merlin fic: the beast and dragon, adored
title: the beast and dragon, adored
chars: Nimueh, Morgause (background Nimueh/Ygraine)
genre: gen
rating: PG
summary: The misadventures of sorceresses-in-training
A/N: This extrapolates from canon a bit -- essentially, Morgause is Ygraine & Gorlois's daughter, as per popular legend. There are some three hundred other stories going on here too, including the OT4 and Ygraine/Nimueh which I will actually write properly one day.
Aalso, there is a major canon inconsistency because I only thought about rewatching 208 after I was like A LOT OF THE WAY IN and apparently the information divulged wasn’t quite as I remembered. So um, Morgause isn’t deported as a baby but as a five year old. I’M SORRY.
And omg, can we pretend it didn't get so long? :P
--------
Nimueh stares at the strange, ugly creature that Gaius has unceremoniously left on her castle steps before buggering off, and the creature stares back at her.
For a single, satisfyingly self-indulgent moment, she allows herself to think of the sheer unfairness of it all. She's twenty-something, on the brink of a promotion in the order of sisterhood, hitting the peak of her powers and generally leading a fabulous life with wonderful dresses. Now here she is, paying the price of being too friendly with funny physicians, saddled with a child. A child with damp, waist-length hair the colour of barley, and eyes like soot that glare through the shadows of her pint-sized hood. Maybe it's the sort of immature behaviour that Nimueh's constantly being told doesn't befit a priestess of their Religion, but Nimueh glares back.
Still, it's drizzling down in that atmospheric way only the Isle of the Blessed can; there's cold rain trickling down the back of her neck, and this non-verbal session has all the signs of being something that could go on all evening. Sighing, Nimueh decides to take the high ground.
"Come here, child," she says, reaching forward for the girl.
The girl flinches suspiciously and starts back.
Nimueh frowns. "I said, come here."
The child scowls back and stays rooted to the spot as if invisible vines are holding her there, except Nimueh did check the premises for any friendly traps before she allowed Gaius to land, so she knows for a fact there aren't and the brat is apparently just a brat. There's water lodging in uncomfortable places, and this can't be much more fun for the girl, whose nose is dripping raindrops.
Nimueh removes her own hood, and with some effort, smiles. The child eyes her warily, and Nimueh opens her palms and produces, with a few quick words, a small white flower. The girl's eyes go wide, and with a stumbling, almost involuntary motion, she comes closer to see. Nimueh feels a little surge of satisfaction.
"You can keep that," she tells the child, "it's made of magic." The child gives her a withering look and says nothing, but takes the flower nonetheless. She turns it about in her hand with a muted fascination.
"Right," says Nimueh desperately, as small rivulets run between her toes. "Come on inside, and I'll teach you how to do this stuff. I promise."
The child hesitates, and eyes both Nimueh and the flower with deep distrust. Just as Nimueh resigns herself to spending the night out here, it nods and lurches forward on stick-thin legs, straight for the castle.
"There we go," says Nimueh, pleased, and runs to catch up with it.
+
"We're going to get on fine," she says cheerfully, as she guides the child along the corridors to find an empty room. "You'll soon forget all about your life in Cornwall. No more Gorlois, or Uther - you can't be too fond of him, eh? Gaius seems to like him though - or Ygraine. It's a different life here, you'll love it. I do. "
She peeks into a room, smallish, a little isolated, but with a good view of the eastern shore. Easy to find, which is important - Elvera once changed chamber and no one saw her for a month. She's not sure what happens to five year olds if you lose them, but she suspects it's not something convention allows for.
"What do you think?" she asks the child, who takes off her hood and looks around silently. "Good place? I think so."
The rain's got heavier: it's drumming dismally on the window panes and there's a distant swish of the lake against the shore. The little girl's silence is almost farcically loud.
"Good place," decides Nimueh. She looks at the girl, who looks back, uncommunicative. The ongoing silence is a little difficult to deal with - Nimueh's one of the youngest around on the island, and has never had to deal with children before, let alone voiceless ones. Is this behaviour normal?
