Within Darkness [Erik]

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Putting on her navy blue hood, Morgana stepped lightly into the woods, swiftly moving around like she had the forest memorized already. In truth, she had. Almost every night, the sorceress sneaked out of her tent to escape away into the dark stillness if the enemy's camp. Well, thinking logcially, the army of Wayron was an ally, rather than an enemy. Playing on Team Wayron was far more entertaining than Team Trenale was, surely. And Morgana enjoyed the excitement. She had not been discovered, and there were no signs of such a thing to occur soon, so her plans were coming along quite nicely.

Of course, her least favorite task was shapeshifting into her alter-ego, Morgan. While it was rather painful, her body was slowly starting to memorize this other figure, and although the pain took nearly a half hour to recede, Morgana was getting used to this. After all, pain was all that reminded her that she was still, in fact, human, and had a soul. A broken, shattered one, but a soul, nevertheless, if it can even be called so.

A twig snapped under her foot, and a couple of birds took flight, causing Morgana to hold her breath. Her shadow was barely moving, and her warm breath came out in a fog, but her figure was still hers. She needed to get in farther, at least halfway into the forest, nearly an hour's walk, before she could murmur a spell and send shockwaves searing into her bones and muscles. If anyone heard her, or found out she had magic, her powers could be limited. Indeed, she was not frightened to reveal her secret. Merlin knew of it, helped her even, but the boy was too naive; he sincerely thought she was a confused woman, uncertain of her abilities. Once Morgana had more resources, she would easily prove Merlin, and everyone else wrong. Hiding who she was, wasn't right. It was inhumane, in fact. When she would take the throne, it would be different. All of it.

An ally would be lovely, but unfortunately, because Morgana was too proud, too careful about who to trust, she had none. Kay was of no use. He would rather spend time with goats, in very pervert and unspeakable ways, than to help his sister bring Arthur down. Kay actually liked Arthur, and treated him as a brother. Kay would be disappointed to know what his sister had been planning all along. Frankly, Morgana did not care. He would either support her decision, or deny her the pleasure. She couldn't kill him (she cared too much, more than she'd like to), nor could she let him go around telling everyone. Kay was one issue with how Morgana did not know to deal.

Another twig snapped, and Morgana froze. She could have sworn she hadn't stepped on a twig. But no, it was off in the near-distance, someplace nearby her. She made no move, and heardly even breathed. With her hood still over her head, Morgana could feel her magical instincts kicking in to gear. She was quite experienced in both combat, and magic, and with a daggar at her side and magic running through her veins, no target was a match for Morgana. She was tempted to press on, but she sensed a presence. Moving forward would surely be foolish. So, she did the second most foolish thing. She secured the ground upon which she stood, and looked towards the direction the extra twig snapped. "One move, and I can kill you with a flick of a finger where you stand," she threatened with gritted teeth, her eyes flashing. "Who goes there?"

Leave it to Morgana to open her big mouth.

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Erik absolutely loathed living within the army's camp. It was the perfect storm of detestable things for a solitary man like him. Although he had made a solid habit of staying within the meager tent that he was given and staying away from the soldiers who roamed about, the sheer presence of such a large number of people so close by made him constantly on guard. Additionally, the soldiers were terribly noisy. Between the din of their conversations and activities around camp, Erik could barely find himself able to focus on any ideas that might come to him. Oh, how he desperately looked forward to the first time he was instructed to go out on an assassination. At least then his only company would be the shadows and the soon-to-be corpse, and he could at least collect his thoughts.

It seemed like a terrible thing, to be looking forward to his first ordered kill, but that was how it was here. Just like in Persia, he was no longer his own man, and he'd had to learn to deal with it. Luckily, he had no compassion or loyalty to Tintagel, so his betrayal did not weight upon him at all. In fact, he had complete apathy for this entire war. He didn't care which side won. Had circumstances been different, God would only know where he would've been hiding. However, he had been captured and now he was forced into taking an active role to avoid reliving the terror that was life in a cage. Sometimes, he'd stop to wonder why he didn't just leave and find a place to hide like he originally intended. It wasn't like the army of Wayron would be crafty enough to ever find him and slaughter him for deserting. Erik knew the reason why he was staying though;

It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

That was the tragic truth. He had no care for Tintagel, nothing waiting for him on that island, and the portal to Paris was closed. What would he do if he could return to Paris anyway? There was nothing there for him but the comfort of his lair and those awful memories. Knowing that this was the truth, Erik decided to deal with the lot he had been given. At least here he was given a reason to wake up every morning, even if freedom no longer belonged to him.

