At My Most Beautiful (26b/27) - (Morgana/Morgause)

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Title: At My Most Beautiful (26b/27)

Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11,500 for this chapter, 118,273 overall so far
Chapter Summary: The surrounding kingdoms gather for the tournament and Morgana's long wait is finally over.
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 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19| Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25

PART 1



“Why is she not here?” Morgana asked desperately, shivering in her nightshift. It was not yet long past noon and the air was already as sharp and cold as ice.

“She will be on her way,” Amina said calmly, talking Morgana by the arm and escorting her back to the bed. If the candle was right, Morgana was going five minutes between contractions, meaning that she was progressing far faster than first time mothers usually did. If Morgause did not arrive soon, she might very well miss the births.

As if on cue, Morgause burst through the door looking every bit as distressed as Morgana.

“Oh Morgana, my love!” she cried, running to her Queen’s side and taking her hand to kiss.

If it had not been for Gwen’s quick actions, the door would still have been open and the King would have heard and seen all, as he came only moments behind Morgause.

“Oh, my love,” Morgause whispered, kissing Morgana’s hand again. “Would that they had torn me from my horse and let me take to your side sooner.”

“You are here now,” Morgana murmured, smiling almost dreamily at Morgause. The wine Amina had given her was doing nothing to dull the pain, but her nerves were melting away. Or maybe that was the sight of Morgause. Nothing bad could happen now Morgause was at her side. “I want to kiss you.”

Morgause laughed, a charmed smile lighting up her eyes as she leant down to fulfil Morgana’s wish.

“So demanding,” she teased, before kissing her softly and lingeringly, taking one last moment that was just for them. For all anyone knew, Morgana could be taken from them before the fall of night. It was all Morgause could think of. All she could think of for weeks now. Leon had heard far more about her fears for Morgana’s life than she should have let him hear. If she was not careful, he would guess at their connection.

“Now that Morgause is here, will you let me examine you?” Amina asked, clearly peeved that Morgana had refused before.

Gwen shot her a sharp look. She did not like the lack of respect that Amina showed her Queen. She had never once heard her give Morgana the respect she deserved.

Morgana, who was in no mind to notice Amina’s annoyance, nodded and bit her lip. Her hand shot out and grasped her Knight’s.

“I need your feet flat on the bed and your legs apart. Can you do that for me, Morgana?” Amina asked in a professionally soothing voice.

Complying, Morgana screwed up her eyes and turned into Morgause’s side to seek comfort in her familiar scent of fire and freshly cut wood. If she really tried, she could imagine they were back on the road again - curled up together beside the fire Morgause built for them, gazing into each other’s eyes. It was her sanctuary. Her haven.

Letting that calmness surround her, she took a deep breath and let herself think about what was happening. She was giving birth, finally, to her babes. After endless months of waiting and waiting and waiting, the wait was nearly over. And was that not the most terrifying thought she had ever had? Waiting and wanting, that had been the easy part. Now she finally had what she had wished for and it was suddenly far too real.

“Morgana,” came Morgause’s whispered velvet voice from beside her ear. She could feel Morgause’s hair tickling her neck and shoulder; could feel her warm hand on her arm. It was grounding, being surrounded by her. “Morgana, listen to me. This is far within your capabilities. You have shown time and time again that you are strong and steadfast as a mighty oak, as adaptive as the supple willow and as open to the change of times as the silver branches of the birch. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that the Gods had anointed you. You bear their divinity like a golden shroud that does not hide you from the world, but exalt you instead. There are tales, my love, of the children who will bring our kind back into the light. Children pray to the Earth Goddess to protect those children and their mother. They pray to her too, ask her to watch other them as they sleep, as she watches over her own babes.  I believe that woman is you, my love. It is you the prophecy talks of and you those children pray to and for. I can feel it, Morgana. With every touch and every kiss. When we are joined, I see the world reborn in the catch of your breath and the rise and fall of your breast. I feel my magic well up inside me and grown bold. It has never been as strong as it is when you make love to me.”

Morgana was vaguely aware of Amina and Gwen talking, but all she heard were Morgause’s words - like she were the Goddess, whispering it to her heart.

“That is how I know you can do this. Because you are destined for greatness and so are our babes. Nothing can change a prophecy. Nothing. Not blood, nor pain, nor Uther Pendragon. You have a destiny to fulfil, my love, and this is only the beginning.”

