Mystic Crystal Revelation

The Old Gods and The New (Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell)

lovepb — Sun, 19 May 2013 19:23:44 GMT

Title: The Old Gods and The New

Fandom: ASOIAF/Game of Thrones

Characters/Pairings: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,200

Summary: When the Martells install Myrcella on the Iron Throne, they send Margaery Tyrell to broker a peace with her old friend, the Queen in the North.

Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or GOT, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

The Seven had never done a thing for Margaery Tyrell. Nothing good, that was. Praying in the sept had never brought her anything other than a chance to whisper wicked words to whichever cousin knelt primly at her side. And when she had truly needed to have her prayers answered, her pleas had been met with resounding silence. If the Seven existed at all, they had truly and utterly abandoned her, just as they had Cersei Lannister and every other little girl who had knelt before the Maiden’s altar. The Old Gods, though, were different. They never promised anything and yet gave so much. She realised that when news of Sansa’s ascension to power in the North reached Kings Landing. The Old Gods looked after their own, and Sansa was nothing if not a creature of the North, a direwolf to the bone, no matter what people believed.

“There is once more a Stark in Winterfell,” Margaery had read aloud, her heart quickening its beat. “I am Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, and I will make those who wronged my family pay.”

Chief amongst those who thought Sansa a Tully was Margaery’s grandmother, the aptly named Queen of Thorns. Upon hearing her granddaughter read out the raven-brought message, Olenna had merely scoffed and wondered how long it would take Sansa to end up as dead as her brother.

“Tullys all end the same way in this war,” Olenna sighed. “Stubborn, stupid and deader than dead. That is what you get for taking a fish as your sigil.”

But Margaery had not been listening. She excused herself, knelt before a heart tree and prayed. When her Tarly guard her asked what she had prayed for, she told him that she asked forgiveness for worshiping the Seven and asked the Old Gods to keep her heart safe. Her words were carefully chosen. Religious awakening was not new in times of war and praying for their hearts was expected of young women. What she did not tell him was that the heart she had prayed for had not been the one fluttering in her chest, but the one held captive by the newly crowned Queen in the North. She had stolen Margaery’s heart with that reckless show of courage and compassion when she had exposed Joffrey’s true nature with little thought for her own safety.

Within a month of Margaery’s first tree-side prayer, there was another bird from the North. Stannis’ Red Priestess had been taken and with her a woman she had held captive, Balon Greyjoy’s heir. Asha Greyjoy had sworn upon her release to make the Lannisters pay for all they had done to her new queen and, following her lead, the Ironborn had made history and bent the knee.

“Now that is interesting,” Olenna had commented, taking another sip of her lemon tea. “The fish has conquered the kraken.”

“The wolf,” Margaery had corrected distractedly, trying very hard not to come over like a maiden swooning over a dashing young knight at a tourney. From her grandmother’s shrewd and lightly disapproving look, she had not succeeded.

Another month later, the news came that slaughtering the Red Priestess had brought the wildlings to Sansa Stark’s cause and that, with them at her side, Sansa had swept south and fallen upon the Freys and Boltons with all the terminal ferocity of the winter snows that came with her. News of her victory drove the marching of a Lannister army out from the capital, determined to end the Red Wolf the way the Freys had ended her brother. The colour had drained from Margaery’s face when she had heard and she took to praying in the Godswood four times a day, her grandmother’s disapproval be damned.

“Seven preserve me,” the Queen of Thorns said bitterly. “Are all my son’s children so easily swayed by a pretty face and a glittering crown?”

With the majority of the Lannister strength marching North, Kings Landing had been left vulnerable to an unexpected Dornish attack from the South, and Margaery had found herself pressed up against the wall of Ranyll Taryl’s quarters with Tyene Sand’s knife at her throat.

“My, my, aren’t you a pretty one?” the honey-haired septa had cooed, her knife cold against Margaery’s fear-flushed skin.

“Oh my good septa, you have no idea,” Margaery murmured seductively.

Tyene proved particularly susceptible to Margaery’s favoured negotiation techniques. They spent the invasion battling amongst silken bedsheets, spilling far less blood than the men clashing in the streets outside and achieving far, far more than the song of steel ever could.

Thanks to Margaery’s persuasive politics and Willas’ arrival in the city, the invasion of King’s Landing had been a stroke of luck for House Tyrell. The remaining Lannisters scattered and for once Margaery had not found herself betrothed to the latest occupant of the Iron Throne, though she was happy enough to bend the knee to Queen Myrcella Martell. Tyrells had always been good on their knees. It was how they always managed to come up smelling of roses, no matter what turn the ever waging wars of the Seven Kingdoms took.

“One thing can be said for these Dornishmen,” Olenna had conceded, Willas’ crippling conveniently forgotten, “they know the value of a woman.”

By order of the new queen, Margaery was sent with Nymeria Sand and a Tyrell and Martell escort as a peace envoy to the Queen in the North. They set out for White Harbor on a ship named The Maiden’s Spear, on which Margeary had a spacious chamber and a large, luxurious bed where she thoroughly tested the snake’s skill for bedding a rose.

“If this is how you practice politics, I can see why Myrcella insisted it be you who treated with the Red Wolf,” Nymeria said one afternoon, her eyes black and body tingling in anticipation as Margaery shrugged off her gown. She stopped her provocatively slow walk towards the bed when Nymeria’s words filtered through her lust and did not take the Dornishwoman into her bed again. For the first time in her life, she felt guilt for indulging her ever raging desires. If this was love, then she did not think she would like it.

At Maidenpool, the Greyjoys boarded the ship and escorted them up to White Harbor. From there, they travelled on horseback into The Neck where they found Kevin Lannister’s army laid to waste before the Stark host. Their column rode through the desolation of the battlefield and into the city of tents where Sansa Stark held her court. There, their Greyjoy escorts showed them to a great white tent emblazoned with the noble direwolf and inside, Margaery found a sight which would have made her grandmother smile and forget all her reservations about the northern queen.

Sansa Stark sat upon a weirwood throne, with a weirwood crown atop her blood-red hair and a weirwood sceptre in her hand. She looked not at all like the Tullys from whom it was often said that she derived her look, but like a heart tree itself – skin as pale as white wood and hair as red as their bloody leaves and sap. She was a Stark of the North and no one would ever doubt it again.

Beside the queen stood three women whose history a Greyjoy man-at-arms had told Margaery a little of during their time on sea. At Sansa’s right hand was the black-haired Asha Greyjoy who dressed all in salt-stained brown leather and a cocky grin. On Sansa’s left was the finely boyish Mya Stone, a beautiful bastard from the vale who stood with her hand on the hip of the equally beautiful blonde wildling named Val. Margaery yearned to get to know these bold women she had heard so much about, but not as much as she ached to reacquaint herself with the Queen in the North.

“My Queen,” Margeary greeted, briefly meeting Sansa’s eyes before bowing her head subserviently and going down to her knees. She clasped her shaking hands and tried to still her shaking breaths. “It is a great honour and a personal pleasure to bend my knee to you in the name of House Tyrell.”

When she raised her head, she saw that Sansa was not looking at her but at Nymeria, who had not followed Margaery’s example.

“The Dornish do not kneel,” Nymeria said defiantly.

“Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken,” Sansa said, recalling Septa Mordane’s lessons. “My sister had a direwolf with whom you share your name.”

“Then your sister has good taste,” Nymeria countered.

Margaery saw a shadow flicker across Sansa’s face. The mention of her sister was still painful. Years had passed with no news of what had become of the youngest Stark girl.

Seemingly bored with the Dornishwoman, Sansa rose to her feet and walked gracefully over to Margaery, touching her shoulder with one snow-white hand but never looking down at her. “Leave us. I wish to treat with your envoy in private.”

The tent emptied at her command, but not before Mya Stone could whisper a few choice innuendos in her queen’s ear.

“Get up off your knees,” Sansa said when they were alone.

“But, Your Grace, we Tyrells are so good on our knees, as you would have surely found out had you married my sweet brother.” The look she gave Sansa was teasing and suggestive, exactly the sort of look she had never dared to give the sweet, innocent Sansa who had stolen her heart in King’s Landing. “Would you like me to give you a demonstration?”

Sansa’s blue eyes were like fire. Margaery wondered whether it was the crown that did it. In Margaery’s experience, they seemed to have that effect on people.

“That, I believe, would be most conducive to negotiations,” said Sansa with all the unashamed boldness of a queen.

Margaery could not hide her surprise.

Despite their coy reunion, negotiations were uneventful. Sansa was a shrewd queen and her utmost priority was securing an alliance that would put an end to the war. Her terms were reasonable. She would reign over her father’s North, her mother’s Riverlands and her cousins lands in the Vale of Arryn. Everything else would belong to King’s Landing.

“But what, Your Grace, of The Reach?” Margaery asked as they walked around the camp. She had to be mindful both of her family’s interests as well as her own desires. “Queen Myrcella has not yet laid claim to it. What are your intentions towards my beautiful homeland?”

Sansa looked thoughtful, tilting her head and gazing out at the misty, cold afternoon. “Without The Reach, Myrcella’s lands would be far inferior to my own.”

“Your lands would make up three quarters of Westeros,” Margaery agreed, “but all your current lands are feebly fertile and unable to support your people. The Reach could be your garden and vineyard, and the North would never again starve through a long winter.”

“The Westerlands would be cut off from the rest of Myrcella’s kingdom,” Sansa said. “No tenable peace could come from that.”

“Tommen, Cersei and Jaime Lannister are still live. The Westerlands still belong to the Lannisters. They will not challenge their daughter’s rule.”

“Is it true then that Jaime is acknowledging Cersei’s children as his own?” Sansa asked curiously. “I had thought it an ill-meant rumour.”

“Oh, it is quite true,” Margaery promised, smiling coyly. “He had admit to it when Cersei’s belly got too big to hide. She was in the later part of her pregnancy when she, Jaime and Tommen fled. One of Queen Myrcella’s first duties as queen was to legitimise herself, her brother and any siblings yet to come. She is the sister to kings, it does not matter that she is not a Baratheon. Her claim to the throne is as strong as Stannis’ or Renly’s ever was – stronger, even. In Dorne, it is the eldest heir who is first in line to the throne, regardless of sex. That law is now in act throughout Myrcella’s kingdom and, it would seem, in yours.”

Margaery had not begrudged or hated Cersei for the truth when it had finally and undeniably come out. Love was not something you could control, the Tyrells were more than familiar with that. As were they familiar with the rumours of how poorly Robert had treated his wife and that Lyanna Stark had gone more than willingly into Rheagar and Elia’s arms. Perhaps now Cersei could finally be happy. Margaery wondered if she would become more palatable now. She doubted it. The habit of a lifetime is hard to overcome. Especially when it had been so essential to her survival.

“What happened to the babe?” Sansa asked. She was concerned for Cersei and her children despite everything the Lannisters had done to her.

“A little girl named Joanna. She was born at Casterly Rock. The raven came just before I set sail.”

Margaery could not read Sansa’s expression, but she did not speak for a long while. Margeary had taken to watching the fur-clad Northmen busying themselves around the camp when Sansa finally spoke.

“Tywin Lannister was the cruellest man to ever live. What he did in Robert’s Rebellion and the war of The Five Kings was unspeakable, but it was his children who suffered the most. They suffered every day of their lives from what Tywin did to them. If my late Lannister husband ever did anything I am proud of, it is killing his father.”

“A sentiment I must echo,” Margaery said, eyeing Sansa curiously. She had changed, grown up. She had a perspective on the people around her that would make her queenship one that would go down in the history books. “Your Grace, what of The Reach?”

Sansa sighed and showed her into a nearby tent.

“I cannot take The Reach,” she said, letting the tent flap close behind them.

They were, Margaery realised, in Sansa’s personal chambers. It was not at all what Margaery had been expecting. When Sansa had been in King’s Landing, she had favoured beautiful pastels in silk. This place was nothing but furs in browns and shades of grey.

“Winter is coming to the neck,” Sansa said by way of explanation. “The autumn was unexpectedly long, but it finally coming to a close. Stay here a night and you will be thankful for the furs.”

Margaery could not resist dipping her head and shaking with laughter. “Did you really just say that?”

Sansa broke into a girlish smile. “Us Starks have practical words.”

“And you are so fond of reminding people of them,” Margaery countered.

“Go on then,” Sansa dared, sounding like the giggling girl that Margaery had once walked hand-n-hand with through King’s Landing’s gardens. “Put your own words into a sentence.”

“But Your Grace, I am put at such a disadvantage in your presence. My mind is not quite my own when my eyes behold your beauty, which is growing strong and has multiplied infinitely since we last met. Though, had you told me that then, I would have thought it impossible.” She had meant it to be teasingly triumphant but her voice betrayed her by coming out shaky and sincere.

Sansa’s mouth opened and froze there, absurdly recalling to Margaery’s mind her grandmother’s insistence that Sansa was a trout.

“Forgive me, your grace, it seems that my tongue is not my own in your presence either.” Margaery blushed genuinely for what was possibly the first time in her life. Sansa, for her part, had flushed cheeks of her own.

“Do you remember, Lady Margaery, the day you gave me a rose to cheer me up and then schooled me in what married life held for me?”

Margaery could feel her confidence growing. “How could I forget? To see you so distraught broke my heart. I only wish I could have done more to prevent what happened next.”

“So it was your family’s doing then?” Sansa asked, making no effort to hide her hurt.

“My grandmother employed Littlefinger to save me from my wedding night, yes, but his involving you was entirely for his own interests. We had thought to remove Tyrion also, but not by implicating him, and by extension you, in Joffrey’s death.” Margaery’s eyes fell to the floor. “It was my suggestion. I wanted to free you too. I meant to keep my promise to wed you to Highgarden.”

Sansa made a gasp that held back her tears. She had learnt no longer to cry where others could see her. “You should have known not to trust Littlefinger.”

“It seems we were not as erudite of King’s Landing politics as we thought,” Margaery said sadly, shivering at the cold. Snow was a new and unpleasant experience for the rose of Highgarden.

“No one ever is,” Sansa sighed. “I blamed you for a long time. Of anyone in King’s Landing, you were the person I would have trusted with my life. You were the one I let myself be truly honest with.”

“You should have been safe with me,” Margaery said wistfully. “If I had had any say in it, you would have been. Even my grandmother wished to keep you safe, but we do not always get what we want. I am sorry for that.”

Taking pity on her, Sansa reached for a wolf pelt and wrapped it around Margaery’s shoulders – hood coming up and over her head. She looked strangely beautiful in another’s skin. Perhaps it reminded Sansa of the North, or perhaps it touched on a need for possession that all kings and queens had inside them.

“You look good as a wolf,” Sansa told her, smoothing down the fur that framed Margaery’s face. The rose’s cheeks turned pink with a blush.

“Not half as good as you would look amongst the rosebushes of Highgarden,” Margaery countered, reaching up to take Sansa’s hand and press into it a single, thornless lavender rose.

Sansa brought it up to her nose and smelled it. It had been so long since she had smelt the sweet scent of a rose. Not since her last walk in the gardens with Margaery.

“Do you know the language of flowers, Sansa?” Margaery asked, knowing full well that she did. Sansa’s look of surprise when Margaery had long ago gifted her with a red-tipped yellow rose had assured her of that.

“Yes,” Sansa admitted, embarrassed. The young naive girl she had once been had been proud of such romantic knowledge, but the queen she was now must leave all of that behind.

“What does a lavender rose mean, Sansa? Why have I given it to you?”

“It… it means royalty,” Sansa stuttered. “And I am Queen in the North. You are here to treat with me and broker a peace.”

“Quite right, but that is not why I gave it to you. Tell me, do you know its other meaning – made double fold by its lack of thorns?”

This time, Sansa shook her head. Though Margaery was quite sure that she knew the second meaning too.

Taking a step closer to her queen, Margaery reached for the hand Sansa had curled around the rose and kissed her fine white fingers. “Lavender roses and those roses lacking thorns mean “love at first sight” – the way I have felt about you from the moment I saw you in the throne room, so sad and so beautiful.”

Sansa was trembling. “I… I can’t.”

“Why not?” Margaery whispered, drawing closer still. “You are a queen, you can do as you please.” She bowed her head and looked back up at Sansa through her thick Tyrell eyelashes. “Do I not please you, Your Grace?”

“No. I mean, yes… But the people…” Sansa began, only to have her words grown quiet when Margaery stepped back from her and began to undo the laces at the front of her gown.

“The people are not inside this tent,” Margaery argued. “I am.”

Sansa gazed, transfixed, when Margaery shrugged off her bodice, her nipples hardening in the cold winter air, whilst Sansa’s did the same from desire.

The truth was, that for all her newfound maturity, Sansa Stark was still maiden. The only person she had ever come close to being with that way was Mya, and even that had not gone beyond kisses before she had shied away – visions of Margaery’s sweet face swimming behind her eyelids.

It must have been the look in her eyes, but Margaery seemed to understand and her smile went from wicked to indulgent and loving. She drew Sansa to her and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth. When Sansa turned to deepen it, Margaery smiled and guided Sansa’s hands to her bare waist. Slowly they wandered, skimming gradually up her sides but never quite reaching where Margaery wanted them.

“Please,” she begged in a tone of submission that she knew a queen would never be able to resist.

When Sansa’s hands covered her breasts, they were as smooth and cool as the wood of a heart tree. Margaery gasped, surprising herself with its sincerity.

“That’s it,” she murmured against Sansa’s lips.

Emboldened by her response, Sansa squeezed and pinched Margaery’s nipples, swallowing her rose’s gasps and revelling in them.

Before she realised what was happening, she had Margaery on her back on the fur-strewn bed – kissing and touching as Margaery’s hands made quick work of the fastenings of Sansa’s own bodice. She sat up a little to allow Margaery to brush it off her shoulders, and immediately blushed at being revealed to her. Margaery smiled and stared at her shamelessly, not for a second trying to hide her appreciation of Sansa’s body.

“Gods, but you are beautiful,” Margaery murmured, before arching up to run kisses down from Sansa’s shoulder and take her breast into her mouth.

Sansa’s world turned white with pleasure and when her senses returned, she was on her back with Margaery atop her hips, still suckling and nipping at one breast whilst her fingers brought pleasure to the other. Unable to take it, Sansa pulled Margaery up to kiss her, her lungs screaming for lack of air but unheard over the fire that consumed her body.

“Let me see the rest of you,” Margaery begged, slipping her free hand under the material of Sansa’s skirt. “Oh sweet Sansa, let me show you what it is men go to war for, the reason they write songs of us.”

Sansa gasped, leading Margaery’s hand to where her skirt fastened over her left hip. When Margaery opened up her skirt and slipped a knee between her thighs, Sansa realised from the slickness against her thigh that somewhere along the way Margaery had lost her own skirts.

“Gods,” Sansa swore, her head arching back.

“Yes, my love,” Margaery whispered, entwining her fingers in Sansa’s blood-red hair whilst the other hand slid through the matching curls between her thighs, “I do believe they would approve.”

A long time later, after Margaery had made her see stars and Sansa had eagerly returned the favour twice over, they lay entwined among the furs – hands caressing soft, cool skin as their lips fluttered together in a never-ending kiss.

“How does it feel, my Queen in the North,” Margaery whispered, nuzzling against her lover, “to leave your maidenhood behind?”

“There are those,” Sansa countered breathily, “who would say that I am maiden still until some man has had me.”

Laughing, Margaery pressed her knee up between Sansa’s legs and watched her squirm. “All of them men with no idea of how to please a woman or how good we women are at doing just that. Tell me Sansa, do you still feel like maiden?”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed. “No.”

Margaery’s smile was catlike when Sansa finally opened her eyes. “I would not want to think that I had underperformed – that you were disappointed.”

“No!” Sansa exclaimed, only realising when she had said it that Margaery had been teasing her. Strangely, it did not make her feel foolish, like it once would have done, not with Margaery looking at her like that.

“Good, I would not want to think that I had disappointed my Queen.”

It was the way she said ‘my Queen’ that made Sansa shiver. She wondered what it would be like for a moment to take Margaery as her queen, but that was nonsense. That could never be. Life was not a fairytale.

“I will take The Reach,” Sansa decided. “Bran needs a wife and you need a husband. That will make The Reach mine.”

Margaery smiled like this had been her plan all along. It was a plan that sounded quite familiar to one they had once schemed up in King’s Landing.

“The Reach,” Margaery agreed, guiding Sansa’s hand back down between her thighs, “and me.”

“And you,” Sansa confirmed, surprising Margaery when she slipped powerfully inside her, pushing her onto her back and claiming her rosebud lips in a kiss.

Margaery and Bran were married a month later in Winterfell’s Godswood, but when Margaery was pushed naked into her chambers later that night, it was not Bran waiting naked for her on the bed, but her queen.

Once Upon A Midnight (3/3)

lovepb — Sun, 19 May 2013 14:17:53 GMT

Title: Once Upon a Midnight
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: M (Mostly for situations)
Word Count: 21,698
Summary: Once upon a midnight clear, a fairytale stretched her wings. With hair of moon, skin of night and wings phoenix feather, she flickered in the corner of mortal’s eyes – never quite being seen.
The fairytale that Morgana dreamt about all her life was just days away from fruition and it seemed to her that life had never been sweeter. But Camelot's court is a dangerous place and someone knows her secret.
Sequel to At My Most Beautiful, though reading that first is not essential if its length daunts you.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Chapter 6, Day 6
The light of morning found them tangled naked in the bed, cotton sheets pulled up to their waists. Morgause stretched and yawned and got to her feet. She shivered. She felt cold now that she was awake. Morgana never seemed to feel the cold. She often shunned clothes at night, even in the depths of winter, especially when Morgause shared her bed.
Pulling on her breeches and shirt from the floor, Morgause padded over to the fire and stoked the glowing embers. Le Fays might not mind the wintery air, but Wildes were likely to freeze without a fire to warm them, and Morgause did not want to die cold. She closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer to fan the flames. She felt numb. Utterly numb. They should have done more, she thought stupidly. They should have fought harder. She wondered why Morgana had not. Wondered why they had not struck first instead of waiting like lambs for the slaughter. But that had always been the problem of her kind. They were always far too reluctant to raise a hand in anger, even when Uther’s executioners came calling. Most people, like the Wildes, had bent the knee. It was peaceful teachings of the Old Religion which had damned them. Morgause had not for a second even considered ending Gaius to end their torment. It seemed stupid now. Why had she been so reluctant to end one life to save four, or more even, should her uncle do something stupid like she feared that he would.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the knock came at the door. She murmured one last prayer and rose to answer it.
“My lady,” the guard greeted, his movements stiff. His face was passive, not angry as Morgause had expected, and there was only one man behind him. If they had come to take them away, they must think they would come quietly. Another of the Old Religion’s legacies. And they were only women. Uther probably did not think it worth the trouble to send more than two guards.
“The Queen still sleeps,” Morgause managed to inform him. She wondered if her voice sounded as alien to his ears as it did to her own.
“I have a letter for the Her Highness.”
“She still sleeps,” Morgause said distractedly, her words a moment earlier already forgotten. She was trying to remember his name. It hovered teasingly on the tip of her tongue. It was a common enough name, she knew that. He had squired under Gawain in a tournament once, when Gawain’s own squire had come off his horse. She remembered him coming running up to her with a pair of mail gloves that Gawain had found too small for him. What was it that he said he had now? “A… letter?”
She did not understand. She had expected drawn swords, not a note.
“There has been some bad news, my lady. The King… The King is indisposed. His Royal Highness has sent the letter in his stead.”
Waymann. His name was Waymann. He had an older brother who had married one of the Laurel sisters who had lived next door to her when she was a girl.
“My lady,” he prompted, pulling her back to the conversation.
She could not control her thoughts. They were running and swirling around her brain like tadpoles in a stream. Surely any moment he would draw his sword. She waited for it.
“My lady,” he said more insistently, holding out a piece of rolled up parchment.
Silently, Morgause took it and closed the door – not noticing that he had to jump back to stop his nose being hit by it.
She felt like she was in a trance. Everything around her was blurred and not quire real. Like the world when you wake up from a dream. She waited for him to knock again with a sword in his hand this time.
“What is it?” Morgana asked fearfully, the sheets clutched up at her chest. Morgause had not heard her wake.
When Morgause did not answer, Morgana rose naked from the bed and took the letter from her. Her face held all the confusion that Morgause felt as she broke the royal seal and threw back the ribbon.
“My Queen,” she read aloud. “It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the passing of our physician, Gaius.”
Morgana stopped and looked up at Morgause, her mouth slackened and glimmer of hope dancing in her eyes. Her hands were shaking when she read on. “He was found this morning by a guard who entered his chambers with a skeleton key when Gaius failed to open his door for the servant who brought his breakfast. It is thought that his heart gave out, as the hearts of men of his age often do. May God have mercy on his soul.”
When she was done, Morgana rolled the parchment back up and put it down on the bed. A slow smile crept over her face. The Gods had heard her prayers.
Morgause did not speak. Morgana had to pinch her to get her to make a noise at all. She cried then and did not stop until Morgana kissed her quiet. When they were dressed, Morgana called for a servant to take a letter to the Wildes. Morgause might not speak for her, but the children would give her back her tongue, Morgana was sure of it.

~*~

Sir Leon brought the children back before breakfast. As Morgana had guessed, it was only then that Morgause spoke, the spell of silence over her broken by their presence. Isolde giggled and ran to her Knight the moment that Leon lifted her out of the chest. With a sob, Morgause swept her up into the air and thanked the Gods for the chance to kiss her pink button nose again and to feel her tiny hands patting at her cheeks. Always the more gregarious of the twins, Isolde seemed to think that their trip in the chest had been an adventure and immediately began to babble an unintelligible account to her parents. Her brother spoke not at all and was still and quiet in Morgana’s arms. He clung to her dress, hid his face in her neck and wanted to nurse for comfort. Leon, who had stayed with them for a while, sent for some warm cow’s milk instead and Morgana carried Finnian around until her arms were too sore to hold him a moment longer. As soon as she put him down, he ran to Morgause and wrapped his arms around her legs, wanting a turn in her arms now that his sister had finished with her.
Sir Leon had left with a promise to take a sealed letter from Morgana to Amina and to ride out to find Gwen and her family. Morgana called for breakfast and made Morgause eat something. Between hushed words of comfort to her anxious son, Morgause suggested that they put their joining off for a night or two to let themselves and the children recover. Morgana would not have it.
“It has to be a year,” she scolded her Knight. “I will not throw out the law of the Gods on the very day that they have delivered us from the executioner’s axe. We would not be here if they had not seen fit to save us.” She lifted Finnian onto the floor, took his place in Morgause’s lap and looped her arms around Morgause’s neck. “You took me to bed last night as the woman who would cost you your life. Tonight I would have you take me to bed as your wife. Please, Morgause. Do not make me wait another day. I have been through hell these past few days. I am done being a Pendragon. Make me a Wilde.”
And that Morgause could not refuse.

~*~

As the sun grew golden and low in the sky, the babes fell into a peaceful slumber, cuddled up together in their cot – always side by side. Morgana smiled down at them, her heart swelling at their contentment. She loved these moments when she could stand at their crib with Morgause pressed up behind her, her strong arms around Morgana’s waist as they watched their children’s little chests rise and fall in perfect harmony. She felt like the luckiest woman on earth.
“Close your eyes,” Morgause whispered, her lips brushing against Morgana’s ear, “and hold out your hands.”
“I thought you were to leave before the sun set,” Morgana protested in a whisper. Morgause had slowly recovered from her shock and had even grown cheery after Gwen had returned.
“Aye and I will. I promise. We have an hour or two yet before the sun sets and I have a surprise for you before I go,” Morgause said, her voice imploring Morgana to indulge her.
With a sigh, Morgana complied. She never could resist and today even less so, as she was eager to make Morgause forget about Gaius and his plans and think instead on their wedding and the joys it would bring them. Eyes closed, Morgana let Morgause lead her away from the crib and sit her down on the bed. When Morgana was settled, Morgause placed something cool and smooth and purring with magic into her palms.
“Open your eyes,” Morgause said, softly commanding. Morgana shivered and obeyed.
When she saw the empty inkpot in her hands, she frowned in disappointment. “I thought there was to be no contract.”
Contracts and laws belonged to Uther’s world. The Gods, she had been told, ruled without them.
“You are right, our joining need not be bound by ink on paper. This, however, is not the sort of ink one uses on parchment.”
Morgana did not understand. “The jar is empty.”
“Just because you cannot see it, does not mean that is not there. You cannot see the Gods but you pray to them every night, do you not?” Morgause teased. “Before the Purge, our people wore ink on their skin that showed their devotion to the Gods, their status in our community and what they held in their hearts. Especially the women.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “My mother’s skin was rich with blue knots and swi

Chapter 7, the Wedding

Their joining was to take place in the forest, by a small, still lake that reflected the moon. Getting Morgana out of the castle had not been hard. The guards of Camelot were woefully slow and worried only about those who went into the castle. No mind was paid to those leaving it. Not even two women hooded in long, thick woollen cloaks that hid their faces and their clothes from prying eyes. The hardest part of the whole plan had been getting Morgana to leave her children, even in Gwen’s care, after a night without them. But the children had been fed then had fallen asleep and were not likely to wake again until morning. By which time, their mother would be back.

Morgause arrived at the clearing long before Morgana, so that the lanterns could be lit and all preparations double checked. She had donned a dress of purple silk slashed with gold, but the reflection in the mirror had not been her own. Her mother had worn the dress on her wedding day and though Morgause had not noticed it, she had grown more and more like her mother with age, and her image in the mirror had unsettled her. She had seen her mother in the dress many times when she was a child. Women wore their wedding gowns for every milestone in their children’s lives, bar their birth. The time that Morgause remembered most clearly was the last time she had worn it – when Morgause had come of age at fourteen. She had been only a few years older than Morgause was now and not long for the world. Morgause could not wear the dress.

Unlike Morgause, Rivalen had noticed how like Josephine that Morgause now looked. Her eyes were her father’s, but her features and graceful demeanour were all her mother’s. Even her hair, though both of her parents had been blonde, was closer in shade to her mother’s than her father’s – all streaked with rich red-gold when it caught the sun. Wearing her mother’s dress only made the resemblance all the more striking. Foreseeing it, Rivalen had had Flor alter the clothes that Morgause’s father, Kendrick, had been wed in. When Morgause saw them, she wept for joy.

That was how Morgause came to wait for Morgana in the forest dressed in skin-tight breeches as black as the night sky above them and a dark-purple silk shirt embroidered at the neck and seams with gold knots. Though Morgause was a good foot shorter than her father, Flor had not wasted any of the fine obsidian silk of the breeches. That which had been cut off the bottom of the legs had been used to form a corseted waist that hugged Morgause’s curves all the way up to just beneath her breasts. Where the sleeves of the shirt had been too long, Flor had not shortened them but removed them completely and moved the embroidered seam to the shoulder, leaving Morgause’s lightly muscled arms bare. A black leather belt held the Wilde wedding dagger secure at Morgause’s hip and two pins held her mother’s maiden broaches in her intricately braided hair, pulled back in twin braids that joined at the base of her neck and tucked under into a soft bun.

“You look beautiful,” Rivalen told her. “Morgana’s knees will turn weak when she sees you.” He turned to the Priestess standing calm as still water by the lake. “Is that not right, your Grace?”

The Priestess smiled, her ageless beauty shining like the moon. “You grow more beautiful every time you stand before me, child.”

Though the Priestess looked no older than Morgause, she had been there at her birth and had guided her through every great ceremony in her life since that day. In all that time, she had not aged a day. It started Morgause how powerful magic could be, and this woman was not even a High Priestess, but one of her handmaids.

Before long, midnight was approaching and they heard the rustle of people moving through the forest. When Flor joined them in the clearing, the ceremony began.

“Child,” the Priestess prompted taking Morgause’s hand and leading her to the lakeside, “who are you and why have you come to me at this sacred time, in this sacred place.”

“I am Morgause Wilde, daughter of Kendrick Wilde and Josephine Baine, Knight of Camelot and head of the Wilde Household. I have come to seek the Gods’ blessing to join my soul to another’s,” Morgause said, her voice loud enough to carry to where Morgana stood unseen in the trees. She was not speaking from a script but she found the words flowing from her mouth like she had known them all her life.

“Whose soul do you wish to join to your own?”

“That of Morgana Le Fay, daughter of Gorlois Le Fay and Vivienne Fearainn, heir to the Le Fay household and Queen of the kingdoms of Camelot and Worchester.” Morgause’s mouth was dry, her throat like parched earth.

“Does Morgana Le Fay wish to be joined to you?” the Priestess asked.

Morgause waited, sure that this was Morgana’s question to answer, but the Priestess kept her eyes on Morgause and made it clear that she was to answer for Morgana.

“I…” Morgause did not know what to say. She bowed her head and said the only thing that she could. “My soul is not yet one with hers. And even if it were, it is she who must answer that question.”

The Priestess smiled. “Then come, Morgana Le Fay, and answer for yourself.”

Morgause turned and watched as Morgana came into view, her heart thundering from fear, anticipation and desire. Morgana wore a gown of shimmering green silk that seemed to dance with the light of the stars with every step she took. The fine material hung down to the ground, brushing the grass as she walked. Across her bodice golden vines wove an intricate pattern in a downturned triangle whose point finished at her navel. The gown’s neckline, in keeping with tradition, was far lower that would have been thought decent in the chapel. It dove in a V from her shoulders to the embroidery at her navel, cutting across her breasts to leave the inner curve of them free and bare but for the lattice of gold she had commissioned in Mermering. Her sleeves dipped down to touch the ground, but did not cover her arms below her shoulders for the slash that ran down them, making them open and allowing a glimpse of the gown’s darker green lining. At Morgana’s temple was a beautiful gold diadem that came to a point at her brow and was made to match her necklace and the net of gold and diamonds in her hair. She wore her own maiden’s broaches – entwined gold vines that bore green and purple fruit – as part of her diadem. It was everything a maiden’s dress should be and the sight of Morgana wearing it for her sent shivers rolling like waves through Morgause’s body, settling heavy and warm between her thighs.

“And what is your answer, Morgana Le Fay?” the Priestess prompted, smiling at the two lovers before her, enraptured with one another. It had been a long time since she had felt such a swell of love and power pass between two people whom she was to join.

“I want it more than anything,” Morgana said hurriedly. As she turned to face the Priestess, Morgause caught a glimpse of where an impromptu alteration to the back of her gown had been made to show off the Wilde mark on Morgana’s shoulder.

Before they could lose themselves in one another again, the Priestess spoke. “Then it falls upon me to hear your vows and bind your souls as one.” Turning to Morgause she said, “Morgause Wilde, you have proven your heart true in refusing to answer on behalf of another. Do you promise that never speak on Morgana’s behalf, nor act for the two of you without her consent?”

“I do,” Morgause swore. “Before the Gods, this I promise.”

“Morgana Le Fay, will you make everything that is yours into something shared? Do you renounce your previous ties and swear fealty to the Wilde family?”

“I do,” Morgana promised.

“And will you declare to the Gods that your children are fatherless?”

Morgana had not been expecting that. Flor had been childless and maiden when she had married Rivalen, and the children she had borne since had both been his. No one had warned her. No one had known.

“Aye, to the Gods I promise this,” she answered, her voice trembling. In Uther’s religion, it was sinful to have a child out of wedlock and any fatherless child was a bastard to be scorned.

“Who do you wish for the Gods to acknowledge as their sire?”

Morgause’s heart skipped a beat.

“Morgause Wilde is their sire,” Morgana said, sounding more confident now. A smile broke out on her face and she turned and beamed at Morgause.

“Morgause Wilde, do take responsibility for these children? Will you feed them, protect them and raise them to be children of the Old Religion?”

“Yes,” Morgause said urgently, in case the chance should pass her by. “Yes and yes and yes. For these children and any more that she may bear. I claim them all and make this promise to all of them.”

Morgana sniffled and a tear turned her mouth as salty in her smile as their first kiss. She had never wanted anything more.

“And will you protect, honour and sate Morgana? Will you be her sword, her comfort and her teacher?”

“I will,” Morgause promised, pleasant shivers feeding her smile.

“Morgana Le Fay, will you promise to follow, respect and learn from Morgause? Will you shelter her, guide her hand and feed her body and soul?”

“I will,” Morgana vowed, repeating each promise in her head and swearing to live by them in every way. “That and more.”

The Priestess gave a soft laugh and handed Morgause a small golden chalice from the folds of her robes. “Take this and fill it from the lake.”

Morgause did as she was told, but when she tried to give the full chalice back, the Priestess shook her head.

“Fill the water with the essence of your magic. Draw it deep from within yourself and pour it out into this sacred vessel. When that is done, drink deep from the cup and when half the water is gone, hold it for Morgana to drink from.”

Morgause closed her eyes and felt her magic eagerly rising to the surface. She watched in her mind’s eye as it ran like a river down her arm and flowed into the cup, making the water turn the purple of wine. When it was done, she tipped the cup to her lips and tasted the purity of her tongue being washed anew – never having tasted a thing before in her life. As it slipped down into her stomach, she felt the aches of battles fought disappearing from her bones. Every sensation she had ever felt was gone – her body made blank to be rediscovered by Morgana’s hands and the sensations they would evoke. When half the liquid was gone, she held the cup up to Morgana’s lips and watched as she drank from it, her eyes closing as she felt the same being done to her body that Morgause had felt moments before.

“For this night, for as long as the moon reigns over you in the sky, you are made new for one another. Every year on this night, you will drink water made pure by Morgause’s magic from the cup and live this night again until the day that you die or the time has come to sever your union. Should that day come, you must cleave the cup and each take one half and drink from it. In that, your joining will be undone. But know this, once your union is severed, you can never be joined again. Even attempting to do this will arouse the wrath of the Gods. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Morgana promised as Morgause said, “I do.”

“Very well. Turn to face one another, the time has come for you to be bound together.” The Priestess took Morgana’s right arm and stretched it out before her. Then, she took Morgause’s left arm and did the same, laying it atop Morgana’s before holding her hands out to Rivalen and Flor who each gave to her a slim silver rope. “With this rope,” the Priestess began, braiding and binding and knotting Morgana and Morgause’s arms together, “I join you before the Gods. From this day forth your souls are one. You have no master but each other. Each kiss you share, each act of love is a prayer that only your two bodies together can create. It is only through these prayers that you can truly find harmony together and be fulfilled. Together, you will find the answer to every question you have ever asked and a thousand more you have yet to think of. You are one – bound by the Gods in a bond that only you can break. Feed your union and not even the Gods can part you.”

When she was done, she stepped back and smiled at them. This was always her favourite part of the joining. “Before we leave you, in front of the Gods and men, you must seal your union with a kiss.”

Shyer than a doe, Morgause stepped closer to Morgana. Her pounding heart was beating like a drum in her ears as she reached out to cup Morgana’s cheek – a familiar gesture done a thousand times before, but never with such a swell of love as then. The first brush of their lips was accidental, an inevitability of how close they stood. Morgause hovered hesitantly, her breath hot on Morgana’s lips. For what felt like eternity, Morgause waited, not quite daring to take the kiss and seal it all. It was Morgana, in the end, who initiated it. With her free hand, she steadied herself on Morgause’s waist and leant in to find Morgause’s lips trembling in a way that only she could still. The moment their lips touched, her eyes closed, reducing the world to nought but the two of them and the way their mouths melded together like the Gods themselves had carved them a perfect fit. Eager for what she knew that Morgause would never ask for with others’ eyes on them, Morgana parted her lips for her Knight’s tongue, refusing to deny herself that sweetest of pleasures that was in opening up for her and taking her inside. She shuddered and clutched at her as their tongues touched and Morgause’s fervour was suddenly ignited. Their bound arms made it hard to grasp at each other, but they managed all the same. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and nothing or no one could break the spell that held them enthralled.

When they finally parted, Morgana realised that they were alone.

“Where did they go?” she asked, her doe-wide eyes scanning the trees around them.

Morgause nuzzled Morgana’s flushed cheek. “It is time.” Morgana’s flush deepened as Morgause’s hand made a trail down between her breasts to the ‘V’ at her navel. “Though I see your dress has done most of the work for me.”

Morgana shivered. “Do you like it?”

Morgause’s eyes were narrowed in torment as she slipped one cool finger beneath the silk. “Oh yes. I like it very, very much. It may even be too beautiful for me to ruin.”

Morgana bit her lip and guided Morgause’s hand from under her dress to the dagger at her hip. She had known that Morgause might be reluctant. Flor had warned her that Rivalen had been the same. They were much alike in that respect, Morgause and Rivalen. Both were all too aware of the unequal nature of Camelot’s society and neither wanted that inequality in their marriages. But this was different, Flor had explained, and Morgana agreed. It was less about the taking and more about the freeing. The High Priestesses would not have practiced it, had it been anything more sinister.

“I want you to,” Morgana whispered, holding Morgause’s hand in place on the dagger as she walked them backwards towards the big oak in the centre of the clearing. “Not just for the fact that it will make me yours, but to be free at last. Only you can give me that. Only you can give me the freedom that I never had as a Le Fay and certainly never as a Pendragon. Take the dagger and free me.”

She grasped Morgause’s hand and made her pull the dagger from its sheath. It was a beautiful thing, old and a little worn, but beautiful all the same. The blade was not the grey of steal but the silver of a moonbeam. It glittered and gleamed in the darkness of the night, making Morgana’s breath catch in her throat. From what she could see of the hilt in the firelight, it was circled by thin rivulets of copper turned green and dark purple obsidian. She smiled at their colours twisted together on the dagger that would join them.

“Green and purple,” she whispered, stroking her fingers over the dagger’s hilt. “It is as if the Gods invented the tarnishing of metal itself to make tonight perfect for us.”

Morgause’s troubled expression softened into a smile. She brought Morgana’s eyes back up to meet hers with a hand under her chin and kissed her. “Such a romantic heart you have, my love.”

“It is only that way because you reside there, making it so,” Morgana countered, suckling for a moment on Morgause’s bottom lip to make her whimper. She loved making her Knight whimper for her. There was no sweeter sound in the earth but perhaps that of her babes’ laughter.

Leaving Morgause aching for more, Morgana leant back against the tree and let her arms fall at her sides, leaving her open for Morgause’s dagger.

Morgause paused, uncertain. When Rivalen had told her of the dagger and what it was used for, she had been horrified. Not once had she noticed the slit in her mother’s dress. Nor in Flor’s. It seemed such a violent way to say something so sweet.

“Please, do not deny me what I so clearly yearn for,” Morgana begged. “It is nothing but a preface to a prayer, my love – one we have prayed together hundreds of times before.”

Taking a deep breath, Morgause raised the dagger and brought it gently to Morgana’s gown at the bottom of the ‘V’, just above Morgana’s navel. As gently as she could, for the blade was razor sharp, she slipped it beneath the delicate silk and drew it down and out, splitting Morgana’s dress open for her as easily as if it had been made of butter. She stopped when the blade hit a snag and stepped back to watch as the dress pooled at Morgana’s feet, bearing everything beneath. Her eyes widened as the green of the gown darkened and bloomed into a deep, dark purple as the Gods made it known that Morgana was no more a Le Fay but a Wilde, body and soul.

“By the Gods,” Morgause breathed, dropping the dagger and trembling. Though she did not remember moving, she was suddenly flush against Morgana, pressing her up against the rough bark of the tree and kissing her with all of the fervour a woman on fire. Morgana smiled and laughed into her mouth, her hands first pulling Morgause closer and then going to the ties of her corseted breeches. She pulled at them until she could slip her hand inside, but she did not feel warm skin against her cool fingers, but silk. She whimpered in annoyance. It was then that Morgause remembered her surprise for Morgana. She broke the kiss and stepped back, making Morgana’s hand fall disappointed at her side.

Morgana whimpered again, pouting and reaching out for Morgause again.

“Soon my love,” Morgause began, “but first I have something to show you.”

Taking Morgana’s hand, she brought it to the ties of her breeches and guided her to unfasten them fully and then pull them down.

Morgana’s eyes glinted as her gaze fell between Morgause’s thighs. “This I have already seen.”

But Morgause was not done. She guided Morgana’s hand to unlace her shirt for Morgana to see her surprise. On the soft skin beneath her left breast was an interwoven design of knots and swirls picked out in black ink. She took Morgana’s hand and made her trace it with her fingers. Only then did Morgana see the letters woven into the device.

“An ‘M’ my Queen, an ‘F’ for my Finnian and an ‘I’ for my Isolde,” Morgause named them as Morgana traced them one by one. “My wife, my son and my daughter all etched into my skin for the rest of my life and on into the next. And it is only for you to see, so that you will know that I am yours every bit as much as you are mine.”

“That, my love, I already know,” Morgana swore, bending her knees to kiss the promise picked out on Morgause’s skin. “That I already know.”

Morgause drew her back up for a kiss and pressed her again against the tree

“Say it again,” Morgana gasped, struggling for breath between Morgause’s demanding kisses. “Name me your wife.”

Morgause smiled, one of her hands trailing down Morgana’s side and beneath her hip, encouraging Morgana’s leg to curl up around her waist.

“My wife,” she whispered hotly in Morgana’s ear, skimming her hand back down to caress the smooth skin of Morgana’s thigh. “My wife, my wife, my wife.”

With that they were lost – praying a prayer so ancient that even the Gods could not remember when it had come into creation. And when they were done, they prayed and prayed and prayed some more, whilst above them a fairytale flew, smiling down on a dream come true.

Epilogue

Finnian and Isolde slept peacefully in their crib. Though Gwen had wished to see Morgana happily married, the chance to spend some time alone with the babes had been a greater wish. She had missed them terribly whilst she had been parted from them, and they too had longed for her if what Morgana said was true. Taking her time to enjoy them, she called for a warm bath to be filled before the fire and washed them and played with them until the water began to turn cold. She dried them and cuddled them whilst they drank their cow’s milk and sang them a story of a brave Knight and a beautiful Princess and all the adventures they had together.

Gwen, like the babes, was asleep when the fairytale flew soundlessly through the window and touched down on the cool stone floor. Quieter than a whisper, the fairytale crept over to the children’s cot and smiled down at her tiny charges. Glimmers of moonlight fell from her silver hair and tickled Isolde’s nose, making her squirm in her sleep. When the fairytale laughed, it was the sound of the crackling fire and the whisper of wind.

“Your mother’s fairytale has come true tonight, little ones, and she has no more use for me,” she said in a voice that did not reach their ears but appeared crystal clear in their sleeping minds. “Luckily for me, she has begotten two wonderful little creatures, each with their own fairytales needing to be fulfilled. And I promise you, little ones, I will make them just as sweet as your mother’s.”

And so a fairytale born of mother’s yearning looked kindly down on that mother’s sweet babes, sure in the knowledge that the fairytale would go on. For certain extraordinary fairytales never end, and Morgana’s fairytale the most wondrous of all and her descendants would see their dreams come true for many generations to come. And all because a mother dreamed and dashing Knight answered her call.

THE END.

A/N - Thank you very much for reading. Please let me know what you think. Expect more in this universe later this year.

Once Upon A Midnight (2/3)

lovepb — Sun, 19 May 2013 14:16:28 GMT

Chapter 4, Day 4

The children were inconsolable that night. Finnian finally had relief from his troublesome teeth, but it was his aching heart that kept him crying. They finally fell asleep curled up together between Morgana and Morgause in the Queen’s bed. Morgana, exhausted from crying, slipped into sleep not long after, but Morgause stayed awake, watching over them all night. She did not want to miss a single minute’s worth of gazing on them. She did not want to forget a single detail of their perfect faces, or the way their chests rose and fell as they breathed, or the colour of their hair in the dying firelight. It was with a heavy heart and thousand kisses that she left them at daybreak to make another trip to meet with Amina and see what she thought of their plan.

“It has… some merit,” Amina said hesitantly. She sat in Emiline’s kitchen surrounded by books – any one of which would mean a death sentence should Uther find out about them. Not that any more than one or two men in Camelot could read them, even if they did get their hands on them.

“Some?” Morgause asked hopefully, taking the bench opposite and running her eyes over the many and varied tomes lain out before them. She had not expected Amina to give them even that much encouragement.

“I fear that Gaius will expect you to turn to magic. You will not get close enough to him to hit him with this potion – if it existed, which it does not – and he will not stand still for you to lay an enchantment on him,” Amina expounded. “I know that there has been no practice of offensive or defensive magic in these parts in your lifetime, so sending you in with an incantation is not going to work. In battle, it is perfectly possible – common even – to use a stored spell, without utterance, in half a moment. But whatever power you have, it is locked away inside of you and you have no skill to wield it. And you, Morgana tells me, were regarded as the most promising young sorceress in Camelot in your youth. I have to send you in prepared.”

Morgause nodded, fear prickling up her spine. “Morgana’s opinion of me is-”

“Grander than reality?” Amina chucked. “I imagine it is. She loves you as if you were a Knight from a singer’s grand tale. The funny thing is, I do not actually think that you are far from being that fairytale figure. Better even, perhaps, for you are human and make human mistakes and enjoy human rewards. That is why I am helping you.”

Morgause smiled. “And because Morgana has charmed you as she charms everyone who meets her.”

Amina matched her smile. “Yes, that too.”

“And you have a plan to save her?” Morgause pleaded.

“I do.”

When Amina pulled back the sack cloth from the bundle on the floor, what Morgause saw there made her run to the sink and wretch.

“I…” She choked and wretched again. “What is that? Surely it cannot be-”

“It is a pig’s head,” Amina interrupted. “It would certainly not be my animal of choice but its colouring and size made my job easier.”

Morgause could not turn around. “But it looks… it looks…”

“Like my severed head,” Amina said calmly. “Yes. This is one aspect of my work that I will be keeping my daughter from. You can turn around now. I have covered it back over.”

“You… You did that with magic?” Morgause asked as she turned. Amina had lied. Her stomach turned.

“Yes. Take a good look. You need to get used to it if you are going to present it to Gaius.”

Morgause’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling.

“If I had killed you and taken your head, I would not be able to hold my stomach, let alone my nerve. If you want this to look real then put back the sack,” Morgause said unsteadily, her hands shaking.

“Your performance will not matter much as long as you can get him to take the head. When he touches it, he will lose his memories and become like a child again.” Amina held out her hand. “Did you bring what I asked?”

Morgause pulled a satchel bag onto the table and took out something flat and wrapped in cloth. “Morgana took it. She said that is was face down on his workbench so it did not capture her image. She took it when his back was turned, made him close the door or something of the like. I still do not know how she managed to swipe it.”

It was a mirror.

“Women are endlessly resourceful,” Amina commented. “And their dresses endlessly accepting of things needing to be ferreted away. Now, as the mirror, to prepare any directed enchantment, one needs a mirror or another reflective surface such as glass or crystal or water or obsidian. The list goes on, but you get my meaning. The mirror needs to have captured your intended target as its last image. And your target alone,” Amina warned. “If any other living soul, man or beast, was in the image then the enchantment will not take.”

Fear flared once more across Morgause’s skin. “I understand. Morgana assures me that is not the case. Gaius was alone in his chambers and always is.”

Amina nodded. “Would you like to watch me set the enchantment?” She closed the book in front of her and retrieved a scrap of parchment covered in the same strange script as the books. “Usually I prefer to practice alone, but I know that if it were me, I would want to see. I would want to make sure it was done right.”

Wordlessly, Morgause nodded. She would not be able to tell if what Amina said and did were only nonsense and gestures, but she could not admit that. And besides, Amina surely already knew that. The Wildes might once have been mighty and powerful, but now they were nothing more than figureheads for a community driven underground and kept there for so long they had lost their sight. It was true that they honoured the Old Religion and kept its ways. But no prayer to the Gods was worth half of the worship that even the smallest of magics gave unto them. If it was true that Gods required love and devotion to survive and smile upon their people, then the people of the Old Religion in Camelot were surely forsaken.

Yet… Yet she had been brought to Morgana’s side and they had been blessed a thousand times, had they not? Perhaps the Gods were not as fickle as Priestesses and Elders would have her believe.

“Please, I would be honoured,” Morgause murmured, bowing her head in respect. The room suddenly felt like those kitchens and cellars that her people had gathered in when she was a girl – where they had blessed babes and worshipped the Gods. It felt like the island.

With a silence of movement that Morgause could never hope to imitate, Amina stood and took from amongst the books the scarf she had been wearing when Morgause met her on the plains. She covered her head with fluid, practiced movements and gestured for Morgause to kneel. When the Knight complied, Amina put the pig’s head between them and knelt on a roll of finely embroidered turquoise silk. For a moment, she studied to parchment in her hands, before nodding and taking a deep breath.

“Please,” she said simply, holding out the scrap of parchment to Morgause.

Morgause took it and gazed in wonder at the ornate script inked upon it. It read:

परमेश्वर प्रिय, मैं पूछना है कि आप इस स्वार्थी और लालची आदमी से रहस्य और यादों को लेने के लिए वह अपने कर्मचारियों के खिलाफ प्रयोग करेंगे.उसे एक बच्चे के रूप में फिर से मुक्त और इसलिए हमें उसकी बुराई योजनाओं की बनाओ.

For a woman, Morgause was well educated. She could read and speak Latin and could even read a bit of some of the Greek tongues, as well as a little of languages used by some of the surrounding kingdoms. Of all of those languages, the script before her reminded her most of Greek. Not for any similarity in the lettering, but because it was different. Whereas with written Latin she could easily read the words and hazard a guess at their pronunciation, Greek pronunciation and writing had always been utterly divorced in her mind. She could not make from the Greek letters the sounds her schoolmistress had made whilst speaking them. Similarly, with this script she could hazard no guess at how the words would sound from Amina’s lips. She did not have to wait long to find out.

From under the table, Amina brought out a pot of oil and took a taper from it.

“Calo vahā͂ prakāś ho,” Amina whispered, and the taper flickered alight.

Sweet smelling smoke billowed from the splinter of wood and curled up towards the ceiling like bubbles racing to break the surface of a pool of water.

In a voice that was barely a whisper, Amina bid, “Close your eyes.”

Enthralled, Morgause obeyed.

“Parameśvar priy,” Amina invoked, the sweet smell of the smoke blossoming anew in the air, “mai͂ pūchanā hai ki āp is svārthī aur lālacī ādamī se rahasy aur yādo͂ ko lene ke lie vah apane karmacāriyo͂ ke khilāph prayog kareṅge. Use ek bacce ke rūp me͂ phir se mukt aur isalie hame͂ usakī burāī yojanāo͂ kī banāo.”

The taper blazed for a moment brighter than the sun and then went out.

Amina’s breath came heavy in the silence. “It is done.”

~*~

The journey back to the castle was the scariest of Morgause’s life. Every bend in the road, every alley and side road – all of them revealed a new guard, a new knight or even a Knight. Sir Gwaine joined her as she reached the drawbridge, running up to fall into step beside her and regale her of his latest adventures in something that Morgause did not have it in her to listen to. She thanked the Gods that he did not seem to notice and did not follow her into the castle proper. But most of all, she thanked them that he did not ask what she carried in a sack in her swordhand. That she would not have been able to explain.

“Come in,” came Gaius’ rusty voice, hitting Morgause with almost crippling déjà vu. She had decided to come straight to him. Morgana did not need to see the horror with which they would buy their freedom.

With a shiver, she grasped the handle and let herself in.

“Ah,” said Gaius. “You are early.” He nodded at the sack. “That her?”

His casual tone turned her stomach. She shut the door.

“Let’s take a look then.”

Silently, Morgause put the sack at his feet. She could not tip it out. She could not even be sure that the face Gaius would see inside would not be swine.

“No backbone,” he muttered, snatching up the sack and emptying its contents onto the sawdust covered floor. He stared at the head for a moment, prodded it with his foot and then looked back up at Morgause. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Panicked, Morgause looked down at the thing, but Amina’s magic had held and it was still resolutely human.

“I did not think you had it in you,” Gaius said. “Well, I suppose that concludes our little problem.” He smiled at her like none of it had ever happened. “Do give the Queen my regards.”

~*~

“But the enchantment only works if he touches it?” Morgana asked, her eyes pale and wide with worry.

“He will touch it,” Morgause assured her. “He cannot just leave it there in the middle of his floor.”

She took Morgana’s hand and kissed her palm and then her wrist.

Morgana bit her lip, suppressing a smile. “Does that… Does that mean… Is it over?”

“I…” Morgause shrugged. “I do not know, my love. I would feel better if he had touched it whilst I was there.” She dropped Morgause’s gaze. “It is wrong, and I should not have felt it, let alone tell it to you, but I wanted to see it. I wanted to see everything he had ever known drain away from him for what he did.” She did not look up. “You must think badly of me.”

Morgana’s hand raised her chin. “I could never think badly of you. Not ever. You taught me to be a good and just Queen by teaching me what it means to love. You were the first person to ever touch our children. You soothe them when they wake from sleep, when they cry. You are their mother just as much as I am and anyone who sees how you are with them in the safety of our chambers cannot deny that.” She smiled radiantly, making Morgause’s heart skip a beat. “Every day I could cry for joy at how much of you I see in them. I thank the Gods for it every night. How could I ever think badly of you after all of that?”

Unable to resist, Morgause darted forward, her lips damp from where she had been worrying at them with her teeth. Morgana gasped, taking in Morgause’s exhaled breath and revelling in the warmth of it flaring in her lungs. Her eyes fluttered closed and her world spun. Tingles raced over her skin, exploding when Morgause’s tongue slipped warm and wet into her mouth. They had done it a thousand times since that night in the forest by the fire, but every single one felt as good as the first. Every touch of Morgause’s lips felt like flying, rising weightless into the air, spiralling.

But one thing had changed since then. Something that neither of them would change for the world.

“Ma,” Isolde warbled, tugging on Morgana’s dress. “Ma.”

Morgana broke the kiss with a laugh, dropping her forehead to rest against her love’s. She bit her lip.

“Speaking of,” she teased, lingering for one more moment before reaching down to scoop Isolde onto her knee.

Isolde giggled and reached out both hands to Morgause.

“Oh, I see,” Morgana laughed. “I am just a step on your way to who you really want a cuddle from.”

Again Isolde giggled. She could not yet understand Morgana’s words but her tone was light and warm and it made Isolde wiggle with delight. She leapt into Morgause’s arms and hugged her around her neck, stamping her little feet up and down on Morgause’s thighs.

“GWUHH!” Finnian shouted, frowning at the mountain of Morgause’s legs before grasping at her knee and lifting his foot up to scale her calf.

“Oh no,” Morgause laughed, effortlessly lifting him up beside his sister. The twins gave identical giggles and showered Morgause’s face with kisses.

Morgana smiled, perfectly content with her beautiful family and achingly aware of how close she had come to losing it all. But something in the back of her mind told her that the danger was not yet over, and that worried her more than words from Morgause could console.

~*~

The sun could not have been brighter when Morgause strolled through the charming streets of the master’s quarter. It was not exactly warm, but it was wonderful. It was crisp and bright and perfect. It was the sort of day that should be spent chasing the twins through piles of golden red leaves and patches of snowdrops. It was the day of their salvation. A day she would never forget.

When Morgause turned to corner of Emiline’s street, the redheaded beauty was waiting for her. And when she saw the glimmer in Morgause’s eyes, the hug that she wrapped her in almost knocked her off of her feet.

“You won,” she said, her voice light and silvery. “Whatever it was, you won!”

“Yes,” Morgause beamed, squeezing her and lifting her around in a circle. “We won.”

Taking her by the hand, Emiline led her inside, a delighted laugh on her lips.

“I wanted to thank you for keeping Amina for us. Where is she? I needed to talk to her about something,” Morgause asked, looking around the windowless kitchen and peering into the dark sitting room.

“They’re here somewhere,” Emiline dismissed. “I think Sophia wanted to show them the garden. Not that it is much of a garden but… The girls like it. We never had one in Worcester. Just a little herb box on the window. Tristan and Ellie would never have taken a chance on any of my girls if you had not encouraged them. And without them, I would never have thought of planting a garden. And that is all thanks to you.”

Morgause closed her eyes and hummed pleasantly. Emiline was so close beside her that she could feel her warmth through her fine cotton shirt.

“Emy,” she breathed, struggling to override the desire to pull her closer.

“Hush,” Emiline soothed, her hands hovering over Morgause’s hips and finally settling on her sides. “I know that I hurt you. Badly. I was young and I did not know what love was.”

“I do not blame you,” Morgause said steadily. “Your family had the titles but no money to fall back on. Leon could become a Knight, but you needed to marry if you were going to have any place in the world.”

“My husband… I did love him. Eventually, I did. He gave me three beautiful daughters and I will always love him for that. But I was not happy with him, not the way I should have been. When we were betrothed he promised me silks and riches and all of the fine things that I had never had. But when we moved to Worcester it turned out that it was not a job as a master trader that he had secured, but as an apprentice, and even that he did not stick to for even as long as it took for me to bear him a daughter.” The song of Emiline’s voice turned sorrowful, like a lover’s lament. “But that did not matter, because he gave me the girls and taught me to be a wife. And I could be that for you. I could make you a fine wife – the kind of devoted wife that a strong and gentle Knight like you deserves. Please, Morgause. I was not ready for it when we were young, but I am now. If they call you Knight then you can take a wife. Let it be me and I promise that I will give you everything you ask for and everything that you would never dare to.”

“I…” Morgause’s head was swimming. She felt like she was eighteen again, when Emiline had last sent her heart thundering in her chest. She remembered the kiss they had shared in the crofter’s hay barn and the night beneath the rose bushes.

“Please, take me. I know that you want to,” Emiline pleaded, moving to face her. She was shorter than Morgause by a good couple of inches. Just enough to make it romantic. Enough that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to bring them eye to eye, and even then Morgause had to tilt her head down. “Just think of how proud Leon would be to see his little sister on the arm of his most gallant Knight. Think about the life I can give you. I am good at this. Let me be good at it for you.”

Her case pleaded, Emiline leant up and brushed their lips together as soft and fleeting as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. It was the kind of kiss that begged to be deepened. The kind of kiss that asked to be kissed back. It was the kiss of a woman who wanted to be a wife.

But Morgause would not oblige.

“Emy, I… I cannot do this,” Morgause protested. She felt as though the Gods were testing her. How could they put this bewitching woman before her and have her beg to be her wife? How could they do that when they knew that Morgause must refuse, regardless of how much it stirred her.

“Tell me that you did not enjoy that,” Emiline dared. “Tell me that you do not want me.”

She took Morgause’s hand and guided it to the deep square neckline of her gown and slipped it inside, letting her calloused fingers feel smooth warm skin. Before Morgause could pull her hand away, she slid it down to cup her full breast, to feel the stiffness of her nipple.

“I know what you want, Morgause. I know what you like and how to give it to you – I always have.”

“No,” Morgause said tightly, pulling her hand away. She saw now that the lush purple gown had been worn for her benefit. It was her colour and the neckline was meant to show off Emiline’s breasts as fully as she could whilst staying the right side of decent. And it had worked. Gods, how it had worked. She could not tear her eyes away. “I cannot do this.”

“Why not?” Emiline asked, stepping into her and resting the flat palms of her hands on Morgause’s toned stomach. “I see that you look and that you want.”

“I cannot do this because I am bound to another and I love her more than I desire you,” Morgause admitted, her voice as soft as she could keep it. She did not want to hurt Emiline. Not when she had done nothing wrong. She did not know about Morgana. All she wanted was to be loved again, and if it had been a couple of years earlier, Morgause would jumped at the chance. But now… “I have a wife and she is good to me, more so than I deserve. She loves me more than I could ever wish for. And by everything that is good in this world, I love her too.”

“Is she beautiful?” Emiline asked, not jealous but curious.

“Yes,” Morgause assured her. “And kind and dutiful and intelligent and wilful and strong and perfect.”

“She must be one hell of a woman,” Emiline said sadly.

“Yes, that she is.”

~*~

Morgause could not bring herself to tell Morgana of what had happened with Emiline. Not when Morgana was so blissfully happy. It was late afternoon by the time Morgause returned from talking with Amina, so the babes were sleeping. Morgana was waiting for her in a violet robe that laid her bare before her Knight when Morgause pulled at the silken ties. They made love in the afternoon light and when Morgana came, she looked more beautiful – gasping and shuddering and flushed all over – than Morgause had ever seen her.

They kissed languidly in the failing light until the babes cried for their dinner. It was the perfect end to the perfect day and Morgause was counting down the hours until she could make Morgana her wife before the Gods and make everything she said to Emiline come true.

Chapter 5, Day 5

The sharp banging on the door woke them with a start.

As happy as they were, Morgause could not escape the feeling that all was not right. She slept alone that night, leaving the bed for Morgana and the children. They still missed their Guinevere and her bedtime stories, and Morgana could not bear not to have them close. It seemed that the little ones’ feeling of unease was justified.

Pulling on her breeches, Morgause ran for the door, a chorus of tired wails biting at her ears.

Through the door came a thrown pig’s head followed by an irate Gaius. His face was red with anger and Morgause was half afraid he might strike her. Mindful of the guards on their patrols, Morgause pushed the door shut and hurried to place herself between the fuming physician and Morgana and the children.

“You had better have a good explanation for this!” Gaius growled, kicking at the pig’s head to make a chunk of spoiling meat fall off the bone. “Like perhaps the foreign whore was a pig all along and you had about as much idea about it as I did!?”

Morgause gulped. Her fear had been that Gaius would not touch the thing, not that enchantment would wane and the human face become once again swine. But even so, he had touched it. It should not matter if the head had changed back. But when she looked, she saw that covering his pale, wrinkled hands were light grey kid-skin gloves. He may have touched the thing, but not with his skin.

She felt foolish and weak and incompetent. Of course a man such as Gaius would have refrained from touching it. She should have made him – should have waited and seen it with her own eyes.

“I… I…” All she could do was stutter.

“Did you really think that your foul magic could fool me? I could smell it coming off the thing in waves from the moment you brought it to me.”

That, Morgause knew, was a lie. He had believed her well enough when she had left. It was only when he found that he had been made a fool of that he recounted his acceptance.

“Bring me Amina’s real head or I’ll have yours.” He turned to Morgana who was clutching her children to her chest. “And yours. And both of theirs too.”

“Never,” the Queen growled.

“No? Then bring me the head. You have until midnight tomorrow before I tell the King.” He paused and looked at Morgause with malice in his eyes. “Trick me again, witch, and I will make sure that they rip you to pieces before they take your life. And I’ll make sure those bastard children are watching.”

~*~

Morgana was crying when Leon got there. It was the quiet kind of crying that men feared. It was the kind of crying that women did when something was seriously wrong. It was the crying of someone who did not even have the fight left to sob. It made his hair stand on end.

“Ask no questions, Leon.” Morgause’s voice was tight and thin, and Leon could not find it in himself to argue with her.

“One question,” he bargained. “Are they in danger, the Prince and Princess?”

“Imminently,” Morgause confirmed, her voice took on a pleading tone and then cracked, “and mortally.”

Leon’s jaw tightened and he nodded. He knew too much. There was only one thing that could possibly make Morgana part from her children. Only one thing that could see her send them to safety outside of the castle walls and into the anonymity of the town and beyond. Only the chance that forfeiting her own life would sate the King’s anger and make him forget the children would ever lead her to part from them. He could not let that happen. The two hundred year old charter that the Knights of Camelot lived by bid that the sworn Knights must shield the heirs of Camelot – the kingdom’s future – from any and all threats. He could not keep from extending that promise to Morgana too – to beg her to leave with them.

“Do you…” Leon hesitated, tearing his eyes away from Morgana and back to Morgause. “The Queen… Surely she should not be parted from her children.”

“She will not hear of it,” Morgause whispered. “Her hope springs eternal and her faith is strong. She believes that every problem has a solution, but not enough to put Finnian and Isolde’s lives at risk. She hopes that if the worst comes to pass that the price of her own life will be enough to cover what is demanded of us.”

Leon’s face laid his troubled thoughts plain for Morgause to see. “As commendable as hope and faith are, they do not conquer all. If anyone were to question it then… As Commander of the Knights of Camelot, it is my duty to protect Her Highness and what she represents.” He turned to Morgana. “My Queen, your children are but babes. They need you. What if you are with child again and are yet to know of it? Let me take you and the children.” He gestured to Morgause. “Let me take the four of you. You have informed me of a danger and it is my duty to protect you from it. Please do not ask me not to do my duty to you. Please.”

Morgana ignored him. Sniffling back her tears, she looked at her two little miracles. When she spoke, her voice was all brittle and broken and wet from tears. “Gods be good, you will be back with me soon, but if you are not… If you are not, then I need you to know that I will always love you. I love you more than anything else in this world and that is why I have to send you away. Know that you are precious and that the day you were born to me was the greatest of my life.” She choked, her tears overflowing as she realised that they had no inkling of what she was saying to them.