In learning to deal with this new life, Erik did manage to find a way to relieve some of the stress. In order to escape the pressure that was the camp of Wayron's army, he frequently found himself drifting into the darkness of the forest. He always snuck in unseen and would do so at any hour of the day. It had become his place of reflection, a place that no one ever wandered into. There was no noise other than the wilderness around him, and his creative mind was free to wander. The forest had become his new domain, surprisingly so in such a turbulent time.

Hence why Erik was in the forest on this particularly dark night. He was reclaiming his calm and collecting his thoughts, his thick opera cloak draped over his shoulders to keep the wind's chill away. Most nights, Erik's wanderings were pleasant and uneventful. There was no such luck tonight however. It wasn't too long before he had realized that he wasn't alone in these woods. The distinct sound of footsteps drifted to his ears, giving him reason to pause. He stopped for a moment, looking into the darkness, waiting to see if the source of the disruption could be seen. Indeed, there it was, off in the distance. Although she had not seemed to have noticed him, he could make out the distinct shape of a woman among the trees. Although he now saw the source of his interruption, he was prepared to pay it no mind. Erik saw no reason to address her. He would simply let her be off on her way, and he'd go off on his own. More than willing to return to his loneliness on this night, the man took a step forward to leave.

However, it seemed that the woman had another idea. He stepped on a twig of his own, and the sound of it seemed to travel quickly through the area. In no time at all, the woman's voice rang out just as well.

"One move, and I can kill you with a flick of a finger where you stand. Who goes there?"

Erik stopped once again, and glared back in the direction of the woman. Although she now knew that he was there, she apparently couldn't see exactly where he was. Now, that was a comfort, but it still wasn't enough to continue his plan of vanishing. Judging by the woman's words, he could only assume that she was the paranoid type. Why else would she so quickly jump to violence? Then again, perhaps it was justified, given the political climate. Regardless of all that, her threat gave him a small bit of amusement. Now, where did she get the idea that she was the most threatening one here? Erik had no idea as to how she was going to kill him with merely her finger, but he wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances. He found his hand slipping under his cloak to find his Punjab lasso secured at his waist. He never left his tent without it. Yes, if this woman did feel threatened enough to do something stupid, he was certain that he could be ready. But first, he would try to use reasoning to make her stand down.

"Such a bold threat, Mademoiselle, but don't make the mistake of assuming that you're the only efficient killer present," he remarked from his position within the shadows. He projected his voice out to her with ease, not needing to yell nor move. Erik wasn't about to move into her line of sight until he was sure that it wouldn't cause any needless violence. "Luckily for us both though, we have no reason to quarrel. We have merely managed to cross paths with each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Let's not engage in such barbaric behavior tonight, shall we?" Though he was trying to be negotiable, there was a hard edge in Erik's voice, like an adult scolding a child. Honestly, just who was this woman to be threatening his life over just crossing her path?

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Really, Morgana knew that speaking without thinking was foolish. She often ran her mouth without considering any consequences. Naturally, this all happened at the worst of times. When she was under pressure, gods forbid she crack and accidentally spill something. No, only when she was calculated and sure of herself was when her lips formed letters, and her tongue spoke what it wasn't supposed to.

Attempting to look around, and perhaps see who it was off in the darkness, most likely now turned towards her and possibly either glaring at her, or terrified out of his or her wit. She still couldn't see. Damn the darkness of the woods. Morgana only knew the woods by memory. She had trained herself to remember the treets she passed, and the shrubs she stepped over, but she couldn't see anything past five feet ahead of her. Suddenly, a voice spoke. A deep, morbid voice, which Morgana knew was of a male's. Splendid. Just what she needed. If it was a soldier, she could easily kill him. Besides, who else but the enemy would be alone in these woods? Of course, other than she.

