At My Most Beautiful (17/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: At My Most Beautiful (17/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,158 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Morgana finds her fire, leaving the seething King to summon her guard in search of an explanation.
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
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 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
The journey to Uther’s rooms seemed as long for Morgana as it always did. She seldom made the trip unsummoned and never without a sense of trepidation. From the great spiralling steps she descended, her slipper-clad feet silent on the cold stone. Walking the long hallway edged on one side with the castle’s beautiful hidden garden was not as sweet as it should have been and she found herself reflecting upon the woman who had commissioned it, now two long decades dead. Had she once been so full of confliction on her way to tell her husband of the child she carried? No. She had loved him.
The lightness Gwen had set in Morgana’s heart was failing her. Her head insisted that the King would be pleased with her news, he had to be. He had spent the days since their wedding silently shaming her for not giving him the heir that all of Camelot craved and most every night endeavouring to make her hold true to the vows she had made. She had been poked and prodded twice yearly by a specialist physician from Maidenpool - an irony that was not lost on Morgana - and though he had found nothing wrong with her, she had known that Uther’s doubts were beginning to garner wider attention. All of that dictated that he would be thrilled with her news, but somehow her nerves would not settle. Alas, the feeling was not unfamiliar.
After her bath, she had lain out bare before the fire to let its warmth dry her, her eyes closed and the sound of a lilting ballad whispered beneath Gwen’s breath soothing her into that perfect place between sleep and wakefulness. Gwen had roused her after a while and led her to her dresser where she brushed Morgana’s hair until it shone, easy confessions falling from Morgana’s lips. When she was done, she anointed Morgana’s skin with almond oil and bound her body in a gown of royal blue silk edged in spun-silver thread. She had made it whilst Morgana had been away, knowing the curves and hollows to sew into the fabric by heart. It fit like a glove, soft and pliant as a second skin, but taut over her navel. Morgana had pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and begged forgiveness that it would soon need to be retired. Gwen had only smiled, blushed and promised to send Emilie out to buy more Persian silk when the merchant came to the city the following week - Morgana would only have the finest now, she insisted, her eyes full of adoration.
“Your Majesty,” the twin guards at Uther’s door greeted in chorus, bowing their heads to her and uncrossing their spears.
“I am expected,” Morgana said softly, looking first at one and then at the other, taking care to acknowledge both. Uther may not see them as people to be recognized as such, but Morgana was long used to making up for the inadequacies of her King.
The guard to her left broke from his salute to open the door, announcing her arrival, titles and all. She did not object to the King being reminded that she too had some small amount of power. And as she had reflected on in Mermering, she now had power over him too, if only she could find the courage to wield it.
“Your Majesty,” she breathed, her bow no more than a downward casting of her eyes and the slightest inclination of her head.
The King was sat at his table, a picked clean to the bone pheasant and an empty golden goblet before him - decadent as always.
He nodded his greeting, not returning her courtesy, but instead ineffectually sucking the grease from his fingers. In contrast to his ill manners, he was dressed as finely as she was. His doublet was of crimson silk, his breeches of pitch and his jewels being solid gold and rubies. The sword laid on the table at his side was an ornamental one. Morgana wondered, briefly, whether Morgause’s could better it. There was gold in Uther’s sword, she knew, to make it gleam. Gold could be as soft as butter if faced with a sharp enough blade.
“You are late. Two days.”
“I am,” she confirmed with a single nod, doing her best to look a little contrite. “I set a slower pace for my return. I thought it would be wise.”
“Unwise?” He demanded predictably.
“Unwise,” she repeated, taking a step into the light of the fire so that he could see her, “given... given my current state.”
He narrowed his eyes and she could feel his gaze on her like an ice cold caress. “What state? I was not informed that you had come to harm. Though, I suppose that I should have expected it after sending that farce of a knight with you.”
Morgana took a deep breath, keenly aware that defending Morgause too fiercely would be unwise. “No, I was not harmed. We were attacked on the road to Mermering, I admit. But Morgause fought off five well armed men to keep me untouched, earning herself an injury in my protection. She was very brave and thought not a second for her own safety, only my own.”
“Then why speak of caution?” Uther asked, sounding tired of her already. He had turned his attentions from her back to his meal. The pheasant’s carcass was picked at some more, a sliver of dark meat coming free and quickly being devoured.
“Because I am with child,” she said simply. His head snapped up, his attentions refocused on her like a hunting dog’s on a fear-paralysed rabbit. “So you can see why I did not want to risk a quicker pace.”
That got him out of his chair, a leg bone falling from his fingers to the floor with a blunted crack. “You are-”
“With child,” she finished for him, unconsciously smoothing her hand once over her babe.
The truest smile that she had seen there since the morning of their wedding broke out upon Uther’s face, lighting up his eyes with something akin to youthful joy. For a moment, she almost remembered how she had felt towards him that day, before their wedding night had stolen her innocence and both of their gaiety.
“Are you - Are you sure?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“I saw my Aunt’s physician, the elder who trained in Greece. He believes that you will have an heir by the Epiphany.” She would not say ‘a son’ as she always did to Morgause or now to Gwen. In her heart she knew it to be true but no good would come of promising it to him. Queen’s had lost their heads for far less than having a daughter rather than a son, and there were eligible princesses who would likely prove fertile for him far quicker than she had. “It is three months since I have bled,” she added quietly, to still any of his lingering doubts.
He crossed to her in two long strides, beaming, his greased hand going to her abdomen. “By the Epiphany you say?”
“Yes, my lord.” It took all of her will not to flinch away from his touch. It had not been so difficult before. She had been used to it and had known no better. Now she was used to Morgause’s gentle hands and gentler words. The press of her hand had been tentative over Morgana’s stomach, as if she feared that she might harm the child from even such a delicate touch. Uther’s press was as firm and possessive as Morgause’s was slight and reverential, his hand feeling far too big upon her. It was as if it belonged to a giant or a hand of stone of one of the statues of his forefathers who stood vigil along the walls. Only this hand was not of stone, it was of greasy flesh and was ruining her new silk, making her stomach twist.