Her eyes opening as if after a lifetime’s sleep, Morgana lifted her head to meet Morgause’s lips. They were soft and home and sunlight on a rolling hillside. Power slipped between them, flowing back and forth and finally down into every fibre of Morgana’s body. It filled her and tasted of Morgause and love and a thousand years of worship.

She knew then. “I can do this.”

“We can,” Morgause agreed.

~*~

“The waiting is the hardest part.”

Uther lifted his gaze to find King Thomas towering above him in leather and woad-blue.  He had heard no footsteps on the alabaster stone. Old age and worry were dulling his senses. There was a reason he had not ridden out with his knights.

“I have faith that all will be well,” Uther said steadily. He had not held his throne for thirty years by letting his emotions into his voice. Emotions other than anger, that is.

“May you have my luck,” Thomas said with a companionable smile, sitting beside Uther on the bench that had been fetched for outside Morgana’s chambers. “And the luck of the others. They all send their good will. My wife especially.”

Uther tried to smile in return. He was not very good at smiling. Not on cue.

“Isabella has given me two strong sons in two years. God willing she will give me another and it shall be three in three.” It was not meant to be boastful, but Uther could not hear it as anything else.

“We are lucky men,” he said in answer, “to have such fruitful wives.”

Thomas frowned. Uther did not notice.

“Lucky indeed. You know, when my Isabella lay in with our first, I could not think for fear that I might lose her. No son, I kept thinking, could be worth that. No son was hardly even worth the pain she went through.” He clasped his hands and looked across at the wall. “I do not think that any pain we endure on the battlefield can match it.”

A tattered scream rung out from inside the bedchamber.

“No, women are weak. The pain would likely be nought to us,” Uther muttered distractedly.

Thomas’ eyes widened and his next words died in his throat. There really was no mystery in how Camelot always managed to blunder her alliances. The perpetrator was sitting right beside him.

Uther sighed. “How long do they usually take?”

“Robert put Isabella through a day of it. George a little less,” Thomas recounted. “The least we can do is be patient and wait.”

He managed to say it in such a mild way that Uther did not even see it for what it was - a judgement.

“I will be more than patient, as long as she is done by sunup.”

Thomas gave up.

~*~

“I need you to breathe for me, Morgana. In and out. Nice and slow. Good and deep.”

Morgana was starting to get annoyed and her magic - there was that ‘hers’ again - was starting to effervesce with it. She glared at Amina, clenching her jaw. “I - know - how - to - breathe!”

Amina raised an eyebrow and leant back. “Apparently not. Otherwise you would not be so out of breath.”

A scream of annoyance flew from Morgana’s parted lips. If looks could kill…

Actually, Morgause was starting to worry about that. With all the magic running through Morgana’s veins, it would be so easy for her to lose control and send a volt of it - raw and dangerous - straight at the source of her infuriation. If anything were to blow their cover, that would be it.

~*~

“Have you - err - thought of names yet?” Thomas tried after a long while of awkward silence. He still was not entirely sure how he ended up sat on the bench with Camelot’s King, waiting for the birth of his future rival.

Uther looked genuinely confused and wounded, as if he could not understand why Thomas would bring up such a painful memory. Then again, he was probably too young to remember Igraine’s death the night after the chosen name for their future son had been toasted at the feast. “It is bad luck to name a child before it is born. With all the foul luck that I and Camelot have had this past decade, I would not dare to tempt fate. Not when it is my wife’s and children’s lives at stake.”

He looked at Thomas, seeing for the first time how very young he was. He was that very rare thing - a King who was younger than his Queen. He was, now that Uther recalled the timelines, close in age to Morgana. They had a different way of doing things, that generation. He almost envied them.

“You do not remember my first Queen, do you?” Uther asked.

Thomas gazed at the floor. “No, Your Highness. I do not think so.”

“Oh, you would remember if you had,” Uther said wistfully. A rare benevolent smile lit up his stony features. The light of it made him almost unrecognisable. “Igraine was the most beautiful, kindest, loveliest, wisest and loving woman ever to walk this earth. From the day I set eyes on her, I was changed. She made me someone that I could never be on my own. She made me someone who tried to make the world a better place, for her. When we were married, I could not believe my luck. I was young and foolish and far too in love than was good for me or Camelot.”

“No one can be too much in love,” Thomas asserted, a smile creeping onto his lips as he watched Uther recall his late wife.

