At My Most Beautiful (15/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: At My Most Beautiful (15/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4,700 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 meet with an armed party on the road.
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 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
Time went quickly on the road, far quicker than Morgause had ever known time to pass before. It seemed as though the days were flowing past them like a river rushing towards the sea - appearing to travel twice as fast as they were travelling in opposite directions. Perhaps the metaphorical river would even have its mouth in Mermering? Perhaps not. It was best not think on that place now. Everything there had been so... perfect. She had even managed to convince herself, there whilst she lived and breathed within those white walls, that returning to Camelot would not be so final, so devastating. Now though, now she was beginning to think that the pessimistic part of her had it right all along. To be together in Camelot would be impossible. Every eye in the castle was the King's, no matter how much love they harboured for their Queen. One sword against a thousand was no sort of odds to bet on. Especially, with the sword being Morgause's and the price being Morgana's life.
Still, there was no reason for Morgana to know that. Not for a little while at least. Morgause wouldn't begrudge her one more night inside their bubble. After all, the coming months would be hard on her, and the time after that harder still. She deserved every moment of hope that Morgause could afford to her. Tomorrow, they would walk under the Southern Arch and be once more in the jewel of Camelot's crown, her capital city, where there would be repercussions for them being a day late. For one more night, though, they would be free, and Morgause was intent on enjoying it.
"Are you looking forward to a warm fire?" she asked Morgana, who was bundled up in fur beneath her black velvet travel cloak. She looked so very un-Morgana-like sat astride her horse in so many layers, her silhouette resembling that of the sausages they had breakfasted on back in Carnna. It was enough to bring an amused smile to Morgause's lips, despite the spitting rain.
"I'm looking forward to getting out of these furs," Morgana replied somewhat testily, then turned and smiled sadly at Morgause from under her hood to show that her curtness was not directed at her.
Longing to see Morgana smile properly, Morgause responded, "And I'm looking forward to helping you with that." She got her smile and a pretty blush too.
Morgana quickly recovered. "And here was I thinking that a knight's tongue was supposed to be chivalrous."
"You haven't complained yet." Morgause had chuckle at Morgana's reaction to that; her cheeks pinked to match her lips. She wouldn't have caught what was implied in the jest a month previous, and Morgause wasn't quite sure how she felt about her role in that. Morgana had a point about chivalry. She wasn't sure how her father would view what she had done. Looking on it from the outside, anyone could see that Morgana had been vulnerable - was vulnerable - and that Morgause had been charged with protecting her, not preying on her. The thought sent a shiver down the knight's spine. Had that really been how it was?
"Nor will I," Morgana said after a moment. Her eyes were soft and Morgause was sure that what she saw there amongst the daringness was love. What she had done couldn't be wrong if Morgana loved her, could it?
Lost in that thought, Morgause did not at first hear the sound of approaching hoof beats or the clatter of mail on plate. She was wondering how one could ever know if the one they loved truly loved them back. Only when Morgana's head turned to the fore, her face draining of colour, did she realise that something was amiss and come to hear the din of thundering horses and metal. Fear shot through her - the first response of any knight to being faced with a foe should be fear, her father had taught her - and through her horse too. Then came calmness and her hand on the hilt of her sword. She did not wait to for the men to come into sight to draw her blade. A second of hesitation could cost them their lives.
"Stay close," she ordered Morgana as Dream whinnied and shifted beneath her, unable to stand still, "and if I give you the signal then-"
"Run," Morgana interrupted, her eyes lingering on Morgause's blade. "I remember."
She looked so very young and afraid, and suddenly Morgause remembered watching her parade to the chapel on her wedding day just over two years before. She had been little more than a girl, a child dressed up like a woman, and she had been on her way to Uther's grasp. The memory brought bile into Morgause's throat and she vowed once more to her Queen that she would protect her to the death.
"I know," Morgana said, trying to appear regal and very nearly pulling it off. If it wasn't for the fear showing through, she could have commanded an army. "I believe in you."
Morgause dipped her head in a bow. "I pray that your faith in me is well placed."
She gathered her reins and put herself between Morgana and the quickly approaching band of Gods-knew-who. If it were battle, she would ride out to meet her foes, but that would leave Morgana vulnerable to attack. The trees on both sides of the road gave her enough concern. There was no need to add extra risk to their already seemingly hopeless situation. From the sound of it there were at least a dozen mailed and plated men riding their way. Morgause's own armour might match or even surpass theirs. That wouldn't matter now. Numbers mattered, and they were squarely against her. A prayer to Andraste passed her lips. It wasn't her life that she prayed for, not anymore. Now all that she asked was that if the worst came to the worst, she would be able to buy Morgana enough time.
But when the approaching horses pounded around the corner, bursting into sight in a flurry of crimson and gold, they had not come for their lives and gold. The column of a dozen riders were knights. Better than that, they were Knights of Camelot - her brothers in arms - led by the their commander, Camelot's champion - Sir Leon, her friend. She almost cried from the relief. Instead, she closed her eyes and murmured a devotion to the goddess who had answered her prayed. "Icþancieþē." Thank you.
Sir Leon, his piercing steel eyes pinched and wary, raised his hand, bringing his knights to a stop. When the welcome she expected did not come, Morgause realised that, with them being hooded, he did not recognise his Queen and her champion.
"In the name of Camelot, I demand to know who goes there." His voice was as strong and commanding as ever across the cavern of space between them.
