At My Most Beautiful (6/?) (Morgana/Morgause)
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
By the time Morgana woke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. For a moment she was confused, did not know where she was or what she was doing there. Looking around, she saw that above her, the sky was bright blue through the branches of evergreen trees, mottled with slowly rising smoke, the source of which was close. She rolled onto her side and saw the fire with a metal pot smoking above it. Only it wasn’t smoke, she realised, but steam from something cooking within. Between her and the fire, just off to the right, a knight was crouched over a wooden bowl, her golden hair falling in loose curls down her back. It was then that Morgana’s memories came back to her, making her smile. Stretching out her back, she threw off her furs and sat up, shook the sleep from her head and yawned. She had slept in far past the time she should have risen, that much was clear from not only the position of the sun but the heat of it beating down on her skin.
“Good morning,” Morgause greeted. “Or should I say afternoon?” She faced the fire still but there was playfulness in her voice.
“Is it really that late?” Morgana questioned, getting unsteadily to her feet and walking over to inspect the pot. There was porridge bubbling inside, thick from being left cooking for too long, but still good. She fetched the other bowl and used the ladle to spoon some of the viscous mixture into it. The smell of honey wafted up and filled her nostrils.
“No, not really,” Morgause smiled softly at her when Morgana joined her on the log, the bowl cradled on her lap. “Though it will soon be noon.”
“I apologise. You should have woken me earlier,” Morgana looked down at her breakfast, suddenly embarrassed. Had they really been close the night before? Had Morgause really held her in her arms and kissed her until she was breathless?
“Better that than you falling from your horse. Then we would lose more than half a day and God knows what else.” Morgause seemed to have noticed her nerves, for she put a comforting hand on Morgana’s knee. The gesture would have been too familiar if they hadn’t spent the night before without so much as a whisper separating their lips.
Morgana smiled and drifted closer to her champion, meeting in the middle for a kiss as sweet as the honey on Morgause’s tongue.
“Then it was not a dream,” Morgana breathed, close enough still to Morgause that their noses touched.
“If it was,” Morgause said, bringing a hand to stroke Morgana’s cheek, “then it was one that we shared.”
Morgana blushed and turned back to her porridge. “What is the plan for the day? We cannot make our planned camp location.”
“No,” Morgause agreed. “Though, Carnna is half a day’s ride from here. There we could find an inn and you could sleep in a bed for the night. You are not used to such continuous vigorous riding. The rest would do you good.”
Morgana’s eyes danced with promise as she nodded her agreement.
Morgause packed up the camp as Morgana ate her breakfast and they were back on the road before the sun could begin its decline to the west. It was a harder ride than Morgana was used to and the road was not well kept, but they did indeed reach the small village of Carnna before darkness fell. They had to pay the stables to keep the horses over night and Morgause gave the groom a couple extra silver coins for his trouble, biding him to rub and brush down the two mares and bathe the gelding. Beside the stables was a small inn, the likes of which Morgana had never entered before, never mind slept in. With Morgause though, she felt safe.
Whatever strange looks they gained on their way to the bar were quickly averted when the onlookers saw the golden dragon of Camelot emblazoned on Morgause’s cloak. Morgana hadn’t understood why she had donned the cloak that morning - it had been balmy - but quickly understood, a female knight would inspire trouble in the inn-goers but a knight of Camelot would keep them fixed to their seats.
“What rooms do you have available?” Morgause asked the landlady, a small and stout woman who was many years passed her prime.
“Only one. The most expensive,” the landlady said implausibly. The inn was far from heaving with customers.
“What of it?” Morgause enquired further.
“Five silver coins each. For that you get a bed, a bath and a warm fire. And dinner as well if you pay an extra coin.” There was a twinkling of greed in the woman’s eyes and Morgana wondered whether she was giving them a ‘special’ price.
“You can have seven between us and be happy with it,” Morgause said, not unkindly. “It is an honour to offer shelter to a knight of Camelot. The dinner, you will give us as a gesture of good will towards your King. Or would you like me to send word of your disloyalty back to our proud city?” She dropped the seven coins on the bar between them.
“Right you are,” the woman grumbled, snatching up the money before they could change their minds. “It’s the first door up the stairs. I’ll have one of the girls bring you up dinner once you’re settled in.”
Morgause tipped her head to the woman and hitched their bags onto her shoulder. One of the men on a nearby table - one of the many watching the exchange - moved to help, but with one sharp look from Morgause he fled back to his chair and became engrossed with the bottom of his tankard. “Make sure the girl knows how to knock.”