“You can,” Uther corrected. “I discovered that the day she died. We had only been married half a year. She was with child straight away, as everyone expected, and we were both overjoyed. For seven months, I doted on her and Camelot flourished on the prosperity our love brought to the kingdom. She was the daughter of the King of Gwynedd and his Queen, Eliana of North Rheged. From our marriage, Camelot gained two mighty allies. But the day Igraine fell…” The King stopped, his voice shaking. “The day she died carrying my child, both allies turned on us. With their armies bolstered by the power of the Old Religion, we suffered heavy losses. Only the great illness that swept through their ranks brought Camelot the luxury of safety once more. That plague was a gift from the One God and I have seen to it that my people have paid thanks to Him ever since.”

Thomas could not help but feel pity for a love so cruelly lost. If anything were to happen to his Queen… “I cannot imagine a pain as hard as that.”

“No,” Uther agreed. “You cannot.”

Another of Morgana’s screams echoed through the stone walls.

“And now I have a new wife,” Uther acknowledged sadly, eyes turned sideward on the door to Morgana’s chambers. “She grew up in my care and she was every bit of wild as Igraine with all of her love for the people. It may be true that I desired for the fine specimen of blossoming womanhood that she was, but it was her compassion too that compelled me to make a wife of her. Camelot desired her and needed her every bit as much as I did. With a young Queen as full of life as Morgana, they were sure to get the heir that they and I needed so dearly.”

“Then tonight may Kingdom and King will be fulfilled,” Thomas said with a sweet smile. “And maybe on this momentous occasion, an alliance can be forged between our two Kingdoms. For the sake of our Queens and our children.”

~*~

“That’s it, Morgana. Nearly there,” Amina encouraged patiently, rolling up Morgana’s nightshift past her waist. “I can see your babe’s head. Just a few more big pushes and I will have him or her in my arms to show you before your other babe comes.”

“No!” Morgana cried breathily, as pain burnt and tore through her body. She could hardly stand it. Her breaths came in ragged pants from lungs that seemed far, far too small for their current purpose.

Amina rolled her eyes. She should have known that Morgana was going to be a difficult patient. The Queens always were. Then there was all the trouble that their maids always gave her. She was not entirely confident that Gwen would not produce a blade and hold it to her throat if she could not make Morgana’s pain go away soon. At least Morgana was quick, though Gods know how she was managing it. Most women lasted close to two days on their first. It could not have been more than seven hours since Amina had been called for.

“You cannot,” Morgana protested, her eyes wide and wild. “No one - touches - them - before -Morgause.”

“Morgana, I cannot promise-”

“No one!” Morgana screamed.

“I promise it, if that is what you want,” Morgause assured her, kissing her forehead and dabbing away her exertion. She was sat behind Morgana, supporting her and feeding her magic to give her strength. Morgana could not hold onto the magic that Morgause had given her and the babes. Not now. The space it left behind would be… excruciating in its emptiness.

Unsteady, Morgause slipped out from behind Morgana and made her way shaky legs to Amina’s side. Pulling so much magic through her body had made her as weak as it had made Morgana strong.

“Gwen!” Morgana cried, reaching out her hand to her dearest friend. Gwen hurriedly took to her side to soothe her.

“I helped when my niece and nephew were born and I - err - I have been reading a book,” Morgause informed Amina shyly, suddenly feeling wholly inadequate. “It explained… I mean, not entirely but… I think, maybe, enough to help?”

The generous smile that Amina gave her was encouraging. Briefly.

“Go and wash your hands,” Amina ordered, gesturing to the miniature tin bath. “And you are to do everything that I say, exactly as I say it.”

“Ah!” Morgana gasped, burning with greater pain than she had ever felt before. She prayed to the Gods to take her pain away. Morgause shot back to her and closed her hand around her leg, filling her with enough raw magic to last her an hour at the least.

“Are you…” Amina began, watching through her second sight as the wild magic that flowed through Morgause’s veins passed through her fingertips and into Morgana.

“Yes,” Morgause admitted reluctantly. Pushing magic into another person was forbidden in every sect of the Old Religion. It had not only been used to control others in the past, but to kill them. What Morgause was doing could not harm Morgana, but it was still forbidden on the grounds that one act could use to another. “She needs it. If I stop then her pain will be even greater. ”

“Very well,” Amina allowed, filing it away for re-visitation when all was over and well. “Come and stand where I am… That’s it. Now, Morgana, I need you to push even harder than you have been pushing. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Screwing her eyes closed, Morgana pressed her chin into her chest and pushed as hard as she could, screaming with it.

“Good, Morgana! You are doing so very well. Two more big, long pushes and your babe will be here. Come now, you can do it.”

