At My Most Beautiful (18/?) - (Morgana/Morgause)

[lovepb]

Title: At My Most Beautiful (18/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,364 for this chapter
Chapter Summary: Morgause claims her reward from the King, but when Morgana finds it wanting, she decides assert her newfound power behind the King’s back.
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 | Chapter 17



Morgana sighed sleepily and let her eyes flutter closed. She was unwilling to fall asleep quite yet but far too exhausted to hold open her heavy eyelids for even a moment longer. The day had been a long one, and though sleeping seemed sweet, she was sure that the night would prove far too short should she let herself drift from wakefulness.

“Do not sleep yet,” Morgause bid in a teasing whisper, nuzzling against her in a way that reminded Morgana of the affectionate trio of lionesses that had come in on one of her father’s ships. Morgana had been so small at the time that her father had only let her watch the great cage being unloaded from the top of the dock. They had been full of marvels those vessels. The plainest of ships would open its hold and show you all of the wonders of the world. It taught her never to trust first impressions, for they were often, as they had been with Morgause, wrong.

“I will not, not if I can help it,” Morgana whispered back. “But I am truly contented for the first night since we left Mermering and sleep is calling so sweetly.”

“I am glad, my love,” Morgause said, gently pressing her lips to one and then the other of Morgana’s eyelids. She was holding Morgana close as she had done every night in the White Keep, one arm slipped underneath the curve of her waist and the other over her hip, rubbing lazy circles onto the hollow of her back. It had become so instinctual that she did not think that she would be able sleep any other way. Warmth was impossible to find once dark fell without Morgana pressed against her, that she had found out on their long journey home. “I do not wish to taint that contentedness, but I need know that you understand that this cannot be the way of it every night.”

Morgana sighed again, reluctantly murmuring, “I understand, though that does not mean I like it.”

“Nor do I,” Morgause said quickly.

“I know.” Morgana opened her eyes and tilted her head so that she could meet Morgause’s gaze. It was easy for her to lose herself in those deep dark eyes and Morgana never did try to fight it. She felt as though she could see into Morgause’s soul through her eyes and that in return her own heart was laid bare. For the first time, she wondered what they were doing. She had never thought about it before. All she had known was that Morgause fascinated her. Then the fascination had become an obsession, an ache. After that the wanting had been natural and she had never questioned it, not even when Morgause had kissed her.

“Then what is it?” Morgause asked, concerned.

“You have had loves before,” Morgana said, her eyes on the chain around Morgause’s neck.

“I cannot and I would not change that, not even for you. Our past is not something we should seek to change, Morgana. There lies only danger.” There was an age evident in those words, not so much of years but of experiences Morgana had yet to have. “Not all were loves, though. I, like any other free soul, have been driven by desire. Love is not something I feel easily. I have only loved you and one other, and you need not fear that your place in my heart may be usurped.”

“Who? Who else did you love?” Morgana asked, a shiver running over she skin when Morgause’s caress stilled. There was no competing with a first love. Or so all the famous tales professed.

“A girl I once knew.” Was all Morgause was prepared to give. She could be an enigma when she wanted to be. Morgana wondered whether that came from all of the secrets she had had to keep or from the need to shroud her true self in the knighthood. Morgana herself found that day by day she gave less of herself to the people she met, fear that she would give away too much constantly preying on her mind.

“So it was a...”

“Woman? Yes.” Morgause lifted Morgana’s chin to bring their gaze together. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Morgana looked a little afraid.

“And those you have not loved but...”

“All women.” Morgause confirmed. “For me it could only be so, I believe.”

Morgana nodded and fell into thought for a short while.  “So there are others? We are not the only ones?”

Taking note of Morgana’s perhaps unintentional confession, Morgause answered softly, her lips curving into a smile, “No, my love. There is nothing new about what we feel. When the Old Religion prevailed in this land it was not even all that uncommon.”

Again, Morgana nodded, thinking. “Then does it have a name?”

“Many,” Morgause murmured, resuming her circles on Morgana’s skin. “Only one I am prepared to share with you. Most others used today are not kind. As with all elements associated with the Old Religion, it is frowned upon by the One God. Or at least his followers.”