And with that she led the way up the stairs, Morgana following behind, trying to ignore the weight of every eye in the room at her back.
The room was small. If this was what passed for a ten coin room then Morgana feared for the kingdom’s economy. There was one bed, small and covered in coarse cotton sheets, a table with four chairs and a bath in front of the fire. All of the furniture was carved from the same soft wood and was splintering and unvarnished. It was certainly not what fitting for a Queen, but compared to the hard forest floor, it seemed grand.
Whilst they ate their dinner of salted pork and overcooked vegetables, the girl, who was younger than fifteen, brought hot water to fill the bath and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace. On Morgause’s instruction, she did not bring cold water to cool the bath.
“Let it cool naturally. It won’t be needed straight away,” Morgause had said and the girl, with a nod, left with their empty plates and a silver coin squirreled away in her pocket, away from the landlady’s reach.
“I would wager that they aren’t used to such kindness,” Morgana commented with a smile once they were alone.
“Who?”
“The stable boy and the fetching girl. You are far freer with your coins with the least appreciated of the staff than you are with those who expect it from you,” Morgana said, watching Morgause begin to shed her outer armour.
“Do you not approve?” Morgause asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I do, very much so,” Morgana smiled.
Morgause laughed. “I’m glad.” She was struggling to unbuckle the strap over her shoulder. Morgana rose to help her. “You don’t have to - ”
“Hush,” Morgana cut her off. Her fingers were nimbler than Morgause’s calloused digits and they made fast work of the remaining fastenings, lifting the heavy metal plates from her body. “I don’t know how you bear them all day.”
“They remind me of the weight of my responsibility to the people,” Morgause said, rolling her shoulders in a stretch now that they were free. “Sometimes it helps to have something physical to remind you of what you cannot see.” Her loose white shirt slipped as the relaxed from her stretch to half reveal a black mark on her left shoulder.
“Like this?” Morgana asked, moving the shirt down further so that she could trace the dark symbol with her fingertip. “What does it mean?”
“It is a sigil of the old religion,” Morgause said softly. Morgana’s breath caught. “Members of my family bear it to remember the debt we owe the gods for our deliverance in the Queen’s Valley.”
“The debt of the Wildes can never be paid,” Morgana murmured, remembering the words from her lessons as a child. The history of the Wilde family had been taught to her much in the same way that the history of the Romans, Persians and Greeks had been - great civilisation whose age was long gone. Yet a Wilde lived and breathed right there beneath Morgana’s fingertips, as much a part of the present as Camelot was.
“The old gods are dead and gone if you believe the wise men and the priests. We cannot repay if there is no one to repay to,” Morgause said, shivering slightly from Morgana’s barely-there touch.
“Then why this?” Morgana asked, covering the sigil with her palm.
“Tradition. Family. Honour.” They rolled off Morgause’s tongue like she had said them a thousand times before. “Those are the three promises that a knight lives by. I cannot forget the debt.” She turned her head and smiled. “Plus, it looks pretty.”
Morgana laughed and dropped a daring kiss to the symbol. “That it does.”
When she raised her head, Morgause was waiting for her, swallowing Morgana’s shakily exhaled breath in a soft kiss.
“I want this,” Morgana breathed as Morgause ran her hands down her arms and then up her sides, memorising her undulating silhouette.
“What has gone before can be forgotten. This, I could not forget,” Morgause said, holding Morgana’s gaze.
“I would never ask you to,” Morgana promised. “I couldn’t bear it if you did.”
Morgause took a step closer to Morgana. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She cupped her jaw, trying to get her to understand what she was saying.
“You could never hurt me.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Morgause vowed sternly. “I meant that I do not want you to feel the sting of guilt after. It can be a heavy burden.”
Morgana shook her head. “How could I feel guilt when I have no husband to betray, not in my heart.” Waves of tingles flowed over her body, one after the other, emitting Morgause’s warm hands on her skin. Ever since their first ride together in the Queen’s Valley, Morgana had been dreaming of this moment, closing her eyes at night and praying for it. “This is where my heart lies, with you. I love you. I want you.”
Morgause kissed her then, more passionately with every passing second. Morgana’s hands were on the curve of Morgause’s waist, pulling in her shirt the give her body back the shape that her clothes hid. She had dreamt of that body, wondering if the golden tone of Morgause’s skin would continue beneath her clothes or if it would paler and even softer. She had imagined the curves, how they would look and how they would feel skin to skin. Her hands wandered.
