Sanctuary
A fanfiction based on our original RPG Chronicles of the Rift 1. Concerns; my character Morrigan, Cark's character Marxiach, and starstray's character Tané. Stops short of porning at behest of starstray , for whose birthday it was written.
Sanctuary
Morrigan sat in the bar. He sat in the bar clutching a pint, on an uncomfortable wooden stool, bored and alone on a boring and lonely Saturday night. It seemed to him that most people in the world would have something interesting to do on a Saturday night. Something indefinitely more interesting than sitting in a pub, alone and bored with splinters in his arse from the shit seating.
His rueful expression was only matched by the mournful tune droning from the jukebox in the corner, and the sour face of the barman as he moodily cleaned a multitude of dirty glasses left behind by the drunken clientele from earlier in the day.
Fiachra, ever crotchety even in the happiest of circumstances, clawed at Morrigan’s scalp in what Morrigan suspected was revenge for the fact that, despite Fiachra’s best efforts, Morrigan was, in fact, still alive, and therefore still in possession of the pair of tasty-looking eyeballs which sat so temptingly in his head, just waiting for Fiachra’s questing beak to make a meal out of them. Either that or he was just in a mood, which was the most likely explanation.
Fiachra was always in a mood. He particularly enjoyed getting this feeling across to Morrigan by clawing at his skull and screeching in his ear occasionally, just as a reminder that he, Fiachra, hated Morrigan, and was, in fact, only living on his head because it was comfortable, and that yes, he could leave at any time, but to be honest, hurting Morrigan was much more fun.
Most of the time, Morrigan was unsure as to exactly why he put up with Fiachra, although the white raven usually fended off any hands which might attempt to dislodge him with a fervour only ever seen in vultures eating a particularly rotted corpse.
In fact, it could be said that Morrigan hated Fiachra. But he always liked to think that they’d come to some sort of agreement, where Morrigan fed Fiachra occasionally, and the bird tried his hardest not to peck off Morrigan’s fingers/eyes/limbs at any opportunity he could find. But Morrigan also suspected that the precise details of this agreement were either lost on or completely ignored by Fiachra, who very much enjoyed trying to peck off his hosts various appendages.
Sipping morosely at his pint, Morrigan made a face. He missed rum. But drinking rum would remind him far too much of him, and so he left it alone, drinking beer instead, and with an enthusiasm which scared him if he ever stopped to think about it hard enough. He tried not to do this often, however. Thinking only lead to depression, which in turn lead to Morrigan having to drink more beer, and then the whole vicious cycle began again. He had never been able to understand Morrigan’s ability to drink beer, but then again, Morrigan had never understood his ability to drink that herby rum; a drink which tasted like something had died in it a long time ago, fermented for a little while and then proceeded to decompose, leaving little bits of decomposition floating around on the top and other, less savoury (if it was at all possible) parts sinking to the bottom, where they glowered at you as you drank, almost daring you to get all the way to the end of the glass.
Morrigan shuddered a little, and downed a bit more of his pint morosely, thinking longingly of the herby, decomposey rum which would have been very much an improvement on this yellowing piss they tried to pass off as beer.
Fiachra gave a caw before digging his talons into Morrigan’s skull and taking off to sulk on top of the dusty glasses perched on the topmost shelf of the bar, presumably as decorations.
Lifting a hand up to his now-bleeding head, Morrigan scowled and then rubbed at the gashes before giving it up for a bad job. He was almost used to the daily pain Fiachra liked inflicting upon his poor head now.
But oh, if Tané was here he’d make it feel better…There was something in his gentle touch and the stinging of the rum and the smell of him that made Morrigan feel almost instantly better. But no, Tané wasn’t here, and once again Morrigan would have to put up with being alone with the beer and the company of Fiachra. Joy.
He grimaced and lifted the pint to his lips with a shudder as they parted to allow the foul liquid to flow down his throat. The creamy foam clung to his upper lip, making him sniff. A laugh from the corner startled Morrigan from his morose dreaming as he exhaled sharply, blowing the foam from his lip and all over the bar as he turned to regard the person who had laughed at him in such a familiar voice.