'Mademoiselle'? Ah, but he spoke the language of the Franks. Or so they called it here, French, of the country of France. Morgana knew of this language, and was not particularly a fan of it. She refused to study it in Camelot, and refused to be associated with it here. This man, however, seemed to be a native of that land. Simply lovely. Arrogance. Morgana could practically smell it, coming off of the person with whom she was speaking. He spoke in the same manner as her sister did, with pure, unadulterated arrogance. Coming from Morgause, Morgana didn't mind it. As a high priestess, Morgause was entitled to such speaking. But this man? Who was he?

And who was he to threaten a sorceress? "Come now, I make no mistake. I know I am the only effiencent killer. Your swords and your spears are no match for my talents, unfortunately for you," Morgana replied, with as much arrogance as she could gather in that moment. She wasn't angry. Not in the least bit. In fact, she had this eerie calmness settle upon her. She felt confident, sure of herself. She loved playing for the enemy's team. It gave her a high, something she needed, to live.

Holding out a hand, Morgana realized just how frustrated she was with the darkness. While she could not see this person, she knew she was weak. They both held an advantage over each other, but Morgana needed to be the one superior to him. And to everyone, really. She whispered a word, and a blazing ball of light lit up in the palm of her hand. She really needed to see, at least a silhouette. She needed to know with whom she was speaking, for he didn't speak like a soldier. Certainly he wasn't a soldier. That would come off as too much of a surprise. Even for Wayron.

"Barbaric behavior? Is this what you think I would portray? Quarrel?" Morgana laughed as if this were the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "You are wrong, sir. Although I am flattered that you might compliment any skill I have, as I am well-versed with a sword, I hold something better and far more deadly than any weapon." As if to demonstrate (like her ball of light wasn't enough to prove it), Morgana appeared to grab at a branch from where she stood, and threw it across the view between this man and she, without so much as touching it. She had magic. And she wanted so badly to show all of Tintagel just how powerful she was.

"Now, who are you? Don't make me ask again, sir," she said, but in a gentler tone, despite her edgy words. "Are you of Wayron? Or have you followed me on my nightly stroll?

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Judging by the woman's searching eyes, Erik could tell that he was still hidden from her sight. He found this assuring. Even in a world like this one, where the lines between possible and impossible seemed to blur, the stranger wouldn't be able to do anything drastic if she couldn't tell where he was. In fact, he had even considered throwing his voice earlier when he had spoken to further gain the advantage, but that annoying little stick had ruined that tactic before he had even thought of it.

"Come now, I make no mistake. I know I am the only efficient killer. Your swords and your spears are no match for my talents, unfortunately for you,"

The words were amusing the very moment that they reached Erik's ears. Oh, how she was tempting fate! If only she knew that she was in the presence of the man who once served as an assassin to the Shah of Persia himself! She even went as far to assume that he was carrying some sort of generic weapon. He had to subdue the urge to chuckle. It seemed that strangulation was a unique method of killing, for no one seemed to suspect it. Luckily for him, that was the particular method that he was a master of. He would've loved to have the satisfaction of putting this woman in her place, but he knew better. Doing so would do nothing to improve the situation.

Then, as if to check Erik's pride, the woman suddenly displayed just what made her so confident; magic. As the blazing ball lit up before him, and the man took a note to perhaps take this woman more seriously. He was finally getting used to the idea that magic, real magic and not the illusions that he practiced, existed here. Now he knew better than to take it lightly. Adding to his frustration was the fact that the new source of illumination had surely revealed his position to her. Unfortunately, the white ceramic of his mask would reflect light all too easily, giving it an eerie starkness against the blackness around them. Most certainly she'd be able to see that now and perhaps at the very least a silhouette of the rest of him, if not more. His eyes glinted in the new light as they adjusted into a hard glare.

Unsurprisingly, the woman was not yet finished in flaunting her advantages. After another bit of boasting, she gave yet another exhibition of her magic. Though he knew little about this "real" magic, he could easily imagine that the action with the branch was easily recreated with a man. Well, perhaps that was a bit impressive. Erik watched the demonstration with a bit of interest. Perhaps he'd have to explore into this type of magic more for himself once this entire farce of a war was over....

Erik quickly disrupted his sidetracking thoughts and turned his cold expression back to the stranger. He was taking her a bit more seriously now, but still wasn't afraid of what might come of their encounter. Beneath his cloak, his hand felt his Punjab lasso before readily taking it. He was thankful at that moment for his choice in clothing. The flowing black cloak gave him a place to hide his weapon, yet still be able to use it within the blink of an eye. He didn't intend to use it on this traveler, but he did not yet know if she was going to force his hand.