But then she looked again upon his face and saw that he was still glowing with that smile. She could not bring herself to think on him with such distaste whilst he looked like that.
“Oh Morgana,” he breathed, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her, as gentle as a man of his stature could be.
She closed her eyes and she let herself relax into him. She would enjoy it, remember it. It was a fleeting moment of the life they could have lead if he had been kinder and she had been...
“You have no idea what this means to me,” he breathed, his voice shaking. “Thank you, my Queen.”
“And you, my King,” she answered, meaning it. “I too know a little of what it is to desire this.”
He pulled back and reached out to cup her cheek, gazing at her with a strange expression that she couldn’t quite remember having seen before. The smell of grease, sharp and pungent, reached her nose a second before she realised what he was going to do. He seemed almost graceful as he leant down to kiss her, like some gallant knight - only she had one of those and her knight’s kisses were nothing like his. Though his intentions seemed well enough, he could not prevent the stubble on his chin from chaffing against her skin or change the firmness or shape of his lips. But he could have changed the way he forced his tongue into her mouth, possessing, never even thinking of seeking out permission first as Morgause always did. Some things would never change, not in a man as old and set as Uther.
When he slipped his arm around her back, pulling her flush against him, she dropped her head, breaking the kiss. “I am tired, my lord. The journey has been long and with the child I am not as strong as I once was.”
“Then let me take you to bed,” he said in a voice low with wanting, pulling her harder against him. He said it as if it were something they did, as if at the end of the day they laid together and slipped from wakefulness in each other’s arms. Those were things she did with Morgause. Uther never even waited long enough to see if the red marks he left on her skin would melt away. What about her bearing his child could he think made that different when it was what they had expected all along? On their wedding night, after he had spent himself and finally seemed to see his tearstained wife for the child - the adoptive daughter - that she was, they had thought it inevitable and that had not stilled his guilt. Ever since then, no matter how much he desired her, he always left afterwards and never returned until the next night, full again with needs to be sated.
“Your Majesty, I am with child,” Morgana said in a panicked quiver, fear making her heart race. She had been sure that this news would have him leave her, but his hands were already tugging on her laces where they held the gown together across her chest, slipping inside.
She had expected it to free him of his guilt by setting him free of the need of her, not freeing him to take more of her. Perhaps, in his eyes, the babe made her a woman like everyone else he had lain with, and so made her someone different altogether from his tearstained bride.
“It is my child that you carry,” he reminded her firmly. “A child brought about by our union. And it will be with our union that we shall rejoice in him.”
“Not me,” she resisted, shaking her head. “No.”
Fury burned in his eyes when he shouted, “’No’? You are my wife! I am your husband - the King! You do not have the right to tell me ‘no’. You will do whatever I tell you to and I will do with you whatever I damn well please!”
“Not whilst I carry this babe. I will not endanger our child!” Morgana bit, taking another step back, her hand instinctively going to the stain of grease. “This child is precious, surely you understand that? I will not let anything come to pass that has even the slightest chance of harming it. I have held my breath every waking moment of the last week for fear that my horse might spook and throw me to the floor. For as long as I carry this child, you will kindly turn your affections elsewhere. For I am your Queen and it is your heir whom I am trying to protect.” Chest heaving, she waited for a moment for him to make the next move. When it did not immediately come, she turned and made to leave, any empathy she had felt for him turning sour in her mouth.
“This is not the end of our conversation!” Uther growled, lunging forward to follow her.
Something snapped inside Morgana and she became suddenly very calm. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at Camelot’s great King, her hand still on the door handle. “Yes, it is.”
...
She was shaking when she got back to her chambers, unable to believe what she had just done. For the first time in their marriage, she had refused him. She had screamed at him, laid out a diktat and left him to work out what had happened. Whatever it was that he had discerned had led him not to follow her. She did not know whether that should make her feel relieved or more afraid than if he had dragged her back to his room and taken from her what he would.
“Morgana,” Gwen gasped the moment she came trembling through the door. Her eyes were wide with shock and she dropped the pot of precious oil she had been holding, letting it tumble to the floor and shatter, seeming not to notice it at all. She rushed forward to lead Morgana away from the door, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. Raising her eyes from Morgana’s ruined dress, she asked desperately, “What happened?”
Seeing where her gaze had been brought tears to Morgana’s eyes. “I - I am sorry, I - All of that work you put into it and -”
“Hush,” Gwen soothed in a tone that was simultaneously comforting and admonishing, brushing a falling tear from Morgana’s cheek. “Nothing has been done to it that cannot be fixed. It is you that I am worried about, not a dress. I need ask again, Morgana, what happened?”
“I - I told him ‘no’,” Morgana breathed, not believing it even as she said it. “He wanted... but I told him ‘no’ and then... then I left.” In saying it, she realised something. “He let me.”
“Do not think on it now,” Gwen said uselessly, but her expression seemed more troubled even as Morgana’s heart began to slow.
“What is it?” Morgana asked, her worry flaring to match Gwen’s.
“Morgause was here just before you returned. She... She was summoned to see the King. A guard came to escort her. I thought - we both thought - that...” She trailed off and would not look at Morgana again.
“That I was with the King and I had summoned her,” Morgana finished for her, ice settling in her stomach. If the guards had wanted, they could have reached her chambers before her. The command could have been sent after she had left.
...