Before Morgause could open her mouth to identify them, Morgana rode past her. Curious, she held her tongue and watched as Morgana's Nightmare broke into a collected canter to carry her mistress gracefully to the midpoint between Camelot's champion and her own. Morgana held her head bowed, meek.
"Who goes there?" Leon repeated, his knights whispering behind him.
An elegant white hand, weightless beneath the heavy velvet bell of its sleeve, reached upwards to push back Morgana's black hood. And the knights fell silent, bowing their heads for their Queen.
"Your Majesty, I..." Leon broke off and bowed his head. "I apologise. We were sent to seek you."
"Because I was day behind schedule?" Morgana asked, the stronger, bolder Queen she had become asserting herself over her knights. She shook out her hair, black against black, enrapturing all who looked upon her. "Tell me, are there no more important tasks for the Knights of Camelot to be undertaking? Are there not townsfolk back at Camelot unguarded? Lands neglected a patrol?"
"His Majesty was concerned," Leon answered diplomatically, his eyes downcast.
Morgana sighed, clearly irritated. "When did he send you?"
"Evenfall last, Your Majesty," Leon replied as Morgause fell in beside and slightly behind Morgana, keeping a respectful distance.
"And he sent our first company? I should be honoured. But I fear I feel it more as an insult to my own champion. After all, she beat all but you at the tournament, did she not? Surely, after you Sir Leon, she is to be most trusted with my life?"
Heat rose up the back of Morgause's neck. She was afraid that Morgana's new confidence would take her too far from the thin line that the King would have her tread.
"I do not question orders, Your Majesty," Leon said tentatively, conflicted. "I just follow them."
Taking pity on him, Morgana softened her voice. "I understand that. If it were you, though, whose hands would you put all of our lives in?" Before Sir Leon could answer, she added a caveat. "You cannot turn to religion for your answer as our King would have you do."
"Then I would say, without hesitation, Your Majesty, that I would concur with you and leave our lives in your champion's hands."
Morgana smiled at that, a true smile which Morgause feared would one day give them away. "You have always been more reliant on your head than your sword arm, Sir. It has continued to serve you well."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. And if it pleases you, I would wish to return the compliment. You are a wise and kind Queen." He raised his eyes. "Camelot, she had deeply missed you."
"And I have missed her," Morgana lied. She was proficient at that, Morgause had observed, lying for the benefit of others. It made her wonder whether Morgana had ever lied to her, or if she would ever be able to tell if she was. "Come, let us turn for home. I am weary of travel and want no further nights than tonight under the stars, a beautiful as they are."
Leon bowed his head once more. "Of course, Your Majesty."
...
Darkness had been setting in earlier and earlier each night, far too early for the time of year. It was as if winter was coming too soon, seizing on the feel of unease in the air and crawling out from the darkness deep down in the earth to make the misery flourish and grow. Even the enormous fire that the knights had built was not enough to chase the ice from Morgana's bones, no matter how near to it she sat. The closer they got to Camelot, the colder she felt. Not true coldness, not the kind of cold you get from standing too long in a snowstorm or staying in the bath too long, but a kind of dread that something was coming. If she was honest, it had started the moment she left her aunt, but she hadn't truly noticed it until the flash of Morgause's sword had yanked her night time terrors into the day and made real everything else she had been dreading. It was the soaring eagle, a symbol of freedom engraved on Morgause's blade that she had never before noticed. She had seen that sword in her dreams, running with its wielder's blood.
But it was only a dream. She had swung that sword herself and had doubtless seen the adornment before on half a hundred occasions since Morgause had walked into her life. It was the only explanation.
Putting it from her mind, she watched distantly as Sir Percival - the winner of every mixed combat mêlée since Morgana had been wed - cut down and split two young oaks, before fashioning from them twin pairs of benches to seat their company. The other knights had been ordered off on various missions, fetching water and wood, game and fowl. Morgause had been eager to join Sir Gwaine and his squire in the hunt. There had been no fletcher in Mermering and she had used the last of her arrows on the journey there. So Morgana had been left alone in the camp with Leon and Percival working around her. Not for the first time, she felt utterly useless.
"Are you cold Your Majesty?" Percival asked, dumping some wood in the rapidly growing pile and coming around the fire to stand before Morgana. He wasn't like the other knights. He didn't treat differently because of who she was. Morgana liked that.
"A little," she admitted.
He smiled. "Get up then."
When she rose to her feet and moved out of the way as he gestured, he bent down to the half-trunk bench she had been sat on and dragged it closer to the fire with as little effort as if it had been a twig. Rubbing his hands off on his breeches, he straightened and smiled again. "Anything else?"
She laughed, and Leon shot them a concerned look.
"Not poaching another of our best knights are you, Your Majesty?" the commander asked with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It occurred to Morgana that his face seemed to have weathered ten years in the month she had been away.
"One is quite enough," Morgana said playfully, gracefully retaking her seat. "And besides, I do not have anywhere to put him." She squinted her eyes at Percival, as if measuring him up. "I do not think he would quite fit in my pantry come store cupboard."
Both knights laughed.
"I don't doubt that I wouldn't," Percival agreed. There was something in the glint in his eyes that made Morgana suspect that he had caught her forlornness and was trying to cheer her up.
"You wouldn't what?" Gwaine asked, strolling back into the clearing with a pair of rabbits dangling from his bow hand. His squire, a young boy whose name Morgana could not recall, was hurrying after him with a plump golden pheasant carrying more meat on it than the two rabbits put together.
"Live in the Queen's pantry," Percival answered nonchalantly.