“Hey you.” Morrigan’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock.
“M-Marxy?”
“That’s me. And there I was thinking you’d forgotten all about me. Seems I was wrong, eh, Morr?”
“Do you really think I could ever forget you?” Morrigan looked hurt, his eyes widening and his mouth pouting in his favourite puppy-dog expression. Marxiach smiled softly, his unpatched eye fixed on Morrigan’s own single showing eye. He walked slowly over to the stool which Morrigan had sat on almost all of the day and reached out to grasp the shaking hand with his own.
“We’ve missed you, Morr. Why do you come here every day, hmm? Why do you drink this?” Marx poked at the empty pint glass disdainfully and turned his gentle gaze back to Morrigan. “Why do you do this to yourself Morr?”
Morrigan shook his head and stared down at the stained wood of the bar.
“You know we love you. Hmm?” Marx reached out and brushed the long white hair behind Morrigan’s left ear, trailing his hand down the side of his face before bringing it to rest at the back of his neck.
Pulling Morrigan roughly forward, Marx leant in and kissed him passionately on the lips. “You poor fool. Come home to us, Morrigan.” Taking the shaking man in his arms, Marxiach stood up and tipped a wink to the astonished barman. Evidentially he’d never seen two men kiss before, something which had always tickled Morrigan was peoples’ reactions to the three of them being together, and Marxiach was determined to get the old Morr back. He had an idea why Morrigan had left, got his own little place, job and special drinking hole; hell, he’d even been through it himself! But that was no reason for Morrigan to go through it alone, and Marx sure as hell wasn’t going to leave him there to rot. Not now that they finally knew where he’d been hiding all this time. Not now he’d set his eyes once more on the man he loved with such ardour.
Lost in his own thoughts, Marx barely heard Morrigan’s feeble protestations, but he felt the wet tears through his shirt as his charge burrowed his face deeper into the comforting fabric, mumbling through the sobs and material.
“B-but what if it happens again, Marxy? I don’t wanna hurt you and Tané all over again…” The soft voice trailed off, engulfed in tears once more at the memories that came flooding back. Morrigan hated that part of himself with a passion; he wished with all his heart that she would just leave him in peace.
But he knew that could never be. And so he hid. From his loved ones, from his memories, from himself.
“Morr, you can’t hide forever. But we’re here for you. Always.” Marxiach cradled Morrigan closer to his chest as he walked, stroking his hair with one hand. “Never forget that.”
Coming to a halt at a wooden door, he knocked sharply, twice and waited, shifting Morrigan’s weight slightly. “It’s a good job you’ve got so skinny Morri, I’d have a hard time carrying you otherwise…” he trailed off, disliking his too-high tone and the tell-tale shake in his voice as he tried to make light of the situation.
“Hurry up Tané, damn it!” The door was pulled ajar slightly and a head peeped out and looked cautiously around.
“Marxiach?”
“Who else? Let us in will you?” Marx’s voice softened a little as Tané pulled open the door, tears shining in his eyes as he took in the sight which was Morrigan.
“Was he always this thin?!” He gaped, laying a gentle hand on the white-haired head. “Where’s Fiachra?” He looked about fearfully, expecting the vengeful bird to come hurtling out of nowhere to latch onto his fingers.
“No idea. He was in the bar, but I think he went off to sulk somewhere. He’ll be back. That damn bird always is.” Marx grunted, gently releasing Morrigan onto the sofa in front of him. “And as long as Fiachra’s around, we’ll know that she’s still there.”
“Poor Morrigan…” Tané knelt at the side of the sofa, running a hand down the prone figure’s cheek. “I wonder if he’ll ever be rid of that part of himself. I guess we can only hope, eh Marx?”