“Turn around.”
With a flash of heat low in her belly, Morgana turned.
“Please, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass just because of him,” she begged and pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. Before she could take a breath, Morgause was kissing her there, trailing down from her hairline, over the base of her neck and followed as her hands went to the fastenings of Morgana’s dress. Morgana’s hand moved back to tangle in Morgause’s hair, desperate to keep the knights lips on her skin, lighting a fire there. She gasped when Morgause’s cool hands slipped onto her back, into either side of the now open gown, arching into the touch. Her hands smoothed up and over Morgana’s shoulders, brushing off the dress which fell uninhibited to the floor, leaving her completely bare.
“No shift,” Morgause breathed, the dark tone to her voice sending shivers down Morgana’s spine.
Morgana swallowed and took a calming breath. “No shift.”
Dizzy with the amount of skin at her fingertips, Morgause took a step into Morgana, flush to her back and snaked her arms around to Morgana’s front.
She tutted into Morgana’s ear, smirking when Morgana gasped at her hot breath and arched back into her, allowing Morgause to get her first look at Morgana’s body over her shoulder. She wasn’t disappointed. Nowhere near.
“I was wrong when I said that you must be an angel,” she murmured against the skin of Morgana’s neck. “How could you be with a body this sinful?” From the catch of Morgana’s breath and the whimper that fell from her lips, she knew that she had said the right thing.
“Sinful,” Morgana repeated, breathy.
“The sin,” Morgause continued, her hands running up and over Morgana’s breasts, feeling them deliciously heavy in her palms, “would be not to worship it as was obviously intended.”
Morgana didn’t say anything else for quite some time. Her voice, she found, had been stolen.
“This,” Morgana said later, reclining in Morgause’s arms, the warm water of the bath lapping at the underside of her breasts, “is how I shall always bathe from now on.”
Morgause laughed richly by her ear. “I don’t really think Gwen would approve.”
“She wouldn’t be there to complain,” Morgana countered, capturing one of Morgause’s hands and bringing it to her mouth to kiss the deft fingers one by one. She sucked one into her mouth, making Morgause moan. “And besides, she thinks that you are good for me. It turns out that she is quite the rebel.”
Laughing again, Morgause laced the fingers of the hand Morgana was kissing with the fingers on the hand that held it. She kissed Morgana’s black hair and closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of sandalwood oil from the dark locks.
“I never want this night to end,” Morgana whispered.
“We have almost a month of it yet, if we are careful. Beyond that, moments may be stolen back in Camelot if Gwen helps.”
Morgana smiled, thinking of everything they had yet to do. “I never thought that lying with someone could be like this.”
“Like what?” Morgause enquired.
“Like love and... and this, how you made my body feel, are the same thing. Like you want to make me feel good as much as you want to feel that for yourself,” Morgana said uncertainly. She felt foolish and inexperienced where Morgause clearly was not.
“I do,” Morgause said simply and proved her point with her other hand. By the time they left the bath for the bed, half of the water had been spilt on the floor.
They slept tangled naked in each other’s limbs, the coarse sheet thrown by the side of the bed and the door locked and bolted. Morgana slept, as always, on her stomach, facing the door. Morgause’s arm was slung over her lower back. She lay on her side, awake. In the near darkness, she kept her gaze unwaveringly on Morgana, absurdly afraid that she would disappear if Morgause closed her eyes. It seemed to her like everything good in her life was taken from her.
Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her father had followed almost exactly a year later, leaving her alone with a house of servants and a sword that was too heavy for her to lift. When she fell in love at seventeen and the whole world seemed to fall into place in her head, she found out that women were often fickle and went to bed with whoever had the biggest pockets or the grandest title. By the time she was twenty one, the lesson had been reinforced thrice but by twenty six - the age she was now - she had learnt how to recognise love and honour in another. All of this, she felt, had been leading up to that moment, lying in bed with a slumbering, naked Morgana, waiting for it all to be taken away.
“How could anyone hurt you?” she whispered, watching Morgana’s pitch black hair shift over her brilliant white skin with every sleep-deep breath. “You are the loveliest creature in creation and I swear that I will spend every moment showing you that, my beautiful Queen.”
