[merlin] we are but pawns {merlin/morgana; morgana/morgause} - english
Fandom: Merlin
Title: we are but pawns
Characters: Morgana, Merlin, Morgause {merlin/morgana, morgana/morgause hinted}
Rating: PG13
Warnings: incest SPOILERS 2x12
Word Count: 1687
Summary: Post 2x12. Inbetween the caos and the confusion, the new life and all the things lost, Morgana starts learning facts, what they are, what they were and what they will be.
Beta: Many thanks to savepureness for taking a look at it. (♥ dear!) Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Notes: This was more of an experiment that turned quite different of what I was expecting. But anyway, this is my way of leading with episode 2x12. Hope you like it.
She figures it out on her own. In the dark. Far away from Camelot. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t confess such knowledge. But all that matters is that she knows.
Merlin has magic.
She learns silly tricks. They are tough and useless, and it frustrates her. It should be easy -it should be part of her- and it should be powerful. It’s weird and hard and it makes no sense. Morgause is always there, a half condescending, half proud smile on her face.
It’s alright, she tells her.
Only that it’s not.
With time she gets use to sleeping on the floor. ‘Nature is as much part of you as you are part of it’ Morgause explains to her.
With time she forgets all about Camelot.
About Uther.
About Arthur.
About Gwen.
But not about Merlin.
She daydreams about him. She sees him small and childish, running after Arthur, she sees him strong and powerful, reigning at his side. She doesn’t dream about him.
She finds herself playing with the bracelet on her arm at odd times.
Wondering.
What would she see?
Morgause lingers her fingers on her wrist, past the metal, licking at her skin with her touch.
Not yet, say her eyes.
Sometimes, she wonders if Morgause knows.
Patient is a virtue, my dear Morgana; be patient. She promises revenge, she promises her the world.
She doesn’t promise what she really wants.
‘Do you feel betrayed?’ It’s a simple question her sister -her half-sister- asks in the crook of her neck one night.
She nods, slowly, too many seconds after the expected. She can feel Morgause smile against her back. That’s right, my dear, say her hands as they grab her wrists.
‘You will bring their downfall’
Morgana wants to gasp, her eyes closed, the weight of the bracelet on her skin, burning, demanding to be taken off. I’ll show you. (Morgause, her dreams, magic itself, she is not sure who is talking to her anymore.)
What if I don’t want to? she thinks, fighting unconsciousness.
Why wouldn’t you?
They ride for two nights and three days without halt. Morgause promises a trip of wonders and magic.
And she delivers. Side by side, hiding in the dark of the woods, searching for magic, druids and followers. Morgana is a follower herself. She understands that much now.
Eventually, they reach destiny, and she feels guilty, because Camelot yells ‘home’ as no other place ever did.
They walk through the gates like goddesses. They own every part of ground they touch, and people stop their chores to look at them. Not a guard stops them.
Morgause smiles. Morgana knows better.
It’s Merlin who waits for them. At the bottom of the stairs that will take them to the throne. He stands as if Camelot was his, stopping them for going further. His lips say ‘You shall not pass’ but his eyes betray him. (I have been waiting).
“Move.” Morgause’s voice is full of rage, but indifferent. He’s just a servant. A little, miserable servant - for her. Merlin just stares at Morgana, not even paying attention to the older woman.
Morgana hears her own voice, hoarse and weak, as she speaks. “Why?”
“I thought you’ll know by now, my lady.” His voice is soft, without feeling, his eyes are burning - with fear, rage, pain … she can’t tell. She plays with her bracelet, and his eyes dart to her wrist. She feels naked, as if he could read her better than no one else ever could (not even Morgause).
She takes a step forward, and feels the immediate touch of Morgause’s fingers grasping her hand. She can hear the unspoken ‘no’ in the air. Merlin doesn’t move, doesn’t act, he just waits, impassibly. Powerful and broken, she can see that much.
(Why? she thinks. Why?
His eyes get closed a second, and she can feel him, reaching, finding, searching.
She should be afraid. She is not.)
When she reaches him, Morgause lingering in the background, her presence fighting against her decisions, her fear plastered in the air, and confusion running through her features, his eyes are open and bright gold.
“Are you going to kill me, Merlin?” she wonders, sheer curiosity on her voice.
“I already did.” She can feel him struggling for words, so lost, and the memory of herself on his eyes freezes her to death.
“Why?” she asks again, as he presses his hand on her bracelet.
“Her.”