"Well," she says, patting the girl awkwardly on the shoulder, "let me know if you need anything. I'll see you in the morning."
Just as she reaches the door, a small, imperious voice cuts through the air. "Are you my servant?"
Nimueh whips round. The girl is standing straight up with a distinctly snotty look.
"Um," says Nimueh, offended despite herself, "no. Not in the least."
"What are you, then?"
"I'm --" Nimueh hesitates -- "just a sorceress. You know. Bit of a novice, but still. Pretty good. And if you need a mate, I'm around."
The child doesn't look impressed, and Nimueh feels a stab of irritation. This really isn't going to work.
"If that's all then," she says, and turns to leave. Just as she clicks the door behind her, something important occurs to her, and she flings it open again. The girl's still standing there, stiff and scowling like an irritable statue.
"What's your name, by the way?"
"Anna."
"Terrible name," decides Nimueh, and takes off down the passageway for her own chambers.
+
"You're a complete bastard," says Nimueh to Gaius, in his head and hopefully obnoxiously loud given it's two hours from dawn.
"Your mothering instincts needed nurturing," mumbles Gaius in response, which Nimueh considers a wholly sexist observation and informs him so at great length till her brain falls asleep on her.
+
"I'm not looking after it," Nimueh says to High Priestess Helen in the morning. High Priestess Helen is very pleasant, has long grey hair, a temperate nature and an effortless way with magic, and is everything Nimueh hopes to be when she's older. She's been teaching Nimeh for years, but unfortunately doesn't believe in favouritism, and the way she's looking at Nimueh now manages to suggest all these facets of her personality.
"Seriously," impresses Nimueh. "It's small, and angry, and none of this is really my business anyway."
High Priestess Helen suggests dissent with a cock of the head.
"It isn't," insists Nimueh. "I can't help it if people take advantage of our friendship. I've never even seen the girl's parents, let alone the king - still, I couldn't very well turn the child to the axe or river or whatever fate awaited it. Well, all right," she amends, as Helen's brows come together faintly. "It might have become my business a bit. But we are supposed to help people. We don't have much point otherwise."
"Certainly," says Helen. "It would be selfish to keep to ourselves. But I would caution against too much interaction with the nobility of Camelot. They have complicated lives."
"All right," agrees Nimueh readily. "I won't have anything more to do with them. But what about the kid? It needs care, and should be taught magic and the ways of the Old Religion..."
Helen rises, and pats Nimueh on the head. "I've told you before," she says mildly. "If you do get involved with people, you must clean up after them. It's the responsible thing to do."
"But -- " bursts Nimueh, before Helen reaches the door. "I don't think it likes me very much. I don't know what to do. Couldn't you--"
Helen turns, and smiles. "Do something nice for her. Give her a fresh outlook. Poor thing must be feeling quite lonely, and I'm sure you can imagine how that feels." She gives a final nod, then leaves.
+
No, actually. Nimueh can't imagine it. She's grown up with the priestesses, imbibing the magic and studying with contemporaries, so loneliness and identity crisis isn't something she's ever had to worry about. She frowns as she makes her way to the girl's chambers. She might not have the natural empathy, but she's widely acknowledged to be one of the brightest girls here, so she's sure she can work this out. She worries her thumbnail and tries to remember her early days on the island. Born here, fed here, named here.
It hits her then, in a single brilliant lightening bolt, just as she reaches Anna's door.
"I'm brilliant," she exlaims to the hallway, then swings the door open onto an empty room.
+
Swearing is not encouraged on the Isle of the Blessed. Something about the negative energy not harmonising with the natural elements the priestesses are encouraged to harness.
But Nimueh is not quite a priestess, so she feels perfectly at ease running around the castle swearing at full pace and panicking until someone informs her they saw a small person in the cloister rooms, and maybe Nimueh wants to take better care of her things.
+
"There you are," gasps Nimueh, bursting in on where the Anna is tucking into a hearty breakfast with a glum face. "Thought I'd lost you."
"I was hungry," says the girl, not looking up.
