At My Most Beautiful (12/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: At My Most Beautiful (12/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,500 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: Morgana and Morgause return to the island.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 |
This time, they had taken the boat around to the far side of the island, battling the ocean currents to land upon a grey pebbly shore. As they came in to land, Morgause couldn't help but be disappointed. She could not see how any artist would want to paint it or any bard dream it up. But as she watched Morgana pick her way carefully across the loose pebbles, the wind whipping her loose shirt to show the silhouette of her left side, she saw the beauty in the place. It was bleak sort of beauty, to be sure, but that made it all the more precious. What had at first seemed uniform grey below her feet, turned out to be made up of thousands of different shades from white to black. Pebbles the size of her fist laid buried amidst ones no bigger than a babe's button nose. They gave way beneath her as she walked on them, rolling back to the sea that had smoothed them with its watery caress.
Lining the monochrome beach stood austere trees - white, cracked wood contorted into strange shapes, long skeletal fingers reaching out for passing vessels. They would be different in winter - Morgana promised her, twining their fingers together - when they would sprout bluish green leaves and delicate red flowers for the solstice. She called them the crown of winter, and declared them to be the only ones of their kind in the known world. Morgause believed her. What did she knew of the world beyond Camelot?
Half way up the beach, Morgana stopped, dropped Morgause's hand and fell into a crouch, searching through the pebbles. The one she held in her hand when she rose looked no different to Morgause than the others, but with a flick of her wrist, Morgana sent it soaring into the calm surf. Under her power it leapt five times in and out of the water, before finally disappearing beneath the waves of the choppier water further out. Morgana laughed at Morgause's puzzled expression and dropped down to find another stone. When she laid it in Morgause's palm, it became obvious how it was different. It was almost entirely flat.
Without a word Morgana moved behind Morgause, pressing close to her back. "I'll teach you."
"I never did finish teaching you to wield a sword," Morgause murmured, her pulse quickening.
"You have taught me more than I could have ever imagined. Let me teach you something," Morgana whispered, her lips brushing against Morgause's ear, her breath hot. Morgause shivered. "Hold it like this," she arranged Morgause's fingers around the pebble, "and pull back your arm as if to shoot an arrow." She moved both her hands to Morgause's hips. "Now turn the top of your body until its parallel to the sea." They moved together. "When you throw, you need to flick from your wrist to make it spin but still stay flat, like that sharpened disk that knights sometimes throw."
"Knights don't use those. There is not honour in them," Morgause said as Morgana's arms wrapped around her waist. She noticed then, more than ever, the difference in their heights. If she leant back her head, she would be able to rest it on Morgana's shoulder, safe in her embrace as if it were Morgana who was the knight. Without her armour or mail, no one would be able to tell.
"You have the most honour of any knight I have ever met. And I have had the pleasure of meeting a good many knights," Morgana said, her innocent heart meaning every word.
Morgause laughed bitterly. "I have the least. I should not even call myself a knight. I'm a disgrace to the brotherhood."
"Me?" Morgana guessed rightly.
"But if it is dishonourable to love you, then I am proudly dishonourable," Morgause said, closing her eyes and picturing Morgana's windkissed face. She let herself be turned around.
"Kneel," Morgana commanded.
Morgause fell to her knees without a second's thought, bowing her head.
When Morgana spoke, it was above the wind, strong clear, as if they were in a silent night. "I am your Queen. When you ride out to battle it is in my name. When fight in a tournament it is in my name. When you unsheathe your sword it is in my name. When you take a breath it is in my name. Whatever you do, wherever you go, you do so in my name. You say that a Queen is powerful. You say that a Queen is no less than her King. If that is true, then I tell you now that you are mine, not his," she proclaimed fiercely. "You are my knight and I love you. How can loving me back be dishonourable? It can't. It isn't." She brought her hand to Morgause's chin and raised it. "What could be better for Camelot than giving her Queen the strength to carry on? Love me, protect me and honour me." She held out her hand. Morgause held it gently and kissed it reverently. "And never say that you are less than a knight," Morgana begged, cupping her cheek, "because you are my knight, the best that ever was."
She brought Morgause to her feet and kissed her with all the strength of a Queen, the wind howling a chorus about them.
~~~
"It feels like the edge of the world," Morgause mused, her voice soft with wonder.
Turning from the sea, Morgana gazed at her fondly. The wind had dropped as the late afternoon set in but her hair still moved in the breeze, delicate gold strands blowing back from her temples, her curls shifting in the wind. Its previous bite had left her cheeks pink and the corners of her dreamy eyes damp from watering. At that moment, she didn't look like a knight. She looked like a Queen in her own right, a Wilde Queen. Or perhaps a priestess of the Old Religion. Morgana wondered if she was descended from any. If the stories she had been told about the Wildes were true, then she almost definitely was, despite the fact that the Wilde's had bent the knee at the start of Uther's reign. Morgana's mother's family, the Fearainn's had worshipped the many gods of the Old Religion long after Christianity had come to the isle, but that was generations ago and she hadn't had her mother long enough to ask about it.