The door shut behind Morgause with a deafening bang, echoing through the near empty throne room as it trapped her inside. A shiver ran down her back when she saw that she and the King were alone. With all she had learnt of the man since becoming Morgana’s guard, being in his presence alone, being the sole focus of his attention was not a thought she relished. Particularly, after the latest news of the failed treaty had reached her ears and she had seen the squalor in the streets. Camelot was in dire need and she required a gracious and humble leader, and that was by no means any man’s description of her current King. Uther was far more likely to once more condemn Camelot’s future than he was to improve it. Camelot was running out of possible allies and his only allies, the Kingdoms of Sussex and Kent were neither powerful enough nor close enough to be of help.
Taking a deep breath, Morgause stepped forward, bowed her head and made her address, “Your Majesty. You summoned me.”
Uther leaned back on his throne, disgruntled. “Come closer.”
Morgause raised her head and obeyed.
“You have spent the past month with the Queen,” Uther began, pausing for her answer.
“I have,” Morgause agreed carefully, mindful to appear calm. It was the first thing that Leon had taught her when she came to squire for him - to never let an enemy see your fear. Not that she considered Uther an enemy. That would be a dangerous road down which to walk.
“How has she been? How has she... behaved?” Uther asked, barely seeing Morgause at all. Whatever he was on his mind, it was naught to do with her.
Morgause took a moment to consider her answer. The King and Queen had argued, of that she was now sure. She would never have imagined it before their trip to Mermering, but in the White Keep Morgana had grown strong. Morgause had been both dreading and longing for that new fire to come up against Uther. Now that it had, she was determined to keep Morgana from the worst of the backlash if she could. “I should not say it for loyalty to her, but Her Majesty has been increasingly wilful.”
That seemed to be the answer that the King had wanted, for he sighed and relaxed, the tension in his posture dissipating. “I assume she has told you of the babe.”
“She has, Your Majesty.” Again, careful. “It was pertinent to her protection. If she were not parted from you then I am in no doubt that you would have been informed first.”
Morgana would not have told him first, but he did not need to know that. Gaius would likely have beaten her to it, so what Morgause had said was not entirely a lie.
“Of course,” Uther said dismissively. “It seems to me that my son is making her... What word was it that you used?”
“’Wilful’, Your Majesty.”
“Wilful.” Uther nodded. “It seems that my son is making her wilful, making her bold. I do not doubt that once she delivers this will dissolve, but for the moment her security must be emboldened to meet with this wilfulness. You are to keep to her side constantly.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Morgause assured him.
“Constantly. As we speak a cot- bed is being erected in the Queen’s sleeping chamber - I expect that will be sufficient for you.” He did not give her a chance to answer. “There are of course advantages to your womanhood, such as these sleeping arrangements. Such things would not be possible with any other knight, not even the honourable Sir Leon himself. I must admit that you have proven yourself useful.” He took a breath. “Soon it will be common knowledge that I am to have an heir. I have... competitors who might wish to change that. Your commander has informed me that you sustained an injury, and Morgana insists that you earned it fearlessly fighting off five men in her defence. Is this true?”
“I - Yes, Your Majesty.” Morgause bowed her head.
“Good. Sir Leon assures me that you are more than capable of protecting the Queen. It is only fitting that you must have a reward for all that you have done. And do not give me the answer that all of you knights give. The honour of serving is your privilege but not your reward.” The King looked as her expectantly. “I will grant you anything within reason. I will not have it said that I am an unreasonable King.”
“There is one thing that would beg of you, Your Majesty,” Morgause murmured, raising her head.
...
“There,” Gwen said, straightening the nightshift over Morgana’s shoulders, “that’s better.”
Morgana smiled at her, because it was better. Just not better enough.
She took in breath, intent on thanking Gwen, but a knock at the door cut her short.
“Let me,” Gwen said softly as ever, squeezing Morgana’s arm and leaving her behind the cover of the screen. She crossed to the door in a dozen worried paces, whispering a prayer under her breath that it not be bad news that their visitor brought. When she opened the door to see two guardsmen waiting there, she feared that her prayer had gone unheard.
“On the orders of the King, a bed is to be set up in Her Majesty the Queen’s sleeping quarters,” the elder of the two men announced, a nod of his head bringing Gwen’s attention to the near complete bed frame leaning against the wall behind them. “It is to be for the use of Her Majesty’s personal guard, whom the King was decreed must guard Her Majesty both day and night.”
And because they would not come in unless invited, even on orders from the King, Gwen stepped back and gestured for them to enter.
“Her Majesty is readied for bed. I will attend her behind the screen,” Gwen said with as much authority as she could. “Be quick.”
“That we will be, miss,” the younger guard promised, earning a hard look from his partner. Guards did not take orders from servants, not even the Queen’s own handmaiden.
Without another word, the guards went about their work and Gwen hurried back to relay to Morgana what she had not heard.
“Did I hear them correctly?” Morgana asked in a poorly executed whisper, looking too scared to believe it lest it prove untrue or some sort of trap. “Are they really making provisions for Morgause to guard me from my bedside?”
“It seems that way, Your Majesty,” Gwen answered, wary of prying ears. She lowered her voice so that Morgana had to lean closer to hear her. “Though they did not mention her name, so do not rest your hopes on it. But it does seem unlikely that they would set up a bed for any other guard or knight if the King had any sense of...” She let Morgana work out the middle bit. “And I cannot imagine His Majesty allowing a man to stay in your sleeping chambers overnight. Even if he trusted you both implicitly, the scandal would be too much to bear.”
“You really think so?” Morgana asked, her eyes full of childlike hope. “You think that she is safe?”
“I hope it. I cannot know it,” Gwen admitted, reluctant to ruin Morgana’s rising mood but even more unwilling to let her hopes be dashed should she raise them too high. “We will know for certain soon enough.”
From the impatient sigh that made the strands of midnight hair at Morgana’s cheeks flutter, Morgana did not think it could come soon enough.