“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, though she had already suspected that. There had been, she thought, sermons that had touched on the subject given by Camelot’s bishop in the years since she had come to the city. But Morgana had never paid too much attention to such things and had usually sat dreaming of happier things beside the King.

“In the Old Language, some called it fey, a title not at all cruel or diminishing. Some of our High Priestesses were known to be so, the most revered being Ganariel the Great. She founded the Great temple and settling on Avalon and later led her followers to the Isle of the Blessed when the Romans came. It is said that they held out there for over one hundred years before a Roman soldier dare set foot on her holy soil. Now that place is naught but a ruin but her spirit is said to remain there, offering sanctuary to all those unjustly pursued or persecuted. It is said that one of Camelot’s own legendary knights, Sir Colwyn, fled to the island with the old Queen’s lady in waiting when their union was forbidden. Other stories tell of the young woman with no magic in her blood, a Roman by birth, who found her way to the isle when her father tried to arrange her a marriage to a nearby merchant’s son. Ganariel took her in and cloaked her in magic so that no man could find her, telling the woman that she was free to leave and would never again be pursued. But the woman did not leave, choosing instead to stay by Ganariel’s side until both were invited into the Vale of the Afterlife together, unable to be parted even by the Gods. ”

“I have heard of her, your Ganariel the Great, but I did not know that,” Morgana smiled. “For my people ‘fey’ means someone like you and her too, though not for who you love but the magic in your veins. I have often wondered if that was where my family name came from. Uther, able to speak only his own tongue, seems never to have noticed the connection, thank the Gods.”

“’Thank the Gods’?” Morgause questioned, her smile growing.

“Uther’s God has never been kind to me. And he would be even less kind should Uther ever discover my love for you. I think, perhaps, your Gods may be kinder, as you have been,” Morgana said carefully. She had been thinking about it for a while, ever since the island where the bond between them had burgeoned and been held high. It was the first time she had felt magic and even though it had been nothing more than a feeling, she had felt as though the powers on the island were smiling down on them. Those Gods did not seem like Gods to be afraid of as the clerics insisted she should be of the One God, but something to watch over you and protect you. It may just have been her rationalising her feeling towards Uther and Morgause, of that she was keenly aware, but that did not dissuade her from feeling a kind of affinity with the Old Religion, no matter how dangerous that would be. “I know that I was not born to it but-”

“No?” Morgause interrupted.  “I would not be too sure of that. Both the land that you and you mother were born in and that where your father hails were strongholds of the Old Religion in times gone by, even if their Gods carried different names. The Romans too were once true believers, before they adopted the One God. I would not be surprised if every man, woman and child in Camelot has some ancestor who practiced the fair arts. Things fall in and out of favour. Time may change things. It cannot erase the past.”

“Nor should we seek to do so,” Morgana said, eager to show that she was learning. Around Morgause she felt at her youngest. There was so much that she didn’t know, a world of things she had never even imagined before Morgause’s lips had pressed to hers.

“Though in your case I could see why you might want to,” Morgause conceded. “And I too have wished to change the things done to you. But not anymore.” She brought forward her hand from Morgana’s back to her swollen abdomen. The news of her cousin’s illness and seeing her Tristan again had made think of what she wanted and what she was prepared to overlook to make Morgana happy. “I am still not promising anything, but I would not change this for the world, not now I have seen how you bloom with it. Every day you grow stronger, your will rising up to surpass a warrior’s as all mothers’ spirits do. Though you have not met your babe yet, your love is already in your eyes and the unconscious way that your hand goes to comfort him. It is so beautiful to see, Morgana, and I will never let anyone take it from you.”

The vow wasn’t a new one but it made Morgana swoon regardless. Morgause always proved herself most a knight when she was laid bare, all curves and softness beneath Morgana’s fingers. The contrast brought out her gallantry in a way that mail and a sword never could. It left Morgana in no doubt that she was born to it, born for greatness and honour. That was what made Morgana most vulnerable, utterly unable to resist her.

“By the Gods, I love you,” she whispered, her voice husky from the ache her knight had set inside her. She tilted up her head to bring Morgause’s lips to hers and kissed her desperately, arching into her and wishing again that the night would never end.

