray Camelot--]

Morgana.

[He does not approach her, but stands, with his hand on his sword. Wary--and, against his better efforts, hopeful, too.]

[ The wait was difficult, part of her wanted to flee while another refused to move keeping her routed in her spot. Morgana is no craven, she has faced things most women would have cowered from and ran. She has faced Uther in his anger, she can face whatever it is that Arthur brings with him. ]

Arthur.

[ He does not look different to her, though his expression hardened against something she does not know or understand. He looks as he did in Camelot, walking the halls with his soldiers or his knights.

She stands quickly, fingers tightening around the device in her hands ─ an anchor of sorts, something for her hands to hold onto ─ chin high, and shirts shifting with the movement. She is the very image of the Lady Morgana of Camelot, for to her that is all she has ever been and all she will ever be. The King's Ward, Arthur's friend, Gwen's treasured lady. ]

Is the sword really necessary?

I suppose we'll see.

[But the words don't ring with quite the conviction they ought to. Her move is next, but she does not raise her hand, or laugh, or mock him for a fool too full of hope. It's only Morgana, proud and a little scared beneath that--he can read it in her face. Is this what Gwen sees when she looks at her even now? Is this a lie or the truth?

--And all the while, she does not attack him. She stares at him, and Arthur finds that he wants to fill the silence that's sprung up between them, if only so he can stop thinking that perhaps this is the truth--]

What would you have me believe? That you've forgotten everything?

[ There he goes again, speaking of things he knows of where she does not. Frustrations rise and it can be seen in her face, in her posture, the way she moves her weight and narrows her eyes. ]

Forgotten what? How many times will I have to say I do not know what you expect me to have forgotten before it finally gets through to you?

[ This thick, pig headed little ─ ]

Until it makes sense!

[he shouts it at her, tension finally breaking--but a touch of guilt tugs in his chest. her tone is too familiar, too like the Morgana that he knows--the way she stands, the way she tosses her hair a little before she narrows her eyes at him--

furiously, he shakes his head, staring instead at her feet.]

You have been in this city for some months now. You have been-- different. You remember none of it? [you have betrayed us, it should be easy to throw in her face; it will crack her composure, she will have to gloat--but if he says it, then it becomes true. is he truly a coward, to hold the words back? a stupid childish superstitious coward, no true price at all--]

What of your magic, Morgana? Do you deny that, too?

No! [ She snaps back, as much out of frustration as out of panic. Her memories are jumbled, that much she knows, she remembers so little that his words instill whispers of panic and fear in her chest. What if he is right? What if something happened? What if? What if? What if?

No, no. She has no been different, he has to be wrong, she has been the same as she always has, she ─

What of your magic, Morgana? Do you deny that, too?

For a moment she swears her heart stops and her breath catches in her throat, in a blink her frustrations as stripped bear. She had not heard things, he knows... he knows. How does he know? ]

I ─ [ She always feared this, ever since she found out for sure herself, she has always feared the day Arthur would find out, she feared he would hate her without a second thought. That is how Uther raised them after all, anyone with magic is vile and evil and should be put down like an animal. ]

Arthur please, I have done nothing wrong.

[please. Arthur turns away at that plea, turning his back on Morgana--for the moment, at least. there is too much that he does not understand too much he does not know--how can he know what to do? and there is no one to seek counsel from, no one to ask for advice--if he looks to his father, he will know what to do; he knows what Uther Pendragon would do, no matter that it is Morgana that wields the magic.]

So you do not deny it. To have magic is to do wrong. You know this.

[he does not look at her yet, not out of cowardice, but because he must work this out, he must know what to do. if she has repented, does he forgive her? can he forgive if she does not remember? and if somehow the magic of this place has changed her--set her back, like a playing piece moved back to the start of a board--if she has not done what she will do--what then? can they prevent her magic? can they save her?]

What do you last remember?

[ His turning is sharp, stabs her like a knife and rips the wind from the lungs. Fear takes hold of her tightly in a vice grip, and she wonders she will ever be able to breathe properly again.

He has turned from her and it hurts.

For she loved Arthur more than any, he had been there for her as a child when no other had been. He did not look upon her with pity and sadness like the others did. He gave her reason to smile again, to laugh, to love her new home instead of hating it. ]

I did not ask for it! [ Why? Why must simply possessing it make her wrong? She never used it to hurt anyone, nor would she ever. ] I never asked for magic, Arthur you must believe me, if I could give it back I would but I cannot. It is as much a part of me as my own breath.

[ It is something I should not fear. But she fears regardless, fears because of what it means for her, for Gwen, for all who had ever brushed against her in any way. ]

I was going to visit my father's grave with Gwen when we were ambushed and captured, I escaped and you found me. You had returned Gwen to Camelot, you returned her to me.

[he laughs, dryly--more to himself than anything else. she might lie, she might say I do not remember this place and make up some story about not remembering anything past the incident that she describes.

but why would she? what would the gain be for her? to get close to his side once more, but she would know he would not fall for such a thing. so then it must be true.

the problem then is that she yet has magic. even if she has not captured Camelot for her own, unseated his father, turned the kingdom upside-down with her treachery-- even then, she still has magic. he knows what he should do, even if it is not what he wants.]

Would you truly give it back, if you could? [he looks back at her, and for a moment, it is written on his face--worry, confusion, regret--and sadness, most of all, naked and plain. he misses Morgana. he would never say it, but he misses her, and seeing her like this makes it worse.]

You could forsake it. You could-- not use it.

[ If she had her own way he would never know, if she had her own way no one would ever know of the magic coursing through her veins. But he knows, she does not know how he knows but he does, and so suddenly he is put in position she had hoped once to avoid all together.

She hurts as much for him as she does because of him. ]

Yes. [ It is not the whole truth, nor is it a lie. Part of her wishes so much to be rid of it, but another does not. The druids told her that her gift is not something to be scared of, that she has it for a reason, she is special. To be rid of it would be like parting from her own limbs.

The look on his face is so sad, so raw, so there. She tells him what he wishes to hear, she tells him yes to spare him the complicated truth that rages in her heart and mind. ]

I won't ─ I have never... [ She set her curtain on fire, shattered her own window and a vase, but these were not on purpose. ]

I will not use it, I swear.

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video ♛ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ sᴛᴏʟᴇ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ's ᴛʜʀɪʟʟ

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action & oh my god i am the worst if this is too late disregard... SORRY..... :(

action ─ tis all good! /snugs, you are not the worst and i will backtag into forever