At My Most Beautiful (10/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: At My Most Beautiful (10/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3,300 for this part
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen. A beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Chapter Summary: The happy bubble Morgana and Morgause have been living in finally pops.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none">Chapter 1mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-font-family:
"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi"> | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 |
Morgana lay on cool, hard stone, her eyes unfocused on the forest canopy, her heart pounding in her chest as she came down from her high. Warm wet lips worshiped her riding-toned stomach, drifting over her flushed skin in a silent prayer. She felt like a goddess from one of the great and fallen Mediterranean civilisations, spread out on the forest floor beside a bubbling spring, her wet hair fanned about her head like a dark halo and her body unashamedly bare. Dapples of sunlight dropped down to meet her through gaps between leaves, dancing over her in a warm embrace and filling the air with a dreamlike glow. Soft sounds from Mother Nature greeted her ears, the calming sound of distant waves, the sweet melody of a pair of nightingales singing to one another, the smooth gasping breeze rustling through the trees and the fast coming sound of her own breaths. If ever there was a moment she wished to be frozen in forever, then that was it.
She thought of the forest that cradled them. It had stood unchanged for thousands of years, long before Camelot stood tall and even before the Wildes - like the golden knight tangled at her feet - had walked the land. It stood when the Romans invaded and before that, when iron and steel were yet be wielded by men and there were no kings nor emperors nor nobles. She fancied that God or the Gods, whomever really watched over them, had set it aside for them, to be their paradise and their heart, to live for them forever and keep their secret.
The kisses on her stomach began to trail higher, skirting over her ribcage and caressing the curve of her breast. Her breath hitched in her throat as those lips were followed by the tickling of Morgause’s curls, running languidly in a curtain over her body, across her tensing stomach and sensitive breasts, sending shocks of sensation to her core. As the progress of Morgause’s lips met her jaw, she turned and captured them, tasting the salty tang on her tongue and moaning from soaring want. They had made love in the spring, Morgana’s legs wound around Morgause’s waist and her head buried in her neck as Morgause moved slowly, then faster inside her. She tread water after she had fallen sated from Morgause’s arms and took the wet clothes from her lover’s body, replacing the cloth with her hands, questing until her knight had shuddered helplessly in her arms and shed the tension from her muscles. Exhausted, they had climbed ashore, lying out to dry on the stone ground. Morgana’s eyes had been drifting shut when Morgause bent her head to taste her in a way that Morgana had never dreamed of, bringing her to peak twice before she relented, bringing her lips up to kiss Morgana’s stomach.
“I love you,” Morgana murmured between slow kisses. Her heart fluttered from Morgause’s closeness, the press of her body against Morgana’s side, smooth and soft.
“I love you, always,” Morgause said with certainty. “Never doubt that.”
Shyness overtook Morgana, maker her blush down to her breasts, pink spreading like a drop of wine in a bowl of milk. She dropped her eyes and felt suddenly how naked she was. There were no bed sheets or furs to cover her now, she was utterly exposed.
“Are you blushing?” Morgause asked with a smile. She followed the flush down Morgana’s neck with her hand, trailing between her breasts and splaying out her fingers on her stomach. “Do I make you nervous?”
Morgana blushed deeper, colouring to the rose of her lips and nipples. “Your gaze makes me nervous.”
“It should. I want to do everything to you,” Morgause said unabashedly, skimming her hand higher to massage Morgana’s breast.
Morgana’s eyes fluttered closed and she arched into Morgause’s hand. There was something in the way that Morgause touched her that made her feel whole, even as it frightened her. She fantasised for a moment that Morgause was an invading warrior, that she had captured the city, slain Uther and taken Morgana as the spoils of war. Shaking, she reached out for Morgause, encouraging her to move atop her body, the weight of her banishing all of her fears.