“I love you,” she repeated, kissing them over and over until Morgause crouched down at her side.

“I cannot do this,” she cried, burying her head in Morgause’s shoulder, despair and anger all throwing themselves at the only person who could even come close to understanding. “I cannot say goodbye to them! They are a part of me as vital as my heart or my soul. I… I cannot…”

Morgause took her face in her hands, the children between them. “You must. For them, you must.”

Morgana bit her trembling lip and nodded, before standing up and turning away, leaving the children in Morgause’s arms. Goodbye was a word that she could never say. Not to them.

Morgause lingered there on the floor, breathing in their scent. They smelt like Morgana and milk and the honey they bathed in. With a lungful of that heady scent, Morgause pressed kisses to their heads and nodded to Sir Leon.

With gentle hands, she lifted them into the wooden chest he bore and shushed them with her finger. With whispered prayers, she hushed the words in their throats, ensuring their cries would not give them away, before closing the lid and turning the key in the lock.

“I will guard them with my life,” Sir Leon promised, towering above her. “And if I do not hear from you by midnight tomorrow, I take them to the Wildes myself and go with them to the furthest corner of the earth and never come back, if I have to. I will never let anyone hurt them. Not ever, I promise you that.”

Morgause threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

“Take care of yourself,” he bid, trying his hardest not to cry. “And if it comes to it…”

“I will die protecting her,” Morgause vowed, knowing that he would understand. He would do the same.

When she stood back, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not let them take you without a sword in your hand; you are a Knight – the finest I have ever seen – and I would feast with you at the warrior’s table when both of our lives are done.”

She laughed at his mention of the old folk tale, her tears streaming down her cheeks. “I promise, brother. I promise.”

~*~

Gaius straightened his tunic and snorted in annoyance. The little bitches thought that they could outsmart him – the most exalted physician in all of Camelot. He would show them what it meant to cross an intelligent man. He would teach them how brutal a King’s justice could be.

His jaw set, he turned into his chambers and made straight for the cup of red wine he had left to warm on the mantel piece. It was an old vintage. Strong and dark. It was solace and a reward for outsmarting them. It was the taste of Amina’s blood, just waiting to be spilt.

“Good evening, Gaius,” a voice greeted curtly from the darkness. To his credit, Gaius did not jump.

“Ah,” he said, squinting. The voice was familiar but he could not put a name to it, nor a face. It was female, though, that much was plain. “Who is that I have the pleasure of addressing at this late hour?”

“That is not important,” the woman said. She moved far enough out of the darkness that light flashed off the blade in her hand, but did not illuminate her face. “What is important is who you are and who you have dared to threaten.”

Gaius’ expression hardened. “And you have come here to threaten me with that dagger, is that it?”

“No,” the mysterious woman said. “I will make no threats.”

It was a kitchen knife Gaius saw now. Not a dagger.

“If you are not here to make threats then why bring a knife? And why hide your identity?” Gaius questioned, sipping at his wine to show that he was not rattled. He was.

“The knife is insurance. You might do something stupid. And as for my identity, you do not deserve to know. It is frightening you more that I could be anyone and capable of anything,” the woman answered honestly. “I do not worry about you finding out who I am. Why should I? You will not live to leave the room.”

Gaius paused. “Then you lied. You said that you had no intention of using the knife.”

“I don’t,” the woman said. “I do hope that you are enjoying your dying drink. A Roman vintage. I cannot even begin to imagine what it is worth. Do you have any idea?”

Gaius’ blood ran cold. He turned and looked at the shelves where he kept his poisons. There was a bottle missing. The black bottle with the red stopper. Belladonna. He did not have long then. Not long at all. It was only a moment before he felt his heart quickening. The low light of the room was suddenly blinding and the sharpness of the world fled to blurriness and confusion.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

“You should not have threatened her,” the woman said and she walked calmly from the room.

~*~

Without the children, the Queen’s chambers were cold and empty, and the night’s shadows had taken on a maleficent air. Morgana stood and watched by the window, a ghost against the black sky. A new moon picked out the tears on her cheeks, silver against a fearful flush. It seemed to Morgause the strangest thing to do, to turn to cold, dead stone and a vision of the city for comfort. Morgause herself was gazing into the fire, numb to its warmth but needing to feel it anyway. The heat of the fire was like the Gods’ caress and nothing could bring a daughter of the Old Religion more comfort than the heat of fire or another’s skin. But Morgana’s skin was cold and forbidden, so fire it was.

“I thought that, perhaps, it might all be rather more spectacular,” Morgana bemoaned, her voice high and thin as the wind. “I thought there might be…” She shook her head, words escaping her.

“Our children have been ferried away in a chest in the dead of night,” Morgause deadpanned. “I think that drama enough.”

There was a soft sigh and Morgause heard the silk of Morgana’s slippers as she crossed the floor. A cool hand tangled in her hair, tipping back her head.

“I cannot stand and wait to die,” Morgana whispered fiercely. “If I am to die tonight, then it will be in your arms, where I belong, doing what I am damned for.”

With that she withdrew, pulling on the laces at the front of her nightgown, loosening them. With no regard for the cold, she shrugged her shoulders and let white cotton and lace pool like milk around her ankles.

Scrabbling to her feet, Morgause vaulted over the bench and beheld the woman that was to be her ruin. She had changed so much since Morgause had first laid her eyes on her. She had grown fuller with Isolde and Finnian and though her belly was again near as flat as when Morgause had first pressed her lips to it, it was softer now than before and above it her breasts were as full as when the babes had nursed six times a day. To Morgause, she was at her most beautiful and grew only more so every day.

Morgana was right, if they did not have the children to take comfort in, why not spend their last night together, enjoying what time they had left. It was a strangely freeing thought. All the weight of fear left Morgause’s shoulders and suddenly all she could feel was want and desire.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Morgause said lustily, desire making her eyes dilate and her skin tingle.

Morgana smiled and blushed, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She was playing at being coy, knowing exactly how much it fuelled Morgause’s passions.

“Then come to me,” she bid, slowly and provocatively raising her eyes.

When Morgause moved she was as quick as an adder, taking Morgana about the waist and pulling her close. Their lips met with all the heat that the fire had failed to ignite. Morgana’s hands went to the hem of Morgause’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head, before loosening the laces of her breeches and slipping her hand inside.

If the night would be their last, it would be a sweet one. Of that she was determined.

rls. When she was carrying me, she travelled all the way to the Isle of the Blessed to have the High Priestess there ink a tree of life on her belly to make me strong and powerful. Flor had the same when she carried Tristan.”

Morgana smiled and stood up to take Morgause’s hand.

“After the Purge, any ink other than that which denoted your house or military rank was banned. People still wear it, but only where it cannot be seen.” Morgause’s recollection turned into sorrow. “For you, though, no place is unseen by the King.”

“No,” Morgana frowned. “I am sorry.”

Shaking the melancholy away, Morgause continued, “I had heard a rumour that there was an enchantment to shroud ink from anyone who did not have it already on their skin. It was used, I think, to mark those who belonged to a plot to overthrow the High Priestesses back when there power was new. I searched every book I knew of to find it after you told me that you were with child. I wanted you to wear a tree of life on your belly so that you could see it and know that I meant to love the babes you carried as if they were my own. But the enchantment was nowhere to be found. I had given up, but when I saw all of the wisdom in the strange script that Amina reads, I asked if an enchantment of the like was known to her people.” She nodded to the inkpot in Morgana’s hands. “It seems it is. Just in time to make you a Wilde.”

Morgana’s stomach fluttered. “Your mark, the sigil?”

Morgause pulled her shirt off her shoulder for Morgana to trace the ebony black symbol with her fingers.

“If you want it,” Morgause offered, oddly afraid that Morgana would say no. She knew that Morgana wanted the symbol. She traced it every time they lay together and, on the few occasions that she had caught sight of Flor’s, she had eyed it enviously. “It will hurt.”

“Of course I want it.” Morgana was not surprised when she felt the familiar stinging of tears in her eyes. It was something that she had longed for and never thought that she would be able to have. Much like Morgause herself once upon a time. “Pain be damned. I want to look in the mirror and see that I am a Wilde, your wife. I want to take on your debt and thank the Gods for everything they have done for me.”

The smile that bloomed on Morgause’s face was the most beautiful smile that Morgana had ever seen.

In the act itself, Morgana proved a little less brave than her words. At the first prick of the needle, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“How old were you when you had this done?” she asked, tears streaming from her scrunched closed eyes.

Morgause, who could not see her tears, chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. “When I stopped growing.”

“So, young then,” Morgana quipped.

“Ha ha,” Morgause deadpanned. “But yes, I was fourteen. It was just before my parents died. My father did it for me. I cried the whole way through, but I sat as still as a statue. I wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Morgana said wistfully. “I want mine to look as perfect as yours.”

“It will,” Morgause promised. “I made Flor’s perfect, did I not?”

“You did Flor’s mark?!” Morgana exclaimed.

“Aye. I am quite good, am I not?”

Morgana did not answer. More tears were slipping down her cheek. Too many for Morgause not to notice.

“I would have thought that after Finnian and Isolde, this pain would be nothing,” Morgause said, worried. She would share her magic with Morgana if she could, to take away the pain, but that would destroy the point of the ink in the first place. “I wish it did not, but it has to hurt to remind you of the debt you are taking on. With every Wilde the debt is lessened. You pay with your pain, but it will never be enough. You do not have to have the mark. I will think no less of you. We can stop if you-”

“No! No. Please, I want it,” Morgana exclaimed loud enough that for a moment they sat in perfect silence waiting for cries that did not come. “And the pain too,” Morgana said quieter. “I want to feel it and understand.”

When it was done, Morgause whispered a prayer and the pain was gone and forgotten. She led Morgana to the mirror and turned her so that she could see the black picked out sharp against her pink-flushed skin.

“It is beautiful,” Morgana breathed, wonderstruck. “Thank you.”

Morgause tipped up her chin and kissed her. Seeing Morgana wear the mark stirred something inside her. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Morgana laughed. “My charmer.”

“Always.”

“Will you give me more when I get with child again? I want you to ink my belly like your mother had. But it has to be you. I only want it if you do it. And more ink too. I would have you cover me in it, if it would please you.”

“Not so much ink as that, I think. I like your skin the way the Gods made it, pale and pure. A little ink makes it sweeter, but not so much as its beauty is lost.” She trailed her hand up Morgana’s bare stomach, making her shiver. “But a tree of life all done in fine knots would look damn fine on your belly, should it grow again.”

Morgana chucked. “You do not want me to patterned in black and blue for you?”

Now Morgause touched her cheek, still damp from tears. “I do not want to see you cry in pain for something you think that I want. Or that you think that Gods want. You do not need ink to make you a child of the Old Religion nor to make you my wife.” She kissed the mark on Morgana’s shoulder that she had set and sapped of pain with a prayer.

“I just… I want there to be parts of me that I only share with you,” Morgana admitted. “I cannot promise you alone my body, as I wish that I could.”

“As magnificent as it is, you share something far greater and more beautiful than your body with me that Uther Pendragon can never have – your heart.”

Morgana leant in and kissed her then, her palms flat against Morgause’s collar bones.

“And I will not let anyone take your heart from me,” Morgause promised, a rare hint of possessiveness entering her voice. “They would have to kill me first.”

And when Morgana’s knees went weak at her Knight’s words, Morgause’s arms were there to catch her.

PART 3

Once Upon A Midnight (1/3)

lovepb — Sun, 19 May 2013 14:09:32 GMT

Title: Once Upon a Midnight

Fandom: Merlin

Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause

Rating: M (Mostly for situations)

Word Count: 21,698

Summary: Once upon a midnight clear, a fairytale stretched her wings. With hair of moon, skin of night and wings phoenix feather, she flickered in the corner of mortal’s eyes – never quite being seen.

The fairytale that Morgana dreamt about all her life was just days away from fruition and it seemed to her that life had never been sweeter. But Camelot's court is a dangerous place and someone knows her secret.

Sequel to At My Most Beautiful, though reading that first is not essential if its length daunts you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Once Upon a Midnight Clear

Prologue

Once upon a midnight clear, a fairytale stretched her wings. With hair of moon, skin of night and wings phoenix feather, she flickered in the corner of mortal’s eyes – never quite being seen.

Those mortals often imagine that the laughter of little children is what gives such fairytales their wings. But mortals know little of this world, as that which propels these heavenly creatures into the air is not the whims of children, but the hopes and dreams of their mothers. For theirs is a more ardent yearning. Life always sees to that.

In a castle not so far away in appearance from that of a tale beginning ‘Once upon a time’, one such mother dreamed of the day all of her dreams would come true. It was a day that was only a week away and could not come fast enough.

“You must know a little of what goes on,” the Queen pleaded with her Knight and protector. They lay in the darkness, separated by fear – one laying her head down in a bed fit for a Queen, her hair splayed out on her cloud-like pillow, and the other lay on a hard mattress a mere inch off the floor, her golden curls a plaited rope over one shoulder.

“None,” Morgause repeated, looking up into the shrouding darkness. Her back ached and she wanted nothing more than to lie in that soft Queen’s bed, her hands on the curve of her Queen’s lithe waist. “Only those who have been through the ceremony know anything of it. The High Priestesses of old decreed it so. No one quite knows why, but we are not expected to understand what they in their infinite wisdom could. Some say it is to prevent the commitment being overshadowed by the event afore it. Some say that there are tests which we must pass.”

Morgana’s heart was fluttering, but through fear or anticipation, she did not know. According to the law of the kingdom, she had been wed to the King for four years. To those who followed the Old Religion and kept sacred its laws and customs, however, she was unwed and still bore the name Le Fay, not Pendragon. Soon, that would change. Soon she would be Morgause’s and finally free. That was her fairytale.

“But how will I know what to do? What if I do something wrong and anger the Gods?”

Morgause sighed, smiling at her fiancée’s worry. “You will not anger the Gods, Morgana. They know all, past and future. If you were destined to anger them, they would not have smiled on us so. Flor will be there to guide you through the ceremony, as Rivalen will be for me. If there are any tests, I think they will be more designed to test me than you.”

What Morgause did not say was that the one thing she did know was that, as she had seven years on her wife-to-be and would so be assumed to be in possession of greater power and wisdom, she would be considered dominant. She would swear to protect Morgana and, in return, Morgana would swear allegiance to her and her family for as long as their marriage blossomed. Morgana would be only too happy to agree, of that Morgause was sure, but becoming her protector in the eyes of the Gods made Morgause uneasy. It was a promise she was not sure that she could uphold, not whilst the law still decreed that Morgana was Uther’s.

“You were young together when Flor married Rivalen, were you not?” Morgana asked. She already knew the answer, and when Morgause confirmed it, she continued, “And did you not talk about what had happened, afterwards?”

Morgause sighed. Flor had been stubbornly loyal to Rivalen after they had been wed, and had held her tongue for the most part. “All she told me was that it was wonderful.”

But Flor had been eighteen, unfamiliar with magic and maiden, and had likely been easily impressed. Morgause only hoped that Flor’s rosy memory of that night would sweeten her and Morgana’s joining, whatever it would entail.

“I do not doubt that,” Morgana whispered, wonder in her voice. She did not believe anything of the Old Religion could be anything but wondrous. Despite everything she had been through, she still had a forgiving and romantic heart. She believed in the best in people – even Uther – and trusted in the wisdom and goodness of the Gods. Morgana Pendragon believed in fairytales. And that fairytale would make her a Wilde.

Her Wilde, though, had long since given up on such fantasies. Life was never that kind.

Chapter 1, Day 1

Being the Queen’s guard entailed a number of duties that Morgause could never have foreseen when she had been picked for the post. Chief among them was nurse to a sniffling toddler of a Prince.

“Gwuhh,” Finnian fussed, twisting in Morgause’s grip.

“Hush now, my little Prince. People will think you near as noisy as your sister,” Morgause teased, pressing a soothing kiss to the blonde boy’s head. “Amina will give you something cool to chew on, just like last time, and you can go back to being a happy, quiet little boy.” Under her breath she whispered, “And I can go back to getting more than three hours sleep a night.”

Morgana’s trusted friend and physician, Amina, had been east to a village suffering from an unexplained sickness. Though Gaius still remained at court, Morgana had decided to wait for Amina to return, rather than take her chances with Uther’s old friend. Gaius’s medicine had more oft than not been bitter, and Morgana would save her babes from it, if she could.

“Gwuhh,” Finnian repeated, softer this time. Almost like an apology.

“I really do wait in eager anticipation for the day that you and your sister master the word “Morgause” and I can cease being known as “Gwuhh”,” Morgause muttered, jiggling the fussing Prince. “It would not be near as annoying should your mother not collapse into giggles every time one of you utters it.”

She could not complain too ardently, though – they had no word for Uther.

As they arrived at the physician chambers, Morgause shifted Finnian to her hip, flattened his unruly hair and knocked on the door. The Prince could not meet his public looking like a ruffian.

“Come in,” came Gaius’ voice, creaking like an old, unoiled door.

Morgause bit her lip and gave Finnian a worried look. “Once more into the fray, little one.”

“Gaius,” she greeted on entering. “How nice it is to see you. Unexpected, but nice.”

“Lady Morgause, it is a pleasure. And the young Prince too. Should he not be in the care of his mother? Or failing that, his father?” Gaius asked, all pleasant smiles and hidden barbs. It made Morgause’s blood run cold.

“Our Queen is with her daughter and the King is far too busy ruling our great kingdom and securing alliances to see to such trivial matters. Surely you know that, as one of his most trusted advisors,” Morgause said mildly as Finnian turned into her neck, curling up against her.

“Too true, more’s the pity,” Gaius replied, unable to disagree. The King had been busy cementing relations with one dignitary in particular – the Worchester Princess. She never left her extensive chambers but those servants who attended her reported that she was heavy with child. Getting bastards on the daughters of men he had, by proxy, slain in battle was evidently a more important use of the King’s time than was being a father to his two trueborn heirs.

As if to bring the conversation back to its intended subject, Finnian uttered a whimpering little cry against Morgause’s neck. That at least seemed to garner Gaius’ sympathy.

“The poor little lad. Is it his teeth again? I did warn you not to trust in that woman’s treatment. My yarrow root blend would have seen to the pain long ago,” Gaius lectured, stepping forward to take a look at the child. “Let me see him.”

Reluctantly, Morgause uncurled Finnian’s arm from around her neck and held him out for Gaius to take. The second he left Morgause’s arms, Finnian began to wail. Such was the volume of his cries that Gaius barely had a chance to look into his mouth before the ringing in his ears forced him to hand the wriggling child back to Morgause – in whose arms he instantly calmed.

The slow trickle of magic that Morgause had been feeding him on night and day had been draining in the extreme, but it was the only way to soothe the boy’s tears and she gave of it gladly. She only wished there was some other way.

“Yes, the yarrow root should do it,” Gaius said decisively, as though his examination had been a fruitful one. He crossed to the shelving on the far wall and plucked up two small violet bottles, coloured to hide the acrid brown-green of the potion within. “Rub a little of this on his gums thrice daily and return to me on the fourth day. If he is still complaining of the pain, there are some stronger salves I can concoct, but at his age I would rather wait until it is completely necessary. The willowbark and nettle concoctions all have some very nasty side effects that a growing Prince can do without.”

Morgause nodded diligently, filing the information away in her mind so that she might follow his advice to the letter. Gaius might not be as skilled a physician as Amina, but his treatments had served the knights well enough for as long as Morgause had been amongst their ranks, and long before that.

“The Queen sends her sincerest thanks for your help,” Morgause smiled, bowing her head to him.

“Does she now?” Gaius scoffed. “That is peculiar, seeing as I have had reports of the Prince’s suffering for near a week now and only today – the day that Amina was due back – have you seen fit to come seeking help.”

Morgause’s mouth froze in a surprised ‘O’.

“The… The Queen was hoping to procure some more of Amina’s remedy as the children like its taste so much. It is so hard to implore babes to take a bitter medicine,” Morgause tried to explain. “It was not intended to be an insult to yourself, Sir.”

“Nothing is ever meant as insult, I am sure,” Gaius said harshly, his eyes flashing with anger. “Just as I am sure you would wish no insult to our great King.”

Confused, Morgause replied, “Of course not!”

“Yet still you bed his wife!” Gaius shouted, striking the table at his side with such force that he sent a tower of books clattering to the floor.

Finnian jumped at the din and began to cry in earnest, screeching louder than Morgause had ever heard him cry. His tiny hands fisted in her shirt and hair, clinging to her to keep him safe even as he struggled against her hold.

For a split second, Morgause wondered what to do. She had thought on it many a dark night when she slept in her own cold bed on the floor of Morgana’s chambers. To fight or to flee. To deny or admit her guilt.

“I charge you to hold your tongue!” Morgause bit. “To slander the Queen is a crime akin to treason.”

“The definition of slander is to utter something damaging and, above all, false, is it not, my lady?”

Morgause was silent.

“Then what I have said is not slander. As both you and I know that what I have claimed is true. As it is true that you plan to take our virtuous Queen as your own in a pagan ceremony within the week. You were not as alone as you thought on the night of your injury and I know a little of the Old Religion and its ways. A couple must wait one year from the day of their engagement for their joining, is that not right? That would make the day of reckoning six nights from this,” Gaius declared, knowing that he was right and that he had Morgause by the throat.

“I was once the only physician at court. Favoured by all the great nobles in our fine city. Now I stand in the shadow of a foreign whore brought to court by your slut of Queen. Right that wrong and I will keep your filthy secret. Fail to bring me Amina’s head before the day of your joining, and I will tell the King of his Queen’s betrayal and see to it that it is your head and the Queen’s that will roll from the executioners block,” Gaius threatened, his voice as cold and hard as steel. He had been planning this for some time, Morgause realised.

“You would not,” Morgause choked, the thought making her feel dizzy and detached from the world before her eyes. “Not to Morgana.”

“Would I not?” The old man’s mouth twisted in a sickening smile. “You have six days to find out. Are you willing to make that bet? A bet on her life and that of her magical bastards. Do not forget that the King has a noble lady shut up inside this castle who proved eagerly fertile for his seed. Morgana quickened only when you came into her life. The risk of the implications are too strong for the King to take. Especially when he can do away with the Le Fay whore and sit the pretty young Worchester on her throne in time for her to ripen and give him a trueborn heir. Such will be my council when he asks for it.” He gave the child in Morgause’s arms a cold once over from crown to toe. “Make your decision wisely or I will make everything you have built around you come tumbling down like a house of cards.” He smirked. “Your move Lady Wilde.”

~*~

Gwen gasped and Morgana was worryingly silent when Morgause relayed her conversation with Gaius to them in the safety of the Queen’s chambers. She had seriously considered holding her tongue, but she could see no way out of their quandary and Morgana had known something was terribly wrong the moment she had walked through the door.

“And we have six days?” Morgana asked calmly, too calmly. “Six, including today?”

Biting her lip, Morgause nodded. Finnian squirmed obliviously on her knee as she sat shaky legged on a chair by the fire, Finnian reaching out for his mother who stood impassively in the centre of the room.

“Did he say why Amina has not yet returned?” Morgana continued. She looked down at Finnian’s reaching hands and then back up to Morgause, deciding against taking him.

“She sent word yesterday. She will be two days late. He suggested…” She broke off, unable to say it.

“He suggested that you intercept her,” Morgana guessed. Concentration darkened her features. “No, that is not the course of action we will take,” she declared after a long pause.

Morgause’s stomach turned. She had thought about it. Morgana had actually considered it.

“Morgana!” Morgause was aghast. “How could you-”

“What?” Morgana interrupted. “How could I what? Consider every course of action in the defence of my children. Our children. Who are, need I remind you, no more than babes – barely weaned – and already their lives are at risk because of the choices I have made. It is I who have made this mess and I who will resolve it.”

Gwen rushed in and took Finnian from the angering Knight as she rose to her feet, almost forgetting that he was there. Morgana’s lady-in-waiting gathered her two young charges and ushered them into the room which had once been Morgause’s bedroom. Both women paused to watch her go, their hearts breaking as Isolde looked, red-faced, back at them over her shoulder as she waddled away, pulled by Gwen’s hand in hers.

“You hardly did this alone, Morgana!” Morgause sniped when the children were out of earshot.

“No, I did not. But ultimately the blame lies with me. I swore to be faithful to a King in the full knowledge that if I were to break that vow, I would forfeit my life. I knew that when we kissed in the woods. I knew it when I let you take me to bed. I knew it when I made my children yours and when I promised to bind myself to you. All of this I did knowing that one day it could cost me my life.” Morgana hesitated, her cheeks reddening in anger and her nostrils flaring like a stallion about to charge. “All of this I did without ever thinking of the risks I was taking on Finnian and Isolde’s lives. And now they might be forfeit. All because I decided that I was the only Queen to ever be treated badly by her husband and, because of this, deserving of comfort.” Her mouth pulled back in a distasteful grimace. “I have been waiting for the day it would all turn to ash. It seems that day has come.”

“It does not have to be that way. There must be a solution to this that does not have us stoop to that man’s level,” Morgause seethed. “If we do that then all we have fought to be will be for nought.” She walked shakily to Morgana’s side, but was unable to bring herself to touch this stranger of a woman. “You say that we are blessed by the Gods; that they watch over us. I do not believe that they would let this thing happen. Not after all they have granted to us.”

Something stirred in Morgana’s serene expression. Something that chilled Morgause to her soul.

“We will lose nothing but the sacrifice we chose to pay. What that sacrifice will be is ours to decide.” Morgana’s eyes drifted to the window, where the sun was reaching its highest point in its arch across the sky. “Six days.”

Chapter 2, Day 2

Though Uther was unlikely to come to Morgana that night, Queen and Knight slept what little sleep Finnian allowed them apart. Morgana had dashed the colourful glass bottles against the wall the moment she had seen them. It would be just like Gaius, she reasoned, to send poison in place of placation. The moment the smell of fennel rose from the broken glass, Morgause knew that she had been right. Fennel extract was a potent destabiliser of magic, which had been known to be fatal in excess. There had not been enough for that in the small bottles, but there was enough to serve as a warning that Gaius intended to follow through on his threats not only to Morgana and Morgause, but to the children as well.

At first light, Morgause set four guards outside Morgana’s chambers and disappeared with no further explanation of her destination than that she would be back by nightfall.

Gwen insisted that they give the children as normal a day as possible, setting out a picnic and wooden toys on a blanket in the light from the windows. It was in that light that Finnian finally seemed to get some relief. He drifted off to sleep clutching a wooden Knight with long flowing hair.

“What will we do?” Gwen asked her Queen and closest friend. “Five days is not a long time to come up with a plan.”

“One day is even less,” Morgana said, smiling sadly and squeezing Gwen’s arm in thanks for her ‘we’. “If Amina is back in Camelot before we make our decision, then any avenue of opportunity concerning her is all but gone.”

“You cannot have her killed, Morgana,” Gwen said softly.

Morgana laughed humourlessly. “Morgause seems to think me capable of it.”

“Only because she contemplated it first,” Gwen said astutely. “As did I. As did you. Any of the three of us would do more than kill for Finnian and Isolde. That is the way with children.”

Isolde picked up a handful of berries from a bowl and squished them between her fingers, giggling at the red mess and immediately making for her mother, arms outstretched. Seamlessly, Morgana caught her about the waist, pressed a kiss to her head and wiped away the offending red smear with a damp cloth.

“It is strange,” Morgana began, holding Isolde close, “that everyone talks of becoming a parent in terms of love, but never in terms of the hate you will feel for anyone who would dare to hurt your child. No one talks of the vile lengths you would go to in order to protect them.”

“You need to talk to Morgause. The two of you will find a way. You just need to admit the worst of your thoughts to one another and then find a way to overcome them.”

Morgana tilted her head and smiled at Gwen – not quite forgetting her troubles but allowing herself a moment to forsake them. “You were always the wisest woman in Camelot, Guinevere. What great heights this kingdom would rise to if you were Queen instead of me.”

Gwen could only blush and look away. She did not think anyone could be a greater Queen than Morgana.

~*~

Morgause’s uncle, Rivalen, flared with as much anger as Morgause had felt fear when she told him of Gaius’s threats.

“No,” he bit, his muscles tense, “he will not get away with this. Not if it takes every magical person in this city to bring him down. Do not think for one moment that we will let you take this on alone, my dear girl. You are a Wilde, and the blood of those babes runs thick with your magic. As does the Queen’s. If they only knew that the Queen and the heirs to Camelot were of their kind, every magical soul in the kingdom would rise up at your call.”

“I do not want revolution, uncle,” Morgause sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “I will not have any more blood spilled over my indiscretions than need be. If the King is unseated, there are a dozen declared allies of Camelot who will fall on us like a pack of wolves. And they would not stop until the Pendragon line was extinguished.”

That made Rivalen pause. “Then what do you want me to do?”

Morgause shrugged, tears forming in her eyes. “Tell me a way to end this bloodlessly.”

“That, I am afraid, is like impossible,” Rivalen conceded, sitting down beside Morgause and pulling her close. “But I promise that I will try.”

“We will not let you go through this alone.”

The vow did not come from Rivalen’s lips, but Morgause did not have to look up to know who had spoken it. It was Flor, her childhood friend and her uncle’s wife.

“Aye,” Rivalen agreed, “whatever the outcome might be.”

~*~

The sun was low and, despite the wintery month, almost warm by the time Morgause was making her way back through the streets to the castle that afternoon. She had stayed with her family longer than she had intended to, but the thought of facing Morgana had not been a prospect she had relished. So reluctant was she to return to her Queen, that Morgause took a long, meandering route back to her. She walked the lower market to hear the sound of ordinary daily life and then, when that became too much for her, she took to walking the smaller streets where people were fewer and the air quieter. It was down one of these streets that she was walking when a high, sweet voice called out her name.

“Morgause! Lady Wilde!” a woman’s voice called, singing the words as in a soothing melody.

Morgause turned on her heel and found herself face to face with the beauty that had fuelled nearly all of her youthful dreams – the ones that had not been centred around Morgana, that is. Emiline Evangelion, sister to Sir Leon Evangelion, stood in the middle of the road, her hands on the curves of her hips and her flame-red hair billowing in the winter wind. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her lips as red as rubies. The gown she wore was a rich forest green that hugged her plentiful curves to show that their years apart and the bearing of three children had been more than kind to her. Morgause had seen her on a handful of occasions since she had returned to the city a little over a year earlier, but that had only been at formal occasions and the once she had dined with Sir Leon. At all of those occasions, she had never seen Emiline in anything other than her mourning dress – a thick and unbecoming black thing that had been her mother’s and her mother’s before that. In black, Emiline had looked nothing but a ghost of the woman who had fuelled Morgause’s fantasies. Seeing her suddenly out of black set Morgause’s pulse racing fast enough to make her light headed.

“Lady Evangelion,” Morgause greeted breathlessly, remembering her manners, but only just, “how nice it is to see you”

Emiline smiled sadly and there were tears in her eyes before Morgause realised her mistake.

“I am a Grosover now. Widowed, but still a Grosover.” Emiline’s voice had lost a little of its song and that made Morgause’s heart fall heavy as lead through her stomach. Her guilt doubled when she realised that Emiline looked even more beautiful melancholic.

“Oh Emiline, I must apologise. I did not think. I did not mean to…” her words trailed off and she bowed her head. “It is only that you are still an Evangelion in my mind. You left Camelot so soon after your wedding that I never had the chance to get used to you being a Grosover. I cannot apologise enough for my mistake. It was careless of me. Please, accept my most sincere apologies and condolences.”

“Only if you come in for a cup of wine,” Emiline bargained, taking the hand that Morgause held out in apology. “I have told my daughter so much about Camelot’s famous Lady Knight. She would love to meet you.”

Smiling shyly, Morgause agreed. Anything to put off facing Morgana.

It turned out that Emiline’s daughter was out playing with Tristan and Ellie, Rivalen and Flor’s children. Emiline promised that she would be back soon, but she did not return for the whole time that Morgause was there. The two youngest of Emiline’s children were at home, though – a girl of two named Sophia and another of three named Emiline, for her mother.

“Three girls,” Morgause had exclaimed. “I do not doubt that your late husband was in desperate want of a son, but I must say that they are the bonniest sisters I ever saw.”

And she was not embellishing. Sophia and her sister were the image of their mother. Both had hair as red as the flaming fire in the hearth and skin as pale as milk. Their eyes were a fetching shade of brown and both had mouths like downturned bows. They sat together as quiet as mice, playing with tiny people carved from wood and smiling shyly at the Knight in their kitchen.

Morgause smiled and took a sip of the sweet wine Emiline had poured for her. “They look like you.”

“You should see Daisy,” Emiline smiled, sitting close beside Morgause at the kitchen table, “she looks nothing like me. All I see in her is Leon.”

“Greying?” Morgause suggested.

Emiline laughed and it sounded to Morgause like a sweet peal of bells. “I meant she had light hair and his eyes.”

“Ah,” Morgause laughed, the wine singing in her veins. She had known that had been what Emiline meant all along. She had caught sight of Emiline’s eldest daughter playing with Ellie by the well one afternoon. She did indeed bring Leon to mind, with her pale sandy-brown curls.

“But her soul is more like yours at her age than Leon’s,” Emiline continued. “Strong and wise and destined for greatness. She is very taken with the idea of gallantry, like any girl her age, but she seems more interested in being the gallant one than being on the receiving end of it. Her father despaired when she would take up his sword and practice behind our house, but I loved to watch her. She could barely lift the steel but Leon has had a wooden one made for her and she has persuaded Tristan into duelling with her.”

“Oh, I was hardly that way when I was her age. I only became a Knight because my father had no sons to take up his place.”

Emiline brushed Morgause’s hair back off her shoulder. “Destiny has a way of getting what it wants, even if we do not always realise that it is what we want too.”

Morgause sighed. Morgana believed so fiercely in destiny that sometimes she refused to see the truth of their situation. “I wish it was that simple.”

Slowly, as if scared Morgause might dart away should she move too fast, Emiline leant in and pressed a soft kiss to Morgause’s cheek. “Anything can be that simple. We just have to let it happen.”

Instead of running, Morgause turned to her and said, “I need your help.”

Emiline smiled sweetly, her eyes saying that she would understand, that she would help. “Anything for you.”

~*~

Come evenfall, Knight and Queen were sat by the fire, indulging in the closeness that had eluded them for a day and a night. They had spent the evening playing with the children – kissing them and hugging them and tickling them until they giggled. When the children had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from the wealth of attention, Gwen had called for dinner enough to feed five men. Hardly a scrap of it was touched. Neither of them seemed to have an appetite beyond what could be filled by a cupful of wine.

“We need to talk about this,” Morgana broached, her head pillowed on Morgause’s shoulder and her hand resting above Morgause’s heart, fiddling with the pendant there. “We need to make decisions.”

Morgause dropped the soft wood that she had been whittling into a toy horse for Isolde. They had not spoken a word about Gaius or Amina since she had returned. “And how are we supposed to do that? What way is there out of this, Morgana? Please tell me if you can see something that I do not.”

“That is why we need to talk,” Morgana sighed, being patient where Morgause had expected exasperation. She touched her hand to her temple and sighed. Morgause was angry at her, she knew. What she did not know was exactly why. “You helped to strategize a war which you later went on to win and I have survived four years being married to a man far more dangerous than Gaius. Between us, we can beat a weak old man.”

Morgause took a breath to protest but instead pressed a kiss to the crown of her love’s head. There would be no solution in them fighting. They never had been any good at it. “We need to get Gwen out of the city. Gaius will see that she must know of our secret. I will not risk her after all she has done for us.”

“I agree, she cannot stay. I met with her brother this afternoon to discuss it. I did not tell him why, but I impressed upon him the urgency of the danger towards his sister. He is to take Gwen and his family out of the city on the morrow. Uther would not see a smithy of his skill leave, so they must make their escape in the dead of night. It will be better that way. The guards and knights would not worry over a craftsman and his family leaving in the darkness. I doubt they will even ask for their names. My heart is heavy from going behind her back, but she would never consent to leave should Elyan not demand it. She was parted from him for too long to let it happen again. Especially now that he has given her a niece to dote on.”

“It is the right thing to do. She cannot be dragged into this. What of the children?” Morgause asked, gazing at their angelic sleeping faces, curled up on a wolf’s pelt by the fire. Finninan’s tiny hand was twitching in his sleep and Isolde’s breaths kept quickening in time with some dream. They always slept so close together. Morgana had tried to get them to sleep in separate cots but they would not have it. “I did not wish to presume, but I asked Rivalen and Flor to take them and go far away, should the worst come to pass. With your consent, of course.”

“You need not ask my consent,” Morgana whispered, sitting up and kissing her Knight. Morgause always asked. No matter what it was, she always asked and never assumed. Sometimes Morgana wished that she would assume some things. “You know that you already have it. They are our children. In what is right for them, we have always been of a mind. Why should this be any different? If it should come to it, we will find a way to smuggle them to your family. They are their kin. It is with them that they belong. If we are not to raise our babes, then they will be raised as Wildes, not Pendragons,” Morgana vowed. “I will not have Uther turn them against their people, nor will I have him make martyrs of them.”

A shiver ran through Morgause at that thought.

“I shall not let any harm come to them or to you, I can promise you that,” Morgause swore fiercely, her jaw set. Morgana ran her fingertips along the rigid muscles of her jaw, finding her Knight’s calloused fingers and kissing them. “If it comes to it, there are people in Camelot with the skill to make you and the children disappear. The crown would know that we had used magic, but that will not matter if it has progressed that far.”

Morgana smiled shyly, a blush coming to her cheeks.

“I believe in you,” she promised. “I would not be in your arms if I did not. And I would go nowhere if it were not by your side, where I belong.”

Tears slipped from Morgause’s eyes and Morgana leant up to kiss them from her cheeks.

“I will ride out to meet Amina come dawn,” Morgause said, laying out what little plan she had devised. “The longer she is in the dark, the longer we are without a proper plan. I have seen little of her magic and I do not pretend to understand it, but I know that she has great power and even greater knowledge. Equal at least to anyone in Camelot. If there is some trickery to be done, then she will have the skill to guide our hand.”

“I… I have some semblance of a plan,” Morgana admitted timidly. It did not sit well with her that she had concocted it with Gwen and not Morgause, but time was scarce and there was no time to wait out of sentimentality. That was not what made her timid, though. It was her lack of understanding and knowledge when it came to the ways of the Old Religion that made her shy. Though she knew that Morgause would never look down on her for it, it embarrassed her that she did not know the ways of Morgause’s people as truly as she would have if she had been raised in the traditions. So many complexities were lost on her and she often feared that Morgause would think her stupid because of it. “There is a tale in the book of fairytales you gave me for our first feast of Albannui together. It tells of a man who kept secrets for his trade and sold them to the highest bidder.”

“The Ferret of Frogsmarch,” Morgause remembered. “A thoroughly unpleasant creation.”

“The very same. In the tale, the young woman who he tricked into marrying him conceived of a potion that when dabbed on her lips would make him loose every one of his secrets and his memory too the moment he kissed her.”

“If such magic is possible, I cannot do it,” Morgause admitted. “Those are tales with little if any truth, Morgana. If the potion was real, it would have stolen the woman’s memories the moment it touched her own lips.”

“I know,” Morgana said, eager to show that she was not always as ignorant as Morgause sometimes believed her to be. “But the idea has merit, does it not? Please, ask Amina if she has heard of anything of the like. There may not be any such thing in your repertoire, but there may be in hers. Promise me that you will ask,” Morgana begged. She could not bear to have Morgause think her foolish. “Amina’s magic is different from yours. She follows different rules and different Gods. May the Gods forgive me, but maybe they can do for us what our Gods cannot.”

“Anything for you. Anything to keep this. Gods be damned, but I would do anything.” When Morgause kissed her, she stole her breath from her lips, obliterating any thought that Morgause might think badly of her. Morgana knew then that she could never be anything less than a Queen to Morgause, and that Morgause would never be anything less than the most gallant and perfect Knight to her.

Chapter 3, Day 3

Thundering hard across the plain was not something that Morgause had anticipated finding soothing, but it was. Ever since her faithful mount, Dream, had been slain at the battle of Ignis Valle, the once comforting act of riding had become a chore and a drain. Leon had offered her one of Dream’s foals, but the eerie resemblance between all four choices and their sire made the water in Morgause’s mouth sour. Instead, she had taken on a young stallion that had been nothing more than a colt when she had gone to war. He was chestnut, bright eyed and had a flicker of white on his forehead, so Morgause had named him Bright Star. She had taken him out for his first run in heavy armour with Sir Leon only three days before and his speed had made the Commander joke that he should be renamed Shooting Star. It was that speed that flew Morgause to Amina before she had even crossed into the farmed land which surrounded the City of Camelot on all but one side.

“My lady,” she greeted, bowing her head and panting hard. Bright Star threw his head and bucked a little. He wanted to run and for it never to end. Morgause had half a mind to let him.

Amina’s dark eyes narrowed. The wind was high and part of her long black hair had fallen loose of the fine saffron scarf that she sometimes wore about her head. The scarf seemed to weather travelling no better than Morgause’s tattered braid. “If you have come to meet me then your news cannot be good. Has the sickness spread to Camelot? To Morgana?”

“Nothing like that,” Morgause assured her. “But you are right that I do not bear good news.”

It was only then that Morgause noticed Amina’s daughter peeping out from behind her mother. She was only a year or two off being old enough to start apprenticing at a trade, but she was the slightest girl Morgause had ever seen. Her mother was slim, but Alleyah had a grace and slightness that was as worrying as it was enchanting.

“You may speak freely around my daughter. If she is to learn the ways of my work then she should hold the same confidences,” Amina said, though Morgause was not assured. “Please.”

Reluctantly, Morgause nodded. “Gaius knows of the Queen and I.”

Amina closed her eyes and sighed. She had been hoping that this day would never come. It was almost the perfect affair for a Queen to indulge in, and Amina had always thought better of Morgana for taking the risk to be happy. “And he is threatening to tell the King.”

“Yes.” Morgause’s horse started and she thought she saw something fiery and black out of the corner of her eye. When she turned, it was gone. And apparition of her worry, she assured herself.

“Has he issued you with any demands?”

Morgause looked uneasy, her eyes once again lingering on Alleyah.

Amina snorted. “My life, is it? I had wondered how long that oaf would put up with me.”

Though Morgause was sure that Alleyah understood, she saw no sign of distress in the child. As always, she was the picture of serenity. It was unsettling in the extreme.

“I have four days to deliver him your…” She would not say it in front of a child. No matter what Amina said. “… to deliver you to him.”

“But you have not come to kill me,” Amina said, tilting her head and smiling wryly. “My my, you really are the most gallant Knight in all the land. Anyone else would have struck my head from my shoulders the moment they came upon me.”

“I have arranged safe housing for you with an old friend of mine whom Gaius knows nothing of,” Morgause continued, trying not to be off put by Amina’s amusement. “I have come to take you to her.”

Amina arched her brow and nodded her acquiescence, smiling that troubling smile of hers again. It made Morgause keenly aware that having Amina on board was likely to either save them or damn them. There would be no middle ground.

~*~

Amina’s mother was waiting there for them when they got to the house. There was a rare crack in Alleyah’s serenity as she ran and hugged her grandmother tightly.

“Thank you for this,” Morgause said, resting her hand on Emiline’s arm. “You were the only one I could turn to.”

Emiline looked down at Morgause’s hand and smiled, covering it with her own. “Anything you ask.”

When she met Morgause’s eyes again, Morgause found herself smiling. “Oh, I have missed you Emiline.”

“Not half as much as I have missed you,” Emiline said. “The years have been so very kind to you Morgause. You are even more… you than you were at eighteen. Now, are you not going to tell me why I must shelter this friend of yours? Or at least who she is to you?”

Morgause’s smile fell. “I am afraid not. Not yet anyway. She is one of the physicians at court, that is how I know her. Your brother would not be whole were it not for her.”

Emiline chuckled and nodded. “Aye, I do believe he mentioned her. It is a testament to you that I will not ask any more questions. Though, I might have a favour to ask for in return when this is all over.”

At that moment, Morgause couldn’t imagine denying her anything.

~*~

When Morgana entered Gaius’ chambers, she did not knock, neither did she open the door gently. She was the Queen and, for all his high estimation of his own worth, Gaius was her servant and her subject and she would have nothing from him but the reverence she deserved.

“My-” Gaius bit his tongue before he could name her as his Queen. The surprise of her abrupt and unexpected entrance had startled him, but he quickly recovered. “What are you doing here?”

Moving with all the grace of a Queen, Morgana stepped into the room proper and glanced at the door, silently ordering him to shut it. He scrambled to do as she bid, a strange fear in his jagged movements.

“You had always been kind to me,” Morgana said once he had turned around to face her. It unsettled him that she was in the centre of his chambers and he was looking in from the doorway. “Dressed my skinned knees when I was a child. Nursed me when I was sick. When you found out that I was with child your eyes lit up near as bright as my husband’s did when I told him. Yet now you threaten the lives of me and my children. Why?”

“They are bastards,” he said with a careless laugh.

“I assure you, Gaius, that though the Lady Morgause is quite skilled in satisfying me, she is not quite capable of that,” Morgana snorted, conscious of keeping the upper hand. Her station was all she had in this argument and she would not let Gaius take that away from her by losing her dominance over him.

“Maybe not, but they are not our good King’s. Their skin bruises where fennel oil touches it, I observed that before they were even two days old. That is the mark of one with magic and Uther sure to God did not give them that.” Gaius’s face was hard and strange, where it had once been kindly and familiar. “You insult the King and the kingdom with your heathen carryings on and your bastard pups. I should have known when you were a child that you were trouble.”

“Would that be before or after Uther had you examine me to ensure that I was maiden?” Morgana asked coldly. “You checked every year from when I was fourteen to when I came of age and Uther declared at a feast, much to my surprise, that he would wed me the following day.”

“You ought to have been grateful,” Gaius said incredulously. “You hardly come from an untarnished family and still Uther took you as his ward with a view to making you his wife! If he had followed my council, he would have left you for some smith or tanner to claim in that broken down tower by the sea. That was all the prospects you had once your father had died. But still, I grew to like you and your spirit – as unbecoming as it was in a woman. I should have known that my first estimations of you were correct.”

“And I should have pushed to have you retired to some farm village years ago,” Morgana seethed, magic bubbling under her skin. “Everyone knew you weren’t fit for purpose for this past half decade. Uther himself contemplated hiring an apprentice with a view to relieving you of your duties.” She paused to savour Gaius’ shocked expression. “Did not know that, did you? That your precious King thinks so little of your abilities. Did you not wonder why he was so very keen to have Amina settle here once he contemplated the idea of you being charged with the health of his heirs?”

“Lies, all of it lies,” Gaius exclaimed. “Everyone knows that whores lie and you have proven yourself to be quite the whore. If Uther had any reason to keep Amina here it was for the novelty of bedding her.”

Exhaling sharply, Morgana brushed past him and opened the door, turning back to look at him one last time before she left. “You will rue the day that you threatened my children, Gaius. I can promise you that.”

~*~

More tears were shed in the five minutes that Gwen and Morgana spent saying goodbye than either woman had shed before in their lifetimes.

“I won’t leave you,” Gwen insisted, her cheeks blotchy and covered in tears. “I can’t. Before Elyan came back, you were all that I had in this city – in my whole world. You were there when my father died. You were the one who held my hand at his funeral. It was you who first made me smile afterwards and you who were the light in those dark, dark nights when I could not face going home. You never let me go through anything alone and I won’t let you face this without me.”

“Oh Gwen,” Morgana sobbed. “Dear sweet Gwen. If I could keep you with me then I would without hesitation, but it is a risk I cannot take. I could not bear it if anything happened to you. If you were here then I could not stop worrying about you. And Gwen, I have enough things to worry about as it is. I cannot afford to add you to that list when you need not be there.”

“I promise that she will not be alone,” Morgause said, not wanting to intrude but knowing that Gwen needed to hear it. She was sat at the table, holding Finnian and Isolde’s hands as they waited bewildered to find out why their mother and Gwen were crying. “And I promise that you will be the first to know if the Gods give us our reprieve.”

“And if they should not,” Morgana sobbed, clutching Gwen’s hands to her chest, “then the Wildes have promised to come to you and bring the children. I want them to be Wildes, but I want you there too.” Hot salty tears streaked down her cheeks. “Gods forbid, if… if that happens, then you will be the closest thing they will have left in this world to a mother. And I know you will raise them to be good and kind and everything that I want them to be.”

“I promise,” Gwen swore, sniffing back her tears. “And I promise that I will pray every moment of every day – to my God and to all of yours – that I will be back with you again soon and that Gaius will not see his wicked wish come true.”

“Gwen,” Elyan prompted. “It’s time to go.”

Gwen nodded and Morgana darted in to kiss her cheek and pull her close. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Gwen pulled back, taking one last look at Morgana before turning her goodbyes to the children. She crouched down before them and Morgause dropped their hands, letting them fall into Gwen’s outstretched arms.

“You be good now,” Gwen whispered to them. “I will see you both soon but I have to go away for a while.” She held them out at arm’s length, memorising their tiny worried features.

“Avuh?” Isolde questioned, whatever meaning she meant to convey lost in her babe’s speech. But the feeling behind the words was enough to send Gwen’s tears tumbling afresh.

Tipping up their chins, Gwen kissed both of their chubby cheeks and their damp foreheads, stood up and left them wailing for her, their mother crumpled on the floor doing the same.

Shadows (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 22:21:07 GMT

Title: Shadows

Fandom: Merlin

Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 340 (drabble length)

Summary: or Femslash February. Prompt: Gwen/Morgana - Shadows.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

It was in the shadows that Gwen’s lady blossomed into her Morgana. The darkness – as the King’s bishop would say – hid a multitude of sins, but it also hid them. The darkness hid them from the world so full of rules that it choked them, crushing their ribcages until they could not breathe. Gwen felt it come in like the changing pressure of a storm with the morning sunrise and then felt it leave with the evenfall, smiling as she was set free.

It was then, shrouded in twilight, that they came finally together. There was no one to protest when they slipped hand-in-hand down the hidden servant’s stairs to sneak sweet tarts and wine from the kitchens. There was no one to see when they lay with their picnic on Morgana’s stone floor, wrapped in furs and blankets, to watch the distorted trails of shooting stars through Morgana’s new windows. No one knew that beneath the furs, Morgana’s hand rested comfortably on Gwen’s hip or that Gwen’s arm was wrapped just high enough around Morgana’s middle to brush the underside of her breasts with every peaceful breath.

And when they shrugged off their nightdresses and made love beneath the moon – their bodies cast in shadows longing to be learnt – there was only one soul, one heart, one breath.

“There is no one but you,” Morgana said self-consciously one night, flushed down to her navel. “Uther can send as many suitors my way as there are men in this world, and still there will be no one but you.”

She looked up pleadingly into Gwen’s eyes as her lover hovered above her. Gwen did not know what she was pleading for – except, perhaps, for more shadows. She moved smoothly to blot out the light, until the only thing visible on Morgana’s pale skin was the outline of Gwen’s body above her, as enduring as druid ink.

Drowning in Gwen’s shadow, Morgana began to relax.

“And I will not let there be,” Gwen swore, the fire of the forge blazing in her eyes.

Queen of My Heart (Gwen/Morgana - Preseries)

lovepb — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 18:21:56 GMT

Title: Queen of My Heart
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,258
Summary: Preseries. Gwen teaches Morgana how to swim.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

..

When Gwen had suggested teaching her how to swim, it had seemed Morgana like a perfectly innocent way to spend a midsummer’s day. But then the sun had smiled mischievously down on her and decided to torture her with weather that was achingly hot. She glared menacingly up at it with narrowed eyes, but quickly looked away. The sun won, painting red smudges of light over the green of the forest. With a sigh, she leaned back against the tree and tried resolutely not to look at Gwen. Who was naked. Or was at least in the process of becoming so.

“It is too hot for shifts, my lady,” Gwen had said innocently, sweat beading on her brow. “It will be cooler and easier to swim without.”

And it had been innocent. Morgana wasn’t entirely sure that Gwen could be anything but. Then again, there was that twinkle in her eye that Morgana was never entirely sure that she wasn’t imagining.

When Morgana chanced a glance in her maid’s direction, Gwen’s shift was falling to pool like folds of cream at her feet, leaving her utterly bare. Morgana shivered. She let her eyes trail down every inch of golden-brown skin, from Gwen’s subtly muscled shoulders, down the curve of her back to… She looked away. She would not be so bold or so irreverent as to look upon Gwen without her knowledge.

Quick and graceful, a blur in the corner of Morgana’s eyes, Gwen sprinted over the grass, onto the jetty and leapt into the water, leaving barely a ripple as she disappeared into the dreamily blue.

Morgana’s heart pounded. She waited for a second, then two more. Time stretched and still Gwen did not reappear. Fearful that she had drowned, Morgana leapt to her feet and let them carry her to the edge of the wooden jetty, her toes curling over the edge.

When Gwen broke the surface a moment later, tossing her wet hair out of her face like a mythical mermaid, Morgana almost fainted with relief. She dropped down on the smooth wood and let her feet dangle into the water as she tried to catch her breath.

“The water’s lovely,” Gwen said encouragingly, swimming back to the jetty. At the sight of Morgana’s pale cheeks she blushed, feeling foolish and insensitive. “Sorry. I forgot for a moment that you cannot swim.”

“I was afraid that you…”

“Oh,” Gwen’s blush deepened as she understood. “I apologise, my lady.”

Morgana looked even more embarrassed than she did. “It was me who overreacted. You need not apologise. It is just… I have never seen anyone dive into water that way.”

“Really?” Gwen asked, curiosity making her forget her shame for having scared her lady.

Morgana blushed and averted her eyes. “Uther has never let me near water. He says it is dangerous for a young girl.”

Gwen smiled reassuringly and touched Morgana’s knee. “You are not so young anymore, my lady. Most girls your age are already wed and have babes in their arms.”

“I know,” Morgana said, her embarrassment deepening. There was a reason she was not married. She had begged Uther to give her time, had said that she was not ready. He did not know that Gwen was the reason and that no length of time would be long enough.

“I promise there is nothing to be afraid of,” Gwen said sincerely. “I will be here to hold you up.”

With a solemn nod, Morgana stood, wobbling a little through nervousness, and slipped her shift off her shoulders. She disrobed in front of Gwen daily, but this felt different. They were not in her chambers, safely within the roles of lady and maid, and Gwen shyly averted her eyes. Morgana blushed down to her navel and slid too-quickly into the water with a graceless splash. Panicking, she reached out for the jetty and clung white-knuckled to its edge. There was water in her eyes and it stung. Rubbing them with her free hand only made them wetter.

“It’s all right, my lady,” Gwen said, her voice raised over the commotion. She caught Morgana’s wrist and pulled it away from her lady’s face. Morgana’s eyes remained screwed tight shut and she was clearly in pain. Gwen dropped her wrist and pulled herself half up onto the jetty, grabbed Morgana’s shift and pulled it to the edge to dab the water from Morgana’s eyes. “You can open them now,” she whispered, one hand unconsciously cradling Morgana’s jaw.

Morgana blinked blearily and waited for the world to resolve itself into something that made sense. It was hard to concentrate with Gwen’s warm hand on her jaw, her thumb soothingly caressing Morgana’s cheek.

“I am sorry,” Gwen murmured. “I should have told you that the water was salty. I did not think.”

Morgana smiled, still blinking. “You used to scold me that not thinking meant not caring.”

Gwen dropped her eyes and let her hand fall into the water. “I care, my lady.”

Morgana’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t mean to infer…” She was suddenly very cold despite the burning sun. “I am sorry.” They seemed to be doing nothing but apologise to one another. “I know that you care. Please, forgive me? ”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady,” Gwen said meekly. And this time, the formality did not sound like a term of endearment.

“Yes,” Morgana insisted, reaching for her, “there is.”

“Let me teach you to swim,” Gwen said, kicking her legs to propel herself backwards and out of Morgana’s reach. Her look told Morgana to forget about it and move on, knowing that Morgana would not argue.

Within the hour, Morgana managed an uncoordinated breaststroke out to the middle of the lake and back, her legs kicking white and froglike beneath the surface. Gwen smiled proudly as her pupil returned to her, grinning and splashing. She was a natural swimmer.

“A regular mermaid,” Gwen praised as Morgana neared her. “You will be swimming wings around me in no time.”

“All… down… to you,” Morgana panted, exhausted from the effort and gulping in more than a little saltwater in her attempt to speak. “You… make a… wonderful… teach-”

The sudden clapping sound of a dozen wings taking to the air shocked Morgana into silence and stillness. A flock of fattened wood pigeons shot up from the trees on the edge of the lake, startled into flight. The sound of the birds was quickly followed by the pounding of hooves on summer-hard ground and the high wail of the Pendragon hunting horn. Panic once again flooded Morgana’s body and she forgot all she had learned in her lesson.

Gwen, who had a quicker mind in a crisis, reached out and grabbed Morgana’s hand, yanking her under the cover of the jetty.

“We’ll be safe here, my lady,” she whispered, her hands on each of Morgana’s elbows, keeping her afloat. “No one will see us.”

Morgana was biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood and her pupils had blown so large that her eyes were near black.

“What if they’re looking for me?” she whispered, shivering but not from cold.

“As far as I remember, it is not the season for hunting Wards,” Gwen replied, hoping for humour. But Morgana was skittish and the joke did nothing to ease her fears. All she did was cling to Gwen tighter.

“Morgana,” Gwen tried again, “they are just hunting. No one will even know that we are gone. If they did, they would be calling your name.”

The logic in that seemed to break through to Morgana a bit, and her flickering eyes fixed on Gwen’s.

“I… I suppose.”

Her mind turned to other things. Like how Gwen’s legs, kicking gently, slid against hers. She blushed.

“You’re all pink,” Gwen said with a slightly worried smile, running her eyes and then the tips of her fingers over Morgana’s exposed skin. “You’ve caught the sun.”

It was only then, with Gwen drawing her attention to it, that Morgana realised her skin was tingling.

“Does it hurt?” Gwen asked, pulling away her fingers when Morgana’s muscles shivered beneath her touch.

The answer was no, but Morgana knew that would not explain why Gwen’s touch had made her body react like that.

“Somewhat,” Morgana lied.

Gwen’s expression clearly showed her concern as she altered her kicking to let them both slip further into the water.

“How is that?” she asked once Morgana’s shoulders were underwater. She did not seem to have noticed that her move had also brought them closer together. Her worried expression deepened when Morgana did not answer.

Morgana’s mind swam with thoughts she knew that she should not have – thoughts of wrapping her shaking arms around Gwen’s waist and leaning in to kiss her salted lips. Desire thrummed through her and she wondered what it would feel like to have Gwen’s body pressed up against her from breast to thigh. The thoughts made her sun-kissed cheeks turn a darker shade of pink.

“Guinevere,” she began, only to be cut off by Gwen’s hand clamping quick as lightning over her mouth.

There were hooves clip-cloping on the jetty and the slits of yellow light dancing over Gwen’s sun-darkened shoulders disappeared. There was someone on horseback above them. Morgana wondered if the jetty was wide enough for the animal to turn around. Maybe. Just.

“Sire?” a man’s voice called from the shore. “Do you have a sight of where they went?”

Morgana’s blood ran cold. The horse above them hooved the wooden ground restlessly.

“There’s a flock headed southwest,” Arthur Pendragon called back, “that looks about the right size.”

He made a clicking sound with his tongue and his hunting horse – which Morgana knew to be an impressively powerful black destrier with a long wavy mane and tail – turned and trotted back to shore.

“We’ll go around the lake,” Arthur shouted to make sure that all his men heard him, “but we will have to be swift if we want to reach the flock before they bed down for the night.” He clicked again and the thunderous sound of half a hundred hooves pounding the dry earth filled the air.

“We are lucky that the Prince did not see our clothes,” Gwen said, privately wondering how much repair work the careless knights would have left her with, trampling over the forsaken garments. A sly thought came to her. “Or he might well have caught an indecent glimpse of you before the wedding.”

This time, Morgana’s blush was such that it caused her burnt cheeks to throb. Everyone knew that the only reason that Uther had not already married her off for politics was because he had designs on marrying her to his son as soon as he came of age. The thought both thrilled and terrified Morgana, who wished to stay in Camelot more than anything but felt ill at the mere thought of becoming Arthur’s wife and everything that entailed.

“Everyone in Camelot wants you as our next queen,” Gwen continued, jesting still, but meaning it. Everyone did want Morgana as their queen. There were even those who would have her married to Uther to have her be queen sooner. They missed the pageantry of having a queen and would all benefit from Morgana’s charitable heart. Gwen had to agree with them, if not unreservedly. She was not jealous. Well, not of Morgana.

“Everyone but me,” Morgana whispered. “A match between Arthur and I would make neither of us happy.”

Gwen swallowed, mustering the courage to ask why. “My lady, is there… What I mean is… Is there someone else your heart belongs to?”

Morgana snorted humourlessly, cocking her head and blinking furiously to hold back the flow of tears. She looked at Gwen, pleadingly for her to know the answer or else drop the subject and let her be.

Gwen let her gaze fall on Morgana’s salt-crystal crusted lips and then looked back to her lady’s eyes – asking wordlessly what she could never ask aloud. When Morgana’s eyes met hers they were as dark as a stormy sky, shifting up and down with Morgana’s deepening pants of breath. Slowly, Gwen slid the hand still supporting Morgana’s elbow up her arm and down her side to clutch at her waist. She pulled Morgana against her, breast to breast and hip to hip, and cupped her lady’s strong and noble jaw with her other hand. She loved the bold elegance of her lady’s jaw and found herself kissing it once, twice, three times in a trail up to her salt-swollen pink lips. And then she kissed her.

Morgana’s eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself to be held and kissed, and quickly gathered the courage to repay Gwen in kind – wrapping her arms around Gwen’s neck and slipping her tongue into her opening mouth. She whimpered at the salty taste that she knew was because of the lake but would, to her from that moment on, always belong to Gwen.

They kissed and kissed until their breaths had left them and their bodies were shaking.

“The only queen I want to be is yours,” Morgana vowed, her lips still brushing against Gwen’s.

“Queen of my heart is all that a simple maid like me has to offer you,” Gwen said quietly, her head tilting down until her forehead met Morgana’s cheek.

“And no finer kingdom could I ask or ever long for,” Morgana swore, catching Gwen’s jaw with the tips of her fingers and drawing her into another salty kiss

At My Most Beautiful (27/27)

lovepb — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 17:38:32 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (27/27)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9,500 for this chapter, 127,618 overall.
Chapter Summary: Morgana is perfectly, blissfully happy. She has everything she could not have even dreamed of having two years before. But with the tournament starting up again, her peace is about to be shattered. Perhaps forever.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and ageing King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 hapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26a | Chapter 26b |

Chapter 27: Livejournal | Archive of Our Own | Fanfiction.net

At one week old, Finnian made his very first venture out of the fire-warmed cosiness of his mother’s chambers. The expedition had been planned for days. Every eventuality had been thought of. He would not get cold, for he was swaddled in soft woollen blankets. Morgana had fed him before they left, so he would not get hungry. Uther could not discover their outing and enter a rage about it, as he and the other Kings were off hunting to keep themselves entertained whilst the tournament was postponed. Everything had been taken care of.

“And this,” Morgause whispered, continuing her tour of the castle, “is the barracks wing. When you come of age, you will be spending a lot of time here.”

Finnian slept on, blissfully unaware of the running commentary.

“That is, if you choose to be a knight. I know that your mother has her heart set on you following in my footsteps and serving your kingdom, but you need not let expectation rule your choices. You are a boy and a Prince at that. The whole world is open to you. There are Kings here at this tournament that preferred verse to violence when they were Princes. And they have made grand Kings.”

Silence.

“You know, a woman with a more delicate disposition might take offence at your reception,” she muttered with a smile as they turned the corner and arrived at the door to the Commander’s office. Morgause knocked with the toe of her boot.

“Royal inspection,” she called through the door. “Open up.”

Sir Leon opened the door and regarded Morgause curiously. When he noticed the babe in her arms he jumped back to let them enter, keeping his eyes fixed on his Prince.

“Morgause, you have… Is that..?”

“Commander, meet Prince Finnian of Camelot. Finnian, this is your Commander of the Knights of Camelot. One day, he will answer to you,” Morgause added with a slip of a smile.

“God willing,” Leon breathed distractedly, staring at Finnian with eyes wide with wonder. “He is… Oh, he is beautiful, Morgause.”

“He is definitely that,” Morgause smiled down at Finnian, quite besotted. “He is perfect.”

“And the Queen? How is she?”

Morgause’s smile bloomed. “She is a wonder, she really is. She was up on her feet in a few hours and her strength is quickly coming back to her, even with the rigorous demands of this little lamb and his sister.”

Leon chucked. “You ought to be careful calling him that. I think Uther’s after more of a lion.”

“I cannot help it if it is his sister who has the fire in her. I think we will find out why the Pendragons have a dragon crest when she is old enough to strut around the castle.” She looked up at Leon. “Your men will have to watch out.”

“I do not doubt it,” Leon agreed with a chuckle. “Any daughter of Morgana is bound to headstrong, and charming with it too. Those big little-girl eyes will have our Knights in the palm of her hand, even as she is kicking them in the shins for trying to get in her way.”

“And Finnian will be along after her to apologise for his overenthusiastic sister,” Morgause predicted. “They will have the run of the castle between them.”

Finnian shifted and whimpered, his little ears no doubt burning. Morgause patted his back with her hand underneath him and made a soft, sweet hushing sound to soothe him. Leon folded his arms across his chest and leant back against the cupboard to watch her. She was a master at it.

“You look good with a babe in your arms, Morgause,” Leon teased.

Morgause raised her eyebrow at him.

“Do not worry, I am not proposing to find you a husband,” Leon said with what could only be considered to be a devilish smile. “I meant only that this new extension to your role seems to suit you.” He nodded to Finnian. “He and you seem perfectly content together.”

“Morgana says that it is because I held him the moment he was born. He knew my scent first and now it calms him.” She was gazing down again, forever enchanted by him. “She says it so triumphantly, like it proves something.”

Realising what she had said, her cheeks coloured and she looked up at Leon, embarrassed.

Sighing, Leon stroked the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks. “I know there are things that we cannot talk about. Things that I cannot know. If I knew them, I would be forced to make a decision.” At Morgause’s plain worry, he smiled slightly. “That being said, I am happy for you. For both of you. The Queen is happier than any of us have ever seen and she is stronger now, so much that she even stands up to the King. No matter how that came about, I cannot be anything but thankful for it.”

Morgause shifted uncomfortably. “You have always known that I-”

“Of course I have. I grew up a stone’s throw from your father’s house. We have been playmates since we were knee high. I think I knew before you did. I have never judged you for it.” He moved to sit on his desk. “Which is why I have a favour to ask... Emiline has returned to Camelot. Her husband died in the war. On the wrong side, I know, but that is not his fault. I am sure that Emiline would love to hear from you. She barely knows anyone in the city anymore and she has a girl only seven years old.”

“What could I do?” Morgause asked, patting Finnian’s back when he began to stir again. “I have not seen her since…” She shook her head. She had not seen Emiline since the day she had admitted that she was betrothed, lying bare in Morgause’s bed. Morgause had said nothing as she silently dressed and left. What could she say? She certainly could not say ‘do not marry him’ or ‘have me’. “Why would you think she would want help from me?”

“The children will not play with her daughter because of who her father is. I told Emiline that your uncle has children of an age with her girl. Or there about... Maybe a little younger than her, but she does not have the luxury of having alternative playmates. We thought that maybe you could ask Tristan and Eleanor to give her a chance.”

Morgause raised her eyebrow. Tristan and Eleanor would be thrilled to have a seven year old to play with, damn them. Wait, did he say… “We? She is in on this?”

“It seems that my sister wants to see you. I am not the only reason she has returned to Camelot.”

*~*

The sight of Morgana, white gown shrugged off her shoulders to her waist, made Morgause’s heart flutter. Her hair was loose over her bare left shoulder, flowing down in obsidian waves over one breast, leaving the other bare for Isolde to nurse at. Morgana smiled down at her daughter, stroking the fine hair atop her head as she dozed and fed. At first Morgana had found the sensation uncomfortable, even painful, but soon she could think it nothing but bliss. There was nothing like it in creation, being that close to the little lives she had created, carried and born. She only wished that Morgause could share in it, to bind them all closer together.

“Greedy as ever, I see,” Morgause whispered as she approached, careful not to scare mother and daughter form their peaceful trance.

Morgana slowly lifted her gaze, letting it fall first on her son and then her lover with equal adoration. “She takes after you. Must be in the magic of yours she has flowing beside my blood in her veins.”