After the guards left, both women emerged from behind the screen to inspect the men’s work. In place of the table usually holding a candle by the left side of Morgana’s bed sat a short, squat bed flush against the legs of its taller, grander kin. The frame, as Gwen had seen at the doorway, was of plain smoothed wood nailed together to give a simple bed frame upon which a decent mattress was laid. The sheets were humble but when Gwen reached down to rub the fabric between her fingers, she found that is was of good quality, if plain.
“This is the linen granted to those knights who make their home in the barracks quarter of the lower castle,” Gwen observed. “Though their beds are grander than this.”
Morgana, who momentarily seemed to have forgotten her worry, smiled mischievously and asked, “And how would you know of the quality of the knight’s beds?”
Gwen blushed deeper than she had when Morgana had told her of her first night with Morgause. “Not by virtue of anything you are implying, my lady,” Gwen replied, emphasising the word ‘lady’ to remind Morgana that a real lady would never ask such a question.
“And anyone who would ever suggest otherwise would have to answer to the Queen,” Morgana said lightly. Then more seriously, “Though you must wish for things of that kind, of love. A husband? Children?”
“I will have more than enough to worry about looking after you and your children,” Gwen insisted politely, wishing Morgana would go back to worrying about Morgause if it would mean an end to that particular conversation.
Morgana nodded, looking a little forlorn.
“I would not have it any other way,” Gwen assured her. She was saved from the conversation going any further by another knock at the door. “I shall get it,” Gwen said for the second time that evening, determined that if it were the guards come to implement some other change to Morgana’s chambers that she would see them off ‘till morn. It was far too late for such alterations and she would not have Morgana disturbed again. After all, Morgana employed her to see to her wellbeing, which should give her the right to refuse entry into the Queen’s bedchamber.
However, when she opened the door she found only one guard, who seemed more intent on changing Morgana’s life than her furniture. She must have smiled in relief then, for Morgause caught it and matched it with a smile of her own and a nod of greeting. To Gwen’s surprise, she waited in the hallway until Gwen had the sense to invite her inside. It was then, whilst Gwen closed and locked the door - intent on deterring any more visitors who might witness the coming reunion - that Morgana looked up from running her fingers across the new bed sheets and saw that her knight had returned.
In a show joyful relief that made Gwen’s stomach flutter, Morgana flew across the room and threw her arms around Morgause’s neck, kissing her at first needily and then gently, before dropping her head to kiss the back of both of Morgause’s hands.
“I feared that when you had been called for...”
“We are safe, for now,” Morgause promised her, tilting up Morgana’s face with a single finger beneath the Queen’s chin to kiss her reverently.
Gwen looked away.
For the corner of her eye, Morgana caught Gwen’s movement and pulled back, saying to Gwen, “I apologise, that will not again happen in your presence. I swear to it. You should not have to-”
“Do not deny yourselves on my sake, for your time in private will be woefully sparse enough without my presence denying you as well,” Gwen interrupted. She could not bear it if her being around Morgana meant making her less happy. “I don’t want you to think of my being here as having any impact upon your... affections.”
Morgana came to her and hugged her then, long and lingering. “I do not deserve you,” she whispered.
Gwen sighed. “It is I who do not deserve you. If you have no further need for me, I shall retire to my antechamber and leave you alone.”
“Do not go. I have not had my fill of your company yet,” Morgana whispered. “I have longed for your company.”
“Yet I think that you long for Morgause’s company more,” Gwen murmured kindly. “The King will not call again tonight and you need ask her what he wanted of her. I will be only a call away, Morgana.”
“You should not have to help us,” Morgana breathed against the crook of Gwen’s neck, still holding her close.
“I will do anything to make you happy,” Gwen promised. “I have never seen you happier than when you saw her walk through that door. I will do all I can to keep you looking that way.” Squeezing Morgana one last time, Gwen released her and stood back. “If you need me, I will be near. But I know that you will not. Goodnight, Morgana.” She looked to Morgause. “And to you, my lady.”
“I hope that you sleep well, Guinevere” Morgause bade, bowing to her like any of her brothers would bow to a noble lady.
Gwen smiled, stifling a girlish giggle. She turned back to Morgana. “Well she certainly is charming.”
“Endlessly,” Morgana smiled, looking past her to her knight.
Once they were alone, Morgause crossed to her Queen and drew her close. “I thought for a moment that we have already been discovered,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against Morgana’s and stroking her cheek. “You must not let me endanger you.”
“The danger would be the peril my heart would surely face were you ever to leave me,” Morgana whispered, her eyes closed.
“Never,” Morgause whispered. “And now that the King has dictated I stay by your side day and night, you will never be free of me.”
“Is that a promise?”
“The honourable word of a knight,” Morgause promised, pressing a kiss to each of Morgana’s flushed cheeks. “I would never break a promise to you, my love.”
Morgana blushed. “It makes my heart flutter when you refer to me such.”
Morgause smiled that charming smile of hers, making Morgana’s heart fluttered a little more. “Let me get out of this armour and I will make it flutter a little more.”
Morgana blushed again, before untangling herself from Morgause’s arms and moving around to her back to get to work loosening the supple leather straps that held her knight’s pauldron. She was only clad in that, her upper vambrace and her gorget, so Morgause could easily have rid herself of them, but that was not the point. Morgana wanted to do it, and by now Morgause knew better than to try to dissuade her.
When she was done, she stepped back to let Morgause take off her mail, wrapping her arms around Morgause’s warm waist from behind whilst Morgause’s arms were still in the air and pressing a kiss to the sigil on Morgause’s shoulder. She whispered, “Take me to bed.”
“Gladly, my Queen.”
And before Morgana could take another breath, Morgause spun around and kissed her fiercely, as a Queen should be kissed. Her hands smoothed downwards, lifting her off the ground so that Morgana had no choice but to wrap her legs around her knight’s waist and let herself be consumed. Every kiss, every touch, washed away the King’s so perfectly that Morgana had to cry, her tears salting their kiss as they had their first. True to her promise, Morgause had set her heart to thundering.