Out of interest, here is a map of their journey, edited from the official BBC's Merlin map:
Mortgage loans
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
By the time Morgana woke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. For a moment she was confused, did not know where she was or what she was doing there. Looking around, she saw that above her, the sky was bright blue through the branches of evergreen trees, mottled with slowly rising smoke, the source of which was close. She rolled onto her side and saw the fire with a metal pot smoking above it. Only it wasn’t smoke, she realised, but steam from something cooking within. Between her and the fire, just off to the right, a knight was crouched over a wooden bowl, her golden hair falling in loose curls down her back. It was then that Morgana’s memories came back to her, making her smile. Stretching out her back, she threw off her furs and sat up, shook the sleep from her head and yawned. She had slept in far past the time she should have risen, that much was clear from not only the position of the sun but the heat of it beating down on her skin.
“Good morning,” Morgause greeted. “Or should I say afternoon?” She faced the fire still but there was playfulness in her voice.
“Is it really that late?” Morgana questioned, getting unsteadily to her feet and walking over to inspect the pot. There was porridge bubbling inside, thick from being left cooking for too long, but still good. She fetched the other bowl and used the ladle to spoon some of the viscous mixture into it. The smell of honey wafted up and filled her nostrils.
“No, not really,” Morgause smiled softly at her when Morgana joined her on the log, the bowl cradled on her lap. “Though it will soon be noon.”
“I apologise. You should have woken me earlier,” Morgana looked down at her breakfast, suddenly embarrassed. Had they really been close the night before? Had Morgause really held her in her arms and kissed her until she was breathless?
“Better that than you falling from your horse. Then we would lose more than half a day and God knows what else.” Morgause seemed to have noticed her nerves, for she put a comforting hand on Morgana’s knee. The gesture would have been too familiar if they hadn’t spent the night before without so much as a whisper separating their lips.
Morgana smiled and drifted closer to her champion, meeting in the middle for a kiss as sweet as the honey on Morgause’s tongue.
“Then it was not a dream,” Morgana breathed, close enough still to Morgause that their noses touched.
“If it was,” Morgause said, bringing a hand to stroke Morgana’s cheek, “then it was one that we shared.”
Morgana blushed and turned back to her porridge. “What is the plan for the day? We cannot make our planned camp location.”
“No,” Morgause agreed. “Though, Carnna is half a day’s ride from here. There we could find an inn and you could sleep in a bed for the night. You are not used to such continuous vigorous riding. The rest would do you good.”
Morgana’s eyes danced with promise as she nodded her agreement.
Morgause packed up the camp as Morgana ate her breakfast and they were back on the road before the sun could begin its decline to the west. It was a harder ride than Morgana was used to and the road was not well kept, but they did indeed reach the small village of Carnna before darkness fell. They had to pay the stables to keep the horses over night and Morgause gave the groom a couple extra silver coins for his trouble, biding him to rub and brush down the two mares and bathe the gelding. Beside the stables was a small inn, the likes of which Morgana had never entered before, never mind slept in. With Morgause though, she felt safe.
Whatever strange looks they gained on their way to the bar were quickly averted when the onlookers saw the golden dragon of Camelot emblazoned on Morgause’s cloak. Morgana hadn’t understood why she had donned the cloak that morning - it had been balmy - but quickly understood, a female knight would inspire trouble in the inn-goers but a knight of Camelot would keep them fixed to their seats.
“What rooms do you have available?” Morgause asked the landlady, a small and stout woman who was many years passed her prime.
“Only one. The most expensive,” the landlady said implausibly. The inn was far from heaving with customers.
“What of it?” Morgause enquired further.
“Five silver coins each. For that you get a bed, a bath and a warm fire. And dinner as well if you pay an extra coin.” There was a twinkling of greed in the woman’s eyes and Morgana wondered whether she was giving them a ‘special’ price.
“You can have seven between us and be happy with it,” Morgause said, not unkindly. “It is an honour to offer shelter to a knight of Camelot. The dinner, you will give us as a gesture of good will towards your King. Or would you like me to send word of your disloyalty back to our proud city?” She dropped the seven coins on the bar between them.
“Right you are,” the woman grumbled, snatching up the money before they could change their minds. “It’s the first door up the stairs. I’ll have one of the girls bring you up dinner once you’re settled in.”
Morgause tipped her head to the woman and hitched their bags onto her shoulder. One of the men on a nearby table - one of the many watching the exchange - moved to help, but with one sharp look from Morgause he fled back to his chair and became engrossed with the bottom of his tankard. “Make sure the girl knows how to knock.”