"Yeah, but you know, step the wrong way on this island and you'll land up as someone else's breakfast. Dragons are exceptionally fond of humans."
She drops her spoon. "There are dragons here?"
Nimueh pulls a face. "There would be if Helen would let me bring one. We do have a couple of questing beasts though."
Anna returns to her porridge, emanating great waves of scorn. Nimueh stares at her for a second, confused for a second by how anyone can be so cross, then ploughs ahead with her grand idea.
"Anyway, listen," she says. "I've been thinking, and you'll never impress anyone with a name like Anna. Ygraine sounds like a nice woman, but she completely lacks imagination. From now on, your name's Morgause."
Anna-Morgause stares up at her incredulously. "You're not changing my name."
"Yep," says Nimueh cheerfully. "That's going to be the first rule. Different name. It's a great name."
"No!" cries Morgause-Anna, and smacks her spoon down on her plate. "I'm Anna, from the house of Gorlois!"
"Finish your breakfast, Morgause," Nimueh tells her, and leaves the kid to fume into her hard boiled eggs. She thinks she hears something like Ihateyouforever, but assumes very much that something got lost in the echoes.
+
The first few months are moderately awful. Morgause doesn't talk much, and makes a point of ignoring Nimueh frequently. She occasionally raps out orders ("In Cornwall, Daddy had a sword; I want one"), or plucks a book from Nimueh's shelf, but she generally acts like the sullen child she is. She takes no interest in her surroundings or the magic, after that first day with the flower, and if Nimueh didn't know better she'd say the girl is too stubborn to show any sentiment for her unique environment. She potters about on shore, building little pebbly sculptures, but she doesn't court attention and seems to use the sword Nimueh unearthed mainly to trip people up. The darker part of Nimueh, which tends to think things like ooh, the power of life, that's quite exciting, sometimes suspects Morgause is biding her time, waiting to unleash a pyschotic revenge upon them all when they're least expecting it.
The other priestesses have reacted in different ways. Helen seems convinced this is good for her, which aligns her with Gaius in all sorts of strange ways. Her friends are mostly amused by Nimueh's new preoccupation, her rivals take the opportunity to mock ceaselessly, which Nimueh decides with some generosity is fair enough, because it's not like they've ever had any material on her before and she would whole-heartedly do the same in reverse. Still, seeing as how she's getting so much attention for essentially having a child thrust into her care, she thinks she probably try and do something to merit it.
"Don't you want to learn magic?" Nimueh tries one afternoon, when she's finished her lessons for the day and piling logs up for the firewood collection.
Morgause ignores her, and continues to fiddle with a piece of driftwood.
"Look," persists Nimueh, filled with virtuosity, and pulls a book from her bag. "Try doing one of the spells. Who knows what'll happen?"
Nimueh looks her expectantly, but Morgause stares at the book in her lap, and doesn't do anything.
"Oh, suit yourself." Swearing to herself, Nimueh takes off for the forest to see if she can find any exciting creatures. She hasn't been gone more than a few monutes when she hears a scream splintering through the trees. She sprints back to where she left Morause, and when she arrives, panting, sees a burning pile of wood, the flames licking vast and high. Morgause has covered her mouth with hands, her eyes are terrified and she's making tiny whimpering sounds. The book lies open on the ground.
"Blimey," says Nimueh, stunned, taking in the spectacle. She pulls Morgause back, and mutters a simple spell to quiet the flames.
The fire tears down the forest, and Morgause blinks.
"That's part of the plan," says Nimueh after a pause, then runs after it before it destroys everything. She thinks, as she chases after it and tries to remember the spell for a flood of water, she can hear snatches of laughter in her wake, and is darkly comforted to find Morgause is as twisted as she'd suspected.