"On a clear day you can just about make out the land I was born in," Morgana said wistfully, staring back out into oblivion where grey sea met misty grey sky. She turned away again, preferring Morgause's sun.
"I would love to go there one day," Morgause said, smiling a little as she watched the waves. "What was it like?"
Morgana smiled too. Sometimes she couldn't quite believe how beautiful Morgause was. "It's about the size of Camelot, Mercia and the long reaching Northern Lands put together. The north is rocky, full of small mountains and vast loughs. That's where I was born, right up on the tip, on a cliff that they say rose up to touch the gods. Anyone born there was said to be blessed by them. After my mother died - I was only three or four years old - my father brought me down to the west, where the Le Fay's had a trading centre. It's much flatter there and greener too. Galleys came in from Greece and Rome, sometimes Persia. I'd never seen so many riches and I doubt I ever will again. After about a year we went east to where my mother was born. We stayed there until I was nine and Mercia invaded Camelot. Uther called all those who were loyal to fight for him, including my father and his men. I spent my time after that either in the city or here. We had been coming over to Camelot since my mother died, so it wasn't so foreign to me. My father died three years later and Uther took me as his ward. When I came of age he took me as his wife."
"I'm sorry," Morgause whispered.
It was only then that Morgana realised she had been crying. "I'm not the only one who has lost people to illness or war. I'm lucky." She wiped away her tears. "Let's talk about something else."
"There is something strange about this island, isn't there?" Morgause asked after a moment, a ring shaped pebble turning in her hands.
"Yes," Morgana admitted, her eyes unfocused on the sea. "You can feel it, can't you? I thought you might be able to."
"There's magic here." It wasn't a question. "I can feel it prickling over my skin. It comes in waves from somewhere in the centre of the island."
Morgana looked down at the pebbles between her knees. "If you can feel it, then that means-"
"I know what it means. I don't practice, but I do have it. It's in my blood. I should have told you." Fear licked at the back of Morgause's neck like ice cold flames. "I'm sorry."
Morgana laid her head on her knight's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Don't be. I felt it the first time you kissed me."
Her panic quickly leaving her, Morgause chuckled. "Maybe it wasn't magic you felt. Maybe I'm just that good."
"It was magic," Morgana said with calm certainty. "Since then I've felt it every time we touch. It's like warmth and the brush of wind."
Morgause frowned. "Can you feel it now?"
Lacing her fingers with Morgause's, Morgana said, "Now. It has to be skin to skin. It's stronger here, on the island. Last time we came here, when we..." She trailed off, embarrassed.
"I thought I was the only one who could feel it," Morgause murmured, turning her head and burying her face in Morgana's midnight hair, inhaling her - savouring this salty, liberated version of her who would always belong to Morgause. "It's never happened with anyone before." There must be some magic in you too, she thought, but didn't say.
"It felt like you were rubbing stardust on my skin everywhere you touched," Morgana recalled, closing her eyes and remembering how simple it had been to just be with Morgause. It would never quite be the same again, that they both knew, no matter how hard they tried to recapture it. They were close to it, though, and that was enough. For a moment they lost themselves in the gentle sounds of the waves, remembering.
"Does this place have a name?" Morgause inquired after a while. She wanted to keep it forever inside her. For that, it needed a name.
"We aren't supposed to say it out loud," Morgana told her, feeling a little foolish for not wanting to break a childish game. She didn't know that it was just a game, though, not for sure. All she remembered was that the children all thought it was terribly amusing and the adults didn't. Was that because they weren't taking it seriously enough or because they took it too seriously?
"Then how did you learn it?"
"My cousin whispered it to me the first time I came across the sea." She sat up and brushed back Morgause's hair, leaning in until her lips hovered an inch from Morgause's ear. "Neorxna," she whispered, the thick language of the Old Religion flowing slowly and sweetly from her tongue like honey.
"Paradise," Morgause murmured, the word catching in her throat.
~~~
When they returned to the tower, they found one of the Eloise's two personal guards standing before the heavy wooden doors to their chamber, a torch burning on the walls at either side of him. Like the town guards, he wore no armour, his only protection a leather jerkin and his sword. On his chest he bore a small Le Fay crest denoting that he was one of the family's men, though not one of the family. He bowed low to Morgana.
"Your Majesty," he said deferentially, his head still bowed. "The lady Eloise requests your guard's presence. I am to stay here in her stead."
"Why?" Morgana asked, her hands on her hips. She knew she looked nothing like a Queen in her breeches and shirt, her windswept hair tied back. It always surprised her that people still bowed to her when she wasn't dressed in the finery she was required to wear at court. She didn't believe what people said. She wasn't to be Queen. It fit her ill, she thought. It was a life she was never meant for. Yet, it was the life she had.
"I do not ask 'why', Your Highness. My lady gives orders and I follow them."
Morgause wanted to roll her eyes, but then she remembered how easily she had fallen to her knees before Morgana on the island. "You will have the Queen of Camelot's life in your hands. If she so much feels threatened then you will not see another sunrise, is that clear?" She was a knight. He was a guard. That simple fact - and her almost noble birth - made her his superior and his commander.