The woman asked for his identity again, and Erik knew that there would be only one way to satisfy her.

"Ah, and even more bold words," he taunted. "While you're spending so much time building yourself up though, I'm afraid that you're making a great error in underestimating your opponent." Erik couldn't help but speak a few bold words of his own first, but he knew that there was no point in agitating her further.

"But to answer your insistent questioning, I am called Erik. Due to certain circumstances, I suppose you could say that I am of Wayron." He was careful how he phrased his statement. He had no loyalty to the army and was there by no choice of his own, but it was technically the side that he had been emptily supporting. He couldn't help but wonder whether this answer would satisfy her, or only send them both into a deeper conflict. After all, he did not know which side she was on.

"But as I said before, we have merely crossed paths with each other. That is all." He eyed her for a moment with a cold, calculating gaze before suddenly asking a question of his own.

"And what of you?" he asked firmly. "Just who are you to be asking and threatening me these things?"

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The light Morgana provided satisfied her greatly. She seemed far more confident now that she could at least fix her eyes upon the figure who had been in the dark. With a smirk, Morgana decided to step forward to see him better. There was something on his face, somewhat of a covering. White. Like...a mask of some sort. Morgana knew of masks and such things during the festivals, like Midwinter or even Samhain Eve. The entertainers hired to perform in front of the king and the prince often wore such masks. But she was sure these comdeians and actors did not parade themselves around wearing their ridiculous costumes.

Narrowing her eyes at this stranger, Morgana wasn't sure what to think of him. He was too arrogant for his own good, and she was uncomfortable with that. Nobody should be allowed to be arrogant except for a priestess, like Morgana was. Priestesses had something about which to boast, and the words they spoke were not idle words. "I'd hardly consider underestimating an opponent an error, if it is true. I have seen nothing yet which poses to be a threat for me. You think that because I am a woman, I am unable to take care of myself? Quite the contrary, good sir," Morgana threw in the plesant adjective, almost as if to be condescending to him.

She knew too well about men and their chauvinistic theories about women. They were all wrong, of course. It was true that women perhaps could not accomplish too much without the use of man, but that was all it was; usage of them. At last, he gave her his identity, and when Morgana was sure that she had never heard the name before, she took yet another step forward. "And what are these certain circumstances, if I may ask? Do your loyalties lie with Wayron completely, or are you a traitor?" Morgana wanted to know. Because she definitely wa a traitor. And was damn proud of that too.

But he wasn't inquiring about her, which threw her a little off guard. A man like he was, a dominant figure, would certainly question her. Unless, of course, he had his reasons. Perhaps he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Or cloak. Gods knew Morgana had plenty of those. Erik was staring at her, and for a split second, Morgana was terrified that he could read her intentions. As if. Not even those with magic could read another like that. Unless they read a future, which was completely different. At last, she was asked about her own self, something which she was expecting.

And honestly, Morgana wanted to answer like she always did, in her sweet, innocent little voice that she used when speaking to Arthur, or to Uther. But that was not who she was. Morgana wasn't that innocent little girl anymore. She was a warrior. A high priestess. A sorceress. She was many things, but a good ward she was not.

"I am the Lady Morgana Le Fey, ward of King of Uther of Camelot, and High Priestess of the Old Religion," she said, hesitating a little at first, but her voice growing louder and more confident with every word. She shouldn't be afraid of whom she was. She should love who she was, and grow to understand that part of her that which she had been devoid of it her entire life, terrified of the mere thought of a possibilty. "In fact, I am many things, and I have every right to be asking and threatening you. But, I see you are an ally, for I too, am of Wayron."

"How about we start over, for it appears as though our chance meeting hadn't been done properly." Morgana curtsied slightly, and bowed her head in acknowledgement of Erik. "I do apologize for my words. Perhaps I had been a little too head-strong," she said sweetly, offering him a smile. When she felt threatened, hey, the dark side of Morgana quickly pulled out its claws. But she could see Erik was no threat now. He was on her side, and he didn't seem to be lying about it either.

