The Gift (PG-13)
Title: The Gift
Rating: PG-13
Author: blackmamba_esq
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairing: Gwen/Morgause, slight Arthur/Gwen, Uther
Word Count: 508
un_love_you prompt #5 “You can be like me.”
Warnings: Dark fic, mild sexual content
A/N: My two favorite Merlin ladies! Thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta
Summary: She says it’s okay to hate and Gwen believes her.
She says it’s okay to hate and Gwen believes her. There’s a freedom in that, embracing what she’s tried to ignore all these months, not pretending she’s above vengeance.
“It makes you human.”
Morgause’s eyes glow beneath a thick fall of blond hair. Her fingers trace Gwen’s neckline, dip briefly between her breasts. She smiles at the soft hitch in Gwen’s breathing. Her touch is warm, almost feverish. Gwen wonders if it’s her magic, burning on the inside.
“Are you afraid?”
Gwen closes her eyes when Morgause’s fingers travel lower. “No,” she says, and opens them again. Gwen’s hand clenches around the dagger. The blade is cool against her fingertips.
Not anymore.
--
It’s all she used to think about, her father’s death, how the world just forgot and kept going. Her grief twisted into something solid and paralyzing. There were days when she didn’t get out of bed.
(“You have to use it Guinevere.”) That’s what she said the first night, when she appeared in Gwen’s chambers inside a burst of flickering smoke. Morgause told her that it made her stronger, all that rage and anger would help her survive in the end. (“He’ll kill you. Uther would never allow a servant to marry his son.”)
In the end, it isn’t Morgause’s words that convince her. It’s the man himself, his refusal to meet her eyes. If there were remorse there somewhere, for her, for her father, maybe things would have gone differently. But there’s nothing but resentment, indifference so deliberate it’s like desecrating her father’s grave.
She’s become invisible; the ghost of a mistake that still haunts him.
(“That’s how you make him weak.”)
--
Morgause never treats her like a servant. She doesn’t condescend or compel Gwen to do her bidding with a well placed spell, though she’s perfectly capable of such a thing. “You’re stronger than that,” Morgause says, though lying there, cradled in the witch’s arms, Gwen has never felt more fragile. She thinks about before, when she’d lay in her quarters, paralyzed with loneliness. She’s terrified this will end.
“Be braver than this,” Morgause tells her when Gwen confesses the truth; that she’ll never be more than this, never have anything but what’s right there in front of her. “We are women Guinevere. Our lives are only worth what we can take.”
--
Uther dies with her name on his lips. Gwen watches his blood slide down her wrist. She only looks away when he stops breathing.
--
Arthur asks for her hand on bended knee. Her yes is breathless and eager, his kiss just as frantic. When he leaves she’s lightheaded, dizzy.
Free.
--
They lie naked under the moonlight, light and dark limbs intertwined, fingers curved through a mass of blond waves and black curls. Gwen stares at the moon’s slow trek across the sky and wills it to slow its journey.
She knows this night will be their last.
“I gave you this,” Morgause says and slides her finger over Gwen’s bottom lip. “Don’t ever forget you were mine.”
Rating: PG-13
Author: blackmamba_esq
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairing: Gwen/Morgause, slight Arthur/Gwen, Uther
Word Count: 508
un_love_you prompt #5 “You can be like me.”
Warnings: Dark fic, mild sexual content
A/N: My two favorite Merlin ladies! Thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta
Summary: She says it’s okay to hate and Gwen believes her.
She says it’s okay to hate and Gwen believes her. There’s a freedom in that, embracing what she’s tried to ignore all these months, not pretending she’s above vengeance.
“It makes you human.”
Morgause’s eyes glow beneath a thick fall of blond hair. Her fingers trace Gwen’s neckline, dip briefly between her breasts. She smiles at the soft hitch in Gwen’s breathing. Her touch is warm, almost feverish. Gwen wonders if it’s her magic, burning on the inside.
“Are you afraid?”
Gwen closes her eyes when Morgause’s fingers travel lower. “No,” she says, and opens them again. Gwen’s hand clenches around the dagger. The blade is cool against her fingertips.
Not anymore.
--
It’s all she used to think about, her father’s death, how the world just forgot and kept going. Her grief twisted into something solid and paralyzing. There were days when she didn’t get out of bed.
(“You have to use it Guinevere.”) That’s what she said the first night, when she appeared in Gwen’s chambers inside a burst of flickering smoke. Morgause told her that it made her stronger, all that rage and anger would help her survive in the end. (“He’ll kill you. Uther would never allow a servant to marry his son.”)
In the end, it isn’t Morgause’s words that convince her. It’s the man himself, his refusal to meet her eyes. If there were remorse there somewhere, for her, for her father, maybe things would have gone differently. But there’s nothing but resentment, indifference so deliberate it’s like desecrating her father’s grave.
She’s become invisible; the ghost of a mistake that still haunts him.
(“That’s how you make him weak.”)
--
Morgause never treats her like a servant. She doesn’t condescend or compel Gwen to do her bidding with a well placed spell, though she’s perfectly capable of such a thing. “You’re stronger than that,” Morgause says, though lying there, cradled in the witch’s arms, Gwen has never felt more fragile. She thinks about before, when she’d lay in her quarters, paralyzed with loneliness. She’s terrified this will end.
“Be braver than this,” Morgause tells her when Gwen confesses the truth; that she’ll never be more than this, never have anything but what’s right there in front of her. “We are women Guinevere. Our lives are only worth what we can take.”
--
Uther dies with her name on his lips. Gwen watches his blood slide down her wrist. She only looks away when he stops breathing.
--
Arthur asks for her hand on bended knee. Her yes is breathless and eager, his kiss just as frantic. When he leaves she’s lightheaded, dizzy.
Free.
--
They lie naked under the moonlight, light and dark limbs intertwined, fingers curved through a mass of blond waves and black curls. Gwen stares at the moon’s slow trek across the sky and wills it to slow its journey.
She knows this night will be their last.
“I gave you this,” Morgause says and slides her finger over Gwen’s bottom lip. “Don’t ever forget you were mine.”