And with that she led the way up the stairs, Morgana following behind, trying to ignore the weight of every eye in the room at her back.
The room was small. If this was what passed for a ten coin room then Morgana feared for the kingdom’s economy. There was one bed, small and covered in coarse cotton sheets, a table with four chairs and a bath in front of the fire. All of the furniture was carved from the same soft wood and was splintering and unvarnished. It was certainly not what fitting for a Queen, but compared to the hard forest floor, it seemed grand.
Whilst they ate their dinner of salted pork and overcooked vegetables, the girl, who was younger than fifteen, brought hot water to fill the bath and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace. On Morgause’s instruction, she did not bring cold water to cool the bath.
“Let it cool naturally. It won’t be needed straight away,” Morgause had said and the girl, with a nod, left with their empty plates and a silver coin squirreled away in her pocket, away from the landlady’s reach.
“I would wager that they aren’t used to such kindness,” Morgana commented with a smile once they were alone.
“Who?”
“The stable boy and the fetching girl. You are far freer with your coins with the least appreciated of the staff than you are with those who expect it from you,” Morgana said, watching Morgause begin to shed her outer armour.
“Do you not approve?” Morgause asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I do, very much so,” Morgana smiled.
Morgause laughed. “I’m glad.” She was struggling to unbuckle the strap over her shoulder. Morgana rose to help her. “You don’t have to - ”
“Hush,” Morgana cut her off. Her fingers were nimbler than Morgause’s calloused digits and they made fast work of the remaining fastenings, lifting the heavy metal plates from her body. “I don’t know how you bear them all day.”
“They remind me of the weight of my responsibility to the people,” Morgause said, rolling her shoulders in a stretch now that they were free. “Sometimes it helps to have something physical to remind you of what you cannot see.” Her loose white shirt slipped as the relaxed from her stretch to half reveal a black mark on her left shoulder.
“Like this?” Morgana asked, moving the shirt down further so that she could trace the dark symbol with her fingertip. “What does it mean?”
“It is a sigil of the old religion,” Morgause said softly. Morgana’s breath caught. “Members of my family bear it to remember the debt we owe the gods for our deliverance in the Queen’s Valley.”
“The debt of the Wildes can never be paid,” Morgana murmured, remembering the words from her lessons as a child. The history of the Wilde family had been taught to her much in the same way that the history of the Romans, Persians and Greeks had been - great civilisation whose age was long gone. Yet a Wilde lived and breathed right there beneath Morgana’s fingertips, as much a part of the present as Camelot was.
“The old gods are dead and gone if you believe the wise men and the priests. We cannot repay if there is no one to repay to,” Morgause said, shivering slightly from Morgana’s barely-there touch.
“Then why this?” Morgana asked, covering the sigil with her palm.
“Tradition. Family. Honour.” They rolled off Morgause’s tongue like she had said them a thousand times before. “Those are the three promises that a knight lives by. I cannot forget the debt.” She turned her head and smiled. “Plus, it looks pretty.”
Morgana laughed and dropped a daring kiss to the symbol. “That it does.”
When she raised her head, Morgause was waiting for her, swallowing Morgana’s shakily exhaled breath in a soft kiss.
“I want this,” Morgana breathed as Morgause ran her hands down her arms and then up her sides, memorising her undulating silhouette.
“What has gone before can be forgotten. This, I could not forget,” Morgause said, holding Morgana’s gaze.
“I would never ask you to,” Morgana promised. “I couldn’t bear it if you did.”
Morgause took a step closer to Morgana. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She cupped her jaw, trying to get her to understand what she was saying.
“You could never hurt me.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Morgause vowed sternly. “I meant that I do not want you to feel the sting of guilt after. It can be a heavy burden.”
Morgana shook her head. “How could I feel guilt when I have no husband to betray, not in my heart.” Waves of tingles flowed over her body, one after the other, emitting Morgause’s warm hands on her skin. Ever since their first ride together in the Queen’s Valley, Morgana had been dreaming of this moment, closing her eyes at night and praying for it. “This is where my heart lies, with you. I love you. I want you.”
Morgause kissed her then, more passionately with every passing second. Morgana’s hands were on the curve of Morgause’s waist, pulling in her shirt the give her body back the shape that her clothes hid. She had dreamt of that body, wondering if the golden tone of Morgause’s skin would continue beneath her clothes or if it would paler and even softer. She had imagined the curves, how they would look and how they would feel skin to skin. Her hands wandered.