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More fanfiction not posted here can be found at my Tumblr.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,158 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Morgana finds her fire, leaving the seething King to summon her guard in search of an explanation.
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
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 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
The journey to Uther’s rooms seemed as long for Morgana as it always did. She seldom made the trip unsummoned and never without a sense of trepidation. From the great spiralling steps she descended, her slipper-clad feet silent on the cold stone. Walking the long hallway edged on one side with the castle’s beautiful hidden garden was not as sweet as it should have been and she found herself reflecting upon the woman who had commissioned it, now two long decades dead. Had she once been so full of confliction on her way to tell her husband of the child she carried? No. She had loved him.
The lightness Gwen had set in Morgana’s heart was failing her. Her head insisted that the King would be pleased with her news, he had to be. He had spent the days since their wedding silently shaming her for not giving him the heir that all of Camelot craved and most every night endeavouring to make her hold true to the vows she had made. She had been poked and prodded twice yearly by a specialist physician from Maidenpool - an irony that was not lost on Morgana - and though he had found nothing wrong with her, she had known that Uther’s doubts were beginning to garner wider attention. All of that dictated that he would be thrilled with her news, but somehow her nerves would not settle. Alas, the feeling was not unfamiliar.
After her bath, she had lain out bare before the fire to let its warmth dry her, her eyes closed and the sound of a lilting ballad whispered beneath Gwen’s breath soothing her into that perfect place between sleep and wakefulness. Gwen had roused her after a while and led her to her dresser where she brushed Morgana’s hair until it shone, easy confessions falling from Morgana’s lips. When she was done, she anointed Morgana’s skin with almond oil and bound her body in a gown of royal blue silk edged in spun-silver thread. She had made it whilst Morgana had been away, knowing the curves and hollows to sew into the fabric by heart. It fit like a glove, soft and pliant as a second skin, but taut over her navel. Morgana had pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and begged forgiveness that it would soon need to be retired. Gwen had only smiled, blushed and promised to send Emilie out to buy more Persian silk when the merchant came to the city the following week - Morgana would only have the finest now, she insisted, her eyes full of adoration.
“Your Majesty,” the twin guards at Uther’s door greeted in chorus, bowing their heads to her and uncrossing their spears.
“I am expected,” Morgana said softly, looking first at one and then at the other, taking care to acknowledge both. Uther may not see them as people to be recognized as such, but Morgana was long used to making up for the inadequacies of her King.
The guard to her left broke from his salute to open the door, announcing her arrival, titles and all. She did not object to the King being reminded that she too had some small amount of power. And as she had reflected on in Mermering, she now had power over him too, if only she could find the courage to wield it.
“Your Majesty,” she breathed, her bow no more than a downward casting of her eyes and the slightest inclination of her head.
The King was sat at his table, a picked clean to the bone pheasant and an empty golden goblet before him - decadent as always.
He nodded his greeting, not returning her courtesy, but instead ineffectually sucking the grease from his fingers. In contrast to his ill manners, he was dressed as finely as she was. His doublet was of crimson silk, his breeches of pitch and his jewels being solid gold and rubies. The sword laid on the table at his side was an ornamental one. Morgana wondered, briefly, whether Morgause’s could better it. There was gold in Uther’s sword, she knew, to make it gleam. Gold could be as soft as butter if faced with a sharp enough blade.
“You are late. Two days.”
“I am,” she confirmed with a single nod, doing her best to look a little contrite. “I set a slower pace for my return. I thought it would be wise.”
“Unwise?” He demanded predictably.
“Unwise,” she repeated, taking a step into the light of the fire so that he could see her, “given... given my current state.”
He narrowed his eyes and she could feel his gaze on her like an ice cold caress. “What state? I was not informed that you had come to harm. Though, I suppose that I should have expected it after sending that farce of a knight with you.”
Morgana took a deep breath, keenly aware that defending Morgause too fiercely would be unwise. “No, I was not harmed. We were attacked on the road to Mermering, I admit. But Morgause fought off five well armed men to keep me untouched, earning herself an injury in my protection. She was very brave and thought not a second for her own safety, only my own.”
“Then why speak of caution?” Uther asked, sounding tired of her already. He had turned his attentions from her back to his meal. The pheasant’s carcass was picked at some more, a sliver of dark meat coming free and quickly being devoured.
“Because I am with child,” she said simply. His head snapped up, his attentions refocused on her like a hunting dog’s on a fear-paralysed rabbit. “So you can see why I did not want to risk a quicker pace.”
That got him out of his chair, a leg bone falling from his fingers to the floor with a blunted crack. “You are-”
“With child,” she finished for him, unconsciously smoothing her hand once over her babe.
The truest smile that she had seen there since the morning of their wedding broke out upon Uther’s face, lighting up his eyes with something akin to youthful joy. For a moment, she almost remembered how she had felt towards him that day, before their wedding night had stolen her innocence and both of their gaiety.
“Are you - Are you sure?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“I saw my Aunt’s physician, the elder who trained in Greece. He believes that you will have an heir by the Epiphany.” She would not say ‘a son’ as she always did to Morgause or now to Gwen. In her heart she knew it to be true but no good would come of promising it to him. Queen’s had lost their heads for far less than having a daughter rather than a son, and there were eligible princesses who would likely prove fertile for him far quicker than she had. “It is three months since I have bled,” she added quietly, to still any of his lingering doubts.
He crossed to her in two long strides, beaming, his greased hand going to her abdomen. “By the Epiphany you say?”
“Yes, my lord.” It took all of her will not to flinch away from his touch. It had not been so difficult before. She had been used to it and had known no better. Now she was used to Morgause’s gentle hands and gentler words. The press of her hand had been tentative over Morgana’s stomach, as if she feared that she might harm the child from even such a delicate touch. Uther’s press was as firm and possessive as Morgause’s was slight and reverential, his hand feeling far too big upon her. It was as if it belonged to a giant or a hand of stone of one of the statues of his forefathers who stood vigil along the walls. Only this hand was not of stone, it was of greasy flesh and was ruining her new silk, making her stomach twist.