Morgause laughed softly. “How are my girls?”

“Perfect,” Morgana breathed, turning back to Isolde. “We have read a story about a kelpie from your book and she has been nursing in little bursts almost since you left. What of my Knights?”

Again, Morgause laughed. She bent to kiss mother and babe. “What will you do should he decide to be an academic in the people’s service rather than their defender?”

“Love him just the same, of course,” Morgana assured her with a gentle swat to her arm. “Has he been a good boy?”

“We had a few grumbles, but nothing a bounce and a kiss could not cure. The knights are quite besotted with their Prince - Sir Leon especially. We had to come back, though, once he started fussing for a feed and his mother.”

“And so they should be besotted,” Morgana smiled, adjusting Isolde as she slipped into slumber again. “He and his sister are perfect. Perfectly perfect. Just like you.”

This time, Morgause gave her a lingering kiss, stroking her hand over Morgana’s naked shoulders and licking at her lower lip, wanting her to open up for her, which she did, always soft and eager.

“Here, let us swap,” Morgana murmured against Morgause’s skilful tongue. “She has missed you, as have I. Give her a cuddle then put her down for a nap will you, my love? Then come back and take me in your arms and tell me all about your little adventure beyond our sanctuary.”

“So demanding,” Morgause teased, delicately executing their practiced babe-swap manoeuvre.

“Yet you always comply,” Morgana said with a sly smile. “I have you right where I want you.”

“Oh yes, my love. I am quite at your mercy.” She gently rocked Isolde, lulling her into a deeper sleep. “And her’s. And Finnian’s. And I would not have it any other way.”

Morgana smiled. “Good.”

A little while later they settled on the bed, Morgause sitting back against the carved wooden headboard with Morgana sat between her legs, lying back on her as Finnian nursed.

“I will never get you to myself again, will I?” Morgause teased, running the back her ring finger gently over where Finnian’s mouth met Morgana’s breast.

“Oh, you will. Amina says they will soon take more in one feed instead of all these little ones. I shall have to nurse them less and less often, so I will be all yours whilst they sleep away their full bellies.”

Morgause chuckled and kissed her cheek. “They always have plump little bellies and are still always hungry, especially Isolde. I shall believe it when I see it.”

“Mmmm…” Morgana hummed in agreement, her eyes drifting closed. Being a mother was even more tiring than being heavy with child. The broken sleep was even taking its toll on Morgause, though she would not let Morgana see her weariness.

“I am sorry, my love, but we have only two more days to ourselves before I must go back to the arena,” Morgause said quietly, half hoping Morgana would not hear her. She did not wish to spoil Morgana’s perfect happiness. They were in a blissful bubble, sequestered in a version of the world which could never truly exist.

Morgana stiffened. “But who will mother them and nurse them if the tournament is to start up again? Surely Uther will not expect me to sit with the other Queens so soon?”

“Uther will not hear of you leaving your rooms yet, I am afraid. He sent word. I picked up the note on the way back. But do not worry, I had a guard go up to the aviary to check. I would not take Finnian up to all those birds. Nevertheless, I shall have to leave you from almost dawn ‘till dusk,” Morgause said regretfully.

“Oh… I have not been without you for longer than the couple of hours you spent with Finnian today, and never without you when I had both babes to care for,” Morgana said fearfully, craning her neck to meet Morgause’s eyes pleadingly. “I need you.”

“You have never and will never need me. Mothering has come to you as easily as air into your lungs. You shall be fine. It is me you should fear for. I do not know if my heart can take being parted from the three of you,” Morgause teased, dissipating Morgana’s worry with another kiss to her cheek, “or even whether my heart shall leave the room when I do. It may well abandon me to stay with you, and I will be left an empty shell, unable to do our beautiful kingdom justice.”

“No,” Morgana whispered, taking Morgause’s hand. “Nothing and no one can truly part us now. Not with magic flowing from your body to theirs and a little still to mine too. I could feel you when you were gone today, thrumming under my skin.” She spread out her fingers between Morgause’s. “Can you feel it?”

“For some time now. A little of it has taken root in you. It is beginning to flourish,” Morgause said proudly. “It is in your blood, you know – magic. I knew it from the moment we touched on the island. I do not think you would have to trace your line back far to find a sorceress.”

“I have wondered, about my mother,” Morgana suggested, excited at the possibility. “I know so little about her. It pained my father so to speak of her and Uther barely knew her at all.”

“Not so close, I think,” Morgause weighed. “And not on your mother’s side. At least not only on her side. The Le Fay’s have some magical heritage. There are books with it all written down. We know for certain there were sorceresses in your father’s line as close as four generations back. There might even be a High Priestess, though we are not sure if she is a direct ancestor.”

Morgana’s mouth hung open in surprise. “But… Surely I would know?”

She felt Morgause shrug behind her. “Maybe not. I had to dig deep to find anything on the Le Fay’s. So much was buried when you bent the knee to the Romans – both sides wanted to forget. The memory might be a painful one for your family. Many families were stripped of their magic for allying themselves with the One God and his servants, the Romans. Perhaps your father was not told, to spare the shame.”

“Oh,” Morgana whispered, disheartened. “I am sorry.”

Again, Morgause kissed her cheek. “For what? My magic too is tempered by the Gods’ wrath at my father’s allegiance with Uther. All of us have the crosses of our ancestors to bear, to use a favoured phrase of the King. Our trials give us the opportunity to win back the Gods’ favour, not for our own selfish gains, but for our children’s sake. Part of our unpayable debt.” She stroked Finnian’s head as he slipped into sleep. “That, I think, is our destiny – you and I. We have waves to make in this world, all for the love of Gods and babes.”

ldquo;Any destiny with you in it is one that I will not shy away from, even for a moment,” Morgana promised, turning her head almost painfully sharply to find Morgause’s mouth and kiss her soundly.

“That, my love, I do not doubt.”

And even though Morgana’s eyes could not stay open, she spent the night tasting Morgause’s sweet kisses – wrapped in her arms and longing for the day that they would together bring magic back to her people and land.

~*~

Time passed quickly in the two short days before the tournament resumed. Camelot’s champion could only watch wistfully from the window as her competitors trained in the courtyard and gardens below. Morgana had suggested that she should join them, but Morgause had insisted that she could gain strength enough right there in their quarters. Truthfully, she was too tired to lift a sword. And besides, her father had always warned her against training with competitors. It paid to have them think her a weak woman. They never saw her mortal blow coming. Still, the lack of sleep was going to be a problem. Mystery was no advantage if she dozed off mid-mêlée.

“My yawning Knight,” Morgana jested with a teasing smile, handing Morgause her gorget. The polished metal gleamed almost gold as it caught the dawn light.

By virtue of her lobster-plate armour, Morgause had no trouble reaching up to lay the gorget around her neck. Despite knowing this flexibility very well, Morgana insisted that she should be the one to fasten the slim leather strap that held the gorget together to protect Morgause’s neck. She smiled as Morgause’s ungloved hands pulled them flush together, slipping down her sides and over her hips to rest on her arse. The feeling of the cold, moulded metal of Morgause’s armour pressing into her, along with the gentle pressure of Morgause’s hands on her arse, sent delicious shivers coursing through Morgana’s body. Morgause had not touched her that way since the babes were born. It had only been a week, but Morgana had missed it.

“Not tired enough to stop your wandering hands, I see,” Morgana murmured, her teasing tone shattered by her breathiness.

Morgause smiled that slightly wicked smile of hers which made Morgana’s knees weak. She gently squeezed Morgana’s tender flesh, making her Queen gasp, “Never.”

Before Morgana could regain her breath, Morgause kissed her deeply, making her head swirl in the dark, starry night behind her eyelids.

“I will be waiting for you,” Morgana promised, her eyes half lidded. “Eagerly.”

“As will I await my return to you,” Morgause countered, in her typical charming way. Plucking a lily from the vase beside them, she slid it into Morgana’s hair. “All I need is your love for luck.”

“Then you cannot lose,” Morgana promised, “because my love for you is boundless.”

With one last, lingering kiss, they parted.

~*~

The arena had been stripped for the mêlée, leaving nowhere to hide or take cover. Of the six kingdoms, all but Worcester had a champion in the tournament. With only five of them competing, the arena was excessively large and so, as the crowd was prone to boredom, they were fenced in by a ring of red sand to speed things up. Crossing the line would lead to instant disqualification, as would the use of shields or forbidden weaponry, such as crossbows, any blade smaller than a shortsword or any warhammer with a handle longer than a stallion’s stride. Being held in Camelot, magic was also forbidden, as was the use of flammable powders or other conjurer’s tricks. For Morgause, none of these rules provided a problem. She had never used magic in a fight and she fought with a light longsword that she held in both hands, but could wield in one. With that sword, she was agile in her parries and light on her feet, but could put all her force behind a single deadly blow should she need to. It had served her well in hand-to-hand combat in the war and had almost won her the previous year’s tournament. Gods willing, this time she would be the last one standing.

When her name and kingdom was announced, Morgause raised her great sword in one hand and swept her eyes over the crowd. Everyone was cheering for her, but one amongst the many caught her eye – it was Emiline. She was every bit as beautiful as she had been eight years prior, when Morgause had last set eyes on her. It seemed as though time had passed over her, leaving her as beautiful as she has been at eighteen. Though Morgause had loved her deeply, she had been young and it was lust, not love that had first drawn her to Leon’s flame-haired sister. She felt that old familiar stirring in her belly at the sight of her in the crowd, but it was another that her mind quickly returned too. Not even Emiline could stand up to Morgana in beauty of body or spirit. She was the one who had Morgause’s heart now, and not even flaming red hair and spring-grass eyes could change that.

With a whistle from the King’s own lips, the battle began. And Gods, did it move quick. Lack of sleep or possibly lack of practice was making her slow, and all of the other champions seemed to sense it. Like a pack, they rounded on her, circling as one – an unplanned alliance to dispatch of the tournament leader. They assumed her inferior in hand-to-hand combat due to her small stature and, likely, her sex. That was their mistake.

“Poor little love,” the big man from Mercia taunted. “Wander into the big boys’ game, have you?”

The rest of the men laughed, with Nemeth’s champion lagging a few seconds behind. He was not skilled in their tongue, Morgause guessed. Nemeth to the west had its own language, Nemea, that vaguely resembled the language of the Old Religion more than it did Latin or the common tongue. That alone would not explain his ignorance. Every man, woman and child in Nemeth spoke at least Nemea and the common tongue both. No, Morgause decided, he could not be Nemethian, despite fighting for them. There was at least one sea between where they stood now and the land of his birth.

She shook her head. This was not the time for geographical speculation. She had to strike before her competitors did. If she did not, she was done for.

She turned on her left foot and swung – two handed. He shouldn’t have laughed, even if he did not know what he was laughing at.

The felling of Nemeth’s champion was the spark that lit the fire. He went down from a blow to his helmet, knocking him clean out. It was merciful. Foolish, most likely. Morgause didn’t much care. The suddenness of her actions had given her the crucial second she needed to get out of the men’s trap. She dashed sidewards in the gap Nemeth’s man had left and slashed at the nearest man’s flank. It struck plate. Dancing, she turned lashed again. Damn, she was sleepy. The sword in her hand felt like a blacksmith’s hammer – heavy and cumbersome. But she was a Knight of Camelot. She had been trained to fight with whatever she had to hand, and to do so gracefully.

“For Queen and Camelot,” she whispered inside her helmet, where no one could hear her.

Her prayer invoked, she closed her eyes, took a breath and lunged into the fray.

~*~

As much as Morgana wanted to be there to see Morgause fight in the tournament, she was glad that Uther had forbidden it. Gwen was by her side quietly embroidering, the babes were both finally asleep and her chambers were in absolute, blissful silence. It had become quite the rarity lately.

And then there came a knock upon her door.

“Noooooooo,” Morgana whined pitifully, laying her head on Gwen’s shoulder. “Ignore them and they might go away. I just want to sit quietly with you and watch you stich a flurry of flowers for silly noble women who will pay you a silver piece for it. Its therapeutic watching you rip them off in exchange for pretty things.”

Gwen sighed. “I do wish you had not bartered such an outrageous price. They could find my equal in any home in the lower town and pay not a quarter of what you have them paying me.”

Morgana almost audibly rolled her eyes. “They deserve it. Ignorance is a sin. As is the way they treat their servants and the way they let their husbands work their horses.”

At that Gwen giggled. “You should start a group of freedom fighters who liberate overworked equines.”

Morgana snorted. “Do not think that I will not.”

The knock at the door came again. The insistent sound gave the distinct impression that the knocker would be persistent.

Relenting, Morgana strained to her feet and padded across the cool stone floor, ignoring Gwen’s protests that she should be the one to answer it.

“Who is it?” Morgana asked tersely through the thick wood. It took a fair amount of maturity to not just tell whoever it was to go away. She raised her eyebrow when the mystery knocker stifled a laugh, badly. So it was a woman then. At least it was not Uther.

The mystery knocker cleared her throat and introduced herself. “I believe my full title is the Princess Mithian, Heir to the Throne of Nemeth.”

Morgana’s eyes widened in panic and she scrambled to open the door. She was hardly dressed to receive such visitors. All she wore was a plain green cotton gown which she knew would look poor beside Mithian, who was always in the latest fashions and the richest materials. It was not that she was fickle, but Camelot had standards and it was up to her to keep to them.

“Princess,” she greeted her immaculately presented guest, ushering her in and closing the door behind her. “I had thought that you would have been at the tournament, cheering on your kingdom’s champion.”

Mithian frowned in obvious annoyance. “Your champion knocked him out in less than a minute. It seems that his talents lie in bedding and not in battle.”

Gwen coughed and rose, announcing her presence. “Your Highnesses.”

“Oh, there is no need for you to leave,” Mithian assured her. “I am the one interrupting your tranquillity.”

Gwen’s smile said plainly that she thought that she should leave. She kept enough of the Queen’s secrets, she did not need to add those of foreign royalty to her load. “If Your Highness will allow it, I will go down and catch a little of the tournament. I should like to see the mêlée.”

All Morgana could do was nod, worried at being left alone with the babes. She had always had Gwen or Morgause there to help her. She only had so many hands and if both were to cry, as one crying inevitably caused. “If you are sure…”

“I am, Your Highness. Be sure to send a servant if you require me.” And with that Gwen left, touching Morgana’s arm as she passed her. Morgana could not help but feel sad at her loss. She had been enjoying their time together, even if it had been in silence.

“I must apologise,” Mithian said as the door closed to leave them alone. “I had not thought to disrupt your morning.”

Morgana turned back to her and forced a smile. “You are not disrupting. I am happy to have a visitor.”

Mithian’s mischievous smile made an instant appearance. “Good, because your husband is a bore and a flirt, and the other women would have been unbearable if I had stayed much longer without a champion in today’s test. You are much more preferable company. And besides, I have yet to see these delightful babes of yours. Where are they?”

Morgana beamed. Just the mention of her children – her children! – made her heart leap with glee. “They are asleep, but if we are quiet, you can have a peak.”

She led Mithian over to the wooden cribs – one a gift from Morgause and the other from Gwen. To her surprise, Mithian let out a sweet sigh and gazed down at Isolde almost longingly.

“Oh Morgana, they are beautiful.”

Pride filled Morgana’s heart. She gave Mithian a curious smile. “I would not have thought you to be the type of woman to coo over babes.”

“That I am not,” Mithian confirmed, taken with the way Isolde’s belly moved up and down with each breath. “At least, I did not used to be. Now I cannot help but see the future in their tiny little fingers and button noses. Not my future, not any time soon anyway, but our land’s future. We have a great responsibility, not just to our line but to our people. A monarch who dies without an heir is dooming their kingdom to war. I am starting to understand why the notion obsesses men so.” She ran her middle finger over the embroidered ‘I’ on Isolde’s blanket. “All of our kingdoms rely on the children we leave behind. It is for them to do what we could not. To better our legacy.”

Morgana had been thinking much the same thing. “I will admit that hope that Finnian will make a more just King than his father.” And that he will treat his wife with more respect, she added to herself.

“We must all hope that our children will overcome our faults,” Mithian agreed, taking Morgana’s arm to assure her that she would not judge Morgana on what she said. They were quite in agreement when it came to Uther’s failings. It almost made Mithian wish to steal Morgana away in the night and take her far away from her husband’s reach. Alas, that too would bring war. “But enough of this sombre talk. Tell me about them. You must be quite exhausted with twins to care for.”

“It is no bother at all,” Morgana said with a serene smile, reaching down to gently stroke Isolde’s warm cheek. “I cannot imagine how I ever lived without them.”

“You are lucky to have such an attentive lady-in-waiting. I hear that she was your childhood maid? I myself had such a connection once. Lucy. She was a year older than me and taught me every bit of mischief that I know. The sickness took her three winters back.” Mithian’s gaze had drifted, glinting with unshed tears. “I never had a sister by blood, but she was my sister in all the ways that matter. Maybe I would feel different about marriage and children if I knew that she would be by my side. You have Gwen for that. I imagine she is a great help.” As suddenly as it had appeared, Mithian’s sorrow was gone and she was looking at Morgana in a way that pleaded for her not to dwell on it.

“Oh, she is. I could not do this without her and Morgause. Gwen makes sure that I am never without, bringing everything I need before I have even discovered that I need it. She was there to hold my hand through it all, always whispering words of comfort. She has this way of making me feel safe as only a little girl ignorant of the world’s horrors can feel. I would do anything within my power to give her the happiness she deserves. She insists that she is perfectly content, even more so now that she has the babes to care for too. I only hope that she continues to find happiness here. And Morgause…” Her smile became blissful as thought of her Knight. “I do not know how I would be able to juggle Isolde and Finnian without her. When one cries so does the other, but Finnian always quiets the moment she picks him up. He is utterly content in her arms.”

“Like mother, like son,” Mithian commented with a reassuring smile.

The smile did nothing to quell the panic that rose in Morgana at the Princess’ words. She had already alluded the Queen’s relationship with her Knight. A second mention was enough to send ice through Morgana’s belly.

Seeing Morgana’s panic, Mithian said, “Yours is a secret that I am happy to keep. I promise that I will never tell a soul. You deserve happiness and there is no shame in seeking it with Morgause. In the last year, Camelot has become easier and easier to call friend. I imagine that is down in no small part to you, Your Highness. With you to guide Uther’s hand, Nemeth would be very happy to call Camelot her ally. In fact, I am having a treaty drawn up that will bind our two kingdoms together in friendship, with each promising to help the other in her time of need. We can give you food and passage through our land to trade. And I am offering the treaty to you.”

Morgana was speechless. “I… Why?”

“Because Uther will not live forever and you have born his heir. As Queen and mother to the next King, you will greatly influence the shaping of this kingdom’s future. My father agrees with me that you would make a formidable and valuable ally.” Mithian smiled playfully again. “You could say that I was sent here to charm you. How have I done?”

“Well,” Morgana conceded.

“My father thought that we might be quite alike, you and I. He was right.”

Morgana smiled. If what little she had learnt about Mithian was true, then she could not disagree.

~*~

When Morgause returned, Morgana was asleep. It was not long past midday, but the babes were napping again and Morgana’s body had insisted that she join them. She was woken by a cool hand resting on her cheek and a soft, sideways kiss. A whimper sounded from her throat as she wakened; her mind fuzzy and confused.

Morgause kissed her again as she roused, and this time she was greeted with a sleepy response.

“I can leave you to sleep, if you would like,” Morgause whispered, brushing back a lock of hair from Morgana’s forehead.

“No,” Morgana protested. Her eyes were still closed but her mind was beginning to resolve itself into some semblance of awareness. “No, I am awake.” Her eyes fluttered open, narrowing against the too bright sun. “What time of the day is it?”

“A little after noon,” Morgause said after a moment’s thought. “The mêlée is not a long event. Not with only five competitors.”

As if just then remembering why Morgause had been parted from her, Morgana jolted into full wakefulness, sat up and looked expectantly at Morgause. “And?”

There was that wicked smile again. “I won.”

A squeal of delight erupted from between Morgana’s lips, followed by a long pause of nervous silence as both women listened for cries. None came. They must have slept through it.

“Oh, Morgause,” Morgana gushed, wrapping her arms around Morgause’s neck. “My victorious champion. How happy you have made me.”

Morgause was grinning as she got up from her crouch and sat on the bed, Morgana’s arms still looped around her neck. “And all of it was for you.”

Morgana giggled and tugged at her, bringing her forward for a kiss that Morgause immediately took charge of, pressing Morgana down into the pillows and sliding atop her. Morgana whimpered and buried her hands in Morgause’s hair, excitement bubbling in her stomach. She wondered giddily if Morgause was still lusty from the battle and how far this new boldness would take them. Again, she whimpered, shivering in anticipation as she deliberately ignored the little voice telling her that she was not ready for this, not yet.

“Mmmmm,” Morgause moaned against her lips, opening her dark eyes and locking them with Morgana’s. “How about a ride? Do you feel up to that? Just you and me, and we could take it slow. Gwen can watch the babes for a few hours. What do you think?”

Morgana could not really think much of anything with Morgause’s weight on her and the warmth of her Knight’s breath on her damp lips. She nodded and craned her neck up to resume their kiss. After a moment, Morgause pulled out of her reach once more.

“You could sit behind me and we could take Nightmare out to look out over the Queen’s Valley. I have something special to ask you, and I want the setting to be perfect.”

Light headed, Morgana struggled for breath. If she had not been lying down, her knees would have given way and she would have swooned. Did she really mean…

“Yes,” she heard herself saying, “yes”.

They rode tandem out of the castle’s rear drawbridge, Morgana clinging to Morgause as the world whooshed by them. She must have fallen asleep, because the journey seemed to take no time at all before they were dismounting at the top of the peak that she and Morgause had ridden out to on their first meeting.

“My Queen,” Morgause said as she bowed to Morgana, before lifting her effortlessly off of the horse, her hands at Morgana’s waist, twirling her downwards. They were kissing before Morgana’s feet had touched the ground, Morgause’s strong hands pulling her close and supporting her weight as she again went dizzy from love.

“Gods,” Morgana murmured, unable to command her voice any louder.

Morgause smiled and gave her one last sweet kiss in the red-gold light. Then she fell to her knees as she had done on the pebbly beach on the island off Mermering, and reached up to take Morgana’s pale, trembling hand. They made the perfect picture of a Knight kneeling in supplication before her Queen.

“My love, my Queen,” Morgause began. “I am naught but a simple Knight who comes to you on bended knee, unworthy to stand equal beside you. It is still written in this Kingdom’s laws that I am forbidden to even look at you, though such a law has not been enforced for hundreds of years. For that lacking on the part of my brothers, I am eternally thankful, for if I had never been granted the honour to look upon you, I would never have had the privilege to look upon a goddess. But there is one more honour that the Gods have made me foolish enough to ask. Morgana, my love, I humbly ask if you would do me the honour of-”

With a start, Morgana awoke. The room glowed with the late afternoon light and Gwen was before her, hands still on Morgana’s shoulders from shaking her awake.

“Come, my lady, get dressed. We need to leave,” Gwen insisted, pulling her to her feet from where she lay atop the covers. The babes were crying. Finnian was screaming.

“What…” A cold shiver ran over Morgana’s skin and she suddenly felt the loss of something that had been keeping her warm. Panic overtook her and she looked to Gwen for answers. “What is wrong? What has happened?”

Gwen’s skin was ash pale, drained of colour. “It is Morgause, my lady. I am afraid that she has been very badly hurt.”

~*~

She ran to Gaius’ chambers, wearing only a shawl over her shift. When they reached the crescent-topped door that led into the physician’s main room, it was already open and the space inside was heaving with Knights.

Sir Leon spotted Morgana the moment she entered and ran to intercept her.

“Come now, Your Highness. Let us give Gaius room to work.” His arm stopped her progress easily and he quickly moved to block her view of whatever was happening in the middle of the room. Whatever it was, he did not want her to see it.

“What has happened?” Morgana cried, desperate to see around him, to break free of his grasp. She could see a discarded bandage on the floor and by the Gods was it bloodied.

“Morgause was injured in the mêlée. The Mercian champion had a banned weapon that he had concealed up his sleeve. She had no time to react,” Sir Leon told her gravely, looking down into her eyes as he would with a child, making sure that she understood.

“What do you mean ‘injured’? How?” Tears flooded down Morgana’s cheeks, sobs distorting her pleas.

Leon looked back over his shoulder, as if looking to his fallen sister for an answer. He sighed and looked back to Morgana, his hands steadfast on her arms.

“He had a pocket knife, the kind that thieves use on the streets. It seems that he…” He paused. He could not tell her. He could not tell his Queen – this trembling woman – what that Mercian scum had tried to do to the Knight that he knew she loved. But he must. No one else would. Gaius was too much Uther’s creature to ever tell a woman the ugly truth. “It seems that he used it to cut the strap of her gorget. Do you know what that is?”

Morgana nodded, her lips trembling. She had fastened it that morning. “Around her neck.”

“Yes,” Leon confirmed. “He cut the strap and it fell away when Morgause broke free from his grasp. When he lunged again, he aimed the knife at her throat.”

Bile rose in Morgana’s mouth and she had to fight not let it out. He… Her Morgause… He had… A dream she had once had flashed before her eyes – blood dripping down the hilt of Morgause’s sword as it fell from her lifeless grip.

“No,” she whispered. It could not be. If what she had seen was true then that would mean…

Leon continued. “The King saw the flash of metal in the Mercian’s hand and vaulted onto the battlefield. He pulled the Mercian off Morgause and drove his sword through the slit in his visor. Only when the man was dead did the King fully realise how far the Mercian had gotten in his plan.”

Morgana’s mouth hung aghast and unbelieving, fierce love for her King filling her heart.

“He ripped a strip from his cape and tied it around her neck, before lifting her and carrying her all the way here. No one dared try to stop him,” Leon finished, finally turning so that Morgana could see the flurry activity surrounding the fallen Knight, shrouding her from view.

As if noticing her presence for the first time, Gaius left the group of men surrounding Morgause and crossed the room to address his Queen. Morgana broke out of Leon’s hold and took a step towards the physician.

“Your Highness,” he greeted, forgetting to bow his head. “Are you aware of what has happened?”

Morgana nodded, biting her lip. “How is she?”

“We have done all we can. Now all that is left to do is wait and pray.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You must thank God for your husband. Had he not intervened, she would surely be dead. As it is, there is some hope that she might survive. The King’s interruption prevented the knife from cutting too deep. She has lost a lot of blood but the main vessels in her neck were untouched and the knife did not slit her airway. Amina and I have cleaned and stitched inside, and closed the wound. We have given her something to make her sleep and will set her up in the side room where we can keep watch over her.”

Relief flooded into Morgana’s lungs, finally letting her breathe. “Can I see her?”

“Once we have moved her, you can sit by her bed, should you wish. Though, I do not think it wise or necessary. I am sure that one of her brothers would do to keep watch over your guard.” He frowned. “I must impress upon you, Your Highness, that the chance of her surviving the night is slim.”

“But there is a chance?” Morgana asked.

Gaius nodded.

Then she would never leave me, Morgana thought certainly. Not her Morgause – her brave, beautiful Knight.

“There is something else,” Gaius said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Morgause’s Le Fay green pendant, the one that Morgana had given to her in Mermering. He dropped it into Morgana’s outstretched hand. “A nick on the blade caught on this chain. Along with Uther, it saved her life.”

~*~

Sitting there in that little room, surrounded by Morgause’s family, Morgana felt quite alone. No one had dared speak to her and she did not dare speak either, for fear of them feeling that she did not belong. To speak would be to intrude, even more when one of the babes made a noise and she flushed crimson until she had soothed them. She had to be there, though, she was sure of that. Morgause had earlier joked than if she left Morgana and the babes, her heart might not leave with her. Morgana was sure that if she were to leave and anything happened to Morgause, her heart would shatter and all love and life be gone from her.

“May I sit with you?” Rivalen asked, bowing his head to her but showing no other signs of formality. At her nod, he sat on the seat beside her. “May I?”

Morgana followed his gaze to Finnian wriggling in his basket. A part of her was startled at him asking. To her, he was as much kin to her babes as her aunt was. For in her mind, they were Morgause’s. Her magic in their veins made it so. And the kin of that magic was in Rivalen too. But he could not know that and so naturally he would ask, rather than just take her son. “Of course.”

He smiled in thanks and lifted the babe into his arms with the practiced gentleness of a loving father. It made Morgana smile, despite the pain in her heart.

“He is one fine lad,” Rivalen complimented, brushing a finger over Finnian’s blond hair.

Privately, Morgana thought he looked like Morgause, though she would never say it aloud. The Gods could not be that kind.

“And his sister is just as bonny,” he continued, nodding with a smile to Isolde, who slept peacefully in Morgana’s arms.

“They are both them blessings,” Morgana agreed. “Both perfect.”

“I can feel it,” he added a moment later. “Could from across the room.” He put his hand on Finnian’s belly, just as Morgause did. Morgana had not known why, but now she could guess – it was to better feel the magic inside the babes. “Her magic is strong in them. Stronger than mine is in my two, even now they are older and can wield more power.”

Morgana found herself needing to check that the door to Gaius’ study was closed before she could breathe again.

He spoke again, in a whisper this time. “Are they…”

Morgana hung her head. “No, not by blood. Though I wish they were.” When she looked back to Rivalen, there were tears in her eyes. “She says that it is not possible, not without incurring the wrath of the Gods and an price we could never afford. They have her magic and she loves them – that is good enough for me to think them hers.”

“Me too.”

Morgana looked up to see Ellie stood before her, her eyes and cheeks pink from crying. With a gentleness only children possess, she bent down to kiss Finnian, then Isolde, and then leant up to kiss Morgana’s cheek.

“You brought them here to make her stronger,” Ellie said with wide, serious eyes that were red from crying.

“Yes,” Morgana admitted, fearful of seeming ignorant and foolish to those for whom magic and its workings were as familiar as the movement of water under a boat was to her.

Ellie smiled. “It‘s working.”

“What are they called?” Tristan asked, slowly making his way towards them, a fraying blanket clutched in his hands. Flor looked relieved that they had found a distraction, and Morgana did her best to entertain them. “Aunt Morgause said that we could come and visit them once they were bigger, but then…”

“Your father has Finnian and this,” she gazed down at Isolde and smiled softly, adjusting her blanket so that the Wilde children could see her better, “is his big sister, Isolde.”

Tristan clasped his hands and grinned, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. “That’s a pretty name.”

Ellie agreed. “Good for a princess.”

“Especially for a princess,” Tristan put in, vowing to outdo his sister in her affections.

When a gentle knock came at the door, Tristan ran off to answer it – standing up on his tiptoes to twist the big round doorknob. With great effort, he pulled the door open a crack and pressed his face up against the gap. What he saw made him jump back and gasp, his little mouth hanging comically open and his eyes bulging in awe and surprise.

Sir Leon pushed the door open the rest of the way and crept inside. With a Knightly grace that bewitched the young Wilde boy, he bowed to his Queen.

“Your Highness,” he said by way of greeting. “My brothers and I wished for news. I apologise for intruding.”

With his formalities complete, he raised his head and bowed to Rivalen, then to Flor.

“You’re a Knight,” Tristan mouthed silently, quite unable to speak in the presence of one of his idols. When Leon ruffled his hair, he almost fainted.

ldquo;How is she?” Leon asked the room at large, taking the seat on the other side of Morgana when she offered it to him.

“Better than before,” Ellie told him confidently, before her mother called her and Tristan away.

“Much the same,” Morgana said, her spirits dropping. “Though Eleanor says that she is stronger, and I believe her.”

Ellie smiled brightly at her from across the room, sat on her mother’s knee. Morgana had just made a friend for life.

“Children often have a sense of these things that were cannot fathom. We should be hopeful then,” Leon agreed, though his expression was still grave. Morgana had almost forgotten the danger that Morgause was in. Surrounded by the warmth of the Wildes and buoyed by the feel of Morgause’s magic flowing between them, she was becoming more and more certain that it was only a matter of time until Morgause returned to them.

“Could I have a moment alone with you, Your Highness? There are some matters of state which I wish to discuss with you.” When Morgana looked at Flor and Rivalen, upset at the thought of throwing them from their kin’s sickroom, he added, “We can talk outside. Gaius has gone to fetch supplies from his cold stores in the cellars.”

Reluctantly, Morgana left Isolde in Flor’s capable care and followed Leon from the room.

~*~

“What is wrong?” she asked when the door was shut behind her and she was certain that Gaius was not lurking in some dark corner the way that men of his age so oft seemed to do. “Is it trouble with Mercia?”

“No,” Sir Leon dismissed, waving his hand. “I only said that to get you alone. They are denying any knowledge of the attack and we are forced to believe them unless we turn up evidence to the contrary. I have my best men on it. No, what I wanted to talk to you of is more… personal.”

He took her hand and pressed something warm into her palm.

“A ring?” A gold ring.

“Look at the inscription inside,” he pressed, looking over his shoulder to make sure that the old man had not yet returned.

A strange feeling bubbled in Morgana’s stomach as she took the ring over to the fire for light. Her breath caught at the inscription, and her blood ran cold with fear. The runes were those of the Old Religion, and she could barely make them out.

My dearest Queen, my heart belongs to you. M.

“I…” Morgana’s mouth was dry and she could not speak. The ring was from Morgause and meant for her. She only hoped that Leon could not read the runes and would not be so quick to judge a sorceress as many in Camelot were.

“It was strung on her pendant. I took it before anyone else could see it,” Leon said, joining her at the fire. “I knew that it would be safe with you.”

“Thank you, Commander.” She took his hand from where it rested on the mantelpiece and kissed it. “I am ever in your debt.”

~*~

Rivalen had insisted that it should be him and not Morgana who should leave when it came time for the babes to feed. Flor and her children made to leave with him, but Morgana bid for her to stay. Though the thought of nursing the babes in front of anyone but Morgause and Gwen made her blush, she wished to talk to another mother. One who was not as intimidating as Amina.

They sat side by side at Morgause’s head, Flor holding Finnian who had for once had his fill first.

“I miss it,” Flor confided. “Do not get me wrong, you will soon be sick of the inconvenience of it and once they start to teethe… Well, I will let you find out. But that connection is something that no one but a mother and her nursing babe will ever know. We are lucky.”

“Yes,” Morgana agreed, “I do believe that we are. I cannot imagine not sharing this with them, now that I have it.”

“Ellie prays often for a little sister to dote on,” Flor said wistfully. “I still hope that the Gods will bless Rivalen and I again.”

“Gods willing,” Morgana wished, flushed with momentary excitement at knowing how to respond. She laid down a sleeping Isolde in her cot and fastened up her dress.

“I see that our Morgause has been schooling you in the old ways,” Flor said, her gaze drifting to Morgause’s still face. “You can have no idea how happy you have made her. Even the children have noticed it, and she always put on a smile whenever they were around.”

Morgana blushed and took Morgana’s hand, turning to gaze longingly at Morgause, before her paleness made her look away. “It can be nothing to how happy she has made me.”

“Morgause’s grandmother used to say that where love goes, power follows. I think that means that she loves you and these little babes very much. And I believe that you love her too, no matter how impossible the situation is that you find yourselves in. All things considered, I think that makes you family – our family. That means that once Morgause is fit again, we must have you over for one of our famous Wilde family dinners.” Remembering who she was speaking to, she dropped Morgana’s gaze and added, “If it would please you, Your Highness.”

“I…” Morgana’s blush deepened. “I would like that very much.”

The hand in hers twitched, returning her grip.

“As would I.”

“Morgause!” she gasped, jumping from her chair to the side of Morgause’s bed. “You’re awake!”

Flor laid Finnian beside his sister and ran to the door, opening it a crack and calling, “Rivalen, come quick! And bring the children!” She ran back to Morgause’s bedside and pinched her knee through the blankets. “You gave us quite the fright there, Euraid-Geneth.”

“Keeping you on your toes, Florrie.”

Morgause’s eyes opened slowly, the effort bringing a sound half way between a sigh and a whimper from between her pale lips.

“I…” Her mouth was dry and her throat red-raw. She swallowed and licked her lips, hoisting herself up until she was almost sitting. “I asked you a question.”

“Somehow, I do not think she means me,” Flor murmured with a smile, stepping back. She looked back to the door as it opened, admitting Gwen, Amina, Rivalen and the children. She put her finger to her lips to bid them to stay quiet.

“You – you did?” Morgana stuttered, sitting on the bed, hip to hip with her miracle of a Knight.

Morgause nodded faintly, grasping Morgana’s hand with all of her strength. “You disappeared before I got my answer. What will it be, Your Highness? Will you grant me this honour? ”

Tears poured down Morgana’s cheeks. She brought Morgause’s hand up to her lips and kissed her palm, laughing. “What do you think, my brave and foolish Knight?”

A smile tugged on Morgause’s lips and she coughed, the sound oddly hollow. “Is that a yes?”

Morgana showed her the ring, which she had already slid onto her right index finger, where the High Priestesses of old had worn their exchanged tokens of devotion.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss her and not caring who saw. “By the Gods, yes.”

And their betrothal kiss, just like their first, tasted of the salt of Morgana’s tears and the promise of what was to come.

THE END

A/N: So, this epic of a fic has finally come to an end. It has been a bit of a battle for me, I won’t lie. As the comments dwindled and my work life got busier and busier, writing this fic was pushed lower and lower on my list of priorities. It would have been so easy to let it go. But there was one problem. Every time my eyes closed and night or my mind wondered on the bus, it always went to this world and these characters. I couldn’t let them go, even if I wanted too. And there is so much more to come for them. That being said, I need a break and this is the end for now. There will be a sequel but I’m not sure exactly when that will begin being written. Be assured though, that its already all up there in my head. And there will be a mini!fic in between, which will follow on directly from the last scene of At My Most Beautiful.

For now though, I want to thank everyone who has read this labour of love – whether you’ve been reading from the beginning back in early 2011 or whether you’ve read it all in one go now. I want to thank you for taking a chance on this ridiculously long fic which is now more of a novel than I could have ever imagined at the beginning. So thank you.

Though I am a wee bit shallow and it’s not all about thanking you. I would really appreciate it if you could take the time to leave me some of your own thoughts on Morgana and Morgause, and their journey together. As I said, writing something on this scale is completely new to me. I would love to hear your thoughts.

A Tale More Complex (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 18:51:38 GMT

Title: A Tale More Complex

Fandom: Merlin

Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana

Rating: PG-13 (references to past abuse and a fragile state of mind)

Word Count: 3,658

Summary: or the first time, Morgana had something to thank Gaius for. A small mind, it seemed, was easy to trick. Her own mind, however, had dark corners far more complex. (Makes use of the loopholes left by the poor job that the writers made of the storyline surrounding Gwen's supposed 'enchantment'.)

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

For seven days and seven nights Morgana kept her mind’s eye focused on the croí tree. So constant was her draw on magic that her seeing crystals grew cloudy and the tips of her hair became scorched and dull from it.

“She will come,” Morgana assured her young dragon, stroking her soft muzzle. “Guinevere will not abandon us. Not now she knows our plight.”

Aithusa keened and laid her head in her caomhnóir’s lap. A tear fell onto the crown of her head, then another. The sorrow in them soaked into her scaleless skin and made her cry.

“There now, my sweet girl,” Morgana soothed, bending to kiss away her fallen tears. “Cry not, for we have only to wait. Soon you will have the skies above all of Camelot to stretch your wings. And you can have your fill of traitorous knights.”

There was a chuckle-like purr from the dragon at that.

“For their mail and plate and swords, of course,” Morgana teased. “Their flesh is far too foul for you. I will not have you dirty your mouth with them. No, you shall dine on sweeter things once your body has grown strong again from the knight’s steal and the aragonite caverns beneath Camelot’s streets.” She stroked Aithusa’s cheek with the back of her hand. “And no young maidens. Uther was blight enough on that demographic. I remember that all too well.”

Sudden familiar warmth ticked at the edge of her awareness, filling her senses with morning dew on oak-grown moss. Aithusa’s head whipped up with a hopeful whine and she peered into the crystals. Morgana did not need them to see the darkling woods. She could see anywhere in the universe behind her closed eyes with nearly no effort at all. It took effort to not see Gwen every moment of every day. Focusing on the tree and not her had been draining, but Morgana would not invade her privacy. She knew what it was like to be always watched. Now that Gwen was kneeling before the tree, carefully hiding a note in the hollow at its base, tension drained from Morgana’s head and she saw light behind her eyelids, glittering around Gwen’s form like a halo.

“Like an aingeal,” Morgana whispered, her whole body tingling.

“Morgana,” Gwen murmured, far away at the foot of an oak. “If you can hear me… Arthur has me guarded like some common assassin. I wanted to come earlier but I couldn’t get away.” She sighed and pulled the glove off her left hand and laid it on the rough bark. “Morgana, I… It was an act, all of it. I would never betray you, not again. Arthur needed to think that it was all an enchantment. I don’t love him. He’s not the man that they all think that he is. And you aren’t the woman they think you are. Neither am I.”

There was the sound of a horse somewhere out to the east of the oak.

“Go!” Morgana urged, her hands shaking, weak, useless. As if Gwen could hear her, she got to her feet and fled, her glove falling from her lap to the forest floor.

There was a tear on Morgana’s cheek. Her heart never used to be that soft. She wiped it away and sniffed back any who might dare to follow it, before getting to her feet and reaching for her cloak.

~”~

The hard-hearted Morgana would have laughed at how she fell to her knees, hard enough to bruise, before the croí tree. That Morgana would have laughed at her desperation as she scrabbled in the hole for the note. Gwen had softened her heart, though, and she didn’t much care for anything but having that letter in her hands. Almost carelessly, she pulled the leathery paper from its hiding place and tugged off the leather binder, tossing it aside before snatching it back up and stowing safely it in her pocket.

Unravelled, the note read in spelled ink:

My dearest exiled Queen,

I wish that I could have come to leave word for you sooner but, I have not had leave to go from my rooms. My guards – their swords crossed to bar my door – will not let me. Only when Arthur comes to pretend that everything is fine am I allowed to wander from my gilded prison. Of course, I smile and play my part too. I must. Part of him wonders if the enchantment remains over me; he is wrong. There was no enchantment, and that is where our advantage lies.

It will never occur to them that I side with you freely. They think, from one of Gaius’ books, that the mandrake roots mediate a potent incantation. In a way they are right. Truth is a powerful force that none of them seem acquainted with at all. Though, from the pain it takes to reach it, I cannot wholly blame them.

The castle is as big a web of lies as ever. The whole court is suspended from day to day on fine silken threads of illusion and I have the knowledge and means to cut them all. Arthur carries on with whichever serving girl takes his fancy that night and Merlin is none the wiser. He thinks that I do not see the looks he gives me, all of them full of jealousy and hate. But I see. I remember what he did to you when it was easier for him to kill than care.

I know that I have no right to hope, but I do. I hope for the future you dream of. I hope that my absence did not cause you to doubt me. I hope that instead the wait has made you yearn to see me as deeply as I have yearned to see you. I hope that you will meet me. I have to see you.

Meet me tomorrow night in your old chambers. Arthur is off chasing bandits in the south and will not be home for two more days at least. I do not wish to say what I have to say in the cold, harsh forest.

Your Queen

Morgana’s heart was giddy by the end of it. She read the last few lines again and again, lingering on the signature and smiling. She knew that Gwen would not abandon them, and she hadn’t. To think that sorry excuse for a husband had seen fit to cage his wife made Morgana fume. He would pay for that along with all his other crimes. With Gwen by her side, she would see to it.

When she finally folded the letter away, a flash of mink-brown caught her eye against the dark green moss. A glove. She back knelt down before it and reverently lifted it from its mossy pillow. Smiling, she bought it up to her nose and breathed the lingering floury smell of Gwen’s skin, as she had once done long ago off of her - their - bed sheets. If only for her conscious, she might have dreamed of kissing again, of tilting up her chin and tasting her damp lips. But she couldn’t. What she had done had been the only way to let Gwen see the light after years of Pendragon indoctrination. But that didn’t matter. She would never forgive herself, could never forgive herself. The very thought of it made bile rise in her throat.

Of all the things she had done in her war against the Pendragons, hurting Gwen was the thing she regretted the most.

~”~

Aithusa had pined to come to meet with Gwen, begged without words, but Morgana could not risk it. She was precious. More than precious. She had been Morgana’s only friend that never ending darkness. She had been chained and vulnerable, and soon her magic had wavered and withered. Without Aithusa, she wouldn’t have lasted a day. Despite her own body succumbing to the trials of imprisonment, Aithusa had spat fire at any man who dared to enter her pit. She had almost been able to stop them. Almost.

Shaking her head, Morgana quashed the memory and pleaded with the Goddess for safe passage through the otherworld to Gwen’s side. It was a draining magic, but she could not risk trying to slip into Camelot in disguise or through hidden passageways. If she was caught in Gwen’s bedchamber then she could protect her. If she was spotted anywhere else in the castle, though, she might not be able to get to Gwen before the knights did. And Gwen was the only other life so precious to Morgana that she would not unduly risk it. Especially not when keeping her safe cost only Morgana’s own health. She had been trading that commodity for quite some time already. One more injury would not hurt. Not in any other sense than the traditional.

Summoning what was left of her strength, she whispered the prayer and felt her body melt into nothingness. Her soul was ripped from her body and hurtled across the land, following the waterways to Camelot and to Gwen. It was a crime that the Goddess would punish with death to look upon the otherworld before her time, so Morgana kept her eyes tight shut, trying to block out the calls of spirits lost to her. Morgause’s was the hardest to ignore, even though her spirit only offered love and encouragement to not dare to peek. Only when the pain began to ebb and the sensation of solidity returned did she open her eyes, finding them falling instantly on an earthly Gwen.

The sight of her sent Morgana’s mind reeling and spinning. In all her years, through all her travels with Morgause to foreign lands and all her visions of the Goddess herself, she had never seen anyone or anything as beautiful as Gwen looked in the moonlight. She was almost enough to make Morgana question whether she was not still in the otherworld after all, with the beauty of Gwen’s soul blinding her to the pain. The warmth of the fire on her face, though, was enough to satisfy her that the pleasure of Gwen’s form was entirely an earthly one, no matter how splendid.

Morgana found herself indulging in a slow sweep up her body with her eyes. Though her nightshift was simple, it was beautiful. It fit her like the glove she had dropped in the forest, vines twisting over her curves like they did over their croí tree. The material was thin and though the embroidery obscured her breasts and thighs, her navel was visible through the unadorned fabric at her waist. Her hair, still smelling of the oils of her bath, was loose and curling down her back, taking away the years and troubles that had taken their toll on each and every one of them. As always, her eyes were dark and comforting as the night. The best part though, the part that made Morgana go weak at the knees, was her smile. That soothing, hopeful, loving smile that Morgana felt she had no right to see.

“Morgana,” Gwen greeted, her voice a song. She wrapped her arms around her once-lover and turned her face into her warm neck. It felt like a lover’s embrace, and Morgana was beginning to entertain thoughts that she did not deserve it when Gwen’s voice soothed any thoughts of pulling away from her. “I was beginning to think that you would not come.”

“Never,” Morgana said fiercely, holding Gwen tighter, letting herself believe for a moment that she could deserve this. One day. “The fires of hell and all the beasts beyond the veil could not keep me from coming to your call.”

“I will not doubt you again. I never should have.” Gwen pulled back and smiled that smile again, reaching up to touch Morgana’s cheek, then the lines at the corner of her eye. “You look tired. You must spend more time caring for yourself. I wish I was there to look after you. Both of you.”

“She wanted to come,” Morgana said, recalling Aithusa’s whines.

“It is too dangerous,” Gwen agreed, dropping her hand from Morgana’s cheek and stepping away to the fire, hoping that Morgana would follow her and warm her cold bones. “Will you sit with me by the fire? I cannot seem to bear the cold like I used to.”

Morgana tilted her head and smiled. “We must be getting old.”

There were furs and blankets by the fire that Gwen sat down amongst, patting the space next to her. “Not too old to sit cross-legged on the floor, I hope.”

Morgana laughed and joined her. “With as little furniture as I have, there is no choice but to do so.”

The cheer drained from Gwen’s face and she looked away, embarrassed. She did not have a clue how to deal with Morgana having nothing and she herself having… everything. Everything, but the one thing she would give it all up for. She cannot imagine how Morgana did it, when the tables had been turned. Though, she supposed, she had always had far more than Morgana had now. And Morgana had always been able to help. All Gwen could do was try to aid in her campaign.

“I missed you so much,” Gwen whispered, unable to meet Morgana’s eyes. “We have barely had five minutes together since you helped me free myself from the Pendragon’s lies.” She took Morgana’s hand. “I wanted to thank you.”

“No!” Morgana pulled her hand away as if from a flame.

Hurt clouded Gwen’s features. “Have I said something wrong, I…”

“I cannot let you thank me for what I did!” Morgana exclaimed. “I had to do it to free you. It was the only way. But I cannot let you thank me for putting you through that torture.” Morgana’s face twisted with anguish and disgust at herself as she shuffled backwards, bumping back into a chest in her attempt to distance herself from Gwen. The thought of her being near anyone as good and kind as Gwen turned her stomach. She turned away, her head dropped, and held her breath, trying to overcome the retching in her belly.

“Oh Morgana,” Gwen soothed, suddenly beside her and rubbing her back. When Morgana flinched away, tears pricked at her eyes and she let her hands fall limp at her sides.

“Do not pity me. I am not worthy of it.”

“Yes,” Gwen insisted, “you are.” She reached out again and this time Morgana didn’t flinch when Gwen’s hand touched her shoulder. “None have been through what you have been through. Not even close. You have suffered at the hands of the vilest and foulest creatures on this earth and never once have you let them beat you. You have been scorned, poisoned, chained and, by the Goddess, I cannot bear to think on what else they have done to you – and all for who you are. They would have done it to the little girl who smiled and held my hand and asked for bedtime stories, just as they did it to the terrible women who was no more placed to shape her destiny than she was the day she arrived – orphaned – into my care in Camelot.“

Morgana raised her head a little, struck by the memory, but still would not look at Gwen.

“You were nothing but a girl yourself then.”

Gwen smiled and dared to shuffle closer to her. When Morgana did not move, she dropped a kiss onto her shoulder.

“A girl who you helped grow into a fine woman,” she smirked, “even if I do say so myself.”

She heard a scoff from behind the tattered ringlets of Morgana’s hair.

“How did I do anything but hinder you?”

It was Gwen’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Do you not think that teaching me to read has helped me to where I am at all? Do you think I learnt nothing from your rants on politics and injustice? What about your kindness and love, do you think that has meant nothing in my life? Or that we shared our first kiss together? And do you think that going to bed with you, sharing that beautiful first together, had no impact on who I am?”

She reached out to brush back Morgana’s hair, longing to see her face. “Let me see those eyes that make me weak at the knees.”

Slowly, like a puppy who spilled the cream and is afraid of the back of her owner’s hand, Morgana lifted her eyes to Gwen, as wet as the stormy oceans they echoed. “I deserve your kindness even less than I deserve your pity. I deserve neither from any man nor beast on this earth.”

She felt guilty for the sorrow in Gwen’s eyes. She did not deserve her sorrow either. Nor had it been her intention to provoke it. Or maybe she had. Deep down. Uther had lectured her more than once on the corruption and selfishness in women’s hearts. No one ever gave them anything they did not ask for. She must want it, then, the pity. Despite the pain it brought. Why else would Gwen be giving it to her? That was what Uther had said.

“And what of Aithusa, does she owe you no debt of gratitude?” Gwen reasoned, trying to take Morgana’s hand. It was pulled away too fast.

“Can she speak? Can she do magic? Or fly worth a damn?” Morgana probed almost angrily, but an anger turned inwards, not towards Gwen. “No. And all because she tried to help me.”

“All because a twisted man chained you like an animal at the bottom of a pit!” Gwen spat. “You have done plenty of things for which you must take some share of the blame – not least of which you have done to me – but that dragon’s pain is not one of them!”

When Morgana, too startled, did not respond, she continued. “You suffered unspeakably for two long years, all because you would not risk hurting her. If that deserves no gratitude then nothing on this earth does. Nothing, Morgana.”

She took Morgana’s limp hand and kissed her just as she had all those years ago when she did not dare to kiss Morgana’s lips, but instead summoned the courage to show her devotion with a kiss in the most innocent and yet intimate of places – the inside of her wrist.

“Do you remember this?” Gwen asked, as her lips brushed against Morgana’s skin again.

A slight smile ghosted across Morgana’s lips. So slight, that it might not have been there at all. “My first kiss. You smeared rosemary oil on wrists for Uther to show me off to some suitor, and then you kissed where you had anointed me. I tasted it on your lips when we kissed. Spice and rosemary. I went into the banquet feeling sure that no man could have me, not now that I was yours.” She smiled again, brighter this time. “It was midwinter. You were in one of my gowns. The one with the purple trim. I dreamed of you in that dress whilst I danced with him.”

Gwen smiled and nodded, her hand on Morgana’s cheek. “You sewed it on in the dead of the night. The purple ribbon all shaky. Stitches too big. And you wore the rest of the ribbon in your hair. It was perfect.”

“No,” Morgana shook her head and bit her lip, her tears finally overflowing. “You – you were the perfect one. And I wanted everyone to know it.” Her eyes dulled. “When did I stop wanting that?”

“I don’t believe that you did, not really.” Gwen said. “You just saw Arthur and I as one and the same. And why not, that is what love and marriage is supposed to be.”

Morgana’s expression turned unreadable.

“Except it isn’t, is it? I shouldn’t have to be like Arthur to love him. I shouldn’t have to become him to be his wife. But I did, a bit.” Gwen stared off into the shadows. “I don’t know why. I never felt the need to become you. You never expected me to change.”

“You have now,” Morgana pointed out, her heart thundering. Did this mean that Gwen loved her still? “You changed after the tower.”

“I changed because they lied to me and that made me do things I regret. I put people to death, Morgana. Your people. All because of Arthur and Uther’s twisted laws,” Gwen reasoned. “That is why I changed. Something like that… coming to such an epiphany and realising all you have been through… It changes you. It changed you. Now it has changed me.” She sighed. “None of us are who we were when all of this started.”

“When was that?” Morgana asked distantly. “I can’t remember.”

Gwen tilted her head and leant in, her hand slipping from Morgana’s cheek to the nape of her neck, drawing her attention. When she spoke, her voice was dark and dangerous. “It don’t know, but I want my Morgana back, the one with the ribbon in her hair. But they killed her – Uther, Arthur and the rest of them. They killed her and made her think that it was all her fault. But maybe, just maybe, killing them can bring her back to me. So I promise you, I will not rest until all of them are nought but dust. I will make them pay for what they did to us.”

Tears were running down Morgana’s face when Gwen had finished her vow. So she kissed her, slow and gentle. And when Morgana’s mouth opened for her, still passive, it tasted of rosemary and the salt of a broken woman’s tears. Gwen only hoped that she could fix her. Fix both of them.

When Morgana began to kiss her back, Gwen began to hope a little more.

At My Most Beautiful (26b/27) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 18:40:28 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (26b/27)

Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11,500 for this chapter, 118,273 overall so far
Chapter Summary: The surrounding kingdoms gather for the tournament and Morgana's long wait is finally over.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

PART 1

“Why is she not here?” Morgana asked desperately, shivering in her nightshift. It was not yet long past noon and the air was already as sharp and cold as ice.

“She will be on her way,” Amina said calmly, talking Morgana by the arm and escorting her back to the bed. If the candle was right, Morgana was going five minutes between contractions, meaning that she was progressing far faster than first time mothers usually did. If Morgause did not arrive soon, she might very well miss the births.

As if on cue, Morgause burst through the door looking every bit as distressed as Morgana.

“Oh Morgana, my love!” she cried, running to her Queen’s side and taking her hand to kiss.

If it had not been for Gwen’s quick actions, the door would still have been open and the King would have heard and seen all, as he came only moments behind Morgause.

“Oh, my love,” Morgause whispered, kissing Morgana’s hand again. “Would that they had torn me from my horse and let me take to your side sooner.”

“You are here now,” Morgana murmured, smiling almost dreamily at Morgause. The wine Amina had given her was doing nothing to dull the pain, but her nerves were melting away. Or maybe that was the sight of Morgause. Nothing bad could happen now Morgause was at her side. “I want to kiss you.”

Morgause laughed, a charmed smile lighting up her eyes as she leant down to fulfil Morgana’s wish.

“So demanding,” she teased, before kissing her softly and lingeringly, taking one last moment that was just for them. For all anyone knew, Morgana could be taken from them before the fall of night. It was all Morgause could think of. All she could think of for weeks now. Leon had heard far more about her fears for Morgana’s life than she should have let him hear. If she was not careful, he would guess at their connection.

“Now that Morgause is here, will you let me examine you?” Amina asked, clearly peeved that Morgana had refused before.

Gwen shot her a sharp look. She did not like the lack of respect that Amina showed her Queen. She had never once heard her give Morgana the respect she deserved.

Morgana, who was in no mind to notice Amina’s annoyance, nodded and bit her lip. Her hand shot out and grasped her Knight’s.

“I need your feet flat on the bed and your legs apart. Can you do that for me, Morgana?” Amina asked in a professionally soothing voice.

Complying, Morgana screwed up her eyes and turned into Morgause’s side to seek comfort in her familiar scent of fire and freshly cut wood. If she really tried, she could imagine they were back on the road again – curled up together beside the fire Morgause built for them, gazing into each other’s eyes. It was her sanctuary. Her haven.

Letting that calmness surround her, she took a deep breath and let herself think about what was happening. She was giving birth, finally, to her babes. After endless months of waiting and waiting and waiting, the wait was nearly over. And was that not the most terrifying thought she had ever had? Waiting and wanting, that had been the easy part. Now she finally had what she had wished for and it was suddenly far too real.

“Morgana,” came Morgause’s whispered velvet voice from beside her ear. She could feel Morgause’s hair tickling her neck and shoulder; could feel her warm hand on her arm. It was grounding, being surrounded by her. “Morgana, listen to me. This is far within your capabilities. You have shown time and time again that you are strong and steadfast as a mighty oak, as adaptive as the supple willow and as open to the change of times as the silver branches of the birch. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that the Gods had anointed you. You bear their divinity like a golden shroud that does not hide you from the world, but exalt you instead. There are tales, my love, of the children who will bring our kind back into the light. Children pray to the Earth Goddess to protect those children and their mother. They pray to her too, ask her to watch other them as they sleep, as she watches over her own babes. I believe that woman is you, my love. It is you the prophecy talks of and you those children pray to and for. I can feel it, Morgana. With every touch and every kiss. When we are joined, I see the world reborn in the catch of your breath and the rise and fall of your breast. I feel my magic well up inside me and grown bold. It has never been as strong as it is when you make love to me.”

Morgana was vaguely aware of Amina and Gwen talking, but all she heard were Morgause’s words – like she were the Goddess, whispering it to her heart.

“That is how I know you can do this. Because you are destined for greatness and so are our babes. Nothing can change a prophecy. Nothing. Not blood, nor pain, nor Uther Pendragon. You have a destiny to fulfil, my love, and this is only the beginning.”

Her eyes opening as if after a lifetime’s sleep, Morgana lifted her head to meet Morgause’s lips. They were soft and home and sunlight on a rolling hillside. Power slipped between them, flowing back and forth and finally down into every fibre of Morgana’s body. It filled her and tasted of Morgause and love and a thousand years of worship.

She knew then. “I can do this.”

“We can,” Morgause agreed.

~*~

“The waiting is the hardest part.”

Uther lifted his gaze to find King Thomas towering above him in leather and woad-blue. He had heard no footsteps on the alabaster stone. Old age and worry were dulling his senses. There was a reason he had not ridden out with his knights.

“I have faith that all will be well,” Uther said steadily. He had not held his throne for thirty years by letting his emotions into his voice. Emotions other than anger, that is.

“May you have my luck,” Thomas said with a companionable smile, sitting beside Uther on the bench that had been fetched for outside Morgana’s chambers. “And the luck of the others. They all send their good will. My wife especially.”

Uther tried to smile in return. He was not very good at smiling. Not on cue.

“Isabella has given me two strong sons in two years. God willing she will give me another and it shall be three in three.” It was not meant to be boastful, but Uther could not hear it as anything else.

“We are lucky men,” he said in answer, “to have such fruitful wives.”

Thomas frowned. Uther did not notice.

“Lucky indeed. You know, when my Isabella lay in with our first, I could not think for fear that I might lose her. No son, I kept thinking, could be worth that. No son was hardly even worth the pain she went through.” He clasped his hands and looked across at the wall. “I do not think that any pain we endure on the battlefield can match it.”

A tattered scream rung out from inside the bedchamber.

“No, women are weak. The pain would likely be nought to us,” Uther muttered distractedly.

Thomas’ eyes widened and his next words died in his throat. There really was no mystery in how Camelot always managed to blunder her alliances. The perpetrator was sitting right beside him.

Uther sighed. “How long do they usually take?”

“Robert put Isabella through a day of it. George a little less,” Thomas recounted. “The least we can do is be patient and wait.”

He managed to say it in such a mild way that Uther did not even see it for what it was – a judgement.

“I will be more than patient, as long as she is done by sunup.”

Thomas gave up.

~*~

“I need you to breathe for me, Morgana. In and out. Nice and slow. Good and deep.”

Morgana was starting to get annoyed and her magic – there was that ‘hers’ again – was starting to effervesce with it. She glared at Amina, clenching her jaw. “I – know – how – to – breathe!”

Amina raised an eyebrow and leant back. “Apparently not. Otherwise you would not be so out of breath.”

A scream of annoyance flew from Morgana’s parted lips. If looks could kill…

Actually, Morgause was starting to worry about that. With all the magic running through Morgana’s veins, it would be so easy for her to lose control and send a volt of it – raw and dangerous – straight at the source of her infuriation. If anything were to blow their cover, that would be it.

~*~

“Have you – err – thought of names yet?” Thomas tried after a long while of awkward silence. He still was not entirely sure how he ended up sat on the bench with Camelot’s King, waiting for the birth of his future rival.

Uther looked genuinely confused and wounded, as if he could not understand why Thomas would bring up such a painful memory. Then again, he was probably too young to remember Igraine’s death the night after the chosen name for their future son had been toasted at the feast. “It is bad luck to name a child before it is born. With all the foul luck that I and Camelot have had this past decade, I would not dare to tempt fate. Not when it is my wife’s and children’s lives at stake.”

He looked at Thomas, seeing for the first time how very young he was. He was that very rare thing – a King who was younger than his Queen. He was, now that Uther recalled the timelines, close in age to Morgana. They had a different way of doing things, that generation. He almost envied them.

“You do not remember my first Queen, do you?” Uther asked.

Thomas gazed at the floor. “No, Your Highness. I do not think so.”

“Oh, you would remember if you had,” Uther said wistfully. A rare benevolent smile lit up his stony features. The light of it made him almost unrecognisable. “Igraine was the most beautiful, kindest, loveliest, wisest and loving woman ever to walk this earth. From the day I set eyes on her, I was changed. She made me someone that I could never be on my own. She made me someone who tried to make the world a better place, for her. When we were married, I could not believe my luck. I was young and foolish and far too in love than was good for me or Camelot.”

“No one can be too much in love,” Thomas asserted, a smile creeping onto his lips as he watched Uther recall his late wife.

“You can,” Uther corrected. “I discovered that the day she died. We had only been married half a year. She was with child straight away, as everyone expected, and we were both overjoyed. For seven months, I doted on her and Camelot flourished on the prosperity our love brought to the kingdom. She was the daughter of the King of Gwynedd and his Queen, Eliana of North Rheged. From our marriage, Camelot gained two mighty allies. But the day Igraine fell…” The King stopped, his voice shaking. “The day she died carrying my child, both allies turned on us. With their armies bolstered by the power of the Old Religion, we suffered heavy losses. Only the great illness that swept through their ranks brought Camelot the luxury of safety once more. That plague was a gift from the One God and I have seen to it that my people have paid thanks to Him ever since.”

Thomas could not help but feel pity for a love so cruelly lost. If anything were to happen to his Queen… “I cannot imagine a pain as hard as that.”

“No,” Uther agreed. “You cannot.”

Another of Morgana’s screams echoed through the stone walls.

“And now I have a new wife,” Uther acknowledged sadly, eyes turned sideward on the door to Morgana’s chambers. “She grew up in my care and she was every bit of wild as Igraine with all of her love for the people. It may be true that I desired for the fine specimen of blossoming womanhood that she was, but it was her compassion too that compelled me to make a wife of her. Camelot desired her and needed her every bit as much as I did. With a young Queen as full of life as Morgana, they were sure to get the heir that they and I needed so dearly.”

“Then tonight may Kingdom and King will be fulfilled,” Thomas said with a sweet smile. “And maybe on this momentous occasion, an alliance can be forged between our two Kingdoms. For the sake of our Queens and our children.”

~*~

“That’s it, Morgana. Nearly there,” Amina encouraged patiently, rolling up Morgana’s nightshift past her waist. “I can see your babe’s head. Just a few more big pushes and I will have him or her in my arms to show you before your other babe comes.”

“No!” Morgana cried breathily, as pain burnt and tore through her body. She could hardly stand it. Her breaths came in ragged pants from lungs that seemed far, far too small for their current purpose.

Amina rolled her eyes. She should have known that Morgana was going to be a difficult patient. The Queens always were. Then there was all the trouble that their maids always gave her. She was not entirely confident that Gwen would not produce a blade and hold it to her throat if she could not make Morgana’s pain go away soon. At least Morgana was quick, though Gods know how she was managing it. Most women lasted close to two days on their first. It could not have been more than seven hours since Amina had been called for.

“You cannot,” Morgana protested, her eyes wide and wild. “No one – touches – them – before –Morgause.”

“Morgana, I cannot promise-”

“No one!” Morgana screamed.

“I promise it, if that is what you want,” Morgause assured her, kissing her forehead and dabbing away her exertion. She was sat behind Morgana, supporting her and feeding her magic to give her strength. Morgana could not hold onto the magic that Morgause had given her and the babes. Not now. The space it left behind would be… excruciating in its emptiness.

Unsteady, Morgause slipped out from behind Morgana and made her way shaky legs to Amina’s side. Pulling so much magic through her body had made her as weak as it had made Morgana strong.

“Gwen!” Morgana cried, reaching out her hand to her dearest friend. Gwen hurriedly took to her side to soothe her.

“I helped when my niece and nephew were born and I – err – I have been reading a book,” Morgause informed Amina shyly, suddenly feeling wholly inadequate. “It explained… I mean, not entirely but… I think, maybe, enough to help?”

The generous smile that Amina gave her was encouraging. Briefly.

“Go and wash your hands,” Amina ordered, gesturing to the miniature tin bath. “And you are to do everything that I say, exactly as I say it.”

“Ah!” Morgana gasped, burning with greater pain than she had ever felt before. She prayed to the Gods to take her pain away. Morgause shot back to her and closed her hand around her leg, filling her with enough raw magic to last her an hour at the least.

“Are you…” Amina began, watching through her second sight as the wild magic that flowed through Morgause’s veins passed through her fingertips and into Morgana.

“Yes,” Morgause admitted reluctantly. Pushing magic into another person was forbidden in every sect of the Old Religion. It had not only been used to control others in the past, but to kill them. What Morgause was doing could not harm Morgana, but it was still forbidden on the grounds that one act could use to another. “She needs it. If I stop then her pain will be even greater. ”

“Very well,” Amina allowed, filing it away for re-visitation when all was over and well. “Come and stand where I am… That’s it. Now, Morgana, I need you to push even harder than you have been pushing. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Screwing her eyes closed, Morgana pressed her chin into her chest and pushed as hard as she could, screaming with it.

“Good, Morgana! You are doing so very well. Two more big, long pushes and your babe will be here. Come now, you can do it.”

With tears running down her cheeks, Morgana pushed again.

Everything went so very quick then. Reading a book and helping the midwives with Flor had been one thing, but standing before Morgana at this critical moment and having so much responsibility was quite another. Instinct and what she had learnt took over and then she had him in her arms and he was oh, so beautiful. Morgana’s little babe. Camelot’s new Prince. No sight had ever been so wondrous to Morgause as he was. Nothing could even compare. Nothing. Her heart swelled and overwhelmed her. He was in her arms and nothing had ever felt more right.

Exhausted, Morgana collapsed back on the bed with a whine, finally allowing Amina to see to her. After a quick assessment, determining that Morgana was not immediately going to have her second babe, Amina turned her attention on Morgause and the Prince. As if he had been waiting for a bigger audience, his first cry filled the room the second that Amina’s eyes fell upon him. Morgause watched, entranced, as his bright red face scrunched up and his cry turned silent. His little arms and legs flailed about him, clearly not yet under his control, and he wriggled in her grasp.