The fest that night was a splendid affair. The hall had been decked out in banners of rich red and green, both trimmed in gold and lit by a border of candles in tiny lanterns that hung from the walls. From the ceiling hung bouquets of yellow and purple flowers which slowly shed petals to float down onto the guests like confetti, a blessing from above. The dais was raised three feet above the rest of the tables and was served by a trio of young Floriette girls who bowed low and flushed whenever Morgana looked at them. As Queen, Morgana sat on a carved wooden throne in the middle of the table, a gold crown on her head and the finest silver gown she owned hugging her body tightly. The Lady Eloise and Morgause, Knight of Camelot, sat to the left and right of her respectively, engaging her in conversation between visits from local nobles and even townsfolk to offer gifts to their Queen.
Lord Ash and his wife brought a velvet pocket of emeralds and rubies, the colours of House Le Fay and House Pendragon. Lady Maycroft, an old widow, brought her a silver rattle for the King’s heir, which had once belonged to one of her dead sons, all of whom had perished young in war. The baker brought her an elaborate basket made of bread and filled with little lemon and blackberry tarts, which Morgana promised to take back to her chambers and devour as soon as the feast was done, making the humble man smile bright and bow his head to her. Next came the miller, who brought her the purest, finest white flour from the day’s milling, promising that it was the best he had ever produced, inspired as he was by her presence. Several more nobles brought meaningless gifts and more poor craftsmen brought their finest work. The last gift came from a small flame haired girl. She walked carefully up the steps to the dais, clutching a brown paper parcel in her hands. As she could not see over the table, Morgause called the child to her and picked her up, holding her on her knee, an easy smile on her face.
“And who are you?” Morgana asked the little girl, her eyes sparkling and her smile dazzling.
“Phyre,” the girl said, her eyes wide with awe that she was talking to the Queen, “but it’s Sophire really.”
“Phyre, such a pretty name. How old are you Phyre?” Morgana asked, reaching out to touch the girl’s soft pink cheek.
“Four and a bit.”
The three women on the dais laughed, charmed by this little Phyre, who looked unsure of their laughter but held out her gift anyway. Morgana took the parcel and unwrapped the brown paper, lifting up a wide gold bangle with intricate carving and purple enamelled detail.
“Oh Phyre, it’s beautiful. I will treasure it.” She slipped the bangle over her hand and reached out to take the girl from Morgause, kissing both of Phyre’s cheeks and her button nose as she giggled. The child was so small that when she stood on Morgana’s knee, she only just came level with the Queen. “Where are your parents?”
Phyre pointed into the crowd.
Her parents stood and bowed. Morgana gestured for them to come up onto the dais.
“Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing as his wife curtseyed.
“You have a wonderful daughter. You must be very proud of her,” Morgana said kindly.
“We are, Your Majesty. Very much so.”
“What is your profession?” Morgana asked him curiously.
“I am a blacksmith, Your Majesty,” he answered, not daring to look up at her, keeping his head bowed. “And my wife makes jewellery.”
“She is truly gifted,” Morgana said. “I must commission a piece before I return home.” She dropped the girl to the floor and let her run to her mother.
“What do you desire?” the woman asked, her child on her hip.
Morgana thought for a moment. “I have two items in mind. The first is long chain with an emerald pendant set in a silver cage that will hang hidden beneath clothing.” She reached into the velvet purse on the table, pulled out the biggest green stone and held it out in her milk palm for the jeweller to take. “I would also like something rather special. I was thinking of a gold necklace of sorts, one that lies across the shoulders and from the clavicle to low on the breast, fine in detail, not solid. Can you do that?”
The woman nodded with fervour. “Yes, Your Majesty. It will be my finest work.”
Morgana smiled Queenly, “Good. I will send my guard and champion, this fair knight of a Camelot, to pay you on the morn. Enjoy the rest of the feast.”
“Are you sure that is wise, You Majesty?” Morgause asked, the formality sounding strange from lips that has spent the day pressed against her skin.
“Yes,” Morgana said and that was the matter closed.