"Yes, si- Yes," he corrected.
Morgause felt the flush of embarrassment rushing up her neck, but before it could reach her cheeks, Morgana held out her hand for Morgause to kiss, saving her.
"My champion," Morgana said by way of goodbye. With her eyes saying, I love you.
"My Queen," Morgause answered, bowing her head to kiss her reply to the back of Morgana's pearl white hand, before she turned and left.
"What is your name?" Morgana asked the guard when Morgause had disappeared down the spiral stone steps.
The guard looked surprised. "John, if it pleases Your Majesty."
"John," Morgana nodded. "Guard my door and let no one but my guard and champion enter. No one but her. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Morgana leant back against the heavy doors the moment they closed behind her and sighed. They had only four more nights in Mermering after the one that was closing in. Four more nights of the freedom their tower room gave them, four more nights in their whole lives to fearlessly sleep side by side. She pushed the unhappy thoughts aside and began to pull on the laces that kept her loose shirt from bearing her breasts. Unbound, the material fell aside down to her navel, where buttons held it together. She undid those too and shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, leaving it to tumble to the floor.
Kicking off her boots - she had never laced them back up since she had persuaded Morgause to walk barefoot in the surf - she made her way across the room to the dresser and looked hard at herself in the mirror. Turned head on the silvered glass, she looked just like she had her first night with Morgause, when she had caught sight of herself in the inn room's mirror, Morgause's hands skimming up her naked sides and over her breasts, her lips leaving a burning trail up her neck. But if she turned to the side, she could see the barest hint of change. Her stomach had never been hard and toned like Morgause's, but it had been flat, soft as it was. Now it bulged slightly outwards, half hidden beneath her breeches, arching gradually back to the thin flat line that ran between her breasts. It would be unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it, but by the time she was back in Camelot, she knew, she would be showing more obviously. Eloise's physician had warned her that she would not be able to disguise it for long. That beyond the she had reached, she would ripen until the babe was ready to be born and her breasts were fit to feed him. She didn't know whether she eagerly anticipated the change or dreaded it. The feelings felt so similar sometimes.
She wondered for how much longer Morgause would want to touch her. No long she supposed. The thought made her heart ache.
Loosing her breeches, she discarded them on the chair and made her way to the great bath. She stopped and sat on the edge, carefully lowering herself down to the seat that ran around the wall and then down the floor itself. Two steps towards the centre of the bath, her feet met with a thin layer of water and went out from under her. Her heart in her throat, she caught the side of the bath with one hand, keeping her, just, from falling. Frightened tears slipped down her cheeks and her hands trembled. She knew what could have happened if she had fallen. The one and only time that the King's first wife Igraine got with child, she fell on some steps and lost it. She died a week later from blood loss. Even if Igraine had loved Uther, she deserved more than to die battling to bring his precious heir into the world. Morgana would not let herself fall to the same fate. She loved him not and wouldn't give her life up to secure his line. The thoughts left a bitter taste in her mouth and she covered the small swell of her babe with her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes and imagining the feel of holding a babe she had bore. "I love you. I do."
She wasn't sure who she was reassuring.
When her nerves had settled, she ventured out to unleash the water from below, quickly retreating back to the seat once it was done. She sat there watching the water rise up past her dangling ankles, up her calves and thighs, over her stomach and breasts. Only then did she slip beneath the water to quell its flow. Down there she felt weightless, like she was flying. She would miss the bath when she left, along with a thousand other things. She had a sense that she would be in need of feeling weightless by the time winter set in. Though she was sure Gwen would find a wayif Morgana wanted it badly enough, even if she had to forge it out of iron herself.
The warm spring water surrounding her body relaxed her muscles, lulling her into calmness. She wondered if it came from the same source as the one on the island. She hoped so. It was unlikely they would get back to that spring before they must leave. It was the last time she remembered being completely and perfectly happy. The first time was the night Morgause kissed her, soft, sweet and undemanding. Both were lost to the past and burned in her memory. Ever since she was a child, she had a gift for seeing things. If she closed her eyes she could playback a memory almost perfectly, as if she was reliving it. Sometimes, she could even change it and, for a moment, get to live the life of a Morgana who had made some other decision and, so, some other life. Sitting on the seat and leaning back against the warm stone wall, her eyes closed, the water lapping just above her shoulders, she remembered their first time on the island, when she had just been Morgana, not the woman who carried the King's heir.
That was the first day that she truly understood what love meant. She had been so scared of displeasing Morgause, of not being good enough. Morgause saw that and showed her exactly how she saw her. The beauty of it made a tear slip down Morgana's cheek even now. Through Morgause, she had learnt how to be a Queen. She had come to realise how powerful that made her and had found strength in herself that she never noticed before. Morgause had put fire into her. It burned bright, flaring when her emotions piqued, no matter the emotion. With her eyes closed, she could picture it blazing inside her, fuelled by magic and her new keen awareness love. If she focused on the fire, she could feel Morgause, anxious but a little bit relieved in Eloise's tower; she could feel her babe, emotions split between wakefulness and sleep, the only two states he had yet; she could even Gwen if she tried hard enough, lonely and at a loss far off in Camelot. She realised then just how much she missed her. Gwen had been her constant companion since she had arrived at Camelot. They had only ever spent two days apart before. The thought of seeing her again was almost enough to make her look forward to going home. She couldn't wait to tell her about the babe, she would be thrilled. An image of her holding him sharpened in Morgana's mind. She smiled and touched her stomach.
