Flashes of a Love Affair (Gwen/Morgana)

Jun 13, 2011 19:10

 


1

The first glimpse Gwen gets of Morgana is the one she treasures the most.

She had been grabbed from the kitchens, dragged up to the young noble woman’s rooms and shoved inside whilst Morgana’s old handmaid proclaimed that she had finally had enough. It wasn’t hard to see why.

Behind her tin bath, Morgana stood furiously, all coltish white legs and elbows sticking out at awkward angles. The water missing from the half-empty bath appeared to be divided equally between the floor and Morgana, sticking her hair to her face and making her shift cling.

“Do you not wish to bathe, my lady?” Gwen asked with as much confidence as a twelve year old can realistically muster in front of someone who could have them executed.

In answer, Morgana kicked the bath over with strength that didn’t seem possible, sending a wave of water surging across the floor. When it reached her feet, Gwen smiled. She was going to like this girl.

2

At the age of fourteen, Gwen decided that Morgana was about two thirds cream and one third blackberries. It sounded preposterous to say out loud but that is what Gwen imagined when she closed her eyes and pictured the gods of old crafting Morgana. There were probably more fitting things to believe Morgana had been sculpted from, but Gwen didn’t know of any. So blackberries and cream it was.

“I can’t stand that stupid boy!” Morgan would shout, as sour as blackberries at the privileges provided to Arthur.

But other times she would sigh and smile at Gwen, soft and sweet as cream.

In the two years since they had met, Morgana had begun to fill out her sharply angled body into soft curves. She seemed more at home, like she had wriggled around inside her skin and discovered how to wear it most comfortably. That too was absurd but there was something about Morgana that seemed to suggest she could do anything, and Gwen was in no mind to disagree.

3

The night that Morgana took Gwen up to the tower with two pillows and a blanket tucked under her arm was the night Gwen fell in love.

As they lay on their makeshift bed, Morgana made up names for all the stars, giving them lives and loves. She would giggle and put her head close to Gwen’s, taking her hand to point out the exact star she was referring to. The whole thing made it almost impossible for Gwen to breathe.

“And this one,” Morgana said in a low conspiratorial tone, tracing Gwen’s fingers across the sky, “is Enya. She loved someone who could never love her back. Her whole life was spent watching her love from the shadow afforded by standing in bright light.”

“That’s sad,” Gwen muttered, wondering when this game had taken a turn for the melancholy.

“Yes, it is,” Morgana agreed, rolling over and kissing Gwen on the lips.

4

They didn’t talk of the kiss after that.

It wasn’t until two years had passed and they were both eighteen that they did it again.

“I saw you,” Morgana bit accusingly the second Gwen entered the room.

Gwen was too surprised and confused to say anything. The snap of the door closing behind her made her jump.

“That knight was flirting with you in the courtyard. He gave you that flower,” Morgana continued, gesturing sharply to the blossom.

As if by magic, the flower shed its petals and fell to the floor. It stayed there for a second before bursting into flames that neither woman noticed. They were captivated with each other’s eyes, Morgana with the terror in Gwen’s and Gwen with the darkness in Morgana’s.

In the blink of an eye, Gwen was against the door, pinned by Morgana’s weight. They breathed heavily, not moving, eyes flickering over each other’s faces for a trace of a hint of what the other would do next.

“You are mine,” Morgana growled possessively, tightening her grip on Gwen.

“Yes, I am.” With a nod of her head, Gwen closed her eyes and gave herself over to Morgana, like it was what she had wanted all along.

In some ways, it was.

5

Two years cooled the heat of their encounters from the blazing fire of the very beginning to something all together more controllable. Though there were still moments when Gwen could no longer remember how to breathe, Morgana now knew how to recognise them and could breathe for her.

When Morgana kissed down her chest, Gwen’s world snapped into perfect clarity. Those moments were more real than anything else ever could be - the feel of Morgana’s tongue and the nip of her teeth. It was the way Morgana dragged her nails down Gwen’s side, leaving raised bumps in her wake. And the way she breathed words that Gwen couldn’t hear against her skin, like she was reciting scripture to a priest.

It was those moments that made Gwen feel powerful and important. They gave her the courage to do anything.

With Morgana in her bed, she could rule the world.

6

There were moments in the mornings when the softness returned to Morgana’s eyes. Moments when Gwen’s breath would catch and her heart would swell with hope that it would last.

She would place a gentle hand on her lady’s shoulder, whisper her name and Morgana’s eyelashes would flutter and open. Morgana would smile sleepily at her as she arched her back in a stretch and Gwen would pray for mercy.

For those few sleep-clouded seconds, she forgot that a mountain range had risen between them and, for a brief moment, they were just Morgana and Gwen again. But she remembered once the sand of dreams had fallen from her eyes and cold hard ice slid once again into her every muscle.

Tears would sting at Gwen’s eyes then, and she would have to make some excuse and flee the room before Morgana could see how weak she was. It was a battle of wills between them now and Gwen already knew she would lose. Whatever Morgana did to her - no matter how bitter it tasted or how fiercely it stung - Gwen would come back.

Like a moth to a flame.

She would come back.

7

The moment that Gwen almost gave up hope, was the one wherein Morgana was pressed hard against her back, holding a dagger to her throat. The keen metal sliced through her skin with every breath against it, sending jolts of pain to her clenched fists. She didn’t panic.

“You’re cutting me,” Gwen whispered calmly.

Morgana’s other hand released Gwen’s arm and fluttered up to her neck, coming away blood red. “God forgive me,” she cried and dropped the knife.

When Gwen turned shakily around, the only sign that Morgana had been there at all was the slowing swirl of leaves in the wind. Gwen smiled.

“I still believe in you,” she whispered, because Morgana could still hear her.

With a dull burn, the cut on her neck disappeared without a trace, like the fading heat of Morgana on her skin.

8

There was an entire battle raging around her but the only thing Gwen saw was Morgana lying broken in the wet grass. Blood bubbled up through her chest like a hot spring, soaking into her shirt. She was trembling but seemed to have accepted her fate and didn’t attempt to stem the flow of blood.

“Morgana...”

The sorceress’ glazed eyes fixed on Gwen’s face for a moment and she smiled. “I knew you would come,” she rasped.

“Of course I came,” Gwen whispered, falling to her knees by Morgana’s side, clasping her hand. “I love you,” she murmured kissing her. She didn’t much care if Morgana wanted her to or not, she had to, just one more time. “I love you. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Arthur was stood a little way to the side, watching uncomfortably, but Gwen didn’t give a damn. She had given so much up for her king and not a moment of it had been worth it.

In the end, Morgana had stepped into the path of the steel of one of her own warriors to keep it from Gwen. She had proved again the love that Gwen had never doubted. Arthur was filled with too much self-importance to ever even think of doing that. Yet to the whole of Albion, Morgana was the monster.

“I’m yours,” Gwen promised as Morgana took her last breath. “And I don’t regret a thing.”

fanfiction, fic, merlin

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