+
It's not long after this that Nimueh starts waking up in the middle of the night to a strange tickling in her head, and notion of fear, and distinctly uncomfortable feelings. That doesn't bother her; most people on the island are slightly telepathic, and it's not uncommon for those who are close to often sense another's pain. But when it happens a few nights in a row, she starts wondering if maybe someone's in need of a hand. She makes inquiries in the daylight, at the witch's round and at the breakfast table, but no one offers anything; still, she notices Morgause goes a bit pink, and digs into her sausage with more ferocity than usual. That night, with the satisfaction of a puzzle nearly being complete, Nimueh takes up a seat outside her bedroom.
"In case the baby wants milk?" inquires Elvera as she passes, and Nimueh pulls a face.
"Just working on a theory," she says.
"You do remembers there's a celebration for the Grand Recalcitration tonight?"
Crap, Nimueh has forgotten that. There's every chance Helen's Niece of Legs and Hotness will be present, which is a rare enough occurence that Nimueh almost jumps up, puzzle be damned. Then a squirmy feeling of guilt fills her, and she remembers Morgause's sullen look at the breakfast table.
"Well, don't drink too much punch and and wind up on the ramparts yelling situationally embarassing things again," she tells Elvera ruefully, and settles down for the night.
It pays off, because sometime close to midnight, when the priestesses are likely getting apallingly drunk and Nimueh's thinking she was bats to do make this decision, she feels the strange discomforting tug again, a frantic whining in her head, and all much stronger than before. She flings open the door to find Morgause thrashing around in her bed, and is at the kid's side instantly.
"Shh," she whispers, and tries to soothe the bedclothes awkwardly. "Quiet now."
Morgause's flailing arm catches Nimueh on the side of the face, and indignated, Nimueh yelps, "Oy!"
Morgause starts awake. "Nimueh," she says, and launches blindly into Nimueh's arms. "I had -- I had a --"
"Yeah, yeah," says Nimueh, oddly gratified by the hugging. "dodgy dream. Happens to all people when they start unlocking their magic; I should have remembered to tell you that. Honestly, it's nothing to worry about. They'll go soon, unless you're a seer or something"
"I don't want to be one. Or magic." She sounds so woebegone that Nimueh feels quite sorry for her. She settles herself on the bed and sticks Morgause's head on her shoulder.
"Want to hear a cool story I read the other day? It's all about a powerful sorceress and her epic magic. And her pack of knights."
"She had knights?"
"Yep."
Morgause sinks down reluctantly; Nimueh can still feel the little spider-patter of her tiny heart.
"All right then," mumbles Morgause. "But don't make it up. I'm too big for fairytales."
"You're five," says Nimueh, but sticks to the story anyway.
+
And the story, or Nimueh, or some cunning combination of the two seem to have the done the job. Morgause has taken to trailing after Nimueh, and doesn't leave her sticks out quite as often as she did. Sometimes she tries muttering spells after Nimueh, but nothing very much happens. This doesn't bother Nimueh, because she knows these things come with time, and to different people at different ages, but she's quite pleased that Morgause finally seems comfortable around the magic. She mostly reads Morgause old stories and teaches her spells that may one day come in use, and tells her important things like how to tell a basilisk from an adder.
Although there's still a bit of castle-born snottiness that Nimueh is determined to sort out.
"My dress itches," complains Morgause one day, when Nimueh's returned to the island after a few days on mainland, and the girls are all greeting her on the shore. "Why are clothes here made of sackmeal?"
"Just yours," Nimueh informs her cheerfully. "Because you're a baby."
"I want a silk one, like High Priestess Helen. And I want it red, like all you and your friends."
"You can't."
"Why not? I want it."
Nimueh bends down, as the priestesses around laugh. She puts her hands on Morgause's shoulders, and says, with wide eyes and expressive sympathy, "Because you're not important enough."
Morgause goes red, and sulks for a week.
She gets her revenge; a young sorcerer passes through the island, and Nimueh gets on really well with him. In the evening, just as Nimueh's walking him up to her room, Morgause emerges from her chamber wailing with all of a six year old's cunning.
Nimueh swears, and turns. "What do you want?"
"Dreams," sobs Morgause.
"Sleep it off," says Nimueh irritably. The chap on her arm shifts a little, and she amends, with enforced kindess, "and you'll feel better."