“Well now, is he not a lively little thing?” Amina said jollily. “Did you hear that, Morgana? You have a son with a strong pair of lungs. Give us a moment and Morgause will let you have a look at him.”

Whilst Amina dealt with the cord, Morgause gently rocked the little babe, unable to believe how beautiful he was. As soon as Amina was finished, she had Morgause wash him in salted wine to keep away infection and wrapped him in a sheep’s wool blanked to keep out the cold.

“Morgana,” Morgause whispered excitedly, sitting on the bed beside her. “I have someone for you to meet.”

With an exhausted whimper, Morgana’s eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on Morgause.

“He’s here,” she murmured, wincing as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes widened with wonder as they fell on her son, who was all cuddled up in Morgause’s arms.

“He’s really here,” she repeated, giddy in her exhaustion. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course!” Morgause exclaimed, shifting the Prince into his mother’s arms. “He is yours. No one has more right to hold him than you.”

Morgana bit her lip and giggled. She was tingling all over her. Every little bit of her was afire with love and joy. He was perfect. Perfect and hers.

She bent down to kiss his forehead and breathe in his scent.

“I have been waiting for you for so long, my little boy. So very long,” she whispered to him. She kissed him again. “I had no idea how much I would love you. I love you, my son. I love you so very, very much.” She looked up at Morgause with tears in her eyes. “Our son.”

“Our son,” Morgause promised, tears running down her cheeks. “And I love you both so much.”

Morgana smiled and kissed her. “Our Finnian. Golden haired, just like you. I saw him last night, whilst I slept in your arms – our fair-haired Finnian. Our son.”

“Prince Finnian,” Morgause tried out. “It is perfect, my love. Just like him.”

She leant down and kissed his flat little nose, then Morgana’s. “You amaze me. Both of you.”

“I do not wish to interrupt,” Amina interjected. “But it does not look like you are having any more contractions, Morgana, and your waters have not broken for the second babe.”

Fear flared in Morgana’s eyes. “Is that bad? Is there something wrong with her? Please, Gods, she must be well. I have seen her too. She was beautiful and blue-eyed and black-haired and mine!”

“It is alright,” Amina soothed. “Nothing is wrong yet, but the quicker we get her out, the better. Do you understand?”

Morgana nodded and clutched Finnian tighter to her breast.

“It sometimes helps bring on a woman’s contractions if she nurses. Shall we give it a try?” Amina suggested.

Morgana looked panicked again, turning her gaze to Morgause for reassurance. It always seemed like she had all the answers, even when she could not.

“If you want me to throw your maid and Knight out, I am more than happy to do so,” Amina offered, giving Gwen a sideways look. She would be glad to get out from under Gwen’s evil glares. It was distracting, if nothing else, and she could not understand what she had ever done to annoy her so.

“No,” Morgana said, blushing. “I – err – I want them to stay. If they want to, that is.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Morgause promised.

Gwen blushed when Morgana turned to her for an answer. “I should go and inform the King. He made me promise.”

She was sorry as soon as she said it. Morgana’s eyes turned downcast, and she murmured something that meant ‘of course’, but sounded more like a sob. Gwen had brought Uther back into proceedings, and none of them would thank her for it. Not for now, at least. They might realise later that it would be worse for them if Uther thought that he had not been informed of his son’s birth in a timely fashion. Probably not. It did not matter. She was not looking for thanks. Keeping Morgana from just a little of Uther’s wrath was more than worth it.

~*~

Uther’s attention snapped to the opening door and he found himself on his feet without ever consciously standing. His whole body was on edge. The longer Morgana laboured, the worse his nerves became. If something happened to her or the babes… He could not go through it again.

“Well?” he demanded.

For his abruptness, Gwen contemplated lying to him – telling him that there was no news yet. The fancy lasted less than a moment, though. She did not wish to die. And certainly not at Uther’s hands.

She curtseyed. Curtseys were always good when the men you were facing had as big an ego as Uther did. She had learnt that early in her career. It had only taken a few beatings to sink in.

“I have the honour, Your Highness, of informing you of the birth of your son,” Gwen proclaimed, curtseying again. Uther was hiding his smiled behind his hand when she looked up. He looked as though all his dreams had come true. She was almost touched. Or at least she would have been if she had not spent the last few years cleaning up after his ‘encounters’ with his wife.

“And he is…?”

“Healthy, it seems, Your Highness,” Gwen confirmed.

Uther forgot her then. Thomas had clapped him on the back and they embraced heartily – laughing, both of them. It was the strangest thing that Gwen had ever seen. Uther was embracing another King. He had made an ally.

Perhaps, Gwen thought, it was true what they said about births and new beginings.

~*~

Within the half hour, Isolde was born. She had thick hair that was as black as night and eyes like the wild blue sea, just like her mother said she would. She came out anything but silent, though. Screaming and crying. Wailing for her mother. Only when Morgana took her in her arms and gave her her breast, did she quieten.

The peace was short lasted. Gwen could only hold Uther off for so long. He was King and bull-headed when it came to most things, let alone holding his heir.

“Where is he?” he roared, beaming from ear to ear as he burst into the room.

Amina rushed forward to take the boy form Morgause’s arms and pass him to his father. “Here he is, Your Highness. Fine and strong a boy as I have ever seen.”

She was exaggerating. Finnian was little thing. Skinny and smaller than his sister. Not that his father would notice. Not yet anyway.

“Oh, Morgana,” Uther exclaimed, looking up at his wife with more love than she had ever seen from him. “He is a wonder!”

Morgana smiled shyly. “He is ever so beautiful. I cannot take my eyes from him.”

“That he is,” Uther agreed, smiling down at his son. “And what of my daughter?”

“As beautiful as her brother.” Taking advantage of the King’s good mood, Morgana broached the subject of their names. “I named her Isolde.”

“A beautiful name for my beautiful girl. It is a wonderful choice, Morgana.” Uther perched on the bed beside her and kissed her forehead, before turning his attention to Isolde, stroking her rose-red cheek.

“And for our son, I thought Finnian. I know it is not a traditional name from your family but-”

Uther cut her off with a kiss that she was too dazed to recoil from. “I will find a way to live with it, I think, after this wonderful gift you have given me.”

Morgana smiled shyly again, blushing.

~*~

They were finally alone – just the four of them. The prospect had been both terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Now that it was happening, however, all Morgana felt was calm. She could not recall a more perfect moment. Morgause cradled Finnian in her arms, swayed him in a shaft of moonlight and sang a lullaby in the language of the Old Religion. Morgana was torn between watching her and gazing down at Isolde as she nursed at her breast. Amina had told her that they would take little and often at first, but that their appetites would soon grow. The thought of Isolde’s appetite growing was a little dauntng, what with her having fed four times already. Morgana voiced her concerns.

“Perhaps she just likes the closeness to you that it gives her,” Morgause suggested thoughtfully. “All she has known is being inside of you. It must be a shock to be separated from you so completely.”

Morgana frowned and bent her head to kiss daughter’s cheek, brushing the backs of her fingers gently over the crown of her head. “I had not thought of that. My poor little girl. I am not surprised that you preferred it there, where it was warm and snug.”

“Or maybe she is just greedy,” Morgause countered with a smile.

As Morgana silently laughed, Isolde’s mouth turned slack and all movements save for her gentle breathing ceased. “Whatever the reason, it seems most tiring. I only wish that I could close my eyes and join her.”

“If you are too tired, Morgana, we can-”

“No!” Morgana said quickly, shifting Isolde slightly and tying the front of her nightshift closed. “It has to be tonight. You said that tradition dictates that it is done this very night.”

Morgause looked torn between going along with Morgana’s wishes and trying to persuade her into resting. “Traditionally, babes are blessed when the moon is at her highest on the day of their birth, yes.”

“Then bless them,” Morgana implored.

Against her better judgement, Morgause agreed.

Isolde and Finnian were laid side by side in a shaft of moonlight, on a warm fur rug. Beside Isolde’s head was a candle engraved with the sun runes and beside Finnian’s stood its twin, marked with the runes of the moon.

“I will do the ceremony in the common tongue,” Morgause informed Morgana, who sat beside her at the babes’ feet. “There is no need for the language of the Old Religion’s, as long as the words mean the same. It is more important that you understand and give consent.”

Morgana nodded in understanding and watched as Morgause closed her eyes and began to concentrate magic inside of her. When she was full, ready to overflow, her eyes slowly opened and she reached for the lighting candle clasped in Morgana’s hands.

“By the light of the Sun, in all his purity, I call on the spirits of my Wilde ancestors to gather here in this place.” Gently, she lit the candle by Isolde’s head and immediately the world around them took on a strange blurry shift. The sensation of being watched washed over them like a tide, not unsettling but comforting them.

“By the radiance of the Moon, in all of her wisdom and power, I call on the souls of the great High Priestesses to enter into me and make me their vessel through which these babes will receive their blessing.” Swallowing nervously, Morgause lit the candle beside Finnian and felt the souls of some of the most powerful and compassionate women that the world had ever known entering her.

“I call upon all those present – in this world and the next – to look upon these babes and bless them. They have been born of this woman who gave the light to draw you here. Through her love and nourishment, they were given life and substance. I ask that you bless them so that they thrive at their mother’s breast be content in the love and power of the Gods.”

Morgana watched as Morgause took the shallow clay bowl filled with earth from the foot of a willow – a tree most sacred to the Old Religion for its health preserving properties and its ability to dull pain. Into this earth, Morgause poured a vial of salted water that represented the sea and its richness of life. Lastly, she took a pinch of powdered crystal that glittered with all of the beauty of the stars and dashed it into the bowl. Her eyes glowed gold.

“Through the fertile earth and the cleansing sea, you raise and feed us, moulding us and gifting us with eyes and souls turned upwards to the glory of the heavens. With that great power, I ask you to take these babes and raise them high. Give them the strength to tame your power and, with it, to move the earth,” Morgause asked in a voice that did not wholly sound her own.

With more grace than even she usually possessed, Morgause cupped her left hand and immersed it in the bowl, lifting up a palm-full of the wet, glinting earth. “Take this gift as a symbol of your entry into these new souls.” Taking her index and middle fingers from her right hand, Morgause coated them with the mixture in her palm. “Like the earth and sea, give them life and strength.” Leaning down, she smeared the dark concoction over Isolde’s heart and then over Finnian’s. “And like the eternal crystal, may you never leave them,” she finished, coating her fingers and touching them to Isolde’s and then Finnian’s hands and feet. When she was done, her eyes glowed once more, sealing the rite.

Feeling faint, Morgause sat back on her heels, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was possibly the most simple of all the rites of the Old Religion, but it was the first she had ever performed and it had been utterly exhausting.

Morgana opened her mouth but made no sound. She was not sure whether the ritual was over, and did not want to interfere if it would not. The possible consequences of doing that were unthinkable. Instead, she reached out and gently touched her love’s arm. Morgause’s fingers shot to cover Morgause’s fingers, startling her.

“I am alright,” Morgause whispered in a voice that sounded a little more like her own.

Not convinced, Morgana brought Morgause’s hand to her lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, darkening her lips with earth and crystal. At the feel of soft lips, Morgause opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of Morgana’s mouth. She sagged a little as the High Priestesses left her, knowing instinctively to give them privacy, and then she kissed Morgana – tasting magic on her lips.

“Is that it?” Morgana asked hopefully against her love’s lips. “They are done?”

Morgause smiled and kissed her again. “They are done. All we need to do now is leave the candles to burn down, but they needn’t be between them whilst they burn.” She tilted her head until her nose bumped with Morgana’s. She grinned. “You can have them back now.”

“It is not like they missed me. They were too entranced by you,” Morgana murmured, feeling foolishly shy. “And so was I. You look so beautiful when you do magic -so graceful, so powerful. Like the whole of creation is bending around you.” Morgana blushed and smiled. “It was a privilege… to watch you and be by your side.”

Before their lips could meet again, Isolde began to cry. As would continue to be the way of things for the next decade or so, Finnian followed his sister’s lead.

NB - Thank you all for sticking with me for this long, especially when the waits between chapters have seemed almost endless.

At My Most Beautiful (26a/27) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 18:38:09 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (26a/27)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11,500 for this chapter, 118,273 overall so far
Chapter Summary: The surrounding kingdoms gather for the tournament and Morgana's long wait is finally over.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Long ago when the land was new and young, a beautiful maiden lived on the rocky shore of the salty sea. Her name came before the written word and her first breath before humanity had even begun to speak. Many have tried to fasten to her the names of later peoples, trying to make her their own. This foolishness shows that she could never be theirs or anyone else’s. Hers was a name not meant for mortal lips. Only the whispering of the wind could do it justice and so it remains the only place to hear it. Like her name, the looks of this maiden may seem strange to us, with her skin like the froth of the wild waves – shimmering white and blue, ever changing – and her hair – like the rock on that coast – was black as night and just as glittering as the starry sky.

As you have probably guessed from what I have said, this maiden was not human. She was the daughter of Gods.

Unlike the Gods before her, she was not born of the earth goddess but the goddess’ children. The Queen of the Night and her lover, the Dawn, met at the start of every day until the night swelled, growing each day longer and longer. When at last the night stretched for many months, the maiden was born. Unlike her parents, she was not a god. She had human form and earthly desires, but she had some of her parents’ power and ethereal allure. Alone on the earth, she grew quickly to womanhood and found herself to be exceedingly lonely. She was, after all, quite alone but for the lower beasts.

Many of the Gods tried to charm her. But all of their advances were met with cold rejection. Having been abandoned to loneliness as a babe, the maiden had no affection for Gods. If her loneliness was to be abated, she declared, it would be at mortal hands. And so the great game began.

Each of the rival Gods created their heroes, sending them on great and perilous quests to win the maiden’s heart. None of them succeeded. They were the first humans and, being made in the maiden’s image, were cold and unable to warm her heart.

Until, that is, the maiden came across a strange human babe nestled amongst the rocks. Intrigued, she reached out to touch the little girl, whom she found to be as warm as the midday sun. At her touch, the babe opened its eyes and stared at her, before creasing up her little brown eyes and letting out an effervescent noise that sent strange sensations fluttering in the maiden’s belly.

Feeling very strange indeed, the maiden picked up the babe and cradled her to her chest before setting off for the human settlement on the cliffs above. There she found many families, each with little babes of their own – all as cold as she was. She searched and searched but not a one of the people in the village would admit to knowing anything of the child. When the maiden tried to suggest that one of them take the babe in and care for it, none would. The babe was different and so was not welcome in any of their homes, never mind their hearts.

With white hot fury in her veins, the maiden stalked away from the village and slowly began to change…

When the story was over, Morgause closed the book and laid it on the table by the bed. She was careful not to disturb Morgana, who lay curled up by her side in a pretty white nightdress to welcome in the festival of Albannui. As usual, Morgause, wore her white sleep shirt and nothing else. You could say that she was always robed to be Albun’s bride, but the slash of green over her heart said more clearly than anything else that she was already taken.

“It is a cold night,” Morgana whispered, wishing Morgause would wrap her in a warmer embrace. “And that was a cold story.”

“It is traditional,” Morgause explained for the second time, brushing back some hair from Morgana’s warm forehead and granting her wish of a closer cuddle. “The maiden in the story went on to marry the God this festival commemorates. The tale tells of how a human babe warmed her heart to love. It is because of her that the Gods first began to love their creation – us.”

“I understand,” Morgana said hurriedly, forever worried of showing her ignorance of the Old Religion. There were no books to learn it from and to ask Morgause was to admit the ignorance she was so desperate to hide. “Is it true, the tale?”

Morgause laughed and dropped a kiss on Morgana’s head. “No, it is only a story for children. We do not believe that is how humans came to live on this earth, but that, like all life, we grew and formed organically from the mother goddess’ life-giving energy. Though, we are not ignorant enough to pretend to know how. That sort of slow deliberate magic is beyond us mortals. We cannot see that far ahead. Or that far behind. We see time as a road – long and straight. The Gods… Some say they see it differently.”

“Do you not wonder if they are right?” Morgana asked, thinking of the Garden of Eden and wondering how she had ever believed such a preposterous tale to be true – really true. Maybe that too had been intended as a children’s tale for the children of the one God. Those children had just grown up and never stopped believing it.

“I have much more pleasant things to wonder about,” Morgause answered, skimming her hand over Morgana’s belly.

Morgana smiled, contented at the change of subject. Sleep was blurring the edges of her vision and she could feel her body relaxing, tingling.

“I had the most wonderful dream last night,” she whispered.

“Oh yes?”

“We lived in a little house in the woods near Mermering, you and me. My father had never died and the world had never seen Uther Pendragon. You were one of my father’s knights and you asked for my hand when I came of age. My father consented and we had the most wonderful wedding on the beach and dined in the White Keep,” Morgana recalled, picturing it all again behind her closed eyes.

“That sounds like bliss,” Morgause agreed, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair and kissing her forehead.

“It was,” Morgana agreed with a blissful smile. “Every morn I made you breakfast and helped you don your armour, before biding you farewell for the day. Then I would spend the day caring for the house and the little garden out back, and for our daughter and son who were little more than babes – born less than a year after our joining. And when you came home to us, we would have dinner as a family and after we had eaten, you played with our children whilst I cleaned dinner up and then you put them to bed. Then, when they were asleep, you would take me to bed and spend the rest of the evening lying with me and promising to make our family even bigger. It was the most wonderful dream I have ever had.”

When Morgause did not immediately react to her tale, Morgana sat up in her lover’s arms and looked at her frown. “You would not want those things?”

Morgause sighed, knowing anything she had to say would not be what Morgana wanted to hear. “No, I would not.”

“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, turning away. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you. I should have kept it to myself.”

Morgause’s eyes drifted closed and she shook her head. “I do not want that because you are more than a wife, Morgana. You are Queen. Even if you were not, I could never let you care for me like a servant. Love is nothing if we are not equal in it. Having you do everything for me would be unfair. Do you not want more than that out of life?”

“You dismiss everything you did for me!” Morgana rebutted, hurt that Morgause could ever think she would dream of being her servant. “You worked and fought for us. You gave me a contented home and children to fill it with.”

“But I cannot!” Morgause shouted sharply. “If that is what you want, then you will have to admit, for both of our sakes, that I will never be enough for you.”

A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek. “That is not true! You are more than enough for me!”

“Then you could live a happy and fulfilling life without ever bearing children?”

The Queen’s silence said it all. Once she could have said yes. Now… Now she knew that she never could.

“Tell me, Morgana, if Uther died tomorrow, would you be happy knowing that you would never have another babe after the ones you carry now?” Morgause asked harshly, determined to prove her point, even if Morgana’s answer would hurt her.

Morgana frowned and turned away, saddened by her own answer. “No.”

“Well that answers our question, doesn’t it?” Morgause choked bitterly, pulling her legs from under Morgana and sliding quickly from the bed. “If I cannot even make you as happy as Uther can, then what is the point?”

And with that she left, leaving Morgana alone, with only the guards at her door for company.

~*~

Morgana did not sleep that night. Morgause’s words swirled endlessly in her head, not giving her a moment’s peace. There was something fractured between them and even when things seemed to be going better, a single moment could break them apart again.

She awoke on Christmas morning, before the sun had risen, to find herself entirely alone. She remembered with regret that she had given Gwen the day when it was Emilie who answered her call. The girl was twitchy and on edge. For a few terrifying moments, Morgana wondered if she had heard her argument with Morgause the night before. But that could not be so. Emilie never entered her chambers unless accompanied by Gwen or when summoned. If the arrangement – which had the purpose of keeping Morgana and Morgause’s relationship from her – seemed odd to her, she never showed it. This was her first real experience as a maid. It was expected that she work her way up the servant’s peculiar social strata.

As cold as her chambers had grown with no fire burning for most of the night, Morgana would gladly have stayed there if it meant avoiding Uther and her day-long obligations. It was still dark when they entered the chapel and took their place on their knees before the congregation of Camelot’s finest families. In this Morgana would be afforded no special treatment, no matter how heavy with child she was. For four hours, she listened to the bishop, prayed for the forgiveness of their sins and gave gratitude for the birth of the Saviour – never once shifting from her knees. All of this was, of course, conducted in Latin, as were services throughout the kingdom. The word of God need not be understood, only feared and exulted. The chapel in the castle contained the only people in their borders likely to comprehend a word of it. Both the King and the Papacy preferred it that way. Ignorant people were easier to rule. Or so they said.

The only thing that got Morgana through the ceremony was the knowledge that she was wearing white in praise of an entirely different god, and not a single person present was astute enough to see it.

Following chapel, they broke bread in the great hall – all 200 nobles feasting on fist-sized portions of bread, which was to be dipped in olive oil and consumed in contemplative silence. Here at least Uther gave Morgana a reprieve, allowing her to take her own portion and one for each of the babes. Morgana would have preferred to fast entirely until their meal after sundown if it meant avoiding the oil. The taste of it turned her stomach. It reminded her of Uther’s greasy hands.

When she managed to make Uther hear her excuses to and could retire to her chambers, darkness had been over the land several hours already. Morgause was waiting for her.

“I wore the dress,” Morgana said shortly, arms folded across her chest. It looked a good deal less impressive over the swell of her belly, but she did it anyway. She was annoyed and she wanted Morgause to know it.

In the low light of the fire, she could see that Morgause’s hair was adorned with slim white ribbon and flowers to match the white of her shirt. Her breeches were resolutely tan. Morgana supposed there was only so much she could get away with, given the knowledge of her family’s magical past.

“I am glad,” Morgause replied with a nod of her head. “I had wondered if you might not wear red to spite me. Then I saw you in the chapel and felt guilty for ever having entertained the thought.”

Ever gallant, even now.

“I will not apologise,” Morgana said firmly. “I am allowed to dream. Uther has no power over me there and neither do you.”

Morgause looked surprised. “I thought you might have reconsidered. Seen things from my perspective.”

“No.”

Sighing, Morgause dropped her head into her hands. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go. She had thought the time apart might make Morgana more reasonable and realistic. “I do not know what you want me to say, Morgana – let alone what you expect of me.”

“I expect that you would find a way,” Morgana said bitterly. “If you loved me, you would find a way.”

Morgause could not help but laugh mirthlessly. “There is no way, Morgana. Magic cannot create a life. Transfer one – yes. Perhaps. If the Gods granted it. But create one – no. It cannot be done.”

“Why not?!” Morgana cried, fighting back the urge to scream with frustration. Ever since Morgause had begun using her magic, she had held hopes that one day it would allow her to bear Morgause’s child. Nothing could bring her greater pride and joy, and to hear Morgause call it impossible and anger at the very mention of it drove Morgana to distraction.

“Surely you cannot be so ignorant? It would defy the most basic laws of nature!” Morgause retorted, as if speaking to a witless child. “Magic cannot change that. Life cannot be created from thin air!”

“Why not?” Morgana questioned again, her voice coming out as a sob.

Guilt washed over the supposedly gallant Knight and urged her to Morgana’s side.

“I should not have shouted,” she whispered, feeling foolish for her anger. Was it really so bad that Morgana wanted a child with her that much. If she was honest with herself, she wanted it too. Of course she did. But she did not want the life Morgana had dreamt for them and could not understand how Morgana possibly could.

Morgana sniffled and buried her face in Morgause’s neck.

“It is not fair,” she protested, her voice muffled and weak. “How can it be that I can have Uther’s child and I love him not, and yet love you so entirely and be damned never to gaze into the eyes of child and see both you and myself reflected there? That is all I want. I want something that is mine and yours, connecting us. Why can that not be?”

“Because the Gods are cruel,” Morgause suggested. “Or because man is. Either way, I cannot change it, no matter how much I want to. And I do understand, Morgana, I promise.” Morgana’s sniffling stopped. “But I promise to love your children as my own and promise that you will never have to do this alone. These babes will grow up surrounded by our love and nothing Uther does or says will ever be able to compete with that.”

“I wish they truly were yours,” Morgana murmured, turning her head so that she might be heard better. Her anger had subsided and all she felt now was sadness and regret. “Uther may have married me before you could, but I will not have him baptise them into the religion of his One God before the Old Religion can claim them,” she whispered fiercely. Blinking back her tears, she lifted her head and looked into Morgause’s earth dark eyes. “You will not let him, will you?”

A shiver of magic prickled over Morgause’s skin. “No, my love,” she said determinedly. “By the Gods, I will not let that happen if you do not wish it to.”

Morgana swallowed and tilted up her head to kiss Morgause – forgetting their differences and losing herself once more to her brave Knight who she knew would never let her down.

~*~

A week passed in a flurry of activity as the city readied to host the great inter-kingdom tournament. With Uther’s attentions on that, Morgana got a week of peace to reconcile with Morgause in the privacy of her bedchamber. The time left to her due date was quickly running away from her and she was determined to spend as much time as she had left in Morgause’s arms, with Morgause’s needs her only concern. On those golden, quiet afternoons Morgause finally told her some of what had gone on whilst she was away at war. She told Morgana of all she was ashamed of and then let her take away her guilt with sweet words and gentle kisses.

Then she told her of Edwin – though not all of it. She left out Edwin’s threats and what he had come there to do. All she said was that he had attacked the camp and that she had been the one to finish him. Morgana was so shocked into silence by even that small detail that she had not been able to speak for a very long time. And when she did, it was to praise her brave Knight and promise that she would die before letting anyone hurt her. Anyone who tried would learn she was not some meek little lamb but a wolf with sharp claws and a keen eye for vengeance. Of her kingdom, she did not much care for the time being. It was Uther’s for now and she had enough souls in Camelot to pray for without adding to that list the people of a kingdom who had tried to take her heart away. Still, she spent the rest of that night kissing the scar Edwin had given Morgause, and spent her dreams walking the streets of her new kingdom, trying to find something to connect with in its people. She failed.

At the end of the week, the parties from the other kingdoms began to arrive. First came the once great kingdom of Worcester, to ceremonially bend the knee to their new King. Their party was small and weak, with all of their strongest soldiers having lost their lives in the war. They were not unwelcome, though, as they brought with them precious supplies and a beautiful princess who was now, by law, Uther’s. Morgana accidentally saw him taking her in an alcove on the great western hallway the very night that they arrived. She and Morgause had been taking a midnight stroll to try to calm the babes to sleep. The sight of her husband with the princess he had been charged with getting with child had made her blood boil. Her people had suffered and still he had not learnt. Morgause had to pull her to lead her away and then let Morgana take out her frustrations on her when they returned to her chambers.

After Worcester came Mercia and King Raigal with all ten of his children. The eldest boy, Prince Llewellyn, was to fight for Mercia in the tournament. He was the same age as Morgana and appeared to be as much of a prat as when she had met him at the grand old age of ten. Camelot and Mercia had been at war then and she had to remind herself to be nice to him this time, even if he did not deserve it. Second eldest was a girl named Eliah and below her was her sister Cerys. Both were of the age that their entertainment was to be Morgana’s duty, though she had a not unfounded suspicion that Uther would be the one entertaining them by the end of the week. They were young and pretty, and that meant that Uther was entitled to them – at least he seemed to think so. Morgana could only pray to the Gods that he did not manage to start another war or she might have to order the Knights to castrate him and test out their loyalties once and for all.

King Thomas arrived the next day with his two infant sons and a Queen almost as heavy with child as Morgana. On Morgause’s encouragement, Morgana struck up a friendship with her and found that she enjoyed her company very much. Queen Isabella was a quiet and demure woman who liked nothing more than to spend the morning embroidering and the afternoon composing watery poetry. But she was kind and full of reassurances and advice for Morgana in the art of motherhood. She was still nursing her youngest boy and intended to do so until he was a year old at the least. It was in that she showed the steal beneath her soft exterior, telling Morgana of her fierce fight with her husband, insisting she be the one to nurse her own children despite society thinking it beneath a Queen. The fire in her eyes gave Morgana the resolve she needed to insist the same to Uther. To her surprise, he agreed.

Two days later, Morgana met her favourite guest so far – Princess Mithian of Nemeth who, instead of coming with her father, came in his place. Where all of the other women cooed over Morgana’s size and asked after babe names, Mithian used her razor wit to outfox Uther at the dinner table of a night and took Morgana’s arm to talk of politics during the day. She even declared loudly one evening that she and her father had agreed that she would not marry until she found someone she loved and even then that he would be not be King of her kingdom. Morgana very much hoped that the little girl inside her was listening and taking note of all this miraculous woman had to say. She might need it one day.

By the end of another week, all of the kingdoms in the land were hosted within Camelot’s walls. There were ten Princesses and Queens for Morgana to entertain and six Kings for Uther to treaty with. Eight champions, including Morgause, would compete over the next eight days in eight separate challenges, earning points which would determine the victor at the end. The first event was a show joust where the champions were required to perform a number of feats on horseback, such as lancing rings suspended in mid-air and hitting weighted targets without being unhorsed by the sandbags their blows aimed in their direction.

“I must say, Your Highness, that I am rather intrigued by your kingdom’s champion,” Princess Mithian commented as Morgause trotted into the arena on Nightmare’s back.

All of the women watched as Morgause stopped before them to bow, her long golden hair plaited with gold vines and tied with a purple ribbon – a sign of the Queen’s favour. For once, she was permitted to make such a staunch show of loyalty to her Queen without it being out of place. She was determined to show the world that she would die for the glory of her Queen and kingdom. No other champion could match her in that.

Morgana rose as gracefully as she could to her feet and curtseyed to her champion, holding out her hand for Morgause to kiss.

“May your radiance speed my steed’s hooves and steady my hand, Your Highness,” Morgause said in a loud, clear voice for all to hear.

“And may you ride with grace and honour, my champion,” Morgana replied, blushing at half a thousand eyes watching the press of Morgause’s pink lips to her ivory pale hand. It took a good deal of effort to quash the impulse to grasp Morgause’s hand and turn it over to kiss the inside of her wrist and her palm as she so often did. It was a particularly intimate gesture that seemed to be unique to those who followed the Old Religion. Doing it in front of the whole of Camelot would out their magic and relationship both. It wold be so easy. Just one perfectly placed kiss.

Morgause bowed again and the crowd erupted into cheers, making Morgana laugh and blush deeper. Not a one of them had the slightest inkling that she had lavished every inch of her champion’s skin with kisses in the low dawn light. Or that it was her who clothed her in steal and kissed her sword and lips for luck.

“It is rather… unique to have a woman as your champion, Your Highness,” Queen Isabella said kindly as Morgana retook her seat and Morgause moved to bow before her King.

“It is more than unique,” Mithian said with a catlike smile. She was mischief through and through, Morgana had decided. She liked that. “It is an act of pure brilliance that I for one will be emulating if we ever meet again in such a tournament. A man could never match a woman’s determination, quick wit or ruthlessness.”

Morgana smiled almost wickedly in response. She was going to enjoy Mithian’s company. “She is the finest Knight in Camelot. You may not want to come back for another go at her after she’s done with your Sir Vitus.”

“Precisely,” Mithian agreed. “Why send a man when a woman can do the job so much better? I fear Nemeth must give up all hopes of winning on the very first morning. Still, there is always next year. The winner is the competitor who plays the long game.”

She matched Morgana’s roguish smile and turned her eyes back to the arena. It was clear to Morgana that Mithian and Isabella’s words were said to prevent any of the other women making a derogatory remark. Morgana was well aware there had been whisperings of disapproval and amusement from nearly all of the other kingdoms, and any effort to keep the talk from her ears was very much appreciated. A Queen is bound to defend her champion with the ferocity of an icy wind, and that would not be good for interkingdom relations.

All eyes were on Morgause as the drum sounded and she put heal to horse, going from statue still to a full gallop – dust billowing in their wake. It would have been quite an impressive sight, Morgana thought, if she had not spent the previous two mornings watching her practice. All from the safety of her window, of course. Uther could not have her just wandering around.

As one smooth being, Knight and horse thundered up the length of the arena, rounded the corner and doubled back. The first part of the day was judged on horsemanship and each champion was required to show their ability to remain in control at great speeds. Far from being a nightmare, Morgause’s horse responded perfectly to her commands and they managed to score almost full points for their display. Morgana got to her feet to applaud her as Morgause stopped to again bow her head at the royal box to the roar of the crowd.

As Morgana retook her seat, her eyes still on Morgause’s retreating form, a sharp burning flashed over her belly from top to bottom. The sudden pain caught her by surprise, making her gasp and bite her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Are you quite well, my Queen?” Mithian asked, resting a concerned hand on Morgana’s arm. Her eyes were wide and fearful; her voice made it quite clear that she expected Morgana’s answer to be ‘no’.

“I am,” Morgana lied, grimacing. “I have been getting these little pains for the last few days. My midwife tells me it is quite normal and nothing to worry about. All in preparation, I am told.”

She noticed Queen Isabella eyeing the low swell of her stomach. When she made to meet Isabella’s gaze, the other woman looked back to the arena and the entrance of her own champion.

Sir Oswald made a fine display up until about half way through when he lost his footing in the stirrups and dropped his sword in an attempt to keep his balance. Mithian’s champion did rather better, matching Morgause’s score and delighting his Princess who jumped to her feet and cheered loudly for him. Morgana could not help but smile. She was beginning to wonder if there was something going on between Mithian and her young, swarthy champion from across the sea.

Before too long, it was Morgause’s turn in the arena again. This time she had to exhibit her accuracy with a lance. Mithian turned to Morgana and whispered some quite scandalous innuendo that insinuated Morgause was likely very skilled in the thrust of a lance. Morgana’s answering blush made Mithian laugh and pat her hand just as another pain struck her.

“Ah!” she cried, doubling over her belly and gritting her teeth. Within seconds the pain had subsided and she sat up in her seat, waving off Mithian’s concerns. The pain had been worse. She was sure of it. Every one was worse than the one before.

“My dear, I think you may need to retire to your lying-in room,” Isabella whispered kindly. “I am sure the Princess will be happy to escort you.”

“Nonsense, I shall be fine,” Morgana dismissed. It was too soon for the babes to come. She had only seen Amina that morning. “Besides, that would leave no one to look after Your Highnesses. We could not have that. Camelot will not be a bad hostess whilst I am her lady.”

Mithian smiled and squeezed her hand. There was deep kindness in her eyes that reminded Morgana of Gwen. But even with Mithian’s kindness, she would rather have Gwen be by her side to reassure her. But, alas, Uther had forbidden it. He would not have a girl who had been a servant take a seat amongst royalty. Even if she was supposed to be Morgana’s lady-in-waiting.

“We are adequately entertained, I assure you, Your Highness,” Isabella said with a smile. “We all have a knight in this here tournament. That is entertainment enough.”

“Quite,” Mithian agreed. Her attention turned to the arena as her champion entered. She could not hide her excitement.

For a while, they fell silent again, all watching their respective champions. Two hours passed and Morgana’s pains came more and more frequently. She was starting to panic.

“Your Highness,” she addressed Queen Isabella, “do you perhaps think that…”

“I do, Morgana,” Isabella confirmed calmly. “I think it may be time to appeal to your husband to excuse you for the day.”

Morgana’s heart quickened and her cheeks paled.

“Let me,” Mithian offered, leaving no time for Morgana to refuse as she swiftly got to her feet and wove her way to the King.

Morgana bit her lip and waited. She could not believe it when Uther stood and made his way to her side, kneeling before her.

“Is this right, Morgana, what the Princess tells me?” he asked, laying his hand on her belly.

She nodded.

Smiling, he brushed his hand over her cheek. “Good girl. This is one way of taking the people’s attention off of their pretender of a Knight, I suppose. Off to your chambers. I want my son in my arms before the day is done.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Morgana promised, nodding her head meekly. She was too afraid and the audience too unfamiliar for her to be defiant. “Might I be so bold as to ask a favour of you, good husband?”

His gaze remained steady, telling her that he would consider it.

“Send our champion to me as soon as you can spare her? I know that she cannot protect me from this but…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes pleadingly.

He smiled as if she was ten again and begging for a maid to sleep beside her to ward off the frights of the night.

“When she is done,” he agreed.

~*~

Fire burned at Morgana’s cheeks as she bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment, holding up her dress and gazing down at the ruined rug. She looked up at Gwen like a little girl who had wet the bed.

“Sorry.”

Gwen giggled, watching Morgana’s feet squish up and down. It was too comical, even with her worry. “You needn’t apologise to me. I’ll have Emilie clean it. Ladies-in-waiting do not do the laundry.” Morgana did not look any less ashamed. Gwen smiled. “But they do give hugs.” She opened her arms. “Come here.”

With one last look at the rug and still hitching up her dress, Morgana waddled squelchily over to her friend, allowing herself to be hugged.

“Hush, now,” Gwen soothed as Morgana started to weep, “all will be over soon and you will have your babes in your arms.”

“But what if I cannot do it?” Morgana breathed fearfully. “What if I cannot bear the pain or what if they just cry and I cannot make them stop? What if I die? What if they die?”

“Hush,” Gwen quieted, holding Morgana at arm’s length.

“I need her,” Morgana whimpered.

Gwen smiled and brushed Morgana’s hair back out of her face. “I know.”

~*~

With a few words of praise in her ancestral tongue and a soothing pat to the neck, Morgause bid Nightmare farewell for the night and jogged out of the stables. All in all, the first day of the tournament had been a successful one. She had taken the early lead and would enter tomorrow’s hand to hand combat round with the highest score, giving her the advantage of picking their weapon. It would be the sword - that great leveller of men. With maces or battle-axes she would be easily outmatched by her competitors strength. But with a sword in her hand, she could lead them on a merry –

“Morgause.”

Morgause’s chain of thought was abruptly cut off by the sound of the King’s voice.

“Your Highness,” she spluttered. Her surprise made her bow unsteady. Why had the King come to talk to her? And what was he doing in the stable block? Surely even he could not be disappointed with her performance.

“The Queen has requested you attend her in her chambers,” Uther proclaimed, his words clipped with annoyance at being the messenger. “She…” He seemed unable to find the words. “My lady wife is to give me my son tonight.”

Morgause felt like someone had dropped a cold stone down through her belly.

“Come,” the King commanded.

PART 2

A Memory to Light the Dark (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 13:51:54 GMT

Title: A Memory to Light the Dark
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13 (references to current abuse and a fragile state of mind)
Word Count: 2,366
Summary: Morgana escapes into her mind to block out the horrors of her captivity. She finds something there that she had forgotten entirely - her last remaining good memory.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Sometimes, Morgana tries to remember the last time that she was truly happy. It makes her laugh that she never can quite conjure up a suitable memory. Oh there were good times with Morgause, to be sure, but never true unadulterated happiness. Her soul was far too damaged for that by then, even she had known that. So she would have to search farther back in the stacks of shelves where she kept her most precious memories – both pleasant and foul – in little glass bottles. She wondered if everything that had happened over the past few years might not have jolted and smashed the bottles with the best memories, letting them escape in exhaled breaths and evaporate into the air. If that were true, many must have gone that way of late – what with all the beatings and the taunting and…

No. She would not think on that. Better go back to searching the shelves instead. There must be one memory left that she would not mind revisiting. One that had not bolted.

Along the dark and dusty rows she wandered, skimming her fingers over the hard, splintered wood – searching. Flashes of things she would rather forget – but knows that she must not – flittered through her mind as she went.

She sees her old governess with a letter clutched in her wrinkled hands, about to destroy her entire world with the news of her father’s death.

Then there’s Arthur – proud and stupid at twelve – pushing her in the mud and kicking it up into her face for the affront of beating him at swordplay.

Next there is Morgause, her saviour, lying broken and twisted on the stone floor – blood flowering around her head in a halo.

Then there is Uther, a man not fit to be her father, denying her as his daughter.

A vision comes next, of Arthur leaning in to kiss his…

She cuts that one off before it can get any further. Despite what everyone seems to think, she does have some control left, if only of her mind. And she does not want to see that again.

On the thousandth row, on the bottom far right shelf, she sees something shimmering. It’s a good one. The others are all grey and dull.

Hitching up her dress, she peers down at the dusty little thing – a memory long forgotten. A memory in hiding. Cautiously, she reaches out for it, taking it by the thin neck rising from the round and swollen bottom. Taking in a musty breath, she blows off the dust, sending it up into the air to make herself cough. Holding it at arm’s length, she gazes into the swirling milky substance inside, trying to make out what memory it holds. It is a futile endeavour. She knows this is only a façade. There isn’t even a bottle at all. Or an endless room full of shelves. Staring at in this form can tell her nothing. But there is a memory. She has it in her hands.

With one quick look into the darkness around her – watching for the things that prowl about in there, inside her mind, hunting her – she pulled out the stopper and drank.

The instant it touches her tongue, she is pulled violently from the confines of her own mind and into that of another Morgana. The one they had called a Lady.

She opens her eyes, seeing not her dark and wretched prison but a lake on a summer’s day -midsummer’s day and Calwynia Lake, the one where the merfolk lived in her mother’s stories.

“I cannot see them,” someone declares lightly beside her. It is a steady and kind feminine voice that she knows very well. Or at least she did.

When she looks, she sees Gwen standing on the edge of the lake in a lilac dress – her hair having been pinned up hours before is now falling down in a few wispy ringlets around her face. She is smiling, her cheeks flushed and full. Her eyes are cast down into the still and clear water, searching for something that she does not believe was there. Still, she looks happy. Carefree.

“Are you sure?” asks the Lady in whose mind Morgana resides. The body she has no control over stepps closer to Gwen, slipping an arm around her waist on the pretence of steadying her to lean further over the water.

A soft exhalation gave away Gwen’s smile. “Quite sure, my Lady. Maybe they only reveal themselves to noble eyes.”

So the smile was teasing then. She could tell by her tone.

The Lady Morgana snorts in a way that just manages to remain ladylike, and turns her face into Gwen’s neck. “Nonsense. You are the noblest soul that has ever lived. And besides, the merfolk do not hold with the artificial constructs of men.”

Gwen laughs, but not unkindly. “The ‘artificial constructs of men’? This is why the King declared you overeducated at the age of eleven. What does it mean, anyway?”

“That class is not real. It is not inherent in nature. Men created it so that they could have power and others could not. Class does not determine the true worth of an individual person, just the worth that those in power assign to them. In essence, we are all born equal and it is only the dictations of men that make us otherwise.”

“Oh,” Gwen responds, pretending to understand. She thinks that Morgana is trying to say that it does not matter that they are a Lady and her maid – they are equal really, inside their hearts and souls. Gwen lets herself believe it, just for the afternoon. Then she will have to go back to her small, under furnished house and face reality. Morgana knows that, even though the woman whose mind she is in does not.

“I still can’t see them,” Gwen laughs after a moment, weary of such deep conversation. Today was to be a day of gaiety and escapism, not social commentary.

“Maybe,” Morgana whispers against the warm shell of her ear, “you should take a closer look.”

Feeling it objectively this time, Morgana knows that Gwen has tensed against her even before she has finished her sentence. She knows what is coming. She intended upon it. It makes Morgana muse on how clever she was, as they fall into the lake. Not the learned sort of clever that she herself was back then. The other sort. The natural sort where she seems to perceive things others do not. Shame it does her no good in the long run. Still, it shows that she had a point by the lake – class really is just something invented.

The water is crystal clear – too clear, she must be remembering it wrong… or maybe there were merfolk in that lake – and she holds her breath to see Gwen’s skirts billowing in a breeze of bubbles. Her slim legs are kicking lazily. When the Lady lifts her eyes from the rose petals of Gwen’s dress, Morgana sees that Gwen is watching her too – an adoring smile upon her face.

They surface then, when the moment of held gazes is finally broken. Gasping, both of them. And giggling. Morgana does not remember ever giggling. Then again, she has not remembered this either. It is tucked away on the bottom shelf, covered in dust and forgotten.

For an indeterminable period of time, they play at splashing each other, circling, giggling. Morgana starts to forget where she really is and becomes this other her who is hopelessly in love and happier than she will ever be again.

On the bank, they giggle some more and strip off their heavy overdresses to ward off the cold – sneaking glimpses of each other out of the corners of their eyes. Morgana can feel the Lady’s heart thundering.

“We should get back,” she suggests in tone that begs to be contradicted. She is unbuttoning the top buttons of her shift to get the wet material off her neck, so it is plain that she is not yet ready to leave. She could not risk being seen on the forest paths attired so scandalously. Morgana screams for the Lady to look up, giggling to herself. She is remembering this now. Gwen is about to appear right in front of her – of them.

“Or we could stay a while,” Gwen proposes, challenging Morgana’s judgement uncharacteristically, her blush belying her nerves. Their eyes meet and they laugh. They both know that neither of them wants to leave.

Morgana can feel the Lady biting her lip anxiously.

“We could… Erm… We could…” those bitten lips babble. She had begun the sentence hoping that it would finish itself. It doesn’t. She cannot say what she wants.

Gwen nodded, biting her own lip and smiling. She understands regardless of Morgana’s inability to say it. “We could,” she agreed.

Giggling, the Lady steps back for no reason other than it is something to do. Morgana gasps as she stumbles on a tree root and they go tumbling backwards. She braces herself for the blow that does not come.

Gwen reaches out and catches her. And now they are standing very close. And they are giggling again.

It is Gwen who moves this time, stepping forward with her Lady’s arm still in her grasp. Morgana can feel the tree at their back as she is gently pressed against it and she realises that their giggles have suddenly stopped.

She definitely remembers this now. It is the first time they-

And now Gwen is kissing her, her lips cold from the lake and slippery wet. Neither of them have done it before and it is a bit… inelegant. They do not know when to breathe or how to get their lips to move together just so. They will perfect it – at least Morgana thinks they do. It does not really matter that their technique is not perfect this first time. It is perfection just the same. Gwen is bold and parts her lips, provoking a mirrored movement from her shocked Lady. Morgana feels Gwen’s tongue shyly touch the Lady’s lips and slip inside. She feels the body around her shiver with startled delight and, after an achingly long few seconds, she is reciprocating – chasing Gwen’s tongue back into its own mysterious home and making her own discoveries there.

The Lady’s arm is still bent in between them and Morgana realises that her fingers are a hair’s width from the underside of Gwen’s breasts. The realisation startles the Lady – who seems to have at that moment noticed the same thing – and she pulls her arm away and down to Gwen’s waist, curling around her like it did on the edge of the lake. Gwen smiles against her lips and the kiss turns more playful and less unsure. Encouraged, young, naïve Morgana holds Gwen to her with both arms, her hands finding the concave curve of Gwen’s elegant back. The older Morgana slowly remembers what the rest of Gwen’s curves feel like under her palms. She remembers the soft yet firm flesh of her breasts and buttocks; her pliant and slightly rounded stomach; her muscled shoulders, legs and upper arms; the long, taut stem of her neck; the flowing curve of her spine. This Morgana will not learn of those things for a while yet. They are young now and too timid to let passion into their kiss lest it carry them too far. Eventually though, on Gwen’s birthday a year down the line, she will ask the Lady she loves to share everything with her. And though they will be as shy on that day as they are kissing today, Morgana knows if not entirely remembers that it will be wonderful.

When they brake apart from that first kiss, she feels her lip being bitten again by the Lady and there is some more giggling. Gwen reaches out to take her hand and they try to meet each other’s eyes without blushing.

That is where the memory fades, dissolving into the blackness of the stacks. Pulling a gasp from her as it leaves, the memory flows out of her mouth and spirals back into its bottle. She stoppers it hurriedly. She does not want to risk forgetting it. Not this memory. Her last good one. Her first kiss.

With more care than she has shown anything since Morgause died, Morgana places the little shimmering bottle back down on the bottom shelf, before snatching it up again. On the shelf it could easily go the way of the others. Instead, she gets to her feet, cradling the bottle, and makes her way over to a gilded chest that she has never noticed before.

On the chest’s lid is some sort of coat of arms – a hammer and anvil, with a spray of wildflowers bursting up from a struck blade like they are sparks. She remembers vaguely having drawn it herself years before – remembering one memory seems to be unlocking flickers of others – when Gwen had been upset and Morgana had been in possession of a new inkpot and quill. They had been eleven and fourteen, she and Gwen, and Gwen’s brother had just left home. They had pretended to both be knights that day and that coat of arms had been fixed to Gwen’s makeshift shield.

“Keep it safe for me. Just this one,” she whispers into the cushiony darkness of the chest, before closing it and sealing the dream inside, somehow believing that she is entrusting the memory to Gwen, hoping that her mind was stable enough to hold it without letting it shatter. She knows that the whole mess that was her mind could come crashing down and this memory would be safe inside its impenetrable chest – inside Gwen. Nothing could touch it. Gwen wouldn’t let it.

Bending down, Morgana kisses the dark polished wood and presses her cheek against it. Sorrowfully, she gets up and turns her back on it, walking away into the darker darkness, feeling her body solidify and her wounds burn with pain. She could visit it again, but for now she needed to face reality – everyone needed to, every once in a while.

At My Most Beautiful (25/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 18:02:03 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (25/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9,000 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: With Morgause absent both emotionally and physically, Morgana risks revealing their relationship to one person and her magic to another.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Morgause woke before sunrise the next morning with none of the feeling that had so overwhelmed her the night before. Her heart seemed not to beat at all and she felt quite hollow. Desiccated. She could not bear to lie like that beside Morgana who was so contented, so warm and full. She had slept soundly, whilst Morgause’s nightmares had eaten her from the inside out.

At the window out of which she had so often watched the city stir, she could get no solace. She did not feel the cold of the stone on her bare thighs when she dropped onto it, seeming to go from standing to sitting without the bit in-between. Hours passed in what appeared to be minutes. They must have, for it was fully light when Morgana called to her from the bed.

“You ought to have woken me with you,” Morgana susurrated, her voice heavy with sleep. She looked like the nameless earth goddess on that bed – naked and rounded and soft. Where this sight would have stirred her deeply once, still Morgause felt nothing.

“You need your sleep,” Morgause reasoned, hoping to sound compassionate. She certainly wanted to feel compassionate. She loved this woman in front of her more than she had ever thought it possible to love a person, yet she could feel none of it. None.

Morgana smiled indulgently, unaware of her love’s troubles. “Everyone is telling me what I need and no one is listening to what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

Dipping her head, Morgana blushed and smiled, as if what she wanted was the most obvious thing in the world. Her smile brightened when she looked back up to Morgause – seeing her Knight haloed in the window, long golden hair falling over her breasts to her newly muscled stomach.

“You, of course. I want you,” Morgana said, half laughing and half dreamily whispering. She felt like she was in her own fantasy.

Morgause was acutely aware that if ever there had been a time since she awoke to feel something, then that would have been the moment. Nothing.

Hoping to hide her indifference from Morgana, she smiled – in a way she knew from the past was at least somewhat convincing – and subtly changed the subject. “But you see, I have a pressing engagement to fulfil – or rather procure – this morn. I cannot lounge about in bed.”

Looking confused, Morgana asked, “If you already have the engagement, then surely you would not need to procure it.”

Her eyes sparkled, pleased at her cleverness at seeing the nonsense in Morgause’s words.

At that, Morgause laughed – though she felt no mirth – and rose from her icy window seat. “Then what I should have said, is that I have a pressing need and am in want of someone to fulfil it.”

Morgana smiled, catlike. “Whatever need you have, I can fulfil it.”

“I need a haircut.”

This was greeted with silence. Silence and disappointment.

“But it is so pretty!” Morgana gushed in astonished outrage. If she could have leapt to her feet and run her fingers through it – in what was looking like one of her last opportunities to do so – she would have. Unfortunately, the twins did not really allow for leaping. She was wont to topple over.

Morgause felt a flicker of… something… but it was gone as soon as it appeared. She could well have imagined it.

“Why would you grow it just to cut it!” Morgana continued. The fact that Morgause had grown her hair almost down to her waist whilst away and was now proposing cutting it off had her rather outraged. She had not had the opportunity to enjoy it. As much as feeling Morgause’s enlarged muscles had made her stomach flutter when she ghosted her fingers over them, she had also swooned to see such long, beautiful hair. She had dreamt of watching her fight in the tourney arena with her hair flowing and enchanting as she metaphorically slew her opponent.

“When at war, my father would refuse to cut his hair as a symbol of his grief at being parted from my mother. Only when he returned to her would he allow it to be cut,” Morgause explained, sensing that she was doing the tale an injustice for lack of embellishment. Despite her inadequate retelling, Morgana’s eyes dampened and shone.

“You… You did this out of… Out of something for me?”

Again, Morgause felt a flicker. “Devotion. Love. For those reasons, I did this for you. I missed you every moment of every day we were parted, and yet I could not have borne for you to be in a place so wretched at a time so wretched.”

She realised this was the first time she had hinted to the negatives of the war. Not that she thought Morgana dim enough to not know of their existence. More that she did not wish to highlight them, lest her peculiarly empty state of being be revealed. This was her problem. She would not burden anyone else with it, especially not Morgana.

Silence stretched as Morgana’s mouth formed an elongated ‘O’ of surprise or something like it.

“Who cut your father’s hair?” she asked in what sounded like a hopeful tone.

“My mother,” Morgause answered before she realised where this was going.

“Then I will call for scissors and you can instruct me on your preferred length,” Morgana said, simultaneously decisive and wary of being rejected. If Morgause had one fault in their relationship, it was that she – like everyone else at court – sometimes seemed to regard Morgana as less capable than she was.

“Morgana, you really do not have to-”

“Your father’s wife did it for him, please do not deny me the honour of doing this small duty for you.” Morgana’s plea was so impassioned that it gave Morgause hope. If anything could fill her emptiness, it would be Morgana’s insatiable love and her desire to be everything for her.

“Of course it must be you,” Morgause conceded, sitting beside Morgana on the bed and taking her hands. She kissed them both, wishing she could muster the feeling to kiss her lips. They had always seemed softest and plumpest in the morning, she recalled. “Forgive me?”

Morgana’s smile said that she would always forgive her, no matter what her crime.

*~*

The scissors promptly arrived, clutched in Gwen’s worn hands. She smiled reassuringly at Morgause and assured her of Morgana’s at least basic competence at cutting hair – her having cut Gwen’s after her father had died, when there was no one left at home to do it for her. The arrangement had not lasted long, but long enough for Morgana to become quite competent. Morgause thought about that as she sat on a dining chair that was positioned centrally in the largest room of Morgana’s chambers, in the middle of a shaft of sunlight that caught the dust in the air and made it glitter. She wondered if Gwen had sat just here and wondered what she and Morgana had talked of. Had Gwen instructed her? That seemed unlikely. Had they discussed other things? Frivolous things? Serious things?

Morgause could not think of one sincere thing to say.

“I shall plait it first, I think,” Morgana said decidedly, as though she did this for a profession or at least as a hobby. Not that Morgause could imagine anyone doing that. There was no need for it, surely? But then again, there was no need in alehouses, and those were quite a money earner in the right pair of hands. Or at least she must suppose, from their being always so busy.

“Whatever you think well,” Morgause agreed, knowing as soon as she said it that she sounded dense and not one bit like herself.

Morgana’s fingers slipped into her hair, first just combing it, feeling it, then dividing it into two at her parting.

“Such beautiful hair you have,” Morgana complimented, her voice suggesting that she was smiling. “I could run my fingers though this golden silk all day and never get tired of it slipping cool and soft between my fingers.”

“It is more nuisance to me than anything else. I would cut it all off if it did not make me look like a boy.”

Morgana laughed, her voice bright and rolling like hills in sunlight. “Nothing could make you look like a boy. Not even if I cut all your hair off and bound your breasts. No boy has eyes like yours or skin so soft. No boy has lips so flushed and tender or beauty so radiant. Even in full armour, you shine brightly as the finest and most lovely woman in the room. On the tourney field you dance around you opponents. No one could look at you and think you a boy.”

Morgause’s lips smiled of their own accord. Evidently they had felt some emotion that her heart had not. “You know, I worried at first that you loved me only because you saw me as a charming Knight.”

“Nonsense. I could not have loved you if you were any other Knight,” Morgana assured her, sounding hurt at Morgause’s admission. “Not the way that I love you.”

Morgause bit her tongue, admonishing herself but unable to apologise. She would not have been able to mean it, not properly, and Morgana would surely hear something missing in her voice. It was only a while later, when her intricate plait was compete, that she realised that she should have told Morgana that she loved her too.

“You could wear it like this,” Morgana suggested after a long silence. “I need not cut it at all. I could braid it for you instead – have a chain of vine leaves made to weave into it, show every enemy you face that you have my favour and so cannot lose.”

“A lovely thought,” Morgause conceded. “Nevertheless, you must cut it. For tradition’s sake at least.”

“Fine then,” Morgana said huffily, clearly unhappy with the woman perched on the chair in front of her. She had been standing far too long and her back radiated pain. A little gratefulness would not go amiss. To spite her lover, she snipped off the loose hair at the end of the braid and would cut no more.

*~*

Despite her failing empathy, Morgause could not help but notice that Morgana was peeved and best left alone. Morgause sent for a guard and told Morgana that she was going to visit her family, and that she was not invited. Truth be told, she was disappointed in Morgana. She had expected more understanding from her. A woman who had lost her father to war should know enough of its terrors to allow Morgause some fault of character upon her return. Evidently, carrying Uther’s babes had robbed her of her sweet sensibilities. It was easier to at least pretend to blame him.

The walk to her uncle’s house did nothing to relieve her disdain for Morgana’s mood. It did, however, allow her the time to put it to the back of her head and focus on appearing normal for the children’s’ sake. She was on her way to see her Eleanor, her Ellie, whose eyes she had not looked into for a very long time. Surely she could stir in her what had been missing.

“Aunt Morgause!” the child cried as soon as she knocked on the door. Looking up, Morgause saw her hanging out of the first floor window. “Catch me!”

Morgause’s eyes widened, but she had no time to let worry enter her mind as Eleanor leapt from the window and came tumbling down into her arms.

“You’re back!” Ellie shrieked excitedly, peppering Morgause’s face with damp kisses, giggling all the while.

“Eleanor!” came Flor’s stern voice from the newly opened door. Morgause could not see her for kisses. “Was lying unconscious in bed for weeks not enough a drain on my nerves that now you have to launch yourself out of windows to fray them further?”

Ellie bit her lip and grinned before turning around in Morgause’s arms to face her mother’s wrath. She was no stranger to tellings off. She was the wild Wilde. Flor said it was Morgause’s fault, though Morgause quietly believed Rivalen to be more to blame than her. He was the one who had invented tree hopping as a sport. She had merely partaken. Granted, she had been the first to put a bow in the girl’s hands, but she could never have foreseen the squirrel incident.

Both blondes gave Flor puppydog eyes and matching pouts.

“You’re nothing but trouble, Euraid-Geneth,” Flor admonished fondly, using her old nickname for her friend. Morgause had been the golden girl of their magic community in Camelot before The Great Purge, with her easy flare for magic and the natural strength of it running through her. “And that look stopped working on me years ago.”

Morgause stepped over the threshold, into the only place she could be completely herself. Ellie wriggled from her grasp just in time to avoid the crushing hug that her mother wrapped her aunt in.

“Do not dare leave us again. I could not bear the worry,” Flor whispered in her ear, squeezing her tighter. She turned her head to kiss Morgause’s cheek tenderly. “Now go and sit at the table whilst I fetch some winter fruit pie.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Shut up,” Flor said, slapping her arm and kissing her cheek again.

*~*

“Amina is here to see you, “Emilie announced primly, walking in on Morgana and Gwen taking lunch. “She is setting up in your bedroom.”

Morgana looked apologetically at her friend for having to cut short their meal.

“I was going to go down into the market, anyway,” Gwen assured her. “I have something on order with the weaver.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Morgana said, though they both knew that Amina could not be dissuaded when she decided that Morgana needed an examination.

“Morgana!” Amina called from the other room, completely unfazed by Morgana’s station.

Gwen smiled almost mischievously. “Good luck.”

Morgana sighed and hid her face in her hands. It had been a decidedly less than perfect day, and she had the feeling that it was about to get worse.

Amina called for her again.

*~*

“I like your hair,” Ellie declared, playing with the braid she had pulled over Morgause’s shoulder. “It’s very pretty. Did the Queen do it? Mother said that you live with the Queen now to protect her. When is she having the babe? Will we get to see it? Is your hair longer?”

Morgause waited for a moment to collect the answers in the right order. “Yes, soon, maybe and yes.”

Ellie looked up with a frown. “Why ‘maybe’?”

“Eleanor!” Flor admonished.

“Because,” Morgause began, poking Ellie’s stomach gently to make her giggle, “they cannot leave the castle until they’re bigger. But maybe we can sneak you in to see them.”

“Them?!”

“Ah, yes. We think there might be two of them. A boy and a girl.” Morgause smiled. She could almost feel something again. Ellie was certainly a suitable distraction – wide-eyed and giggly on her knee. “And before you ask: No, you cannot name them.”

“Why did you not ride Dream here?” Ellie asked, making the mental leap. “I have not seen her in so long and we do not have a horse to ride. I am definitely big enough.”

And then it hit her: grief, raw and un-tempered. The emptiness inside her was suddenly filled with a hot, salty ocean that threatened to come spilling out of her. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She had not let herself think on Dream, lest she remember the moment she had been taken from her. It had been brutal. The man responsible had lost his sword hand for it and then his life.

“Ellie, there is something I need to tell you.”

All of a sudden, the little girl’s face became very serious. Children were more perceptive than adults gave them credit for.

“That is what Father says when something bad has happened and I just do not know about it yet.”

Morgause nodded and brushed Ellie’s golden hair out of her face. A tear fell from her cheek to Ellie’s. Then another. And another. “Dream… Dream could not…” She did not manage to get the words out before the trickle of tears turned into a flood.

“She died,” Ellie whispered, heartbroken, her head bowing.

“I am so, so sorry,” Morgause croaked, disgusted in herself for so failing this perfect little girl whom she loved so much.

Ellie’s arms went around her neck and she hugged her almost as tight as her mother had. “It’s okay. I can help you find a new horse. And if father says I can borrow his pigments, I can make you a picture of her.”

When Morgause only cried harder, Ellie bit her lip and snuggled into Morgause’s neck, squeezing her harder.

*~*

“You are growing fast,” Amina commented, removing the measurement ribbon from Morgana’s stomach and noting the diameter in her book. She straightened and began pressing her hands against the Queen’s swollen middle, finding both babes. “At this rate, you might have them in your arms quicker than we thought.”

Morgana, about to voice her approval at that, shut her mouth and blushed when Amina’s hands came up to her breasts.

“What are you-”

“I have to check that you are developing right and that there aren’t any lumps that could become abscesses. Sometimes there are blockages. Has there been any tenderness?” Amina asked, her tone all business. It made Morgana uneasy. She had had only one maid her entire life and – but for the time after Morgana’s coronation – Gwen had never been formal with her when they were alone. Formality reminded her of Uther.

“A little,” she answered, blushing deeper when she recalled Morgause’s hands, lips and tongue on her the night before. She had never felt the like of it before. “They are more sensitive. Sometimes that hurts.”

“Is there anywhere in particular that hurts?”

Morgana shook her head, trying to shake off the memory of her Knight worshiping her breasts, murmuring appreciation for their new form. It was proving to be a hard recollection to forget, and Morgana was glad for the cold already having hardened her nipples. She did not think she could have stood the embarrassment. Amina was sure to take it the wrong way.

“Good. What about milk? Any sign of that making an early appearance?”

Morgana’s eyes widened when she contemplated with horror what might have happened if any of… that had appeared when Morgause took her to bed the night before.

“No! Will it?” she asked, her mouth hanging open in shock whilst she waited for her answer.

“It may. Many of the women I have cared for have experienced it, though I myself did not with my daughter. It is nothing to worry about if you do see some. There will not be much.” Amina lifted her eyes from Morgana’s breasts and smiled at her horror-struck expression. “Still, it might be best to wear a thicker underdress in case you are in public and it happens.”

Unable to speak, Morgana nodded dumbly.

“Now,” Amina continued, taking a step back and fixing Morgana with a quite terrifying gaze – like that of a governess, “I dare say, from you not being in tears in bed, that your Knight has come home safely.”

Fear flashed in her belly. She nodded.

Amina’s eyes left hers for a moment, going to the bedside table and back to her. Morgana turned to see that the woman’s gaze had gone to the gold lock of hair she had tied with a ribbon and planned to make a keepsake of. Her skin flamed a brilliant fiery cold and her knees went weak.

“Is she gentler than your husband, or do I have to have words with her too?” Amina asked, voice carefully neutral.

“I…” Morgana’s mouth was dry and she could not breathe, never mind turn back around again. She felt her magic – or was that the babes’ magic? When had she started thinking of it as her own? – bubbling up in her chest and tingling at her fingertips.

“I saw only one Knight with hair like that as the feast last night. There is no point in denying it,” Amina continued, taking a step towards her.

The movement made Morgana jump and whirl around, her fear rising to terror. The world blurred and heat roared at her side, glittering.

Amina screamed as fire crackled into existence in mid-air, suspended by wild magic and fear alone. It bloomed and flickered, and Morgana, terrified, backed away.

“It’s alright!” Amina tried to shout over the noise of the blaze. “Do not be afraid. I can tame it. Just step back and try to keep your magic under control.”

At that moment, Gwen came hurrying in – not having left yet at all. Her eyes went from the fire to Morgana, seeing her absolute, abject fear. Ignoring the blaze, she ran to her side, taking her in her arms and shielding the commotion from her view.

Morgana, her whole world falling apart, was overcome and fainted. Only by some miracle did Gwen hold her weight.

~*~

Morgause’s tears were finally drying when Rivalen and Tristan returned from their fishing trip. The young boy ran to meet his aunt, proudly presenting her with the fish he had caught in her honour. He seemed to have so grown up in her absence that Morgause almost wanted to cry again, but then he clambered up onto her knee, one arm going around her neck as he laid his head on her chest, quite content. Perhaps things had not changed so much after all. She lifted her eyes from the little boy in her arms to his father, who watched them from the shadows of the kitchen with a small smile, nodding his welcome.

After the dinner had been eaten and the children put to bed, Flor excused herself to the kitchen and left Morgause and Rivalen alone beside the fire. She had never been one for subtlety and they both knew that they would be in trouble if they had not talked by the time she returned.

“The war has taken its toll on you,” Rivalen said quietly after a long, almost awkward stretch of silence. “I have known you since the hour of your birth and never once have I seen your eyes so lifeless. Not even after your father died.”

Morgause hung her head, ashamed.

“Tell me what happened. You know that I will take every one of your secrets to my grave. I will not even tell Flor, I promise you.” He reached out to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know that I could never replace your father, but it is my duty to you to try. I love you as much as I love Eleanor and Tristan, and seeing you so in turmoil pains me as greatly as any illness or injury they have taken – and Eleanor has had more than her fair share of those.”

When the firelight flickered to illuminate Morgause’s face, it showed tracks of tears running down her cheeks. Slowly and warily, she told him everything. She told him of the battles and how she had been called ‘hero’. She told him of the boys not so very older than Tristan who had fallen by her side and how she could do nothing to protect them, and how that did not stop their faces haunting her dreams. She told him how that had been bearable until Edwin, and how that had made her feel even worse. She told him about Edwin’s threat and how he had come so close to carrying it through. She told him how worthless it had made her feel and how she could never think of herself as a Knight again – not after how starkly her weaknesses had been exposed.

Then she told him of Edwin’s death at her hands and how void it had left her.

“Who else have you told of this?” Rivalen asked when she was done, his face contorted with worry. She had pulled her hand from his grip and he ached to reach out and take it again. Or else take her in his arms. But she was too old for that now and he feared that she would see it as condescending.

“My brothers know a little but none knows everything,” Morgause admitted, staring unseeing into the fire. “Not even my commander.”

Rivalen sighed, gearing up enough courage to ask his next question. “What about the Queen? If you can find peace in anyone, it will be her.”

“How long have you known?” Morgause asked, unsurprised. Rivalen and Flor knew of her inclinations and even the children at least partially understood. As she had told Morgana, it had not been uncommon amongst the followers of the Old Religion and though she had to hide it from Camelot’s society, the rules changed once she stepped over her uncle’s threshold. She had always been free in his house. That he had guessed of her attachment to Morgana was, therefore, always inevitable.

“Since first I saw you two together. Flor and I knew instantly. She has visited us countless times since you left, and even though she does not speak of your connection, she has shown her grief at your parting and her fondness for you. It would be impossible for her to hide that, I think.” He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands in his lap. “I cannot pretend that I think her the safest choice for you, nor that I would not rather you settled with someone else. Someone safer. But you cannot help who you fall in love with – Gods know that I could not help but love Flor, despite the difference in our years – and our Ellie would be gone from us, I fear, without her help.”

Morgause smiled faintly, remembering both Rivalen’s romance of Flor and Morgana’s charity. “You should have seen how impassioned she was in demanding the physician’s presence. She sent the letter that very night and could not sleep for worry.”