When all the gusts had left, Morgana bid Morgause to return to the tower, leaving her alone with her aunt for a few minutes. There were plenty of guards to escort her to her chambers, she reasoned, and although Morgause looked reluctant, she did as she was told.
“Is everything alright? Why did you send her away?” Eloise asked, concern etched into her aging face. They were alone in the hall, making it seem much bigger than it had when it had been filled with people.
“When Morgause is out visiting the jeweller tomorrow, I wish to see the physician,” Morgana said calmly. “Have him sent to my chambers when she leaves.”
“My dear, are you ill?” Eloise asked, laying her palm across Morgana’s forehead.
“I have been feeling a little unwell is all. I do not want to worry her. She would only fuss and plead with me to stay locked in my chambers. I do not wish to waste a moment here in Mermering.”
Morgana could see in Eloise’s eyes that she had seen through the lie, but as before, her aunt just nodded. “Of course.”
When Morgana entered her chambers, Morgause was dressed down to her breeches and undershirt, putting her freshly polished boots by the open balcony to dry. Her hair lung loose over her shoulders, one of them bare from the shifting of the too-big shirt she wore. There was a smudge of black on her cheek from the careless wipe of her hand, probably moving her hair from her eyes so that she could work. Morgana felt a rush of affection for her and her heart stung from her deception, even though it was necessary. She undressed herself but put on no night dress, letting Morgause cover her white skin with black blemishes. Dark handprints coloured her hips and breasts but she wouldn’t let Morgause wash them off, preferring instead to sleep with Morgause’s marks left on her, plain to see. She wished she could go back to her husband bearing them, showing him exactly how her golden knight loved her and how she submitted to her love entirely and frequently.
Instead, she bathed herself clean whilst Morgause dressed to deliver payment to the jeweller the next morning. The workshop, she had discovered from a servant, was at the far end of town, a half hour’s walk from the Keep, probably longer if the streets were busy as they were sure to be. She left without breakfast, a lingering kiss from her bathing Queen more than enough to satisfy her, leaving Morgana alone to await the physician.
In place of dressing for the day, she slipped on a loose underdress and sat nervously on the edge of her bed. Only three people had ever seen her in such a state of undress before: Uther, who would tear the garment from her body and bed her: Gwen, who would chatter with her as her careful hands prepared Morgana for whatever lay ahead; and Morgause, who would kiss her and drop to take one of Morgana’s breasts into her mouth through the fabric, whispering beautiful words. The last time she had seen a physician, it had been for a cold that had been annoying Uther with its incessant sneezing. He had not examined her at all, just given her an oil to rub on her throat and draft to drink with hot lemon water. Now though, she knew the case would be different.
When the physician - an oily old man with wrinkly hands - arrived, he sat himself on the chair she had pulled out for him and began to question her.
“My lady tells me that you have called for me,” he began.
“Yes, sir.” He did not offer his name and she did not ask for it.
“You have been feeling ill?”
“Sickness mostly but I also find it hard to eat and at night I am restless. I’m sure it is nothing. Probably I am unsettled from my journey,” Morgana said, quickly regretting asking for the physician.
“Hmmm.” The physician got to his feet and hobbled closer to her. “Lie down on the bed.”
Nervously, she did as he asked, lying flat on her back where Morgause had slept the two nights before. The sheets smelt faintly of her, giving Morgana comfort as the physician prodded at her abdomen through her underdress. After a long while, finding no tenderness, he pulled back his hands and gestured for her to sit up.
“How long has it been since you took your husband’s seed?” He asked abruptly.
Morgana blushed profusely and dropped her head, her skin crawling. “Ten days.”
“And before that?”
“Most every day,” Morgana said quietly. She knew why he was asking and her stomach fluttered nervously.
He nodded. “Then I would say that you are with child, Your Majesty. A little over two months gone. You will bear a babe in the depths of winter.”