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The woman's self-satisfied smirk and continued boast earning a sneer from Erik. Her sense of confidence was beginning to grow annoying, not to mention her assumption that he was belittling her because she was a woman was reminding him of a recent, unpleasant experience that had occurred elsewhere. Why were women here so fixated on defending their gender? Regardless, the fact that she was almost flaunting her self-assurance was beginning to eat away at his patience.

Another trait he was beginning to find annoying was her prying. First, she demanded his identity, and now she was asking the reasons for his alliance. The very first thing he thought to do was dismiss her and tell her that it was no business of her's. However, he remembered all too easily how stubborn she had been about the mere subject of his name. He had the sinking feeling that a dismissive response would not settle her curiosity.

"I don't know how that is any of your concern," he began. Although he was going to give the vaguest bit of information just to avoid a potential head ache in the future, he wasn't about to let it go without taking a stab at her self-important nature. "But if you must know, perhaps some people would call it treachery. They'd be mistaken however. One must be loyal first in order to be a traitor, after all." He said this with a note of apathy and a dismissive wave of his hand. He only scratched the surface of his new situation, but it had made him think about how empty it all seemed. He hadn't been in Tintagel long enough to form any compassion for it, if he ever could form any sense of compassion anymore. His work for Wayron was only because of self-preservation. The prospect of going back to living within a cage had only happened a very short period of time ago, but he could still remember the blind panic and rage that the mere thought had brought to him. It was a long ago trauma, but still so dreadfully vivid. No. Never again. Indeed, he had joined Wayron to maintain his dwindling sense of humanity, not out of spite for Tintagel. This was no treachery, but he didn't expect her to understand that.

Enough of him though. It was time for her to answer his own questions. When she responded, Erik found himself strangely fascinated in her response. Ah, was that hesitation he noticed when she began? Perhaps she wasn't as self-assured as she would like him to believe. It was her name and title though that earned her words the most thought. Morgana Le Fey of Camelot? Oh, and yet another old story coming to life right before his eyes. Erik had little interest in the story of knights and kings, but he did know enough about it to know her name. If the story he had heard about was accurate, then she wasn't exactly one of the protagonists. Perhaps he hadn't been too foolish earlier to have been careful with his words and prepared for anything. Still, Lady Morgana or not, his impression on the woman before him did not waver. It merely explained some of those more bothersome traits.

Then, Morgana did something that rather surprised Erik. Suddenly, she went from offensive to lady-like, and was now exchanging courtesies with him. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It was both amusing and sad how easily discovering which side of a war you're on would change how two people interact. Even with her being on "his side", so to speak, Erik was still remaining skeptical, just as he did with any other person he had encountered. The only difference now was that he was certain that she at least wasn't going to attempt to harm him. With that threat gone, Erik finally released his grip on the Punjab lasso.

"An interesting change of tone, Mademoiselle," was his snarky response. Still, Erik did have some gentlemanly ways, even if he did prefer to shun human society as a whole, and he found the need to return her new pleasantries. Now that his grip was off of his weapon, he freed that particular arm from the weight of his cloak with a fluid motion, so that he may put his hand on his chest and return an acknowledging tilt of the head. Unlike Morgana though, Erik would not force himself to give her a smile. His eyes were just a little less defensive, that's all.

"I do accept your apology. It truly is fortunate that we did not fall on opposite sides," he admitted. Despite whoever's words proved true and who was the more efficient killer, things just would've been plain ugly if they had went differently. Erik was in no mood for that. He had only just gotten involved in this war nonsense, after all.

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She understood. Erik had no one to be loyal to, and he decided to be partial to wayron. That was fair enough. Morgana wasn't really ever loyal to Trenale, nor did she care much for it. Sure, she was hired as a professor at Tintagel, and sure, she pretty much lived in the city, but there was no absolutely loyalty from her part. The only person she could remain loyal to was Morgause, and Morgause alone. That was, if Morgana would ever get to see her sister again. If only those stupid portals would open up again, then perhaps Morgana could return to Camelot, and plan some more, instead of moping around Tintagel, not entirely sure what the hell she was doing.