“She has a bold and kind heart,” Rivalen agreed. “Camelot has never loved a Queen so ardently. Nor has any other Queen deserved such love.”

Morgause’s smile grew a little. “And I would wager that no Queen has ever loved her people more.”

“That is the first time I have seen you smile – when you are talking about her. Not even Ellie’s antics could raise one during dinner.”

The smile flickered and went out. “She deserves better than me.”

Rivalen frowned. “How can you say that? Would you not die for her?”

“Instantly,” Morgause enthused. “And without a thought.”

“Would you willingly be parted from her?” Rivalen continued, a smile playing on his lips.

“Never,” Morgause whispered, her eyes full of pain at the thought.

“What would you do for her?”

“Anything. Everything,” Morgause murmured, her eyes still on the fire, willing some of its heat into her heart.

“Would you ever hurt her?” Rivalen asked finally, though he was already satisfied that she deserved all of Morgana’s love. No one could love so fiercely as a Wilde. History had proved that.

“No!” Morgause exclaimed, turning fiery eyes on her uncle. “Never! I would rather die than lay a finger on her, rather take my own life than cause her sadness or pain!”

“Then you are more than deserving,” Rivalen avowed. She sighed and again looked away. “Morgause, if I might be so bold, allow me to point out your great weakness.”

“Why not. I will not feel it.”

Rivalen clenched his jaw and continued. “You forget that you have royal blood in your veins and the Gods’ gift of magic in you. You are a daughter of the Old Religion and boast the strongest magic in a generation. You were born to be a High Priestess and yet all you see yourself as is a peasant unworthy of a Queen’s love.”

“I cannot practice, Rivalen, you know that,” Morgause murmured wearily. “If any of us were to then…”

“I am not telling you to practice. Gods forgive me, I beg you not to. If the King knew you had the means to wield magic, then we would all of us lose our lives. What I ask is for you to let who you truly are into your heart. Our family may be a shadow of what it once was, but it will not forever be that way. You are a fine match for a Queen, especially a Le Fay. They broke their ties with the Old Religion and suffered for it with the loss of their magic – you know the tale. That the Queen has opened herself to you will please the Gods. Perhaps even enough to forget their forsaking of this land and our two families.”

Something tingled beneath Morgause’s skin, kindling her magic. She brushed her hands over her arms and shivered. “She does not seem to know of her family’s history. The Le Fay’s have been Christian for too long. Of the faith of her mother’s family, she seems to know naught. I feel like a traitor in her bed for keeping it from her, but it is not my place to tell her.”

“It is not your place to withhold it from her either,” Flor said from the doorway. Morgause turned to see her illuminated in the firelight, her expression firm. “Surely she must get enough of that from the men of court.”

Shame prickled hot over Morgause’s body, making her squirm. “She does.”

“Then tell her,” Rivalen entreated. “Tell her of your pain and her inheritance.”

She couldn’t. Not until she had the babes safe in her arms. A few more weeks of ignorance were worth keeping Morgana from worry whilst she was so taxed, so vulnerable. At least she hoped that Morgana would see it that way.

~*~

Three weeks passed with the only real connection between Queen and Knight coming when they were stripped of their clothes and passion overcame them. In that, they were closer than ever. Morgana seemed to sense Morgause’s distance and gave herself over more completely to her, whispering adorations with every kiss, every touch. Even when it became increasingly uncomfortable, she would not deter her Morgause, whose wanting seemed greater than ever, needing to be satisfied every night. It was all worth it for those few moments of closeness afterwards. Morgause would smile, tell her she loved her and kiss her like everything was perfect. It wasn’t.

“I do not know what to do,” Morgana confessed to her lady-in-waiting. Gwen was accompanying her for lunch whilst Morgause was summoned to her commander. It was the first time they had been alone since the fire. “It is like she is not there. Like she stayed behind on the battlefield and all that has returned to me is the vacant shell. I feel like a failure for not being able to make her feel better. But then I feel just like Uther, for making every issue about myself.”

“You should talk to her about it,” Gwen encouraged. “Make her connect with you. You are the one she loves. She chooses to be with you. If anyone can help her, it is you.”

Morgana did not know what she would do if she could not. The magic in her babes grew with them. By the time, in four or five years, they had matured enough for it to make itself known, they would need Morgause to guide them.

“May I… May I ask you something?” Gwen asked tentatively, as if knowing where Morgana’s thoughts lingered.

“Anything, you know that.”

“The fire. It was magic, was it not?” Gwen inquired, holding Morgana’s gaze to show her that she was not afraid.

Morgana nodded. “Morgause’s. The babes’. Mine. I am not sure anymore.” At Gwen’s confusion, she continued. “There is an island off Mermering. My family owns it. Legend says that it is a place of great magic. Morgause and I were joined there and the magic in her – old, strong magic – was poured into me and took seed in my babes, connecting her to them in a way that neither of us could ever have imagined. I feel her ties to them like a physical chord that pulls when she leaves us. Sometimes, I think it is the only thing holding us together anymore.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“I worry that, without her to guide me, the magic will make itself known through me again. I worry that this time, Uther will see. I worry that you have not touched me since that day. Not unless you have had too,” Morgana mumbled, her head bowed. She swallowed. “You do not owe me anything, Guinevere. You are not indebted to me. I hope you feel free to leave and never see me again if that is what you desire.”

The silence broke her heart.

“How – How could you ever think that I would leave you, my Lady?”

Morgana’s head snapped up. Gwen’s eyes were blurry and wide. She looked as though she had just taken a blow to the chest. The old formality registered with neither of them.

“Morgana, I love you. I love you. I do not care if you have magic. That you have it has only proved to me that it must be a most divine and good thing. Anything that comes from you could be nothing but good.” As if realising what she had just said, Gwen blushed and averted her eyes.

Morgana could say nothing for a long moment.

“How exactly did you mean that you love me?” she asked hesitantly.

“I mean that I love you,” Gwen said simply. “I feel for you more than I have ever felt for anyone. I want to be with you every moment of the day. I want to be close to you. I want to kiss your cheek, embrace you and hold your hand. But I do not want you like Morgause wants you. I do not know why, I just do not. It is different, I think, from the way she loves you. I am not really sure what it is.”

“And I am not sure that I understand,” Morgana interjected when Gwen paused, trying hard to comprehend what Gwen was trying to tell her.

Gwen confessed that she did not want the sort of relationship that Morgana had with Morgause, but that she envied their closeness and affection. “I just love you.”

Morgana’s forehead was wrinkled and her eyes pinched. “I cannot break my attachment with Morgause, no matter how hard it is being tested or how dearly I love you. Some things are meant to be and I have known that I am meant to be with Morgause from the moment she kissed me.”

Gwen shook her head. “I could never ask you to do that. Not when she makes you so happy and gives you things that do not think I can. Your relationship does not inspire jealousy in me. It just pleases me that she makes you happy. Though, it also saddens me that I have less importance in your life now.”

“It is funny,” Morgana said, her voice almost distant. “Morgause once said almost the exact same thing to me about not being able to give me what Uther can. The truth us, she has given me more than he ever could. And you have already given me more than I could ever have asked for. You and I are family.” She took Gwen’s hand and rested it on her swollen stomach, watching Gwen smile as she felt the babes shift. “You are their family. I could be no other way. I will not let you be pushed out.”

Gwen looked at Morgana as though she could not understand her acceptance and kindness.

“I may not completely understand what you feel. From what you have said, I am not sure that you fully understand it either, but I hope you will feel able to tell me when you do understand it. I will keep any secret that you give me without judgement, as you have for me. I will always be here for you,” Morgana promised, thinking on Morgause too and how desperately they needed to be honest with each other.

“And I for you,” Gwen vowed, blushing as Morgana’s lips brushed over her knuckles.

~*~

Ever since returning from the war, Sir Leon had been requiring Morgause to train with her brothers for at least one hour out of every day. At first, Morgause had resisted. She had not acknowledged that anything could be more important than being by Morgana’s side. A few months previous, Leon would have agreed. Now they needed to recognise that larger problems faced their good Kingdom and that, for better or worse, Morgause seemed destined to have a hand in shaping all of their futures.

The war had been won and the enemy sent home defeated. That did not mean, however, that Camelot was victorious. Not yet. She had seen two years of the worst harvests in living memory. Disease and drought had stunted her crops and the inability to make and remain friends with her neighbours had hampered trade and the prospect of aid. Little could be done to change the weather or the blight of disease other than prayer, and God seemed to be turning a deaf ear on Camelot of late. Insuring the good will of the surrounding kingdoms was, therefore, the only hope for improving the lives of Camelot’s citizens in the immediate future. The inter-kingdom tournament – the event which had been planned specifically to cultivate this good will – would take place in two weeks’ time and Sir Leon was begrudged to admit that he was unfit to fight in it.

“Morgause,” he greeted with a smile when she was shown into his office early that afternoon. She looked marginally more lively than she had on their last private meeting the day after their return. Her hair remained long despite her frequent complaints of its impracticalities over dinner with the other Knights of the First Companies in their communal tent, usually followed by a joke from Gwaine about Leon’s own newly cropped hair.

“Commander,” Morgause nodded, standing to attention in the middle of the small stone room.

“Please, sit,” Leon invited. “It is not like I can stand.”

Morgause frowned. “I take it this is about the tournament then,” she guessed, noting his tone. The Knights had been whispering about it for weeks. It was clear that Leon could not fight and that he would need a replacement. Bets had been taken on whether the King would truly follow through with the rules of their order and allow a woman to take the commander’s place.

Leon nodded and gestured to the empty chair before his desk. She sat. If he was about to gently relieve her of her responsibilities as Camelot’s standby champion, then she may as well be comfortable. He was likely to spend a good deal of time apologising.

“Most of the duty of the champion is ceremonial. I will still be able to greet and entertain the champions of the surrounding kingdoms. I will still sit at the head table and join the discussions of the kings. You will need only to fight in my place.” He smiled, knowing she had not been expecting it. None of them had been expecting it. Leon had a sneaking suspicion that Uther had only agreed to it to avoid the inevitable argument with his Queen. “Though, I would not object to you joining me in entertaining the royalty who really matter - the ones with all the power. You will be perfectly positioned to gain favour with them, and that could make all the difference.”

Morgause wished that she could smile at that. She would have, once. Sir Leon truly was a commander like none who had gone before him. “I will be by Morgana’s side to entertain the queens,” she confirmed. “The Queen has already begun planning their programme for the week. There is to be walks in the garden, musical performances by our harpist and his talented young daughter, and many a fine meal.”

“Our greatest chances of securing allies, I think, may rest on her charms. If so, I am confident that we will succeed,” Leon said with a smile that dropped when Morgause did not share it. He sighed, his heart lead-heavy in his chest. “Morgause, we need to talk about what happened with King Edwin and how it has affected you.”

“I would rather not, Commander,” Morgause said pleadingly. He had never heard her plead before. Not even when the older squires had locked her in the armoury on the night she turned sixteen. If she had pleaded, which he doubted, it would not have been heard over the sound of her breaking through the thick oak doors with an antique axe.

“And I would rather we did,” he countered, making clear that the conversation was non-negotiable. “You have not been the same since that night and I am beginning to worry that it might impede your ability to carry out your job.”

She turned away, hurt.

“I can see by your reaction that you have thought on it yourself, which means that you and I need to talk. Daily if need be. I will not lose another of my best Knights to that man. I cannot afford it, the Queen cannot afford it and Camelot cannot afford it. So please, Morgause, talk to me – for Queen and Camelot.”

For Queen and Camelot, Morgause agreed.

~*~

Every day, at the fall of dusk, Commander and Champion met on the battlements of Camelot’s tallest tower. Morgause told him everything except for her relationship with Morgana. He listened intently and gave his opinion or advice when he could. Mostly, though, the listening helped the most. Morgause told him how she had felt that day and counted up all the small sparks of emotion that seemed greater in number every day. She told him of her frustration with herself and how worried she was over the coming tournament and the impending arrival of the prince and princess.

“You never know, they might surprise us and both be boys. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a couple more fine Knights in a decade and a half, when my knees are stiff and my movements slow,” Leon said with a smile. They were both stood with their arms resting on the stone wall, leaning to look down at the new squires training in the field below. “We will definitely need them if these new recruits are anything to go by.”

Morgause laughed. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. “Morgana is sure there is a girl in there. Though that might just be wishful thinking.”

“Best not to say that to her,” Leon warned with a glint in his eye. “I would not like to argue with her at the best of times, never mind over her babes. A Queen is always right. It is sometimes just the Kings who forget that.”

Morgause nodded, agreeing. “I think that the King wants two boys. He keeps referring to them as such, no matter how hard Morgana tries to deter him.”

“Two boys would ease his worries more than one,” Leon reasoned. “He does not want to leave his kingdom behind without an heir. He saw what that did to Cenred’s kingdom. He does not want that for his people.”

“No.” Despite all of Uther’s faults – and Morgause could name hundreds of them – he did love his people, even if he did not always appear to. “And there is pride at stake too. King Raigal has seven sons and three daughters, and is yet younger than our King. Even the young King Thomas has his two sons.”

Neither of them mentioned the fact that Uther already had plenty of children. Twelve by Morgause’s count. If they were not legitimate, they might as well not exist. That was the problem with all this ‘one God’ mess – far too many rules. Not that the Old Religion was completely free of such constraints. Marriage was still preferred, though children need not be born from one.

“Will you be there, do you think, when the babes are born?” Leon asked, wincing as a lad of fourteen was knocked off his feet and into a trough of water.

Morgause smiled brightly, if shyly. “If the Queen wants me there. I suppose the men have told you of the reading material I took with me to war?”

Leon laughed and nodded. “Percival might have mentioned it. I think you have given him ideas. He does not wed Molly until next month, but I would not be surprised if he has not already been eyeing up cradles. Molly will likely be as big as the Queen before next year is out and this one is already all but over.”

It was three days until Christmas and the whole castle was green with holly and ivy. New candles were being made by the hundred and all the city’s craftsmen were busy in their workshops night and day. Conversely to how the season was celebrated in other kingdoms, in Camelot, Christmas was a private family affair. There would be no big feast. Every servant was expected to be home with their family save for four cooks, two serving girls, the King’s servant and the Queen’s maid. Each of them had the privilege of eating the same meal as the royal couple, if not at the same table. Morgause was not exactly sure where she would fit in yet. Only time would tell. All Morgause need worry about for the moment was if Morgana would like her present and if she would forgive her for being so distant.

Leon watched as Morgause smiled to herself, seemingly caught up in her own pleasant thoughts. It warmed his heart to see her finally seeming a little more like herself and gave him hope that she had it in her to do Camelot proud at the tournament.

~*~

Clutching the parcel in her arms, Morgause knocked on Morgana’s door, butterflies stirring in her stomach. They had agreed to exchange gifts on the eve of the third day before Christmas, as was the custom in Morgause’s family, who celebrated the winter solstice festival of Albannui on the same day as the rest of Camelot celebrated the birth of their God. Or God’s son. Morgause could never really work out how that worked, but her own religion included a God who was feminine in the summer and male in the winter, so she could not really hold it against the Christians to have one or two confusing beliefs. Kai and Kaia seemed perfectly rational to her, them being a brother and sister who shared one body and between them kept the lands fertile. She had been praying to them rather a lot of late, but they were well known for being easily distracted and with so few faithful to perform the fertility rituals in their honour, she could not blame them.

Emilie opened the door and, curtseying to Morgause, let her in before leaving for the night. Gwen was helping her brother at the smithy – Uther would be furious if he found out, and would demote her to maid immediately – so they would be all alone all evening and all night. Uther did not visit anymore. Morgause was beginning to wonder if it was young Emilie keeping his bed warm at night. It would not surprise her.

“You are early!” Morgana exclaimed, getting unsteadily to her feet – one hand at her back, the other on her belly. Morgause smiled brightly and, seeing it, Morgana grinned too. “And in good cheer!”

“That I am,” Morgause confirmed, pushing the door closed behind her and whispering a prayer to lock it. She had been practicing discretely at such small things. The babes seemed to like it. Or so Morgana proclaimed.

“Then come here and kiss me, my love,” Morgana bid, her cheeks flushed and her lips red as if she had been biting them all afternoon. Morgause had been away since lunch, training, picking up her present from the trailers and meeting with Sir Leon. Morgana had had nothing to do but embroider whilst she waited. She was making the babes a shawl each – her first ever attempt at such a thing.

Morgause obliged Morgana’s request, putting the parcel on the table and going to her. With a smile, she leant it to kiss her – teasing lightly at first and then opening her mouth to deepen it. Morgana whimpered approvingly and wrapped her arms around Morgause’s neck. She could not wait for the babes to be out so that she could hold her closer.

“So, what do you have for me?” Morgana asked mischievously, eyeing up the large, soft parcel over Morgause’s shoulder. “It is a dress?”

Morgause sighed and shook her head. “How did you guess?”

Morgana squealed and reached out for the parcel. “Is it for now or afterwards? Can I wear it on Albannui? I hope it fits!”

Morgause laughed, handing her the parcel.

“It’s heavy!” she exclaimed, deciding it was best to sit down to open it. “Have you raided the royal treasury to adorn it?”

Morgause chucked and sat down opposite her, resting her hands on Morgana’s knees. She had not felt so joyous in Gods know how long, and had not felt so at home with Morgana for just as long. Silently, she thanked the Gods for giving Morgana the patience to put up with her.

“Just open it,” she commanded softly, laughing when Morgana raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew that it was Morgana who gave the orders.

Morgana gasped when the soft leather wrapping fell back to show a silk of pure white. “It is beautiful!”

“It is customary for women to wear white on Albannui,” Morgause explained, knowing how eager Morgana was to learn of the Old Religion and its customs. “You probably do not want to know why. I thought you might like to feel a part of it. I shall be wearing white too. And Flor and Isolde.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes playfully. “We are all to be married to some God, aren’t we?”

“Unfortunately,” Morgause said with a smile. “But it is only symbolic. Albun is already wedded to the Green Maiden.”

“Well that is reassuring, because no one else can have you,” Morgana said with a wink, making the butterflies in Morgause’s stomach take flight. A little bit of possessiveness was nice, as long as it was all in jest, and she knew that with Morgana, it was.

After a moment, Morgana’s smile turned into a frown of confusion as she realised that the dress was not the only thing in her parcel. Wrapped in the white fabric was a very old, fairly small leather bound book. The cover showed a design that Morgana recognised at the Wilde family emblem. She gasped and ran her fingertips gently over the soft cover.

“It is book of fairytales. Some of them are stories involving the Gods, but most just tell of earthy endeavours. It was my father’s and his father’s before him. He used to read me stories from it when I was young to help me get to sleep and keep me occupied whilst my mother was busy. He took it to Uther once, when I was very young, and the King spared it from the fires that took most of our religious texts. He said that a children’s storybook was of no harm to anyone, so do not fear reading to the babes from it,” Morgause assured her. “I had settled on giving it to Tristan when he was old enough to sire a child of his own,” she brought up both of her hands to Morgana’s stomach, “but I think that my father would have approved of you reading it to them.”

A tear fell from Morgana’s cheek to darken the green silk over the swell of the babes. She did not know what to say. She had been worried that Morgause had been pulling back from her and from the babes especially. She had feared that Morgause had decided that she could not love them after all.

Declining to open the book, she lifted up one of Morgause’s hands from her belly and placed the book in her palm. “If your father read it to you, then if should be you who reads is to our babes, not me. It is you who should soothe them to sleep and read to them when they want a story. If you want to, that is.”

Morgause took the book and bent down to kiss Morgana’s belly. “I would be honoured.”

For the first night in months, Morgause slept through until dawn. After Morgana let her rest for the night, that is.

Note: I just want to thank those of you who are commenting/reviewing. It is really useful as it let me know what aspects you are enjoying most and what you want to see more of. For example, in this chapter, a few requests to see the hair cutting scene saw it expanded from what I had originally written. And on request, there was more backstory and development of the Knights in the last few chapters.

At My Most Beautiful (24/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 16:19:51 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (24/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,300 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Edwin makes Morgause pay for ruining his plans.
WARNINGS:

Implied attempted sexual assault

Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

They had been travelling for a week – making their weary way home to the ones they loved and the lives they could never truly go back to living. It was that life that played on Morgause’s mind, keeping her awake. She sat cross-legged before the saffron fire, surrounded by red canvas and flickering shadows that seemed to circle her as she worked, playing off the light wooden furniture and fur-covered floor. For the last seven nights she had slept in the tent alone. Several tents had been made vacant by the battles and the men had voted that they should go to the highest ranked Knights. It was supposed to be a reward but the loneliness felt like a punishment from the gods.

To ward off melancholic thoughts, she cradled in her left hand a shrinking block of limewood and in her right a carving knife. Her head was bowed over her hands and her golden hair, copper-red in the firelight, fell in long, glittering ringlets that reached almost to her lap. It had not been cut since she left Morgana’s arms and it would not be until she was back in them – a romantic tradition of her father’s making. The carving was his as well. He had always returned home with some new toy for her when he went away. She was not sure that she could ever match his curving goddess figurines or sharp-eared foxes, but she could manage a couple of good, solid rings for the babes to bite on as they teethed. Animals would come with practice, she hoped.

“Maybe by the time that they are old enough to appreciate it,” she murmured, curving the knife over the edge of the ring, smoothing it.

Sighing, she blinked and tucked her hair behind her right ear. Her eyes were beginning to sting from the smoke and her movements were growing less precise. A yawn rose up from her chest and her head tipped back with it like a lioness giving a silent roar. Sleep was one foe that she could not seem to beat, no matter how terrible her dreams would be. Dropping the wood and the knife on the fur beneath her, she rocked forward onto her knees and got unsteadily to her feet. She ran her hand though her hair – kept smooth and tangle-free by the oil Gwen had sent with her – and yawned again.

For the first time since the war began, sleep came to her the second her head hit the makeshift pillow.

***

Leon sighed in relief as Morgause’s silhouette finally took to bed. One of them at least would have to be alert come morning, and it would not be any other man of the First Company. Unbeknownst to Morgause, her brothers stood a circled guard around her tent. They had done so every night since the defeated King made his vile threat. Morgause was one of them – their brother, their sister. She had fought with the bravery of the Pendragon dragon in battle and had saved each of their lives more than once. They would die to keep her safe from Edwin’s wrath.

***

Soon Morgause was dreaming that she was in Morgana’s arms once more, holding her close and whispering devotions to her and the gods alike for such a sweet dream. She knew it was a dream, for Morgana looked just as she did when they last laid eyes on one another, but that did not bother her. All that mattered was Morgana’s gentle touch and the sweet smell of the scented oils that Gwen anointed her with. In Morgana’s arms, the woes of war seemed a very long way away.

“My love, my Queen,” Morgause murmured reverently, her hand sliding up to Morgana’s jaw as she kissed her.

Morgana smiled and nuzzled against her. “My champion,” she whispered, returning the endearment. “My love.”

Morgause closed her eyes and felt her body shiver, overwhelmed.

“I beg you - wake up,” Morgana urged softly. Then a little louder, “It is not safe for you to sleep this night. Please, my love, wake up.”

Jolted, Morgause awoke, her eyes struggling to focus in the darkness. The fire had died down to mere embers and the shadows in the tent had grown larger and stranger – they were moving. Before she could take another breath, her sword was in her hand and she was on her feet. War had quickened her movements and Morgana’s warning had her on edge.

As sleep ebbed away, a peal of swords ringing together erupted around her. Men began shouting for help – Camelot’s men by their accents. Turning on the spot, Morgause saw that her tent was surrounded by fighting, the clashing figures silhouetted against the canvas by the brighter fires crackling outside. Her grip tightened on her sword and she rushed for the tent entrance, desperate to see what was going on and aid her brothers if need be. A few scuffles had broken out amongst the knights before, but this felt different. Morgana would not wake her for nothing.

“Not so fast, girl,” a gruff voice called from the darkness. “We have unfinished business, you and me.”

When Edwin stepped into the light, Morgause’s blood ran cold and her knees suddenly felt no sturdier than water.

“That we do,” Morgause replied, her voice shakier than she would like. She would not show this man weakness. “We have buried near two hundred of our men in this war and so far you have not been made to answer for their deaths.”

Edwin snorted a laugh. “Drop the act, girl. You are no knight. We both know that.”

“That is a lie,” Morgause snarled, her body becoming solid again in her rage. Nothing flared her ire more than men’s poor treatment of women. “I am more of a knight than you or your men will ever be.”

Again, Edwin laughed, advancing on her slowly – a predator playing with his prey. “Did your Commander tell you that before or after he took you? My guess is after. Girls like you always need sweet words to stop them crying afterwards.”

“Do not dare speak of Sir Leon like that!” Morgana spat, her jaw clenched and her sword poised to strike. “He is a true Knight – gallant and respectful of women.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Morgause refused to play this game. He was trying to unnerve her but he had no idea how far off the mark he was.

Rushing forward, she caught him off guard, their swords meeting an inch in front of Edwin’s face. The steel locked but he easily pushed her away. She was no match for his oxen strength. This was a fight she would have to win with cunning, form and speed. Nothing new there then.

Parrying back, she evaded his quick return blow, using his momentum to sweep it aside.

“Not bad,” Edwin said condescendingly, speaking to show that he had yet to exert himself, “for a girl.”

“A girl who cut down a hundred of your men,” she retorted. The number was exaggerated but not by far. Edwin’s army had been all but decimated before the truce was signed. Morgana, along with Gwaine and Leon, had been proclaimed a hero. She could not think of herself as a hero, though. She was ashamed to admit that she did not know how many men she had killed. It was so contorted in her mind that she could not trust her own memory.

Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that your gallant Sir Leon let you out of his bed long enough for you to see the battlefield? I would not have made that mistake.”

Morgana’s reply came as another attack that struck as quickly as her heart was beating. Again, Edwin blocked it, but with more effort this time.

“A weak man, is he? That why you are so keen to come at me? Do not worry, girl, you will never walk straight again after I am done with you,” Edwin sneered, grabbing his crotch. “Who will protect that Queen of yours then, eh?”

A fear greater than any she had felt before struck her like a dousing of icy water. But only for a moment. He had made a mistake in threatening Morgana. Morgause’s anger ignited and drove her forward with a kind of strength that she had never felt before. A voice in her head – Leon’s - told her to go low and strike up. That was where her advantage lay – her size and speed. Obeying him without a thought, she lunged forward onto her knees and thrust her sword upwards, piercing the Edwin’s rounded stomach through the gap in his leather jerkin. In his arrogance, he had not worn his mail, giving her a clean shot at his weakest point.

With a cry, she drove the point of her sword home, plunging it effortlessly through the man’s soft flesh to pierce his dishonourable heart. She shrieked again and retracted her weapon, closing her eyes as blood gushed from the wound – painting her in victorious red.

A stuttering wail came from Edwin’s mouth and a sickening stench filled the air. Morgause’s eyes watered from the vile scent of the king’s demise, making her stumble as she dashed to the side to get out of the way of the tumbling King. He hit the ground with a wet thud and fixed her with an unending stare. A stare that he could never break.

“Morgause!” Percival shouted, panic in his voice as he hastened to her side.

“I’m alright,” she insisted breathlessly, heaving the instant she tasted Edwin’s blood on her lips.

Percival patted her back as she brought up her dinner, waiting for her to catch her breath again before he asked, “What happened?”

“He… He…” Her stomach lurched again and acid stung at her tongue.

“Alright,” he whispered, tenderly holding back her hair. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” He lifted his head and shouted for Gwaine, for anyone. Only then did Morgause realise that the commotion outside had died down. Through the gash of the tent flap she could see Worcester men being dragged limply away.

“Shit,” Gwain exclaimed, appearing in the doorway and blocking her view. “Get her out of here, Percival.”

The large Knight nodded and scooped Morgause up into his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a rag doll. Morgause let him carry her – let him take her away from the icy memory of her own fear and the stench of Edwin’s end.

She could not think, not clearly. She had killed a King. Committed regicide. And after the treaty had been signed.

What would happen now?

***

Just after daybreak Morgause was summoned to Sir Leon’s tent. Percival, who had not left her side, accompanied her. He had stripped her down to her smallclothes and gently washed the blood from her skin and hair. After she was clean, he tended to the shoulder wound that she had not felt being inflicted in the heat of the fight, and helped her dress again in fresh clothes. Someone had done it for him once, he explained when she weakly protested, when a fight in his youth had left him unable to do anything but relive that life-ending moment again and again. He told her that it would get better, no matter how absurd that seemed to her then. Morgause tried to believe, she really did, but there was a cold, empty feeling inside her that she feared no warmth could shift.

As they reached Leon’s tent, the guards motioned for Percival to wait outside. He squeezed Morgause’s arm and wished her luck. On impulse, he hugged her to him and kissed her hair. He loved her as he loved all his brothers, but all in the company were united in loving Morgause best.

Morgause looked up at him blankly, wishing that she could thank him.

“We’re with you,” he promised her, nodding his head to Gwaine and the other Knights of the First Company standing steady in support behind him.

With an uncertain nod, she turned from them and stepped into the gloom of the tent.

The table where Leon usually took company was empty and unused at the mouth of the tent. If it weren’t for the sounds of shuffling feet and hushed conversation, Morgause would have thought the tent empty. Even with the noise to guide her eyes, she had to squint into the darkness to make out the figure propped up on the raised bed and the two women fussing around him.

“Come,” Leon commanded, his voice a little thin.

He waved away his nurses and they swept like shadows from the tent.

“Commander?” Morgause asked, emotion suddenly flooding into her in the form of worry, of fear. “What hap-”

“One of Edwin’s men caught me unawares,” he explained, beckoning her closer to see the white linen wrapped around his calf. “The little bugger crawled through the undergrowth and cut my tendon with a dagger. I thought I heard something, but I was looking for a standing foe, not a one on his belly.” He took her hand and bid her to sit beside him on the bed. She reached out and touched the bandage, as if she could tell how bad a wound he had taken. “It is nothing that will not heal,” he assured her in a not all too convincing tone. “You are the one I am worried about. Gwaine tells me that you are not talking. Tell me, did he…”

She shook her head, a tear falling onto their joined hands. Leon broke their contact and brought his hand to her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“Would he have?”

Morgause nodded, tears flowing.

“Hush,” he soothed, wiping away her tears and pulling her down to him. Gratefully, she let him take her in his arms, laying her head on his chest and holding onto him tight. “You have done us proud, Morgause. We are the ones who failed you. We heard his threat. He should never have been allowed to enter your tent – never.”

She sobbed an apology, her words almost indiscernible through he tears.

“For what? Killing a King? Morgause, I do not think you realise what you have done. Edwin would never have conceded as he claimed to have done. He would have attacked again – whether that would have been in a week or a year, we know it would have happened. But God alone knows how many more of our people would have lost their lives to his vendetta, his greed. With one thrust of your sword, you have wrenched his kingdom from his cold, loathsome hands,” Leon asserted, holding her tight. “And with it, you have taken out Camelot’s biggest threat. I have a document signed by Uther’s own hand that declares you as Queen Morgana’s presence on the battlefield, with Sir William Grouse representing Queen Igraine in the Three Years War as precedence. That means that your victories are the Queen victories.”

Morgause looked up at him, confused.

“Worcester belongs to the Queen now. And yes, that means it belongs to the King. But law states that any property inherited or taken by a woman after her marriage goes not to her son after her husband dies, but to her. You have given your Queen a kingdom of her own. And she will be the very first the hold that right.”

***

“Morgana!”

Startled, Morgana clutched her mauve silk dress to her chest and gasped. When she saw that it was only Gwen – red cheeked and face shining – who had come bursting through her door, she let the dress drop and sighed in relief. She had been trying on the new nightdress that Gwen had made for her, and the material of it was so thin that it was almost sheer. It would not do to have anyone but Gwen see her in such a state, even though it was practical purposes. The fantastically expensive material was more than thin enough to keep her cool at night – something which the babes had recently made all but impossible, despite the cold weather. Morgana quietly thought it quite an achievement for them, no matter how much discomfort it brought her.

“You gave me a fright,” Morgana admonished fondly, smiling at her friend. “What do you think?” She raised her arms and did a little twirl, the long train on the nightdress twisting around her feet. “Will she like it?”

Of course, there were other less practical reasons that she had commissioned the nightdress.

Gwen smiled, her breathing slowly returning to normal. “She… She will not be able to resist you. No one could with you in that. Morgause will love it.”

Morgana dropped her head and blushed, her smile shy. “I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“I do hope that she will be home in time to see me in it. At this rate, it will not fit me for more than a week.” It was a slight exaggeration, but the babes were growing so quickly now that Morgana was amazed she could still stand.

Gwen laughed then. “Oh, I think she will make it.” When Morgana gave her a puzzled look, she continued. “The advance riders have just arrived. Morgause and the other Knights will be here by sundown.”

With a shriek of delight, Morgana held out her arms for Gwen to fall into.

She was nearly home. Her love was nearly home.

***

Morgana leant back against the high table, tired after more than three hours on her feet. It took time for a gown such as hers to be put together, and it had been rather short notice. Gwen had required her to stand on a platform so that the purple silk could be pinned and smoothed. Unlike the blues she wore, this purple was lighter and so could take heavier adornment. It was woven through with silver thread and studded with tiny crystals trapped in little cages of cotton. Silver embroidery picked out curving vines over her rounded stomach and an intricate border at the neckline to draw the eye. It was one thing not hiding her body but another thing all together to let people’s eyes rest on it. Not that the adorned neckline had made any difference in practice. Every man and woman in the hall had gazed almost hungrily at her swollen belly as she entered on Uther’s arm. The attention had almost made her bolt.

“Stand up, Morgana,” Uther hissed under his breath. “They will be here any second.”

Sighing, Morgana ran her hand over her belly. “You try carrying this much weight for this long and standing up straight,” she retorted.

Uther shrugged his shoulders, making his armour chime. Morgana had to concede that he carried a good deal of extra weight too when he was dressed in his ceremonial plate.

“Well then try having your armour feed off you.” She squirmed as one of the babes kicked. “Try having your armour aiming kicks at your vital organs.”

That made Uther chuckle and reach over to pat his wife’s stomach. “Behave for your mother,” he whispered and, despite all he had done, Morgana could not help the pleasant fluttering sensation it gave her to see him already so fatherly. She blamed being so sentimental on Morgause’s nearness. It was easy to feel warmly towards Uther when her Knight was by her side.

She soon became impatient with his lingering touch when he did not remove his hand as, with a creek and the sound of trumpets, the oaken doors swung open, revealing the Knights.

The hall got to its feet and Morgana, eager for the best view, stood up straight, her heart pounding. Uther’s hand fell away from her.

At the front of the column came their Commander, Sir Leon, splendid in plate that was dented from battle. His hair was worn short, making it seem darker, and his face was shaved clean, showing a new pink scar on his cheek. He looked every bit the victorious commander, weathered by battle and still standing tall. Though, maybe, not quite as tall as he had been when he left. The news had come to the Queen from servant to servant; from the stable boy who took Leon’s horse, then to the scullery maid of the Knight’s quarters, onto the washerwomen and finally to Emilie and so onto Morgana. But whatever she had expected, it had not been to see Sir Leon barely able to walk unaided, with his left leg bent and him unable to straighten it. But still, he walked into the hall under no one’s power but his own – his jaw tight with the pain it brought him.

Behind him, the Knights walked three abreast. First were the heroes of the war: Sir Gwaine the Good, so named for his mercy on the battlefield; Lady Morgause the Lionheart, so called for her supremacy in battle and for slaying the King who dared to invade Camelot; and Sir Percival the Bold, who held his small force against an enemy twice as large. They looked glorious side by side. But there was only one of those three whom Morgana had eyes for. And only one she could not quite see.

No matter how high she teetered on the tips of her toes, she could not see past Sir Leon to get a look at her love. In frustration, she sighed loud enough to draw Uther’s attention even amongst the thunderous applause that accompanied the Knight’s entrance. He followed her gaze and saw where her annoyance came from.

“It must have been hard being parted from a friend at such a trying time,” Uther sympathised.

Morgana turned to him, shocked by his empathy. “It… Yes. I has been hard, my King.”

He smiled. “I hoped you would get along. Looking after you is a job far more suited to a woman than the tough training that the rest of the Knights spend their days with. I had planned to replace her as your guard once the babes are born.” Morgana’s heart skipped a beat. “But I am willing to concede to the recommendation Sir Leon sent by dove last week. Any Knight who could slay a powerful King like Edwin is more than capable of protecting a babe. And there are other advantages to Morgause being your guard. She is of good blood. Good company for you.”

Morgana wanted to hug and hit him all at the same time. Instead she turned back to the room, just in time to meet Morgause’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the Knights fell to one knee before the dais, obscuring her from view. In the seconds after their eye contact had broken, Morgana rushed to try to understand that there had been something different about Morgause’s gaze. It was… dull. Duller. There was no shine. No warmth. No life. Morgana’s heart thudded then seemed to stop.

“Rise, good men,” Uther invited, holding out his hand to the Knights bowed before them. Morgana noted he was smiling. For once at these public occasions, the smile on his hard lips was genuine, warm even. Then again, he had just won a war and was expecting his first heir to be put in his arms very soon. He had little not to be happy about.

The same, it seemed, could not be said for Morgause. As the Knights got back to their feet, all of them smiling to see their King so pleased with them, Morgause’s mouth remained slack. Impassive. She kept her eyed downcast and seemed not to listen as Uther gave his victory speech. Morgana too let his words pass by her ears unheard. She still had not caught more than a glimpse of Morgause and though she knew that she must try to make eye contact with each of the retuning warriors, it was hard to tear her eyes away from her Knight. She was sure that if she could meet her eyes again, things would be different. After two long hours at the feast with nothing more to say for her efforts than having gotten a semi-decent view of the top half of the back of Morgause’s head, Morgana decided to retire and wait for Morgause in her chambers. Even if that meant waiting all night, she was sure that Morgause would come and that her eyes would be full of warmth again.

***

The feast to welcome them home was the most surreal experience of Morgause’s life. Everything around her felt intangible, as if she was living in a dream too good to be true and too good to stand. Before her was the first kitchen-cooked meal she had seen for almost three months and, despite how fervently they had all fantasised about it, she could not bring herself to enjoy it. The chicken was tasteless. The pork was tasteless. The spiced apple sauce was tasteless. All of it tasteless and bland – just like the conversation, the music and company.

Opposite her, Percival caught her gaze and held it for a moment. There was no point in him trying to talk to her; the din from the hall was so loud that Morgause could not even identify the song being played by the minstrel at the end of the table, despite being able to see his lips move with every word.

Percival smiled at her weakly and looked away.

She felt like a stranger in her own mind.

***

“And you are sure that she said to you that she is coming tonight?” Morgana asked, craning her neck around to try to see Gwen’s expression.

Gwen did not answer right away as she was working at fixing dainty purple flowers into Morgana’s herringbone braided hair, her look one of deep concentration – eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed and tongue peeking out from between damp lips.

“Yes, Morgana,” Gwen said eventually. “She is coming to you tonight. She promised.”

Morgana bit her lip and smiled. Gwen had done wonders with her in the hour or so since she had left the feast. She almost felt worthy to welcome Morgause home.

Out of nowhere, guilt struck her at taking up Gwen’s time for something so frivolous and pointless.

“I am sorry for dragging you away from the festivities. I know that I should try harder to stay through these things now that you may sit and enjoy with the other guests whilst I am there,” Morgana apologised. “Next time I will stay until the end, I promise.”

“Nonsense. I would rather be here with you than forced to make awkward conversations with the distant families of Knights and courtiers.”

“My fault again,” Morgana said quietly. “If I had other ladies-in-waiting like a true Queen, then you would be seated with them and be happy.”

Gwen tugged on Morgana’s braid playfully. “I am happiest with you. I don’t want to share you with anyone else. You having a maid besides me is bad enough.”

Morgana laughed. “I hardly ever see Emilie.”

“I know. I am good at diverting her to other tasks,” Gwen said mischievously, tilting her head so that Morgana could see her impish smile over her shoulder in the mirror.

Morgana’s eyes glinted and she matched the smile with a radiant one of her own, lighting up her face and colouring in her cheeks.

“There,” Gwen said, kissing her shoulder through the near-sheer material of her new nightdress, “give her that smile and she will yours forever. No one could resist such beauty.”

Again Morgana bit her lip, looking at her reflection shyly.

“And if you don’t mind, my Queen, I will leave you to await your Knight alone. You don’t want me being here when she arrives,” Gwen said, stepping out from behind Morgana. “I can go and see my brother and his family – spend the night with them. That way, we will both have had a much more enjoyable night than if we were to stay at that tiresome feast.”

On Morgana’s nod, she turned and walked for the door. Morgana reached out and caught her hand, pulling her back so that she could kiss her one cheek and tenderly press her palm to the other. “I could not have survived this war without you – not a moment of it.”

“Nor I without you, my lady,” Gwen murmured, the outdated formality now a nostalgic term of endearment. “Nor I without you.”

***

The night was black as ashes when the knock on her door finally came. Morgana stood startled at the fireplace, eyes wide in the darkness, fixed on the torch-lit door.

“Come in,” she bid, trembling.

The door opened tentatively, drawing out the suspense and giving her heartbeat the time to quicken and flutter. The dark wood of the door hid the opener from her, so that she could only see who stood behind it once it began to shut again, closing them inside.

Her first view of Morgause was of her back as she locked the door, giving them the illusion of privacy.

The first thing that Morgana noticed about her was her hair. When she had left, Morgause’s hair had hung down to her shoulder blades. Now it curled in ringlets to her lower back, shining a deeper, brighter gold than ever before. Or maybe that part was Morgana’s imagination. Nothing could look so fine. So rich. She longed to run her fingers through it. To see it mixed with her inky black locks on the pillow. To feel it tickle her nose in sleep.

“I’m afraid to look at you,” Morgause said, a nervous excitement building shaky foundations in the emptiness she had inside. Despite the hollowness which had haunted her since that bloody night, she had feared that if she were to look upon her Queen at the feast, that her heart would ignite again and so their love be given away. Now, finally in her presence, she was sure that would have come to be. “After so long, I am afraid that my heart might not be able take it.”

“Nor mine,” Morgana admitted, smiling faintly. “But I am certain that it cannot take another moment without you.”

At that, Morgause turned towards the firelight, her dark eyes shining with tears as emotion flooded into her for the first time in weeks, filling her so suddenly that it hurt. She parted her lips in a silent gasp and felt as though she could weep with happiness at the sight of Morgana stood at the fireplace, one ivory hand resting on the smooth wood of its surround. She was turned side on to the flames, letting flickering red light and dark, hollow shadows pick out her noble jaw and fine cheekbones. In the firelight, her nightdress glittered gold and silver, revealing the full curves of her body, whilst shrouding her still in maddening mystery that could only be unravelled once she was bare. Her hair, which hung rope like over one slim shoulder, was braided with sweet smelling purple flowers of a kind that usually adorned the Wildes’ tables and windowsills on feasts. Through the low V of her neckline and the thin material of her gown, Morgause could see that her shoulders and chest were adorned in her gold lattice of a necklace, showing her devotion with jewels that matched the green stone that hung over Morgause’s heart.

“My Gods,” Morgause gasped, never having seen a more beautiful sight in all her days.

Morgana smiled shyly and bowed her head, looking at Morgause through her thick eyelashes. And what a sight she was. She glittered splendidly in her polished armour, looking every bit the fairy tale Knight. Her lips were flushed red from nervous biting and her cheeks were pink from wine and wanting. Two neatly healing gashes showed on her face – one on her forehead, half hidden by her long, flowing hair, and one on her left cheek, barely visible through her flush. Morgana wondered how many other new scars she would find on that night and the ones to come. She would seek out them all and kiss them, worshiping her brave Knight for every sacrifice she had made.

Slowly and then quicker, Morgause crossed to her and kissed her soundly – cupping her jaw and slipping her tongue into Morgana’s eagerly opening mouth, tasting honey on her lips. A quick fluttering open of her eyes revealed a honey pot above the fire. The taste had been deliberate. Morgana wanted a romantic remembrance of their first honey-sweetened kiss that beautiful morning by the fireside. As kisses went, though, this one was sweeter. Morgana had learnt to kiss back with as much force as was she was given and they had both learnt that even though Morgana could hold her own, they both much preferred it when Morgause took the lead.

Morgana’s arms went around her neck and her Queen whimpered needily, opening up for her Knight and melting into her arms. The initial heat of the kiss simmered and cooled as Morgana’s hands slipped down to rest on the mail above Morgause’s collarbone, kissing her slowly and sweetly, never wanting it to end.

“My Knight,” she murmured between kisses. “My champion.” Another kiss. “My heart.” Another, deeper. “My hero.”

Morgause felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth – a feeling which had of late seemed alien to her.

“My Queen and my heart,” she said in answer, kissing Morgana briefly. “And my little prince and princess,” she said, smiling brightly as she caressed Morgana’s full, round belly. “They have gotten so big.” She chuckled and kissed Morgana again. “You have gotten so big and impossibly more beautiful with it. I wish I could have been here to see you bloom these last few months. I have missed so much.”

Morgana covered Morgause’s hands on her belly with her own, letting her feel the babes kick and shift. It was a much more definite kick than it had been when Morgause left, and it made her eyes widen in wonder.

“You amaze me,” she murmured, awed, looking deep into Morgana’s ever changing eyes as she blushed and smiled bashfully.

“You are the remarkable one. Please, let me help you out of your plate and mail,” Morgana said quietly, her hands leaving Morgause’s to find the straps at her chest.

“You know that you do not need to do that,” Morgause protested, knowing that she would never be able to dissuade Morgana from the task. She seemed to enjoy performing that small wife’s task, as if it proved that she was Morgause’s and that Morgause was hers.

“I want to,” Morgana insisted. “I wanted to do it for you every night whilst you were away. I wanted to take your armour off after every battle and soothe your wounds and your wanting – not have some other woman there to do it whilst I was miles away.”

“There is no on but you,” Morgause promised. “I would not let anywhere near me but you, except when my wounds needed to be tended. And that was so painful that I needed to close my eyes and think of you to bear it.”

She would not tell Morgana of the girl who had tried to talk her way into her bed. She was of no consequence and Morgana would only think she was saying it to hurt her as Uther would when he was giddy on wine after a feast.

“Did you get many wounds?” Morgana asked fearfully, carefully lifting off her breastplate.

“Enough,” Morgause said, smiling. “But none of them are so serious that they will not heal under your good care. The Gods have been kind.”

Morgana smiled, relieved. “To both of us.”

As Morgana carefully removed her amour until she stood in only her shirt and breeches, Morgause asked after her and the babes, questioning her on things she had read – not that Morgana knew that, she was reading in secret so that she could be of use through to and beyond Morgana’s confinement – and answering questions about her own health and those of the Knights Morgana knew. When Morgause was free of her armour, Morgana wrapped her arms around her and pulled her as close as the babes would allow, having to turn sideways to manage it.

“I would beg you to take me to bed if I weren’t so gargantuan,” Morgana whispered, nuzzling into Morgause’s neck.

“I do not expect you to want to lie with me now that you are this far along,” Morgause assured her. She would never so much as kiss Morgana without her wanting it just as much. “I can survive. Even with you looking so fine, that…” Her eyes wandered down to Morgana’s full breasts, heat prickling up her spine and her pulse thundering in her ears. “…that I want you more than ever.”

Morgana bit her lip and blushed, hot shivers sweeping over her. “I did not say that I do not want you. I could never not want you, especially after so long apart. It is just that… well…” She looked down at her swollen stomach. “We may need to be a bit more inventive.”

Her blush depended when she whispered her suggestions into Morgause’s ear. Gwen had been sent to ask her sister-in-law for advice on the ruse that Morgana needed help in being able to keep her husband satisfied whilst not suffering the impossible logistics and radiating pain that lying on her back would bring. The suggestions were quite wonderful, and Morgana had bought Gwen a dozen new dresses to make up for the embarrassment she had suffered.

“Oh yes,” Morgause said, smiling as she nipped Morgana’s bottom lip, “I think I can manage that if you can. Especially the part about…”

Morgana nodded, smiling impishly. She had been kneeling for almost an hour every night to pray for Morgause and the safety of her people. She was sure that she could manage it for a more pleasurable kind of worship.

Morgause matched her rascally smile and let her hands wander to Morgana’s breasts, making her Queen gasp and arch into her touch, whimpering and closing her eyes. “I am truly lucky. You are so very, very good to me, my love.”

Morgana, already shivering with pleasure, was quite certain that she was the lucky one.

A/N - Again, thank you for sticking with this fic. It is a pleasure to write, even more so because some of you are still

reading it.

I'm Yours

lovepb — Tue, 24 Jul 2012 15:38:29 GMT

Title: I'm Yours (2/2)
Fandom: Merlin!Modern AU/Silent Witness
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Nikki
Rating: R
Word Count: ~6,800
Summary: Wedding bells are in the air...
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or Silent Witness, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

A smile curved shyly over Nikki’s lips as she dipped her head to hide her blush. The movement made her new fringe fall before her eyes to catch the light, glittering like pale spun gold. She shook her head slightly to banish it, unused to it being permanently in her line of vision.

Around her, the whole room was alive with glistening stars that flickered through the circle of people surrounding them. They were in a large, ivory gazebo with open sides that looked out onto the twilight garden, in which Morgan had crept around after the wild rabbits, enchanted by them, whilst the adults dined. He was asleep on two pushed-together chairs by 8pm, his fluffy black hair crushed beneath him like a pillow. Undoubtedly dreaming of rabbits, he slept through the festivities.

Above the dance floor were three chandeliers, all of them almost 200 years old and theirs – a wedding present from Morgana’s board members. It seemed they wanted to make up for their wayward colleague and, being filthy rich, they had done it with gold and crystal. Nikki wasn’t complaining, the reflections were adding to the starry atmosphere and she was sure that they would look good in their new house when they finally moved in. One in the dining room and one in the library, she thought. Or perhaps one in the kitchen? They spent half their lives in the kitchen.

The tart taste of champagne was still fresh on her tongue and the warm buzz of alcohol was running through her veins, making her giddy as Morgana led her around the floor in a smooth dance that she had evidently being taking lessons to perfect. Morgana’s dance skills previously had been remarkably like Harry’s – awkward with a dash of headbanging.

“They seem to be enjoying the show,” Morgana whispered to her, kissing the shell of Nikki’s ear so softly that shivers ran down her spine.

“I hadn’t even noticed they were there,” Nikki lied. She knew her flush was giving away her embarrassment but Morgana would never call her out on her moment of insecurity. She felt it too. Nikki could see it in the wideness of her eyes and the trembling tension of her abdominal muscles where they were pressed close together.

Morgana smiled that charming way she sometimes did and drew her into another kiss, sealing the moment in Nikki’s memory forever as the one she realised that she was perfectly and completely happy for the first time in her life.

“I love you,” she murmured, shivering with the knowledge that not even those words could ever be enough to express how deeply and fully her feelings ran for Morgana.

Before her wife could reply, the music soared and other couples suddenly appeared beside them on the floor, dancing honey-slow around them, swiftly all in worlds of their own.

“I love you too,” Morgana whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek before pulling back to kiss her properly. They both gave up on dancing then, letting the rest of the world whirl around them as they fell into each other and bloomed.

…

“I can’t believe it,” Nikki murmured, her forehead leaning against Morgana’s, their lips barely touching. Her fingers traced over the ring on Morgana’s finger and she smiled when it clinked against her own.

“Neither can I,” Morgana agreed, her voice a dreamy whisper as she entwined her fingers with Nikki’s.

They were in their bridal car on their way home, the night’s festivities over and their flights to wherever it was they were going not leaving until the following evening. Morgana had arranged it that way purposefully. She had wanted to come home with her wife to their new house and not go to sleep in their own bed -the bed that they first slept together in, in Morgana’s old house.

And not sleeping was definitely on the cards. Nikki still hadn’t seen what she was wearing under her bridal dress. The lace had been itching her all day, but it would be more than worth it to see Nikki’s reaction. It had been bloody hard tying the bow by herself but it wasn’t like she could have asked Arthur or Gwen for help her with it. With Arthur, both of them would have died of embarrassment. Gwen would have... Well, she and Gwen had come pretty far since their last kiss the day Morgan was born, but they weren’t quite that firmly platonic that it wouldn’t have been awkward or possibly disastrous. Nikki, it turned out, had a bit of a jealous streak. Something to do with a bad patch Leo and Janet had gone through just before Morgana met them.

“In some ways it seems like only yesterday that you kissed me in that bar,” Morgana continued. “But at the same time it feels like we’ve always been together. I can’t imagine life without you anymore.”

Nikki smiled and brushed her lips against Morgana’s. “Me neither.”

“And I can’t help but wonder why you did it and what would have happened if you hadn’t,” Morgana continued quietly.

“Did what?” Nikki asked, frowning as she pulled away enough to take in Morgana pensive expression properly.

“Kiss me,” Morgana sighed, as if she wished she had never mentioned it.

Nikki’s frown softened. That was an easy answer. “I kissed you because I had never felt anything like that before. There was this… thing about you. It’s a cliché, I know, but I was like a moth to the flame. I couldn’t help but want more and know more and see more and be closer. I thought that if I didn’t kiss you, I would burst. And I couldn’t have cared less about the consequences. They never even crossed my mind.”

“You never thought that I might have done it, killed Uther?” Morgana asked. She had asked it before but she hadn’t known Nikki half as well back then.

“Not even for a moment, Morgana,” Nikki swore, squeezing her hand. “So don’t ever think that. No one who knew you could have believed it and I, who had only just met you, could see it as clear as day that you loved him far too much for that. You are far too good a person to have ever contemplated something so cold and calculated.” She took a breath, trying to find the words to soothe any of Morgana’s lingering doubts. “Sometimes the police want to wrap up a case quickly and they go for the obvious person because it’s easier and, well, more obvious. A jury is far more likely to convict a troublesome step daughter. I can’t count the number of husbands or wives I have seen the police put through hell because statistically speaking, they are the most likely to have done it and more likely to be sentenced. I wasn’t a reflection on you. It was a reflection on them.”

“We would never have met if it wasn’t for my step-father’s death,” Morgana said quietly. The thought had haunted her in the months after the case had been wrapped up. How could she not be thankful for the circumstances that brought them together? And how could she not hate them for taking away the man who had been her father for as long as she could remember?

“No,” Nikki said quite certainly, “we would have. I was never one for fate, but this –” She kissed the back of Morgana’s hand “– this is fate.”

The car came to a gentle stop.

“Come on,” Morgana said, her eyes brightening, “I have a surprise for you.”

Only then did Nikki realise that they weren’t at their flat, but at their new house. The last time she had been inside, the workmen were still finishing the loft conversion and Morgana had been covered in paint in her frankly disastrous attempt to paint the hall ceiling.

“But it isn’t finished,” she protested. She didn’t want to spend her wedding night on the unsanded hardwood floor.

“Yes it is,” Morgana grinned, grasping her hand and pulling her out the car door.

…

If her dress hadn’t been so long, Morgana was sure that she would have run from the taxi, pulling Nikki along after her like a giggling schoolgirl. Instead, they inched slowly up the rain-slickened path, Morgana clinging tightly to her wife as her heels slipped and skidded with every step, her whole body bubbling over with nerves and excitement. When she turned the key in the lock, she shivered. There was no going back now. Nikki would either be thrilled or really, really pissed off.

“Surprise,” she whispered into the silence, flicking on the lights.

From the hallway, Nikki could see that the once empty house was now filled with their things – the things from the flat that had originally been just hers, the things from Morgana’s house and the things they had bought together to inhabit their new life, all of it mixed in concert.

“You don’t hate it, do you?” Morgana asked insecurely, the way she got when she was trying to please Nikki or her family. She tried so hard, had ever since her mother died from what Arthur said.

In answer, Nikki kissed her lingeringly, whispering, “I love it. Give me a tour?”

Morgana’s smile was more than enough to make up for not being able to fit out their house together. She could always move things around a week or so after they got back from honeymoon. That should be enough time to stroke Morgana’s ego. Or at least stop her from making that puppy face when Nikki inevitably shifted things about. And besides, she did smile adoringly at her throughout that tour. She hadn’t even done that bad a job. Though it was a bit… Morgana.

By the third room, they were paying more attention to each other than the furnishings. By the fifth, Nikki was tugging Morgana in the direction of the bedroom.

“Not yet,” Morgana said, breaking off the kiss and giggling at Nikki’s disappointed frown. “I have another treat for you first.”

“I would rather have you,” Nikki purred, smiling slyly.

“And you will,” Morgana assured her, leading her into the kitchen and sitting her at their ‘new’ dining room table – a wrought iron thing full of jutting angles that Morgana’s father had made. It was beautiful, if a little scary. The kitchen would definitely be out of bounds when Morgan came to stay.

“We need a toast,” Morgana said a little stiffly, before producing an obscenely expensive bottle of champagne – the vintage of the year of Nikki’s birth – and poured them both a glass. When Nikki finally gave up her pouting, she relaxed.

“To our new home,” Nikki smiled, raising her glass and clinking it against Morgana’s. “And to my beautiful wife, who really needs to stop with the grand romantic gestures. It’s putting me to shame. Especially when I would really rather be finding out what you’re wearing under your wedding dress.”

Morgana blushed. “I like doing it.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve barely started. And there will be plenty of time for christening the new house, believe me.”

Laughing, Nikki pulled her down for a kiss. “You’d better get on with it then,” she whispered, nipping at Morgana’s lip as she stepped away.

She watched as Morgana began to pull out ingredients from the cupboards and fridge. It only took her a moment to realise what she was up to.

“You’re making me a chocolate fondant at 1.30am?” she asked with a giggle, taking a sip of her champagne. It wasn’t the best she had tasted but the thought that had gone into it made it taste sweet enough.

“Not just normal chocolate fondant – which, I would like to point out, I cooked for our first date, making this terribly romantic of me – but salted chocolate fondant,” Morgana answered, her back to Nikki as she turned on the hob. “And I do believe that’s your newfound favourite kind of chocolate.”

Nikki licked her lips. There was something delicious about Morgana buttering ramekins in her wedding dress. In fact, if she didn’t distract herself quickly, Morgana’s fondants wouldn’t even make it into the oven.

“How exactly did you manage all of this furnishing? There’s no way you could have done it all last night.” That should do it. A nice chat about logistics. There was no way that could lead to her pushing Morgana up against the fridge.

“Magic,” Morgana answered nonchalantly, stirring the chocolate in the bain-marie and kicking off her heels.

Or maybe it could. Innocuous sounding conversations often did with Morgana. A nice chat about the customer service hotlines at Invitrogen vs. Lonza had quickly deteriorated into sex on the coffee table the Sunday prior.

“Ha ha,” Nikki said, trying to sound droll. She crossed her legs and took another sip of champagne. “How did you really do it?”

Morgana turned around and winked. “With the power of science.”

Nikki looked at her dubiously. God, she had married the world’s biggest geek.

“Everything but the stuff from our flat has been in here for a week,” Morgana admitted casually, her attention back on the chocolate mixture. She spooned it carefully into a disposable piping bag and twisted the remaining bag until the chocolate mixture was tightly packed at the nozzle. It wasn’t strictly necessary to pipe the mixture into the pudding, moulds but it was neater. Naturally, that made the step perfectly necessary for Morgana. “The rest of the stuff came in last night and this morning,” Morgana continued distractedly. With just the right amount of pressure and a healthy amount of concentration – the kind that made her tongue peep out from between her lips and her eyes narrow – she piped the mixture into the moulds. When she was done, she leant back to appraise them proudly. “Arthur helped. A bit.”

An unconscious smile rose to Nikki’s lips.

“I haven’t said ‘thank you’ for this yet, have I?” She pushed herself up and out of her chair, and crossed to where Morgana was standing, just having struggled to place the fondants in the oven in her tight dress. Sighing happily, Nikki wrapped her arms around Morgana’s waist and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Thank you. It was a lovely idea. It is a lovely idea. It’s perfect. I love it.”

“I’ve even had the heating on since early this morning to make sure it wasn’t cold,” Morgana added, hoping for extra credit. With a deep, rich laugh, Nikki trailed her lips up Morgana’s neck, pausing when she reached her ear.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she whispered roguishly, letting her hands wander down to Morgana’s hips. “You’ll get your reward.”

When Morgana simply slipped form her embrace and crossed the kitchen, Nikki’s mouth fell open in silent protest.

“Not until you’ve eaten the chocolate fondant,” Morgana dictated from the fridge. At Nikki’s indignant gasp, she added, “Now, be a good girl and go and sit down.”

Too shocked to object, Nikki sat back down at the table and crossed her legs primly. She wasn’t really annoyed, just a bit piqued that she wasn’t currently the sole focus of Morgana’s attention. Well, not directly anyway. Then again, she couldn’t even begin to imagine all the thought that Morgana had put into the wedding and the honeymoon. She herself hadn’t lifted a finger. All she had done was pick what kind of flowers she wanted, shopped for her dress and the chosen the venue. Morgana was responsible for every other perfect detail. Nikki could see why she wouldn’t want her plans ruined by wandering hands, no matter how pleasurable as those hands promised to make the experience.

“What time do we fly out tomorrow?” Nikki asked, trying to change the subject and perhaps gain some sort of unintentional clue as to their destination. She was getting dangerously close to pouncing on Morgana again.

“Six thirty,” Morgana informed her once she was done blending the raspberries and sugar and had retrieved the fondants from the oven. “We don’t need to check in but we should still get there for around five at the latest.”

Woe betide Morgana be anything other than pathologically early for everything.

“And before you ask: yes, I have chartered a private plane. And no, you can’t protest because it’s our honeymoon and if I can’t spend money on you now, then when can I.”

Ignoring Nikki’s muted complaints, Morgana turned out the fondants onto a single plate, drizzling the raspberry coulis over them and sifting a light coating of icing sugar on top. She knew that the moment Nikki tasted them, she would forget about her little extravagance with the plane. Not that the plane was the most expensive thing about the wedding. Not by a long shot. Nikki would kill her if she ever found the venue refurbishment bill. Or the one for the honeymoon accommodation.

“Never mind the plane,” she said, hitching up her dress just enough to perch herself in front of Nikki on the table, careful not to drop the plate and two spoons. Splitting the first fondant open with one of the spoons, she scooped up some of its molten heart and offered it to Nikki. “Taste this and I promise you will forgive me the plane.”

Fixing her eyes on Morgana’s, Nikki made a show of slowly parting her lips sucking the rich, salty chocolate from the spoon, licking off every last smear. A throaty involuntary moan slipped from her parted lips and she shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. Damn Morgana and her perfect cooking.

Half way through the first pudding, Nikki decided that the salty-sweet centre of fondant tasted even better on Morgana’s tongue, and the plate was quickly discarded in favour of moving to the bedroom. Once inside, Morgana shut the door and leaned back against it, dropped Nikki’s hand and looked at her expectantly.

“I remember you saying something about a reward?” she reminded her, smiling wickedly. “Strip.”

Without breaking eye contact, Nikki reached back and drew the zipper down teasingly slow and echoing loud in the silence of their bedroom. When she reached the bottom, she bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, letting her dress slip off her shoulders and onto the hardwood floor, baring the dainty ivory and violet lingerie underneath. She smiled at the hungry look in Morgana’s eyes, a shiver running through her. She knew just what Morgana liked on her, what would make her heart quicken and her kisses just that little bit rougher. Before Morgana, she had never really known what it was like to be desired that way, the way that Morgana desired her. The few long term relationships she had had over the years had all turned passionless fairly quickly. With Morgana, the lust hadn’t even begun to wane and the feeling of Morgana looking at her that way was just as devastating as it had been that first night.

“Your turn,” she whispered, walking provocatively towards Morgana, her high heels giving her the height advantage for once.

Morgana shook her head and turned, pulling back her hair to reveal the intricate lacing holding her dress together. “This is a present you will have to unwrap yourself.”

Her mouth dry, Nikki stepped forward and pressed her lips to the pale skin at the back of Morgana’s neck, tugging on the ties, loosening them bit by bit until she could slip her hands underneath the silk and pry it apart and off. What she saw underneath made her breath catch. Morgana had never been a sports bra and boxer briefs kind of girl – there was always some combination of silk and lace underneath her skinny jeans and Clash t-shirts, a beautiful contrast – but what she had been wearing under her wedding dress was something else entirely. Nikki hadn’t been able to tell that beneath Morgana’s long white dress had been almost sheer brown stockings. She had definitely not been able to tell that said stockings were finished with a wide band of matching lace above her knees and were held up by the most mouth-wateringly sexy suspender belt that Nikki had ever seen. Not that she had really been that much of an expert in lingerie until she had met Morgana or that she had ever seen Morgana wear a suspender belt before. But this one, she was sure, was the hottest in existence, if only for the way it stood out against Morgana’s sun-hidden skin and the way that the straps were just that little bit too tight over her bare curves.

She opened her mouth to swear but nothing came out. Not a sound.

Unbidden, her hands reached out to trail up the back of Morgana’s things and upwards still to cup her barely clothed arse. All that hid the flawless skin were the straps of her suspender belt and the thinnest line of her lace briefs peeking out from beneath the suspender belt that hugged her hips. Intoxicated, she had run her hands up still, over the belt and up her sides, finding no clasp at the back of Morgana’s beautiful, earthy-brown and emerald-green strapless bra.

“Turn around,” she whispered breathily into Morgana’s ear, unable to again resist running her hands over the silky smooth pale skin exposed to her for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. A night apart and the following nuptials had inflamed her already healthy libido.

Morgana turned and brought Nikki’s hands up to the delicate bow at her bra’s bridge. A single tug was all that was needed to undo the elasticated bow and the bra both, letting it fall to join the dress on the floor and leaving Morgana naked above the waist. Nikki’s knees almost gave way.

Unable to resist, Nikki took a step closer and slid one hand up over her toned stomach to her breasts, the other pulling her close, as she breathed, “Oh, you win. You definitely, definitely win.”

“I wasn’t aware there had been a competition,” Morgana whispered sultrily, sliding her hands into Nikki’s briefs and digging in her short black nails.

Nikki gasped for the breath that had just been stolen from her lungs and lifted her head from Morgana’s shoulder to meet her in a desperate kiss.

“Looking at you, there never was,” Nikki muttered, nipping at Morgana’s bottom lip. Her head fell back and she almost lost her balance as Morgana began kissing her way along her jaw, simultaneously ridding Nikki of her briefs.

“Only because you can’t hear the thoughts your little outfit has set running through my mind,” Morgana whispered hotly against her ear. “But don’t worry, I plan to reenact each and every one of them in graphic detail.”

At her words, Nikki’s eyes fluttered closed and she forgot how to breathe.

***

“Will it do then?” Morgana asked, her voice as soft as the sea breeze that was blowing her inky black hair, loose to beyond her shoulders.

She knew it would do. It would do for anyone. More than do.

Nikki drew off her sunglasses and gazed open-mouthed in awe. Before them was a slim, bleached white jetty jutting out from the sands on stilts over the cerulean water. It seemed to stretch endlessly before it reached an equally pale wooden cabin far out in the shallow water. Or not a cabin – those are found in woods. This was more of an… an igloo. A big wooden igloo that was three floors high with a thatched at the roof and decking surrounding it. Okay, so maybe not an igloo either. It was something out of a romance novel or the glossy pages of a travel brochure, the photo they put on the cover and to which nothing else inside could ever live up to. A beautiful fantasy come to life.

“It’s…” she didn’t know what to say. It was one of the most unreal things she had ever seen. “It’s beautiful.”

The receptionist had assured them that their bags were already in the ‘hut’ – that was what they had called it at reception, a ‘hut’, not that it looked like one of those either – and that a breakfast spread had been laid out for them inside. From the name, Nikki had expected a little shack by the beach. She had almost been ready to whip out Morgana’s credit card and get them changed to one of the white marble villas near the reception. She couldn’t believe that Morgana had brought her all the way to Thailand to stay in a hut. Now that she had seen it, she was sure that this was indeed the most expensive apartment in the complex. That she had ever doubted it seemed absurd – how could she have ever envisaged Morgana settling for less than the best?

As if making up for the sedate walk up the path of the night – or was it two nights? – before, they ran down the sturdy little jetty hand in hand, Morgana tugging her almost faster than she could manage in flip flops. At the end of the jetty was a little red door with the words ‘honeymoon suite’ picked out in gold letters. Beneath it an envelope addressed to ‘The Laffertys’ was tacked onto the wood. Nikki pulled it free, took out the letter inside and began to read it aloud.