Marxiach nodded gravely and knelt to kiss Morrigan on the forehead. “I’ll get him a hangover cure.” Tané smiled distractedly and turned back to Morrigan tenderly. “We’ll take care of you Morr.” He bent to kiss the slightly parted lips and then gasped as Morrigan kissed back hard, his hand reaching round to pull Tané closer until he was flopped half on and half off Morrigan’s chest.
“You taste of rum…” Morrigan murmured into Tané’s ear. “I’ve missed you.” He smiled shakily and pulled the Tané closer to him. “Don’t cry, it’s alright.”
Tané pushed himself away from Morrigan sharply, a flash of anger coming over his normally calm face. “We’ve been so worried about you! Why did you leave us, Morr? Why?” Tané’s chin held a slight tremble as if he couldn’t hold in his emotions.
“I’m back now…and I think I might be able to stay… I mean…if that’s alright with you and Marxy, of course…”
“Look Morr, we know you don’t wanna hurt us again, but when you leave it hurts even more, see?” Marxiach walked back in from the kitchen holding a glass filled with an ominous-coloured liquid. “I went through something like what you are… and all I know is that when you two were there for me, it felt…well, it felt better. That’s all. So let us be there for you, Morrigan. We love you. And I dunno about Tané, but I don’t fancy sharing you with that hag for much longer…” He grimaced, and then held out the drink as if only just remembering about it.
“You’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow. Drink this.” Marxiach thrust the glass into Morrigan’s startled hand and then knelt at the side of the sofa, next to Tané.
“We’re here for you. Never forget that, ok?” Marx stroked Morrigan’s slender stomach as he drank down the nasty concoction with a grimace.
“What the hell was in that? Eeeew!” Morrigan stuck out his tongue in displeasure, desperately trying to get the taste of the mixture off his taste-buds by airing out his tongue.
“Not telling you.” Marx grinned, then started to tickle the white belly in front of him. Morrigan made a strangled squealing noise and tried to squirm away, but the extent of his drunkenness had weakened him enough that all he could actually manage was a half-arsed attempt to scrunch himself into a tight ball and to squidge his eyes tightly shut.
“Meanies!” He mumbled from within his tight ball. “Leave m’alone…” A tear streaked down his face as Marxiach and Tané simultaneously grabbed him in a tender hug.
“We’re not leaving you alone Morrigan. Not any more.” Tané said quietly. “So please don’t ask that of us.” Morrigan reached out a shaking hand and clasped that of Tané, his other taking Marxy’s and giving it a squeeze.
“But…but what if I get possessed again? I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you again, Tané…” Tané winced at the memory of Morrigan’s last goddess possession. It had been…painful to say the least. Not to mention at an inappropriate time… Morrigan becoming a woman (again) was disconcerting in normal circumstances, but during… intimate relations it was just damn right freaky. And plus, there was always the fact that Morrigan the goddess certainly did not like the same things that Morrigan the man did. She did not take kindly to…well…being taken…
Marxiach blushed slightly at the memory; it had been him who had taken the brunt of the goddess’ rage the first time. And her rage had been great indeed, but the second time it had landed on poor Tané, and she had knocked him unconscious and scarpered before Marx even had time to react. Helplessly, he’d made Tané as comfortable as he could, tending to the gaping wound under his hair to the best of his ability before starting out on the search for Morrigan, who would no doubt be left shivering on an abandoned street somewhere, lonely and wondering what he’d done this time.
It was probably a blessing that Morrigan retained no memory of the things he did while he was possessed, the guilt would be his undoing if he knew. All he was left with was a strange feeling that he’d done something, and that it most certainly was not a good something, but it no doubt involved the two men he loved in some horrible way.
It was because of this that Morrigan most often ran away from the truth, and the men he loved, and especially from the Goddess who took his body at a whim. He was certain that she chose her moments carefully, and with a vindictiveness that he simply could not explain. All he knew was that he hated the Goddess Morrigan.
He hated her with all his heart, and just wished that she would leave him in peace. But of course, she never did. And probably never would, either. And so Morrigan ran. He drowned himself in drink, which allowed him to forget for a few precious moments that his body was not his own; and that he couldn’t be with his lovers without her interference.
