A Tale More Complex (Gwen/Morgana)
Title: A Tale More Complex
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13 (references to past abuse and a fragile state of mind)
Word Count: 3,658
Summary: or the first time, Morgana had something to thank Gaius for. A small mind, it seemed, was easy to trick. Her own mind, however, had dark corners far more complex. (Makes use of the loopholes left by the poor job that the writers made of the storyline surrounding Gwen's supposed 'enchantment'.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
For seven days and seven nights Morgana kept her mind’s eye focused on the croí tree. So constant was her draw on magic that her seeing crystals grew cloudy and the tips of her hair became scorched and dull from it.
“She will come,” Morgana assured her young dragon, stroking her soft muzzle. “Guinevere will not abandon us. Not now she knows our plight.”
Aithusa keened and laid her head in her caomhnóir’s lap. A tear fell onto the crown of her head, then another. The sorrow in them soaked into her scaleless skin and made her cry.
“There now, my sweet girl,” Morgana soothed, bending to kiss away her fallen tears. “Cry not, for we have only to wait. Soon you will have the skies above all of Camelot to stretch your wings. And you can have your fill of traitorous knights.”
There was a chuckle-like purr from the dragon at that.
“For their mail and plate and swords, of course,” Morgana teased. “Their flesh is far too foul for you. I will not have you dirty your mouth with them. No, you shall dine on sweeter things once your body has grown strong again from the knight’s steal and the aragonite caverns beneath Camelot’s streets.” She stroked Aithusa’s cheek with the back of her hand. “And no young maidens. Uther was blight enough on that demographic. I remember that all too well.”
Sudden familiar warmth ticked at the edge of her awareness, filling her senses with morning dew on oak-grown moss. Aithusa’s head whipped up with a hopeful whine and she peered into the crystals. Morgana did not need them to see the darkling woods. She could see anywhere in the universe behind her closed eyes with nearly no effort at all. It took effort to not see Gwen every moment of every day. Focusing on the tree and not her had been draining, but Morgana would not invade her privacy. She knew what it was like to be always watched. Now that Gwen was kneeling before the tree, carefully hiding a note in the hollow at its base, tension drained from Morgana’s head and she saw light behind her eyelids, glittering around Gwen’s form like a halo.
“Like an aingeal,” Morgana whispered, her whole body tingling.
“Morgana,” Gwen murmured, far away at the foot of an oak. “If you can hear me… Arthur has me guarded like some common assassin. I wanted to come earlier but I couldn’t get away.” She sighed and pulled the glove off her left hand and laid it on the rough bark. “Morgana, I… It was an act, all of it. I would never betray you, not again. Arthur needed to think that it was all an enchantment. I don’t love him. He’s not the man that they all think that he is. And you aren’t the woman they think you are. Neither am I.”
There was the sound of a horse somewhere out to the east of the oak.
“Go!” Morgana urged, her hands shaking, weak, useless. As if Gwen could hear her, she got to her feet and fled, her glove falling from her lap to the forest floor.
There was a tear on Morgana’s cheek. Her heart never used to be that soft. She wiped it away and sniffed back any who might dare to follow it, before getting to her feet and reaching for her cloak.
~”~
The hard-hearted Morgana would have laughed at how she fell to her knees, hard enough to bruise, before the croí tree. That Morgana would have laughed at her desperation as she scrabbled in the hole for the note. Gwen had softened her heart, though, and she didn’t much care for anything but having that letter in her hands. Almost carelessly, she pulled the leathery paper from its hiding place and tugged off the leather binder, tossing it aside before snatching it back up and stowing safely it in her pocket.
Unravelled, the note read in spelled ink:
My dearest exiled Queen,
I wish that I could have come to leave word for you sooner but, I have not had leave to go from my rooms. My guards - their swords crossed to bar my door - will not let me. Only when Arthur comes to pretend that everything is fine am I allowed to wander from my gilded prison. Of course, I smile and play my part too. I must. Part of him wonders if the enchantment remains over me; he is wrong. There was no enchantment, and that is where our advantage lies.
It will never occur to them that I side with you freely. They think, from one of Gaius’ books, that the mandrake roots mediate a potent incantation. In a way they are right. Truth is a powerful force that none of them seem acquainted with at all. Though, from the pain it takes to reach it, I cannot wholly blame them.
The castle is as big a web of lies as ever. The whole court is suspended from day to day on fine silken threads of illusion and I have the knowledge and means to cut them all. Arthur carries on with whichever serving girl takes his fancy that night and Merlin is none the wiser. He thinks that I do not see the looks he gives me, all of them full of jealousy and hate. But I see. I remember what he did to you when it was easier for him to kill than care.
I know that I have no right to hope, but I do. I hope for the future you dream of. I hope that my absence did not cause you to doubt me. I hope that instead the wait has made you yearn to see me as deeply as I have yearned to see you. I hope that you will meet me. I have to see you.
Meet me tomorrow night in your old chambers. Arthur is off chasing bandits in the south and will not be home for two more days at least. I do not wish to say what I have to say in the cold, harsh forest.
Your Queen
Morgana’s heart was giddy by the end of it. She read the last few lines again and again, lingering on the signature and smiling. She knew that Gwen would not abandon them, and she hadn’t. To think that sorry excuse for a husband had seen fit to cage his wife made Morgana fume. He would pay for that along with all his other crimes. With Gwen by her side, she would see to it.