Duel feelings fought for dominance inside her, fear and relief. With a child inside her, Uther’s attentions would be lessened and even, perhaps, stopped all together. He would want more heirs, even if it was a boy, but whilst the babe was in her belly or at her breast then he could not get one on her. As much as the child would be his, it would also be hers. It would have just as much of her blood as it would of his and she would love it boundlessly for that. The love she already felt for the child bolstered the relief, but it could not win out over her fear. Her mother had died in childbirth, as could she. But before even that, the babe could be lost, especially with such a long journey back to Camelot. Mostly, what she feared was Morgause’s reaction. She tried so hard to assure her brave champion that she was hers, despite her wedded vows, but how could she still persuade her when a piece of Uther grew inside her? The only fits of jealousy that Morgause had shown were silent cold fronts the moment an heir was mentioned. But surely she would not cast Morgana aside? She said that she loved her, that she would always love her. Would that be enough?
She resolved to tell Morgause right away, whilst they sat to eat breakfast on her return. She greeted Morgause warmly, kissing her deeply and, perhaps, a little desperately. The food that had been set out was plain enough that Morgana could stomach it, so for a while, they sat and ate and talked of unimportant things. Soon though, the anticipation could not be contained any longer and Morgana began to steer to conversation towards her condition.
“Were there any problems at the jewellers?” she asked, washing down a bite of toasted bread with cold spring water.
“None. The family’s name is Smith, not surprisingly, and the woman has a workbench in the house behind the smithy. She promises to have both pieces ready for the end of the week, long before we are to return to Camelot. From what else I’ve seen of her wares, you should be pleased with her work,” Morgause said pleasantly. She had a fondness for the people that Morgana shared. “What of you? Did you enjoy the rest of you bath? I’m beginning to think you are some sea creature in disguise, so much do you love the water.” She smiled a teasing smile that fell when Morgana did not return it.
“I called for the physician whilst you were gone,” Morgana said, cold slipping over her body like a suit of icy mail. “It seems that I am with child. Two months along.” Though her heart was pounding and she longed to drop Morgause’s gaze, she would not. She held her eyes and waited for a reaction.
The warmth in Morgause’s mien, softness of her expression and the hand she rested on Morgause’s knee all went away. “Congratulations,” she said, detached.
“Thank you.” Morgana didn’t know what else to say. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Finally, Morgana said, “This changes nothing between us. My heart is still yours.”
“But your body, as always, is his. All this time, I thought it was just you and me. I’ve lain with you again and again, thinking that I was the closest person to you at that moment - how could I not be? I was inside you - but I wasn’t, he was. He has been in you all along, growing bigger every day,” Morgause said, standing from the table and moving to where she had left her shoes the night before, the mid morning breeze catching her golden curls and playing with them.
“Morgause, please! It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know about the babe and even if I had, it wouldn’t have stopped how I feel for you or my decision to be with you.” She tried to follow Morgause, putting a hand on her shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. “My love, please. Do not let him ruin what we have. I do not intend for this to change a thing, even when we return to Camelot. We will find a way.”
“I can’t,” Morgause said, something like regret in her voice, “not now that-” She gestured to Morgana’s stomach, the beautiful plane of white silky skin that she loved so much. She shook her head.
Morgana grabbed her hand, putting it on her stomach. “See, you can’t even feel it.”
“But I know it’s there,” Morgause said shortly, yanking her hand away. “That thing is like some cruel joke that Uther is playing us. He fails to get you pregnant for months and the moment we meet... I can’t do this Morgana. I just - I can’t!”
“You knew this would happen!” Morgana shouted. “It was inevitable. Why start this if you were just going to run the moment things got difficult?”
“Maybe I was in denial!” Morgause snapped. “Maybe I thought you couldn’t. Uther’s got enough bastards running around to staff the castle and you’ve been married for two years. Everyone is saying it!”
Morgana jerked back from her as if burnt. She would never have believed that Morgause would say something so cruel. Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart broke clean in two.
Eyes ablaze, Morgause turned and walked away, the heavy wooden doors banging loudly behind her.