"I agree," she replied slowly, glancing around at her surroundings. The woods were familiar to her. She knew practically every tree and stone. "I've no loyalties laying anywhere, to be honest, either." However, Morgana would love to get her hands on Arthur and Merlin. Especially Merlin. That scoundral had twarted her plans once too many. This was going to be the first time Merlin wouldn't suspect her of anything. She hadn't before perfected the face of Morgan, but now, she couldn't be recognized. She was hardly Morgana, and even Merlin himself couldn't figure out her secret if he tried. And if he did, he would never be able to prove it. Her plans were flawless this time!

Again with the French. Morgana was really starting to get irked at it. She did not like even one word of the language! To think she was almost forced into learning such a language! But alas, he was correct. Her tone had changed, and he was a smart one in noticing it. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye. She liked metting new characters, because they might prove to be useful at one point or another. That was, if she could trust them. Erik seemed hellbent on siding with Wayron, as was Morgana, simply because the opposing team was Trenale. At least, for her, that was the reason. "Interesting?" Morgana repeated, but remained in that almost amused innocent tone which she insisted on keeping. It was who she was in public, after all. The Lady Morgana Le Fey, of course. "I have nothing to fear, therefore, I do not have to be on my guard." Well, partially true. Morgana was always on her guard, with everyone and everything. It was in her nature.

Oh, good. Her apology was accepted. Definitely was not the most important thing at the moment, or ever, but she had been the one to apologize, and his acceptance might mean that they weren't out to kill each other anymore. The mask was really distracting, though. Morgana almost couldn't keep her eyes off of it. She wondered what could possibly lie behind such a mask. But those were questions for another time. At the moment, she didn't want to delay for longer than she needed, since Morgana had to be back at Tintagel before dawn. "How so? Would you have killed me?" she dared ask, but with a bit of a flirtacious intonation this time. She could play these games forever.

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Now, this was an interesting development. After Morgana Le Fey had been so ready to be civil once she realized that he too served Wayron, he had been certain that the army held her complete loyalty. However, her response to his vague explanation of his situation told him otherwise. The real question though was whether she was like him and had nothing else to turn to, or if she had personal ambitions that she weighed much greater than the war. Either way, he found that they both shared the common trait of self-interest, selfishness even. Perhaps she even shared his detachment from the world around them. If that were the case, then maybe he stood a chance of understanding the actions of this Lady Morgana Le Fey.

It was a bit of a pleasant surprise though to find that she wasn’t one of those fools who were whole-heartedly involved with this mess. Honestly, if he had to listen to one more youth boast about how he would give his life for some worthless cause he might go further off the deep end then he already was. Erik was indeed a bit grateful for this change of pace. As such, he decided to keep his gaze courteously on Morgana while she spoke, rather than glaring off into the night like he would for anyone else. Though he still had the urge to go off and revel in what was left of his privacy this night, dealing with her wouldn’t be as dreadful as it could be.

Despite all of this understanding though, he still gave a roll of his eyes when Morgana responded to his remark about her change in demeanor. What was she thinking, suddenly trying to sound innocent now? It seemed unbefitting for the woman that was just threatening him moments ago. Still, annoying change in tone and all, at least she was admitting to no longer being defensive. It was always reassuring to know that he had made the right choice in abandoning his grip on his lasso. Erik couldn’t say the same of himself though. If there was another breathing human being nearby, the man would never be able to let his guard down. He was just too cynical and pessimistic when it came to human nature to ever be at ease with anyone. Well, there was that one person, but only God knew if he would ever experience the pleasure of that person’s company again.

As he waited for Morgana’s next string of words, he noticed her eyes trying to fixate on his face. No, not his face; His mask. Rage and defensiveness boiled up within him. Surely, this woman was having the same dangerous thoughts that everyone did when they looked upon the white ceramic on shielding his true features from the world. He had to subdue his thoughts of what would happen should curiosity get the best of her. After all, these recent events had put him in a very, very bad frame of mind. Apparently, this frame of mind was bad enough to cause him to jump to conclusions. She was only staring. He was used to staring, and it was much better than the screaming that occurred without the mask. Erik restrained himself mentally. He would save those dark emotions for when she gave him a reason to express them, no sooner. My, this paranoia thing seemed to be catching tonight.

And there was that pretense in her voice again! What was this he was hearing, flirtatiousness? How ironic, since that was a tone that was almost never directed towards him. What was even more ironic was that she used it upon asking whether or not he would’ve killed her. It hardly seemed appropriate when dealing with such a weighty subject. He flashed her a look of annoyance for such a silly tone of voice, but answered her nonetheless.