“Turn around.”
With a flash of heat low in her belly, Morgana turned.
“Please, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass just because of him,” she begged and pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. Before she could take a breath, Morgause was kissing her there, trailing down from her hairline, over the base of her neck and followed as her hands went to the fastenings of Morgana’s dress. Morgana’s hand moved back to tangle in Morgause’s hair, desperate to keep the knights lips on her skin, lighting a fire there. She gasped when Morgause’s cool hands slipped onto her back, into either side of the now open gown, arching into the touch. Her hands smoothed up and over Morgana’s shoulders, brushing off the dress which fell uninhibited to the floor, leaving her completely bare.
“No shift,” Morgause breathed, the dark tone to her voice sending shivers down Morgana’s spine.
Morgana swallowed and took a calming breath. “No shift.”
Dizzy with the amount of skin at her fingertips, Morgause took a step into Morgana, flush to her back and snaked her arms around to Morgana’s front.
She tutted into Morgana’s ear, smirking when Morgana gasped at her hot breath and arched back into her, allowing Morgause to get her first look at Morgana’s body over her shoulder. She wasn’t disappointed. Nowhere near.
“I was wrong when I said that you must be an angel,” she murmured against the skin of Morgana’s neck. “How could you be with a body this sinful?” From the catch of Morgana’s breath and the whimper that fell from her lips, she knew that she had said the right thing.
“Sinful,” Morgana repeated, breathy.
“The sin,” Morgause continued, her hands running up and over Morgana’s breasts, feeling them deliciously heavy in her palms, “would be not to worship it as was obviously intended.”
Morgana didn’t say anything else for quite some time. Her voice, she found, had been stolen.
“This,” Morgana said later, reclining in Morgause’s arms, the warm water of the bath lapping at the underside of her breasts, “is how I shall always bathe from now on.”
Morgause laughed richly by her ear. “I don’t really think Gwen would approve.”
“She wouldn’t be there to complain,” Morgana countered, capturing one of Morgause’s hands and bringing it to her mouth to kiss the deft fingers one by one. She sucked one into her mouth, making Morgause moan. “And besides, she thinks that you are good for me. It turns out that she is quite the rebel.”
Laughing again, Morgause laced the fingers of the hand Morgana was kissing with the fingers on the hand that held it. She kissed Morgana’s black hair and closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of sandalwood oil from the dark locks.
“I never want this night to end,” Morgana whispered.
“We have almost a month of it yet, if we are careful. Beyond that, moments may be stolen back in Camelot if Gwen helps.”
Morgana smiled, thinking of everything they had yet to do. “I never thought that lying with someone could be like this.”
“Like what?” Morgause enquired.
“Like love and... and this, how you made my body feel, are the same thing. Like you want to make me feel good as much as you want to feel that for yourself,” Morgana said uncertainly. She felt foolish and inexperienced where Morgause clearly was not.
“I do,” Morgause said simply and proved her point with her other hand. By the time they left the bath for the bed, half of the water had been spilt on the floor.
They slept tangled naked in each other’s limbs, the coarse sheet thrown by the side of the bed and the door locked and bolted. Morgana slept, as always, on her stomach, facing the door. Morgause’s arm was slung over her lower back. She lay on her side, awake. In the near darkness, she kept her gaze unwaveringly on Morgana, absurdly afraid that she would disappear if Morgause closed her eyes. It seemed to her like everything good in her life was taken from her.
Her mother had died when she was fifteen and her father had followed almost exactly a year later, leaving her alone with a house of servants and a sword that was too heavy for her to lift. When she fell in love at seventeen and the whole world seemed to fall into place in her head, she found out that women were often fickle and went to bed with whoever had the biggest pockets or the grandest title. By the time she was twenty one, the lesson had been reinforced thrice but by twenty six - the age she was now - she had learnt how to recognise love and honour in another. All of this, she felt, had been leading up to that moment, lying in bed with a slumbering, naked Morgana, waiting for it all to be taken away.
“How could anyone hurt you?” she whispered, watching Morgana’s pitch black hair shift over her brilliant white skin with every sleep-deep breath. “You are the loveliest creature in creation and I swear that I will spend every moment showing you that, my beautiful Queen.”
Out of interest, here is a map of their journey, edited from the official BBC's Merlin map:
Mortgage loans