Left alone, Morgana fell to the floor and wept.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3,300 for this part
Series Summary: In a world where things were ever so slightly different, Camelot had a young and beautiful Queen. A beautiful Queen, who was married to a cold and aging King. AU
Chapter Summary: The happy bubble Morgana and Morgause have been living in finally pops.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none">Chapter 1mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-font-family:
"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi"> | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 |
Morgana lay on cool, hard stone, her eyes unfocused on the forest canopy, her heart pounding in her chest as she came down from her high. Warm wet lips worshiped her riding-toned stomach, drifting over her flushed skin in a silent prayer. She felt like a goddess from one of the great and fallen Mediterranean civilisations, spread out on the forest floor beside a bubbling spring, her wet hair fanned about her head like a dark halo and her body unashamedly bare. Dapples of sunlight dropped down to meet her through gaps between leaves, dancing over her in a warm embrace and filling the air with a dreamlike glow. Soft sounds from Mother Nature greeted her ears, the calming sound of distant waves, the sweet melody of a pair of nightingales singing to one another, the smooth gasping breeze rustling through the trees and the fast coming sound of her own breaths. If ever there was a moment she wished to be frozen in forever, then that was it.
She thought of the forest that cradled them. It had stood unchanged for thousands of years, long before Camelot stood tall and even before the Wildes - like the golden knight tangled at her feet - had walked the land. It stood when the Romans invaded and before that, when iron and steel were yet be wielded by men and there were no kings nor emperors nor nobles. She fancied that God or the Gods, whomever really watched over them, had set it aside for them, to be their paradise and their heart, to live for them forever and keep their secret.
The kisses on her stomach began to trail higher, skirting over her ribcage and caressing the curve of her breast. Her breath hitched in her throat as those lips were followed by the tickling of Morgause’s curls, running languidly in a curtain over her body, across her tensing stomach and sensitive breasts, sending shocks of sensation to her core. As the progress of Morgause’s lips met her jaw, she turned and captured them, tasting the salty tang on her tongue and moaning from soaring want. They had made love in the spring, Morgana’s legs wound around Morgause’s waist and her head buried in her neck as Morgause moved slowly, then faster inside her. She tread water after she had fallen sated from Morgause’s arms and took the wet clothes from her lover’s body, replacing the cloth with her hands, questing until her knight had shuddered helplessly in her arms and shed the tension from her muscles. Exhausted, they had climbed ashore, lying out to dry on the stone ground. Morgana’s eyes had been drifting shut when Morgause bent her head to taste her in a way that Morgana had never dreamed of, bringing her to peak twice before she relented, bringing her lips up to kiss Morgana’s stomach.
“I love you,” Morgana murmured between slow kisses. Her heart fluttered from Morgause’s closeness, the press of her body against Morgana’s side, smooth and soft.
“I love you, always,” Morgause said with certainty. “Never doubt that.”
Shyness overtook Morgana, maker her blush down to her breasts, pink spreading like a drop of wine in a bowl of milk. She dropped her eyes and felt suddenly how naked she was. There were no bed sheets or furs to cover her now, she was utterly exposed.
“Are you blushing?” Morgause asked with a smile. She followed the flush down Morgana’s neck with her hand, trailing between her breasts and splaying out her fingers on her stomach. “Do I make you nervous?”
Morgana blushed deeper, colouring to the rose of her lips and nipples. “Your gaze makes me nervous.”
“It should. I want to do everything to you,” Morgause said unabashedly, skimming her hand higher to massage Morgana’s breast.
Morgana’s eyes fluttered closed and she arched into Morgause’s hand. There was something in the way that Morgause touched her that made her feel whole, even as it frightened her. She fantasised for a moment that Morgause was an invading warrior, that she had captured the city, slain Uther and taken Morgana as the spoils of war. Shaking, she reached out for Morgause, encouraging her to move atop her body, the weight of her banishing all of her fears.