“’Nikki and Morgana,’” she began. “’We couldn’t decide what we ought to get you for a wedding present. Arthur suggested excursions on your honeymoon. Gwen shot that idea down straight away. Janet suggested upgrading your plane tickets as a surprise, but they were already First Class Premium seats. Harry suggested several things which won’t be listed here seeing as Leo is the one typing it and he is not saving a document containing those words on the university network. Morgan suggested a puppy but we think Arthur was behind this suggestion and it had to be explained to him that we couldn’t leave a puppy in your apartment in a foreign country because of quarantine etc. Gwen’s proposal was to leave a selection of your favourite foods in a hamper in the apartment, but then she saw the room service menu and withdrew her suggestion. Leo – that’s me – came up with the winning idea. We have added a little diversion of sorts onto your journey home. You won’t be flying back to London via Hong Kong, but instead via Johannesburg for a week! We have a booked a lovely hotel and have left vouchers to let you decide on the excursions – which surely you must want to do by then.’ And it’s signed: ‘Lots of love, Arthur, Gwen, Harry, Janet, Leo and Morgan.’”

Morgana was grinning.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Nikki asked, slightly embarrassed at the thought of whatever it was that Leo had refused to record in the letter. She would be having words with Harry when they got home. “I can see it in your smug expression. You always look so smug when you think you’ve managed to hide something from me.”

Still smirking, Morgana turned the key in the door and pushed it open, a wall of cool air hitting them and suddenly making it easier to breathe. Before them was a dining table and chairs in the centre of a large, round room with a kitchen at one end and large French doors at the other. Many windows circled the walls, some as long as a car and others more like portholes. Light flooded in through them, making the white-washed walls and gleaming terracotta floor glow crisply.

To their left was a staircase that curved round and upwards, clinging to the wall. They took it up to the first floor, half of which was tiled with pale blue instead of terracotta and contained a large freestanding bath, couples matching sinks, an open shower and a large mirror – something that Morgana intended to make full use of at some point during their stay. The other half of the room looked to be a sort of office with a desk, a telephone, various menus, instruction manuals and excursion leaflets. Morgana was determined to go on at least one. She had never been to Thailand before and wanted to do a little bit of culture spotting. That had always been Gwen’s ideal holiday when they were younger. She dragged Morgana to every church, temple and museum no matter where they went. Morgana hadn’t been able to understand the fascination at the time, but now she regretted not paying attention when they went on the tour of Ellis Island or walked around St. Petersburg. She wasn’t about to give up the chance of trying real Thai street food.

Again, Nikki set off up the stairs and Morgana followed her up to the next and last floor.

As you would expect of a honeymoon suite, the centre of the room was taken up by what was possibly the largest bed either of them had ever seen. It was carved from the same pale white wood as the jetty and walls and was draped with white silk and fine cotton sheets. At its foot was a large flat screen TV that would disappear into the wooden bed-end at the push of a button, making Morgana wonder how long their marriage would last if she tried to craftily watch that week’s Doctor Who. At one side of the circular room a small living room had been set up around a coffee table stacked with the bag of books Morgana had bought at the airport. The chairs were big and comfy looking, more than spacious enough for Morgana to pull Nikki onto her knee for them both to flick through the menus and brochures. Opposite all of this was another set of doors leading out onto a balcony where there was a smaller set of table and chairs. It was on that table that breakfast had been laid out for them and so there they headed for first.

After a decadent breakfast and many honey-tasting kisses, they slept. The time difference had taken its toll. As far as their internal clocks were concerned, it was 4am not 10am and they hadn’t exactly gotten any sleep the night before either. They woke up as the sun was setting and ordered dinner from the exquisite priceless menu and Morgana got to have Nikki curled up on her knee whilst they waited. Dinner was certain to be exquisitely expensive. Not that Nikki minded. Morgana’s company had just gotten NICE approval for a new flu vaccine and they had already made twice their annual revenue in three months. They could more than afford to spend as much as they damn well pleased on this honeymoon and, for once, Nikki would not be wincing with every flash of Morgana’s credit card. At least probably not. She probably shouldn’t be around when the time came for Morgana to pay their tab at reception when they checked out.

Dinner came on a boat and again they ate at the little table on the balcony instead of at the dining table. The view was spectacular and it was within stumbling distance of the bed so Nikki didn’t mind eating in her underwear. They retired to bed again after a bottle of wine and Nikki spent the next few hours hoping that, as it appeared, there really was no one around to hear them.

“This is so surreal,” Nikki whispered, shivers of sensation still washing over her like the sea that lapped quietly all around them. “I can’t believe that we’re really here in this paradise and that you’re really my wife and that I’m yours. It feels far too good to be true.”

Morgana laughed lightly and ran her hands down Nikki’s sides, joining them at the small of her back, pulling her closer. “It is, but it’s true anyway.”

“It feels like we’re in our own little world here,” Nikki continued. “No one around for miles.”

“And excellent WiFi to boot. I, for one, am pretty damn satisfied,” Morgana said only half teasingly. One of the first things she had done was line up her phone, her ipod and her laptop, and set up the complementary internet access. She had claimed it was in case of an emergency as they couldn’t expect people to phone them on anything other than Skype when they were that far away from home. They got an email through during dinner from Gwen with a drawing that Morgan had done of them in their dresses. Nikki had gotten a damn good view when Morgana had stood on the desk in her underwear to pin it up in the little office next to an actual wedding photo, courtesy of Janet, of the two of them kissing under the ivy covered arch. Morgana was going to put it on her desk at work, not that she would ever let Nikki find out.

Nikki pinched her side for mentioning the WiFi, and then kissed her. “I love you, Morgana Lafferty, even though you are a geek.”

“And I love you, Nikki Lafferty, even though you were mad enough to marry me,” Morgana whispered back, lips taut with a smile when Nikki kissed her again, deepening it. She was literally powerless to resist her.

***

They got up at 8am the next day to swim before the sun got too hot. Morgana was the first in, diving right off the side of their wooden patio and into the azure water. Nikki sat on the side with her feet in the sea and watched Morgana use her goggles to explore the underwater world around them. She looked endlessly adorable and Nikki had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing when she bobbed back up to the surface with a shiny pink shell. There was a crab inside, which appeared for the first time when it hit fresh air, making Morgana scream and drop it.

Nikki slipped into the water then to console and tease her in equal amounts. Morgana, not amused by the whole situation, pushed Nikki under the water and swam away before she could resurface. They played this game for more than an hour, kissing and touching increasingly intimately whenever they caught each other. The game ended when Morgana, having caught Nikki, guided them underneath the patio, pressing her wife up against one of the wooden stilts. Nikki gasped and the soft sound echoed around them, reverberating between wood and water. Every noise they made would be amplified a hundred times.

Without her noticing, Morgana tugged loose the two bows holding Nikki’s white halter neck bikini together at the back. A little wave stole it from her completely, letting Morgana gaze down appreciatively at her heaving breasts, saltwater lapping over them. She brought her hands up from Nikki’s sides and covered them slowly, swiping her thumbs over Nikki’s nipples and making her whimper, pinching them gently and then a little harder, nipping Nikki’s tongue in time with her fingers, palming her rougher and rougher until Nikki whimpered with every touch.

“Ever had sex in the sea before, all salty wet?” Morgana whispered hotly in her ear, her short nails punctuating her question. Nikki shook her head. She could never speak when Morgana was touching her. It rendered her utterly dumb. “Then it’s time I educated you.”

Leaving Nikki’s breasts for the waves to wash up against, keeping the sensations flowing, Morgana slid her hand inside the bottoms of Nikki’s bikini. She was wet from more than just the sea.

Nikki breathed heavily, pulling ineffectually at Morgana’s bikini top – dark purple striped with black. Morgana laughed and unclasped it for her, tossing it away and moving closer so that their breasts pressed together, nipples brushing to send tingles down their spines.

Before returning her attention to between Nikki’s legs, Morgana brought her hand to Nikki’s hip, encouraging her to wrap one leg around her waist, spreading herself open.

“I want you to try to be quiet for me, can you do that?” she whispered into Nikki’s ear, trailing her hand up the inside of Nikki’s thigh. She pressed inside slowly, making Nikki whimper. Her hand retreated and she pulled back enough to peer into Nikki’s dark eyes and see the pink flush of her cheeks. She slid back in, watching Nikki’s head fall back and her eyes dilate. “Make another sound and I’ll stop. Understand?” Nikki whimpered her understanding and again Morgana withdrew. “Not a sound.” This time Nikki nodded silently and got her reward.

She didn’t last long with three of Morgana’s fingers driving a slow, deep rhythm inside her whilst her thumb rubbed roughly at her clit and her other hand teased her right breast in time with her thrusts.

“Keep quiet,” Morgana reminded her as she neared the edge, her muscles already starting to quiver. “If you start to make a sound, I’ll stop.”

Nikki bit her lip and tried to nod, her head thrown back against the stilt. Her whole body was alight with sensation, tiny underwater currents and lapping waves caressing every inch of her at once.

It was the press of Morgana’s thumb that shattered her like a wave hitting the rocks. Her throat tore with a silent scream and her breaths stuttered out of her control like an orchestra without a conductor, quivering and rhythmless.

She got her own back by swimming off when she was her legs started listening to her brain again and she got out of the water, leaving Morgana aching and unsatiated. Her wife found her a few minutes later laid out on the decking, drying off in the sun with her bikini top still floating somewhere on the ocean surface, her eyes closed. In retaliation, Morgana wrung her hair out onto her stomach, making her scream.

“That’s for being selfish,” Morgana quipped with an evil smile. “And I wasn’t even done with you either. I was even going to let you scream next time.”

Nikki flushed and watched Morgana disappear into the apartment. Revenge was overrated.

***

She made up for it that evening by slipping under the table when dinner was done. She slipped her head under the skirt of Morgana’s beach dress and untied her bikini bottoms, pulling them off her and licking a trail up the inside of her quivering thighs. She tasted like the sea – salty and secretive – and Nikki closed her eyes and hummed appreciatively, the vibrations making Morgana gasp and jerk. Nikki made her come three times before the pins and needles in her knees became too painful to ignore.

She climbed onto her lap and let Morgana taste herself on her tongue, kissing her languidly and deeply, losing herself in the kiss until Morgana had recovered enough to sneak her hand into Nikki’s shorts and make her ride her fingers until she came, finally letting her scream.

***

“I think,” Nikki panted some time later, in bed, “that I must be dreaming. I must be sat at my desk in front of a pile of paperwork, with my head in my hands, dreaming. Because really, rationally, I cannot have spent the last twenty four hours having really, really good sex in the midst of an island paradise with my wife.”

“Mmmmm… But you have,” Morgana murmured, nuzzling her neck. “Either that or we have been sharing one hell of a vivid dream – one with all five senses and an R18 rating.”

Nikki drifted off to sleep laughing.

***

They arrived home on a chilly Sunday morning.

Nikki watched appreciatively as, for the third time since they had left on their honeymoon, Morgana pulled their two enormous suitcases off the baggage carousel and helped two elderly couples retrieve theirs too. Both told her how kind she was to help them and one of the men even noticed how Nikki’s arm was through Morgana’s, and told them how sweet they looked together. Nikki smiled and blushed, and Morgana kissed her cheek.

Gwen and Arthur were waiting for them in the terminal atrium and Morgan wriggled out of their grasp, shot across the shiny floor and leapt up into Nikki’s arms, showering her cheek in kisses before straining across to kiss Morgana too.

“This is it then,” Nikki declared wistfully, Morgan happy on her hip, “we’re back to normality.”

Morgana smiled mischievously and gave her a wink. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Laughing at the cheesiness, Nikki kissed Morgan’s cheek and grabbed Morgana’s hand. It was something she wouldn’t mind getting used to, she thought – a child on her hip and Morgana’s hand in hers. In fact, it felt pretty damn perfect.

Notes: I know that this took a long time to finish, but please forgive me. I've been busy with my final year exams and then graduating. Plus I have other fics on the go too. I do have plans to write more in this universe (all of which you can find on AO3) but as of this moment, I do not know when that will be.

A Rose for My Queen (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 19:26:41 GMT

It all started with a chance meeting. No – that was a lie.

It all started when Gwen went looking for her. What she found was a shadow of a woman, a Morgana no longer able to remember even her own name. But Gwen changed that. Slowly, Morgana recovered, even began to smile again, blushing when Gwen caught her looking. The kiss was long overdue and Morgana laughed and cried. They made love in the forest where it was fresh and bright, and neither of them cared how red their knees turned or that they were out in the open.

They giggled afterwards, sharing sweet damp kisses and tender touches. It was then that Morgana called for her dragon, finally letting Gwen in on the last of her secrets.

Trembling, Gwen hid behind Morgana’s shoulder, peeking through her long, flowing hair as the sound of leathery wings grew louder and closer.

Morgana giggled and turned to nuzzle her cheek, kissing it and whispering, “Trust me.”

Gwen thought that, really, she had shown enough trust already. They were still bare, clothed only in caressing breeze.

“I do,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Morgana’s shoulder and going back to hiding. Not that she thought that Morgana’s hair, as glorious as it was, could hide her from a dragon. The one and only time she had seen a dragon before, it had burnt half of Camelot to the ground. Still, she knelt and waited, watching as Morgana’s eyes turn golden and her face serene, a song in some unknowable language slipping like an exhaled breath from her lips. Gwen shivered; it was beautiful.

To her song, the white dragon flew. She appeared over the treeline at the edge of the clearing and dove down, sweeping low and coming to a stop before them, hovering.

The first thing Gwen noticed was how small she was. The second was that her eyes were a deep, intelligent blue as she stared inquisitively at Gwen, as if she was not hidden at all.

“Gwen,” Morgana began, her voice soft, “meet Aithusa. Do not be afraid, she has something for you.”

Slowly, Gwen appeared from her hiding place and smiled at the child of a dragon. She was really rather cute. “Hello.”

“Aithusa would like to give you a rose,” Morgana explained, reaching to take the flower from the dragon’s mouth and pass it to Gwen. “She would tell you herself but she is a little shy. She only talks to me at the moment.”

Gwen looked at the rose in her hand and gasped. It was as soft as any living rose but seemed to be made of tiny emeralds, rubies and onyxes – as if it had grown in crystal field. Though she did not know it, it had.

“A rose for a queen,” Morgana murmured, tilting Gwen’s chin up towards her and kissing her softly, girlishly. “My queen.”

Something fluttered in Gwen’s stomach and one of Morgana’s visions was breathed into her mind: her and Morgana on Camelot’s thrones, ruling together. Queens.

At My Most Beautiful (23/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 14:14:22 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (23/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,300 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: The fate of two kingdoms rests on one battlefield meeting, and it is in Morgause’s hands to deliver them from war.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

A flash of ivory against the rising sun in the golden morn sky caught Morgause’s attention on the moment before the dove fluttered silently into her tent and perched beside its mate’s cage on the table, the pair cooing softly in greeting. Morgause carefully and quietly crossed the tent and scooped the dove up, cradling it to her chest to calm it. About its neck was a band of intertwined golden vines, heralding it as the Queen’s own bird. Trembling for the need of news from her love, Morgause took the letter from around its slender leg and caged it with its mate. They cooed again and huddled enviably close together - reunited.

Turning to the light of the morning so that she might read, Morgause rolled off the slim leather tie and unravelled the letter, drinking in the words inked in Morgana’s beautiful hand.

My dear, brave champion,

I write with great news. The physician I sent for has come to see your Eleanor and was able to wake her. Amina – the physician – gave her a medicine that brought her out of her slumber and slowly back to health. She is giving her another remedy for her illness and your uncle says that she is much improved, though it has only been a week since her awakening. I cannot express what a beautiful relief it is to have finally seen your cousin’s warm eyes that look so like yours.

Write to me? I need know you are well, for I cannot cease from fretting and Amina says that I must be calm for the babes’ sake. They grow restless without you near and I too grow agitated with them. We need you home with us. Please tell me it will be soon. The last two months have passed so very slowly without you.

Know that you have mine and Camelot’s love, always,

Your Queen

post scriptum – Gwen sends her love and says that she prays for you. As do I.

Morgause smiled brightly and held the letter close to her heart, thanking the Gods for Morgana and everything she did, and for saving Eleanor as only their mighty will could. She closed her eyes and her smile lightened even more as she used her magic to caress the cords running from her centre across miles and endless miles, wondering if Morgana could feel it. When her eyes opened, she saw the young nurse who had been tending her wounds staring at her, smiling.

“A letter from your sweetheart?” she asked, an impish smile playing on her delicate pink lips. She was slight with light gold skin and fair brown hair that curled in ringlets about her heart-shaped face and she smiled.

“It is news of my cousin. She was very ill when I left and has since recovered,” Morgause revealed, keeping the sender of the letter’s identity to herself. She folded the parchment up and stuck it in her pocket, before moving to sit back down in front the woman whose name she had yet to ask. It was unlike her to be so discourteous. She apologised and quickly rectified her transgression.

“Kayleigh,” the woman said in answer to her question. It suited her, young and bright eyed as she was. She could not have been older than Morgana had been when she married Uther. It occurred to her that Kayleigh’s mother might have sent her out to the camp to find herself a knight for a husband. If that was what she hoped for, she had chosen the wrong tent.

“I am Morgause,” Morgause said next, remembering her manners. “And I am very grateful for your care. Your village has been so gracious to tend to our knights and those injured on the other side. Not many recently occupied villages would be so kind to their former captors. You do Camelot proud.”

Kayleigh’s fingers brushed down her bare arm and she shivered. It seemed like an age since she had felt Morgana’s gentle touch. But this was not Morgana and she oughtn’t to be feeling so flattered.

“It is the will of your Commander that captured Worcesterians be treated. And you needn’t have told me your name. I know who you are. We have heard tales of your bravery and valour, and of your gallantry too.” She sat down behind Morgause and wound her arm around her waist, pressing into her back with the thinly veiled pretence of checking the wound to her side. “They say that you are the truest knight in all the kingdoms. Every one of us dreams of being the maiden you choose to tend to you for the rest of the war and to be taken care of by you in return.”

For a moment, Morgause wondered what it would be like to turn around and kiss her. She wondered what she would taste like and how her bare skin – skin kept hidden from the sun – would feel like under her fingers. She wondered what she would look like laid out bare on the furs Morgause slept on and how she would gasp and whimper. But the image in Morgause’s head was not of this Kayleigh but of Morgana’s divine form. The woman in her mind was not skinny-armed and flat-stomached like the nurse but quickened and rounded like Morgana had been the last time they had lain together. It was Morgana she wanted, not anyone else.

“And for gallantry’s sake, I must ask that you withdraw. Your honour is a precious thing and I would have it upheld at all costs,” Morgause said softly, standing and moving away. Her back felt icy cold without the warm curves of a woman pressed up behind her. The loss was crushing.

“Your sweetheart needn’t know,” Kayleigh reasoned, following her. She reached out and touched her arm again, closing her fingers gently around the taught muscle there. “A Knight cannot be expected not to slake their lust after a battle. Many of your brothers spent the dark hours doing just that with the girls from my village. If they are lucky, their Knight will find them pleasurable enough to keep in a village nearer the city, where they are within an hour riding distance for a night’s joining. It is a privileged position that any girl would dream of.”

“Such things may go on in the lower Companies but certainly not in the First Company and certainly not with me. This is not talk that I will entertain,” Morgause said firmly. She turned around to see Kayleigh staring at her with big damp eyes, looking so very young. “Go home, Kayleigh. Please.”

Leon was at the entrance to her tent when Morgause looked up, holding the flap open as the girl ran out, tears overflowing.

“Well that could have been handled better,” he said appraisingly, turning to watch the girl go. When she was out of sight, he stepped inside and let the flap close behind him. “Gwaine managed to turn his down without making her cry.”

Morgause sighed and sat down heavily on her wooden armoury chest. “Good for Gwaine.”

She was not nearly as bitter as she sounded and she knew that Leon would know that. He knew her too well to think that something like this would bother her. Still, he gave her a sharp look to remind her that he was her Commander and her just a Knight.

“Do not get comfortable. A Worcesterian envoy has arrived. King Edwin himself is among them. I want you there when I talk to him.”

Morgause’s heart skipped a beat and she scrambled to her feet. Talks could mean the end of the war or they serve to make it only bloodier.

***

The Queen awoke with her lady-in-waiting’s warm body at her back, her heat keeping away the bitter winter cold. It had been over a month since Uther had frequented her bed and almost 3 weeks since he had sought her attentions at all. Morgana was not sure whether it had been Amina’s warnings to the King that his wife needed to refrain from such exertions or if it had just been her quickly growing belly that was keeping him away. Either way, she was sleeping soundly for the first time since Morgause road out to war two long months earlier. In that time she had received little word of the Camelot’s position in the war. She knew that four battles had been fought and won: the Battle of Ignis Vale, the Battle of the White River, the Battle of the Borderlands and the Battle of All Souls. What she did not know was the damage their forces had taken in the battles or if any of the Knights she knew had died. She thought particularly on the First Company and the men who had been so kind on her journey home from Mermering. Morgause’s letters had been infrequent and short, and although Morgana knew this was how it must be to keep their secret safe, it did not ease her aching loneliness.

“Are you awake?” Morgana whispered, clutching the warm gold teardrop pendant over her heart. The pendant had arrived on her birthday the month before, with a note that said simply:

To warm your heart in the cold months of separation.

All my love,

Your Champion

And warm her heart it did. Fastened to her gold mail necklace, it lay above her heart, giving off unnatural warmth – magic. If she touched her fingers to it, she could taste Morgause’s magic slip past her lips and caress her tongue, slipping down her throat and warming her from the inside like a kiss of flame. The longer she held it between her fingers, the stronger the sensation got, until she was overflowing with it, leaking magic from her fingers and toes, breathing it out and glowing with it. Nothing would ever feel as close as that did to being in Morgause’s arms.

“Yes. I am awake,” Gwen replied, biting her tongue as always to stop herself from adding ‘my lady’ to the end of each sentence.

Morgana released the pendant.

“Amina thinks that I will carry to February, not January. Uther will be furious.” Morgana had found out the news the day before when she had mentioned the physician at Mermering’s assertion that the babe would be born on or around the Epiphany. To her embarrassment, Amina had insisted she count the months herself and see if that date fit. It did not. It seemed that Mermering’s physician had guessed her to be almost two months further gone than she was – due to the fact she carried more than one babe. “He had his heart set on the babe being born on a feast day.”

“The King cannot argue with nature,” Gwen said soothingly. “He is overjoyed – as all of Camelot are – that you are bearing him two heirs. He cannot blame you for how long it takes. Tell him that this way their birth day will be free for a feast to be named for them in the years to come.”

“But three more months, Gwen!”

Gwen laughed and rubbed her belly. “They will be here soon enough, and you’ll wish you had more time to ready.”

***

Uther took the news better than expected. It seemed that he was eager to write off any man of Mermering as being as incapable as the town’s defences, even if that meant waiting for his heirs. The feast notion seemed to take his fancy too. Gwen had been right about that.

The topic her broached next was one that Morgana had been expecting for some while.

“It’s time you were confined to your chambers,” Uther said decisively, eyeing her swollen belly over the table. “I will not have our future put at risk for the sake of a stroll through the gardens.”

Even though Morgana had known he would say this eventually, it did not prepare her for how angry she felt when he did. “I will go out of my mind if I am caged like that! Give me the freedom to roam and I will be far happier and healthier, you will see.”

Uther raised an eyebrow. It amused him now when she lashed out. He saw it as proof of his son’s strong will. Morgana had heard him boast of it to the court nobles, patting her belly and talking about her like she was not there. She felt as though she were a walking cradle – only good for what was inside her. It made her anger flame to no end, imagining herself taking Morgause’s sword and running him through with it. But Morgause’s sword was somewhere else, miles away with the woman who wielded it.

“You cannot be expected to know what is best for yourself. You are only a woman,” Uther said dismissively, considering the debate over. “And beyond that, Gaius has warned me that a woman with child is no more capable of making decisions than the babe inside her. I expect you to obey me, Morgana, especially in this. Or I will have the guards posted inside your chamber and have you confined to your bed, without your lady-in-waiting to keep you company.”

Morgana seethed and bit her tongue. Maids shared lady’s beds all the time – especially when the weather turned cold. Not even Uther would baulk at that. No, he made the threat because he knew that she was fond of Gwen and that being isolated from her was the worst punishment he could enforce, as things were.

“As you command, my King,” Morgana cheeped obediently. There was no point in arguing with him. She smiled, pretending to accept his orders and move on. “Have you any word from the Knights this morning?”

Uther nodded and shoved twice a forkful of cold ham into his mouth, chewing it with his lips parted. It turned Morgana’s stomach.

“A dove came with first light,” he mumbled around his food. “Another battle won. They are calling it The Battle for Little Grange after the village they liberated. ”

“And what of our men?” Morgana asked impatiently, as she had after every such dove had come home. She never got an answer.

“That is not for you to worry about,” Uther said, sternness quickly coming back into his voice. He was still annoyed at her for questioning him. No one questioned the King. That went double for his wife. His dominion over her was twofold. Knowledge was power and he liked her powerless.

Again, Morgana conceded. She would know if anything had happened to Morgause, she was sure of it. Word of the other men would come with Morgause’s next letter, she hoped. It was not in her to be so selfish that the only Knight or knight whose safety she feared for was Morgause’s. Her prayers to the old Gods begged safety for every one of her citizens. They were, all of them, her children in a sense. Uther had given her that burden from the moment he told her that they were to marry. But maybe she had felt that way before then too. It was difficult to remember when something so essential began. She would pray for them all again that night and every night until she died, whether that be with the birth of her babes or when they were both grown and had babes of their own.

“If you are just going to stare at your food then I will have it,” Uther growled.

Morgana narrowed her eyes, done with being subservient for the day. “Not unless you want your babes to starve.” And with that she picked up the plate and left.

***

The tent was draped in the reds and golds of the Pendragon arms – a warning to King Edwin of Worcester that Pendragon knights surrounded him on all sides, even when he could not see them. Edwin was, Morgause noticed, far younger than Uther. His face was barely lined and his hair was a vivid copper. She had not seen his like among the nobles before. A red head of hair was a signature of the Northern bloodlines just as Morgana’s pitch black hair betrayed her Western birth. Perhaps his ancestors had been among the few Northerners to betray their kin and help the Romans in their lust for power. Or maybe he took the throne by force as the Pendragons once had.

“Do you have the authority to speak for King Uther Pendragon of Camelot?” Edwin asked in a bellowing voice of the like that echoey caves gave to other, lesser men.

“I do,” answered Sir Leon, Commander of the Knights of Camelot and Keeper of the City. He handed the foreign King a roll of parchment confirming it.

Edwin read it and tossed it onto the table between them. From her vantage point behind her Commander, Morgana could see that the hand he used to throw it was bandaged. She wondered if he had actually fought alongside his men. It was more than could be said for Camelot’s King.

“I trust that you know the cause of this war, seeing as you are the one fighting it,” Edwin began.

“A treaty was not successfully signed between our two great kingdoms. I believe there was a slight towards your family. Camelot apologises,” Leon imparted smoothly, leaving Uther’s name out of it for the time being. There was no use angering the King with the name of a man he so obviously despised.

“’Camelot’ got my maiden daughter with child,” Edwin bit. “She was a girl of eighteen, promised to King Tolin, whose kingdom is south by the sea. Now the betrothal has been declared null and hundreds of men lie in unmarked graves.”

Morgause wanted to say that no matter what had happened to Edwin’s daughter, it should not have been the spark for war. All those deaths were avoidable. But this was the game played by kings. Peasants did not matter. Of course she was angry about what Uther had done, but she was a thousand times more angry at King Edwin for taking it out on the people of Camelot.

“The act of war was not made by us,” Sir Leon said as non-inflammatorily as he could. “Think of your people. Should they really suffer for a foreign King’s transgressions?”

“So you admit it then! A slight against my house is a slight against all of Worcester,” Edwin insisted. “It is for the honour of name and that of my kingdom that this war is fought.”

For a moment, Morgause’s mind wandered. It had been less than a month after King Edwin’s departure from Camelot that Gwen’s brother saw the fires in the forest. According to the book she had taken from the castle library, a physician could not confirm that a woman was with child until two months had passed from the conception at least. Unless Worcester’s midwives knew something that Camelot’s did not, then there something amiss in Edwin’s reported motives. There was no way that he could have known that his Princess Elena was carrying Uther’s babe when he began to march.

“May I ask a question, my lord?” Morgause enquired, taking a step forward so that Edwin noticed her for the first time.

“And who are you, girl?” the King asked sharply.

“This is Lady Morgause Wilde, Knight of the First Order and Champion of Her Royal Highness Queen Morgana Pendragon. If I speak on behalf of the King, then she speaks on behalf of the Queen,” Leon answered just as brusquely. He did not take kindly to people misspeaking to his Knights, not even Kings. “So I trust you will treat her with more respect. If a slight to House Grey and your good name is a slight to Worcester, then a slight to the Lady Morgause is a slight to the Queen and so a slight to the kingdom.”

Edwin did not look amused. “Ask your question.”

“It is true that you left Camelot at the end of August?” Morgause asked.

“Yes.”

“Your army was spotted ready to cross the border in the last week of September. That is one month from when you left Camelot. In that time, it would not be possible to know if the Princess had conceived the King’s child,” Morgause asserted. She knew that she was right the moment she said it, for a little of the ire left Edwin’s eyes. “In fact, it would only be possible to tell in the last month, long after the war began.”

Leon turned to her. “Are you sure of this?”

“Yes, Commander. I am certain.”

Leon nodded. Morgause’s word was good enough for him.

Edwin snorted. “You have no proof of that. The word of a woman, even if it is a woman speaking for the Queen, cannot be upheld against the word of a king.”

“I have proof,” Morgause continued. “I have a book in my tent which details the ways of childbearing as observed by the great physician Ptalin of Rome. Would you argue with him, Your Highness?”

“Need I have it fetched so that we can all see it in print?” Leon asked, starring coldly at Edwin, daring him to say yes. If this man had brought death on Leon’s people on nothing more than a folly, he would pay for it. When the King was silent, Leon challenged, “Was it not your intention all along to have your daughter bed down with our King and cry that she carried his babe? Was it not your intention to use this outrageous scandal to justify an invasion of our good land?”

The King could say nothing. It was clear that Leon had the right of it.

“Then I suggest, Your Highness, that you sign the treaty we have prepared, lead your men from our land and compensate us twice over for the damage and loss of life that this uncalled for war has caused.”

“And if I refuse?” Edwin snarled, gripping the hilt of his sword.

The three Knights and four knight guards drew their swords, outnumbering Edwin and his guards more than two to one.

“Then you will not leave this tent alive and will, by the laws of this land, forfeit your Kingdom to Uther Pendragon, whose own hand through me did slay you in war.”

The King took his hand from his sword and glared at Morgause. “You will pay for this, girl, in the foulest of ways. I shall make sure of that.”

***

The victory announcement was sent that morning in Sir Leon’s calligraphic hand to the King, Queen and noble houses of Camelot. It told of the valour that Camelot’s men had shown in battle and the mercy with which they had treated their captives. It told of Edwin’s plot to take Camelot by force in an unjust war and of how the plot was uncovered by the Lady Morgause of House Wilde, Knight of the First Company. It sang of a thousand glories won and of the homecoming of brave knights and Knights, all of them heroes.

Uther cried out in victory when he read the letter, crumpling the soft parchment in his hand and calling for wine and good food. He and his council drank to the men of Camelot and to Sir Leon for winning them a great victory. They even, on the bidding of Terrance Wymann, drank a toast to House Wilde and a fourth victory won for Camelot in its name.

When Rivalen Wilde read aloud the victory proclamation to his family, the house was filled with cheer and joy. Rivalen and Flor danced in the shadowy kitchen to the music thrumming from streets. The children stayed up until dawn making a circlet of heather, willow wood and snowdrops to crown their aunt when she came home to them as warriors were crowned in the days when the Wildes ruled and the Old Religion flourished in the land. She was their hero twice over and both of them wanted to grow up to be just like her. One of them would.

When Elyan heard the news from one of the patrons at his smithy, he shut shop for the day and ran home to tell Anwen, who cradled their daughter close and kissed her husband as if he himself had won them the war – for in her eyes, he had.

Morgana wept when she read the letter, her tears falling to the parchment and making the words swim and come alive. She fell to her knees and gave thanks to the Gods, not caring if Gwen was there to see and hear her. Gwen went down on her knees beside her, thanking her God and promising to keep another of Morgana’s secrets. The tears were still streaming down Morgana’s face when she kissed her and held her tight, whispering words of adoration and gratitude. They were closer then than they had ever been before, and Gwen would treasure it. She would never feel another love like the love she felt for her Queen. Never.

When they finally got up off the floor, Morgana put on a new dress that flowed and curved over her swollen stomach, and Gwen wove threads of silver in her hair. Defying Uther’s command, she donned her finest crown and went down to the great hall to celebrate with the nobles and servants alike, taking the roses they gave to her until her arms overflowed with them and she left a trail of blood-red petals wherever she went, her babes kicking for joy at their Morgause’s victory.

Morgana spent the night planning in her head how she would welcome Morgause home, rewarding her for her great victory and showing her just how thankful she was to her beautiful, brave Knight.

It would be most satisfying to be Morgause’s spoils of war. If she could work out the logistics, that is.

At My Most Beautiful (22/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Thu, 28 Jun 2012 20:09:51 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (22/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,000 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: The Knights of Camelot go into battle and Morgana holds court with an unexpected visitor.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Morgana woke to the warmth of sunlight striking her face and an icy cold feeling deep in gut. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes fluttered open and narrowed against the harsh morning light.

Gwen had not dropped the thin blue drapes over the windows as she did early each morning, so that Morgana could drift off to sleep with the light of the moon but not be woken by the light of the early-rising sun. It was strange that Gwen had not been to do it. That alone was not enough to be the cause of such an unsettling feeling, yet it seemed that it might be part of it. Or that it might at least share its cause with the feeling.

Then the memory – crisp as if she was living it again – of Morgause leaving seeped back into Morgana’s sleepy mind and, with it, the realisation that Uther had followed through on his threat and come to her after darkness had fallen. He had entered her chambers without knocking. Gwen had been brushing out Morgana’s hair but had quickly been dismissed by the King. After that, Morgana remembered little aside from his cloying attempts at reassurance as his rough hands rid her of her nightshift and pushed her to the bed. Her mind was shielding her from the rest. She didn’t think she could ever look Morgause in the eye again if she remembered it. Not that she could see Morgause ever wanting her now that Uther had reclaimed what was his – not now that he had taken her and slept in the bed she had shared with Morgause just the night before.

As quietly and carefully as she could, she slipped out of bed. She ached less than she was used to aching after Uther had claimed his rights and she supposed she should be thankful to him at least for that. Finding her nightshift, she shakily pulled it on to cover herself and found that the lace holding it together at the front has been cut by some blade, letting it fall open almost enough to bare her breasts. That was how Emilie found her as she returned from morning market with no inkling that that morning was different than any other since she had become Morgana’s maid. She did not speak to Morgana, just wrapped her shawl around her and helped her down the corridor to the small room where Gwen was waiting anxiously for the King to leave so that she might see her to Queen.

Gwen’s eyes widened at the pitiful sight and she shooed Emilie off to fetch a tin bath and couple of kitchen girls to swiftly fill it.

She didn’t speak to Morgana until her mistress was submerged to her chin in the warm honeyed water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered when they were alone. She had never been sorrier in her life. For the past few weeks, Morgana had been happy. Now she was lower than the worst of times before, and there was nothing Gwen could do to stop it happening again.

Tears ran down Morgana’s cheeks. Her eyes did not waver from their fearful stare towards the door. She was shivering, though the water was quite warm. For no reason at all, she lifted her feet from the bottom of the bath and let her head slip beneath the water. Down there, below the surface, everything echoed and ebbed. Every worry was quietened. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could mar her. She never wanted to be anywhere else.

But as her chest began to tighten with need for air, she felt a powerful tug, pulling her up out of the water until her mouth greeted cold air and she could gasp a breath.

Warm shivers of magic flowed over her body and her babes fluttered inside her. When the shivering subsided, her whole body felt new and clean. She closed her eyes and saw Morgause pushing open a tent flap and filling her lungs with the cold morning air, smiling despite the rain. Briefly, she wondered whether it was real, then thought better of it. It was her babes that were full of Morgause’s magic, not her.

“You’re smiling,” Gwen gasped, confused but so very relieved.

***

Morning was cold on the heather-covered hills north of Camelot City. A frosty wind howled through the tents and made their inhabitants shiver as much as the men who had slept under the stars.

Morgause prodded the ineffectual fire and watched the smoke drift up and out of the hole at the tent’s peak. The heather they were burning gave off a pure white smoke and a heady smell that reminded Morgause of the days before the purge.

“Cold?” Gwaine enquired with a yawn.

“Damned freezing,” Morgause bit, snuggling further into her own embrace. “The road to Mermering and back was balmy compared to this.”

Gwaine sat down beside her and filled a bowl of steaming porridge. “If you think this is cold, you should see the winters where I am from. In my fifth year even the sea froze.”

Morgause chuckled. “Liar.”

He grinned. “Got me there. It was freezing though.”

“The Queen thinks that autumn is taking the year off,” Morgause put in, frowning at Gwaine’s ability to finish his porridge in several quick gulps. She had no appetite with war on the horizon.

“Ah well, the quicker winter comes, the quicker you’ll have a tiny Pendragon to protect. You can’t say that you aren’t looking forward to that.”

An irrepressible smile brightened Morgause’s face. She gave the twisted twin cords of magic a tug to make sure they were still there, letting a new awareness of the babes fill her up and warm her cold bones. “All of Camelot eagerly awaits that day.”

“That she does,” Gwaine agreed. “The war does not seem half as bad with something like that to look forward too.”

Morgause could not disagree with that either.

“Everyone knows that any child of our Queen will be a great ruler. It gives us a reason to win this war – to see him rule. That is what Leon said after the feast and every one of us agrees with him.” Gwaine rose and patted Morgause on the shoulder. “So no pressure there then.” He grinned.

Morgause laughed, swatting his hand away. “I thought it odd there for a moment, you being so serious.”

“Nah. What would you all do without me lightening up your lives?” And with that Gwaine disappeared into the morning mist.

“He meant it, though. We all do,” Percival said from his dark corner of the tent. He had always been the most thoughtful of the First Company, even more so that Leon or Morgause. There was a book in his lap and a pile more beside him. All on military strategy. The names ‘Le Fay’ and ‘Wilde’ were picked out in scrolling gold lettering on two of the books, their broad covers pressed close in a kiss. Percival caught Morgause’s gaze on the books and smiled. “She has given us something wonderful to fight for, just when we needed in the most. If Camelot is victorious in this war, it is her Queen we must thank for it.”

“I will be sure to tell her that,” Morgause smiled, feeling a little surreal. She wished Morgana could hear the men talk of her like that. Then she would have no doubt as to how highly the Knights thought of her.

Pushing up from the floor, Morgause poured her uneaten porridge into the fire and grabbed her cloak. It was a fine morning that she walked out into, despite the cold and mist.

***

Three more days passed and Uther visited Morgana’s chambers every night. He seemed to be almost as insatiable for her as he had been in the months after their wedding, and Morgana had resigned to use it to her advantage. Uther was at his most suggestible when he was newly sated and Morgana found that when he was in this state, she could win some small victories. The second night he came to her, she turned her back to him when he was done, hoping that he would not want to take her again that night. When he did, she let her thoughts travel to Morgause and imagined that it was her knight taking her, lusty from her victory on the battlefield. It did not make her enjoy it but it did make it more sufferable. On that night, she got him to agree to let her sit beside him at meetings with his advisors. For their morale, she persuades him. On the third night, she casually mentioned Elyan and what he had done for the kingdom. Uther agreed to name him royal blacksmith and pay him handsomely for it. It is only what he deserves, she persuades him. On the fourth night, she told him it is twins she is carrying and he agreed that Gaius must take on apprentices who must treat the people of the city free of charge as part of their training. That night, he is more satisfied than any of the previous nights, and she also manages to persuade him to make Gwen her lady in waiting. After all, a simple maid cannot look after her heirs, she persuades him.

By the morning of the fifth day since the knights left, Morgana felt as confident and powerful as she did with Morgause at her side. It was on that morning that news came of a mysterious woman requesting an audience with her alone. Not being the sort of woman to obey strangers, Morgana brought her new lady in waiting with her. And though it was only a title – Uther would not consent to Gwen ever being able to marry into the middle or upper class – Gwen was dressed in the finest Le Fay green. And if others saw the colour was a symbol of ownership, Gwen did not mind in the slightest. Morgana would never mean it that way, of that Gwen was sure. Not the Morgana who taught her to read and write, allowing Gwen to go home and teach her father and brother. No, Morgana could never even fathom the idea of ‘ownership’ over a person, despite knowing that the King owned her completely and utterly. That was why Gwen was honoured to be wearing green in a sea of red, wearing plainly on her body with whom her loyalty lay.

“May I present,” the herald announced, “the Lady Amina Dorren.”

The woman who entered the hall on those words was of a beauty that took Morgana’s breath away. It was her eyes that immediately drew one’s attention – a rich, earthy brown that shone like sunlight off bronze. Like Morgana’s, her hair was black as night but was straight and silken down to her lower back, a slim braid running from each temple like a crown. Her skin, far from being pale as Morgana’s was, was almost as dark as Gwen’s and was made to glow by the saffron and crimson gown she wore with a slit at her waist, showing off more smooth, flawless skin. Her features were unlike those of anyone Morgana had seen in Camelot. She was of the same origins, Morgana guessed, as some of the traders that her father had worked with, but they had all been men and nowhere near as enchanting.

Amina walked in silence towards the throne, stopping at the steps to the dais and falling onto her knees, her head bowed in supplication. “My Queen.”

“Rise,” Morgana commanded, heat prickling at the back of her neck. She held out her hand for the stranger to take and kiss, as custom demanded, and tried not to shiver when soft, warm lips graced the back of her hand.

“It is the greatest of honours,” Amina swore, her accent being of someone who was raised in the far north, “to stand before such a great and beloved Queen. I am not worthy.”

“You are Dorren’s daughter.” It was not a question, but Amina nodded anyway. “That makes you worth a great deal, so long as you have your father’s gifts.”

“Yes, my Queen. Since his death a year past I have taken over his practice. I hope that I shall not be a disappointment to you.”

“I hope not,” Morgana agreed. “There is a child that I wish for you to see. She has a sleeping sickness and has been in a deep sleep from which it has been impossible to wake her. If you would, I would have you go to her immediately. She is important to me and you will be justly rewarded should your work revive her.”

Amina smiled. “I have always admired women who cut straight to what they want out of a relationship. I will, of course, do as you command. On one condition.”

Morgana frowned at her audacity. “Name it and I shall see.”

“That you let me examine you when I return. I have many years of experience caring for women with child.”

Morgana considered, looking to Gwen for guidance. What she would give to have Morgause by her side instead. It was her magic that she feared Amina discovering during an examination and so it should be her choice. Sometimes Morgana wished that she could defer to her in all things. Then she remembered that she was a Queen and that it was her right to reign over her kingdom and everyone in it, even if she wished for Morgause to reign over her.

“Agreed,” Morgana assented finally, holding out her hand for Amina’s to seal the promise. “If you promise to stay until my confinement is done.”

Amina bowed. “As you command, My Queen.”

***

Marcus Holwynn was, everyone agreed, the best baker in Worcester. He had been offered the job as royal baker less than six months before his kingdom went to war. He refused point blank. There was no job so prestigious that he would entice him to leave his home with his wife for a single bed in servant’s accommodation.

That had, on reflection, been a mistake.

Whilst Marcus had recently become a faceless soldier in a makeshift army, the man who had taken his job was safe in the Grey castle kitchens. Fate was funny that way - always having a laugh at Marcus’ expense.

Still, it was not all bad. Ignis Valle had promised some small reprieve from their endless marching. Marcus was not the fittest of men and the relentless pace had taken its toll. Bakers generally did not require the service of a horse in their everyday profession. As such, Marcus was making the march on foot, grumbling at those lucky enough to be on horseback. That being said, he was not completely without affection for them.

Worcester horses were stocky things with thick coats and strong muscles, the best horses in the north. They were the reason they were to stop in the valley. Horses needed watering and the Ghilli river broke from the cover of trees just inside the valley and it was the first time it was out in the open for two days ride either behind and ahead. Marcus was planning to feel the water between his toes, or at least the rain. The downpour was coming down harder every minute, falling from the darkening sky like arrowheads determined to ruin his brightening mood.

“How long before we stop?” a boy beside him asked. He looked about twelve. The overly large helmet was taking years off him.

“See that oak tree way over there, that’s the point the officers at the head of the column are ordered to stop at.” He had to shout to answer.

The boy squinted in the completely wrong direction. “What’s that?”

Marcus tried to keep hold of his patience. Did the boy not know the head of the column from its tail? It was too cold for all this shrieking. “What’s what?”

Then he saw it. There was something moving in the trees on the east side of the valley mouth. It could just have been the wind, but something told Marcus that was not the case. Trees, generally, did not move quite so much. Nor were they white. Nor…

“Over there!” he shouted. “Riders from the east!”

But it was too late. Percival and his men had already broken through the trees and Galahad was not far behind him. Within seconds, the first soldiers on the outer edge of the column were down, with the raging rain keeping the officers oblivious. The men watering their horses on the western side of the column too remained ignorant. No matter how much noise the attackers made, the rain silenced it.

As Marcus pulled his sword, the first of the horses yet to make their way to the river bolted. In a flash, the mounted soldiers were at the point of stampede. Their work and leisure horses had not been bred for war. They had been bred to run. And run they did, trampling those unlucky enough to get in their way to the ground.

“Turn and fight!” Marcus cried hopelessly. It was no use. He knew that the riders had no more control over their horses than they did the rain. That was the last thought of Marcus Holwynn, best baker in Worcester. Sir Galahad removed his head with a single clean blow, ever gallant.

***

Night was dawning fast, the sunless sky thundering and weeping. Morgause thanked the gods for the rain.

A calming hand to Dream’s neck quietened her from her nervous whickering. She needn’t have bothered, for the noise of the rain and the clamour of an infant battle finding its feet below them, their enemy would not have heard even the loudest of her horse’s screams. But it was not for the sake of staying hidden that she did it. A nervous horse made for a nervous rider. That was something she could not afford to be.

The call was hers to take, thanks to the toss of a coin. She had to time it perfectly. If nothing else, Gwaine would never let her live it down should they reach the valley floor too soon. Worse, they did not know if their enemies were armed with bows. Too soon could be very costly if they did.

The jostling of the Worcester column was quickly making its way up the valley to where they planned to cross the northbound bridge. If all went to plan – and it was a good plan – none of them would make it that far. Even if they did, they would find the bridge a blackened, broken mess. A torch to it two days past had seen to that.

“Just a little further,” she whispered, imploring the gods to grant her one more blessing. “That’s it…”

At her whistle, Dream took flight, Gwaine speeding after her. They hurtled down the steeper of the two valley sides at a speed that would have awed any tournament crowd. They were strapped to their saddles and had no chance of survival should their mounts slip on the muddy ground. Out of sheer luck and the gods’ favour, none fell.

With a sound like thunder, they broke free of the trees and clattered across the bridge and onto the battlefield, wheeling southwards to meet their enemy head-to-head.

It was a fearsome charge that took out two thirds of the Worcester officers in minutes, seven of them meeting their end at the sharp edge of Morgause’s engraved sword. For years after, the knights would talk of that moment with an awed hush in their voices; whispering the names of Camelot’s brave fallen few and canonising its heroes.

But the battle was far from over. Eight hundred men fighting for their lives was a mighty force to overcome and with not all their army yet in the fray, the knights of Camelot had to fight their very best not just to keep the upper hand but to survive.

For five hours, the battle raged. Four score of Camelot’s knights fell to Worcester swords and five times the favour was paid back to the northerners.

Amongst the battle, Morgause lost her horse to a rapier in the neck and, after cutting herself free, was forced to continue on foot. It was then she did her best work, cutting through her opponents with the grace she was renowned for and the courage so few had been willing to credit her with. Her progress through the army brought her to Percival, holding off three men in the thick of the fighting. They spent the rest of the battle back to back – Camelot’s largest and slightest Knights forming the eye of the storm upon which all who approached were felled.

***

The boy with the oversized helmet had been nicknamed ‘Tiny’ when he was a child. It had been an unoriginal attempt at irony on the part of his dwarfed peers, that had ultimately proved fitting. By thirteen he had enjoyed his last growth spurt and, at the height of 5ft 4, had slowly learnt to look up. It had been this unwitting training that had saved his life – at least for a while.

Before the rotund man marching beside him had the sense to call out, Tiny was at the river and heading northwards along it. By the time the second of Camelot’s attacks fell on his brethren, he was almost at the ford and within minutes of disappearing into the forest. In his last thirty seconds of life, he splashed into the knee-high water and began to feel the thrills of escape. That was when Sir Bors’ arrow hit him square in the heart and he fell, momentarily turning the water red, before being swept northwards – towards home. No one found him a week later when he drifted past Worcester’s capital, bloated and battered. It was better that way. His mother never knew he ran.

***

As planned, Sir Leon led the final of Camelot’s three attacks, crossing the river ford from the west and coming upon the battle from behind. His force’s role in the fight was a bloody one. With no chance of escape, the trapped Worcester soldiers fought ferociously. Someone amongst them had organised a band of archers who fired flaming arrows at the wave of knights. Sir Bors – in a turn of divine irony – was hit and fell burning from his charger.

Undeterred, Leon ploughed through the line of archers, cutting the flaming rag from the top of their torch and quelling any further rains of fire. The arrow that hit Bors had been a lucky one, all others had been put out by the true rain, but it was better not to chance a further stroke of luck.

Despite their tactical advantage, the battle was hard fought. By the time the battle was done, the highest remaining officer, Lord Dollen Trent, had been captured along with twenty of his nobleborn men and two score foot soldiers. Word was that some of the mounted men had gotten away through the forest to the east so, chances were, King Edwin Grey would soon hear of his loss. Leon did not believe that the force they had faced was all that the Worcester army had to offer. The capital was almost twice the size of Camelot and its countryside was more intensely farmed. Its conscripts would amount to at least the initial estimate from the blacksmith’s reports. Ignis Valle would not be the last battle of the war.

***

“How is the child?” Morgana asked nervously, shifting on her bed. Amina’s hands were cool on her stomach and Morgana did not know her well enough to be entirely comfortable with being touched by her so intimately. Then there was the worry over Morgause’s cousin. Yet it was from the unsettling feeling creeping beneath her skin that had her so on edge. It had begun just after the sun had set. Pulsing like a quickened heart and burning like a flame. It was magic, she was sure of it.

“I have a remedy in mind. It will take some time to prepare,” Amina murmured, her concentration elsewhere. She was pressing alternately on Morgana’s abdomen with one hand then the other, her eyes narrowed. “I am hopeful.”

“How long?” Morgana inquired. She was impatient, she knew, but Eleanor had been ill for so long, it seemed. Surely there should be haste.

“I am inclined to agree with the physician who conducted your initial examination. You’ve about five months to go,” Amina answered thoughtfully, not yet ceasing with her prodding.

“No,” Morgana shook her head then corrected herself. “Sorry. I meant for the cure for Eleanor. My words were vague, forgive me. I seem to be a little nervous, what with everything that has been happening of late.”

Amina considered her response for a moment, deciding to gloss over Morgana’s apology. It had been a little too sincere, like she had apologised too many times before. “It should take less than a week to prepare. The exact time will depend on how long it takes me to gather what I need and what equipment I can lay my hands on here. It was swifter to travel light and answering the summons of a Queen demands swiftness.”

“You may, of course, have full use of our physician’s stores and equipment. He has amassed a strong collection, I hear. I am sure he will have what you need,” Morgana said, hope creeping into her voice. There was a dove caged cooing softly nearby in her rooms, waiting to carry a letter to Morgause, who had its mate. Gwen had offered to sign any letter that Morgana wrote and address it to some fictitious knight, but Morgana did not think even Uther would object to her writing to her guard to inform her of her cousin’s health. He had, after all, expected Morgause to keep her company as well as keep her safe.

“The ingredients are not the problem on the whole. I assume yeast, trout and crayfish are not hard to come by in Camelot?” Amina asked, making sure. On Morgana’s shake of the head telling her that no, it would not be hard to find such thing, she continued. “It is the extraction process which will require some more exotic substances and specialised equipment. Is there a glass blower in the castle?”

Morgana nodded, closing her eyes to picture the older woman, in order to recall her name. “Mrs Wicks. She took over as glassblower after her husband died. Even Uther had to admit that her work was as good as Mr Wicks’.”

“Good.” Amina smiled and leant back, gesturing that Morgana could cover herself again. “Just a few questions.”

Gratefully pulling the blanket over herself, Morgana nodded. “Of course.”

To Morgana’s surprise, Amina pulled out a small leather-bound book, a feather pen and a sealed ink pot from the folds of her gown. She set the ink pot down and a removed wide stopper, before opening the book on her lap and dipping the pen into the ink. On the first page of the book, she wrote Morgana’s name and titles in a large cursive script, blew on it to dry it and turned the page. At the top of the next page, she wrote the date, Morgana’s age and ‘4 months approximately’. Morgana felt as though she was about to sit some sort of trial.

“Have you felt movement?” Amine enquired, not looking up from where her pen was poised to write Morgana’s answer.

“Yes, for the past week,” Morgana responded, her nerves rising. “Maybe before that.” She stuttered. “I did not want to get anyone’s hopes up before that, not until I was sure.”

Amina smiled, her dark eyes catching the light and glinting, “That’s good.” Morgana relaxed a little. “Now, how about pain or bleeding? Have you had either in the past four months?”

Morgana shook her head. “I have sickness but Gaius, our physician, says that it is relatively mild.”

“Is Gaius used to dealing with women with child?” Amina asked, not sounding convinced as to Gaius’ expertise in the field. She had generally found that even the most skilled physician was flawed when it came to the intimate ways of women.

Again, Morgana shook her head. She was reluctant to admit it, for Gaius had always been kind to her, despite his strong ties to Uther. Though she had never trusted he would keep her confidences, she had never doubted that he would do his best for her and everyone else he treated. “There are women for that in the town and there have been no noble births at court for many years.”

Amina’s smile turned wry. “Then I will be the judge of your sickness. Men cannot have informed opinions on something they have not experienced. Women neither.”

“You have a child?” Morgana queried incredulously. She would never have imagined it, not of a woman like Amina who had such a profession. All the women in the town who helped with births were young women who gave it up upon their marriage or old women whose children had all grown up. Then there was the question of marriage. Surely if Amina had a husband, he would not let her work? “But you’re name, its-”

“The same as my fathers? Yes.” Amina let her pause linger. “I have never married, yet I have a daughter Alleyah. Does that shock you?”

“Yes,” Morgana answered honestly, remembering for the first time that since the exam was over, she could sit up. She needed to feel as much in control as she could to have such a conversation. “Such a thing would be frowned upon in Camelot. It is unthinkable.”

“Where I am from too,” Amina countered with a teasing edge to her voice, as if she did not think Morgana aware of anything outside the borders of Camelot. “My father was a wise man. He was not like most people. He did not care what people said about us and neither do I.”

Morgana’s mind was spinning. “Where is she, you daughter? Is she in Camelot?”

“She is with her grandmother in the inn just outside the castle walls. We all travelled south together.” On that note, Amina raised her book pointedly. “Now please, Your Highness, back to my questions.” The pen once more hovered above the golden paper. “Is your husband favouring you?”

Morgana nodded and neither blushed nor recoiled.

“Is he gentle?” Amina enquired after quickly noting something down.

“Gentler now,” Morgana said carefully. She did not want Amina reporting anything critical.

“Then tell him to be gentler still or to leave you be. I believe that you are carrying two babes, Your Highness.” She paused. It seemed to her that Morgana had already guessed at it, but she would give her a moment to digest it all the same. “This will put you under a lot of strain and there is more chance of loss. Keeping calm and happy will help but you will need a lot of rest and should not ride or be pulled by horses. The risk with both for accident is too great.” There was another, heavier pause. “What about your other lover?”

Morgana’s reddened cheeks turned ashen and her body ice cold. “There is no one else. I have a good husband and I am loyal to him.”

“Your knight – the one whose magic is flourishing in your babes,” Amina continued, undeterred. “The magic is a littler wilder than that of my family but it is kin to mine nonetheless. I can feel it thrumming in you, tasting of honey and a knight’s steel and fevered kisses.”

Morgana’s eyes widened.

“I take it he is at war? You are lucky that the babes are not his. I thought for a moment that they were. But no, the magic is still mingling with their blood, entwining with their souls. It has not always been there. They are definitely not his.”

“Then I am lucky,” Morgana answered simply, though she thought herself anything but. Lucky would be the babes being Morgause’s – lucky and miraculous. There was no mortal magic that strong. Morgause had told her so. “You will not tell a soul of my knight or the magic,” she added, her tone warning. “My King would have your life and that of your daughter should I be forced to tell him of your own magic.”

“You can rest assured that I will not tell a soul. I came here on your command and it is under you that I serve,” Amina promised. “And like I said, my magic is kin to that of your children. One does not turn on kin.” She put her hand on Morgana’s arm. “You can trust me.”

Reluctantly, Morgana agreed.

***

The torches lining the pathways between the tents set a red glow inside Sir Leon’s temporary chambers. The room was large and round with a firepit in the centre and logs surrounding it, on which his Knights sat, drained.

“What damage have we taken?” Leon asked through gritted teeth as a nurse sewed shut the gash on his knee. They had taken near to sixty women with them for cooking, cleaning, mending and tending. Most were unmarried and hoped to find a hero to charm amongst the fighting. So far, it seemed to be Percival, Gwaine and Kay that received the most attentive service. Since the battle, though, Morgause too had her share of women eager to tend to her wounds. She and the other three were heroes. Leon could not have been prouder.

“100 men,” Morgause reported solemnly. “Sir Bors, Sir Francis, Sir Cormic and Sir Terrance from our company and the second. Ten more Knights. The rest were all knights.” She had perfected the intonation of the capital ‘K’ early in her career. Mispronunciation would earn a squire a split lip and a blackened eye, if not more. She had only needed to learn that lesson once.

“And our captives?”

That had been Gwaine’s responsibility since the battle – rounding up those unable to flee or salvageable enough that a quick death was not favourable. “The count is at sixty four. We cannot hold them all, never mind treat them.”

Morgause bit her lip as the woman tending her arrow-wound poured a clear wine-like liquid over her side. The bolt had gone straight through a flaw in her mail and grazed her side. An inch to the left and she would have been in trouble. As it was, it would be healed within the week – a virtue of her magical blood. Her only other wound was a cut on the top of her wrist where a deflection had not gone entirely to plan. There was another girl tending to that, wrapping a cloth bandage around it to stop it bleeding any more than the little it already had.

“Let the commoners go. We can ransom the nobles,” Leon decided. “Those too weak to walk can be dealt with by their kinsmen. We will not begrudge them finding help for the wounded at the village downriver.”

“I shall have extra sentries posted at our perimeter tonight,” Owain suggested, ever cautious. He had lost his brother to carelessness when northern raiders had attacked the city. “Though I doubt forty men will attack us whilst we are so high up and in the open.”

“No, but the sentries should be doubled anyway,” Leon agreed. “We made a lot of noise in the battle and are sure to have attracted a few unsavoury bands of men willing to take their chances looting our tents.” He failed to suppress the grunt that passed through his tightly shut lips when his wound was given one last clean. “We can send letters with the men we free. If one of them gets back to King Edwin, we might just avert all-out war if one of our captives is valuable enough.”

“We are riding on then?” Morgause asked, eager for more victory. She knew that they were not about to head home so quickly, even after such a tremendous win. They would only return once they had made Camelot safe.

“One of my scouts came back after the battle with news of a large Worcester settlement near a little village named Haydor just over the border. He estimated a thousand men in that camp and five hundred in another, smaller camp between us and them.”

“Then we march until we meet the first camp and hope word has reached King Edwin before we meet the second,” Percival supposed.

“And if it hasn’t?” Gwaine asked dubiously.

“We will have to pray hard and fight even harder.”

Please, if you read, take the time to comment. Counters tell me that a hell of a lot more of you read than comment and it really, really upsets me that you read every chapter but never so much as acknowledge it. Anyways, I would really appreciate a little comment from more of you, I put a hell of a lot of effort into this fic.

At My Most Beautiful (21/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Sat, 09 Jun 2012 13:08:35 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (21/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,500 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Morgause is called to the Commander when scouts return with news of the Worcester army.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

A day passed. And then another.

War was coming.

Everyone knew it.

But no one knew quite when.

Through those cool, lonely nights, Morgause’s uneven breaths echoed endlessly in the silence. Sleep would not come to her, making Morgana too lie awake, unable to settle with the knowledge that it was her bringing her Knight such torment. The very thought of it made her stomach quiver and her eyes burn in the darkness, as if she had bathed them in briny tears and stared into the blackest fire.

She knew what faced them. The war meant sacrifice. It meant sending out Camelot’s very best – it’s very dearest – without certainty that any of them would come home.

Still, they would go. Every one of them. Every green boy would think it an adventure. Not a one of those boys would come back, for the ones that did would be far from green. Morgana knew. She had seen war, had felt the pain of it like a wound that would never heal.

And Morgause… She would feel the pain more than anyone else. Stay in Camelot and she would think herself a dishonourable, cowardly deserter. It would prove everyone right who said that a woman belonged in the marriage bed, not on the battlefield. Go, and she would be breaking every promise she had ever made to her Queen, whom she had promised to protect. That would make her as void of honour as Uther, she would think. Plainly, the decision was not one that she could herself make.

“You must go,” Morgana whispered hoarsely into the night. “I order you to go.”

“We are not at war. Not yet.” Morgause’s voice came back a murmur from somewhere in the darkness beside the bed. There was a loud, raggedy sigh. “I do not want to leave you. That is not why I cannot find sleep.”

“I know that, but I could not bear you staying here and hating me. Or having my people suffer greater through my own selfishness. Not again.”

Morgause did not argue with that point. She had given up on it. Morgana was determined to blame herself for Uther’s failings.

With a rustling of cotton and the creak of wood, suddenly Morgana heard Morgause’s voice from closer. “What real difference could I make amongst hundreds of knights?”

Despite the coal-blackness of the night, when Morgana reached out, her palm instantly found Morgause’s cool cheek. It startled her, how soft it was and how empty of tears. “All the difference in the world, my love. All the difference in the world. With you on the battlefield, we could do nothing but return victorious.”

She felt Morgause’s cheek swell with a smile. “With your faith in me… I could… I could almost do anything.”

“Then go and win me a war. Or better still fight to avoid a battle becoming a war. I am not the only one who believes in you. Sir Leon, your Commander, he thinks you to be a fine knight. We spoke at the feast and he said that he hoped that you had done the brotherhood of Knights proud in your service to me so far, and that he knows you will have done. And when I told him of your bravery and honour, he told me that you are finest Knight he has ever had the honour to serve beside.”

“Commanders have to say that to the Queen, especially when that Knight is her guard.” There was a wavering in her tone, begging Morgana to prove her wrong.

“If you truly believe that is the only reason for his words, then nothing I can say could change your mind. Not when you know how true Leon is, how honourable. I do not think he could ever tell a lie,” Morgana said, letting her hand fall away from Morgause’s cheek to intentionally leave it cold.

“Every man and woman lies. Sometimes it is the most honourable thing to do.”

“Such wisdom I cannot contend with,” Morgana said quietly, almost teasing.

The room fell silent.

“I only wish that you could sleep. Then, mayhaps, your thoughts would be clearer and your eyes a little brighter come morning,” Morgana sighed.

“With you in my arms, I may manage sleep,” Morgause said softly, asking.

Morgana smiled. “You need never ask to enter my bed, Morgause.”

“I always will,” Morgause vowed, her words distorted by her movement and Morgana’s shifting to make room for her.

With an almost catlike grace, Morgause slipped into the bed, took Morgana into her arms and sighed as if all her worries had disappeared, as a drop of wine vanishes into a bowl of milk.

As she took a breath to praise Morgana’s devastating ability to make all her thoughts turn to her, there was a flicker of movement between their still bodies, where Morgana’s swollen belly pressed up against Morgause.

For a moment she was dumbstruck. Her mouth was dry and a pleasant shiver ran through her body. “Was that…”

Morgana’s breathing had turned ragged with excitement. She had felt it before but never so strong, never more than a flutter that could be put down to nerves or excitement. “Yes… I… You felt that?”

“I felt it,” Morgause breathed, curving her palm onto Morgana’s stomach.

“He knows his brave knight is nigh and that I was meant to be in her arms,” Morgana whispered adoringly, looking into Morgause’s eyes, “And him too. That he chose this moment, does that not tell you something – no, everything? He is as much yours as it is possible to be. He loves you.”

As if in agreement, the babe kicked again, perfectly into Morgause’s palm. And she knew then that she would love him for certain, for more love for him than she could endure filled her at that moment. So much love, that she could not breathe. So much love, that she felt her magic swell within her until she could not suppress it any longer. It was being pulled from her, leaving her absurdly fuller, soaking into Morgana and forming two unbreakable links running to the life inside her.

“Can you feel that?” she choked, able only to speak when the feeling became a little more tolerable. Her mind was filled with an utter awareness of the growing life and she knew undoubtedly that there were two babes, not just one. Morgana was carrying twins.

“The babe?” Morgana asked, confusion colouring her smile.

“No,” Morgause shook her head. The moon had come out and Morgause could see her Queen’s eyes shining with joy. “I mean, yes, but no. I mean…”

“The magic? You can finally feel it?” Morgana asked, her smile turning almost teasing. “I have felt it running from you to him since the island. Even before I knew that he existed.”

“But…”

“I told you. He may be of Uther’s blood, but he is yours too. They say that the island is where those with impossible dreams go to have them fulfilled. I think that the Gods smiled on us that day and gave me my wish that we would never be parted. And we cannot be, I know it, with your magic in my child. Who, if not you, could teach him how to control it and how to use it? The Gods cannot part us now.”

“Use magic?”

“Uther will not always be King,” Morgana promised, covering Morgause’s hand above her son with hers. “When that day comes, this boy with my blood and your magic – your love – will bring –”

“Not one, my love. Twins. A boy, just like you said, but another, a girl,” Morgause interrupted, unable to contain having this knowledge to herself for another second.

“I had wondered,” Morgana said, smiling softly. “I think I may have seen her once in a dream, but I cannot quite remember it and it could have been a future daughter not yet conceived. With your word, though, I can believe it. I can believe that my son will rule this kingdom and, with his sister, bring back our Gods.”

“’Our Gods’?” It was straying from what Morgause believed to be the important topic at hand – the revelation that there would soon be two cradles in Morgana’s chambers, not one – but had to ask.

“I tell you so many things and yet you do not seem to listen. They are my Gods too. They have been from the moment you woke me up from my nightmare of a life with that kiss. They are your Gods, my love. If they deign to find me fit for you, then how could I do anything but honour them as I worship you,” Morgana whispered fervently, barely able to take a breath when she was done before Morgause was kissing her, overtaking her senses until she was set alight.

“I cannot use my magic, not truly,” came Morgause’s whispered confession against her lips. “I cannot be the teacher you want me to be.”

“If the power I feel coursing off you is not you using your magic, then I do not know what is,” Morgana countered, letting Morgause push her onto her back. A near sly smile curling her lips when Morgause found her way atop her thighs. It always amazed Morgana how light Morgause was, and how strong with it.

“Such faith in me,” Morgause breathed, her eyes as dark as the night as she trailed the tips of her fingers up Morgana’s sides, lifting up her nightshift.

“Faith that you have earned,” Morgana said certainly. “And faith is the least I can give you. We must make tonight unforgettable. I need you to give me a night that I can close my eyes and dream of.”

“Do I not always?” Morgause countered, her smile turning slyer than Morgana’s ever could. “Am I not constantly unforgettable?”

“For tomorrow, my love, word of the marching army will finally reach the city walls,” Morgana continued as if she had not heard Morgause’s teasing at all. “In their wake, you will ride off to war.”

Morgause’s heartbeat faltered. She did not ask how she knew it, for there had been enough talk of magic for one night.

Morgana knew she was right. She knew it as certainly as she knew that Morgause would come home to her.

The Gods favoured them and, as such, no earthly power could put a stop to their divine plans; certainly nothing as weak as an army or intangible as distance.

~*~

The knock – sharp and stout – came during breakfast.

“Gwen, would you?” Morgana requested, wiping her mouth with the corner of her linen handkerchief.

Gwen nodded a bow and went to the door, giving Morgana and Morgause a moment to move farther apart before reaching for the doorknob and twisting.

“Sir,” she greeted the calling Knight, curtseying.

“M’lady,” Gwaine bowed, ever the charmer. “May I come in?”