Morgause, who came out of the twilight shadows at that very moment, frowned in confused amusement. She met Morgana's eyes briefly, before dropping her head to hide the twist of a smile.
"A golden pheasant, Gwaine?" Leon asked, gesturing to the bird in the boy's hands. "You know it is forbidden for anyone but a royal to fell them? The King would be furious."
"The King will not find out," Morgana put in helpfully. She liked Gwaine too. He was from the land she had been born in, though much further south than she had ever been. As far as she knew, his father had been in her father's battalion and had been killed in the same battle. Of the rest of his family she knew nothing. He was older than her by half a decade at least, but he stolen a kiss from her when she was no more than fourteen and unaware of how the world worked. If she had ever told Uther, Gwaine would have lost his head. And as unwelcome as his kiss had been, he did not deserve that.
"Don't shoot your death glare at me, commander. I think you'll find that I am innocent of this particular crime. Blame your girl back there," he nodded back to Morgause, "she was the one who shot it out of the sky, not me."
Percival snorted. "They've got you there, Leon. Morgause fights with our Queen's hand. It only stands to reason that she hunts with it too."
"Eye, so all is well with the world," Gwaine intoned with a wink to his Queen. "No golden pheasants were snatched from this life by any hands but royal ones."
Morgause smiled but said nothing, standing off to the side and watching her brothers' banter. In the light of the fire, her armour glittered as gold as her hair, the flickering flames reflecting in her polished pauldrons and dancing over her belted hauberk. Next to her knights, Morgause looked not slighter and smaller as Morgana might have anticipated, but proud and tall. For the first time, Morgana thought she understood the camaraderie between knights. They were truly family, their strength greater together than the sum of their parts. For a heartbeat, she was jealous.
...
From the moment Morgana had risen, excused herself and made a point of not looking her way, Morgause knew she was supposed to follow her. The intent was in what was not done or said, as was so often the case with her quiet Queen.
With a word to Leon, she rose from the bench beside him and edged around the fire, heading for the dark breath between the trees into which Morgana had disappeared. As she left the light and warmth of the clearing, the darkness drew her on. It lead her forward until the blackness yielded to the silvery light off a small still pool weaving around the roots of an ancient oak. Standing on the wide flat flare of a root amidst it, her hair as black as the night and her skin as silver as the water, Morgana looked a goddess. Her head was bowed and her hands clasped simply in front of her. Morgana had shrugged out of her dress and discarded her boots, leaving her in nothing but her clingy sleeveless white shift. Morgause's breath caught. Little as she liked to admit it to herself, seeing Morgana looking so innocent and helpless made her desire flare.
When Morgana lifted her head, the flush of pink on her cheeks and lips the only colour on her, Morgause all but forgot she need breathe at all.
Urged on by Morgana's silence, Morgause crossed the hushed clearing, stopping only when she reached the water's edge. Looking down to her left, she saw Morgana's discarded clothing, and felt her own hands move up to loosen the leather straps of her plate. Slowly, she laid her armour to her right, piling it together with her mail and boots until all she stood in were her tight fitting breeches and loose undershirt. When she was done, she looked back to Morgana and stepped into the water.
Beneath her feet, cool white earth shifted and swilled into the once clear water, leaving clouds swelling in her wake. Through the water she walked, until she met the incline of a root and stepped up next to Morgana, slipping one arm around her back and pulling her flush against her.
"We are playing with danger, my love," she whispered, flaring open her hand on the hollow of Morgana's lower back.
"They will not follow us. I told Sir Percival I felt unwell, made sure he felt... uncomfortable. He was too embarrassed to ask what was wrong." There was a wicked glint in her eye that was gone as soon as it appeared.
"And what if they do follow us?" Morgause was uneasy, but finding it hard to refuse.
"Then we run," Morgana said simply, the night time wind shifting her midnight hair. "But they will not. They have more faith in you than Uther does and will not chance catching their Queen unaware."
Despite her doubts, Morgause found herself pressing Morgana back against the oak, making her Queen gasp and clutch at her.
"I am yours," Morgana reminded her, pliant and moonlight pale. "For one more night I want to be yours alone," she whispered, her cool hand at Morgause's cheek.
Leaning close to breathe her in, Morgause murmured, "You will always be mine. Only mine."
Morgana shivered and Morgause pressed harder against her, slipping one breeches-clad leg between Morgana's and raising it up, and up.
"Gods," Morgana cried delicately, laying the palm of her hand flat against the plane of skin beneath Morgause's clavicle. Her other hand, she tightened on Morgause's toned arm, wondering vaguely when exactly laying with her knight had become prayer, and how she had ever lived without its worship.
Dropping her hand from Morgana's back to the generous curve of her hip, Morgause began to hoist up her wispy shift until her fingers met with the warm soft skin of Morgana's thigh.
"When the Gods fashioned you, they did so with no mercy for my soul," Morgause breathed against the shell of her ear, delighting in Morgana's answering shiver.
"Please," Morgana pleaded breathily, "please, I-"
Morgause cut her off with a kiss. A Queen should never beg.
Their lips danced slowly and needily, Morgana's mouth opening up and yielding to her knight, taking her inside and - oh, Gods.
Dropping Morgana's shift over her questing hand, Morgause began to stroke inwards, the gentle touches parting Morgana's thighs more satisfyingly than force ever could. With a trail of kisses that lead down her Queen's fine proud jaw, downwards onto the marble column of her neck and hovered at her favourite spot where neck arched to delicate shoulder, Morgause's hand reached the inside of Morgana's thigh. Gently, she slipped it between, a moan catching in her throat when she found her, as always, weeping for her.