The fest that night was a splendid affair. The hall had been decked out in banners of rich red and green, both trimmed in gold and lit by a border of candles in tiny lanterns that hung from the walls. From the ceiling hung bouquets of yellow and purple flowers which slowly shed petals to float down onto the guests like confetti, a blessing from above. The dais was raised three feet above the rest of the tables and was served by a trio of young Floriette girls who bowed low and flushed whenever Morgana looked at them. As Queen, Morgana sat on a carved wooden throne in the middle of the table, a gold crown on her head and the finest silver gown she owned hugging her body tightly. The Lady Eloise and Morgause, Knight of Camelot, sat to the left and right of her respectively, engaging her in conversation between visits from local nobles and even townsfolk to offer gifts to their Queen.
Lord Ash and his wife brought a velvet pocket of emeralds and rubies, the colours of House Le Fay and House Pendragon. Lady Maycroft, an old widow, brought her a silver rattle for the King’s heir, which had once belonged to one of her dead sons, all of whom had perished young in war. The baker brought her an elaborate basket made of bread and filled with little lemon and blackberry tarts, which Morgana promised to take back to her chambers and devour as soon as the feast was done, making the humble man smile bright and bow his head to her. Next came the miller, who brought her the purest, finest white flour from the day’s milling, promising that it was the best he had ever produced, inspired as he was by her presence. Several more nobles brought meaningless gifts and more poor craftsmen brought their finest work. The last gift came from a small flame haired girl. She walked carefully up the steps to the dais, clutching a brown paper parcel in her hands. As she could not see over the table, Morgause called the child to her and picked her up, holding her on her knee, an easy smile on her face.
“And who are you?” Morgana asked the little girl, her eyes sparkling and her smile dazzling.
“Phyre,” the girl said, her eyes wide with awe that she was talking to the Queen, “but it’s Sophire really.”
“Phyre, such a pretty name. How old are you Phyre?” Morgana asked, reaching out to touch the girl’s soft pink cheek.
“Four and a bit.”
The three women on the dais laughed, charmed by this little Phyre, who looked unsure of their laughter but held out her gift anyway. Morgana took the parcel and unwrapped the brown paper, lifting up a wide gold bangle with intricate carving and purple enamelled detail.
“Oh Phyre, it’s beautiful. I will treasure it.” She slipped the bangle over her hand and reached out to take the girl from Morgause, kissing both of Phyre’s cheeks and her button nose as she giggled. The child was so small that when she stood on Morgana’s knee, she only just came level with the Queen. “Where are your parents?”
Phyre pointed into the crowd.
Her parents stood and bowed. Morgana gestured for them to come up onto the dais.
“Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing as his wife curtseyed.
“You have a wonderful daughter. You must be very proud of her,” Morgana said kindly.
“We are, Your Majesty. Very much so.”
“What is your profession?” Morgana asked him curiously.
“I am a blacksmith, Your Majesty,” he answered, not daring to look up at her, keeping his head bowed. “And my wife makes jewellery.”
“She is truly gifted,” Morgana said. “I must commission a piece before I return home.” She dropped the girl to the floor and let her run to her mother.
“What do you desire?” the woman asked, her child on her hip.
Morgana thought for a moment. “I have two items in mind. The first is long chain with an emerald pendant set in a silver cage that will hang hidden beneath clothing.” She reached into the velvet purse on the table, pulled out the biggest green stone and held it out in her milk palm for the jeweller to take. “I would also like something rather special. I was thinking of a gold necklace of sorts, one that lies across the shoulders and from the clavicle to low on the breast, fine in detail, not solid. Can you do that?”
The woman nodded with fervour. “Yes, Your Majesty. It will be my finest work.”
Morgana smiled Queenly, “Good. I will send my guard and champion, this fair knight of a Camelot, to pay you on the morn. Enjoy the rest of the feast.”
“Are you sure that is wise, You Majesty?” Morgause asked, the formality sounding strange from lips that has spent the day pressed against her skin.
“Yes,” Morgana said and that was the matter closed.