"I won't," says Morgause in a wobbly voice, and opens her teary eyes wide.
"You're busy," says the sorcerer, sounding uncomfortable. "I'll let you get on with it."
"No," says Nimueh, frustrated, "no, not at all, she'll work it out, she's only an idiot --"
Morgause chooses this moment to howl again, and the sorcerer departs with undue haste.
Nimueh doesn't talk to Morgause for a month.
+
And now, just when Nimueh thinks there is nothing in the universe that makes up for having to look after Morgause, Ygraine arrives.
No, first Gaius contacts her.
How's it going?
Fucking awful, mostly because I said hi to you at a market stall once.
I was very charming.
I was considering feeding you to my chimera.
And I won you over.
You have bizarrely strong survival instincts.
Well, you'd better hone yours. You're going to have a visitor.
I am not looking after any other strays your boyfriend's foisted on you. Don't even think --
It's Ygraine. The girl's mother.
Gaius, is there any chance you've confused the Isle of the Blessed with Albion's Care Centre For Estranged Families?
But when Ygraine alights from the boat, uncertain and small in the dark early hours of morning, Nimueh thinks actually, it's fine. Camelot's queen pulls down her dark hood and smiles warmly at Nimueh, and takes her hand like a sister. And when Nimueh, babbling nonsense while taking her up to Morgause's room, watches Ygraine give a small cry and enfold the sleeping girl in her arms, she thinks actually, there's an awful lot going for looking ater the world's most exasperating kid.
Ygraine spends the day playing with Morgause, who has never smiled so much in her life, and even forgets the quarrel to grin at Nimueh every so often. And in the evening, when Morgause falls asleep, exhausted and overjoyed, they take a walk down the shore.
"I wish I could stay longer," says Ygraine, regret obvious. "You'd think perhaps a year would soften the absence, but it only makes it harder."
Nimueh says, "Stay, then. We've got plenty of room." She stops herself at the last minute from adding in my room and adding some terrible wink.
Ygraine shakes her head. "I said I would join Uther in the camps tomorrow. I have already delayed too long."
"Your husband fights too many wars," remarks Nimueh, who keeps up with the mainland news. Then, with brazen curiosity, "Are you happy with him?"
The queen cocks her head, pulls her cloak around her tighter in the breeze. "I am," she says. "I have come to love him, just as I have loved Gorlois. They'll both be at the camps, actually."
Nimueh snorts. "I can't work any of you out," she says, and Ygraine laughs.
"It helps to have a lot of heart, I find, if you want to get by in the world."
They walk to the docks.
"So, anyway, I'm looking after your girl," says Nimueh, looking through her lashes in what's hopefully a mindshatteringly seductive way, "it's almost as if I'm her other mum. Like, we're both the mums. You know, together."
Oh god, why can't she stop talking?
But Ygraine smiles her, not in a bloody-hell-the-priesthood's-lowered-its-standards way but just, friendly. And right, yes, a little bit like sunbeams in spring and twittering woodland birds.
"I'm very grateful," she says. "I think you're perfect for Anna, and I'm glad to have met you. I hope very much we will meet again."
Nimueh is composing poetry in her head before Ygraine's boat has even left the island.
+
"I thought you were going to keep out of Camelot's affairs," says Helen mildly.
Nimueh bites her lip. "Yeah," she says. "I am, really. Ygraine just wants to see her daughter. Nothing wrong with that."
Helen studies Nimueh for a few long moments, then sighs. "You know your actions best," she says.
+
And she doesn't come often, not as often as either Nimueh or Morgause would like. Once a year, if even that; whenever she can have leave from Camelot.
In the times between, Nimueh goes to mainland several times. There's something about life there: it's fun to interfere, and help the people with their problems, and terrify villains. She sometimes thinks she'd like to stay longer, but then she finds she always misses the island: its unpredictable spark in the air, the priestesses -- even Morgause, and so she excuses herself to her land-friends that her charge is probably languishing without her presence, and always returns. She's never empty-handed; she brings rough clothes for Morgause, little village trinkets, a collection of silver links that she promises will become a chainmail when Morgause learns to attach them with magic, and then procceeds to try and help her with. The priestesses are always thrilled to have her around, Morgause follows her around like an eager puppy, and Nimueh's generally quite happy with how she's working things out.