It takes only a second, one single second for Morgause to reach for her, as Merlin eyes turn blue again, soft, caring, and in pain. One second is all she has before Morgause takes her away.
Again.
Morgana spends days consumed by fever and dreams.
She thinks she can hear Morgause talking to her, whispering, chanting magic tricks on her body, which she keeps sending away.
She sees fire and death, she sees evil and love, she sees Merlin and Arthur and Gwen … she sees Gwen. She sees Uther, and Uther gone. She sees everything, what was, what is, what could be. But most of all, she sees him, eyes shut and crying, surrounded by sorrow when she is finally gone.
She wakes up in the middle of a lake, surrounded by candles and flowers, and the sweet scent of lavender that reminds her of her maid, but belongs to the sorceress who looks over her.
Did you sleep well?
It’s never the same.
She supposes it shouldn’t be.
He is a sorcerer. He poisoned you. You lied to me.
She doesn’t hear Morgause say it, but she doesn’t need to.
And he’s powerful.
“It was not yet the time” Morgause explains to her, her hands playing on the wrist where her bracelet used to be. The skin is red even after weeks have passed by. It doesn’t hurt, but it reminds her … of what, she isn’t sure.
This is the first time they are speaking - Morgause is not ranting, or leaving, and she is not dreaming or playing with magic - and Morgana lets her eyes rise to meet Morgause’s stare. “You were not ready”
“Wasn’t I?”
The next time they go to Camelot, they do it in silence, in the dark of the night. Morgause goes forward. Leave this to me, she says. Morgana is more than happy to comply.
She walks her own path, one she remembers better than her whole life, threads of memories she reconstructed from nowhere until she knew every inch, every step of her way. She feels like a ghost on abandoned ruins, but there’s life, there’s magic, and she reaches Gaius’ quarters faster than predicted.
He is there, leaning on the door, fingers playing with a ball of light in the air. He smiles when he feels her presence but doesn’t say a word.
“Things are very different nowadays.” His smile broadens and reaches his eyes, a mix of blue and gold and anxiety.
“They are, my lady,” the bright ball disappears as he faces her, and it takes a while for both of them to adjust to the soft warm light of the torches. “Are you here to kill me, Morgana?”
“I already did, didn’t I?” she gets closer, her hand caressing the burnt skin of her wrist.
They stay in silence, searching each other eyes, as if they could see the truth and the lies lying there. And maybe they do, better than anyone.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. She wonders if the tear she sees is only a bad trick of the dark and her emotions. Nevertheless, she takes a step forward.
“I am too,” she takes his hands on hers and lets magic pass between them. It’s bittersweet, like if magic was crying through them, changing them into pools of pain and regret.
When they break apart, there’s fire in their eyes. It burns with shared power and knowledge.
“Things are very different indeed.” These are the last words she hears him say.
When she appears outside the courtroom, the noise of blades and the smell of blood is already stingy.
(Why? Why? Why? She wonders.)
She enters the room taking the door with her, she feels Merlin appearing behind her, but it doesn’t stop her, she doesn’t even flinch.
Her scream leaves Morgause and Arthur lying on the floor, looking at her as if they had seen a ghost.
It’s not the time yet.
Merlin puts a hand on her shoulder, and Morgana doesn’t leave Morgause’s eyes as she looks in shock.
“What have you done, child?” she asks, between gasps of air.
“He is not yours; he is not mine, Morgause. We can pretend, we can play, but he is not ours, as Uther wasn’t either.”
Not yet, she thinks, and a single tear leaves her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she smiles sadly, I’m sorry, Merlin.
Stay. (I know).
Morgana figures the future in small steps most times, she sees death and war; she sees the lives she’ll take, the lives she’ll spare. She sees Morgause by her side, she sees Merlin at her back. She sees him in front, she sees him on the other side. She learns to play with her visions and her magic.
Morgana figures Mordred’s place in her heart before she understands his place in the game they are playing.
Nobody is forbidden anymore.
Magic is beautiful and allowed.
But the battle wounds are there to stay, because they were and they will be.
And Morgana is the one to figure it out.
Why? Morgause asks.
Because it’s you, she answers, and locks her hand with hers, caressing the place their bracelet used to be.
She let’s her slip away into darkness, as she always would.
She reunites with Merlin at the other side of a lake, many years gone, many fights lost and won.
It’s a gorgeous calm lake. He looks broken when he reaches the shore, a bit dusty and full of blood. She looks gorgeous, a Goddess in an immortal land.
He puts his arms around her and she leans on the crook of his neck.