But then she looked again upon his face and saw that he was still glowing with that smile. She could not bring herself to think on him with such distaste whilst he looked like that.
“Oh Morgana,” he breathed, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her, as gentle as a man of his stature could be.
She closed her eyes and she let herself relax into him. She would enjoy it, remember it. It was a fleeting moment of the life they could have lead if he had been kinder and she had been...
“You have no idea what this means to me,” he breathed, his voice shaking. “Thank you, my Queen.”
“And you, my King,” she answered, meaning it. “I too know a little of what it is to desire this.”
He pulled back and reached out to cup her cheek, gazing at her with a strange expression that she couldn’t quite remember having seen before. The smell of grease, sharp and pungent, reached her nose a second before she realised what he was going to do. He seemed almost graceful as he leant down to kiss her, like some gallant knight - only she had one of those and her knight’s kisses were nothing like his. Though his intentions seemed well enough, he could not prevent the stubble on his chin from chaffing against her skin or change the firmness or shape of his lips. But he could have changed the way he forced his tongue into her mouth, possessing, never even thinking of seeking out permission first as Morgause always did. Some things would never change, not in a man as old and set as Uther.
When he slipped his arm around her back, pulling her flush against him, she dropped her head, breaking the kiss. “I am tired, my lord. The journey has been long and with the child I am not as strong as I once was.”
“Then let me take you to bed,” he said in a voice low with wanting, pulling her harder against him. He said it as if it were something they did, as if at the end of the day they laid together and slipped from wakefulness in each other’s arms. Those were things she did with Morgause. Uther never even waited long enough to see if the red marks he left on her skin would melt away. What about her bearing his child could he think made that different when it was what they had expected all along? On their wedding night, after he had spent himself and finally seemed to see his tearstained wife for the child - the adoptive daughter - that she was, they had thought it inevitable and that had not stilled his guilt. Ever since then, no matter how much he desired her, he always left afterwards and never returned until the next night, full again with needs to be sated.
“Your Majesty, I am with child,” Morgana said in a panicked quiver, fear making her heart race. She had been sure that this news would have him leave her, but his hands were already tugging on her laces where they held the gown together across her chest, slipping inside.
She had expected it to free him of his guilt by setting him free of the need of her, not freeing him to take more of her. Perhaps, in his eyes, the babe made her a woman like everyone else he had lain with, and so made her someone different altogether from his tearstained bride.
“It is my child that you carry,” he reminded her firmly. “A child brought about by our union. And it will be with our union that we shall rejoice in him.”
“Not me,” she resisted, shaking her head. “No.”
Fury burned in his eyes when he shouted, “’No’? You are my wife! I am your husband - the King! You do not have the right to tell me ‘no’. You will do whatever I tell you to and I will do with you whatever I damn well please!”
“Not whilst I carry this babe. I will not endanger our child!” Morgana bit, taking another step back, her hand instinctively going to the stain of grease. “This child is precious, surely you understand that? I will not let anything come to pass that has even the slightest chance of harming it. I have held my breath every waking moment of the last week for fear that my horse might spook and throw me to the floor. For as long as I carry this child, you will kindly turn your affections elsewhere. For I am your Queen and it is your heir whom I am trying to protect.” Chest heaving, she waited for a moment for him to make the next move. When it did not immediately come, she turned and made to leave, any empathy she had felt for him turning sour in her mouth.
“This is not the end of our conversation!” Uther growled, lunging forward to follow her.
Something snapped inside Morgana and she became suddenly very calm. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at Camelot’s great King, her hand still on the door handle. “Yes, it is.”
...
She was shaking when she got back to her chambers, unable to believe what she had just done. For the first time in their marriage, she had refused him. She had screamed at him, laid out a diktat and left him to work out what had happened. Whatever it was that he had discerned had led him not to follow her. She did not know whether that should make her feel relieved or more afraid than if he had dragged her back to his room and taken from her what he would.
“Morgana,” Gwen gasped the moment she came trembling through the door. Her eyes were wide with shock and she dropped the pot of precious oil she had been holding, letting it tumble to the floor and shatter, seeming not to notice it at all. She rushed forward to lead Morgana away from the door, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. Raising her eyes from Morgana’s ruined dress, she asked desperately, “What happened?”
Seeing where her gaze had been brought tears to Morgana’s eyes. “I - I am sorry, I - All of that work you put into it and -”
“Hush,” Gwen soothed in a tone that was simultaneously comforting and admonishing, brushing a falling tear from Morgana’s cheek. “Nothing has been done to it that cannot be fixed. It is you that I am worried about, not a dress. I need ask again, Morgana, what happened?”
“I - I told him ‘no’,” Morgana breathed, not believing it even as she said it. “He wanted... but I told him ‘no’ and then... then I left.” In saying it, she realised something. “He let me.”
“Do not think on it now,” Gwen said uselessly, but her expression seemed more troubled even as Morgana’s heart began to slow.
“What is it?” Morgana asked, her worry flaring to match Gwen’s.
“Morgause was here just before you returned. She... She was summoned to see the King. A guard came to escort her. I thought - we both thought - that...” She trailed off and would not look at Morgana again.
“That I was with the King and I had summoned her,” Morgana finished for her, ice settling in her stomach. If the guards had wanted, they could have reached her chambers before her. The command could have been sent after she had left.
...