But this time it felt different. There weren’t any nagging feelings prodding at the back of his mind. There seemed to be a complete absence of the female presence that he’d grown so used to, in fact. And it was somewhat disconcerting. To be finally alone in his own body, well, that was something that Morrigan had never even allowed himself to think about.
But now that he did think about it…well, it did feel kinda empty in his mind for once. And not to mention the fact that Fiachra had disappeared. Morrigan almost couldn’t remember the last time grumpy, evil Fiachra had left without being clouted or shoved or prodded until he buggered off.
Dare he even think it? The unthinkable…perhaps she had gone. He shook his head with a frown and closed his eyes, ignoring the confused looks on Tané and Marxiach’s faces.
Plunging deep down into his mind, he probed and searched for that roiling, merciless aura which signified the goddess’ presence.
There was nothing. Silence and calm filled the warlike space she had left behind. And Morrigan grinned, not even wincing at the headache which was starting to linger on the edge of his consciousness.
Marx raised an eyebrow at the crazily grinning Morrigan, exchanging puzzled glances with Tané.
“She’s gone…” He said quietly, still unsure of whether it was just a cruel trick. “I…I think she’s actually gone.” As the import of his words sunk in, Morrigan laughed out loud.
“I don’t bloody believe it! You’re sure?” Marxiach looked concerned. Obviously the idea that it could all be a joke had occurred to him too. But this time Morrigan was certain.
“No Fiachra.” He said simply. “And I can’t feel her in my mind any more…It’s all…empty and strange. She’s just…not there!” Tears ran freely down his face as Tané whooped and Marx just grinned from ear to ear.
Morrigan smiled seductively through his tears, a raw hunger shining in his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of enjoying Tané and Marxiach alone and without the goddess’ interference.
And now. Now that he was finally free, Morrigan planned to enjoy himself thoroughly.
He stood up shakily from the battered sofa, gripping the willing hands of Marx and Tané for support. He flashed a grin and, staggering into the bedroom, he led his favourite two people in the world over to the bed they shared as the door closed softly behind them.
“Free…” He whispered with a smile. Free.
Sanctuary
Morrigan sat in the bar. He sat in the bar clutching a pint, on an uncomfortable wooden stool, bored and alone on a boring and lonely Saturday night. It seemed to him that most people in the world would have something interesting to do on a Saturday night. Something indefinitely more interesting than sitting in a pub, alone and bored with splinters in his arse from the shit seating.
His rueful expression was only matched by the mournful tune droning from the jukebox in the corner, and the sour face of the barman as he moodily cleaned a multitude of dirty glasses left behind by the drunken clientele from earlier in the day.
Fiachra, ever crotchety even in the happiest of circumstances, clawed at Morrigan’s scalp in what Morrigan suspected was revenge for the fact that, despite Fiachra’s best efforts, Morrigan was, in fact, still alive, and therefore still in possession of the pair of tasty-looking eyeballs which sat so temptingly in his head, just waiting for Fiachra’s questing beak to make a meal out of them. Either that or he was just in a mood, which was the most likely explanation.
Fiachra was always in a mood. He particularly enjoyed getting this feeling across to Morrigan by clawing at his skull and screeching in his ear occasionally, just as a reminder that he, Fiachra, hated Morrigan, and was, in fact, only living on his head because it was comfortable, and that yes, he could leave at any time, but to be honest, hurting Morrigan was much more fun.
Most of the time, Morrigan was unsure as to exactly why he put up with Fiachra, although the white raven usually fended off any hands which might attempt to dislodge him with a fervour only ever seen in vultures eating a particularly rotted corpse.
In fact, it could be said that Morrigan hated Fiachra. But he always liked to think that they’d come to some sort of agreement, where Morrigan fed Fiachra occasionally, and the bird tried his hardest not to peck off Morrigan’s fingers/eyes/limbs at any opportunity he could find. But Morrigan also suspected that the precise details of this agreement were either lost on or completely ignored by Fiachra, who very much enjoyed trying to peck off his hosts various appendages.