With tears running down her cheeks, Morgana pushed again.

Everything went so very quick then. Reading a book and helping the midwives with Flor had been one thing, but standing before Morgana at this critical moment and having so much responsibility was quite another. Instinct and what she had learnt took over and then she had him in her arms and he was oh, so beautiful. Morgana’s little babe. Camelot’s new Prince. No sight had ever been so wondrous to Morgause as he was. Nothing could even compare. Nothing. Her heart swelled and overwhelmed her. He was in her arms and nothing had ever felt more right.

Exhausted, Morgana collapsed back on the bed with a whine, finally allowing Amina to see to her. After a quick assessment, determining that Morgana was not immediately going to have her second babe, Amina turned her attention on Morgause and the Prince. As if he had been waiting for a bigger audience, his first cry filled the room the second that Amina’s eyes fell upon him. Morgause watched, entranced, as his bright red face scrunched up and his cry turned silent. His little arms and legs flailed about him, clearly not yet under his control, and he wriggled in her grasp.

“Well now, is he not a lively little thing?” Amina said jollily. “Did you hear that, Morgana? You have a son with a strong pair of lungs. Give us a moment and Morgause will let you have a look at him.”

Whilst Amina dealt with the cord, Morgause gently rocked the little babe, unable to believe how beautiful he was. As soon as Amina was finished, she had Morgause wash him in salted wine to keep away infection and wrapped him in a sheep’s wool blanked to keep out the cold.

“Morgana,” Morgause whispered excitedly, sitting on the bed beside her. “I have someone for you to meet.”

With an exhausted whimper, Morgana’s eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on Morgause.

“He’s here,” she murmured, wincing as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes widened with wonder as they fell on her son, who was all cuddled up in Morgause’s arms.

“He’s really here,” she repeated, giddy in her exhaustion. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course!” Morgause exclaimed, shifting the Prince into his mother’s arms. “He is yours. No one has more right to hold him than you.”

Morgana bit her lip and giggled. She was tingling all over her. Every little bit of her was afire with love and joy. He was perfect. Perfect and hers.

She bent down to kiss his forehead and breathe in his scent.

“I have been waiting for you for so long, my little boy. So very long,” she whispered to him. She kissed him again. “I had no idea how much I would love you.  I love you, my son. I love you so very, very much.” She looked up at Morgause with tears in her eyes. “Our son.”

“Our son,” Morgause promised, tears running down her cheeks. “And I love you both so much.”

Morgana smiled and kissed her. “Our Finnian. Golden haired, just like you. I saw him last night, whilst I slept in your arms - our fair-haired Finnian. Our son.”

“Prince Finnian,” Morgause tried out. “It is perfect, my love. Just like him.”

She leant down and kissed his flat little nose, then Morgana’s. “You amaze me. Both of you.”

“I do not wish to interrupt,” Amina interjected. “But it does not look like you are having any more contractions, Morgana, and your waters have not broken for the second babe.”

Fear flared in Morgana’s eyes. “Is that bad? Is there something wrong with her? Please, Gods, she must be well. I have seen her too. She was beautiful and blue-eyed and black-haired and mine!”

“It is alright,” Amina soothed. “Nothing is wrong yet, but the quicker we get her out, the better. Do you understand?”

Morgana nodded and clutched Finnian tighter to her breast.

“It sometimes helps bring on a woman’s contractions if she nurses. Shall we give it a try?” Amina suggested.

Morgana looked panicked again, turning her gaze to Morgause for reassurance. It always seemed like she had all the answers, even when she could not.

“If you want me to throw your maid and Knight out, I am more than happy to do so,” Amina offered, giving Gwen a sideways look. She would be glad to get out from under Gwen’s evil glares. It was distracting, if nothing else, and she could not understand what she had ever done to annoy her so.

“No,” Morgana said, blushing. “I - err - I want them to stay. If they want to, that is.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Morgause promised.

Gwen blushed when Morgana turned to her for an answer. “I should go and inform the King. He made me promise.”

She was sorry as soon as she said it. Morgana’s eyes turned downcast, and she murmured something that meant ‘of course’, but sounded more like a sob. Gwen had brought Uther back into proceedings, and none of them would thank her for it. Not for now, at least. They might realise later that it would be worse for them if Uther thought that he had not been informed of his son’s birth in a timely fashion. Probably not. It did not matter. She was not looking for thanks. Keeping Morgana from just a little of Uther’s wrath was more than worth it.