I never wanted.
Neither did I.
Title: we are but pawns
Characters: Morgana, Merlin, Morgause {merlin/morgana, morgana/morgause hinted}
Rating: PG13
Warnings: incest SPOILERS 2x12
Word Count: 1687
Summary: Post 2x12. Inbetween the caos and the confusion, the new life and all the things lost, Morgana starts learning facts, what they are, what they were and what they will be.
Beta: Many thanks to savepureness for taking a look at it. (♥ dear!) Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Notes: This was more of an experiment that turned quite different of what I was expecting. But anyway, this is my way of leading with episode 2x12. Hope you like it.
She figures it out on her own. In the dark. Far away from Camelot. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t confess such knowledge. But all that matters is that she knows.
Merlin has magic.
She learns silly tricks. They are tough and useless, and it frustrates her. It should be easy -it should be part of her- and it should be powerful. It’s weird and hard and it makes no sense. Morgause is always there, a half condescending, half proud smile on her face.
It’s alright, she tells her.
Only that it’s not.
With time she gets use to sleeping on the floor. ‘Nature is as much part of you as you are part of it’ Morgause explains to her.
With time she forgets all about Camelot.
About Uther.
About Arthur.
About Gwen.
But not about Merlin.
She daydreams about him. She sees him small and childish, running after Arthur, she sees him strong and powerful, reigning at his side. She doesn’t dream about him.
She finds herself playing with the bracelet on her arm at odd times.
Wondering.
What would she see?
Morgause lingers her fingers on her wrist, past the metal, licking at her skin with her touch.
Not yet, say her eyes.
Sometimes, she wonders if Morgause knows.
Patient is a virtue, my dear Morgana; be patient. She promises revenge, she promises her the world.
She doesn’t promise what she really wants.
‘Do you feel betrayed?’ It’s a simple question her sister -her half-sister- asks in the crook of her neck one night.
She nods, slowly, too many seconds after the expected. She can feel Morgause smile against her back. That’s right, my dear, say her hands as they grab her wrists.
‘You will bring their downfall’
Morgana wants to gasp, her eyes closed, the weight of the bracelet on her skin, burning, demanding to be taken off. I’ll show you. (Morgause, her dreams, magic itself, she is not sure who is talking to her anymore.)
What if I don’t want to? she thinks, fighting unconsciousness.
Why wouldn’t you?
They ride for two nights and three days without halt. Morgause promises a trip of wonders and magic.
And she delivers. Side by side, hiding in the dark of the woods, searching for magic, druids and followers. Morgana is a follower herself. She understands that much now.
Eventually, they reach destiny, and she feels guilty, because Camelot yells ‘home’ as no other place ever did.
They walk through the gates like goddesses. They own every part of ground they touch, and people stop their chores to look at them. Not a guard stops them.
Morgause smiles. Morgana knows better.
It’s Merlin who waits for them. At the bottom of the stairs that will take them to the throne. He stands as if Camelot was his, stopping them for going further. His lips say ‘You shall not pass’ but his eyes betray him. (I have been waiting).
“Move.” Morgause’s voice is full of rage, but indifferent. He’s just a servant. A little, miserable servant - for her. Merlin just stares at Morgana, not even paying attention to the older woman.
Morgana hears her own voice, hoarse and weak, as she speaks. “Why?”
“I thought you’ll know by now, my lady.” His voice is soft, without feeling, his eyes are burning - with fear, rage, pain … she can’t tell. She plays with her bracelet, and his eyes dart to her wrist. She feels naked, as if he could read her better than no one else ever could (not even Morgause).
She takes a step forward, and feels the immediate touch of Morgause’s fingers grasping her hand. She can hear the unspoken ‘no’ in the air. Merlin doesn’t move, doesn’t act, he just waits, impassibly. Powerful and broken, she can see that much.
(Why? she thinks. Why?
His eyes get closed a second, and she can feel him, reaching, finding, searching.
She should be afraid. She is not.)
When she reaches him, Morgause lingering in the background, her presence fighting against her decisions, her fear plastered in the air, and confusion running through her features, his eyes are open and bright gold.
“Are you going to kill me, Merlin?” she wonders, sheer curiosity on her voice.
“I already did.” She can feel him struggling for words, so lost, and the memory of herself on his eyes freezes her to death.
“Why?” she asks again, as he presses his hand on her bracelet.
“Her.”
It takes only a second, one single second for Morgause to reach for her, as Merlin eyes turn blue again, soft, caring, and in pain. One second is all she has before Morgause takes her away.