Sipping morosely at his pint, Morrigan made a face. He missed rum. But drinking rum would remind him far too much of him, and so he left it alone, drinking beer instead, and with an enthusiasm which scared him if he ever stopped to think about it hard enough. He tried not to do this often, however. Thinking only lead to depression, which in turn lead to Morrigan having to drink more beer, and then the whole vicious cycle began again. He had never been able to understand Morrigan’s ability to drink beer, but then again, Morrigan had never understood his ability to drink that herby rum; a drink which tasted like something had died in it a long time ago, fermented for a little while and then proceeded to decompose, leaving little bits of decomposition floating around on the top and other, less savoury (if it was at all possible) parts sinking to the bottom, where they glowered at you as you drank, almost daring you to get all the way to the end of the glass.
Morrigan shuddered a little, and downed a bit more of his pint morosely, thinking longingly of the herby, decomposey rum which would have been very much an improvement on this yellowing piss they tried to pass off as beer.
Fiachra gave a caw before digging his talons into Morrigan’s skull and taking off to sulk on top of the dusty glasses perched on the topmost shelf of the bar, presumably as decorations.
Lifting a hand up to his now-bleeding head, Morrigan scowled and then rubbed at the gashes before giving it up for a bad job. He was almost used to the daily pain Fiachra liked inflicting upon his poor head now.
But oh, if Tané was here he’d make it feel better…There was something in his gentle touch and the stinging of the rum and the smell of him that made Morrigan feel almost instantly better. But no, Tané wasn’t here, and once again Morrigan would have to put up with being alone with the beer and the company of Fiachra. Joy.
He grimaced and lifted the pint to his lips with a shudder as they parted to allow the foul liquid to flow down his throat. The creamy foam clung to his upper lip, making him sniff. A laugh from the corner startled Morrigan from his morose dreaming as he exhaled sharply, blowing the foam from his lip and all over the bar as he turned to regard the person who had laughed at him in such a familiar voice.
“Hey you.” Morrigan’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock.
“M-Marxy?”
“That’s me. And there I was thinking you’d forgotten all about me. Seems I was wrong, eh, Morr?”
“Do you really think I could ever forget you?” Morrigan looked hurt, his eyes widening and his mouth pouting in his favourite puppy-dog expression. Marxiach smiled softly, his unpatched eye fixed on Morrigan’s own single showing eye. He walked slowly over to the stool which Morrigan had sat on almost all of the day and reached out to grasp the shaking hand with his own.
“We’ve missed you, Morr. Why do you come here every day, hmm? Why do you drink this?” Marx poked at the empty pint glass disdainfully and turned his gentle gaze back to Morrigan. “Why do you do this to yourself Morr?”
Morrigan shook his head and stared down at the stained wood of the bar.
“You know we love you. Hmm?” Marx reached out and brushed the long white hair behind Morrigan’s left ear, trailing his hand down the side of his face before bringing it to rest at the back of his neck.
Pulling Morrigan roughly forward, Marx leant in and kissed him passionately on the lips. “You poor fool. Come home to us, Morrigan.” Taking the shaking man in his arms, Marxiach stood up and tipped a wink to the astonished barman. Evidentially he’d never seen two men kiss before, something which had always tickled Morrigan was peoples’ reactions to the three of them being together, and Marxiach was determined to get the old Morr back. He had an idea why Morrigan had left, got his own little place, job and special drinking hole; hell, he’d even been through it himself! But that was no reason for Morrigan to go through it alone, and Marx sure as hell wasn’t going to leave him there to rot. Not now that they finally knew where he’d been hiding all this time. Not now he’d set his eyes once more on the man he loved with such ardour.
Lost in his own thoughts, Marx barely heard Morrigan’s feeble protestations, but he felt the wet tears through his shirt as his charge burrowed his face deeper into the comforting fabric, mumbling through the sobs and material.