“If you had decided to try and fulfill your earlier threats, then most likely, yes,” he said bluntly. He wasn’t like her when she spoke, thinking of tone or adding any pretenses. Erik did not see any reason to hide his true nature. As such, when he admitted to that, he merely stated it like the fact that it was. “Should anyone threaten my life, then I wouldn’t hesitate to take theirs.” Of course, he had killed for more than just self-defense before, but that hardly applied to this situation.

“And you?” he asked, casting her a wondering glance. “I had the feeling that your words earlier were not so much empty threats, even if you’re foolishly trying to act all innocent and friendly now.” After that remark, Erik’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Which, by the way, is quite annoying. Why do you bother to contradict your earlier tone? There’s no point in it.” He imagined that a self-important person like Morgana wouldn’t exactly appreciate his criticism, but he could not bring himself to care.

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There was one thing Morgana was never sure of. She could never know for certain if her allies, were indeed as they claimed to be, allies. She'd had trouble with alliances in the past, and those previous times had folded, completely ruining her plan and practically ruining all that she had worked for. Naturally, she'd gotten the revenge she needed for those alliances, and she knew that if Wayron were to mess up with her, she would not hesitate to destroy them. Perhaps magic couldn't win the war for either side, but she could sure kill many at once. It drained her, exerting so much power and enegery into one thing, but if it would be worth it, then so be it. The problem was...figuring out whom to fight for.

For now, Trenale was her ally and friend. She was two-faced, and cared not about such titles. She'd been called much worse, and betraying an entire country was hardly a crime. Sure, many of gotten beheaded and killed for such acts, but Morgana had never, no matter how many times it seemed like it, gotten any severe punishment. Her worst was getting chained for a night in the dungeons of the Castle Pendragon. And that was because she was determined to defy Uther's orders and argue back to him. Not that she cared one bit. One night in a rotting cell was nothing compared to be shunned by the world, having to fear who she was. There would be no more of that. Once Morgana made it back to Camelot, she was going to take her position on the throne. But it would be helpful to kill Arthur here. And while the mighty King Uther grieves his son's death, Morgana could prove the king to be incompetant of the throne. She would be next in line.

But those were all details. Unnecessary ones too. She'd cross those bridges when she arrived. No point in planning all ahead of time, and then have a couple of them twarted once more. She'd come up with things along the way. It made better sense for her. Now, what Morgana should be considering were her options, in case this all flopped again. She didn't know just how well she trusted General Erikson. That could be somewhat of a problem. But as long as he knew his place, and decided to stay within the lines rather than to color outside of them, then they should have no problem. She would continue feeding him information, and he would win the war, which was a part of her plans. Win-win.

But this man, he was certainly amusing Morgana. She didn't show it, but inside, she was laughing. And not out of pure entertainment. More...almost wickedly. He really believed that he could have killed her. It was almost a hilarious thought. Why, if he would have taken another unannounced step towards her, she would have burned the area down with a snap of the finger, Erik included. But she might as well give him the pleasure of thinking he was correct. Actually, it was quite difficult not to argue with his words, since she was not used to giving anyone way. "I do not doubt that, Erik," Morgana tried his name on her lips, "but you must keep in mind that I am not anyone."

Ah, finally, a bit of recognition. Morgana was actually starting to enjoy the company of this person. They both had something sinister about them, and both weren't all thatwilling to expose much. They had traits in common. "Act? No, sir, this is no act. I cannot feign my innocence when I am threatened by another. No, I am innocent by nature, and quite friendly as well once I know who I can speak with and the amount of words I may say," Morgana insisted, but not smiling this time, and rather offering him a challenging look and a raised eyebrow. "My words are not hollaw. If I were truly helpless, I would have run, and not threatened to kill. I know my strengths and my weaknesses."

Narrowing her eyes at Erik, Morgana wasn't sure why he was even talking anymore. His words were hardly important to her now that she knew he wasn't an enemy. And he was bringing criticism into the picture, clearly not something which Morgana enjoyed. She'd never been criticised a moment in her life, and she relished knowing that fact. Often viewed as flawless, perfect in fact, Morgana never thought less of herself than she was told. Many a man had swooned at her feet, offering to swear their fealty to her. Well, she was no princess, but it would be lovely for a knight to wear her favor on their chainmail. That knight was usually Arthur, but she let the boy continue thinking that she favored him.

