Call It Her Final Payment

Morganna never wanted to be evil. Not as such. Just to give a few pompous so-and-so’s a bit of a fright. Maybe have a little chuckle at their misfortune while she was at it. The problem with the sort of raw power she had, was that aiming was tricky. She might just want to make a rat appear in someone's hair, get a few screams, take them down a peg. Unfortunately, if she was feeling grumpy, it'd manifest in her spell, and a red-eyed hell-rat would bite off half an ear and there'd be all sorts of unnecessary fuss. Never mind that she could fix it up as good as new. They would want her to apologise. She could do a lot of things really well, but not apologies.

The thing is, people should have respected her privacy more. It would have avoided a lot of trouble. When she wanted the world to get out of her face, she crept off into the woods; there was a hidden glade that she'd always loved from a small child. She'd sit by the  waterfall as the gentle parade of drops slipped from the mossy rocks and tinkled a tune in the shallow pool. After an hour or two here, she felt her spirit cleansed, the annoyance from stupid people telling her they knew best washed away. Her powers, already formidable, would be heightened as well. They didn't call her ‘away with the faeries’ for nothing. You would have to be pretty stupid to inconvenience someone like this. Unfortunately for Lance, he wasn't just stupid, but that special kind of stupid where he thought he was clever. And charming too, despite having the actual charm levels of a wet cow pat.

He stepped out from behind a tree, rudely interrupting Morganna’s daydream.

“I couldn't help notice you come here alone nearly every day. Perhaps we could be alone together?” he crooned. Ugh, take the damn hint, Lance. “My heart yearns for you, Morganna. All my waking thoughts are of thee.” 

The man had clearly mustered all his brain power to struggle through some cheesy, derivative poems, and now thought himself the last word in seduction? No thanks.

“Outta my way, chucklehead,” brusqued Morganna, pushing him back. “I have a thousand better things to do that waste breath on you, starting with mucking out the stables.”

“Ho, such a fiery spirit! A little resistance just builds the appetite of a man!” Lancelot sneered, his veneer of chivalry vanished. He grabbed Morganna and pulled her close. Too close. With an abrupt raising of her knee, he collapsed into a helpless puddle of agony. She looked down with smug satisfaction. She'd made her point, she could leave it there. Although…

###

“The foul temptress lured me into the woods and cursed me, Buk BukAwk!” fumed Lancelot to the court. Morganna prided herself on her subtlety this time, having opted for just the squawking and a magnificent wobbly red wattle on his head. She'd spared him the beak. She suppressed a snigger as Arthur listened intently, wearing his best attempt at a sage expression. “She's out of control and must be stopped, Buk Buk, or she'll be the downfall of all the Knights, BukAwk!” It's really hard to be righteously indignant under a squawking cockerel curse.

“Morganna, you have clearly misused a charm of transmogrification, a crude but effective spell, to assail Sir Lancelot,” intoned Merlin. 

Hah, thanks for explaining exactly what I did back to me, Mr fancy demon-spawn wizard, thought Morganna. 

“What have you to say in your defence?” Merlin sat back, smugly straightening his cape so the gaudy Star of the Seven Orders pendant was visible. The pompous old fart loved these sort of occasions, where he could be oh so wise and neutral. Bleh.

“Well, I was minding my own business,” Morganna pursed, fiddling idly with her flame-red hair, “when this creep jumped out from behind a bush and tried to force himself on me. I'd say he got off lightly, wouldn't you? It's not like he wasn't an utter cock before, anyway.”

“Nonsense!” roared Lancelot. “As if I would! And look at her, she's clearly dressed to seduce, Bwaaaak!”

It wasn't the wisest choice, but Morganna just had to let out a laugh. The curse was making the man all the more ridiculous.

“Maybe I like to dress like this, Lance,” she spat. “Maybe I just don't like you!”

Here we were again. They were always coming back to what she wore, what she looked like. Part of it must be jealousy at her powers, she thought. As a young girl, she'd never been happy with her hair, a dull brown with just a tint of red, like a dusty chestnut that had lost its shine. Around the age of fourteen, she'd worked out she could change things, the first had been her hair. She still fumed from the scolding Merlin had given her, calling her reddish-gold locks, shining as if lit from within, ‘a frivolous waste of magic upon vanity’. Today she'd charmed the rough wooden tunic a dazzling red to set off her hair, made it follow her shape just a little for an extra spring in her step. Certainly not to draw in creeps like Lance. Well, Morganna wasn't going to be someone different just because other people thought she should. She would be who she wanted to be.