“B-but what if it happens again, Marxy? I don’t wanna hurt you and Tané all over again…” The soft voice trailed off, engulfed in tears once more at the memories that came flooding back. Morrigan hated that part of himself with a passion; he wished with all his heart that she would just leave him in peace.
But he knew that could never be. And so he hid. From his loved ones, from his memories, from himself.
“Morr, you can’t hide forever. But we’re here for you. Always.” Marxiach cradled Morrigan closer to his chest as he walked, stroking his hair with one hand. “Never forget that.”
Coming to a halt at a wooden door, he knocked sharply, twice and waited, shifting Morrigan’s weight slightly. “It’s a good job you’ve got so skinny Morri, I’d have a hard time carrying you otherwise…” he trailed off, disliking his too-high tone and the tell-tale shake in his voice as he tried to make light of the situation.
“Hurry up Tané, damn it!” The door was pulled ajar slightly and a head peeped out and looked cautiously around.
“Marxiach?”
“Who else? Let us in will you?” Marx’s voice softened a little as Tané pulled open the door, tears shining in his eyes as he took in the sight which was Morrigan.
“Was he always this thin?!” He gaped, laying a gentle hand on the white-haired head. “Where’s Fiachra?” He looked about fearfully, expecting the vengeful bird to come hurtling out of nowhere to latch onto his fingers.
“No idea. He was in the bar, but I think he went off to sulk somewhere. He’ll be back. That damn bird always is.” Marx grunted, gently releasing Morrigan onto the sofa in front of him. “And as long as Fiachra’s around, we’ll know that she’s still there.”
“Poor Morrigan…” Tané knelt at the side of the sofa, running a hand down the prone figure’s cheek. “I wonder if he’ll ever be rid of that part of himself. I guess we can only hope, eh Marx?”
Marxiach nodded gravely and knelt to kiss Morrigan on the forehead. “I’ll get him a hangover cure.” Tané smiled distractedly and turned back to Morrigan tenderly. “We’ll take care of you Morr.” He bent to kiss the slightly parted lips and then gasped as Morrigan kissed back hard, his hand reaching round to pull Tané closer until he was flopped half on and half off Morrigan’s chest.
“You taste of rum…” Morrigan murmured into Tané’s ear. “I’ve missed you.” He smiled shakily and pulled the Tané closer to him. “Don’t cry, it’s alright.”
Tané pushed himself away from Morrigan sharply, a flash of anger coming over his normally calm face. “We’ve been so worried about you! Why did you leave us, Morr? Why?” Tané’s chin held a slight tremble as if he couldn’t hold in his emotions.
“I’m back now…and I think I might be able to stay… I mean…if that’s alright with you and Marxy, of course…”
“Look Morr, we know you don’t wanna hurt us again, but when you leave it hurts even more, see?” Marxiach walked back in from the kitchen holding a glass filled with an ominous-coloured liquid. “I went through something like what you are… and all I know is that when you two were there for me, it felt…well, it felt better. That’s all. So let us be there for you, Morrigan. We love you. And I dunno about Tané, but I don’t fancy sharing you with that hag for much longer…” He grimaced, and then held out the drink as if only just remembering about it.
“You’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow. Drink this.” Marxiach thrust the glass into Morrigan’s startled hand and then knelt at the side of the sofa, next to Tané.
“We’re here for you. Never forget that, ok?” Marx stroked Morrigan’s slender stomach as he drank down the nasty concoction with a grimace.
“What the hell was in that? Eeeew!” Morrigan stuck out his tongue in displeasure, desperately trying to get the taste of the mixture off his taste-buds by airing out his tongue.
“Not telling you.” Marx grinned, then started to tickle the white belly in front of him. Morrigan made a strangled squealing noise and tried to squirm away, but the extent of his drunkenness had weakened him enough that all he could actually manage was a half-arsed attempt to scrunch himself into a tight ball and to squidge his eyes tightly shut.
“Meanies!” He mumbled from within his tight ball. “Leave m’alone…” A tear streaked down his face as Marxiach and Tané simultaneously grabbed him in a tender hug.