That night, Morgause took her as slow as she dared, caressing her to the edge of oblivion and holding her there - slick and warm and soft and hers. Only when Morgana opened her mouth to beg did Morgause push her over the edge, sending her trembling and crying into the void. Morgana sagged wearily against her, her young body drained and flushed. With that one last joining, Morgause wrote her love onto Morgana's skin, tracing it over firm and giving flesh alike, filling her and overwhelming her.
"I love you too," Morgana mumbled in her afterglow, her eyelids heavy. She was held up by no strength of her own, but instead by the tree at her back and Morgause at her front. A gold tanned hand smoothed up and over her hip, dipping into the curve of her waist and up to fill its palm with one of her firm rounded breasts.
"Soon I shall barely recognise you," Morgause whispered a little sadly. "I find you ripening day by day, swelling and rounding, filling up with life." A shiver ran through her. She could not decide how she felt about that, not truly. It made Morgana happy - she could not feel anything but gratitude for that. And too, it made her more beautiful every day, as impossible as Morgause would have believed that.
"But yours still," Morgana promised. She had lost the fight to keep her eyes open and, instead, opted to lay her head on Morgause's chest, smiling when Morgause's free hand came up to stroke her hair. "Only and always yours. I promise."
She did not see the sadness in Morgause's eyes, or the tears that threatened to spill out. She did not see that her brave knight had given up hope of them being able to carry on togther. "I know, my love, I know."
...
Upon their return to camp, they found the all the knights but Leon asleep. They slept it pairs - a formation, Morgause knew, that Morgana's father had designed in Camelot's last Great War. With another knight by your side, you could not so easily have your throat slit as you slept. They said that the innovation had saved the lives of a hundred and half knights the night that the south men attacked. And though they had mostly been slain the next day, it had won Camelot her freedom and the first Wilde knighthood.
"Good night, Your Majesty," Morgause said to the woman she had spent half the night loving, bowing her head respectfully. The words almost stuck in her throat but she would never not gladly bow to her.
"And you," Morgana bid with longing eyes, "my champion."
It would not be out of place for her take Morgana's hand and kiss it, so she did.
"Sleep well, Your Majesty," Leon bid her in a strong quiet voice. "And if you are in need of anything in the night, whoever is on watch will provide it, or wake someone who can."
"Thank you, Sir," Morgana said with the graciousness of a Queen. "And you must thank your men again for giving up their furs for me, though I was quite alright with what I had."
"They were honoured to sacrifice even such a small thing for their Queen."
Smiling sleepily, Morgana nodded and slipped beneath her furs. She was asleep in seconds.
Morgause, unsure as to whether her place should be near Morgana, to protect her, chose instead to sit watch with her commander. She sat down beside him and settled in for the night. Both of them knew that the other would not give up the watch.
"How do you do it?" Leon asked after a while. "I am tense as a notched bow with Her Majesty under my care."
"With constant fear that I am unworthy and unable to properly protect her," Morgause admitted. "Though, she makes it easy. There has not yet been a day when she has put less than all of her faith in me."
"I can tell," Leon said with what was almost a smile. "The day you fought for in the tournament, I... I had never seen you fight like that before. Her favour gave you a passion to win and a strength of conviction that I could not match. It was only my superior weight behind my slashes that did it." His gaze was on Morgana. "Camelot herself, though graciously appreciative of me in my victory, was behind you. They love our Queen and have come to love her champion too. You should see the number of half-grown girls begging to join our number. And there many more men of age too than the knights have had since the Age of Rome. They see you as the protector of Camelot's heart and wish to be of service to her like you are."
They would not if they knew the truth, Morgause thought, the Knights of Camelot would be shamed.
Silence fell.
"You were gone so long that I almost sent out a search," Leon said after a long while. "Has the journey taken its toll on her? We have heard word of a contagion passing between the women and children along the shore."
"We have seen none of it. Her Majesty is in perfect health. Though she is taxed and soon, after the king is told, you will no doubt be told too. Everyone will," Morgause said as plainly as she dared. It was not so unlikely to an unwed man such as Leon that a woman in Morgana's condition might be so periodically unwell that she needed privacy for a few hours. The first company of knights, Sir Cormick excluded, were all unmarried and devoted to their duty. Though, most had fathered bastards on tavern wenches and carpenters daughters. Leon, though, was honourable to the core and would never indulge in such folly. Surprisingly, Gwaine was the same, despite frequenting the taverns.
Leon nodded as if he understood. Morgause wished she could tell him the truth.
"How are things at court and in the town?" she asked, changing the subject to save them both. "I have heard whispers on the road."
Leon sighed. "Not good. There is increasing unrest in the east and south, of course. And with the short summer and cold spring bringing a poor harvest, Camelot is starting to put on rations."
"But the trade deal with the northern lands had been sealed. What happened?"
"Our King bedded King Edwin's maiden daughter," Leon answered. "We will get no help from the north."
Morgause bit her tongue.
"Then all hopes rest on you and our tournament." She looked once more over to their peacefully sleeping Queen. "And on her, though she does not yet know it."
Next Chapter: Back in Camelot, Morgana is faced with the person she missed the most and the one she missed the least. Morgause finds the situation in the city even direr than she had imagined, especially in Aunt and Uncle's home.
Note: Sorry for the long gap between chapters, but I cannot promise that it will get any better. I am very busy with my final year at university and have had very little down time at all. Your continued reading and comments makes it worth it!