“And I you, my Queen and heart,” Morgause breathed onto her lips, her eyes burning dark in the midnight hour, a wanton angel of destruction come not to conquer but to save. “And even the Gods would be damned if they ever tried to keep me from you whilst you would still have me. So pray that they do not try.”

Morgana felt the shivering darkness envelop her and she welcomed it. “It is all I will ever pray for.”

...

Morgana reached for the carriage’s curtain and found it to be crudely nailed to the curved willow frame. Another of the King’s ‘precautions’ she supposed. It had barely been half a day since he had discovered that he was to have an heir and already she could not count on her two hands the liberties he had withdrawn from her. It had started that morning with Uther’s insistence at their shared breakfast that her maidservant taste her food before she ate it, lest it be poisoned. Morgana had been moments away from giving him a piece of her mind when Morgause had gallantly stepped in and taken Gwen’s place. That had not pleased Morgana either, but the moment’s pause had given her time to think better of voicing her protests.

From there things had gotten swiftly worse. Now she was no longer permitted to walk outside of the castle walls without a further five guard escort and a carriage to shield her from the eyes and dangers of her subjects.

“It is not even as if this affords any protection. Any half-decent blade could cut this canvas,” Morgana said shortly, running her eyes over the scarlet cloth enclosing them. She slipped two fingers under the fixed ebony curtain and peered under it. She could see nothing but bright late-morning light. Sighing, she gave up and turned her attention back into the carriage. “And what will your family think? It looks as though I am seeking to give myself a grand entrance in the hopes of making some sort of point about my importance. That is the last thing that they need.”

Morgause, gagged by Gaius’s presence, could do nothing but give her a sympathetic smile. If she could have spoken plainly then she would say that her family had already heard from her how highly she thought of Morgana.

“Pity an old man, I am not as spry as I used to be,” Gaius said, his voice deep and gruff as he patted her knee. He had been at her door at first light to examine her. Morgause had been rousing her with a kiss when he had knocked. Gwen had come rushing in to call to him through the door to come back when the Queen was ready to receive guests. Morgana had blushed down to her navel from the embarrassment of it and Morgause had not helped by kissing her there too once Gwen had silently left them alone to dress. Gaius had been back within the hour, quickly agreeing with the physician at Mermering. “I will assure the Wildes that this mode of transport is for my benefit and not yours.”

“I would appreciate it,” Morgana said with a reluctant smile. She did not wholly trust the man. His strong ties with Uther were long held, longer than any other could boast. With him she must be more careful than even with Uther himself. The King was often blinded to what was straight in front of him. Gaius was far quicker and would root out their secret if given the chance.

“Or better yet, blame me. If not for me then you would be safe within the castle walls,” Morgause put in, her eyes swimming with guilt.

Tears stung at Morgana’s eyes and her stomach fluttered with shame. She was playing the part of a spoilt royal splendidly and hurting Morgause in the process.

“That will not be necessary, dear, I do not think,” Gaius answered before Morgana could speak. “As I said, the carriage would be needed for me regardless. The Wilde house is beyond the scope of my usual rounds and, with little idea of what is wrong with your cousin, I need bring many things which might be needed. Including,” he patted the rug bag at his right side, “several books.”

“And here I thought that you were all-knowing,” Morgana said good naturedly. She was going to have to work at being charming, she feared. Nerves at meeting Morgause’s family had her on edge. Even if they would never know what she was to Morgause, Morgana wanted them to think well of her. They were the only Wilde’s left that Morgause knew of and Morgana was intent upon endearing herself to them.

“Ah,” Gaius smiled. “Only a foolish man would declare himself all-knowing . There is always more to learn.”

“Upon that, we are in complete agreement,” Morgause said suddenly as the carriage jerked to a stop. There was a strange look in her eye, as if she was planning something. Morgana could not help but smile.

The house was larger than Morgana had expected. There were two floors and its front face stretched wide with six windows per floor looking onto the road. Morgana reckoned there to be two rooms across and two back, making six per floor. She was not wrong.

“It is so big!” she exclaimed, gazing up at it from the cobbled street.