“We’re not leaving you alone Morrigan. Not any more.” Tané said quietly. “So please don’t ask that of us.” Morrigan reached out a shaking hand and clasped that of Tané, his other taking Marxy’s and giving it a squeeze.
“But…but what if I get possessed again? I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you again, Tané…” Tané winced at the memory of Morrigan’s last goddess possession. It had been…painful to say the least. Not to mention at an inappropriate time… Morrigan becoming a woman (again) was disconcerting in normal circumstances, but during… intimate relations it was just damn right freaky. And plus, there was always the fact that Morrigan the goddess certainly did not like the same things that Morrigan the man did. She did not take kindly to…well…being taken…
Marxiach blushed slightly at the memory; it had been him who had taken the brunt of the goddess’ rage the first time. And her rage had been great indeed, but the second time it had landed on poor Tané, and she had knocked him unconscious and scarpered before Marx even had time to react. Helplessly, he’d made Tané as comfortable as he could, tending to the gaping wound under his hair to the best of his ability before starting out on the search for Morrigan, who would no doubt be left shivering on an abandoned street somewhere, lonely and wondering what he’d done this time.
It was probably a blessing that Morrigan retained no memory of the things he did while he was possessed, the guilt would be his undoing if he knew. All he was left with was a strange feeling that he’d done something, and that it most certainly was not a good something, but it no doubt involved the two men he loved in some horrible way.
It was because of this that Morrigan most often ran away from the truth, and the men he loved, and especially from the Goddess who took his body at a whim. He was certain that she chose her moments carefully, and with a vindictiveness that he simply could not explain. All he knew was that he hated the Goddess Morrigan.
He hated her with all his heart, and just wished that she would leave him in peace. But of course, she never did. And probably never would, either. And so Morrigan ran. He drowned himself in drink, which allowed him to forget for a few precious moments that his body was not his own; and that he couldn’t be with his lovers without her interference.
But this time it felt different. There weren’t any nagging feelings prodding at the back of his mind. There seemed to be a complete absence of the female presence that he’d grown so used to, in fact. And it was somewhat disconcerting. To be finally alone in his own body, well, that was something that Morrigan had never even allowed himself to think about.
But now that he did think about it…well, it did feel kinda empty in his mind for once. And not to mention the fact that Fiachra had disappeared. Morrigan almost couldn’t remember the last time grumpy, evil Fiachra had left without being clouted or shoved or prodded until he buggered off.
Dare he even think it? The unthinkable…perhaps she had gone. He shook his head with a frown and closed his eyes, ignoring the confused looks on Tané and Marxiach’s faces.
Plunging deep down into his mind, he probed and searched for that roiling, merciless aura which signified the goddess’ presence.
There was nothing. Silence and calm filled the warlike space she had left behind. And Morrigan grinned, not even wincing at the headache which was starting to linger on the edge of his consciousness.
Marx raised an eyebrow at the crazily grinning Morrigan, exchanging puzzled glances with Tané.
“She’s gone…” He said quietly, still unsure of whether it was just a cruel trick. “I…I think she’s actually gone.” As the import of his words sunk in, Morrigan laughed out loud.
“I don’t bloody believe it! You’re sure?” Marxiach looked concerned. Obviously the idea that it could all be a joke had occurred to him too. But this time Morrigan was certain.
“No Fiachra.” He said simply. “And I can’t feel her in my mind any more…It’s all…empty and strange. She’s just…not there!” Tears ran freely down his face as Tané whooped and Marx just grinned from ear to ear.
Morrigan smiled seductively through his tears, a raw hunger shining in his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of enjoying Tané and Marxiach alone and without the goddess’ interference.
And now. Now that he was finally free, Morrigan planned to enjoy himself thoroughly.
He stood up shakily from the battered sofa, gripping the willing hands of Marx and Tané for support. He flashed a grin and, staggering into the bedroom, he led his favourite two people in the world over to the bed they shared as the door closed softly behind them.
“Free…” He whispered with a smile. Free.