~*~

Uther’s attention snapped to the opening door and he found himself on his feet without ever consciously standing. His whole body was on edge. The longer Morgana laboured, the worse his nerves became. If something happened to her or the babes… He could not go through it again.

“Well?” he demanded.

For his abruptness, Gwen contemplated lying to him - telling him that there was no news yet. The fancy lasted less than a moment, though. She did not wish to die. And certainly not at Uther’s hands.

She curtseyed. Curtseys were always good when the men you were facing had as big an ego as Uther did. She had learnt that early in her career. It had only taken a few beatings to sink in.

“I have the honour, Your Highness, of informing you of the birth of your son,” Gwen proclaimed, curtseying again. Uther was hiding his smiled behind his hand when she looked up. He looked as though all his dreams had come true. She was almost touched. Or at least she would have been if she had not spent the last few years cleaning up after his ‘encounters’ with his wife.

“And he is…?”

“Healthy, it seems, Your Highness,” Gwen confirmed.

Uther forgot her then. Thomas had clapped him on the back and they embraced heartily - laughing, both of them. It was the strangest thing that Gwen had ever seen. Uther was embracing another King. He had made an ally.

Perhaps, Gwen thought, it was true what they said about births and new beginings.

~*~

Within the half hour, Isolde was born. She had thick hair that was as black as night and eyes like the wild blue sea, just like her mother said she would. She came out anything but silent, though. Screaming and crying. Wailing for her mother. Only when Morgana took her in her arms and gave her her breast, did she quieten.

The peace was short lasted. Gwen could only hold Uther off for so long. He was King and bull-headed when it came to most things, let alone holding his heir.

“Where is he?” he roared, beaming from ear to ear as he burst into the room.

Amina rushed forward to take the boy form Morgause’s arms and pass him to his father. “Here he is, Your Highness. Fine and strong a boy as I have ever seen.”

She was exaggerating. Finnian was little thing. Skinny and smaller than his sister. Not that his father would notice. Not yet anyway.

“Oh, Morgana,” Uther exclaimed, looking up at his wife with more love than she had ever seen from him. “He is a wonder!”

Morgana smiled shyly. “He is ever so beautiful. I cannot take my eyes from him.”

“That he is,” Uther agreed, smiling down at his son. “And what of my daughter?”

“As beautiful as her brother.” Taking advantage of the King’s good mood, Morgana broached the subject of their names. “I named her Isolde.”

“A beautiful name for my beautiful girl. It is a wonderful choice, Morgana.” Uther perched on the bed beside her and kissed her forehead, before turning his attention to Isolde, stroking her rose-red cheek.

“And for our son, I thought Finnian. I know it is not a traditional name from your family but-”

Uther cut her off with a kiss that she was too dazed to recoil from. “I will find a way to live with it, I think, after this wonderful gift you have given me.”

Morgana smiled shyly again, blushing.

~*~

They were finally alone - just the four of them. The prospect had been both terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Now that it was happening, however, all Morgana felt was calm. She could not recall a more perfect moment. Morgause cradled Finnian in her arms, swayed him in a shaft of moonlight and sang a lullaby in the language of the Old Religion. Morgana was torn between watching her and gazing down at Isolde as she nursed at her breast. Amina had told her that they would take little and often at first, but that their appetites would soon grow. The thought of Isolde’s appetite growing was a little dauntng, what with her having fed four times already. Morgana voiced her concerns.

“Perhaps she just likes the closeness to you that it gives her,” Morgause suggested thoughtfully. “All she has known is being inside of you. It must be a shock to be separated from you so completely.”

Morgana frowned and bent her head to kiss daughter’s cheek, brushing the backs of her fingers gently over the crown of her head. “I had not thought of that. My poor little girl. I am not surprised that you preferred it there, where it was warm and snug.”

“Or maybe she is just greedy,” Morgause countered with a smile.

As Morgana silently laughed, Isolde’s mouth turned slack and all movements save for her gentle breathing ceased. “Whatever the reason, it seems most tiring. I only wish that I could close my eyes and join her.”

“If you are too tired, Morgana, we can-”

“No!” Morgana said quickly, shifting Isolde slightly and tying the front of her nightshift closed. “It has to be tonight. You said that tradition dictates that it is done this very night.”

Morgause looked torn between going along with Morgana’s wishes and trying to persuade her into resting. “Traditionally, babes are blessed when the moon is at her highest on the day of their birth, yes.”

“Then bless them,” Morgana implored.