She slipped into somewhat of a trance after that, dreaming of the past and the future. Seeing things she wished would happen and recalling things that made her heart warm. Calmness settled over her that couldn't even be broken when a polite knock at her door opened her eyes.
"Who is it?" she called, her voice sounding silken even to her.
"It's me," there was a pause before the speaker concluded, "Your Majesty."
Morgana smiled warmly. "Then come in."
Morgause entered the room slowly, closing and locking the door behind her. She crossed to the bath and lay on her stomach opposite Morgana, resting her chin on her folded arms.
"Why did you knock?" Morgana puzzled. "I made sure that you and only you were allowed to enter."
"Because I know you too well and it was the gallant thing to do," Morgause explained softly. "No one should enter your chambers without your permission - especially when you are not decent to receive visitors - not even me. Particularly not me." Strands of her golden hair were spilling over the side of the bath and flowing into the water, the ends wetting.
"And why is that?" Morgana asked. The water did nothing to hide her virtue but she couldn't summon herself to feel self-conscious. Morgause did not look at her unduly. Despite what she expected, she did not feel want coursing through her. All she felt was calm. Unendingly calm.
"You should have your privacy. You are a woman - more than that, you are a Queen. You may choose to share everything with me, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have privacy. Your door was closed. Any honourable knight, no matter how familiar with you they are, would knock."
"You are the truest embodiment of a knight there ever was. You are who fairytales are written about," Morgana said, utterly charmed. She pushed off from her perch and swam across to her gallant knight, reaching up to tangle a hand in her hair and kissing her in the soft way that fairytales should always be ended. She looked up into Morgause's deep brown eyes and felt her heart melt. Bliss tingled over her skin.
"What did my aunt want?" she made herself ask.
"To give me the benefit of her experience and discover just how deep my loyalties run. She made me realise some things that I was too stubborn to see," Morgause said, revealing little.
"What things?" Morgana asked.
"Good things," Morgause promised. "Are you tired? It has been a long day. The crossing back to land was tough."
"The bath has helped," Morgana said gratefully. She hadn't realised just how much she ached until the water melted it away.
Morgause smiled and touched Morgana's jaw. "Are you hungry? Someone told me that your favourite dish when you were little was salmon in a cream and butter sauce. I had the kitchens make it for you, along with those fluffy lemon things you liked at the feast. We can eat out on the balcony, it's a balmy night," she suggested. "A ship came in to the port with a hold full of lemons yesterday. We can buy some and take them back to Camelot if you want? The cook is having one of the kitchen boys who knows how to read and write make a note of both the recipes."
The moment Morgause had mentioned the salmon, Morgana became aware of the rich buttery smell on the evening air and was transported back to the last time she had visited Mermering with her father. She was nine, and had spent the day playing with one of her Le Fay cousins, Jacque, a boy from across the sea who couldn't speak a word of her tongue. They managed to invent games between them all the same, falling into a patchy sort of Latin they could both speak. He had been the one to tell her the name of the island. She had known for certain as soon as she heard it that it was from a language that neither of them spoke but both knew, the language of the Old Religion. The purge was still washing over the land at that time and Morgana had been scared into silence for the whole meal, meekly spooning up her fish and listening to the comforting sounds of her Father, Aunt and Uncle talking and laughing. Alain was her father's cousin in truth, and not her Uncle, but he was like a brother to her Father and Aunt, so that's what they called him. It was the last time she remembered feeling part of a proper family.
"Morgana?"
Morgana shook her head to break through the memory. "Let's eat."
Morgause got to her feet and bent her knees to reach a hand down to Morgana. When Morgana just stared warily at the offered hand, Morgause said, "Trust me."
As if Morgana were as weightless as the water made her feel, Morgause lifted her up in the air with only one hand, droplets of water raining from Morgana's skin. She placed her effortlessly down on the white stone floor. The strength it must have taken to lift her so took Morgana's breath away. She couldn't grasp how someone so small and slight could be so strong. Or how someone so strong could be as gentle with her as Morgause was.
Unbidden Morgause's hands brushed over the curves of her hips in tandem.
"I still cannot believe that I am permitted to touch you," Morgause breathed. One of her hands smoothed over the swell of Morgana's lower stomach.
Morgana closed her eyes and savoured the tingles running out from Morgause's fingertips. "Believe it," she murmured, begged.
Before she could open her eyes, Morgause had wrapped her in a silk sheet and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Then I am the luckiest woman in the world."
"What did my Aunt say to you?" Morgana asked, her eyes wide and shiny.
"Enough," Morgause smiled. "She said enough."