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4,700 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 meet with an armed party on the road.
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 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
Time went quickly on the road, far quicker than Morgause had ever known time to pass before. It seemed as though the days were flowing past them like a river rushing towards the sea - appearing to travel twice as fast as they were travelling in opposite directions. Perhaps the metaphorical river would even have its mouth in Mermering? Perhaps not. It was best not think on that place now. Everything there had been so... perfect. She had even managed to convince herself, there whilst she lived and breathed within those white walls, that returning to Camelot would not be so final, so devastating. Now though, now she was beginning to think that the pessimistic part of her had it right all along. To be together in Camelot would be impossible. Every eye in the castle was the King's, no matter how much love they harboured for their Queen. One sword against a thousand was no sort of odds to bet on. Especially, with the sword being Morgause's and the price being Morgana's life.
Still, there was no reason for Morgana to know that. Not for a little while at least. Morgause wouldn't begrudge her one more night inside their bubble. After all, the coming months would be hard on her, and the time after that harder still. She deserved every moment of hope that Morgause could afford to her. Tomorrow, they would walk under the Southern Arch and be once more in the jewel of Camelot's crown, her capital city, where there would be repercussions for them being a day late. For one more night, though, they would be free, and Morgause was intent on enjoying it.
"Are you looking forward to a warm fire?" she asked Morgana, who was bundled up in fur beneath her black velvet travel cloak. She looked so very un-Morgana-like sat astride her horse in so many layers, her silhouette resembling that of the sausages they had breakfasted on back in Carnna. It was enough to bring an amused smile to Morgause's lips, despite the spitting rain.
"I'm looking forward to getting out of these furs," Morgana replied somewhat testily, then turned and smiled sadly at Morgause from under her hood to show that her curtness was not directed at her.
Longing to see Morgana smile properly, Morgause responded, "And I'm looking forward to helping you with that." She got her smile and a pretty blush too.
Morgana quickly recovered. "And here was I thinking that a knight's tongue was supposed to be chivalrous."
"You haven't complained yet." Morgause had chuckle at Morgana's reaction to that; her cheeks pinked to match her lips. She wouldn't have caught what was implied in the jest a month previous, and Morgause wasn't quite sure how she felt about her role in that. Morgana had a point about chivalry. She wasn't sure how her father would view what she had done. Looking on it from the outside, anyone could see that Morgana had been vulnerable - was vulnerable - and that Morgause had been charged with protecting her, not preying on her. The thought sent a shiver down the knight's spine. Had that really been how it was?
"Nor will I," Morgana said after a moment. Her eyes were soft and Morgause was sure that what she saw there amongst the daringness was love. What she had done couldn't be wrong if Morgana loved her, could it?
Lost in that thought, Morgause did not at first hear the sound of approaching hoof beats or the clatter of mail on plate. She was wondering how one could ever know if the one they loved truly loved them back. Only when Morgana's head turned to the fore, her face draining of colour, did she realise that something was amiss and come to hear the din of thundering horses and metal. Fear shot through her - the first response of any knight to being faced with a foe should be fear, her father had taught her - and through her horse too. Then came calmness and her hand on the hilt of her sword. She did not wait to for the men to come into sight to draw her blade. A second of hesitation could cost them their lives.
"Stay close," she ordered Morgana as Dream whinnied and shifted beneath her, unable to stand still, "and if I give you the signal then-"
"Run," Morgana interrupted, her eyes lingering on Morgause's blade. "I remember."
She looked so very young and afraid, and suddenly Morgause remembered watching her parade to the chapel on her wedding day just over two years before. She had been little more than a girl, a child dressed up like a woman, and she had been on her way to Uther's grasp. The memory brought bile into Morgause's throat and she vowed once more to her Queen that she would protect her to the death.
"I know," Morgana said, trying to appear regal and very nearly pulling it off. If it wasn't for the fear showing through, she could have commanded an army. "I believe in you."
Morgause dipped her head in a bow. "I pray that your faith in me is well placed."
She gathered her reins and put herself between Morgana and the quickly approaching band of Gods-knew-who. If it were battle, she would ride out to meet her foes, but that would leave Morgana vulnerable to attack. The trees on both sides of the road gave her enough concern. There was no need to add extra risk to their already seemingly hopeless situation. From the sound of it there were at least a dozen mailed and plated men riding their way. Morgause's own armour might match or even surpass theirs. That wouldn't matter now. Numbers mattered, and they were squarely against her. A prayer to Andraste passed her lips. It wasn't her life that she prayed for, not anymore. Now all that she asked was that if the worst came to the worst, she would be able to buy Morgana enough time.
But when the approaching horses pounded around the corner, bursting into sight in a flurry of crimson and gold, they had not come for their lives and gold. The column of a dozen riders were knights. Better than that, they were Knights of Camelot - her brothers in arms - led by the their commander, Camelot's champion - Sir Leon, her friend. She almost cried from the relief. Instead, she closed her eyes and murmured a devotion to the goddess who had answered her prayed. "Icþancieþē." Thank you.
Sir Leon, his piercing steel eyes pinched and wary, raised his hand, bringing his knights to a stop. When the welcome she expected did not come, Morgause realised that, with them being hooded, he did not recognise his Queen and her champion.
"In the name of Camelot, I demand to know who goes there." His voice was as strong and commanding as ever across the cavern of space between them.