“Not as big as the castles you are used to,” Morgause said playfully, enjoying the brief moment alone that the guards unpacking Gaius’ equipment gave them.

“It is larger than any of the houses I stayed in as a child with my father.”

Morgause looked at her surprised. “But I thought...”

“Mermering may be rich but it is also old. I was definitely not used to such finery day to day.  My father had money but it was always invested in this or that. We certainly never had two floors!” Morgana laughed, her nerves unexpectedly leaving her. “You led me to believe that your family’s wealth had disappeared along with any power you once had in this land. Except, that is, for what your father earned with his knighthood.”

“This is what he earned with his knighthood. This is the house I grew up in. My uncle and his family came to here after I moved into the castle. I did not like having so many rooms empty when he had but two. I have a smaller house more fit for one not too far from here, should I ever need it. Though that is empty too whilst I live at the castle,” Morgause explained, taking the opportunity to take a good look at her old home. It had not changed one bit since she was a child. Except, that is, for the tiny pale face looking out at them from a top floor window. Morgause caught his eye and smiled. “It seems that our arrival has not gone unnoticed.”

Morgana followed her gaze up to the dark window just in time to see the face disappear. “Your cousin?”

“Tristan,” Morgause confirmed. “He is a little shy.”

“Better shy than fiendish and boisterous,” Gaius said loudly, deliberately drawing their attention to himself and his various bags of equipment. “Any chance of some assistance Miss Wilde?”

“Of course,” Morgause exclaimed apologetically, jumping to his assistance. “Forgive me.”

As fate would have it, just as Morgause went to Gaius’ aid, the heavy oaken front door swung back on its hinges to reveal a fair haired man with more than a passing resemblance to his niece. His eyes, as deeply dark as Morgause’s, though toned blue instead of brown, widened at the sight of her. He looked deeply surprised to be faced with the Queen standing alone on his doorstep, even though Morgause has sent word to expect her. Morgana herself felt more than a little taken aback.

“Your Highness,” the man choked, bowing deeply.  “It is an honour.”

For a moment, Morgana was lost for words. She had expected to be introduced and then largely ignored. Or maybe she had just hoped for it.

“I am not certain if you know, but I owe my life to your niece. And my father’s life, rest his soul, I owed to your brother. I am indebted to you and your family. So the honour is mine, I assure you,” Morgana said sincerely. “I was so sorry to hear of your daughter’s ill health. If there is anything I can do to help...”

“You have done enough,” Rivalen said gratefully, inviting her inside. “Without you, we wouldn’t ‘ave the luxury of ‘aving our daughter see the court physician. I ‘ear too that the ‘onourable Gaius’ services being offered free to the city’s poorest by the crown is down your fair influence on our King. I may not benefit from that ruling but I know many that ‘ave. Your kindness is sure to be the thing of great legend.”

“Today is your niece’s doing,” Morgana insisted, stepping inside. “But I thank you for your appreciation. Kindness is the least someone with my privilege can give.”

“No, Your Highness. It is far more than that.”

Morgana’s eyes adjusted to the slight darkness of the room. “I see that fair speech runs in your family, Mr. Wilde.”

Morgause appeared in the doorway with a bag slung over her back and another two in her right hand. She was straining a little under their weight. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for not being present to introduce you.” She dropped the larger of the two bags from her hand and gestured towards Morgana. “Uncle, may I present Her Highness Morgana Pendragon, Queen of the Great Kingdom of Camelot, heir to the fair splendour of Mermering and the only daughter of the valiant Gorlois Le Fay.”

“Well that was surely an introduction worth waiting for,” Morgana murmured to herself, hoping that the low light would hide her blush.

“And this,” Morgause continued, “is my uncle, Rivalen Wilde, head of the Wilde family.”

“And a great family it is too,” Morgana said, wishing not for the first time that she were one of them. It had been so easy for Rivalen’s wife. Just a few simple vows. “Though I would never put you as my young guard’s uncle. Her brother, maybe.”

Morgause dipped her head to hide her smile. She had never been in doubt that Morgana would charm her way into the Wilde’s hearts.