"Perhaps you should check again to see whose tone is, in fact, annoying," she sneered, but not as bitterly as perhaps a sneer should be. "I like to think of myself as...vivid. For I am, after all, quite vivid and colorful, am I not?" She didn't even wait for an answer. "Perhaps those empty eyes of your could reflect a bit more light than they do. Or the way you carry yourself. Do not think I haven't noticed. You are a lonely creature, one that obviously does not interact with people as often as one probably should. I see, however, that you've chosen to ignore these facts, and this is why your loyalties are hardly dedicated fully. You simple do not care. Shall I go on?" Morgana knew a thing or two about picking up clues about people she interacted with. She'd learned it from her father, Gorlois.

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It was a bit of a surprise when Morgana gave no outward resistance to his claim about his ability to kill. The woman had initially come across as so self-assured that he had predicted that she would find a way to show him how much she looked downed upon him. Frankly though, he was hardly one to talk when it came to looking down upon people. After all, the reason for his solitude and his disdainful nature around others did come from the fact that he saw his fellow man as nothing but simple minded creatures, capable of little more than their animalistic tendencies. No, he was not one to judge at all.

It seemed though that she was only willing to give him that much though, for right after that one statement, she was right off talking about herself again. He only bothered to listen partway through her claims of personal awareness before toning the rest out with an expression of apparent boredom. He could easily imagine what the rest of her counter argument was based upon his assumptions of her. While Erik would admit that they had one trait in common, he was beginning to realize they probably had very different reasons. She had called herself "Lady" Morgana, didn't she? She did have a pretty face too, he'd give her that. It took very little imagination to picture how a "Lady" in a kingdom like Camelot might've been raised; coated in reassurance and smothered with praising words. Yes, she rode upon her high horse because she had the privilege to be put there most likely. He, on the other hand, had no such fortune. What she had in confidence, he possessed in loathing, both for himself and for the world around him. It was indeed likely that he and Morgana were less alike than he had initially thought.

Though Erik had toned her out for a period of time, it was the natural habit for any man or woman to return to a conversation once it turned to the subject of him or herself. He already disliked where this conversation was going. Just as he had expected, Morgana did not take criticism well. Normally, he would've laughed cruelly as he was proven correct, but it seemed that she was quick to the counter-attack. He inwardly cursed her for that. As she dove into her analysis of him, a few emotions flickered in Erik's expression. At first, there was the stab of pain that made itself apparent in his dark eyes. How dare she remind him of his lot! His life was full of enough reminders of how pathetic of a creature he was already, and he would not tolerate anymore! That one stab hitting home had only been for one reason; because he knew that she was accurate.

However, Erik would only allow her the pleasure of seeing that part of his reaction for a split second. The rage quickly came up as his first defense. A dangerous fury lept to his features, apparent even with the obstruction that was his mask. He grit his teeth in annoyance and felt his body tense. He would not turn to violence. No, doing so would be meaningless. It would only be born out of blind anger and wouldn't get him anywhere, not to mention that it was an animalistic level that he dared not stoop to. Even so, if looks could kill, then Morgana Le Fey might have been in trouble.

"Enough!" his voice boomed with a dramatic wave of his hand. Normally, his tone was controlled and smooth, with only a small hint of the other wonders that his vocal chords could perform. However, when provoked at a moment like this, it carried a hard and mighty power that only added to the intimidating image that was an angered Erik. Erik himself noticed this change and found himself toning it down just a bit as he continued on. The volume and intensity lowered, but the seething tone was still there.

"You have plenty of nerve to assume such personal details about someone you had just met!" he hissed. "I advise that in your future you not to probe into things that don't concern you. You never know what kind of force you might be triggering." There was a note of warning in his voice. Even if they were technically "allies", Erik had no problem with setting up boundaries that would be dangerous to cross. With Morgana seeming to be as equally undedicated in terms of loyalties, it was something that surely she would understand.

"Also, reacting to criticism by point out someone else's misfortunes is a childish way to respond to things, is it not?"