And Morgana dared to hope that soon she might have a proper family again.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,500 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: Morgana and Morgause return to the island.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 |
This time, they had taken the boat around to the far side of the island, battling the ocean currents to land upon a grey pebbly shore. As they came in to land, Morgause couldn't help but be disappointed. She could not see how any artist would want to paint it or any bard dream it up. But as she watched Morgana pick her way carefully across the loose pebbles, the wind whipping her loose shirt to show the silhouette of her left side, she saw the beauty in the place. It was bleak sort of beauty, to be sure, but that made it all the more precious. What had at first seemed uniform grey below her feet, turned out to be made up of thousands of different shades from white to black. Pebbles the size of her fist laid buried amidst ones no bigger than a babe's button nose. They gave way beneath her as she walked on them, rolling back to the sea that had smoothed them with its watery caress.
Lining the monochrome beach stood austere trees - white, cracked wood contorted into strange shapes, long skeletal fingers reaching out for passing vessels. They would be different in winter - Morgana promised her, twining their fingers together - when they would sprout bluish green leaves and delicate red flowers for the solstice. She called them the crown of winter, and declared them to be the only ones of their kind in the known world. Morgause believed her. What did she knew of the world beyond Camelot?
Half way up the beach, Morgana stopped, dropped Morgause's hand and fell into a crouch, searching through the pebbles. The one she held in her hand when she rose looked no different to Morgause than the others, but with a flick of her wrist, Morgana sent it soaring into the calm surf. Under her power it leapt five times in and out of the water, before finally disappearing beneath the waves of the choppier water further out. Morgana laughed at Morgause's puzzled expression and dropped down to find another stone. When she laid it in Morgause's palm, it became obvious how it was different. It was almost entirely flat.
Without a word Morgana moved behind Morgause, pressing close to her back. "I'll teach you."
"I never did finish teaching you to wield a sword," Morgause murmured, her pulse quickening.
"You have taught me more than I could have ever imagined. Let me teach you something," Morgana whispered, her lips brushing against Morgause's ear, her breath hot. Morgause shivered. "Hold it like this," she arranged Morgause's fingers around the pebble, "and pull back your arm as if to shoot an arrow." She moved both her hands to Morgause's hips. "Now turn the top of your body until its parallel to the sea." They moved together. "When you throw, you need to flick from your wrist to make it spin but still stay flat, like that sharpened disk that knights sometimes throw."
"Knights don't use those. There is not honour in them," Morgause said as Morgana's arms wrapped around her waist. She noticed then, more than ever, the difference in their heights. If she leant back her head, she would be able to rest it on Morgana's shoulder, safe in her embrace as if it were Morgana who was the knight. Without her armour or mail, no one would be able to tell.
"You have the most honour of any knight I have ever met. And I have had the pleasure of meeting a good many knights," Morgana said, her innocent heart meaning every word.
Morgause laughed bitterly. "I have the least. I should not even call myself a knight. I'm a disgrace to the brotherhood."
"Me?" Morgana guessed rightly.
"But if it is dishonourable to love you, then I am proudly dishonourable," Morgause said, closing her eyes and picturing Morgana's windkissed face. She let herself be turned around.
"Kneel," Morgana commanded.
Morgause fell to her knees without a second's thought, bowing her head.
When Morgana spoke, it was above the wind, strong clear, as if they were in a silent night. "I am your Queen. When you ride out to battle it is in my name. When fight in a tournament it is in my name. When you unsheathe your sword it is in my name. When you take a breath it is in my name. Whatever you do, wherever you go, you do so in my name. You say that a Queen is powerful. You say that a Queen is no less than her King. If that is true, then I tell you now that you are mine, not his," she proclaimed fiercely. "You are my knight and I love you. How can loving me back be dishonourable? It can't. It isn't." She brought her hand to Morgause's chin and raised it. "What could be better for Camelot than giving her Queen the strength to carry on? Love me, protect me and honour me." She held out her hand. Morgause held it gently and kissed it reverently. "And never say that you are less than a knight," Morgana begged, cupping her cheek, "because you are my knight, the best that ever was."
She brought Morgause to her feet and kissed her with all the strength of a Queen, the wind howling a chorus about them.
~~~
"It feels like the edge of the world," Morgause mused, her voice soft with wonder.
Turning from the sea, Morgana gazed at her fondly. The wind had dropped as the late afternoon set in but her hair still moved in the breeze, delicate gold strands blowing back from her temples, her curls shifting in the wind. Its previous bite had left her cheeks pink and the corners of her dreamy eyes damp from watering. At that moment, she didn't look like a knight. She looked like a Queen in her own right, a Wilde Queen. Or perhaps a priestess of the Old Religion. Morgana wondered if she was descended from any. If the stories she had been told about the Wildes were true, then she almost definitely was, despite the fact that the Wilde's had bent the knee at the start of Uther's reign. Morgana's mother's family, the Fearainn's had worshipped the many gods of the Old Religion long after Christianity had come to the isle, but that was generations ago and she hadn't had her mother long enough to ask about it.