(Except -- "I wish you'd stay on the island more," says Helen, one day. "Your power runs deep; if you stayed and turned your art into a consistent force, I could bring you higher up in the Order. It would be an honour, at your age, and when I pass on, you could take my role. Someone must ensure the weightier matters of the world are preserved."
-- Nimueh fidgets, and says nothing.)
+
"You know," says Ygraine, sitting with Nimueh on the beach, as one of her rare days on the island together comes to a close. "I'm sure there's more for you than just this island. I wish you'd come to Camelot and work with us. We could learn so much from each other."
Nimueh smiles. "I"m not supposed to get mixed up with you people," she says. "Helen keeps telling me you're all mad and dangerous."
"Oh, definitely," agrees Ygraine, her eyes sparkling in a way which short-circuits Nimueh's brain. "Might be worth it, though."
"Well," says Nimueh, "maybe one day." And when she works up the courage to take Ygraine's hand, Ygraine only tightens the hold, firm and sweet.
+
Morgause is practically bouncing from the visit when Nimueh goes to find her, skipping between the rocks and singing tunelessly in the light of the dipping sun.
"My mum is beautiful," she says, and looks terribly proud.
"Absolutely," agrees Nimueh, and tries not to bounce along with her. "Hey kid, let's practise some of your swordy stuff. First one to hit five has to tell Elvera her new dress looks like a stoat took up stitching."
Nimueh loses. Why does she always lose? Against a nine year old?
+
Feel like taking a trip shoreside? asks Gaius, one morning.
Go away, replies Nimueh, and wishes fervently she'd never taught Gaius how to do this trick.
Because Gorlois could do with a hand, and I'm caught up, and it's probably pertinent to your interests.
A hand with what? What are my interests?
Bloody Gaius always knows best how to get her attention; the people she likes always do. She leaves that same night, and a few days later, finds herself staring down at a dark-hared baby, sleeping in its cot.
"Golly," says Nimueh. "Where's her mother?"
"Resting," says Gorlois, who's all dizzy-eyed and giddy and looks like he hasn't slept in about three months. For first impressions, he doesn't exactly look like the stone-shattering warrior all the songs and stories would have her believe.
Nimueh bends down and examines the baby. There's a whiff of something - beyond the milk and sleep and fresh clothes - that seems familiar. Just a trace, but distinct.
"You don't want to give me this one, do you?" she says drily. "I could start a collection."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you have any magic in your family, Gorlois?"
Gorlois scratches his beard, distracted. "My grandmother was apparently of the fae," he offers. "Is it important?"
"That'd explain it," says Nimueh, and sniffs. She's not snobby, but the magic of the faekind always disturbs her; it's not an art to be studied, and doesn't involve elements and laws. It's instinctive and unpractised. She files this information away for later use, and straightens up.
"She is beautiful, and perfect," says Gorlois, which Nimueh thinks is a bit irrelevant.
"Does she have a name yet?" she asks.
"Not yet." Gorlois looks sheepish. "My wife has made a list, but my eyes can read nothing when this precious girl sleeps in her cot."
Nimueh thinks of Morgause, and wonders if Gorlois ever thinks of her. She'd ask, but it seems pushy for their first meeting; still, maybe he gets an idea, for he says next, "Is Anna..."
"She's fine," says Nimueh. "Though she goes by Morgause these days."
Gorlois blinks, temporarily wrongfooted. "What was wrong with --"
"It was a crap name," says Nimueh firmly.
Gorlois shakes his head and then brightens. "Then we shall name this child Morgana. Perhaps one day they will meet, again."
Nimueh considers Gorlois. He seems like a really nice chap, but really, he's a bit dim. "And they'll just ... know," she confirms.
"Yep." Gorlois beams. "Common names and everything."
"Why not give them matching pendants?"