“You just can't handle that I can look like this and not melt when you apply your so-called charms, unlike some people around here!” snapped Morganna, anger fortified by the injustice of memory. Not the smartest thing to say. That power-tripping strumpet Guinevere was right there, sat next to Arthur, who must have known but pretended he didn't. Lancelot's face turned an ugly beetroot.

“How dare you, BukAwk!” he yelled, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword. 

“Sit, you fool!” boomed all the walls at once in Merlin's voice, as the torches dimmed and sputtered. Lancelot dropped his sword and sat on the cold floor beside the Round Table, not even able to get back to his chair. “I believe we have heard enough. Arthur, your judgement, please.”

Arthur nodded. Guinevere leaned over and whispered in his ear. A haunted expression crossed his face, chased away, with visible effort, by one that was almost stern.

“I will not have disunity here,” he quavered, looking ahead and avoiding eye contact with Morganna. “Lancelot, sheath your sword. Morganna, release the curse and apologise. Then I will hear no more of the matter.”

Guinevere's expression curdled like vinegar hitting milk. Doubtless she had wanted more of a punishment for Morganna, but she didn't realise there wasn't much worse than being forced to unilaterally apologise to that disgusting cretin. Morganna’s hair curled upwards, dancing like flames from the heat of her anger. Not a chance. She stood, slowly, arms shaking. With a thunder, she filled the room in smoke. A shriek issued from Guinevere as an infestation of fat caterpillars burst into her hair. Buoyed by rage, Morganna lifted into the air and flew away.

###

Morganna landed in the woods, shocked at what she could achieve when fueled by white-hot anger. She'd never even tried flying before. She stomped around for a good hour, gently steaming. How dare they! That chucklehead didn't deserve an apology, he deserved yet another good slap. Eventually, the rage subsided enough for her to take stock of the situation. She needed to have a good think about what to do next. She padded over to her favourite glade and sat by the waterfall. Going back to Camelot was going to be fraught, but where else was there for her? Although, if she knew better how to harness her powers, there would be no limit to her options? In a haze of thought, Morganna didn't notice Merlin had sat next to her until he cleared his throat.

“That was an impressive display of ignogenesis and levitation back there, Morganna,” he spoke carefully, “but you need to know how to channel your power to truly become a mage. Lashing out will earn you a very poor reputation indeed.”

Morganna shot him a fiery glance, communicating exactly how much everyone had deserved what they got.

“Look, I have no small influence in the court. I shall talk to Arthur and Lancelot, make them see sense and the error of his ways, if you return,” Merlin continued, looking straight ahead. There was a silence as neither spoke nor exchanged a glance. Morganna broke this with a sigh.

“Fine. I'll do nothing more so long as he does, and he can have that curse dropped. For me, I want to know my powers more, if you'll guide me?”

For someone so wise, Merlin's next move was decidedly unwise. He must have misread the situation horribly, because when he reached out and rested a hand on Morganna's knee, there was a crack, a rustling noise, and a rush of air. Next to Morganna, with a beard of moss that resembled the wizard's, now stood a great oak. Morganna rose, the blaze in her eyes fading, and brushed off her tunic.

So this was how it was going to be, was it? She was definitely better off without them, then. Decision made. A glint caught her eye, in the ferns next to the tree. A sword? Had that foolish wizard really brought Excalibur with him? Morganna stooped. It was, most definitely, the Sword of the Stone. Right now, she was not in the mood to return it to Arthur. She owed him nothing, anyway he was a Big Boy, he could manage for a while without. Call it her final payment.

Morganna hefted the sword, gathered her wits; all the things she needed to survive. She looked back at the tree. She could let him loose in a few days, but then again he'd probably declare her a Menace and hunt her down. If there's one thing she knew, it's that nobody would believe her story now. They would all write the legends and flatter themselves at her expense, not that she cared. At least Merlin wasn't doing any more writing; if he got unlucky, he might even end up as parchment. The man made a much nicer tree than a person anyway.

Ah well. She'd do something nice for someone nice, or maybe something nasty to someone nasty later. It'd all balance out.