“If I remember rightly,” Gaius began, having come into the house part way through Morgause’s introductions, “Kendrick Wilde’s younger brother was no more than a boy when the victorious party of three returned from the battle of Illhelm.”

“This is Gaius. He is the best physician in the kingdom,” Morgana put in needlessly. All of Camelot knew Gaius. Her nerves may have faltered and faded but she was still at a loss. Gaius’ presence did not only restrain her affections, her behaviour as a whole would not doubt be reported back to the Ling. She would have to play the good Queen if she was to be allowed out again.

Rivalen bowed his head to the old man. “Your memory serves you well. I was not that much older than my son, Tristan, is now.”

As if waiting for the mention of his name to make his entrance, Tristan walked slowly into the parlour room and towards Morgana, his hands hidden behind his back. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he was trying desperately to not forget something. When he reached a respectful distance from her, he stopped and tilted up his head to meet her eyes. Even in the low light, Morgana could see that his eyes - the same brown as Morgause’s - were wide with wonder. He seemed to have forgotten entirely what it was he had been schooled to do.

“How does a nice young man greet Her Highness the Queen, Tristan?” Morgause prompted, a hint of amusement laced through her softly commanding voice.

Tristan’s mouth opened into a wide ‘O’, his wits returning to him.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in a shaky voice, high with his youth. He bent into a low bow, folding himself almost completely in half and quite giving away the surprise of a red rose hidden behind his back.

Morgause had to bite her lip to stop herself from audibly laughing. Morgana shot her a reproachful look. Sinking elegantly downwards, Morgana brought him out of his bow with a hand to his pinked cheek.

“It is an honour, young Tristan Wilde. I have heard that you are on track to become a fine knight some day,” Morgana whispered, her words just for him. That would make her few words seem all the more special, she knew. He blushed. “You must promise to wear my favour at your first tournament.”

His eyes light up. “I will!”

Morgana smiled, running her hand through his floppy golden hair. He looked so much like Morgause that it made her heart ache. She would give anything to have a child like him one day, a Wilde.

“I brought you a flower,” he whispered in the way children did, loud enough for all to hear. He produced the rose and held it up to Morgana. “It’s from the best flower stall on the market. Mother sent me out with a new coin this morning. I asked the lady to cut off all the thorns so that you wouldn’t prick yourself.”

“You are such a considerate young man. And you definitely picked a beauty. I daresay it is the prettiest flower I have ever seen,” Morgana charmed, taking the flower as she heard the swish of a woman’s skirts moving into the room. Rising, Morgana came eye to eye with Rivalen’s young wife. The woman’s eyes were not that of a Wilde but light green and weary with the pain of having a sick child. That look terrified Morgana. She recognised her own fear in the bath at Mermering as a mere shadow of the fear a mother could feel for her child. What if something ever happened to her babe? Morgause would protect him, she swore to it. There was nothing that she would not do to keep him safe. But what if he fell ill? Not even Morgause could protect him from that.

Tristan’s polite hand on her arm brought Morgana’s attention back to the room. “This is my mother,” he told her once Morgause crouched back down to him. “Her name is Blancheflor, but she thinks Flor is better so you should call her that.”

“Tristan!” Flor admonished. “I apologise for my son’s discourtesy, Your Highness.”

“It is alright,” Morgana interrupted before Tristan could be reprimanded any further. “He has been nothing but gallant, I assure you.”

Flor opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it again almost immediately. “Then it is my own apology which I should offer, Your Highness, for not being here to greet you.”

“You have far more pressing concerns than being at your door to see me arrive,” Morgana said, smiling sadly. “There are times when status and ceremony need be put aside. This is one of them.”

“Thank you,” Flor said quietly. She looked at Morgana curiously and then to her sister-in-law, before coming back to rest her attention on the Queen. “I - err - I have set a jug of blackberry cordial and freshly baked potato bread in the dining room, if it would please you to take a light lunch whilst you wait.”

Morgana clutched the fragile rose in her hand. The stripping of the thorns had taken away the flower’s defences, leaving the stem slim and yielding. “If you will join me, then I would be honoured.”

...

“Do you think the remedy will work?” Morgana asked as the carriage jerked to a halt in centre of the castle courtyard. They had not spoken since they had left the Wilde’s.