Before Morgause could open her mouth to identify them, Morgana rode past her. Curious, she held her tongue and watched as Morgana's Nightmare broke into a collected canter to carry her mistress gracefully to the midpoint between Camelot's champion and her own. Morgana held her head bowed, meek.
"Who goes there?" Leon repeated, his knights whispering behind him.
An elegant white hand, weightless beneath the heavy velvet bell of its sleeve, reached upwards to push back Morgana's black hood. And the knights fell silent, bowing their heads for their Queen.
"Your Majesty, I..." Leon broke off and bowed his head. "I apologise. We were sent to seek you."
"Because I was day behind schedule?" Morgana asked, the stronger, bolder Queen she had become asserting herself over her knights. She shook out her hair, black against black, enrapturing all who looked upon her. "Tell me, are there no more important tasks for the Knights of Camelot to be undertaking? Are there not townsfolk back at Camelot unguarded? Lands neglected a patrol?"
"His Majesty was concerned," Leon answered diplomatically, his eyes downcast.
Morgana sighed, clearly irritated. "When did he send you?"
"Evenfall last, Your Majesty," Leon replied as Morgause fell in beside and slightly behind Morgana, keeping a respectful distance.
"And he sent our first company? I should be honoured. But I fear I feel it more as an insult to my own champion. After all, she beat all but you at the tournament, did she not? Surely, after you Sir Leon, she is to be most trusted with my life?"
Heat rose up the back of Morgause's neck. She was afraid that Morgana's new confidence would take her too far from the thin line that the King would have her tread.
"I do not question orders, Your Majesty," Leon said tentatively, conflicted. "I just follow them."
Taking pity on him, Morgana softened her voice. "I understand that. If it were you, though, whose hands would you put all of our lives in?" Before Sir Leon could answer, she added a caveat. "You cannot turn to religion for your answer as our King would have you do."
"Then I would say, without hesitation, Your Majesty, that I would concur with you and leave our lives in your champion's hands."
Morgana smiled at that, a true smile which Morgause feared would one day give them away. "You have always been more reliant on your head than your sword arm, Sir. It has continued to serve you well."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. And if it pleases you, I would wish to return the compliment. You are a wise and kind Queen." He raised his eyes. "Camelot, she had deeply missed you."
"And I have missed her," Morgana lied. She was proficient at that, Morgause had observed, lying for the benefit of others. It made her wonder whether Morgana had ever lied to her, or if she would ever be able to tell if she was. "Come, let us turn for home. I am weary of travel and want no further nights than tonight under the stars, a beautiful as they are."
Leon bowed his head once more. "Of course, Your Majesty."
...
Darkness had been setting in earlier and earlier each night, far too early for the time of year. It was as if winter was coming too soon, seizing on the feel of unease in the air and crawling out from the darkness deep down in the earth to make the misery flourish and grow. Even the enormous fire that the knights had built was not enough to chase the ice from Morgana's bones, no matter how near to it she sat. The closer they got to Camelot, the colder she felt. Not true coldness, not the kind of cold you get from standing too long in a snowstorm or staying in the bath too long, but a kind of dread that something was coming. If she was honest, it had started the moment she left her aunt, but she hadn't truly noticed it until the flash of Morgause's sword had yanked her night time terrors into the day and made real everything else she had been dreading. It was the soaring eagle, a symbol of freedom engraved on Morgause's blade that she had never before noticed. She had seen that sword in her dreams, running with its wielder's blood.
But it was only a dream. She had swung that sword herself and had doubtless seen the adornment before on half a hundred occasions since Morgause had walked into her life. It was the only explanation.
Putting it from her mind, she watched distantly as Sir Percival - the winner of every mixed combat mêlée since Morgana had been wed - cut down and split two young oaks, before fashioning from them twin pairs of benches to seat their company. The other knights had been ordered off on various missions, fetching water and wood, game and fowl. Morgause had been eager to join Sir Gwaine and his squire in the hunt. There had been no fletcher in Mermering and she had used the last of her arrows on the journey there. So Morgana had been left alone in the camp with Leon and Percival working around her. Not for the first time, she felt utterly useless.
"Are you cold Your Majesty?" Percival asked, dumping some wood in the rapidly growing pile and coming around the fire to stand before Morgana. He wasn't like the other knights. He didn't treat differently because of who she was. Morgana liked that.
"A little," she admitted.
He smiled. "Get up then."
When she rose to her feet and moved out of the way as he gestured, he bent down to the half-trunk bench she had been sat on and dragged it closer to the fire with as little effort as if it had been a twig. Rubbing his hands off on his breeches, he straightened and smiled again. "Anything else?"
She laughed, and Leon shot them a concerned look.
"Not poaching another of our best knights are you, Your Majesty?" the commander asked with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It occurred to Morgana that his face seemed to have weathered ten years in the month she had been away.
"One is quite enough," Morgana said playfully, gracefully retaking her seat. "And besides, I do not have anywhere to put him." She squinted her eyes at Percival, as if measuring him up. "I do not think he would quite fit in my pantry come store cupboard."
Both knights laughed.
"I don't doubt that I wouldn't," Percival agreed. There was something in the glint in his eyes that made Morgana suspect that he had caught her forlornness and was trying to cheer her up.
"You wouldn't what?" Gwaine asked, strolling back into the clearing with a pair of rabbits dangling from his bow hand. His squire, a young boy whose name Morgana could not recall, was hurrying after him with a plump golden pheasant carrying more meat on it than the two rabbits put together.
"Live in the Queen's pantry," Percival answered nonchalantly.