Giving him a look which firmly said, “Its ‘miss’ and you know it”, Gwen nodded and stepped aside to let him enter. Unlike most of the women in Camelot, she was decidedly immune to Sir Gwaine’s charms.

“Her Royal Highness is taking breakfast,” Gwen informed him.

“I do not wish to disturb Her Highness but my business here is urgent,” Gwaine promised.

He had a reputation for being the Knight with the greatest penchant for enjoying life, but he was a Knight. The title Knight as opposed to knight was reserved for the full time knights of the first ten Companies alone. These were knights who had been singled out not only because they were of good birth but of good character and skill too. They were picked by the Commander himself and were, without exception, good men. Not least amongst these men was Sir Gwaine, who had the well-earned honour of being part of Morgause’s Company – The First Company, along with his brothers Sir Percival, Sir Owain, Sir Galahad, Sir Kay, Sir Bors, Sir Gareth, Sir Erec, Sir Bedivere, Sir Cormick and, of course, Sir Leon. All of that meant that he was an honourable man and not without good manners.

“Sir Gwaine,” Morgana called from the adjoining chamber in which she was taking her breakfast. She could not mistake the Knight’s familiar lilting tones.

Sweeping forward on his Queen’s orders, Gwaine entered the dining chamber and bowed low to Morgana before tipping his head in a bow to Morgause. When his fellow Knight made to stand, he shook his head, telling her that there was no need. He had always shared Leon’s fondness for her, a sentiment which had only increased on her assignment to protect the Queen he so loved.

“I apologise for the early hour of my call, Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head in another bow to Morgana.

“No need, Sir. I know well that you would not come were your words not as dire as I know them will be.” Morgana kept her eyes fixed on his, giving him all the respect that his station demanded, even if it was beneath her own. “I assume it is not me you have called for, but your…” She trailed off and looked to Morgause who sat nearby. She had been about to say ‘brother in arms’ as she had often heard Morgause refer to her fellow Knights.

“We tend to just call her Morgause, it is simpler that way,” Gwaine put in, his signature smile shining though. Sir Leon would be furious with him taking such a liberty, but his time on the road with Morgana had taught him that she would take no offense.

“Quite,” Morgana agreed, sharing his smile. “Though, she has agreed to be addressed as ‘my lady’. Still, that seems unfit for her brother to use.”

“Morgause is fine,” Morgause said, contributing for the first time to the conversation.

“Very well,” Morgana agreed, moving on. “I assume you are here to see Morgause.”

“You are right, Your Highness. The Commander requests her presence and offers an invitation to Your Highness to join The First Company in our meeting. The Commander values your opinion and knows that there are issues to discuss pertaining directly to your security,” Gwaine said, delivering his message. He very much approved of Sir Leon’s request that Morgana be invited to join them. Morgause was her guard and so the morning’s news would affect her more than most in the castle.

Surprised, Morgana answered, “Of course we will both attend, Sir, once our breakfasting is done with.”

Morgause caught Gwaine’s eye and smiled. Her fellow Knights had taken a shine to Morgana that went above and beyond the norm since their short time travelling together. It made her heart glad that Sir Leon was making the effort to keep the Queen informed where the King would not – albeit under the pretence of personal security arrangements.

~*~

“Brothers, I have called you here this morning in the Company of our great Queen to deliver some ill news. At first light, the first of our scouting parties came back from the surrounding lands, bringing with them tales of Worcester’s army,” Sir Leon began from his seat at the round table, at which everyone was equal. “There is some good news to be had that the army is not as large as first thought. By the independent count of four men, there are near eight hundred men in King Edwin’s army but no more. That does not mean that we do not have a challenge our hands, but it does lighten our load.”

“How big of a force are we launching?” Gwaine asked.

“I propose sending three quarters of our strength, leaving the rest behind to defend Camelot, lest she face another threat.”

“Which Companies will we leave behind?” Morgause asked.

As Sir Leon answered, suggesting the Third and Sixth Companies and a number of others under their command, Morgana marvelled from the side of the room at how the whole affair was being conducted. It was so unlike her husband holding court that she could hardly believe it. The Commander stood truly as an equal to the men of the First Company, taking their questions and heading their suggestions.

“And what of us?” Sir Galahad enquired.

“You do not mind, I hope, Your Highness, listening to our talk of strategy,” Leon queried before continuing the discussion.

“Not at all, Sir. I take interest in it,” Morgana answered honestly. “You must, for the moment, forget my presence and carry on with your business.”

Nodding to her, Leon turned back to the table. “For the moment we shall ride as a Company, with each Knight of us having a handful of Companies reporting to him or her. Beyond that, all will depend on the field we meet our enemy in and their formations. If what I have been told about their path through the land is correct, I suggest we execute the Weatherby attack. We will ride out to Ignis Valle and make our camps in the high forests either side of the valley. Splitting our force in three will allow for two high camps and one force to herd the army into the valley proper, at which point the other two forces will descend upon them, giving us the advantage of height and familiar territory.”

A chorus of muttered agreement went around the table. Sir Thomas Weatherby had been Uther’s maternal grandfather. He was a renowned military strategist and had led the Pendragon armies to four successful victories in four successive wars, retaining for them the throne.

“What of the command of the three forces?” Morgause asked. She had never ridden out to war before. None of them bar Sir Leon had. Peace had long prospered in the land and the only battle any of the Knights had seen was the storming of Camelot two years before. And that had been by soft Southern raiders who smashed upon Camelot’s stone walls.

“If you will come, Morgause, I would put you and Sir Gwaine in charge of the party on the western side of the valley with Sir Erec and Sir Kay serving under you. On the east I would have Sir Galahad and Sir Percival leading a force with Sir Cormick and Sir Bedivere serving them. And with me, charging the army from behind, will be Sir Owain, Sir Bors and Sir Gareth.”

“I will come,” Morgause said quickly, “on my Queen’s orders.”

The whole table turned to Morgana.

“She will go,” the Queen nodded. “Which is where I come in, making difficult your plans. My husband will not agree to a castle guard taking over my protection now that it is his heir who needs protecting too.”

“It is no trouble, Your Highness. It is our duty and honour to serve you. Had you commanded that Morgause stay, we would all of us here understand your decision and change our plans to suit it. You have a fine Knight in your service and should not be expected to give her up. Still, you have shown yourself to be a most noble Queen and we will, of course make alternate arrangements. I will send to you this afternoon the Third Company, from whom Morgause – with your permission – will choose three guards to take her place. One for each possible entrance to your chambers,” Sir Leon advised.

“I do not wish to weaken the city’s defences,” Morgana said quietly, her eyes downturned. “The need of my people outstrips my own.”

“Respectfully, Your Highness, it does not,” Leon said firmly. “The first duty of the Knights of Camelot is to protect the line of succession. That means you, the King and his heirs. We serve the Kingdom, and it is in her interests that the line remains intact. War over grievances may be brutal but it has nothing on the fight for a throne.”

Paling, Morgana nodded. “When will you ride out?”

“At dusk.”

~*~

With Uther standing tall beside her, Morgana watched from the city walls as Camelot’s brave army rode forth into the gathering gloom of the autumn eve. At both of her sides stood the wives, mothers and children of the Knights, their number stretching the northern length of the wall. All ten Companies of Knights were now gone bar the Third and Sixth Companies. That made for a lot of forlorn women. The streets below them were full of such women too. Their husbands and sons had been called up from the other Companies to serve as the knights who would make up the bulk of Camelot’s force. All had been trained in warfare but not so vigorously as the full time Knights who had given up their lives to serve the kingdom. Still, that Camelot had a full time army at all gave her an advantage, no matter how small.

“I stayed in Worcester once,” Morgana murmured quietly under her breath so that only the King would hear her. “I remember how kind King Edwin’s wife was and how sweet his little daughter had been. She was only five and at first I thought myself much too old to play with her at the grand age of eight. She was as sweet and gentle as her mother, though, and soon I was reading her stories of brave knights and awful dragons, mothering her almost.”

“Is there a point to this, Morgana?” Uther said a little harshly. He was worried she could see it in the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. War took its toll on everyone.

“It seems strange to me that our army riding out to do battle with them.” She caught sight of Morgause’s golden hair tumbling down over her polished plate. Sir Gwaine was riding close beside her and their heads were inclined together in conversation. “Though much has changed, I suppose, since that visit. For them as much as for us.”

Metal chinked together as Uther shifted his weight onto his other foot, making his scabbard clash against his mail. “Indeed. The Queen is dead and the Princess is far from a child.”

Morgana shot him a cold look, biting her tongue before she could say, ‘Thanks to you.’

Instead she said, “May God grant mercy on them and us both. After all, it is sin at the heart of a kingdom that brings down war upon its head. So says our bishop, does he not, my King?”

Uther stayed silent.

“And we can only imagine it is Worcester that is the sinner,” she said mildly, watching him to see the tension melt from his shoulders.

He smiled at her kindly then, clearly pleased with her assessment and ignorant to her true thoughts. “You must be very afraid. Do not worry. I will be there tonight to comfort you.”

Suppressing a shiver, Morgana smiled sweetly and bowed her head to him. “You are most thoughtful, my King.”

She thought back to Morgause’s words late that afternoon and hoped that she was right.

“They are good men,” Morgause assured her Queen, holding her close upon the battlements. “Sir Donal, Sir Darris and Sir Harrow are the best in the Third Company. All have fought bravely in tournaments and are veterans of the storming of Camelot. More than that, they are gallant and honourable, and will serve you well.”

Morgana sighed, breathing in the strong scent of the dye from Morgause’s red shirt. “Only you can serve me well.”

Her heart aching, Morgause lifted up Morgana’s chin and kissed her. “I will be with you deep inside, where our love dwells,” she promised, her hand over Morgana’s heart. “And here too,” she said, touching her fingers to Morgana’s temple.

“I know,” Morgana promised. “I just…” She took a deep breath. “There are things that I dread. Things that I fear may come to pass without you here.”

Morgause felt a prickle of ice on her skin. “What things?”

“That I will, once more, become a meek little girl without you to give me strength. And Uther too. I fear him.”

“There is nothing little or frail about you. You may have once believed that, but it was a lie told you to you to keep you silent and obeying. Your strength comes from the fire in your heart. It does not come from me. It comes from your father and mother, from your bloodline. It comes from your people and our Gods. It comes from a place inside you that is wholly and only you, and it cannot be extinguished now that you have found it,” Morgause promised. “And I will be home before you know it. Back by your side to serve you and protect,” she kissed her again, “and love you.”

A howl of wind encircled them and Morgana shivered. Winter was on its way and soon the days would be short and cold and bleak. She did not care to think of Morgause at battle somewhere out in the Valley of Fire. Despite its name, once the rain came the valley would be wet and icy and slick with thick black mud that stank of the sulphurous fires that had rained down upon it in legend. Wars had a habit of becoming protracted; battle upon battle complicating matters beyond easy resolve.

“My Queen,” Morgause murmured below the wind, trailing her fingers over the latticed gold that showed at the V of Morgana’s neckline. “I love you.”

“And I you,” Morgana replied almost without thinking. Her voice was shaky and she felt one of the babes inside her shift restlessly or perhaps, she fancied, with the same sorrowful listlessness that she felt overcoming her own body.

“Think of me when the sun sets,” Morgause bade her. The sun was dipping in the sky and their time together was over. “And I will think of you.”

The sun was setting then and Morgana thought of her love. She thought of Morgause’s deep, dark eyes and the way she felt when they lingered on her. She thought of her two babes, full of Morgause’s magic, moving joyfully inside her at Morgause’s embrace. A wicked thought popped into her mind and she could not help but voice it.

“I thought I felt the babe move today,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she watched Morgause crest a hill and disappear from view. “So I had Morgause put her hand to me and feel it too to make sure I was not imagining things.”

Uther, oblivious to the poison sting hidden in her words, smiled brightly and forgot the war for a moment. He pulled off his glove and put his hand to Morgana’s still belly. “My son,” he said proudly, though he could not feel a thing. His eyes showed his disappointment plainly, but he kept his smile in place.

The proud swell of a small victory burgeoned in Morgana’s chest. It seemed magic really was stronger than blood.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I know that it has been over a month since it was updated but I have been sitting my finals at university and am due to graduate next month. The good news is that there should be a lot more updates over the summer!

And please, if you do read this story, take the time to comment. I really appreciate it.

HTML Hit Counter

Fire (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Fri, 25 May 2012 15:42:37 GMT

Title: Fire
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,100
Summary: The Festival of Fire is strictly for the wedded, but Morgana is in the mood for breaking rules.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Note: This was written for humanpieceoftoast’s birthday, though it’s a little late…

With her hair pulled back out of sight and a deeply dark mauve chapel-scarf about her head, not a one of the vibrant crowd recognised the King’s ward. The whole city was dressed in reds and yellows and golds for the Festival of Fire. Amidst such colour, Morgana was nought but a shadow, a ghost swathed in darkness. Likely if anyone looked her way, they thought her a mourner - a widow, perhaps – and that suited Morgana just fine. No one spoke to a mourner for fear they would be the first to do so. It was bad luck and, besides that, bad manners.

“Why have I never done this before?” Morgana whispered excitedly, her eyes sparkling when they caught Gwen’s and found them bright. Charcoal lined those smiling eyes of hers, and the dark of Gwen’s irises turned almost ebony beside it. It made something inside Morgana shiver and come to life to look into those inky depths. She had put it there herself, the charcoal, and having Gwen so trusting beneath her unskilled hands had been intoxicating. It had taken just about as much self-control as she could muster not to reach out and smudge the carefully drawn black lines, just so that she might draw them all over again.

“Because we shouldn’t be doing it,” Gwen said softly, her smile full of affectionate indulgence for her mistress. Even dismissing the issue of Morgana being who she was, the party was for the wedded and they certainly weren’t that. They weren’t even supposed to witness it. “If the King knew…”

The festival was one of the few old traditions that Uther still permitted, and only because the thought of it amused him. The idea was that when the harvest moon rose red, the spirit of the fire came out from the flames and into the hearts of men, feeding their desires. The men gathered outside the city gates before a big fire, drinking spiced spirits and chanting a fiery invocation in a deep, primal rhythm. In the streets, dressed in the colours of the flames, their wives waited to welcome their husbands back into the city so that they might feel their fire.

It was said that the summer after a harvest moon was always alive with the cries of babes begotten on that night.

“Well the King is not going to find out, is he? I certainly am not going to tell him,” Morgana said, taking Gwen’s arm in hers and walking towards the line of stalls. She did not fancy being in the streets when the men came back. All she had been interested in was seeing the colour up close and tasting the fiery delights on sale. That, and forgetting herself for a day. “Fancy lunch?”

“My lady!” Gwen exclaimed, scandalised. “You cannot-”

“Buy you lunch? Nonsense,” Morgana said conversationally. “I am not myself, am I? I am… Well… I am whoever you want me to be, for a few hours at least.”

Gwen’s cheeks flushed a deep, dark crimson. “My lady…”

“And you definitely cannot go on calling me that. Someone will hear. What should my new name be? Something-”

“Morgana,” Gwen interjected. The boldness of her interruption made her blush deepen and she considered slipping into the crowd and making for some dark alleyway where she could hide from her mistress and wallow in her embarrassment. It was only Morgana’s intent look that kept her in place, stood at the side of that busy street, the two of them all alone in the crowd. “I would… I would like to call you by your name… if it pleases you, my lady.”

Morgana smiled, almost catlike, and steered them over to a stall selling flowers crystallised in honey. “Oh, it most certainly does that.”

The stall owner smiled when they approached, before he launched into a sales patter he had recited a hundred times that day already. “Just one silver piece for a dozen red rose petals from the King’s own garden. Best red you will ever see. They call it royal, after the Pendragons – ask anyone who works in the castle. They’ll tell you, the place is dripping in it. One silver piece for a dozen of these beauties? Bargain. They are as pretty as rubies.”

There were no red roses in the royal gardens. Morgana should know – she had redesigned them after the frost that had silvered the land the year her father died. And as for the castle being ‘dripping in red’, that was at least partially true. The King did love his ancestral colour. Morgana was far more partial to cooler shades herself, but she supposed they would not do for the Festival of Fire or a bold, brave King.

Morgana’s brow rose and she reached into the leather pouch resting at Gwen’s hip – brushing her fingers a little harder against the firm curve of her maid’s thigh than she need or ought to – and pulled out two silver pieces. “Oh? Well isn’t that a bargain?”

~*~

They ate the rose petals on the roof of the smithy, their legs dangling down over the side of the flat thatched roof. From there they could see half the city. Away to the east, the great fire was crackling, unattended now that the eve was setting in. And down in the large, open streets, the first of the men were back amongst their waiting wives. It was at that point that Morgana let her attention wander farther away instead, out to the city and up into the hills beyond. But those too left her feeling… empty, disappointed.

With a sigh, she tugged off her scarf and let her hair swing forward, loose. Free.

She did not know what she had been expecting to find amongst the flames, but whatever it was, she hadn’t.

“What do you think it’s like?” she asked quietly, nodding back down to the bustling streets. “To marry someone for love.”

Gwen, shocked by the turn that their carefree day had suddenly taken, dropped her remaining rose petals – Morgana had bought her a dozen all to herself – down onto her skirt and turned away from the revelry. The spectacle was suddenly far too painful to watch.

“I have never given it much thought, my lady.”

“Morgana,” Morgana reminded her gently. “Why not?”

“I suppose that I have not really entertained the thought,” Gwen said honestly, her chin resting in her shoulder as she looked sideways at Morgana. This was what she had pictured her life to be at best – Morgana’s maid and maybe, sometimes, her friend.

Morgana frowned and said again, “Why not?”

It seemed impossible to her, that Gwen had never thought on it. Sometimes, it seemed like all she could think about – her impending political marriage. Uther had not chosen her match yet, but when he did it would not be for Morgana’s affection for a man that he would pick him. It would be for money, land and allegiance. For all Morgana knew, she might be shipped off to Gaul to marry a boy prince less than half her age. Or, more likely, she would be sent up to please a rough northern warlord. The King’s ward and her dowry might even buy him an expanded kingdom and an army to go with it. Morgana would settle for a man that made her stomach flutter even half as much as Gwen did.

She had thought that person might be Arthur when she was younger. Then she had grown up and realised that she was far too valuable to waste on the heir to the throne. That would get Uther nothing except the allegiance of the Le Fay clan, useless as it was separated from them by a rough and unforgiving sea. And Arthur did make her heart quicken with anything other than anger, and even that happened less and less.

“I have thought about your wedding, your happy ending. That will, most likely, mean that you will leave. If I were to marry, I could not leave with you.” Gwen looked away, unknowingly focusing on the same shadowed hills that Morgana had. “What would I do then? I have only ever been trained as a lady’s maid.”

“Arthur… He will marry. You could…” But Morgana never finished the sentence. It seemed that neither of them could have what they wanted. She only wished Gwen would marry and be left behind, if that would make her happier. It would certainly not make Morgana happier, but she was used to that.

“Love though, I have heard, does not always come with marriage. In my experience, nor need marriage come with it,” Gwen said, quite unexpectedly – even to herself. The suggestion was so far beyond taboo that she wondered if it ever really occurred to people, that they might have love outside of wedlock. She wondered if they even thought it possible. It was. Years of watching Morgana bloom into the most breath-taking woman she had ever seen had taught her that. It had also taught her that love, as great as it was, could be heartbreakingly unrequited.

Morgana, unaware of Gwen’s thoughts, watched her companion for a moment, letting what she had said mingle with the thrilling fluttering low in her belly from gazing at Gwen’s elegant silhouette against the setting sun. It struck her how very brave Gwen was and how utterly wrong it was that she should be the lady and Gwen the maid. Features like that belonged only on a queen. Morgana knew. She had seen it.

“I have found that myself.”

Under Morgana’s intent, heat-laden gaze, the maid that would be queen swallowed and took a deep, steadying breath.

“When will your father be home?” Morgana asked, her voice changed and her body inclined towards Gwen’s, bringing her nearer, without moving any closer.

“Soon, now the moon is rising,” Gwen said, her mouth dry as she looked up to see the pale red moon fading into site beside the golden setting sun. Her father, like the other widowers, would come home alone, void of fire as the Festival dictated.

“I think that I would like to take a walk before heading back to the castle. Care to join me?” It was not an order, nor a request expected to be fulfilled. It was an uncertain if hopeful invitation.

And Gwen remembered that her lady was still just Morgana and that she still had the rose petals in her lap that this Morgana had bought her.

“Yes. I think I will.”

~*~

Gwen’s lips tasted like roses and honey when Morgana leaned her up against the back wall of the bakery and stole a kiss. The sweet smell of spiced peaches and the sound of drums and revelry were in the air, and Gwen did not seem to mind Morgana’s boldness. She just wound her arms around her lady’s neck and whimpered – soft and high – as Morgana’s tongue opened up her mouth to taste the sweetness within.

“I feel alight with fire, Guinevere. Can you feel it?” Morgana whispered, her hand roaming higher on Gwen’s waist than was proper, even on the Festival of Fire.

Gwen only gasped, eagerly meeting Morgana’s tongue with her own when her lady smiled and kissed her again. She could feel the fire alright. She felt it like you could feel the thick, swelling heat beating off of molten steel, full of danger and temptation. Only Morgana was the fire-red sword and she was not even trying to resist reaching for it.

Morgana smiled again and cupped her cheek, brushing her thumb almost roughly under Gwen’s eye, smudging the charcoal across her dark, flushed cheek.

“You have me burning white-hot,” Morgana all but growled, her eyes flashing with fire.

And when her hand slipped into the front of Gwen’s bodice, Gwen threw back her head and vowed aloud to be consumed by the flames. If she only had a few hours to use her lady’s name, then she would scream her throat raw with it, and hear her own name cried in return.

Morgana swore in a language that Gwen vaguely recognised as Gaelic, before tugging on the fastenings of Gwen’s bodice until it came apart, falling to the floor and leaving her bare. Her dark nipples hardened against the cold night, an icy wind ripping through the alley.

Whether there was fire in her, Gwen could not say. What she did know, as Morgana’s lips closed over her breast and sent flames rushing down her spine, was that Morgana had set her alight and she very much intended to burn.

At My Most Beautiful (20/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 15:50:40 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (20/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: M (a lot more so than usual)
Word Count: 6,500 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: The court hears Elyan’s tale and, despite the threat of war, Uther refuses to cancel the feast. With Morgana self-conscious and upset at the reason her kingdom is being invaded, it is down to Morgause to give her back give confidence and keep her mind on sweeter things.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

When the news had come that a commoner had requested to see the King, Uther laughed. When the man at the door – a Courtyard Guard sent with the message from Ulric Drapper, head of the Grounds Guards – insisted that the message this commoner had to deliver was urgent, Uther put down his goblet of wine and gave the impatient intruder a sharp look. When the man dared to speak for a third time, there was a single word that stopped Uther from throwing him arrested on charges of Royal Defiance. That word was ‘invasion’ and it hung heavy in the air. Uther rose to his feet on hearing it and made to leave, only delayed by Morgana’s hand on his arm.

“May I accompany you, Your Majesty?” Morgana asked, her head bowed subserviently. To look him in the eye would be seen as a challenge and she would be punished for acting as such in the presence of another.

There was a silence so long that Morgana did not think that her husband would answer.

“You may, Your Highness,” he agreed eventually. “You will be a welcome sight for any messenger loyal enough to bring news unbidden to my ear. He shall need no other reward.”

“Who could need reward beyond serving a King as kind and wise as you are, Your Majesty?” Morgana asked rhetorically.

Clearly pleased, Uther brought a gloved hand to her chin and lifted her head up. He smiled at her, hand still gripping her chin as he kissed her briefly. Morgana wondered whether he meant for his grip to hurt or whether he genuinely did not know his own strength. Either way, when Uther strode once more for the door, her chin was red and her cheeks snowy white. She took only a moment to compose herself before following.

…

The hall in which the messenger was to be received was the lesser of the castle’s two great throne rooms. Whilst the other was large, airy and splendid with wide windows and space for some two hundred courtiers, the room in which they awaited the news was rather more claustrophobic and musty, despite its more regular use. It was where the King heard petitions from his people and sat judge over lesser trials. Gathered that morning were less than half of Uther’s court. Gaius was stood somewhere amongst the middle ranking men of the council, making his presence known with the occasional ‘tut’ piercing the cloying silence. Sir Leon stood by the King’s right side – this being a matter of the Kingdom’s security – with Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival of the 1^st Company of Knights behind him. Morgause had been waiting in the throne room when Morgana arrived a moment behind the King. She had escorted the Queen up to the dais and stood now by Morgana’s left side, a little behind her.

Just when Morgana feared that they would be waiting an eternity, the great doors at the end of the hall opened to reveal three shadowy figures. As they stepped forward into the light of the room, it became clear that the man in the middle of the two guards was someone Morgana had met before. More than that, the man was someone she knew. Or at least had known, once.

“What is your name?” Uther bellowed before the three men could make it even half way along the scarlet-carpeted walkway to the dais.

“Elyan Pewter,” Morgana answered for him, her voice echoing through the hall as if she were its only inhabitant. She looked straight into the man’s eyes and he looked straight back at her, recognition evading him.

The King turned to her, the lines on his face deepened in a frown. “I have heard it said that my fair Queen knows the name of every citizen of Camelot. I must say, I thought it to be idle fancy.”

“Alas,” Morgana sighed, no longer having to raise her voice now that every soul in the room was listening to her. She could almost hear Morgause’s whispering in her ear, telling her that was true power, power she was born to wield. “You were right. I can boast nothing as grand as that. Only, that I have encountered our messenger before when were both a good deal younger.”

That was the moment Elyan seemed to realise who she was. He dropped her gaze.

“He is brother to my handmaiden,” Morgana supplied when Uther’s frown only deepened. “A smith. Or at least he was when he left the city some six years gone.”

“I am still, My Lady,” Elyan said quickly, his gaze snapping back up to her almost eagerly. “I built my own forge.”

“Your Queen,” Uther corrected. “And as touching as this reunion is, I believe there are more pressing matters to be discussed.” He gestured to the gathered men. “We are all waiting, Smith.”

“Your Majesty, I have a forge on hilly land overlooking the northern border with Worcester. Twelve days ago I saw fires in the forest on the other side of the border. I thought it was just a hunting camp, we see plenty them. But over the next few days, the number of lights had grown each time the moon rose. Eight days ago the lights had moved closer to the border, much closer,” Elyan relayed. “I took the swiftest horses in the village and made for the city.”

Uther sat forward in his seat. “I had scouts come back from the northern lands not a day ago. They reported no such lights.”

“As I said, everyone in the village thought it to be another hunting camp. They aren’t uncommon, even this late in the season,” Elyan continued. “We saw no scouts.”

Uther scoffed. “You are not supposed to. If you had then they would not be doing their jobs.”

“I apologise, You Majesty. I am only a simple smith and know nothing of the ways of war or service. I can count though and I counted over two hundred fires that last night.”

A wave of hushed whispers spread through the hall. Morgana turned to see that her husband’s eyes had turned cold and hard. She remembered her father once telling her that you could estimate the size of an opponent’s army just by counting their fires of a night. Men usually kept to twelve men per fire averaged out from the Commanders to the squires. With over two hundred fires, that made for an army of at least two thousand four hundred men. That was not the full strength of half Worcester so Morgana would guess the number to be closer to be a clean two and a half thousand men – that was almost half of Camelot’s full strength, including draftees.

“Guards, escort him to the town and give him a reward. Tree gold coins and four silvers will suffice,” Uther commanded, not looking down at the bewildered messenger at all. It seemed that Elyan had spoken truly and did not know just how big an army he had proclaimed to be heading Camelot’s way.

The King waited for Elyan to be ushered from the hall before turning to Leon and issuing his next command. “I want four dozen knights sent out to scout to the border. Your patrol will stretch the length of the Kingdom and will be made up of experienced knights ready to fight should they come across anything – scouts, fore riders, the whole bloody army of Worcester. Equip each with an Iberian horn. The like have not been seen in Edwin’s Kingdom. If it is a Worcester invasion then I want our communications to go unlistened to.”

Leon nodded. “Your Majesty. I will send Companies 10 to 18 enough caged messenger doves that twenty could be shot down with word from each company and still the message reach the citadel. What of the men who will remain here?”

“Are you not battle ready at all times?”

“Of course, You Majesty. I only meant-”

“I know what you meant, Commander. We will deal with that eventuality if and when it is called for,” Uther said calmly, his hands clenching hard on the arms of his great oak throne.

“If you do not wish the people to know then might I suggest that you stop Elyan Pewter leaving the castle,” Morgana interjected, knowing full well that she was speaking out of turn and not much caring. “The man may not know exactly what he has told us but other’s will should he repeat the tale. Have him put up in one of the bedrooms and I will send his sister to greet him. He will think that you are being kind, not careful.”

Uther’s initial instinct to shoot her down for her insolence was thwarted by Leon’s agreement with his Queen. “We can house him with the knights from lesser families. If he is a smith then we can put him to work mending armour to pay for his keep.”

“Very well,” Uther conceded, waving his hand to signify the closing of proceedings. “The core council will meet this afternoon before my son’s feast.”

“The feast is still going ahead tonight?” Morgana asked in a whisper.

“Of course. If we leave it until you get any heavier then there will be no need for an announcement at all,” Uther sighed, saying the words good and slow as if she were a child who might not understand them. She was well aware of how tight her gowns were fitting but she was sure she could get away with it for another couple of weeks at the least if she stuck to less close-fitting gowns with more material.

“Very good, Your Majesty.” She smiled sweetly. “You, of course, know best.”

For the second time that day, Uther smiled at her subservience.

…

“Is it really that noticeable?” Morgana asked as Morgause closed and locked the door behind them. She skirted her right hand over her stomach to trace the swell. “I know Gaius said that I had grown more from Eloise’s physician’s measurements than he would have expected, but he did not seem to think I was any farther along than was originally thought.”

“It is noticeable, Morgana. The last half week has seen more change than the two weeks before that.” Morgause walked around to face her and smiled softly. “But I am no expert in the bearing of children. I only find what I am looking for. I see because I already know that you are with child. Others may not.”

“But you are inclined to agree with Uther?” Morgana sighed, smiling despite herself from how hard Morgause was trying to please her.

“I am, my love,” Morgause said, stepping closer. “Though will it that is the only time I will have to say that.”

“Gwen has not had time to run me up anything from that new silk and now she is with her brother…”

“Hush,” Morgause soothed, brushing back the ebony black hair that had fallen in front of Morgana’s eyes.

“I have nothing that will hide it more than this,” Morgana frowned, gazing down at the pale and bright blue material flowing from the belt beneath her breasts. “And I cannot wear this tonight.”

“Why hide it,” Morgause began, bringing her hands up to rest on the swell of Morgana’s stomach, her thumbs stroking the soft skin through the cotton and silk, “when you can wear a dress that lets the whole world see it?” She stepped in even closer and slid her arms around the small of Morgana’s back, drawing her close pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You are carrying their future King or Queen, my future King or Queen. Let them love and worship you for it even more than they already do.”

“I cannot,” Morgana murmured, blushing. “Whether you agree with it or not, Morgause, my job is to be an ornament at these things. Tonight will be all about Uther and his son. I am required only to look pretty and worthy to be his Queen by his side.”

“And you do not think that you are beautiful like this?” Morgause asked incredulously. “Morgana, the day I first saw you, you were at your most beautiful – innocent and hopeful, resplendent in white. That day when we rode out to the Queen’s Valley, you were at you most beautiful – bold and daring, purposefully drawing attention to yourself with the clothes you chose to wear. When you awoke from your nightmare on the forest floor and allowed me to kiss you, you were at your most beautiful – dark like the night itself and pale as the perfect moon. The next night, when I finally had you bare before me, you were at your most beautiful – nervous and excited and perfect from head to toe. When we played in the clear stream on the mountain, you were at your most beautiful – bright eyed and happy with your clothes sculpted to your curves by the icy water. On the island, when you were laid out exhausted beneath me, you were at your most beautiful – thrumming with the magic of the place and blushing like a maiden. Right here, right now, you are at your most beautiful – your body ripening with a great ruler inside you and fire in your heart. There has not been a moment when you have not been the most beautiful creature on this earth,” Morgause promised, her hands cupping Morgana’s flushed cheeks. “No one has ever been as beautiful as you are now, do you hear me?”

“I do,” Morgana answered, though it was plain in her eyes that she did not.

Morgause sighed and moved away to shed her armour. She would have to be in it all night. A few hours out of it would do her good.

“Do not worry about the army, Morgana,” she said as she pulled off her gloves and dropped them onto Morgana’s bed. “Sir Leon is not only a good fighter but a good negotiator. He will make sure that one way or another, King Edwin’s army does not make it to the City of Camelot.”

“I believe in my knights,” Morgana assured her, her voice a soft and close at Morgause’s back. “You and Sir Leon especially. Our two champions.”

“Camelot has only one champion,” Morgause reminded her. Leon had beaten her at the tournament to take the title and he had deserved it.

“I am Camelot and she is me. You are my champion and by virtue are hers too,” Morgana said, making quick work of the buckles and straps at Morgause’s back. Within moments, she was lifting the heavy plate free. “Do not forget that should anything happen to Sir Leon, you will be our Kingdom’s representative at the great tournament.”

Morgause closed her eyes and did not argue, letting Morgana rid her of her armour. She would let the other woman have her pretty dreams. They certainly seemed to make life sweeter for her. And having Morgana take her armour from her like it was her duty and her honour was definitely sweet for Morgause too.

“Why are Worcester marching on Camelot?” Morgana asked after a moment, still working. “I thought there was to be a treaty signed whilst we were in Mermering.”

“It did not come to pass,” Morgause said vaguely. She did not want to be the one to tell Morgana that the northlands were marching down on them because her husband had bedded the King’s daughter.

“Why not? We offered them generous terms. The trade route through our land will bring them to the ports to trade for themselves. They will no longer have to pay tax to import sea trade from other kingdoms. Is that not right?” Morgana asked. She thought she had understood the bargain that had been made. Perhaps she was better to keep out of such things.

“No, you have the right of it. It was an attractive deal. We were to have their surplus grain and farmstock at the cheapest price in exchange for the right to trade at our ports. The problem was not the treaty itself,” Morgause assured her.

“Then what?” Morgana asked. “Why are we to go to war with them when we ought to be friends?”

Morgause prayed silently to the gods to give her the right words.

“It was Uther, was it not? He… he was intimate with Queen Alise, King Edwin’s wife?” Morgana asked, her hands stopping their work and leaving Morgause entirely.

“Princess Elena,” Morgause whispered. “She was due to be married next summer.”

All of the warmth drained from Morgana’s body. It hurt like an arrow through the heart. If only she had not left. She would never forgive herself if her people suffered for her selfishness.

…

Morgana closed her eyes and relaxed into the honeyed-water. The sun was not yet at its highest in the sky and already enough had happened to make her weary and unsettled. If she was to play her part well that night she would need to be rested and refreshed, and the best way to do that was to wash away what had already come to pass that day and let the heat of the water soothe her aching soul. With Gwen away at her brother’s side, Emilie had been called for to fetch water for Morgana’s bath before being sent off on some errand of Morgause’s invention to see that Morgana was left in peace.

“How is it, my love?” Morgause asked in a voice so soft that it caressed Morgana’s ears like sweet music.

“Just what I needed,” Morgana replied, her lips turning up into a smile. As much as she treasured Gwen, she had missed Morgause looking after her. There was something about it that felt so right, so natural.

“May I join you, my Queen?”

Morgana’s heartbeat quickened when she heard the words and she bit her lips, nodding. When she heard Morgause’s voice again, it came from closer behind her.

“Move forward,” Morgause commanded simply and Morgana obeyed. She was rewarded when Morgause slipped into the water behind her and wound an arm around her waist, pulling her back to rest between her knight’s thighs and against her chest. “What a beauty you are,” Morgause whispered in her ear, whilst one of her hands rubbed big soothing circles on her swollen belly. She was determined that before Morgana left for the feast that night that she would believe that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom and that being with child did nothing to lessen Morgause’s desire for her. “I am the luckiest knight in all the kingdoms.”

“It is I who am lucky,” Morgana sighed, shivering from Morgause’s touch. There was something worshipful in the way she caressed her stomach that made Morgana hopeful. “Lucky, that you are so forgiving and understanding of this,” Morgana continued, covering Morgana’s hand with her own.

“No, my love, I assure you that it is I who is lucky,” Morgause murmured against her neck as her other hand moved up to massage one of Morgana’s beautiful breasts. She smiled when Morgana moaned and arched up into her touch. “I am the one who gets to see you bloom. Be glad of it, Morgana. Be as proud of it as I am. Do you not see the raw love in Gwen’s eyes when she looks at you? Did you not see the pride in your Aunts eyes? Or the desire still aflame in mine? I ache for you more than ever, my love. Never doubt that.”

“Show me,” Morgana begged timidly, her eyes still closed.

“It would be my honour,” Morgause promised, her legs shifting in the water until they were over Morgana’s, parting them gently and as wide as the bath would allow. For a moment, Morgause paused and looked down at Morgana, naked and open. It was enough to make her head spin and her whole body thrum and tingle. This was her Queen, her lover, her Morgana. And she was spread out just for her. This was what made Morgause sure that she was the lucky one.

Pressing a kiss to the hollow behind Morgana’s ear, she gave Morgana’s stomach one last caress before guiding her hand lower, over the lower curve of her swollen stomach and between her parted legs.

“You are perfection incarnate,” she whispered into Morgana’s ear, slipping her hand in to feel how slick Morgana was already for her. The feel of the slippery fluid coating her fingers sent a shock of sensation to her groin and her hand tightened on Morgana’s breast, fingers running roughly over her hard nipple to make Morgana’s hips buck and a strangled cry tear from her lips.

“You have to be quiet,” Morgause reminded her, amused. She moved the hand between Morgana’s legs from stroking her inner thigh to trailing teasingly over where Morgana’s moisture was collecting. It never failed to amaze Morgause just how wet Morgana always was for her, just how eager she was. “Keep those cries for only me to hear. They are for me, after all.”

“Yes. Please, I need…” Morgana begged, far too wound up by the day to take it as slow as they usually did. She needed the release that only Morgause had ever been able to give her. She needed that sweet euphoria to blot out everything else until all that mattered was Morgause’s hands, her lips and the scraping of her hard nipples against Morgana’s back.

Obliging, Morgause parted her Queen and found her sensitive clit with her index finger. With a kiss to Morgana’s neck, she began to circle it teasingly. Slowly at first but building up speed, faster and harder. “You are a Goddess,” she whispered fiercely, switching from circling to rubbing. “Say it.”

“I am Goddess,” Morgana panted, her hips canting, rubbing back against Morgause, making her knight’s breath catch, with every downstroke of her clever fingers.

“A Goddess,” Morgause repeated, slipping her hand down so that it was her thumb rubbing Morgana’s clit and her index finger sliding down to circle Morgana’s entrance. Her other hand moved to Morgana’s other breast, greedily filling her palm with it and squeezing. They were swelling just like Morgana’s belly and Morgause loved it. There was nothing more beautiful about Morgana’s body than those lovely full breasts and there was nothing more gratifying than knowing just how much Morgana loved her lavishing attention on them. She only wished that she could take them into her mouth and suckle the honeyed-water from them. Instead, she brought her lips up to suck the sweet-tasting droplet from the lobe of Morgana’s ear, whispering, “A Goddess to be worshipped. My Goddess.”

“Yes,” Morgana gasped. “Oh – Gods – I am yours.”

“Mine,” Morgause agreed, swiftly pushing two fingers inside Morgana and setting up a quick rhythm in time with the fingers of her other hand pinching her aching nipples.

Morgana’s head fell back against her and Morgause craned her head to claim her mouth, slipping her tongue inside to take her completely and utterly, just as Morgana liked, just as she needed.

“Only mine,” Morgause gasped into her lover’s mouth, breaking the kiss to trail her lips over the honey-sweet skin of Morgana’s proud and noble neck. “Mine and your own. No one else’s.” She punctuated her last words by thrusting another finger in alongside the other two that Morgana’s slick walls were already clamping down on so deliciously. The fit was so tight that Morgause knew she would have her Queen coming for her in seconds, unable to stand being that full.

She was determined to give Morgana the best climax she had ever given her to block out her pig of a husband and show her just how much she was wanted. She pressed her thumb down hard on her trembling Queen’s clit, raking her nail over it as she twisted her nipple and curled her three fingers up inside her Queen to send her hurtling over the edge. Afraid she might scream, Morgause brought up her hand from Morgana’s breast to cover her mouth, silencing her as she lost control and cried out Morgause’s name and wept, utterly overwhelmed.

“There, that is how a Goddess like you should be worshiped,” Morgause panted, still thrusting her fingers gently in and out of Morgana bring her down from her climax, Morgana’s walls still clenching down on them again and again and again. Until, finally, the tension fled from Morgana’s body and she lay back bonelessly against her knight and champion.

“You are the Goddess,” Morgana whispered breathlessly.

Smiling, Morgause kissed her cheek and pulled her fingers out, slipping her hand down to give one of Morgana’s breasts a last squeeze.

“No!” Morgana gasped, her hand coming shakingly down to press Morgause deeper back inside. “I like it like this, please.”

“As my Queen commands,” Morgause whispered against her temple, pressing her three fingers in even deeper, as deep as they could go. Her other hand, she brought down to once more caress Morgana’s swollen stomach. “You are going to look so beautiful tonight showing this off to all of Camelot, my Goddess. You will be the envy of half the court and the fantasy of the other half. And I will be by you side, proud beyond belief that you are mine.”

And for the first time, Morgana truly believed her.

…

When Morgana had sent for her, Gwen had been terrified. The useless guards who came to fetch her knew less than nothing about what the Queen wanted and Gwen could only remember Morgana ever summoning her once before, to tend to her in Uther’s chambers the morning after her wedding. The fact that she was not being taken in the direction of the King’s chambers was enough to slow her racing heart a bit but she still could not shake the feeling that something was not right. That feeling only deepened when they turned into the barracks quarter of the lower castle. Surely her Queen would not have sent for her from here? The fear that she truly was being replaced by Emilie Floriette came upon her and she had the sudden urge to turn and run back to Morgana’s chambers and beg forgiveness for whatever she had done wrong.

But before the notion could ever truly take hold, she was stopped in front of an unfamiliar door that was not quite closed. The stouter of the two guards, a man Gwen recognised as having delivered Morgause’s bed, pushed open the door and beckoned for her to enter. Puzzled, Gwen stepped into the dark room and immediately saw two figures – no, three, for there was a babe too – huddled close together whispering to each other. The moment her eyes began to adjust to the low light, she recognised the tall man dressed in cotton and leather as none other her own brother, whom she had not seen for nigh on six years, not since the day he had argued with their father and left the city with no so much as a goodbye for his little sister who loved him so dearly.

“Elyan!” she cried, not sure whether to weep for joy or scream at him for not even having come home for their father’s funeral.

“Gwen!” he cried in return, making to cross the room and hug her but instead stopping short when Gwen’s palm collided with his cheek in a deafening slap.

Gwen gasped and pulled her arm back, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh Elyan, my brother, I did not mean…”

“I deserved that, little sister,” Elyan admitted with a grin, rubbing his cheek where she had slapped him.

Incensed by his audacity, she moved to strike him again, only to have him catch her by the wrist and pull her into a hug that she was far too weak to fight her way out of.

“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me go! You have no right to call me sister!”

“As much as you may hate me right now, Guinevere, you are still my blood. You will always be my sister,” he whispered as the guards closed the door and left them alone.

Gwen snorted with indignant laughter. “So I was your sister when I had to arrange our father’s funeral alone? I was your sister when I had sit vigil over his body alone?” His arms loosened and she pulled back. “I have no family but my Queen. It was her who paid for our father to be buried in the best grave a man could hope for and her who snuck out of the castle to sit with me in the churchground all night in the rain. You did not even answer my letter. Morgana even made sure it got to you by sending it with one of the squires and having him read it to you, so do not even pretend that you did not get it.”

Elyan hung his head in shame. “It is true that I did not come when you called. I was still angry with father and could not see anything but that.”

“What about me? You could have come for me!” Gwen insisted, tears streaming from her eyes as she fell into his embrace, her fingers tightening in the cotton of his shirt as her sobs overcame her. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, her crying subsided enough for her to remember the woman and the babe. She pulled back and looked past her brother to see the woman watching them intently, her young babe cradled to her chest.

“Guinevere, this is Anwen, my wife,” Elyan said walking over to his wife and taking the babe from her. “And this,” he began, laying the babe in Gwen’s arms, “is my daughter, your niece, Brea Guinevere Pewter.”

A single tear slipped down Gwen’s cheek and landed on the babe’s sweet button nose. She bent her head to kiss it away and found that more tears joined it when Brea stirred, opened her eyes and grasped up at her with a tiny golden hand.

“She knows her aunt when she sees her,” Anwen smiled, moving past her husband to stand in front of Gwen. “Hello, sister. It is good to finally meet you. There is nothing Elyan loves to talk about more than his little sister. I can only apologise that you have to hear of little Brea and our marriage so late. It was all so rushed, truth be told. A whirlwind romance they call it.” She smiled again and Gwen was in no doubt that that smile could have captured her brother’s heart.

“I blame my brother for that, not you,” Gwen assured her, and Anwen’s smile brightened even more, before she leant it to kiss Gwen’s cheek.

“You have the knack with babes, I see. My little one does nothing but cry when she wakes, but she seems beyond content in your arms,” Anwen said softly, brushing her fingers lightly over her babe’s head.

Gwen smiled, her stomach fluttering. She wondered if Morgana’s babe would be so quick to settle in her arms. She prayed that he or she would. She had been able to think of nothing else since Morgana told her, than holding the little babe when he or she was newly born. There were so many people who would be putting so many expectations on Morgana’s babe, but all Gwen wanted was to see Morgana with her babe. Then, she thought, she would have all she could ever want.

“Do you want her back?” she asked Anwen.

Anwen shook her head. “She seems happy with you. Why don’t we sit down and talk some. We have a lot to get to know about each other and a lot for you and my husband to catch up on.”

That was when Gwen remembered where they were and how strange it was. Elyan wasted no time in filling her in.

…

“You look beautiful, Morgana,” Gwen sighed when she stood back to admire her work. She had found one of Morgana’s mother’s dresses from when she had attended a tournament at court when she was carrying Morgana. It was ivory and light, both fitted and flowing; perfectly showing the swell of Morgana’s babe, whilst being comfortable enough that Morgana could wear it all night. The bust was covered in fine white embroidery and little white flowers fashioned from silk and even softer fabrics that Gwen had never seen before. The curve of the front panel fit perfectly to Morgana’s stomach, as if the dress had been made her for that very day, not for her mother some two decades earlier.

Turning around, Morgana eyed herself in the mirror and smiled. She did look beautiful. That her mother had worn this very dress, showing her off to the world when she was still inside her was enough to make her beam with pride for her own babe.

“Thank you, Gwen. It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“All I did was put a couple of little stitches in it,” Gwen assured her. “Is your hair okay? I can change it if you would like?”

“No,” Morgana smiled, “I like it.”

Her hair was done in a way she had never had it before. It was a style that Morgana had seen in a painting in Mermering and had described to Gwen on her return. She could never have believed that Gwen could get it so perfect on her first attempt, when she had not even beheld the painting herself. Carefully, Gwen had crossed silky black strips of Morgana’s hair over the crown of her head in a loose plait-like lattice with large diamonds between the strands. At the back, her hair was collected at the top of her neck in a beautiful bun of the same ebony lattice woven perfectly together. Wispy black strands fell intentionally loose from her forehead all the way back the bun itself, as was customary for young women to soften such looks. The undoubted masterpiece was not Morgana’s hair, however, but the elegant gold crown perched atop her head. She had worn it for her coronation and never since. It had been designed by the best metal worker in the kingdoms to embody the vines of the Le Fay heraldry and the dragon of Pendragon into something of such beauty that Morgana could never have imagined.

“Thank you,” Morgana murmured, turning around and smiling at her softly, her eyes bright with joy. “Now go and spend some more time with your family. We cannot have me keeping you away from them.”

“I could not very well let you go to a feast without preparing you myself. We both have reputations to uphold,” Gwen said with a smile.

Morgana laughed, making Gwen’s heart flutter. “You are right as always. Now shoo and arrange for your brother and his family to come and take lunch with us tomorrow. I need to meet this niece of yours.”

Gwen’s smile bloomed. No other servant could ever dream of such love from their mistress as she got every day. “Yes, Your Highness. It would be my honour to have you meet her.”

“Oh, and Gwen,” Morgana called as her maid turned to leave. When Gwen stopped and turned back to her, Morgana crossed the room to kiss her cheek thrice. “I am so happy for you. I cannot wait to see you with this babe.”

Gwen blushed deeply and Morgana added. “Can you send in Morgause from the hallway? I want her to see me first.”

When Morgause entered the room, Morgana’s breath left her lungs and she thought for a moment that she was dreaming. Her knight was not clad in her usual silvery steel plate but one of polished red-gold bronze that glinted and shimmered in the candlelight as if it was spotted with a hundred thousand stars. Over her shoulders was draped her scarlet Pendragon cape emblazoned with a gold dragon and held in place with a broach of twisted golden vines – Le Fey vines. The vines too were at her waist, cinching in her mail in the form of a gold belt to show off the curves of her breasts and the flare of her hips. And at her neck, Morgana could just see the fine chain disappearing down to where the green stone lay above her heart.

“Oh, Gods,” Morgana swore, feeling a little faint. “What…”

“Sir Leon commissioned a new formal uniform for the 1^st Company, to reflect its new dual purpose as protectors of the Pendragon Kingdom and the Le Fey Queen, now that I am your guard. I have known of it since before we left for Mermering but did not want to tell you lest the King forbid it. But he did not. He approved of the design and here it is,” Morgause said a little shyly. “Do you approve, my Queen?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I approve,” Morgana whispered, rushing to her and kissing her, unable to stand not doing any longer. “By the Gods, you have never looked so beautiful and strong.”

Morgause blushed, her hand trembling when she stroked Morgana’s cheek. “And you. You will be the death of me with such beauty.”

Touched to the point where tears stung at her eyes, Morgana kissed her again, before pulling back and holding out her hand. “Escort me, fair knight?”

“It would be, as always, my honour.”

…

When Morgana entered the great hall on Morgause’s arm, the whole room turned and gasped. Slowly, she walked through the crowd which parted for her like the sea did for the One God’s servant Moses. Behind her, Morgause followed silently, her golden shadow. When she reached the dais, she turned and let Morgause bow to her before leaving to join the other Knights of the 1^st Company at their table of honour. Alone, Morgana climbed the four stone steps to find Uther waiting for her with his hand outstretched to guide her to her seat. She had promised herself that she would not think on what had happened with Princess Elena. He was still her King and her husband, and it was his child inside her that was bringing her such hope and happiness.

“May I present,” Uther announced holding up her hand at shoulder height and kissing it, “My Queen, Morgana Pendragon of the line of our valiant protector and fine friend of Camelot, the late Sir Gorlois Le Fay.”

Morgana smiled down at the people as they raised their golden goblets up to salute her.

“And many I also present,” Uther began again, placing his hand on her swollen stomach, “the future King of Camelot, my son and heir whom my Queen is carrying.”

Raucous applause and cries filled the room, and Morgana, overcame, wept.

Free Web Counter

Damn the Consequences (Gwen/Morgana)

lovepb — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 19:30:28 GMT

Title: Damn the Consequences
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Just under 2,000
Summary: Morgana and Gwen stargaze before battle of Ealdor. Set during 1x10 The Moment of Truth.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes. If I did own it, it would be called Morgana and I wouldn’t treat the female characters as less than the male characters.

Morgana couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that this might be the last time she ever saw the night sky. She had never really thought about it before, how beautiful it was. She couldn’t honestly remember an occasion when she had just gazed out and took it all in. It came with being young, she supposed, being impatient and not appreciating the beauty of the world. Looking out at the stars would have seemed like such a waste of a night to her before, but now she might be about to die there was nothing she wanted to do more. Almost nothing. She would rather Gwen be at her side to gaze at them along with her, but those about to die could not afford to be picky. That would waste too much time. And time was far too precious to waste.

“My Lady?”

Gwen’s voice carried like a song over the wind. Up there on top of the barn, it sounded quite like the most beautiful thing Morgana had ever heard – and the most unexpected.

“I am over here, Guinevere,” Morgana murmured, quiet as the breeze. In the dark, she knew that Gwen could hardly see her, not below the bright sky.

She heard Gwen gasp over how close they were without her knowing and how impossible it was to see her. Now that she knew where she was, though, she could see a soft flash of moonlight outlining the curve of her lady’s proud jaw, the smooth sweep of her neck, the soft curve of her cheek.

“You need not tend me tonight. Spend the time doing whatever would make you happiest. For it might be running short for us all, the time,” Morgana murmured, still captivated by the summer stars.

“If it will not spoil your night, my lady, being up here with you would make me happiest,” Gwen said in an unapologetically simple tone.

Morgana laid back on the thin woollen blanket and gestured to the space beside her. “You could not spoil my anything, let alone my last night on this earth. Hoist up the ladder, if you will. I do not want to share this night with anyone else. It seems just right for two us and the stars.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Morgana could hear the smile in her voice. A gasp of exertion soon followed as she hauled up the wooden ladder and laid it behind Morgana’s head.

“Do not thank me, I could not bear the thought of spending my last hours of life alone,” Morgana breathed as she felt Gwen lay beside her on the blanket, her legs tucked gracefully beneath her.

“We will be alright, my lady,” Gwen whispered. “I have faith.”

“In Arthur?”

“In you,” Gwen said plainly, as if Morgana should really know this by now. She looked over her shoulder at Morgana and smiled weakly. Her eyes were beginning to become accustomed to the low light and she could just about see Morgana smile back uncertainly.

After a long moment, Gwen broke their gaze and lay down beside her, their shoulders brushing with every breath. And why shouldn’t they lie so close? They had slept beside each other in bed for two nights and both mornings Gwen had woken to find Morgana curled close, her head cradled in the crook of Gwen’s neck. Sleep seemed to melt away the last of the class boundaries between them. Gwen did not begrudge it one bit.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Morgana asked absently after a little while of silence, her eyes on the stars whilst Gwen watched her.

“Beautiful,” Gwen agreed, not seeing the stars at all. How could she when her lady looked so open and woeful, aroused by awe.

“If I die tomorrow, there will only be one thing I regret not doing, now that I have beheld the heavens from earth,” Morgana carried on, her voice even more distant then before. “I doubt there are many who could say that.”

Gwen could believe that. Her lady had never been one for not acting. Gwen knew that she had regrets. Morgana had even told her about a few of them. What did surprise her was that there was something Morgana had wanted to do and hadn’t. Or at least something she thought she ought to have done.

There was no way she could let it pass without asking. So she did.

Morgana just smiled and stared up at the stars. “Something I have no right to do. But it is alright. This way it is only me who gets hurt.”

Frowning, Gwen whispered, “Not to me, my lady. Nothing that hurts you is alright.”

Morgana looked at her then, her brow creased and her eyes afraid, a woman about to die. Very quietly she asked, “If you knew this was to be your last night on earth, what would you do? Would you damn the consequences and do what your heart yearns for? Or would you want to have one more normal night, safe if bittersweet?”

Gwen didn’t say a word.

“I thought so,” Morgana sighed, looking back to the sky and leaving Gwen feeling like she had just failed a very important test.

“I would damn the consequences,” Gwen said quickly, realising just as she said it that she would. If only because her lack of answer had seemed to give Morgana the impression that she should let go of her dream. “You should take the chance, my lady. If it is Arthur you want, then you should be with him. I promise that I will not tell a soul. No one will ever know. You should be with the one you love.”

Morgana closed her eyes and sighed, long and wistful. “I am, dear Guinevere. Right here, I am.”

It took Gwen half a thousand heartbeats to understand and another thousand to comprehend. She knew at once then why Morgana seemed so still. It wasn’t the calm before the storm as she had thought, but her conscience paralysing her, keeping her from doing something she shouldn’t.

“Oh, Morgana,” Gwen whispered, her heart aching in a way she hadn’t felt it ache for years. Ever since they had been girls with flowers in their hair and wooden swords in their hands had she loved Morgana. From the moment she turned sixteen she had reconciled that it could never be. How could Morgana ever feel the same? She didn’t think anyone had ever felt such love before, to think that someone could reflect it for her seemed almost impossible. For that person to be Morgana had appeared utterly hopeless. But perhaps...

“I never could damn the consequences when it came to you,” Morgana said quite plainly, eyes staring straight up. “And understand that I will not do it now. You are safe with me, Gwen, I have always vowed to keep it that way.”

Gwen’s eyes stung and silent tears overflowed. “I never wanted protecting from you, my lady. Never.” Shifting onto her side, she reached out a shaky hand to turn Morgana’s face towards her and looked deep into her eyes. “I have spent so long with my heart locked away in a cage like a mockingbird, desperate to prevent losing myself in a moment and doing something that you could never wish for me to do. For how could a lady like you ever stomach a kiss from me, a lover’s kiss at that?”

A tear ran down Morgana’s cheek and over Gwen’s fingers.

“I have never had a lover,” Morgana all but whimpered, her voice whisper soft and high. “No one has ever kissed me. Arthur tried once but I pushed him away. I would not kiss anyone until Uther ordered me to, if I could not kiss you. That way...” She smiled and another tear ran over Gwen’s hand. “That way I could be yours for a little while, even if you never knew it. I could be faithful to you, faithful to the heartbreaking love I could never utter aloud.”

“You must have known that I would never be unkind or tell anyone else, even if I did not feel the same,” Gwen said, desperate with the pain that Morgana might have thought otherwise.

“I know,” Morgana nodded, bringing her hand up to Gwen’s and turning to kiss her work-smooth palm. “It was that kindness I feared. With my station and your kindness, a little part of me was afraid that you would go along with it if I ever told you, just to make me happy or to be good or obedient. And I would never know the difference. To chance that would be hellish of me. I never could do it.”

Gwen shook her head. “But that could never have happened. And it seems that we have both been so very blind.” Her tears began to fall again as she her index finger brushed lightly over Morgana’s mouth. “To think, I could have kissed those lips.”

“There are some hours yet, before we must meet our fate. Precious few, I know, but enough, I think, for a kiss. If you...” She closed her eyes and swallowed, her tongue moistening her dry lips – afraid, still.

Closing her eyes, Gwen leant in and kissed her, innocent and overdue.

Morgana whimpered and cupped Gwen’s tear-dampened cheek, her lips parting clumsily to inhale Gwen’s surrendered breath.

It was then she knew that Gwen must have kissed someone before, for Gwen was less clumsy and knew it would make Morgana’s heart flutter to slip her tongue between Morgana’s lips. Instinct brought Morgana’s tongue forward to meet it, the two of them sliding wetly together, making Morgana’s head spin and her whole body thrum with what she imagined were the stars. She was kissing Gwen, tasting her love reflected, tasting her. She hadn’t known there would be tongues but feeling Gwen’s inside her was like nothing she could have imagined. Suddenly, the thought of damning the consequences was all she could think of.

“I want...” she panted when Gwen’s tongue for a moment withdrew and fresh air filled her lungs “... to be yours... to live this night as I should the wedding night that might never come. I want to have no regrets, to go to battle with a body and heart that belongs to you and so cannot fail.”

“And I the same,” Gwen promised, her eyes closed and Morgana’s breath on her lips. She heard Morgana draw in a deep breath as she shifted, cool air from her absence making her gasp. Before she could even open her eyes, Morgana was kissing her – still clumsy but unmistakably bolder, surer. “I mean it, my lady,” Gwen gasped between kisses, “I cannot remember wanting anything else.”

She opened her eyes to find Morgana gazing down at her, eyes bereft of fear, utterly alive.

“I do not know what to do,” Gwen admitted, terrified and simultaneously relived that Morgana seemed suddenly to have the upper hand.

“I think,” Morgana began unsurely, “that I do. At least, I know... Sometimes when I am alone at night and... When I think of you...” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and something flipped over inside of Gwen. “If you would let me try? Trust me?”

“Always.”

And when one of Morgana’s cool pale hands slipped under Gwen’s shirt, lifting the hem upwards, she vowed to never stop trusting her.

Web Counter

lovepb — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 14:10:08 GMT

At My Most Beautiful (19/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 19:34:48 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (19/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6,000 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Elyan battles to reach Camelot ahead of the invading army and Morgause wields her newfound power against an insubordinate guard.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

The letter was sent that evening with the city’s swiftest dove. She was a young, spirited hen with a gold band around her left leg and a flash of glittering gold dye tipping her wings. She had been a wedding gift from a Gaulish prince distantly related to Morgana and Uther both. Her message attached, the snowy white bird lifted off from the Queen’s similarly fair hands, soaring up from the eastern tower. With the setting sun at its back, it was coloured momentarily as pink as the flush of anger on Morgana’s cheeks and then turned as pale as cool skin at her wrist. Its colour made it easy to keep track of through the darkening sky, its gold glistening like a star. Morgana watched until it disappeared from view, wishing she could so easily follow. Reluctantly, she left the window behind when there was nothing but blackness to be seen out of its stony frame, a dark canvas too beautiful and tragic to behold.

The room around her had turned dark and cold whilst she had dreamt. Suddenly she wanted to be as far from it as possible. And then the heavy wooden door swung open and Morgause entered, silver in the light of the moon.

“Morgana,” Morgause murmured, worry in her voice, “are you – are you crying?”

The Queen swallowed down her instinctive denial and nodded.

Slowly, as if worried Morgana might spook like an unbridled mare, Morgause stepped into the middle of the circular room and went down on one knee to kiss a shuddering apology onto the palm of Morgana’s ink-stained hand. Above the splotches of black to which Morgause’s lips were pressed, a slash of Pendragon-red ink dissecting her fine wrist caught Morgana’s attention and she wondered what it would be like to sign her name in purple. It would not have the same power, but she could live with that. Power was not all about titles, though she had given the recipient of her letter all she had in learned Latin in hopes he would come and do so as swift as her dove could fly with his acceptance.

per precibus Eam Celsitudinem Regina Morgana Pendragonde Camelot, née Le Fay de pulchræ Mermering

Her champion followed her gaze to the scarlet ink and saw that the ‘Regina’ from her signature had been imprinted there by the careless laying of her skin on the still wet ink. Calm and still as if she were about to ride out to battle, she pressed her lips upon it, murmuring against the tainted skin a vow of loyalty. It was a vow she would never break. A vow to live by. A vow to die by.

“Get up off your knees,” Morgana commanded, conflicted.

As quick as she could, Morgause got to her feet, her head bowed but not so low that Morgana could not see the smudge of red ink on her lips. There was something about it that shot deep within her and awoke a Queen’s natural possessiveness. She took a deep breath and tilted up Morgause’s chin, tears forgotten.

“If you question me on a matter of state again, then not even the love I hold for you in my heart will save you from penalty,” she said firmly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Morgause murmured, lowering her eyes. “I accept.”

The tower was deserted. Not a soul but the two of theirs breathed within its walls. They were utterly alone, save for the soft cooing of maiden doves in the alcoves surrounding them.

“A Queen cannot be owned, especially not by a knight. You have no rights over your Queen, but you do have rights over me. Alone, you may say to me what you will. But in public you must hold your tongue and be glad that I will allow you to loosen it later.” Taking a breath, Morgana loosened the fastenings at her breast and slipped Morgause’s hand inside to feel the chains of gold. “Feel how I am bound to you, tethered. That is the woman behind the Queen, the one whom your love owns and whose love owns you in return.” She slid the hand higher, up into her hair, stopping short of the silver circlet there. “And here is the Queen whom you may never touch, unless it is where bidden. The same is true of your tongue. Undermine me in public and you will be punished as any knight acting out their place would be. Raise your concerns in private, please, but not where others may hear. It is hard enough for a woman to have power and respect in this world. For another woman, even one who has the honour to be a knight, to speak to a Queen as an equal does not raise the profile of the knight but lower that of the Queen. If Uther is ever to respect me then I must first be respected by all others.”

“You are,” Morgause assured. “Every knight speaks of you with reverence. To them, as to me, you are as close to Godliness as this world has.”

“Then that is reverence, not respect,” Morgana sighed, stepping back to rest her weight on her heels. She was weary and growing wearier by the minute.

“Give any knight of this kingdom an order and watch them risk their life to fulfil your will. Watch them walk for you into this hell of the One God. You command more respect than you know, Your Highness. You always have,” Morgause said boldly, before lowering her voice to a chastised whisper. “From this moment on, I will show you the respect that you deserve and I shall take any punishment you see fit for my failures.”

The dull ache that had clouded Morgana’s mind all day was blooming behind her eyes. In an attempt to quell it, she brought her hand up and pressed her cool fingers over her closed lids. For precious moment, the pain lessened.

“I do not know how to do this,” she whispered, her eyes pinched closed in pain. “I do not know how to be your Queen and your...”

“Then rule me as my Queen and be assured that I will never turn from you,” Morgause said shakily. The urge to take Morgana in her arms was almost overwhelming. But that was the problem, was it not? Morgana was conflicted, unable to reconcile the two sides of herself.

The Queen stepped back to lean against the cold stone wall, trembling. “I do not want to rule you, but as your Queen, I must.” Her lips parted in a sigh and she found that even with her eyes closed, Morgause was all she could see. “But inside my chest, the heart that flutters is already under your rule. My head and my heart are at war and you are the disputed lands that lie like Eden between them.”

“May I?” Morgause appealed, her voice as soft as the caress of a southern breeze to Morgana’s pounding head.

Morgana opened her eyes, finding Morgause more beautiful even than her heart had remembered her. The smallest of nods signalled her acceptance and before she could take another breath, Morgause was before her, warming the very air around her. Her hands rose slowly to rub soothing circles at her temple.

“As you said in your wisdom, my love, when we are alone then we can be whoever we wish to be. If you want to continue as we did at Mermering, when things were simple between us and politics was a far off nightmare, then it shall be so. Then, when we are not alone, I will be your loyal and obedient champion and you will be my Queen. Thinking of it beyond that will only tear us apart,” Morgause whispered, smiling as Morgana’s features softened, the ice of pain melting away.

“How did you learn that?” Morgana murmured, her voice far off and calm. “Your touch, how is it-”

“I have been able to since I was a child,” Morgause said simply, so that Morgana’s suspicions would be confirmed. It was some simple, innate form of magic. Her grandmother had been a wonderful healer before she was put to the sword for her gift in the days of Uther’s father’s reign.

“And being together in this world, can that be as natural?” Morgana wondered aloud.

“If I behave better,” Morgause teased. “It has been a long few days. And though I do not wish to insinuate that this has anything to do with you being tired-”

“But I am,” Morgana interrupted. “My mind is clouded and I cannot think of Eleanor without my heart clenching. And yet, I have never seen her. I carry the future King and yet his father is not the one who owns my heart. I fear more than ever for his coming to my chambers at night, as now it means my certain betrayal of you. That, more than anything, I cannot bear.”

“No,” Morgause said almost sharply. “That – That would not be betraying me. You could never betray me lest you were to give away your heart to someone else.” She brought her hands down to Morgana’s shoulders. “And even then I would accept it if it were what you truly wanted.” She hesitated before asking, “May I kiss you?”

“Always,” Morgana breathed, some of her tension melting away beneath Morgause’s hands.

It was the gentlest kiss they had ever shared. So gentle, that it almost was not a kiss at all.

“This is all that matters to me as far as my own pride is concerned. All I need from you – all I could ever ask for – is for you to love me and let me love you in return, and a promise that you will never feel guilty on my account. Not over Uther.” There was a breath of silence. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Morgana all but gasped, her eyes swimming with uncertainty. She knew that she had just made a promise that she could never keep.

...

Gwen was waiting for them in the doorway when they returned. As were four senior guards in triangular formation, their leader at the front conversing loudly with Morgana’s maid. There was a resolute defiance in Gwen’s glare. She would not let them enter her Queen’s chambers, be she there or not.

“What is the meaning of this?” Morgause asked, stepping ahead of Morgana to take control of the situation. When they were not immediately forthcoming, her hand went to her sword hilt and she barked, “A knight outranks a guard, answer me!”

“His Majesty was concerned for Her Highness’s welfare. He heard that she had arrived back from her outing but did not see her at dinner as was agreed,” the guard with three gold stripes on his shoulder explained, clearly not liking that Morgause had seniority. A single stripe was earned for each decade as a castle guard. Few made it to one and no one had ever before made three. He was more than twice Morgause’s age and resented answering to someone whom he thought should be bearing children, not arms.