Gaius sighed. “Truth be told, I have only seen one such case before and that was long before you came to Camelot, when Uther Pendragon was new on the throne and Queen Igraine was younger than you are now.”

Morgause stirred nervously in her corner, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She had little pity for the old Queen. It had been her eagerness to please Uther which had brought an end to the greatness of the Old Religion and any hope, Morgause feared, of saving her cousin.

“That said, I am hopeful that the remedy may revive Miss Wilde. Good day Your Highness” Gaius smiled, nodded his goodbye and left them alone.

“I had hoped that...” Morgause sighed, her gaze focused somewhere indistinct outside of the slim opening in the canvas. “I do not know what I had hoped.”

“If it was anything near to what I had been hoping then you will be as disappointed with our court physician as I am,” Morgana said plainly, not caring if the carriage guards could hear her. “The remedy he gave Flor was the same in colour and dosing instructions as the one supposed to ward of the terrors of nightmares.”

Morgause’s jaw tightened in anger.

“There is a specialist in sleeping maladies that Uther once had come and see me when I was a child. I will send for him before the eve falls,” Morgana said in a decisive and cold tone. “Gaius’ incompetence in such matters can only be suffered so far.”

Morgause’s anger dissipated and she stared aghast at the space where Morgana had been only moments before. She had gone, her footsteps echoing up the great stone steps in the near empty courtyard. It took Morgause a second to remember that she must follow her and be quick about it.

“Where are you going?” she hissed in a whisper, catching up to Morgana in less than a dozen strides. She had to make a fist of her sword hand to stop it from reaching for Morgana’s arm to restrain her from her foolish anger. “Stop and think clearly for a moment,” Morgause demanded “Your Highness,” she added, lest anyone be listening.

“Do you think me so dim-witted as to burst in on the King when my ‘will’ is so strong and my patience so thoroughly worn thin?” Morgana snapped. “Credit me with more intelligence than the men of this court do, Morgause.”

They slipped out of sunlight and into the shadowed hall. With mismatched steps, they hastened towards the east wing along the pale stone corridor down which Morgana had walked, innocent in white, towards her wedding. It had been named Emyrein in centuries past for the pure and gentle daughter of the then king. Morgana had always felt uncomfortable there, out of place. Beside Morgause she felt more uncomfortable than ever.

“That is not how I think, as you well know. I seek only to protect you!”

The desperation in Morgause’s voice was enough to bring Morgana to a stop, if not enough to make her look at her. “I do not need protecting from myself.”

“Which I why I did not question you judgement, only asked that you made time to assure yourself of your decision,” Morgause explained, chastened. “It is not my place to question you, nor is it my desire.”

“It is for you that my fire was lit,” Morgana conceded quietly, stepping into an alcove to shield them from view. Morgause, as ever, followed her lead. “The thought of one of your blood left without proper care when I could perhaps deliver it to her is unbearable.”

Morgause thought not for the first time of the lengths she would go to in order to protect Morgana’s babe. There were no bounds to what she would do, that much she knew. Still, it had never occurred to her that Morgana might feel some echo of that feeling towards her family.

“Tristan picked the blackberries for the cordial they served me himself, searching the brambles on the edge of the town before the day was even light. And all the while I drank it, he looked at me with wide, eager eyes, happy as anything to have me enjoy his hard work. He is so like you that the first sight of him broke my heart,” Morgana whispered. “That is how strong your hold on my heart is. Your family... I would do anything to become a Wilde like Flor did, and it kills me that I never can. Please, let me at least try to protect them.” There were tears on her cheeks when she at last turned to Morgause. “That way I can pretend, if only for a while.”

Before Morgause could reply, Morgana swept from the alcove and continued down the corridor, never wiping away her tears. She would let them fall and be glad for every wretched one.

...

From the crest of the hill on which he had built his forge, Elyan watched the valley below. His eyes were pinched with worry. The forest was alight with flickering orange stars which moved closer night by night - the campfires of an army, an army marching for Camelot.

A/N - This is a bit of a bridge chapter to launch us into the drama that is to come. Bear with me and I assure you that you will not be disappointed. Its about to get crazy in Camelot.



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