Morgause, who came out of the twilight shadows at that very moment, frowned in confused amusement. She met Morgana's eyes briefly, before dropping her head to hide the twist of a smile.
"A golden pheasant, Gwaine?" Leon asked, gesturing to the bird in the boy's hands. "You know it is forbidden for anyone but a royal to fell them? The King would be furious."
"The King will not find out," Morgana put in helpfully. She liked Gwaine too. He was from the land she had been born in, though much further south than she had ever been. As far as she knew, his father had been in her father's battalion and had been killed in the same battle. Of the rest of his family she knew nothing. He was older than her by half a decade at least, but he stolen a kiss from her when she was no more than fourteen and unaware of how the world worked. If she had ever told Uther, Gwaine would have lost his head. And as unwelcome as his kiss had been, he did not deserve that.
"Don't shoot your death glare at me, commander. I think you'll find that I am innocent of this particular crime. Blame your girl back there," he nodded back to Morgause, "she was the one who shot it out of the sky, not me."
Percival snorted. "They've got you there, Leon. Morgause fights with our Queen's hand. It only stands to reason that she hunts with it too."
"Eye, so all is well with the world," Gwaine intoned with a wink to his Queen. "No golden pheasants were snatched from this life by any hands but royal ones."
Morgause smiled but said nothing, standing off to the side and watching her brothers' banter. In the light of the fire, her armour glittered as gold as her hair, the flickering flames reflecting in her polished pauldrons and dancing over her belted hauberk. Next to her knights, Morgause looked not slighter and smaller as Morgana might have anticipated, but proud and tall. For the first time, Morgana thought she understood the camaraderie between knights. They were truly family, their strength greater together than the sum of their parts. For a heartbeat, she was jealous.
...
From the moment Morgana had risen, excused herself and made a point of not looking her way, Morgause knew she was supposed to follow her. The intent was in what was not done or said, as was so often the case with her quiet Queen.
With a word to Leon, she rose from the bench beside him and edged around the fire, heading for the dark breath between the trees into which Morgana had disappeared. As she left the light and warmth of the clearing, the darkness drew her on. It lead her forward until the blackness yielded to the silvery light off a small still pool weaving around the roots of an ancient oak. Standing on the wide flat flare of a root amidst it, her hair as black as the night and her skin as silver as the water, Morgana looked a goddess. Her head was bowed and her hands clasped simply in front of her. Morgana had shrugged out of her dress and discarded her boots, leaving her in nothing but her clingy sleeveless white shift. Morgause's breath caught. Little as she liked to admit it to herself, seeing Morgana looking so innocent and helpless made her desire flare.
When Morgana lifted her head, the flush of pink on her cheeks and lips the only colour on her, Morgause all but forgot she need breathe at all.
Urged on by Morgana's silence, Morgause crossed the hushed clearing, stopping only when she reached the water's edge. Looking down to her left, she saw Morgana's discarded clothing, and felt her own hands move up to loosen the leather straps of her plate. Slowly, she laid her armour to her right, piling it together with her mail and boots until all she stood in were her tight fitting breeches and loose undershirt. When she was done, she looked back to Morgana and stepped into the water.
Beneath her feet, cool white earth shifted and swilled into the once clear water, leaving clouds swelling in her wake. Through the water she walked, until she met the incline of a root and stepped up next to Morgana, slipping one arm around her back and pulling her flush against her.
"We are playing with danger, my love," she whispered, flaring open her hand on the hollow of Morgana's lower back.
"They will not follow us. I told Sir Percival I felt unwell, made sure he felt... uncomfortable. He was too embarrassed to ask what was wrong." There was a wicked glint in her eye that was gone as soon as it appeared.
"And what if they do follow us?" Morgause was uneasy, but finding it hard to refuse.
"Then we run," Morgana said simply, the night time wind shifting her midnight hair. "But they will not. They have more faith in you than Uther does and will not chance catching their Queen unaware."
Despite her doubts, Morgause found herself pressing Morgana back against the oak, making her Queen gasp and clutch at her.
"I am yours," Morgana reminded her, pliant and moonlight pale. "For one more night I want to be yours alone," she whispered, her cool hand at Morgause's cheek.
Leaning close to breathe her in, Morgause murmured, "You will always be mine. Only mine."
Morgana shivered and Morgause pressed harder against her, slipping one breeches-clad leg between Morgana's and raising it up, and up.
"Gods," Morgana cried delicately, laying the palm of her hand flat against the plane of skin beneath Morgause's clavicle. Her other hand, she tightened on Morgause's toned arm, wondering vaguely when exactly laying with her knight had become prayer, and how she had ever lived without its worship.
Dropping her hand from Morgana's back to the generous curve of her hip, Morgause began to hoist up her wispy shift until her fingers met with the warm soft skin of Morgana's thigh.
"When the Gods fashioned you, they did so with no mercy for my soul," Morgause breathed against the shell of her ear, delighting in Morgana's answering shiver.
"Please," Morgana pleaded breathily, "please, I-"
Morgause cut her off with a kiss. A Queen should never beg.
Their lips danced slowly and needily, Morgana's mouth opening up and yielding to her knight, taking her inside and - oh, Gods.
Dropping Morgana's shift over her questing hand, Morgause began to stroke inwards, the gentle touches parting Morgana's thighs more satisfyingly than force ever could. With a trail of kisses that lead down her Queen's fine proud jaw, downwards onto the marble column of her neck and hovered at her favourite spot where neck arched to delicate shoulder, Morgause's hand reached the inside of Morgana's thigh. Gently, she slipped it between, a moan catching in her throat when she found her, as always, weeping for her.