Again.
Morgana spends days consumed by fever and dreams.
She thinks she can hear Morgause talking to her, whispering, chanting magic tricks on her body, which she keeps sending away.
She sees fire and death, she sees evil and love, she sees Merlin and Arthur and Gwen … she sees Gwen. She sees Uther, and Uther gone. She sees everything, what was, what is, what could be. But most of all, she sees him, eyes shut and crying, surrounded by sorrow when she is finally gone.
She wakes up in the middle of a lake, surrounded by candles and flowers, and the sweet scent of lavender that reminds her of her maid, but belongs to the sorceress who looks over her.
Did you sleep well?
It’s never the same.
She supposes it shouldn’t be.
He is a sorcerer. He poisoned you. You lied to me.
She doesn’t hear Morgause say it, but she doesn’t need to.
And he’s powerful.
“It was not yet the time” Morgause explains to her, her hands playing on the wrist where her bracelet used to be. The skin is red even after weeks have passed by. It doesn’t hurt, but it reminds her … of what, she isn’t sure.
This is the first time they are speaking - Morgause is not ranting, or leaving, and she is not dreaming or playing with magic - and Morgana lets her eyes rise to meet Morgause’s stare. “You were not ready”
“Wasn’t I?”
The next time they go to Camelot, they do it in silence, in the dark of the night. Morgause goes forward. Leave this to me, she says. Morgana is more than happy to comply.
She walks her own path, one she remembers better than her whole life, threads of memories she reconstructed from nowhere until she knew every inch, every step of her way. She feels like a ghost on abandoned ruins, but there’s life, there’s magic, and she reaches Gaius’ quarters faster than predicted.
He is there, leaning on the door, fingers playing with a ball of light in the air. He smiles when he feels her presence but doesn’t say a word.
“Things are very different nowadays.” His smile broadens and reaches his eyes, a mix of blue and gold and anxiety.
“They are, my lady,” the bright ball disappears as he faces her, and it takes a while for both of them to adjust to the soft warm light of the torches. “Are you here to kill me, Morgana?”
“I already did, didn’t I?” she gets closer, her hand caressing the burnt skin of her wrist.
They stay in silence, searching each other eyes, as if they could see the truth and the lies lying there. And maybe they do, better than anyone.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. She wonders if the tear she sees is only a bad trick of the dark and her emotions. Nevertheless, she takes a step forward.
“I am too,” she takes his hands on hers and lets magic pass between them. It’s bittersweet, like if magic was crying through them, changing them into pools of pain and regret.
When they break apart, there’s fire in their eyes. It burns with shared power and knowledge.
“Things are very different indeed.” These are the last words she hears him say.
When she appears outside the courtroom, the noise of blades and the smell of blood is already stingy.
(Why? Why? Why? She wonders.)
She enters the room taking the door with her, she feels Merlin appearing behind her, but it doesn’t stop her, she doesn’t even flinch.
Her scream leaves Morgause and Arthur lying on the floor, looking at her as if they had seen a ghost.
It’s not the time yet.
Merlin puts a hand on her shoulder, and Morgana doesn’t leave Morgause’s eyes as she looks in shock.
“What have you done, child?” she asks, between gasps of air.
“He is not yours; he is not mine, Morgause. We can pretend, we can play, but he is not ours, as Uther wasn’t either.”
Not yet, she thinks, and a single tear leaves her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she smiles sadly, I’m sorry, Merlin.
Stay. (I know).
Morgana figures the future in small steps most times, she sees death and war; she sees the lives she’ll take, the lives she’ll spare. She sees Morgause by her side, she sees Merlin at her back. She sees him in front, she sees him on the other side. She learns to play with her visions and her magic.
Morgana figures Mordred’s place in her heart before she understands his place in the game they are playing.
Nobody is forbidden anymore.
Magic is beautiful and allowed.
But the battle wounds are there to stay, because they were and they will be.
And Morgana is the one to figure it out.
Why? Morgause asks.
Because it’s you, she answers, and locks her hand with hers, caressing the place their bracelet used to be.
She let’s her slip away into darkness, as she always would.
She reunites with Merlin at the other side of a lake, many years gone, many fights lost and won.
It’s a gorgeous calm lake. He looks broken when he reaches the shore, a bit dusty and full of blood. She looks gorgeous, a Goddess in an immortal land.
He puts his arms around her and she leans on the crook of his neck.
I never wanted.
Neither did I.