"On a clear day you can just about make out the land I was born in," Morgana said wistfully, staring back out into oblivion where grey sea met misty grey sky. She turned away again, preferring Morgause's sun.
"I would love to go there one day," Morgause said, smiling a little as she watched the waves. "What was it like?"
Morgana smiled too. Sometimes she couldn't quite believe how beautiful Morgause was. "It's about the size of Camelot, Mercia and the long reaching Northern Lands put together. The north is rocky, full of small mountains and vast loughs. That's where I was born, right up on the tip, on a cliff that they say rose up to touch the gods. Anyone born there was said to be blessed by them. After my mother died - I was only three or four years old - my father brought me down to the west, where the Le Fay's had a trading centre. It's much flatter there and greener too. Galleys came in from Greece and Rome, sometimes Persia. I'd never seen so many riches and I doubt I ever will again. After about a year we went east to where my mother was born. We stayed there until I was nine and Mercia invaded Camelot. Uther called all those who were loyal to fight for him, including my father and his men. I spent my time after that either in the city or here. We had been coming over to Camelot since my mother died, so it wasn't so foreign to me. My father died three years later and Uther took me as his ward. When I came of age he took me as his wife."
"I'm sorry," Morgause whispered.
It was only then that Morgana realised she had been crying. "I'm not the only one who has lost people to illness or war. I'm lucky." She wiped away her tears. "Let's talk about something else."
"There is something strange about this island, isn't there?" Morgause asked after a moment, a ring shaped pebble turning in her hands.
"Yes," Morgana admitted, her eyes unfocused on the sea. "You can feel it, can't you? I thought you might be able to."
"There's magic here." It wasn't a question. "I can feel it prickling over my skin. It comes in waves from somewhere in the centre of the island."
Morgana looked down at the pebbles between her knees. "If you can feel it, then that means-"
"I know what it means. I don't practice, but I do have it. It's in my blood. I should have told you." Fear licked at the back of Morgause's neck like ice cold flames. "I'm sorry."
Morgana laid her head on her knight's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Don't be. I felt it the first time you kissed me."
Her panic quickly leaving her, Morgause chuckled. "Maybe it wasn't magic you felt. Maybe I'm just that good."
"It was magic," Morgana said with calm certainty. "Since then I've felt it every time we touch. It's like warmth and the brush of wind."
Morgause frowned. "Can you feel it now?"
Lacing her fingers with Morgause's, Morgana said, "Now. It has to be skin to skin. It's stronger here, on the island. Last time we came here, when we..." She trailed off, embarrassed.
"I thought I was the only one who could feel it," Morgause murmured, turning her head and burying her face in Morgana's midnight hair, inhaling her - savouring this salty, liberated version of her who would always belong to Morgause. "It's never happened with anyone before." There must be some magic in you too, she thought, but didn't say.
"It felt like you were rubbing stardust on my skin everywhere you touched," Morgana recalled, closing her eyes and remembering how simple it had been to just be with Morgause. It would never quite be the same again, that they both knew, no matter how hard they tried to recapture it. They were close to it, though, and that was enough. For a moment they lost themselves in the gentle sounds of the waves, remembering.
"Does this place have a name?" Morgause inquired after a while. She wanted to keep it forever inside her. For that, it needed a name.
"We aren't supposed to say it out loud," Morgana told her, feeling a little foolish for not wanting to break a childish game. She didn't know that it was just a game, though, not for sure. All she remembered was that the children all thought it was terribly amusing and the adults didn't. Was that because they weren't taking it seriously enough or because they took it too seriously?
"Then how did you learn it?"
"My cousin whispered it to me the first time I came across the sea." She sat up and brushed back Morgause's hair, leaning in until her lips hovered an inch from Morgause's ear. "Neorxna," she whispered, the thick language of the Old Religion flowing slowly and sweetly from her tongue like honey.
"Paradise," Morgause murmured, the word catching in her throat.
~~~
When they returned to the tower, they found one of the Eloise's two personal guards standing before the heavy wooden doors to their chamber, a torch burning on the walls at either side of him. Like the town guards, he wore no armour, his only protection a leather jerkin and his sword. On his chest he bore a small Le Fay crest denoting that he was one of the family's men, though not one of the family. He bowed low to Morgana.
"Your Majesty," he said deferentially, his head still bowed. "The lady Eloise requests your guard's presence. I am to stay here in her stead."
"Why?" Morgana asked, her hands on her hips. She knew she looked nothing like a Queen in her breeches and shirt, her windswept hair tied back. It always surprised her that people still bowed to her when she wasn't dressed in the finery she was required to wear at court. She didn't believe what people said. She wasn't to be Queen. It fit her ill, she thought. It was a life she was never meant for. Yet, it was the life she had.
"I do not ask 'why', Your Highness. My lady gives orders and I follow them."
Morgause wanted to roll her eyes, but then she remembered how easily she had fallen to her knees before Morgana on the island. "You will have the Queen of Camelot's life in your hands. If she so much feels threatened then you will not see another sunrise, is that clear?" She was a knight. He was a guard. That simple fact - and her almost noble birth - made her his superior and his commander.