When all the gusts had left, Morgana bid Morgause to return to the tower, leaving her alone with her aunt for a few minutes. There were plenty of guards to escort her to her chambers, she reasoned, and although Morgause looked reluctant, she did as she was told.
“Is everything alright? Why did you send her away?” Eloise asked, concern etched into her aging face. They were alone in the hall, making it seem much bigger than it had when it had been filled with people.
“When Morgause is out visiting the jeweller tomorrow, I wish to see the physician,” Morgana said calmly. “Have him sent to my chambers when she leaves.”
“My dear, are you ill?” Eloise asked, laying her palm across Morgana’s forehead.
“I have been feeling a little unwell is all. I do not want to worry her. She would only fuss and plead with me to stay locked in my chambers. I do not wish to waste a moment here in Mermering.”
Morgana could see in Eloise’s eyes that she had seen through the lie, but as before, her aunt just nodded. “Of course.”
When Morgana entered her chambers, Morgause was dressed down to her breeches and undershirt, putting her freshly polished boots by the open balcony to dry. Her hair lung loose over her shoulders, one of them bare from the shifting of the too-big shirt she wore. There was a smudge of black on her cheek from the careless wipe of her hand, probably moving her hair from her eyes so that she could work. Morgana felt a rush of affection for her and her heart stung from her deception, even though it was necessary. She undressed herself but put on no night dress, letting Morgause cover her white skin with black blemishes. Dark handprints coloured her hips and breasts but she wouldn’t let Morgause wash them off, preferring instead to sleep with Morgause’s marks left on her, plain to see. She wished she could go back to her husband bearing them, showing him exactly how her golden knight loved her and how she submitted to her love entirely and frequently.
Instead, she bathed herself clean whilst Morgause dressed to deliver payment to the jeweller the next morning. The workshop, she had discovered from a servant, was at the far end of town, a half hour’s walk from the Keep, probably longer if the streets were busy as they were sure to be. She left without breakfast, a lingering kiss from her bathing Queen more than enough to satisfy her, leaving Morgana alone to await the physician.
In place of dressing for the day, she slipped on a loose underdress and sat nervously on the edge of her bed. Only three people had ever seen her in such a state of undress before: Uther, who would tear the garment from her body and bed her: Gwen, who would chatter with her as her careful hands prepared Morgana for whatever lay ahead; and Morgause, who would kiss her and drop to take one of Morgana’s breasts into her mouth through the fabric, whispering beautiful words. The last time she had seen a physician, it had been for a cold that had been annoying Uther with its incessant sneezing. He had not examined her at all, just given her an oil to rub on her throat and draft to drink with hot lemon water. Now though, she knew the case would be different.
When the physician - an oily old man with wrinkly hands - arrived, he sat himself on the chair she had pulled out for him and began to question her.
“My lady tells me that you have called for me,” he began.
“Yes, sir.” He did not offer his name and she did not ask for it.
“You have been feeling ill?”
“Sickness mostly but I also find it hard to eat and at night I am restless. I’m sure it is nothing. Probably I am unsettled from my journey,” Morgana said, quickly regretting asking for the physician.
“Hmmm.” The physician got to his feet and hobbled closer to her. “Lie down on the bed.”
Nervously, she did as he asked, lying flat on her back where Morgause had slept the two nights before. The sheets smelt faintly of her, giving Morgana comfort as the physician prodded at her abdomen through her underdress. After a long while, finding no tenderness, he pulled back his hands and gestured for her to sit up.
“How long has it been since you took your husband’s seed?” He asked abruptly.
Morgana blushed profusely and dropped her head, her skin crawling. “Ten days.”
“And before that?”
“Most every day,” Morgana said quietly. She knew why he was asking and her stomach fluttered nervously.
He nodded. “Then I would say that you are with child, Your Majesty. A little over two months gone. You will bear a babe in the depths of winter.”