"What?"
"Nothing. Bad joke. Congratulations on your daughter, Gorlois; I wish your family all the happiness."
Gorlois calls out behind her, from the door, "My lady, when my mind is less enchanted, I hope to know you better."
"Yeah," says Nimueh, "you'd be surprised how many people say that to me."
+
"So, you have a sister," says Nimueh awkwardly, when she returns home, and Morgause crashes off her bed in surprise.
"What do you mean?" she asks, scrambling up and astonished.
"Well," says Nimueh, and plucks at her sleeve. "When someone's father marries another woman and partakes in much affection, new little children are made."
Morgause looks outraged, which isn't that much of a surprise. "This is your fault," she says immediately, which again, Nimueh had realised would be her conclusion. Easy figures of blame and authority, etc. High Priestess Helen did explain the pyschology behind this to her once, but Nimueh had been trying to perfect her lightening spells at the time and therefore not really listened to the part about dealing with it.
"It really isn't," she says. "You must understand I am blameless in what happens beyond this island."
"Bollocks," says Morgause.
"That's not --" splutters Nimueh.
Morgause interrupts with many more things, all a lot ruder.
"Look, getting angry isn't going to achieve anything," says Nimueh desperately. "Really you should just rejoice the event of life."
"Why didn't you bring her here?" demands Morgause. "My father has everything he needs. My mother's with the king. I want a sister."
The words die in Nimueh's throat, as a feeling she had not quite realised takes a pummelling. "Morgana's fine where she is," she says. "Anyway, I'm here."
"I don't want you. You hardly teach me and you're not family and you think you're so much better than you are."
"Well," says Nimueh, the resentment surging now, "if I'm that awful to you, maybe you wouldn't miss me if I just disappeared forever."
"I wouldn't," swears Morgause fiercely. "Not one bit."
"Fine." Nimueh turns and bangs the door behind her, and decides she's had it with the stupid insular nature of this island and the unfair responsibilities of ungrateful children. She's young, she has her whole life ahead of her, she's got invites from all over the lands and she wants to experience life like the people beyond the priesthood. She rages at Helen for approximately twenty minutes, and then leaves the island for good.
+
And so things happen. Nimueh takes off to live in Camelot for a year, hobnobs with Gaius and enjoys doing a few tricks with him. She finally befriends Uther (who's dry as wine and intense, and they crackle) and comes to know Ygraine better (which proves to be everything). They have a few adventures, win a couple of wars, then she accidentally gets roped into providing Ygraine with an heir and because she never read those damn books enough, winds up losing Ygraine and getting banished from the court and hunted to the edge of Camelot's borders. When she comes home to the isle, damp, furious, heartbroken from all that has befallen her, Morgause alone is waiting for her, troubled.
"Hello, squid," says Nimueh, quietly. "How's it been going?"
Morgause shrugs. "Been learning stuff," she says. "Not as much fun without you, though. The other priestesses don't mess up as much."
"And where are they? The priestesses?"
"Left," says Morgause. "That is, the king's men took Helen and some others, and the rest have all gone hiding. They're not very pleased with you at the moment." She pulls a face.
"And they didn't take you with them?" Nimueh shakes her head, confused.
"Well." Morgause looks awkward. "Like I said, it's more fun learning with you."
They meet in a deep, warm hug. Morgause is still skinny, but the angles of her body have become warmer in the absence, and her hair smells of clean soap. There's a sense of magic on the periphery of her skin now, the sort of innate magic that comes with having been constantly exposed to it from a young age - not like Gaius, who came to it ten years late and was never quite able to master it, for all his insipid dabbling. But then, she reflects, one needs to be fearless, and open, and brave - all these things Morgause is and will be - not like the cowards at court, who have killed Ygraine, and are now killing other innocents, the other priestesses. She buries her face in Morgause's shoulder for a few moments, then surfaces.
"Well, lesson number one," she says, "from the Nimueh School of Magic."
Morgause looks up at her, and offers a tentative smile.
"Uther Pendragon is a bastard."
--- PART TWO ---