“Her Highness suffered from a headache and took to the eastern tower to get some air. She was unaware that such time had passed as to make her late for her dinner. As you are more than aware, it is not my place to remind her,” Morgause said sharply.

“You should not need to,” he scoffed.

Morgause’s hand tightened on her sword. She had had confrontations with the head of the castle guards before. He had given Gwaine a beating in his first week as a squire. She owed him retribution and she would give it to him if he so much as took a step towards Morgana.

Morgana stepped up to Morgause’s side before she could act or speak recklessly. “Give the King my sincerest apologies and ask if breakfasting together would a convenient rearrangement. I would so hate to have missed precious time with him.” At the guard’s hesitation, she continued in a stronger voice, “Be quick about it, we would not want him worrying unwarrantedly. These are tough times, after all.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” With a half-hearted bow, he turned to leave.

“Black,” Morgause called, bringing the party of four to a stop. “Whilst Her Highness attends breakfast with the King on the morrow, report to the Knight Commander’s office. Bring with you your service records.”

Black paled. “Yes, Si-”

“That would be My Lady to you,” Morgause corrected before he could even finish the offending word.

“’My Lady’?” Morgana questioned with an impish smile when Gwen had shut the door behind them, sealing them inside Morgana’s private chambers.

“Why not?” Morgause asked, matching her smile. Her hand fell away from her sword’s hilt and she crossed the room to Morgana’s desk to scratch out a note to Leon.

“I think you have done well to choose it, My Lady,” Gwen said, coming to stand behind Morgana to place a shawl over her shoulders. “It shows courage.”

Morgana turned to smile at Gwen, stifling an urge to kiss her cheek. It would only embarrass Gwen with Morgause around to see it and through Morgana delighted in seeing Gwen’s cheeks flush, she felt that the ordeal with the guards had been quite enough unsettling for one night.

“Yes”, Morgana agreed, looking back to Morgause, “I believe it does.”

The rest of night went quickly and soon Gwen had taken her leave of them. The deep dark of the bludgeoning night saw Morgana sat light edge of her bed, plaiting her hair as she watched Morgause change. There was as much complexity in Morgause’s armour and uniforms as there was in the finest gowns Gwen could tailor – and Gwen’s talent was great enough that she made a nice bit of extra money making dresses for the knight’s wives and mothers – and though the individual garments of Morgause’s were of much plainer fare, the way they must be layered and strapped together made Morgana’s head hurt. Still, she watched carefully in the candlelight. She wanted to be able to replicate it, the dressing as well as the taking off. Especially, if Morgause was to fight in a tournament or – Gods forbid – a war.

“Do knights usually dress at home or at the barracks?” she asked, tying a thin leather strap around the bottom of her braid.

“That depends on the occasion and on the knight.” Morgause undid a buckle and her swordbelt came loose.

Morgana thought on that for a moment. “The full armour for a battle or melee - who helps them dress in that?”

Morgause’s breeches fell to the floor. “Their squires. Sometimes their wives.”

A smile turned up the corners of Morgana’s lips. “Did you have a squire?”

“I did.”

Though Morgause turned from the light to remove her shirt and slip on a fresh one, Morgana could still see her curves outlined in flickering gold. She shivered and bit her lip, remembering Morgause’s own lips coming away from her wrist smudged with scarlet. Her skin flushed and she forgot the conversation she had been partaking in. It was far too distracting, wondering if those red lips would leave imprints on her skin.

“His name was Ailes – a scrawny little thing, he was, with black hair and green eyes. He was sent to squire for a knight in the thirty-third company when I came to be your guard,” Morgause continued, oblivious to Morgana’s darkening gaze. “He was not half bad, for his size. I think that is why he was sent to train under me. I had to learn to use my stature to my advantage early on in my career as a knight. Every other man out on the field was nigh thrice my size and twice as strong. That I could never change.”

“When you fight, it is like a dance,” Morgana murmured as Morgause walked towards her, her bare feet padding soundlessly across the stone floor.

Morgause smiled and kissed her forehead before moving away again to gather her sword and lay it beside her small bed. Morgana frowned.

“Can you not stay with me again?” she pleaded.

“Uther is likely angry about dinner. He might pay you a visit tonight,” Morgause said softly, busying herself with pulling back her white cotton bedclothes to prevent her from having to look at Morgana.

“Can you then not slip out from beside me when he knocks?” Morgana begged, sounding almost a child.

An icy hand closed around Morgause’s heart. “He will not knock. He never has before once night has fallen.”

This time it was not the wanting that made Morgana shiver. “And if he does come?”

“I will have to wait outside the door,” Morgause admitted, steadfastly refusing to look Morgana’s way. She hated it, hated it all. It was her duty to protect Morgana and she could not do so much as raise her voice to the man who hurt her the most. If she did, both of them would pay. “You should get into bed before you catch a chill, Morgana. The night is cold and a frost is coming.”

“Winter is coming,” Morgana said, quiet and toneless, “there is no doubt in that.”

When Morgause finally turned back to her, she saw the Queen’s right hand smoothing over her swelling belly.

“Three cycles of the moon,” Morgause said, her eyes unable to look away from Morgana’s babe. “They will soon turn.”

Morgana looked up at her and almost smiled.

“Go on now, get into bed. I cannot do so whilst you are not,” Morgause said, trying to smile back.

Her hand leaving her belly, Morgana obliged, crawling up the bed and sliding beneath the covers. For a moment, she lay on her back and Morgause could see the curve of her belly under the silk sheets.

“Do you need any furs?” she asked. Gwen had left some warming by the fire.

“There are four warming pans beneath the mattress,” Morgana reminded her. “You take the furs, consider it an order.”

The spirited way she said it made Morgause smile. “As you command, my Queen.”

As warm as the furs made the bed, Morgause could not sleep. From a foot below Morgana, she could not watch her sleep as she had done when they had been parted previously at night. It had given her comfort to watch Morgana’s breast heave with each slow, deep breath, the rhythm of it eventually lulling her into pleasant dreams. If she tried, she could still hear Morgana’s breaths above the crackling of the dying fire, but it did not do a thing to slow her speeding heart.

Unable to settle, she pulled herself up to sit back against Morgana’s bedside table, the one that carried three candles instead of two. She had to quickly pull her sheets and furs up around herself as the night air bit into her.

“What is wrong?” Morgana whispered in the dark, clearly herself eluded of sleep.

Morgause jumped. “Sorry, my Queen, I did not know you were awake.”

“How could I sleep bereft of your embrace?” Morgana asked, her eyes sparkling in the dark.

The icy hand closed again around Morgause’s heart. “Then come closer, my love, for neither can I.”

The bedsheets rustled as Morgana shifted closer and closer until her breath warmed Morgause’s cool cheek. Morgause slouched slightly and turned to her so that their foreheads could rest together. “At least now we are closer.”

“Would that you were closer still,” Morgana whispered pleadingly.

“Hush,” Morgause soothed, kissing her, though their lips met strangely at the odd angle. She slipped her hand out into the cold and quickly under Morgana’s sheets to lace their lingers together and Morgana’s mouth opened to her. They kissed slow and deep, tingles spreading over their weary bodies. “I am here now, closer than we could have hoped for. The King’s ignorance has served us well.”

“Would that his age serve us better and the night claim him,” Morgana murmured darkly.

Morgause shuddered and pretended not to have heard Morgana’s words. Treason enough passed between their lips. She preferred it when Morgana had defended him.

...

The purple bruise of the sky of was gently giving way to the pale flush of morning. They had been riding for nigh on eight days by then. Anwen had been heavy with child when they had set out and now she cradled their babe at her breast. Brea had been born at the top of a great hill on the second morning, a strong wailing thing that would have given them away if the army was closer behind them. That didn’t matter to Elyan though. His whole world had changed the moment he saw her big brown eyes. They looked just like Gwen’s had when she had been born. He had only been a child then and Gwen had been much smaller and darker too. Their father had joked that it was all the screaming she did, bringing her blood to the surface like a blush did once she reached childhood. He wondered if she still blushed, wondered if she would smile that bright smile of hers when she first saw Brea.

“How is she?” he called to his wife, sitting up in his saddle so that he might see over the blankets to catch a glimpse of his daughter’s face.

“Hungry. She’s going to be a big one,” Anwen answered, gathering up the reigns with one hand and kicking her bay mare on towards the city walls. Like the castle itself, the walls were made of a light grey stone that seemed to glitter in the low light. She had never seen them before. She had never been out of her village before, not really.

“She’s going to be strong, my Brea,” Elyan smiled. “I just hope her aunt will forgive me for not sending word of the wedding. She was always better with Father’s swords than I was. Better at forging them too. I think Father sometimes wished that I was the girl and she the boy. It would have made things a lot easier.”

Anwen turned to look over her shoulder, cradling Brea tighter. “I cannot see them in the distance anymore. It seems Guinevere may be all we have to worry about.”

“Guinevere and Camelot’s King. We have outridden the army for now but they will not be far behind,” Elyan said with a frown. “Ten days at the most. There is no doubt that its Camelot they’re headed to. The wouldn’t have dared cross the border otherwise. ”

“Halt!” came the city guard’s booming voice, echoing in the quiet of the dawn. “The city gates are shut ‘till morn.”

Elyan reigned up his horse and looked pointedly up at the lightening sky. “We are in a hurry and I see the sun rising in the east. Anwen?”

“I too see the sun,” Anwen agreed, shaking the light blonde hair from her eyes. They were far from the gates still, so she needed to shout to be heard.“I have a babe less than two weeks old and we have family in the city.”

As if to aid their plight, Brea began to cry. Anwen broke her gaze with the guard and fussed her babe, trying to quieten her before she broke into one of her deafening tantrums.

The guard’s eyes – the only part of his face she could see – pinched in thought as he watched Anwen and her daughter.

“We have word for the King from the border,” Elyan tried, knowing it could either win them their passage into the city or seal their fate outside of it. “Urgent word whose passage he will not thank for delaying.”

Sighing, the guard banged on the oaken door at his back. “Open up, lads. It’s almost day at any rate.” Then he looked back to the couple on horseback. “I’ll be for it if what you’ve got to say isn’t to His Majesty’s liking.”

“It won’t be,” Anwen whispered so only Brea could hear, “I can be certain of that.”

...

“How are you settling back into civilisation?” Uther asked, looking over a scroll detailing the news from the latest scouting trip to the north. It was an exceedingly short scroll that Morgana doubted gave much news beyond another valley of failed crops, certainly nothing to draw away his attention. He would not be talking to her if it was.

Her jaw clenched at the implications of his words. “It is good to be back within the city. The journey north is never a good one, especially when winter is calling.”

The King made a grunt of agreement. “No matter how fair the city, we all wish it was farther south come the dark months. We will all be distracted this winter though, with a new prince to prepare for.”

Morgana smiled genuinely, stroking her stomach. “Gaius thinks it should not be long before he moves. I will be sure to tell you when he does.”

“I would like that.” Uther looked up from his scroll. “Your guard’s... sister?... Was Gaius able to do anything for her?”

“Cousin,” Morgana corrected. “No, he was not.” She took a deep breath. “I have called for the sleeping specialist you had come see me when I was a child. Sleeping maladies are best treated by such men, it seems, and Dorren is certainly the best in his field.”

In truth, he was the only one in his field that Morgana had heard of but she was not about to admit that to Uther.

“Gaius is a good physician, the best in the Kingdom,” Uther said a little tartly.

“Which is why I have sought help outside of the kingdom. Gaius’ expertise can only stretch so far. He himself admits his ignorance on the topic,” Morgana said diplomatically. “I thought he would appreciate some external input.”

For a moment, Uther considered her point. “True enough. There has not been much call for him to develop his knowledge in that area.”

“And it may be that we can persuade Dorren to stay. I might have problems sleeping myself once your heir is here,” Morgana smiled, trying her best to see the good in her husband. He was not altogether unreasonable. Just a little stubborn. Once he had an idea in his head, once he had taken a position on something, there was no swaying him. Morgana thought it made him a flawed ruler but she would never say it aloud, not even to Morgause or ever her Gwen, to whom she confided all.

Laughter light up Uther’s features. “I do not doubt it. He has proven to be strong willed already. One can only imagine what he will be like with a lung full of air at his disposal.”

Morgana laughed, though the reinforcement of Uther’s theory that her new courage came from the babe stung like a knife. She wondered if she would ever gain his respect as an equal or as damn close to equal as a woman and man can be. “Exactly.”

“There is a feast tonight to celebrate your return and the coming of my son. It was supposed to be a surprise but with your failure to turn up to a dinner you knew wholly of, I cannot rely on you to turn up to one that you do not,” Uther proclaimed, distracted again by his puny scroll. Morgana was sure that he could just not look her in the eye. “It’s about time the kingdom heard the good news. If news spreads quickly enough, the peasants should flock to the tournament to catch a glimpse of you heavy.”

Not for the first time that morning, Morgana bit her tongue to stop herself from talking her way into a slap. The first company of knights all knew already, they must do. They had seen her travelling gown stretched tight over her stomach and she had caught Percival looking more than once. Beyond that, Emilie must had guessed, even though Morgana was yet to catch a glimpse of her in Camelot. Gwen had sent her out for more silk two days on the run to make sure she got the best from both of Camelot’s Persian suppliers. And of each colour or pattern she had been bit to get twice the usual amount so that panels could be replaced as Morgana had the need for them. Fleur too had let her gaze momentarily fall to the swell at Morgana’s middle at least twice whilst they had talked over blackberry cordial. Morgana very much doubted that it would take an announcement for Camelot to be buzzing with the news of an heir.

“We should capitalise on it, give the traders a subsidy keep the market open all week for the month around the tournament. We will reap the rewards if they economy takes a turn for the better,” Morgana suggested, whishing she had not spoken the moment the idea had come out of her mouth. She was not supposed to know about such things, never mind understand them and suggest solutions.

Uther gave her a sharp look. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“Something my father did when I was a child. He gave the independent fishers at his port a subsidy during the clam season. It coincided with the winter so they were less inclined to go out if the sea was rough. With his help, they could afford to take the risk of losing or damaging their nets. So they went out to sea, even on bad days, and the port saw record catches. Everyone benefited, especially my father,” Morgana explained. “It put the port on the map and soon ships that traded far richer stock than fish were coming into the bay.”

Sighing, Uther dropped the scroll and rubbed his eyes. “I do not see how that applies.”

“If their profits see a rise, then we will have less poor knocking on our gates for a share of our already meagre grain,” Morgana reasoned. “We have money aplenty but food we do not have to spare.”

Uther thought for a moment but did not say anything more. He would never credit her with a good idea but she was doubtless that her suggestion would see the light of day in some form or other. Whether or not the King would respect her more for it was another matter entirely. Most probably, he would just be annoyed that neither he nor his advisors had thought about it first. However his mood towards had been about to turn, she never found out, for at that moment their breakfast was interrupted by a stout knock on the door.

Looking up from Morgana to the hall entrance, Uther bellowed, “Enter.”

...

Morgause felt a little nervous. She had never reprimanded a guard before and had never gone so far as to bring a chastised knight too their Commander. Still, there she was, stood by Leon’s side whilst they awaited Black, head of the east wing guards.

Leon’s office was a dark place not softened by any outfacing windows. The walls were lined with leather hangings bearing the family arms of every one of Leon’s predecessors going back three centuries. Morgause’s favourite was the simplest, a black rose on purple field, its spiny stem picked out in gold – the Wilde family crest. Her father had held Leon’s office, however briefly. Leon’s own crest was a silver and orange fox on a field of black and white diamonds. It suited him. Though the animal was smaller than some of the forest’s other predators, it was quick witted and deft at taking down its prey. Leon had some of the same virtues on the battlefield. It had been what had finally done for Morgause in the tournament. Their styles were just too alike – they had trained together, after all – and so it had been her lighter weight that had won him the fight.

“Tell me again what lead you to demand his presence here today,” Leon asked in a sympathetic tone. He was not questioning her judgement, rather making sure he had all the facts clear before Black arrived and tried to muddy them.

“Her Highness and I returned later to her chambers. We had been in the eastern tower. She was sending a letter by dove and took longer about it than she meant to. There was a dinner with the King that she missed,” Morgause explained again.

“And Black and his men were at Her Highness’s chambers on your return?”

“Yes. He was tart from the beginning. I explained, when raised the issue of the dinner, that Mor-” she caught herself in the middle of Morgana’s name. Leon pretended not to have noticed. She cleared her throat as if that had been what had caused her pause. “-Her Highness had forgotten, that she had been preoccupied. I also said that it was not my place to remind her, though in truth I too had forgotten. It was then he crossed the line, saying that I should not need to remind her.” Morgause’s anger threatened to boil over. “He spoke out against the Queen – to the Queen. This cannot be tolerated.”

Leon put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I can assure you that it will not taken lightly.”

“She...” Morgause took a deep breath, ready to confide in her oldest friend. “She was worried earlier that evening that the people did not respect her.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. The least of my men would die for her without question. They would carry out her orders over mine,” Leon said, his voice rising with his effort to try to stop the annoyance that Morgana could be made to feel that way from entering his voice.

“Which is why this guard’s remark came at such a poor time. It made my reassurances to her seem like a hollow lie.” The hand on Morgause’s shoulder tightened.

“I am sure that Her Highness would not believe that you could lie to her. Do you know why I sent you with her that day, on the ride?” Leon asked.

Morgause shook her head.

“You are the most honourable of my knights. You are the wisest and kindest. You show more chivalry than the rest of the first company put together,” Leon explained. “No one else was close to being as worthy to protect our fair Queen as you. And His Majesty has seen that. Her Highness too. I saw how at ease with you she was on our short time journeying together. That is what a Queen needs in a guard above all, someone to confide in, someone to be almost a friend.” He smiled at her. “I am proud of you, Morgause. She looks... happier in herself.”

“She’s with child,” Morgause admitted.

“I know. Still, I cannot help but get the sense that having you at her side is helping beyond making her feel safer.”

Before fear could provoke Morgause into denying it, there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t Black.

Unique visitors:

Free Counter

I'm Yours (1/2) (Morgana/Nikki)

lovepb — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 20:07:33 GMT

Title: I'm Yours (1/2)

Fandom: Merlin!Modern AU/Silent Witness

Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Nikki

Rating: R-ish

Word Count: ~6,000

Summary: Wedding bells are in the air...

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or Silent Witness, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Finally reaching the top of the staircase, Nikki swept back an errant lock of hair and yawned. It was way past 4pm and smoulderingly hot for May night. Cursing her mauve silk heels, she kicked off the irritating shoes and put her feet down on the cool tiled floor. It was heaven. She had been at dinner with Morgana when she had gotten the call to come into work at just past 7.30pm on her evening off. They hadn’t even gotten through their starters and both of them had been dressed up to the nines. She hadn’t even been on call and they had been celebrating another of Morgana’s newly published articles – her first review. That Nikki had left had irritated her but she hidden it well. Only Nikki and perhaps their maître d' had noticed the slight tension in her pale, proud jaw. To anyone else who might have been watching, she had been disappointed but nothing more. She had even rose from her chair to take Nikki’s coat from the waiter and help her slip it on, pressing a kiss to her cheek and trying her very best to sound sincere when she assured Nikki that it was okay. They both knew it wasn’t. Nikki’s often inconvenient working hours had started to become a point of tension in their relationship. That was why Nikki had spent the best part of a month convincing Leo to take on a freelance pathologist to pick up some of their out of hours work. At about 2am that morning he had finally agreed.

Stopping in front of her door, Nikki fumbled in her elegant evening bag – Chanel, a ‘just because’ present from Morgana – for her keys, before remembering the chain that had been fitted to spec. Finding a slim silver rope near her bag’s handle, she swept her fingers downwards into the darkness within until she made contact with her keys. Being with someone as organised as Morgana had its perks, even if the crisp tidiness of her apartment often felt odd after so many years of comfortable clutter. Bringing the correct key to the lock, she twisted and pushed open the door as silently as she could.

A candle-like glow from Morgana’s energy saving lamps – the kind that never really get bright – lit their living room. Nikki had loved them instantly. With their distressed golden wood, they made a perfect reading companion that had gotten her through new health and safety directives and A Game of Thrones both. One she had read to please Leo, the other Morgana. It wasn’t hard to figure out which was which.

Sliding the door closed quietly behind her, Nikki moved into the living room, dropping her bag on the sofa without breaking her easy pace towards the kitchen. It was funny how being awake at unreasonable hours made you insane with hunger when usually you would sleep right through, content with a piece of toast come morning. Taking a cup from one of the glass-fronted cupboards, she headed for the fridge in search of milk and something sweet. Or was it something salty? Maybe both. When she opened the fridge, though, she found that the usual collection of fresh ingredients and chocolate was hidden behind a trio of stacked plastic containers labelled ‘entrée’, ‘main’ and ‘dessert’. Unable to suppress a stupidly soppy smile, she took out ‘entrée’ and lifted the lid. It was the asparagus and parmigiano reggiano gnocchi starter she had ordered but never gotten to finish. Intrigued, she put it aside and reached for ‘main’ and ‘dessert’. The former was venison and chestnuts, the main she had been eyeing on the menu. They had been ordering course by course as was the restaurant’s custom and she didn’t think she had voiced her intentions towards the dish. It was very Morgana to get it that right. Food was her thing and she could map Nikki’s tastes effortlessly. The dessert turned out to be an individually potted rhubarb crumble and vanilla custard, one of Nikki’s all time favourites. That and the melt in the middle chocolate puddings that had made their way into the bedroom more than once.

Putting the last two tubs back in the fridge, she took the gnocchi over the microwave and loosened the lid, debating how long she should heat it for. She was spared from guessing when Morgana’s arms went around her waist, her opaque dark-purple silk negligee-concealed curves pressing into Nikki’s back.

“Two minutes. Make sure you use the oven feature. The microwaves would spoil it,” Morgana whispered, her voice husky from sleep.

Nikki did as she was told before turning around in Morgana’s arms and kissing her hello, the taste of expensive red wine blooming on her tongue.

“Mmmmm...” Nikki murmured, pulling back just enough to make Morgana’s tongue chase after her, pulling her back in to a heady kiss that lasted until the microwave pinged. “I definitely don’t deserve that after abandoning you earlier.”

“I saw the shooting on the news,” Morgana said by way of explanation, her eyes dark with concern. She didn’t ask if Nikki was okay. She knew better than that. Nikki was very rarely shaken by what she saw and when she was, she preferred to be the one who came to Morgana, not the other way around.

“We just had to catalogue and report initial findings to the police. Harry and Leo will finish the job tomorrow,” Nikki whispered, reluctantly stepping out of Morgana’s embrace. She could have stayed there all night if not for the gorgeous smell coming from the microwave. “Half each?” she offered.

“No. You have it,” Morgana said, her voice still rasping enough to send shivers down Nikki’s spine. “I ate at the restaurant. That table was far too good to give up.”

Nikki wasn’t surprised. Morgana was more comfortable in her own company then anyone else she knew. It was a confidence that Nikki lacked in public. She couldn’t even sit in Costa on her own.

The sound of Morgana perching on the table-for-two drifted from behind her as Nikki took the warm plastic tub from the microwave and retrieved a fork from the drawer. It was approaching 5am and she wasn’t going to use a plate. She was going to eat of the tub like a student and enjoy every minute of it.

“Thanks for the food,” she said, pulling on a chair to move it in front of Morgana before sitting down and using Morgana’s thighs as a table.

“My pleasure,” Morgana drawled, her accent thickening as she leant back on her arms to watch Nikki eat. “How did I do?”

“Exquisitely,” Nikki commended. “Though with the dinner being tomorrow, I’m not sure when I’ll have the time to eat it.”

The formation of a plan clouded Morgana’s face for a moment. “I could warm everything up for you if you wanted. The venison will only take a few minutes in a pan and I can heat the sauce and chestnuts on the stove as well. I’m not sure how well the veggies would hold up but I could make you some more,” Morgana offered, yawning.

There was no way that Nikki’s conscience would let her have her fiancée cook for her at 5am after she had stood her up at dinner. “How about we split it for breakfast? I would rather be in bed.”

Though Morgana’s eyes were closed and her head tilted back with weariness, her smile still managed to be devilish. “Well I won’t argue with that.”

Nikki took advantage of Morgana’s closed eyes to take her in, her heart swelling. “I’m sorry about tonight. I really am so proud of you, you have no idea. It gave me tingles when I saw the article.” A smile rose unbidden to her lips. “I may have left a few copies scattered strategically around the university. I even got a phone call from an old colleague in South Africa. His wife’s a microbiologist and he’s insisting we go over in the summer.”

Morgana laughed, the sound rich like high-coco chocolate. There was a flush rising to her cheeks as she opened her eyes and brought her head forward, her silken hair falling in glossy obsidian waves. The look she gave Nikki was enough to stop her heart. She was entirely uncomfortable with her own burgeoning success and unused to having someone to be proud of her. It made Nikki impossibly impatient for their big day, the day Morgana promised to be with her for the rest of her life and beyond it.

“What will I do with you?” Morgana said teasingly, reaching down to brush back the loose lock of golden hair that had once more fallen into Nikki’s eyes.

“Marry me.”

“Just you try and stop me.”

Abandoning the tub on the actual table, Nikki brought her head forward to rest where it had sat on Morgana’s thighs, finding the spot warm, almost hot. She breathed in, Morgana’s scent slipping down into her lungs and making her lightheaded.

“Fuck,” she breathed, ridiculously tired and suddenly wide awake. “Why do you always have to smell so good?”

“To drive you insane,” Morgana purred, unclipping Nikki’s hair and running her hands through it. She liked Nikki’s hair loose and falling over her shoulders. It reminded her of the Nikki whom she woke up next to on early Sunday mornings.

Reluctantly, Nikki lifted her head, her cheeks flushed and her pupils dilating to make her chocolate eyes darken. “You look far too good to be sleeping alone,” she observed breathily.

“I was waiting, for you,” Morgana all but whispered, leaning forward to let her silk slip just enough to give Nikki a glimpse of what lay beneath. A smile curled at the corners of her lips, the mischief of it sparkling in her eyes as she continued down, catching Nikki’s chin with her long, pale fingers – stark against the flush of Nikki’s skin – and tilting it up. She felt more than heard Nikki’s breath catch as her hand had slipped to her jaw and drew her up, her other arm curling about her waist and guiding her forward to rest between her parted legs.

There is a moment a kiss becomes inevitable, unavoidable. With Morgana, Nikki found that point to be dangerously shifted so that far less lead her to that point at which she was unable to do anything but lose herself in a kiss. And kisses, she found, were almost more intimate than anything else. A brush of the lips she could weather with her sense intact, but the moment Morgana parted her lips, she was gone. And Morgana knew that, for before even their lips had touched, her tongue was there, opening her up and sending shivers down her spine, rendering resistance utterly futile.

With her senses clouded by want, Nikki trailed the tips of her fingers up Morgana’s thighs, bunching up her negligee until the palms of her hands curved on hips that moved beneath her touch.

“I will make it up to you,” Nikki breathed, digging in her short nails to make Morgana gasp her acceptance of the apology.

“You most definitely will,” Morgana said a little wickedly, finding the zip at the back of Nikki’s dress and pulling it down to the arch of her lower back. When she was done, she smoothed her hands over Nikki’s hips then upwards, skirting teasingly close to her breasts before reaching her shoulders and brushing off the broad straps to set the deep indigo dress tumbling down to pool at her feet. Beneath it, she had been wearing barely anything, just the expensive lingerie she had been planning on letting Morgana find after their meal.

With an appreciative smile, Morgana leant back once more, using her arms for support, her gaze roving hungrily over her fiancée. It was most fortunate that they both had the coming day off. She already had plans for half of it. Plans for the ways in which Nikki could make it up to her without ever leaving the bedroom.

...

The late morning sun found them dozing under the thin burgundy sheet which had moved in with Morgana. With her pale skin and poor ability to withstand the heat, Morgana could sleep no other way on warm nights than beneath the cool, smooth cotton. They slept, as always, on their sides. Morgana lay curled close behind Nikki. Her arm was at her waist, cradling her in that close protective way that she had been unable to break herself from holding her since Emrys had snatched her in Leo’s garden. As they slept, her breath shifted the fine hairs at the back of Nikki’s neck, so close were they entwined, one leg laid slipped between her two. If it had been with anyone else, it would have felt possessive to Nikki but after all they had been through together, it felt as natural as breathing.

It was in that perfect hold that Nikki slowly woke with the delicious certainty that she was in Morgana’s arms. Her first deep breath in arched her body to feel the swell of Morgana’s breasts against her back and the splayed hand on her stomach. A contented sigh slipped from her lips and she kept her eyes closed, content to exist in the moment. It was not long before Morgana stirred, a sleepy stretch driving her leg up, pressing hard enough to make Nikki moan and cant her hips back, though she was sleepy enough not to truly be taken with sensation. Her eyes fluttered open as the pressure lessened and she saw the clock proclaim it to be 11:59. They had slept less than four hours.

“What time is it?” Morgana breathed against the back of her neck, her voice as husky with sleep as it had been when she had awoken to join Nikki in the kitchen the night before.

“Twelve,” Nikki yawned sleepily, rounding it up.

“Too early,” Morgana murmured, nuzzling against her, shifting impossibly closer until it felt to Nikki that she was surrounded by her. Her smile bloomed and a feeling of contentment and safety settled into her as surely as Morgana’s warmth.

“Mmm,” Nikki agreed absently, letting her eyes close again. “Fancy heating up last night’s meal for me? I’m starving.”

A throaty laugh tickled the back of her neck. “Ordering me around already? We aren’t even out of bed and there’s no ring on my finger yet.”

“Just taking you up on last night’s offer, albeit a little belatedly,” Nikki countered, turning over with great effort, Morgana’s leg making the exertion all the harder. Brushing the back of her hand lightly across Morgana’s cheek earned her the day’s first glimpse at her fiancée’s eyes, meadow green. They were like the sea – sometimes grey or green and every now and again, just before sleep conquered her, a calm tropical blue.

“Good morning,” she whispered, taking her first kiss of the day – one soft and full of leisurely love.

“Morning Miss Alexander,” Morgana murmured with a smile, biting down lightly on Nikki’s lower lip.

“That’s Dr Alexander to you, thank you very much,” Nikki berated playfully, swatting at Morgana’s hip. “And in two days time it will Dr Lafferty.”

Morgana couldn’t hide her smile. Every time Nikki’s name change was eluded to she got butterflies in her stomach, a rush of excitement and embarrassment. “Are you sure? About the Lafferty bit I mean.”

“Perfectly, as I have told you before,” Nikki smiled, brushing her thumb over the blush on Morgana’s cheek. “It’s what I want. And this way no one can ignore it.”

“You still haven’t heard back from your father then?” Morgana asked, though she knew that Nikki hadn’t. “Are you sure you sent the invitation to his current address?”

Nikki nodded, paling. She hadn’t wanted to send him the invitation in the first place. He only ever disappointed her. The last thing she wanted was him spoiling her wedding day. She had waited too long and fought too hard for it to let that happen.

...

The dinner had been Janet’s idea: the two ‘families’ joining for a meal the night before the wedding. They were seated at the long oaken kitchen table, feasting on ordered-in tapas that even Morgana had to admit was at least edible. Leo and Janet sat at opposite ends, holding court, whilst Nikki, Morgana, Harry, Arthur and Gwen filled up the space in between. Janet and Gwen, who had formed a surprisingly close friendship that Nikki and Morgana agreed must have come from that fact that both of them were far too sensible, had declared a drinking limit of three glasses of wine each in order to insure that no one woke up with a dodgy head the next morning. Arthur and Harry had put up the biggest fight, both insisting that they could drink far more than that before feeling the effects. Gwen had sternly reminded both of them that they would be driving the next morning and would be held personally responsible should either Nikki or Morgana turn up late. They had hastily agreed after that and Arthur had decided to forgo alcohol all together... at least until he had started to feel left out and Morgana had begun teasing him.

“Well that’s gratitude for you,” he grumbled, stealing Morgana’s own glass and downing the wine in one go. “Better?”

Morgana bit her lip in a failed attempt to suppress her smile and nodded. “Much.”

“Now, now children,” Nikki scolded playfully before Gwen got the chance. She took Morgana’s arm to get her attention. “Play nice.”

“Yes Miss,” Morgana smirked, leaning close to give her a slow deliberate kiss that lasted until Arthur kicked her under the table. “Ouch! You little brat!” she hissed, kicking him back hard enough to win the argument and assert her authority as the eldest sibling. “Just because you aren’t sitting next to you wife doesn’t mean that I have to keep my hands off my fiancée all night.”

Arthur reached down to rub his leg, his wounded expression pitiful enough to make Morgana feel a little guilty. She rolled her eyes to hide her moment of weakness. “Oh stop looking for pity, I barely touched you and the whole point is that you aren’t supposed to see her.”

“Tomorrow!” Morgana exclaimed. “I have four hours of tonight before I am to banished to your box room.”

“It isn’t a box room,” Arthur said shortly. “It just isn’t as large as the room you used to sleep in.”

“It is a box room,” Morgana defended in what was very nearly a whine. “It used to have all the baby stuff in it until you bought Morgan too much stuff and it had to be moved to my room. The place barely fits a single bed!”

Arthur scoffed. “Until we bought Morgan too much stuff? Morgana, do you really think that we wouldn’t work out who left a giant sack of presents labelled ‘From Father Christmas’ under the tree?”

“Arthur,” Gwen said softly, reaching out to turn his attention towards her before whispering something in his ear that made him pale and concede defeat.

“We were very grateful for the gifts, Morgana. But you can’t buy him that many again this year,” Gwen continued, turning her attention to the woman who was almost her fiancée all those years ago. She looked between Morgana and Nikki and smiled. “Besides, Arthur wants to know when he can expect a little niece or nephew to dote on himself.”

Morgana flushed and bit her lip. She almost jumped when Nikki’s hand slipped under the table to squeeze her thigh in a gesture that she was sure was meant to be reassuring but on the one night they couldn’t spend together in months, it felt like more of a tease than a help.

“One day, I hope,” Nikki said noncommittally.

Morgana turned to her and smiled, sliding her hand down Nikki’s spine and into the back pocket of her jeans. Two could play at that game. “Is that so?”

Nikki couldn’t help but laugh at how utterly adorable Morgana looked putting on that terribly fake looking oblivious expression. She couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her either. She was utterly spellbound.

“Well I for one will definitely not be babysitting when it does happen. Not after the last time,” Harry put in, downing the last of his glass of white and reaching for the bottle.

“What happened last time?” Gwen asked with mild interest, folding her napkin into a triangle to presumably signify that she had eaten enough and was done.

“The father didn’t come back for over a week. He was only supposed to be out for a few hours,” Harry replied. That had been about a year before Nikki had met Morgana. He had come so close to kissing Nikki that week. He wondered if anything would be different now if he had. “Nikki had to cook.”

Morgana laughed fondly. “How did that turn out?”

Harry looked up to see her gaze at Nikki with utter adoration. No, he didn’t think anything would be different. Nikki had never been happier than she was now and Morgana loved her just as much as he did. Probably even more. “I didn’t die. Came pretty close though.”

“Oh shut up the pair of you!” Nikki exclaimed, picking up the napkin that Morgana had just lain folded on the table and throwing it in Harry’s direction. It just missed the flame of the candle.

“Let’s not use flammable things as missiles around the candles,” Janet interjected, taking the napkin from Harry’s hands before he could throw it back.

“Which goes for you too,” Gwen said sternly, confiscating Arthur’s own napkin plane.

Before Arthur could grumble a reply, Leo got to his feet, wine glass in hand. “Since Harry gleefully reminded me this afternoon that I am the oldest of the people gathered here, I thought I would get up and say a few words.”

Janet sighed in what seemed to be half affection and half exasperation. “What a surprise, Dear.”

Leo, looking momentarily down at Janet and frowning, continued, “Nikki, It doesn’t seem like 5 minutes since you walked into my lab and proceeded to steal my equipment.”

Morgana snorted. “Why don’t I find that hard to imagine?”

“I did not steal your equipment! I borrowed it to help to give some sort of identity back to remains that had lain anonymous for countless lifetimes!” Nikki protested, her voice rising up an octave. “It’s not like I moved anything. I just... occupied it for a while.”

“Well, whatever you were doing, you did it in a charming enough way that Harry begged me to hire you on as the third pathologist we had been debating advertising for. I’ll admit, for a long while I expected the two of you to end up together. You always seemed... perfect for each other.” He took a deep breath in and out. “But after more than 8 years of ample opportunities, you were no nearer to being together then you had been after that first week. Then you met Morgana and, though every rule in the book forbade you from letting anything happen with her, you couldn’t resist. I may not have approved at first, but only because I was concerned about your professional reputation and your career. But then I saw the two of you together and I had to admit that there was something special between you. I knew in that moment that one day I would be standing here making this absolutely atrocious speech.”

A peel of laughter rippled around the table.

“And since I haven’t been invited to give a speech tomorrow...”

“For which we are all very glad,” Janet interrupted.

Ignoring her, Leo continued, “I would like to take this opportunity raise a glass to the two of you. It hasn’t been easy. There have been more obstacles in your path in three years than most couples face in a lifetime. It is a testament to the two of you that you haven’t just made it through everything life has thrown at you, but have arrived at the other side as one of the strongest couples I have ever met. You really are perfect for one another and it’s about time it became official.” He lifted his glass and nodded to them. “To Nikki and Morgana.

“Nikki and Morgana,” the rest of the table chorused, lifting their glasses to salute the happy couple. Arthur alone looked a little disgruntled. His speech for the reception was sounding more and more pathetic by the second.

“I wish you all the happiness the world,” Leo finished, his empty hand resting on Janet’s shoulder. “You most definitely deserve it.”

...

“23:49,” Morgana murmured, drawing Nikki closer and kissing her soundly. “Time for me to go.”

“There’s no such thing as bad luck,” Nikki whispered, shaking her head.

“I want my first glimpse of you tomorrow to be you walking down the aisle towards me.”

Nikki laughed, her heart soaring. “You old romantic.”

...

Morgana’s hair was loose, done in large natural waves that fell down over her deep purple dress that was a so dark that it was almost black. It was simple and elegant enough, she supposed, but now she feared it was plain in comparison to Nikki’s. It fell down the floor in a clean line and had a strapless sweetheart neck that she had hated on the rack and loved the moment she saw it on. The purple lilacs in Nikki’s clasped hands matched it perfectly.

“You look so beautiful,” Gwen whispered.

Morgana tore her attention away from her reflection and met Gwen’s eyes in the mirror. For a moment she was back in South Africa, twiddling the engagement ring in the pocket of her denim shorts – too damn terrified to ‘pop the question’.

“It could have been us,” Morgana murmured, her voice barely making a sound. “I’m glad it wasn’t.”

Gwen smiled sadly. Morgan was on her hip, reaching out for Morgana with sticky hands, his rusk discarded on the floor. “Me too.”

Morgana turned around and stuck out her tongue at the one year old. She didn’t see the longing look Gwen gave her, or the way her smile fell the moment Morgana looked away.

...

Taking a deep breath, Morgana opened her eyes. The quartet was starting to play. She was coming.

A fusion of pale yellow calla lilies and vivid green ivy wove about her on trellises and up walls. The delicate flowers glimmered bright in the sun from the high windows to her left, almost as if the room around her had come to life from some fairytale painting in a children’s storybook. Morgana hadn’t truly believed it could be so transformed when she first saw the cold, bare room a few months previous. It had been Nikki’s dream, to get married in the castle. She had loved it from the moment they passed it one Sunday afternoon on a drive out to a country pub. The place had never served as a wedding venue before and it hardly earned its title as a castle, but Nikki had cooed over it all the same. It had been abandoned for over 200 years, they found out from a couple walking their dog, and was never visited except to escape the rain. It had taken 2 days on the phone to the National Trust to find out that yes, they owned the building and that yes, they were willing for a small fee to hire it out for the day – providing Morgana contributed to the restoration of the place. Within two months, the castle had been transformed. And it had only made a modest dent in her liquid assets. Not that Nikki would ever find out how much money had been put into it. That was one conversation that Morgana would never be brave enough to have.

A collective gasp and the creak of a room full of people getting to their feet and turning to look behind them told her that Nikki had stepped into the hall.

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath, the shaking of her hands magnified by the single flower she held. She had never been more nervous in her life. Ice cold waves crashed over her and she shivered. What if she messed up her vows? What if she stuttered or faltered or said the wrong thing?

“Turn around!” Arthur hissed beside her. “She’s looking right at you!”

Startled by his voice, Morgana swung around, her hair floating up into the air and coming back down slowly with a gentle bounce as her eyes widened and she swore once more under her breath.

There she was, less than twenty feet away and walking slowly towards her. Her Nikki. And she was beautiful. All Morgana had known of her dress was that it would be ivory. With that knowledge she had picked her a lone flower, a rose just off white, the only one in a bouquet of 20 that had passed her inspection. She had hoped to echo Nikki’s outfit, to do it justice. In that she was certain she had failed. Nikki’s dress was far more elegant than a simple rose could ever be. It was done in fine lace to her knees, an elegant bateau neckline giving it a regal air and its long sleeves coming down to her elbows to a wide, smart cuff. Her golden hair was done up in neat bun, several artfully loose strands framing her face. She looked more gracefully beautiful than Morgana had ever seen her. So beautiful, in fact, that Morgana found her breath stolen from her lungs and her eyes quite unable to look away.

When Nikki reached her, taking her outstretched hand and stepping up onto the platform, it took every ounce of Morgana’s will not to lean in and kiss her. She settled instead on paying her a breathy whispered compliment.

“You look... Oh Nikki, there really aren’t any words for how beautiful you are.”

An ‘aww’ reverberated around the hall, reminding Morgana of the tiny microphone clipped to her dress. That meant they heard her swearing too. Shit. Gwen was going to kill her. She blushed crimson and dropped her eyes. Nikki squeezed her hand and smiled when their eyes met again.

“Charmer,” she whispered, knowing everyone could hear.

The ceremony began with a nod from the officiant for those gathered to take their seats, followed by a brief welcome and introduction to the ceremony that neither bride listened to. They were too busy looking into each other’s eyes, having a whole conversation that no one else could hear. It was only when they were called upon to participate that their attention was drawn, however briefly, to making their vows.

“Who bears the rings?” the officiant asked.

Morgana had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Nikki rolled her eyes. She wasn’t at all surprised. Morgana was the world’s biggest geek, after all.

“I do,” Arthur said in a rather strangled squeak as he stepped forward with the white cushion on which the twin gold bands sat. “I do,” he repeated, louder and clearer, his cheeks pinking.

At the officiant’s pointed look, Morgana took the smaller of the two rings and reached for Nikki’s hand, cradling it gently. She looked into her eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment she pledged to be with Nikki forever. And God, she was nervous. Not because of the commitment but because her vows. She had worked on them all week and had been musing on them for months before that, but still she wasn’t happy. Nothing she could say could justice to Nikki or the way she felt about it, nothing. Before sliding the ring onto Nikki’s finger to sit above the engagement ring she had given her six months before, Morgana brought her hand up to her lips and kissed it.

There was another collective ‘aww’ from the guests.

“I promise,” Morgana began, her voice clear and strong as she slid the ring into place, “to love and protect you. To be with you always and follow you wherever you go. To never doubt you nor mistrust you. To always heed what your heart begs me to hear. To spend my whole life honouring you and making you happy, no matter what. You are my life and my heart. Without you there is nothing. With you, I am all I ever wanted to be. From this day forth, I am bound to you, never to part. Put simply: I am yours.”

Nikki took a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Twin tears ran down her cheek, brushed gently away by Morgana’s thumb as beautifully and tenderly as her vows had been. It suddenly made Nikki feel wholly inadequate. From all of her hours spent starring at her notepad, she had only come up with one solitary line. Taking the ring from the cushion and setting it in place on Morgana’s finger, Nikki began, “I promise to make a home for you in my heart, my perfect, beautiful love, and there I will keep our love unbroken and never ending, untouched by time and whatever else might seek to challenge it.” With the simple beauty of Morgana’s last line echoing in her mind, she finished with a heartfelt, “I am yours.”

The officiant’s voice echoed in their ears, the words indistinct, far off. Nothing existed beyond their unbreakable gaze, holding them captivated in a perfect moment that seemed never to end. Only when the crowd began to clap did they know that it was over and that they could finally close the unbearable distance between them and share their first kiss of the day – the first kiss of the rest of their lives.

Dropping her bouquet on the floor, Nikki stepped forward onto her tip toes and draped her arms around Morgana’s neck. She smiled brightly, whispering, “I love you,” before kissing her to a deafening applause. The moment their lips touched her left foot lifted off the floor in a reflex that took her completely by surprise. It seemed that it wasn’t such a cliché after all. When Morgana’s arms went around her waist, pulling her closer, it took her a moment to realise that she was no longer Morgana’s fiancée, but her wife. No realisation had ever made her happier. Except, perhaps, the moment she had realised that she was in love.

Free Web Counter

At My Most Beautiful (18/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

lovepb — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 18:00:02 GMT

Title: At My Most Beautiful (18/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,364 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Morgause claims her reward from the King, but when Morgana finds it wanting, she decides assert her newfound power behind the King’s back.
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen - a beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.

Morgana sighed sleepily and let her eyes flutter closed. She was unwilling to fall asleep quite yet but far too exhausted to hold open her heavy eyelids for even a moment longer. The day had been a long one, and though sleeping seemed sweet, she was sure that the night would prove far too short should she let herself drift from wakefulness.

“Do not sleep yet,” Morgause bid in a teasing whisper, nuzzling against her in a way that reminded Morgana of the affectionate trio of lionesses that had come in on one of her father’s ships. Morgana had been so small at the time that her father had only let her watch the great cage being unloaded from the top of the dock. They had been full of marvels those vessels. The plainest of ships would open its hold and show you all of the wonders of the world. It taught her never to trust first impressions, for they were often, as they had been with Morgause, wrong.

“I will not, not if I can help it,” Morgana whispered back. “But I am truly contented for the first night since we left Mermering and sleep is calling so sweetly.”

“I am glad, my love,” Morgause said, gently pressing her lips to one and then the other of Morgana’s eyelids. She was holding Morgana close as she had done every night in the White Keep, one arm slipped underneath the curve of her waist and the other over her hip, rubbing lazy circles onto the hollow of her back. It had become so instinctual that she did not think that she would be able sleep any other way. Warmth was impossible to find once dark fell without Morgana pressed against her, that she had found out on their long journey home. “I do not wish to taint that contentedness, but I need know that you understand that this cannot be the way of it every night.”

Morgana sighed again, reluctantly murmuring, “I understand, though that does not mean I like it.”

“Nor do I,” Morgause said quickly.

“I know.” Morgana opened her eyes and tilted her head so that she could meet Morgause’s gaze. It was easy for her to lose herself in those deep dark eyes and Morgana never did try to fight it. She felt as though she could see into Morgause’s soul through her eyes and that in return her own heart was laid bare. For the first time, she wondered what they were doing. She had never thought about it before. All she had known was that Morgause fascinated her. Then the fascination had become an obsession, an ache. After that the wanting had been natural and she had never questioned it, not even when Morgause had kissed her.

“Then what is it?” Morgause asked, concerned.

“You have had loves before,” Morgana said, her eyes on the chain around Morgause’s neck.

“I cannot and I would not change that, not even for you. Our past is not something we should seek to change, Morgana. There lies only danger.” There was an age evident in those words, not so much of years but of experiences Morgana had yet to have. “Not all were loves, though. I, like any other free soul, have been driven by desire. Love is not something I feel easily. I have only loved you and one other, and you need not fear that your place in my heart may be usurped.”

“Who? Who else did you love?” Morgana asked, a shiver running over she skin when Morgause’s caress stilled. There was no competing with a first love. Or so all the famous tales professed.

“A girl I once knew.” Was all Morgause was prepared to give. She could be an enigma when she wanted to be. Morgana wondered whether that came from all of the secrets she had had to keep or from the need to shroud her true self in the knighthood. Morgana herself found that day by day she gave less of herself to the people she met, fear that she would give away too much constantly preying on her mind.

“So it was a...”

“Woman? Yes.” Morgause lifted Morgana’s chin to bring their gaze together. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Morgana looked a little afraid.

“And those you have not loved but...”

“All women.” Morgause confirmed. “For me it could only be so, I believe.”

Morgana nodded and fell into thought for a short while. “So there are others? We are not the only ones?”

Taking note of Morgana’s perhaps unintentional confession, Morgause answered softly, her lips curving into a smile, “No, my love. There is nothing new about what we feel. When the Old Religion prevailed in this land it was not even all that uncommon.”

Again, Morgana nodded, thinking. “Then does it have a name?”

“Many,” Morgause murmured, resuming her circles on Morgana’s skin. “Only one I am prepared to share with you. Most others used today are not kind. As with all elements associated with the Old Religion, it is frowned upon by the One God. Or at least his followers.”

“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, though she had already suspected that. There had been, she thought, sermons that had touched on the subject given by Camelot’s bishop in the years since she had come to the city. But Morgana had never paid too much attention to such things and had usually sat dreaming of happier things beside the King.

“In the Old Language, some called it fey, a title not at all cruel or diminishing. Some of our High Priestesses were known to be so, the most revered being Ganariel the Great. She founded the Great temple and settling on Avalon and later led her followers to the Isle of the Blessed when the Romans came. It is said that they held out there for over one hundred years before a Roman soldier dare set foot on her holy soil. Now that place is naught but a ruin but her spirit is said to remain there, offering sanctuary to all those unjustly pursued or persecuted. It is said that one of Camelot’s own legendary knights, Sir Colwyn, fled to the island with the old Queen’s lady in waiting when their union was forbidden. Other stories tell of the young woman with no magic in her blood, a Roman by birth, who found her way to the isle when her father tried to arrange her a marriage to a nearby merchant’s son. Ganariel took her in and cloaked her in magic so that no man could find her, telling the woman that she was free to leave and would never again be pursued. But the woman did not leave, choosing instead to stay by Ganariel’s side until both were invited into the Vale of the Afterlife together, unable to be parted even by the Gods. ”

“I have heard of her, your Ganariel the Great, but I did not know that,” Morgana smiled. “For my people ‘fey’ means someone like you and her too, though not for who you love but the magic in your veins. I have often wondered if that was where my family name came from. Uther, able to speak only his own tongue, seems never to have noticed the connection, thank the Gods.”

“’Thank the Gods’?” Morgause questioned, her smile growing.

“Uther’s God has never been kind to me. And he would be even less kind should Uther ever discover my love for you. I think, perhaps, your Gods may be kinder, as you have been,” Morgana said carefully. She had been thinking about it for a while, ever since the island where the bond between them had burgeoned and been held high. It was the first time she had felt magic and even though it had been nothing more than a feeling, she had felt as though the powers on the island were smiling down on them. Those Gods did not seem like Gods to be afraid of as the clerics insisted she should be of the One God, but something to watch over you and protect you. It may just have been her rationalising her feeling towards Uther and Morgause, of that she was keenly aware, but that did not dissuade her from feeling a kind of affinity with the Old Religion, no matter how dangerous that would be. “I know that I was not born to it but-”

“No?” Morgause interrupted. “I would not be too sure of that. Both the land that you and you mother were born in and that where your father hails were strongholds of the Old Religion in times gone by, even if their Gods carried different names. The Romans too were once true believers, before they adopted the One God. I would not be surprised if every man, woman and child in Camelot has some ancestor who practiced the fair arts. Things fall in and out of favour. Time may change things. It cannot erase the past.”

“Nor should we seek to do so,” Morgana said, eager to show that she was learning. Around Morgause she felt at her youngest. There was so much that she didn’t know, a world of things she had never even imagined before Morgause’s lips had pressed to hers.

“Though in your case I could see why you might want to,” Morgause conceded. “And I too have wished to change the things done to you. But not anymore.” She brought forward her hand from Morgana’s back to her swollen abdomen. The news of her cousin’s illness and seeing her Tristan again had made think of what she wanted and what she was prepared to overlook to make Morgana happy. “I am still not promising anything, but I would not change this for the world, not now I have seen how you bloom with it. Every day you grow stronger, your will rising up to surpass a warrior’s as all mothers’ spirits do. Though you have not met your babe yet, your love is already in your eyes and the unconscious way that your hand goes to comfort him. It is so beautiful to see, Morgana, and I will never let anyone take it from you.”

The vow wasn’t a new one but it made Morgana swoon regardless. Morgause always proved herself most a knight when she was laid bare, all curves and softness beneath Morgana’s fingers. The contrast brought out her gallantry in a way that mail and a sword never could. It left Morgana in no doubt that she was born to it, born for greatness and honour. That was what made Morgana most vulnerable, utterly unable to resist her.

“By the Gods, I love you,” she whispered, her voice husky from the ache her knight had set inside her. She tilted up her head to bring Morgause’s lips to hers and kissed her desperately, arching into her and wishing again that the night would never end.

“And I you, my Queen and heart,” Morgause breathed onto her lips, her eyes burning dark in the midnight hour, a wanton angel of destruction come not to conquer but to save. “And even the Gods would be damned if they ever tried to keep me from you whilst you would still have me. So pray that they do not try.”

Morgana felt the shivering darkness envelop her and she welcomed it. “It is all I will ever pray for.”

...

Morgana reached for the carriage’s curtain and found it to be crudely nailed to the curved willow frame. Another of the King’s ‘precautions’ she supposed. It had barely been half a day since he had discovered that he was to have an heir and already she could not count on her two hands the liberties he had withdrawn from her. It had started that morning with Uther’s insistence at their shared breakfast that her maidservant taste her food before she ate it, lest it be poisoned. Morgana had been moments away from giving him a piece of her mind when Morgause had gallantly stepped in and taken Gwen’s place. That had not pleased Morgana either, but the moment’s pause had given her time to think better of voicing her protests.

From there things had gotten swiftly worse. Now she was no longer permitted to walk outside of the castle walls without a further five guard escort and a carriage to shield her from the eyes and dangers of her subjects.

“It is not even as if this affords any protection. Any half-decent blade could cut this canvas,” Morgana said shortly, running her eyes over the scarlet cloth enclosing them. She slipped two fingers under the fixed ebony curtain and peered under it. She could see nothing but bright late-morning light. Sighing, she gave up and turned her attention back into the carriage. “And what will your family think? It looks as though I am seeking to give myself a grand entrance in the hopes of making some sort of point about my importance. That is the last thing that they need.”

Morgause, gagged by Gaius’s presence, could do nothing but give her a sympathetic smile. If she could have spoken plainly then she would say that her family had already heard from her how highly she thought of Morgana.

“Pity an old man, I am not as spry as I used to be,” Gaius said, his voice deep and gruff as he patted her knee. He had been at her door at first light to examine her. Morgause had been rousing her with a kiss when he had knocked. Gwen had come rushing in to call to him through the door to come back when the Queen was ready to receive guests. Morgana had blushed down to her navel from the embarrassment of it and Morgause had not helped by kissing her there too once Gwen had silently left them alone to dress. Gaius had been back within the hour, quickly agreeing with the physician at Mermering. “I will assure the Wildes that this mode of transport is for my benefit and not yours.”

“I would appreciate it,” Morgana said with a reluctant smile. She did not wholly trust the man. His strong ties with Uther were long held, longer than any other could boast. With him she must be more careful than even with Uther himself. The King was often blinded to what was straight in front of him. Gaius was far quicker and would root out their secret if given the chance.

“Or better yet, blame me. If not for me then you would be safe within the castle walls,” Morgause put in, her eyes swimming with guilt.

Tears stung at Morgana’s eyes and her stomach fluttered with shame. She was playing the part of a spoilt royal splendidly and hurting Morgause in the process.

“That will not be necessary, dear, I do not think,” Gaius answered before Morgana could speak. “As I said, the carriage would be needed for me regardless. The Wilde house is beyond the scope of my usual rounds and, with little idea of what is wrong with your cousin, I need bring many things which might be needed. Including,” he patted the rug bag at his right side, “several books.”

“And here I thought that you were all-knowing,” Morgana said good naturedly. She was going to have to work at being charming, she feared. Nerves at meeting Morgause’s family had her on edge. Even if they would never know what she was to Morgause, Morgana wanted them to think well of her. They were the only Wilde’s left that Morgause knew of and Morgana was intent upon endearing herself to them.

“Ah,” Gaius smiled. “Only a foolish man would declare himself all-knowing . There is always more to learn.”

“Upon that, we are in complete agreement,” Morgause said suddenly as the carriage jerked to a stop. There was a strange look in her eye, as if she was planning something. Morgana could not help but smile.

The house was larger than Morgana had expected. There were two floors and its front face stretched wide with six windows per floor looking onto the road. Morgana reckoned there to be two rooms across and two back, making six per floor. She was not wrong.

“It is so big!” she exclaimed, gazing up at it from the cobbled street.

“Not as big as the castles you are used to,” Morgause said playfully, enjoying the brief moment alone that the guards unpacking Gaius’ equipment gave them.

“It is larger than any of the houses I stayed in as a child with my father.”

Morgause looked at her surprised. “But I thought...”

“Mermering may be rich but it is also old. I was definitely not used to such finery day to day. My father had money but it was always invested in this or that. We certainly never had two floors!” Morgana laughed, her nerves unexpectedly leaving her. “You led me to believe that your family’s wealth had disappeared along with any power you once had in this land. Except, that is, for what your father earned with his knighthood.”

“This is what he earned with his knighthood. This is the house I grew up in. My uncle and his family came to here after I moved into the castle. I did not like having so many rooms empty when he had but two. I have a smaller house more fit for one not too far from here, should I ever need it. Though that is empty too whilst I live at the castle,” Morgause explained, taking the opportunity to take a good look at her old home. It had not changed one bit since she was a child. Except, that is, for the tiny pale face looking out at them from a top floor window. Morgause caught his eye and smiled. “It seems that our arrival has not gone unnoticed.”

Morgana followed her gaze up to the dark window just in time to see the face disappear. “Your cousin?”

“Tristan,” Morgause confirmed. “He is a little shy.”

“Better shy than fiendish and boisterous,” Gaius said loudly, deliberately drawing their attention to himself and his various bags of equipment. “Any chance of some assistance Miss Wilde?”

“Of course,” Morgause exclaimed apologetically, jumping to his assistance. “Forgive me.”

As fate would have it, just as Morgause went to Gaius’ aid, the heavy oaken front door swung back on its hinges to reveal a fair haired man with more than a passing resemblance to his niece. His eyes, as deeply dark as Morgause’s, though toned blue instead of brown, widened at the sight of her. He looked deeply surprised to be faced with the Queen standing alone on his doorstep, even though Morgause has sent word to expect her. Morgana herself felt more than a little taken aback.

“Your Highness,” the man choked, bowing deeply. “It is an honour.”

For a moment, Morgana was lost for words. She had expected to be introduced and then largely ignored. Or maybe she had just hoped for it.

“I am not certain if you know, but I owe my life to your niece. And my father’s life, rest his soul, I owed to your brother. I am indebted to you and your family. So the honour is mine, I assure you,” Morgana said sincerely. “I was so sorry to hear of your daughter’s ill health. If there is anything I can do to help...”

“You have done enough,” Rivalen said gratefully, inviting her inside. “Without you, we wouldn’t ‘ave the luxury of ‘aving our daughter see the court physician. I ‘ear too that the ‘onourable Gaius’ services being offered free to the city’s poorest by the crown is down your fair influence on our King. I may not benefit from that ruling but I know many that ‘ave. Your kindness is sure to be the thing of great legend.”

“Today is your niece’s doing,” Morgana insisted, stepping inside. “But I thank you for your appreciation. Kindness is the least someone with my privilege can give.”

“No, Your Highness. It is far more than that.”

Morgana’s eyes adjusted to the slight darkness of the room. “I see that fair speech runs in your family, Mr. Wilde.”

Morgause appeared in the doorway with a bag slung over her back and another two in her right hand. She was straining a little under their weight. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for not being present to introduce you.” She dropped the larger of the two bags from her hand and gestured towards Morgana. “Uncle, may I present Her Highness Morgana Pendragon, Queen of the Great Kingdom of Camelot, heir to the fair splendour of Mermering and the only daughter of the valiant Gorlois Le Fay.”

“Well that was surely an introduction worth waiting for,” Morgana murmured to herself, hoping that the low light would hide her blush.

“And this,” Morgause continued, “is my uncle, Rivalen Wilde, head of the Wilde family.”

“And a great family it is too,” Morgana said, wishing not for the first time that she were one of them. It had been so easy for Rivalen’s wife. Just a few simple vows. “Though I would never put you as my young guard’s uncle. Her brother, maybe.”

Morgause dipped her head to hide her smile. She had never been in doubt that Morgana would charm her way into the Wilde’s hearts.

“If I remember rightly,” Gaius began, having come into the house part way through Morgause’s introductions, “Kendrick Wilde’s younger brother was no more than a boy when the victorious party of three returned from the battle of Illhelm.”

“This is Gaius. He is the best physician in the kingdom,” Morgana put in needlessly. All of Camelot knew Gaius. Her nerves may have faltered and faded but she was still at a loss. Gaius’ presence did not only restrain her affections, her behaviour as a whole would not doubt be reported back to the Ling. She would have to play the good Queen if she was to be allowed out again.

Rivalen bowed his head to the old man. “Your memory serves you well. I was not that much older than my son, Tristan, is now.”

As if waiting for the mention of his name to make his entrance, Tristan walked slowly into the parlour room and towards Morgana, his hands hidden behind his back. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he was trying desperately to not forget something. When he reached a respectful distance from her, he stopped and tilted up his head to meet her eyes. Even in the low light, Morgana could see that his eyes – the same brown as Morgause’s – were wide with wonder. He seemed to have forgotten entirely what it was he had been schooled to do.

“How does a nice young man greet Her Highness the Queen, Tristan?” Morgause prompted, a hint of amusement laced through her softly commanding voice.

Tristan’s mouth opened into a wide ‘O’, his wits returning to him.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in a shaky voice, high with his youth. He bent into a low bow, folding himself almost completely in half and quite giving away the surprise of a red rose hidden behind his back.

Morgause had to bite her lip to stop herself from audibly laughing. Morgana shot her a reproachful look. Sinking elegantly downwards, Morgana brought him out of his bow with a hand to his pinked cheek.

“It is an honour, young Tristan Wilde. I have heard that you are on track to become a fine knight some day,” Morgana whispered, her words just for him. That would make her few words seem all the more special, she knew. He blushed. “You must promise to wear my favour at your first tournament.”

His eyes light up. “I will!”

Morgana smiled, running her hand through his floppy golden hair. He looked so much like Morgause that it made her heart ache. She would give anything to have a child like him one day, a Wilde.

“I brought you a flower,” he whispered in the way children did, loud enough for all to hear. He produced the rose and held it up to Morgana. “It’s from the best flower stall on the market. Mother sent me out with a new coin this morning. I asked the lady to cut off all the thorns so that you wouldn’t prick yourself.”

“You are such a considerate young man. And you definitely picked a beauty. I daresay it is the prettiest flower I have ever seen,” Morgana charmed, taking the flower as she heard the swish of a woman’s skirts moving into the room. Rising, Morgana came eye to eye with Rivalen’s young wife. The woman’s eyes were not that of a Wilde but light green and weary with the pain of having a sick child. That look terrified Morgana. She recognised her own fear in the bath at Mermering as a mere shadow of the fear a mother could feel for her child. What if something ever happened to her babe? Morgause would protect him, she swore to it. There was nothing that she would not do to keep him safe. But what if he fell ill? Not even Morgause could protect him from that.

Tristan’s polite hand on her arm brought Morgana’s attention back to the room. “This is my mother,” he told her once Morgause crouched back down to him. “Her name is Blancheflor, but she thinks Flor is better so you should call her that.”

“Tristan!” Flor admonished. “I apologise for my son’s discourtesy, Your Highness.”

“It is alright,” Morgana interrupted before Tristan could be reprimanded any further. “He has been nothing but gallant, I assure you.”

Flor opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it again almost immediately. “Then it is my own apology which I should offer, Your Highness, for not being here to greet you.”

“You have far more pressing concerns than being at your door to see me arrive,” Morgana said, smiling sadly. “There are times when status and ceremony need be put aside. This is one of them.”

“Thank you,” Flor said quietly. She looked at Morgana curiously and then to her sister-in-law, before coming back to rest her attention on the Queen. “I – err – I have set a jug of blackberry cordial and freshly baked potato bread in the dining room, if it would please you to take a light lunch whilst you wait.”

Morgana clutched the fragile rose in her hand. The stripping of the thorns had taken away the flower’s defences, leaving the stem slim and yielding. “If you will join me, then I would be honoured.”

...

“Do you think the remedy will work?” Morgana asked as the carriage jerked to a halt in centre of the castle courtyard. They had not spoken since they had left the Wilde’s.

Gaius sighed. “Truth be told, I have only seen one such case before and that was long before you came to Camelot, when Uther Pendragon was new on the throne and Queen Igraine was younger than you are now.”

Morgause stirred nervously in her corner, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She had little pity for the old Queen. It had been her eagerness to please Uther which had brought an end to the greatness of the Old Religion and any hope, Morgause feared, of saving her cousin.

“That said, I am hopeful that the remedy may revive Miss Wilde. Good day Your Highness” Gaius smiled, nodded his goodbye and left them alone.

“I had hoped that...” Morgause sighed, her gaze focused somewhere indistinct outside of the slim opening in the canvas. “I do not know what I had hoped.”

“If it was anything near to what I had been hoping then you will be as disappointed with our court physician as I am,” Morgana said plainly, not caring if the carriage guards could hear her. “The remedy he gave Flor was the same in colour and dosing instructions as the one supposed to ward of the terrors of nightmares.”

Morgause’s jaw tightened in anger.

“There is a specialist in sleeping maladies that Uther once had come and see me when I was a child. I will send for him before the eve falls,” Morgana said in a decisive and cold tone. “Gaius’ incompetence in such matters can only be suffered so far.”

Morgause’s anger dissipated and she stared aghast at the space where Morgana had been only moments before. She had gone, her footsteps echoing up the great stone steps in the near empty courtyard. It took Morgause a second to remember that she must follow her and be quick about it.

“Where are you going?” she hissed in a whisper, catching up to Morgana in less than a dozen strides. She had to make a fist of her sword hand to stop it from reaching for Morgana’s arm to restrain her from her foolish anger. “Stop and think clearly for a moment,” Morgause demanded “Your Highness,” she added, lest anyone be listening.

“Do you think me so dim-witted as to burst in on the King when my ‘will’ is so strong and my patience so thoroughly worn thin?” Morgana snapped. “Credit me with more intelligence than the men of this court do, Morgause.”

They slipped out of sunlight and into the shadowed hall. With mismatched steps, they hastened towards the east wing along the pale stone corridor down which Morgana had walked, innocent in white, towards her wedding. It had been named Emyrein in centuries past for the pure and gentle daughter of the then king. Morgana had always felt uncomfortable there, out of place. Beside Morgause she felt more uncomfortable than ever.

“That is not how I think, as you well know. I seek only to protect you!”

The desperation in Morgause’s voice was enough to bring Morgana to a stop, if not enough to make her look at her. “I do not need protecting from myself.”

“Which I why I did not question you judgement, only asked that you made time to assure yourself of your decision,” Morgause explained, chastened. “It is not my place to question you, nor is it my desire.”

“It is for you that my fire was lit,” Morgana conceded quietly, stepping into an alcove to shield them from view. Morgause, as ever, followed her lead. “The thought of one of your blood left without proper care when I could perhaps deliver it to her is unbearable.”

Morgause thought not for the first time of the lengths she would go to in order to protect Morgana’s babe. There were no bounds to what she would do, that much she knew. Still, it had never occurred to her that Morgana might feel some echo of that feeling towards her family.

“Tristan picked the blackberries for the cordial they served me himself, searching the brambles on the edge of the town before the day was even light. And all the while I drank it, he looked at me with wide, eager eyes, happy as anything to have me enjoy his hard work. He is so like you that the first sight of him broke my heart,” Morgana whispered. “That is how strong your hold on my heart is. Your family... I would do anything to become a Wilde like Flor did, and it kills me that I never can. Please, let me at least try to protect them.” There were tears on her cheeks when she at last turned to Morgause. “That way I can pretend, if only for a while.”

Before Morgause could reply, Morgana swept from the alcove and continued down the corridor, never wiping away her tears. She would let them fall and be glad for every wretched one.

...

From the crest of the hill on which he had built his forge, Elyan watched the valley below. His eyes were pinched with worry. The forest was alight with flickering orange stars which moved closer night by night – the campfires of an army, an army marching for Camelot.

A/N - This is a bit of a bridge chapter to launch us into the drama that is to come. Bear with me and I assure you that you will not be disappointed. Its about to get crazy in Camelot.

Web Counter