That night, Morgause took her as slow as she dared, caressing her to the edge of oblivion and holding her there - slick and warm and soft and hers. Only when Morgana opened her mouth to beg did Morgause push her over the edge, sending her trembling and crying into the void. Morgana sagged wearily against her, her young body drained and flushed. With that one last joining, Morgause wrote her love onto Morgana's skin, tracing it over firm and giving flesh alike, filling her and overwhelming her.
"I love you too," Morgana mumbled in her afterglow, her eyelids heavy. She was held up by no strength of her own, but instead by the tree at her back and Morgause at her front. A gold tanned hand smoothed up and over her hip, dipping into the curve of her waist and up to fill its palm with one of her firm rounded breasts.
"Soon I shall barely recognise you," Morgause whispered a little sadly. "I find you ripening day by day, swelling and rounding, filling up with life." A shiver ran through her. She could not decide how she felt about that, not truly. It made Morgana happy - she could not feel anything but gratitude for that. And too, it made her more beautiful every day, as impossible as Morgause would have believed that.
"But yours still," Morgana promised. She had lost the fight to keep her eyes open and, instead, opted to lay her head on Morgause's chest, smiling when Morgause's free hand came up to stroke her hair. "Only and always yours. I promise."
She did not see the sadness in Morgause's eyes, or the tears that threatened to spill out. She did not see that her brave knight had given up hope of them being able to carry on togther. "I know, my love, I know."
...
Upon their return to camp, they found the all the knights but Leon asleep. They slept it pairs - a formation, Morgause knew, that Morgana's father had designed in Camelot's last Great War. With another knight by your side, you could not so easily have your throat slit as you slept. They said that the innovation had saved the lives of a hundred and half knights the night that the south men attacked. And though they had mostly been slain the next day, it had won Camelot her freedom and the first Wilde knighthood.
"Good night, Your Majesty," Morgause said to the woman she had spent half the night loving, bowing her head respectfully. The words almost stuck in her throat but she would never not gladly bow to her.
"And you," Morgana bid with longing eyes, "my champion."
It would not be out of place for her take Morgana's hand and kiss it, so she did.
"Sleep well, Your Majesty," Leon bid her in a strong quiet voice. "And if you are in need of anything in the night, whoever is on watch will provide it, or wake someone who can."
"Thank you, Sir," Morgana said with the graciousness of a Queen. "And you must thank your men again for giving up their furs for me, though I was quite alright with what I had."
"They were honoured to sacrifice even such a small thing for their Queen."
Smiling sleepily, Morgana nodded and slipped beneath her furs. She was asleep in seconds.
Morgause, unsure as to whether her place should be near Morgana, to protect her, chose instead to sit watch with her commander. She sat down beside him and settled in for the night. Both of them knew that the other would not give up the watch.
"How do you do it?" Leon asked after a while. "I am tense as a notched bow with Her Majesty under my care."
"With constant fear that I am unworthy and unable to properly protect her," Morgause admitted. "Though, she makes it easy. There has not yet been a day when she has put less than all of her faith in me."
"I can tell," Leon said with what was almost a smile. "The day you fought for in the tournament, I... I had never seen you fight like that before. Her favour gave you a passion to win and a strength of conviction that I could not match. It was only my superior weight behind my slashes that did it." His gaze was on Morgana. "Camelot herself, though graciously appreciative of me in my victory, was behind you. They love our Queen and have come to love her champion too. You should see the number of half-grown girls begging to join our number. And there many more men of age too than the knights have had since the Age of Rome. They see you as the protector of Camelot's heart and wish to be of service to her like you are."
They would not if they knew the truth, Morgause thought, the Knights of Camelot would be shamed.
Silence fell.
"You were gone so long that I almost sent out a search," Leon said after a long while. "Has the journey taken its toll on her? We have heard word of a contagion passing between the women and children along the shore."
"We have seen none of it. Her Majesty is in perfect health. Though she is taxed and soon, after the king is told, you will no doubt be told too. Everyone will," Morgause said as plainly as she dared. It was not so unlikely to an unwed man such as Leon that a woman in Morgana's condition might be so periodically unwell that she needed privacy for a few hours. The first company of knights, Sir Cormick excluded, were all unmarried and devoted to their duty. Though, most had fathered bastards on tavern wenches and carpenters daughters. Leon, though, was honourable to the core and would never indulge in such folly. Surprisingly, Gwaine was the same, despite frequenting the taverns.
Leon nodded as if he understood. Morgause wished she could tell him the truth.
"How are things at court and in the town?" she asked, changing the subject to save them both. "I have heard whispers on the road."
Leon sighed. "Not good. There is increasing unrest in the east and south, of course. And with the short summer and cold spring bringing a poor harvest, Camelot is starting to put on rations."
"But the trade deal with the northern lands had been sealed. What happened?"
"Our King bedded King Edwin's maiden daughter," Leon answered. "We will get no help from the north."
Morgause bit her tongue.
"Then all hopes rest on you and our tournament." She looked once more over to their peacefully sleeping Queen. "And on her, though she does not yet know it."
Next Chapter: Back in Camelot, Morgana is faced with the person she missed the most and the one she missed the least. Morgause finds the situation in the city even direr than she had imagined, especially in Aunt and Uncle's home.
Note: Sorry for the long gap between chapters, but I cannot promise that it will get any better. I am very busy with my final year at university and have had very little down time at all. Your continued reading and comments makes it worth it!