"Yes, si- Yes," he corrected.
Morgause felt the flush of embarrassment rushing up her neck, but before it could reach her cheeks, Morgana held out her hand for Morgause to kiss, saving her.
"My champion," Morgana said by way of goodbye. With her eyes saying, I love you.
"My Queen," Morgause answered, bowing her head to kiss her reply to the back of Morgana's pearl white hand, before she turned and left.
"What is your name?" Morgana asked the guard when Morgause had disappeared down the spiral stone steps.
The guard looked surprised. "John, if it pleases Your Majesty."
"John," Morgana nodded. "Guard my door and let no one but my guard and champion enter. No one but her. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Morgana leant back against the heavy doors the moment they closed behind her and sighed. They had only four more nights in Mermering after the one that was closing in. Four more nights of the freedom their tower room gave them, four more nights in their whole lives to fearlessly sleep side by side. She pushed the unhappy thoughts aside and began to pull on the laces that kept her loose shirt from bearing her breasts. Unbound, the material fell aside down to her navel, where buttons held it together. She undid those too and shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, leaving it to tumble to the floor.
Kicking off her boots - she had never laced them back up since she had persuaded Morgause to walk barefoot in the surf - she made her way across the room to the dresser and looked hard at herself in the mirror. Turned head on the silvered glass, she looked just like she had her first night with Morgause, when she had caught sight of herself in the inn room's mirror, Morgause's hands skimming up her naked sides and over her breasts, her lips leaving a burning trail up her neck. But if she turned to the side, she could see the barest hint of change. Her stomach had never been hard and toned like Morgause's, but it had been flat, soft as it was. Now it bulged slightly outwards, half hidden beneath her breeches, arching gradually back to the thin flat line that ran between her breasts. It would be unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it, but by the time she was back in Camelot, she knew, she would be showing more obviously. Eloise's physician had warned her that she would not be able to disguise it for long. That beyond the she had reached, she would ripen until the babe was ready to be born and her breasts were fit to feed him. She didn't know whether she eagerly anticipated the change or dreaded it. The feelings felt so similar sometimes.
She wondered for how much longer Morgause would want to touch her. No long she supposed. The thought made her heart ache.
Loosing her breeches, she discarded them on the chair and made her way to the great bath. She stopped and sat on the edge, carefully lowering herself down to the seat that ran around the wall and then down the floor itself. Two steps towards the centre of the bath, her feet met with a thin layer of water and went out from under her. Her heart in her throat, she caught the side of the bath with one hand, keeping her, just, from falling. Frightened tears slipped down her cheeks and her hands trembled. She knew what could have happened if she had fallen. The one and only time that the King's first wife Igraine got with child, she fell on some steps and lost it. She died a week later from blood loss. Even if Igraine had loved Uther, she deserved more than to die battling to bring his precious heir into the world. Morgana would not let herself fall to the same fate. She loved him not and wouldn't give her life up to secure his line. The thoughts left a bitter taste in her mouth and she covered the small swell of her babe with her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes and imagining the feel of holding a babe she had bore. "I love you. I do."
She wasn't sure who she was reassuring.
When her nerves had settled, she ventured out to unleash the water from below, quickly retreating back to the seat once it was done. She sat there watching the water rise up past her dangling ankles, up her calves and thighs, over her stomach and breasts. Only then did she slip beneath the water to quell its flow. Down there she felt weightless, like she was flying. She would miss the bath when she left, along with a thousand other things. She had a sense that she would be in need of feeling weightless by the time winter set in. Though she was sure Gwen would find a wayif Morgana wanted it badly enough, even if she had to forge it out of iron herself.
The warm spring water surrounding her body relaxed her muscles, lulling her into calmness. She wondered if it came from the same source as the one on the island. She hoped so. It was unlikely they would get back to that spring before they must leave. It was the last time she remembered being completely and perfectly happy. The first time was the night Morgause kissed her, soft, sweet and undemanding. Both were lost to the past and burned in her memory. Ever since she was a child, she had a gift for seeing things. If she closed her eyes she could playback a memory almost perfectly, as if she was reliving it. Sometimes, she could even change it and, for a moment, get to live the life of a Morgana who had made some other decision and, so, some other life. Sitting on the seat and leaning back against the warm stone wall, her eyes closed, the water lapping just above her shoulders, she remembered their first time on the island, when she had just been Morgana, not the woman who carried the King's heir.
That was the first day that she truly understood what love meant. She had been so scared of displeasing Morgause, of not being good enough. Morgause saw that and showed her exactly how she saw her. The beauty of it made a tear slip down Morgana's cheek even now. Through Morgause, she had learnt how to be a Queen. She had come to realise how powerful that made her and had found strength in herself that she never noticed before. Morgause had put fire into her. It burned bright, flaring when her emotions piqued, no matter the emotion. With her eyes closed, she could picture it blazing inside her, fuelled by magic and her new keen awareness love. If she focused on the fire, she could feel Morgause, anxious but a little bit relieved in Eloise's tower; she could feel her babe, emotions split between wakefulness and sleep, the only two states he had yet; she could even Gwen if she tried hard enough, lonely and at a loss far off in Camelot. She realised then just how much she missed her. Gwen had been her constant companion since she had arrived at Camelot. They had only ever spent two days apart before. The thought of seeing her again was almost enough to make her look forward to going home. She couldn't wait to tell her about the babe, she would be thrilled. An image of her holding him sharpened in Morgana's mind. She smiled and touched her stomach.