Duel feelings fought for dominance inside her, fear and relief. With a child inside her, Uther’s attentions would be lessened and even, perhaps, stopped all together. He would want more heirs, even if it was a boy, but whilst the babe was in her belly or at her breast then he could not get one on her. As much as the child would be his, it would also be hers. It would have just as much of her blood as it would of his and she would love it boundlessly for that. The love she already felt for the child bolstered the relief, but it could not win out over her fear. Her mother had died in childbirth, as could she. But before even that, the babe could be lost, especially with such a long journey back to Camelot. Mostly, what she feared was Morgause’s reaction. She tried so hard to assure her brave champion that she was hers, despite her wedded vows, but how could she still persuade her when a piece of Uther grew inside her? The only fits of jealousy that Morgause had shown were silent cold fronts the moment an heir was mentioned. But surely she would not cast Morgana aside? She said that she loved her, that she would always love her. Would that be enough?
She resolved to tell Morgause right away, whilst they sat to eat breakfast on her return. She greeted Morgause warmly, kissing her deeply and, perhaps, a little desperately. The food that had been set out was plain enough that Morgana could stomach it, so for a while, they sat and ate and talked of unimportant things. Soon though, the anticipation could not be contained any longer and Morgana began to steer to conversation towards her condition.
“Were there any problems at the jewellers?” she asked, washing down a bite of toasted bread with cold spring water.
“None. The family’s name is Smith, not surprisingly, and the woman has a workbench in the house behind the smithy. She promises to have both pieces ready for the end of the week, long before we are to return to Camelot. From what else I’ve seen of her wares, you should be pleased with her work,” Morgause said pleasantly. She had a fondness for the people that Morgana shared. “What of you? Did you enjoy the rest of you bath? I’m beginning to think you are some sea creature in disguise, so much do you love the water.” She smiled a teasing smile that fell when Morgana did not return it.
“I called for the physician whilst you were gone,” Morgana said, cold slipping over her body like a suit of icy mail. “It seems that I am with child. Two months along.” Though her heart was pounding and she longed to drop Morgause’s gaze, she would not. She held her eyes and waited for a reaction.
The warmth in Morgause’s mien, softness of her expression and the hand she rested on Morgause’s knee all went away. “Congratulations,” she said, detached.
“Thank you.” Morgana didn’t know what else to say. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Finally, Morgana said, “This changes nothing between us. My heart is still yours.”
“But your body, as always, is his. All this time, I thought it was just you and me. I’ve lain with you again and again, thinking that I was the closest person to you at that moment - how could I not be? I was inside you - but I wasn’t, he was. He has been in you all along, growing bigger every day,” Morgause said, standing from the table and moving to where she had left her shoes the night before, the mid morning breeze catching her golden curls and playing with them.
“Morgause, please! It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know about the babe and even if I had, it wouldn’t have stopped how I feel for you or my decision to be with you.” She tried to follow Morgause, putting a hand on her shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. “My love, please. Do not let him ruin what we have. I do not intend for this to change a thing, even when we return to Camelot. We will find a way.”
“I can’t,” Morgause said, something like regret in her voice, “not now that-” She gestured to Morgana’s stomach, the beautiful plane of white silky skin that she loved so much. She shook her head.
Morgana grabbed her hand, putting it on her stomach. “See, you can’t even feel it.”
“But I know it’s there,” Morgause said shortly, yanking her hand away. “That thing is like some cruel joke that Uther is playing us. He fails to get you pregnant for months and the moment we meet... I can’t do this Morgana. I just - I can’t!”
“You knew this would happen!” Morgana shouted. “It was inevitable. Why start this if you were just going to run the moment things got difficult?”
“Maybe I was in denial!” Morgause snapped. “Maybe I thought you couldn’t. Uther’s got enough bastards running around to staff the castle and you’ve been married for two years. Everyone is saying it!”
Morgana jerked back from her as if burnt. She would never have believed that Morgause would say something so cruel. Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart broke clean in two.
Eyes ablaze, Morgause turned and walked away, the heavy wooden doors banging loudly behind her.
Left alone, Morgana fell to the floor and wept.