The door shut behind Morgause with a deafening bang, echoing through the near empty throne room as it trapped her inside. A shiver ran down her back when she saw that she and the King were alone. With all she had learnt of the man since becoming Morgana’s guard, being in his presence alone, being the sole focus of his attention was not a thought she relished. Particularly, after the latest news of the failed treaty had reached her ears and she had seen the squalor in the streets. Camelot was in dire need and she required a gracious and humble leader, and that was by no means any man’s description of her current King. Uther was far more likely to once more condemn Camelot’s future than he was to improve it. Camelot was running out of possible allies and his only allies, the Kingdoms of Sussex and Kent were neither powerful enough nor close enough to be of help.
Taking a deep breath, Morgause stepped forward, bowed her head and made her address, “Your Majesty. You summoned me.”
Uther leaned back on his throne, disgruntled. “Come closer.”
Morgause raised her head and obeyed.
“You have spent the past month with the Queen,” Uther began, pausing for her answer.
“I have,” Morgause agreed carefully, mindful to appear calm. It was the first thing that Leon had taught her when she came to squire for him - to never let an enemy see your fear. Not that she considered Uther an enemy. That would be a dangerous road down which to walk.
“How has she been? How has she... behaved?” Uther asked, barely seeing Morgause at all. Whatever he was on his mind, it was naught to do with her.
Morgause took a moment to consider her answer. The King and Queen had argued, of that she was now sure. She would never have imagined it before their trip to Mermering, but in the White Keep Morgana had grown strong. Morgause had been both dreading and longing for that new fire to come up against Uther. Now that it had, she was determined to keep Morgana from the worst of the backlash if she could. “I should not say it for loyalty to her, but Her Majesty has been increasingly wilful.”
That seemed to be the answer that the King had wanted, for he sighed and relaxed, the tension in his posture dissipating. “I assume she has told you of the babe.”
“She has, Your Majesty.” Again, careful. “It was pertinent to her protection. If she were not parted from you then I am in no doubt that you would have been informed first.”
Morgana would not have told him first, but he did not need to know that. Gaius would likely have beaten her to it, so what Morgause had said was not entirely a lie.
“Of course,” Uther said dismissively. “It seems to me that my son is making her... What word was it that you used?”
“’Wilful’, Your Majesty.”
“Wilful.” Uther nodded. “It seems that my son is making her wilful, making her bold. I do not doubt that once she delivers this will dissolve, but for the moment her security must be emboldened to meet with this wilfulness. You are to keep to her side constantly.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Morgause assured him.
“Constantly. As we speak a cot- bed is being erected in the Queen’s sleeping chamber - I expect that will be sufficient for you.” He did not give her a chance to answer. “There are of course advantages to your womanhood, such as these sleeping arrangements. Such things would not be possible with any other knight, not even the honourable Sir Leon himself. I must admit that you have proven yourself useful.” He took a breath. “Soon it will be common knowledge that I am to have an heir. I have... competitors who might wish to change that. Your commander has informed me that you sustained an injury, and Morgana insists that you earned it fearlessly fighting off five men in her defence. Is this true?”
“I - Yes, Your Majesty.” Morgause bowed her head.
“Good. Sir Leon assures me that you are more than capable of protecting the Queen. It is only fitting that you must have a reward for all that you have done. And do not give me the answer that all of you knights give. The honour of serving is your privilege but not your reward.” The King looked as her expectantly. “I will grant you anything within reason. I will not have it said that I am an unreasonable King.”
“There is one thing that would beg of you, Your Majesty,” Morgause murmured, raising her head.
...
“There,” Gwen said, straightening the nightshift over Morgana’s shoulders, “that’s better.”
Morgana smiled at her, because it was better. Just not better enough.
She took in breath, intent on thanking Gwen, but a knock at the door cut her short.
“Let me,” Gwen said softly as ever, squeezing Morgana’s arm and leaving her behind the cover of the screen. She crossed to the door in a dozen worried paces, whispering a prayer under her breath that it not be bad news that their visitor brought. When she opened the door to see two guardsmen waiting there, she feared that her prayer had gone unheard.
“On the orders of the King, a bed is to be set up in Her Majesty the Queen’s sleeping quarters,” the elder of the two men announced, a nod of his head bringing Gwen’s attention to the near complete bed frame leaning against the wall behind them. “It is to be for the use of Her Majesty’s personal guard, whom the King was decreed must guard Her Majesty both day and night.”
And because they would not come in unless invited, even on orders from the King, Gwen stepped back and gestured for them to enter.
“Her Majesty is readied for bed. I will attend her behind the screen,” Gwen said with as much authority as she could. “Be quick.”
“That we will be, miss,” the younger guard promised, earning a hard look from his partner. Guards did not take orders from servants, not even the Queen’s own handmaiden.
Without another word, the guards went about their work and Gwen hurried back to relay to Morgana what she had not heard.
“Did I hear them correctly?” Morgana asked in a poorly executed whisper, looking too scared to believe it lest it prove untrue or some sort of trap. “Are they really making provisions for Morgause to guard me from my bedside?”
“It seems that way, Your Majesty,” Gwen answered, wary of prying ears. She lowered her voice so that Morgana had to lean closer to hear her. “Though they did not mention her name, so do not rest your hopes on it. But it does seem unlikely that they would set up a bed for any other guard or knight if the King had any sense of...” She let Morgana work out the middle bit. “And I cannot imagine His Majesty allowing a man to stay in your sleeping chambers overnight. Even if he trusted you both implicitly, the scandal would be too much to bear.”
“You really think so?” Morgana asked, her eyes full of childlike hope. “You think that she is safe?”
“I hope it. I cannot know it,” Gwen admitted, reluctant to ruin Morgana’s rising mood but even more unwilling to let her hopes be dashed should she raise them too high. “We will know for certain soon enough.”
From the impatient sigh that made the strands of midnight hair at Morgana’s cheeks flutter, Morgana did not think it could come soon enough.