She slipped into somewhat of a trance after that, dreaming of the past and the future. Seeing things she wished would happen and recalling things that made her heart warm. Calmness settled over her that couldn't even be broken when a polite knock at her door opened her eyes.
"Who is it?" she called, her voice sounding silken even to her.
"It's me," there was a pause before the speaker concluded, "Your Majesty."
Morgana smiled warmly. "Then come in."
Morgause entered the room slowly, closing and locking the door behind her. She crossed to the bath and lay on her stomach opposite Morgana, resting her chin on her folded arms.
"Why did you knock?" Morgana puzzled. "I made sure that you and only you were allowed to enter."
"Because I know you too well and it was the gallant thing to do," Morgause explained softly. "No one should enter your chambers without your permission - especially when you are not decent to receive visitors - not even me. Particularly not me." Strands of her golden hair were spilling over the side of the bath and flowing into the water, the ends wetting.
"And why is that?" Morgana asked. The water did nothing to hide her virtue but she couldn't summon herself to feel self-conscious. Morgause did not look at her unduly. Despite what she expected, she did not feel want coursing through her. All she felt was calm. Unendingly calm.
"You should have your privacy. You are a woman - more than that, you are a Queen. You may choose to share everything with me, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have privacy. Your door was closed. Any honourable knight, no matter how familiar with you they are, would knock."
"You are the truest embodiment of a knight there ever was. You are who fairytales are written about," Morgana said, utterly charmed. She pushed off from her perch and swam across to her gallant knight, reaching up to tangle a hand in her hair and kissing her in the soft way that fairytales should always be ended. She looked up into Morgause's deep brown eyes and felt her heart melt. Bliss tingled over her skin.
"What did my aunt want?" she made herself ask.
"To give me the benefit of her experience and discover just how deep my loyalties run. She made me realise some things that I was too stubborn to see," Morgause said, revealing little.
"What things?" Morgana asked.
"Good things," Morgause promised. "Are you tired? It has been a long day. The crossing back to land was tough."
"The bath has helped," Morgana said gratefully. She hadn't realised just how much she ached until the water melted it away.
Morgause smiled and touched Morgana's jaw. "Are you hungry? Someone told me that your favourite dish when you were little was salmon in a cream and butter sauce. I had the kitchens make it for you, along with those fluffy lemon things you liked at the feast. We can eat out on the balcony, it's a balmy night," she suggested. "A ship came in to the port with a hold full of lemons yesterday. We can buy some and take them back to Camelot if you want? The cook is having one of the kitchen boys who knows how to read and write make a note of both the recipes."
The moment Morgause had mentioned the salmon, Morgana became aware of the rich buttery smell on the evening air and was transported back to the last time she had visited Mermering with her father. She was nine, and had spent the day playing with one of her Le Fay cousins, Jacque, a boy from across the sea who couldn't speak a word of her tongue. They managed to invent games between them all the same, falling into a patchy sort of Latin they could both speak. He had been the one to tell her the name of the island. She had known for certain as soon as she heard it that it was from a language that neither of them spoke but both knew, the language of the Old Religion. The purge was still washing over the land at that time and Morgana had been scared into silence for the whole meal, meekly spooning up her fish and listening to the comforting sounds of her Father, Aunt and Uncle talking and laughing. Alain was her father's cousin in truth, and not her Uncle, but he was like a brother to her Father and Aunt, so that's what they called him. It was the last time she remembered feeling part of a proper family.
"Morgana?"
Morgana shook her head to break through the memory. "Let's eat."
Morgause got to her feet and bent her knees to reach a hand down to Morgana. When Morgana just stared warily at the offered hand, Morgause said, "Trust me."
As if Morgana were as weightless as the water made her feel, Morgause lifted her up in the air with only one hand, droplets of water raining from Morgana's skin. She placed her effortlessly down on the white stone floor. The strength it must have taken to lift her so took Morgana's breath away. She couldn't grasp how someone so small and slight could be so strong. Or how someone so strong could be as gentle with her as Morgause was.
Unbidden Morgause's hands brushed over the curves of her hips in tandem.
"I still cannot believe that I am permitted to touch you," Morgause breathed. One of her hands smoothed over the swell of Morgana's lower stomach.
Morgana closed her eyes and savoured the tingles running out from Morgause's fingertips. "Believe it," she murmured, begged.
Before she could open her eyes, Morgause had wrapped her in a silk sheet and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Then I am the luckiest woman in the world."
"What did my Aunt say to you?" Morgana asked, her eyes wide and shiny.
"Enough," Morgause smiled. "She said enough."
And Morgana dared to hope that soon she might have a proper family again.