Against her better judgement, Morgause agreed.

Isolde and Finnian were laid side by side in a shaft of moonlight, on a warm fur rug. Beside Isolde’s head was a candle engraved with the sun runes and beside Finnian’s stood its twin, marked with the runes of the moon.

“I will do the ceremony in the common tongue,” Morgause informed Morgana, who sat beside her at the babes’ feet. “There is no need for the language of the Old Religion’s, as long as the words mean the same. It is more important that you understand and give consent.”

Morgana nodded in understanding and watched as Morgause closed her eyes and began to concentrate magic inside of her. When she was full, ready to overflow, her eyes slowly opened and she reached for the lighting candle clasped in Morgana’s hands.

“By the light of the Sun, in all his purity, I call on the spirits of my Wilde ancestors to gather here in this place.” Gently, she lit the candle by Isolde’s head and immediately the world around them took on a strange blurry shift. The sensation of being watched washed over them like a tide, not unsettling but comforting them.

“By the radiance of the Moon, in all of her wisdom and power, I call on the souls of the great High Priestesses to enter into me and make me their vessel through which these babes will receive their blessing.” Swallowing nervously, Morgause lit the candle beside Finnian and felt the souls of some of the most powerful and compassionate women that the world had ever known entering her.

“I call upon all those present - in this world and the next - to look upon these babes and bless them. They have been born of this woman who gave the light to draw you here. Through her love and nourishment, they were given life and substance. I ask that you bless them so that they thrive at their mother’s breast be content in the love and power of the Gods.”

Morgana watched as Morgause took the shallow clay bowl filled with earth from the foot of a willow - a tree most sacred to the Old Religion for its health preserving properties and its ability to dull pain. Into this earth, Morgause poured a vial of salted water that represented the sea and its richness of life. Lastly, she took a pinch of powdered crystal that glittered with all of the beauty of the stars and dashed it into the bowl. Her eyes glowed gold.

“Through the fertile earth and the cleansing sea, you raise and feed us, moulding us and gifting us with eyes and souls turned upwards to the glory of the heavens. With that great power, I ask you to take these babes and raise them high. Give them the strength to tame your power and, with it, to move the earth,” Morgause asked in a voice that did not wholly sound her own.

With more grace than even she usually possessed, Morgause cupped her left hand and immersed it in the bowl, lifting up a palm-full of the wet, glinting earth. “Take this gift as a symbol of your entry into these new souls.” Taking her index and middle fingers from her right hand, Morgause coated them with the mixture in her palm. “Like the earth and sea, give them life and strength.” Leaning down, she smeared the dark concoction over Isolde’s heart and then over Finnian’s.  “And like the eternal crystal, may you never leave them,” she finished, coating her fingers and touching them to Isolde’s and then Finnian’s hands and feet. When she was done, her eyes glowed once more, sealing the rite.

Feeling faint, Morgause sat back on her heels, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was possibly the most simple of all the rites of the Old Religion, but it was the first she had ever performed and it had been utterly exhausting.

Morgana opened her mouth but made no sound. She was not sure whether the ritual was over, and did not want to interfere if it would not. The possible consequences of doing that were unthinkable. Instead, she reached out and gently touched her love’s arm. Morgause’s fingers shot to cover Morgause’s fingers, startling her.

“I am alright,” Morgause whispered in a voice that sounded a little more like her own.

Not convinced, Morgana brought Morgause’s hand to her lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, darkening her lips with earth and crystal. At the feel of soft lips, Morgause opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of Morgana’s mouth. She sagged a little as the High Priestesses left her, knowing instinctively to give them privacy, and then she kissed Morgana - tasting magic on her lips.

“Is that it?” Morgana asked hopefully against her love’s lips. “They are done?”

Morgause smiled and kissed her again. “They are done. All we need to do now is leave the candles to burn down, but they needn’t be between them whilst they burn.” She tilted her head until her nose bumped with Morgana’s. She grinned. “You can have them back now.”

“It is not like they missed me. They were too entranced by you,” Morgana murmured, feeling foolishly shy. “And so was I. You look so beautiful when you do magic -so graceful, so powerful. Like the whole of creation is bending around you.” Morgana blushed and smiled. “It was a privilege… to watch you and be by your side.”

Before their lips could meet again, Isolde began to cry. As would continue to be the way of things for the next decade or so, Finnian followed his sister’s lead.

NB - Thank you all for sticking with me for this long, especially when the waits between chapters have seemed almost endless.