After the guards left, both women emerged from behind the screen to inspect the men’s work. In place of the table usually holding a candle by the left side of Morgana’s bed sat a short, squat bed flush against the legs of its taller, grander kin. The frame, as Gwen had seen at the doorway, was of plain smoothed wood nailed together to give a simple bed frame upon which a decent mattress was laid. The sheets were humble but when Gwen reached down to rub the fabric between her fingers, she found that is was of good quality, if plain.
“This is the linen granted to those knights who make their home in the barracks quarter of the lower castle,” Gwen observed. “Though their beds are grander than this.”
Morgana, who momentarily seemed to have forgotten her worry, smiled mischievously and asked, “And how would you know of the quality of the knight’s beds?”
Gwen blushed deeper than she had when Morgana had told her of her first night with Morgause. “Not by virtue of anything you are implying, my lady,” Gwen replied, emphasising the word ‘lady’ to remind Morgana that a real lady would never ask such a question.
“And anyone who would ever suggest otherwise would have to answer to the Queen,” Morgana said lightly. Then more seriously, “Though you must wish for things of that kind, of love. A husband? Children?”
“I will have more than enough to worry about looking after you and your children,” Gwen insisted politely, wishing Morgana would go back to worrying about Morgause if it would mean an end to that particular conversation.
Morgana nodded, looking a little forlorn.
“I would not have it any other way,” Gwen assured her. She was saved from the conversation going any further by another knock at the door. “I shall get it,” Gwen said for the second time that evening, determined that if it were the guards come to implement some other change to Morgana’s chambers that she would see them off ‘till morn. It was far too late for such alterations and she would not have Morgana disturbed again. After all, Morgana employed her to see to her wellbeing, which should give her the right to refuse entry into the Queen’s bedchamber.
However, when she opened the door she found only one guard, who seemed more intent on changing Morgana’s life than her furniture. She must have smiled in relief then, for Morgause caught it and matched it with a smile of her own and a nod of greeting. To Gwen’s surprise, she waited in the hallway until Gwen had the sense to invite her inside. It was then, whilst Gwen closed and locked the door - intent on deterring any more visitors who might witness the coming reunion - that Morgana looked up from running her fingers across the new bed sheets and saw that her knight had returned.
In a show joyful relief that made Gwen’s stomach flutter, Morgana flew across the room and threw her arms around Morgause’s neck, kissing her at first needily and then gently, before dropping her head to kiss the back of both of Morgause’s hands.
“I feared that when you had been called for...”
“We are safe, for now,” Morgause promised her, tilting up Morgana’s face with a single finger beneath the Queen’s chin to kiss her reverently.
Gwen looked away.
For the corner of her eye, Morgana caught Gwen’s movement and pulled back, saying to Gwen, “I apologise, that will not again happen in your presence. I swear to it. You should not have to-”
“Do not deny yourselves on my sake, for your time in private will be woefully sparse enough without my presence denying you as well,” Gwen interrupted. She could not bear it if her being around Morgana meant making her less happy. “I don’t want you to think of my being here as having any impact upon your... affections.”
Morgana came to her and hugged her then, long and lingering. “I do not deserve you,” she whispered.
Gwen sighed. “It is I who do not deserve you. If you have no further need for me, I shall retire to my antechamber and leave you alone.”
“Do not go. I have not had my fill of your company yet,” Morgana whispered. “I have longed for your company.”
“Yet I think that you long for Morgause’s company more,” Gwen murmured kindly. “The King will not call again tonight and you need ask her what he wanted of her. I will be only a call away, Morgana.”
“You should not have to help us,” Morgana breathed against the crook of Gwen’s neck, still holding her close.
“I will do anything to make you happy,” Gwen promised. “I have never seen you happier than when you saw her walk through that door. I will do all I can to keep you looking that way.” Squeezing Morgana one last time, Gwen released her and stood back. “If you need me, I will be near. But I know that you will not. Goodnight, Morgana.” She looked to Morgause. “And to you, my lady.”
“I hope that you sleep well, Guinevere” Morgause bade, bowing to her like any of her brothers would bow to a noble lady.
Gwen smiled, stifling a girlish giggle. She turned back to Morgana. “Well she certainly is charming.”
“Endlessly,” Morgana smiled, looking past her to her knight.
Once they were alone, Morgause crossed to her Queen and drew her close. “I thought for a moment that we have already been discovered,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against Morgana’s and stroking her cheek. “You must not let me endanger you.”
“The danger would be the peril my heart would surely face were you ever to leave me,” Morgana whispered, her eyes closed.
“Never,” Morgause whispered. “And now that the King has dictated I stay by your side day and night, you will never be free of me.”
“Is that a promise?”
“The honourable word of a knight,” Morgause promised, pressing a kiss to each of Morgana’s flushed cheeks. “I would never break a promise to you, my love.”
Morgana blushed. “It makes my heart flutter when you refer to me such.”
Morgause smiled that charming smile of hers, making Morgana’s heart fluttered a little more. “Let me get out of this armour and I will make it flutter a little more.”
Morgana blushed again, before untangling herself from Morgause’s arms and moving around to her back to get to work loosening the supple leather straps that held her knight’s pauldron. She was only clad in that, her upper vambrace and her gorget, so Morgause could easily have rid herself of them, but that was not the point. Morgana wanted to do it, and by now Morgause knew better than to try to dissuade her.
When she was done, she stepped back to let Morgause take off her mail, wrapping her arms around Morgause’s warm waist from behind whilst Morgause’s arms were still in the air and pressing a kiss to the sigil on Morgause’s shoulder. She whispered, “Take me to bed.”
“Gladly, my Queen.”
And before Morgana could take another breath, Morgause spun around and kissed her fiercely, as a Queen should be kissed. Her hands smoothed downwards, lifting her off the ground so that Morgana had no choice but to wrap her legs around her knight’s waist and let herself be consumed. Every kiss, every touch, washed away the King’s so perfectly that Morgana had to cry, her tears salting their kiss as they had their first. True to her promise, Morgause had set her heart to thundering.
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