When she finally folded the letter away, a flash of mink-brown caught her eye against the dark green moss. A glove. She back knelt down before it and reverently lifted it from its mossy pillow. Smiling, she bought it up to her nose and breathed the lingering floury smell of Gwen’s skin, as she had once done long ago off of her - their - bed sheets. If only for her conscious, she might have dreamed of kissing again, of tilting up her chin and tasting her damp lips. But she couldn’t. What she had done had been the only way to let Gwen see the light after years of Pendragon indoctrination. But that didn’t matter. She would never forgive herself, could never forgive herself. The very thought of it made bile rise in her throat.
Of all the things she had done in her war against the Pendragons, hurting Gwen was the thing she regretted the most.
~”~
Aithusa had pined to come to meet with Gwen, begged without words, but Morgana could not risk it. She was precious. More than precious. She had been Morgana’s only friend that never ending darkness. She had been chained and vulnerable, and soon her magic had wavered and withered. Without Aithusa, she wouldn’t have lasted a day. Despite her own body succumbing to the trials of imprisonment, Aithusa had spat fire at any man who dared to enter her pit. She had almost been able to stop them. Almost.
Shaking her head, Morgana quashed the memory and pleaded with the Goddess for safe passage through the otherworld to Gwen’s side. It was a draining magic, but she could not risk trying to slip into Camelot in disguise or through hidden passageways. If she was caught in Gwen’s bedchamber then she could protect her. If she was spotted anywhere else in the castle, though, she might not be able to get to Gwen before the knights did. And Gwen was the only other life so precious to Morgana that she would not unduly risk it. Especially not when keeping her safe cost only Morgana’s own health. She had been trading that commodity for quite some time already. One more injury would not hurt. Not in any other sense than the traditional.
Summoning what was left of her strength, she whispered the prayer and felt her body melt into nothingness. Her soul was ripped from her body and hurtled across the land, following the waterways to Camelot and to Gwen. It was a crime that the Goddess would punish with death to look upon the otherworld before her time, so Morgana kept her eyes tight shut, trying to block out the calls of spirits lost to her. Morgause’s was the hardest to ignore, even though her spirit only offered love and encouragement to not dare to peek. Only when the pain began to ebb and the sensation of solidity returned did she open her eyes, finding them falling instantly on an earthly Gwen.
The sight of her sent Morgana’s mind reeling and spinning. In all her years, through all her travels with Morgause to foreign lands and all her visions of the Goddess herself, she had never seen anyone or anything as beautiful as Gwen looked in the moonlight. She was almost enough to make Morgana question whether she was not still in the otherworld after all, with the beauty of Gwen’s soul blinding her to the pain. The warmth of the fire on her face, though, was enough to satisfy her that the pleasure of Gwen’s form was entirely an earthly one, no matter how splendid.
Morgana found herself indulging in a slow sweep up her body with her eyes. Though her nightshift was simple, it was beautiful. It fit her like the glove she had dropped in the forest, vines twisting over her curves like they did over their croí tree. The material was thin and though the embroidery obscured her breasts and thighs, her navel was visible through the unadorned fabric at her waist. Her hair, still smelling of the oils of her bath, was loose and curling down her back, taking away the years and troubles that had taken their toll on each and every one of them. As always, her eyes were dark and comforting as the night. The best part though, the part that made Morgana go weak at the knees, was her smile. That soothing, hopeful, loving smile that Morgana felt she had no right to see.
“Morgana,” Gwen greeted, her voice a song. She wrapped her arms around her once-lover and turned her face into her warm neck. It felt like a lover’s embrace, and Morgana was beginning to entertain thoughts that she did not deserve it when Gwen’s voice soothed any thoughts of pulling away from her. “I was beginning to think that you would not come.”
“Never,” Morgana said fiercely, holding Gwen tighter, letting herself believe for a moment that she could deserve this. One day. “The fires of hell and all the beasts beyond the veil could not keep me from coming to your call.”
“I will not doubt you again. I never should have.” Gwen pulled back and smiled that smile again, reaching up to touch Morgana’s cheek, then the lines at the corner of her eye. “You look tired. You must spend more time caring for yourself. I wish I was there to look after you. Both of you.”
“She wanted to come,” Morgana said, recalling Aithusa’s whines.
“It is too dangerous,” Gwen agreed, dropping her hand from Morgana’s cheek and stepping away to the fire, hoping that Morgana would follow her and warm her cold bones. “Will you sit with me by the fire? I cannot seem to bear the cold like I used to.”
Morgana tilted her head and smiled. “We must be getting old.”
There were furs and blankets by the fire that Gwen sat down amongst, patting the space next to her. “Not too old to sit cross-legged on the floor, I hope.”
Morgana laughed and joined her. “With as little furniture as I have, there is no choice but to do so.”
The cheer drained from Gwen’s face and she looked away, embarrassed. She did not have a clue how to deal with Morgana having nothing and she herself having… everything. Everything, but the one thing she would give it all up for. She cannot imagine how Morgana did it, when the tables had been turned. Though, she supposed, she had always had far more than Morgana had now. And Morgana had always been able to help. All Gwen could do was try to aid in her campaign.
“I missed you so much,” Gwen whispered, unable to meet Morgana’s eyes. “We have barely had five minutes together since you helped me free myself from the Pendragon’s lies.” She took Morgana’s hand. “I wanted to thank you.”
“No!” Morgana pulled her hand away as if from a flame.
Hurt clouded Gwen’s features. “Have I said something wrong, I…”
“I cannot let you thank me for what I did!” Morgana exclaimed. “I had to do it to free you. It was the only way. But I cannot let you thank me for putting you through that torture.” Morgana’s face twisted with anguish and disgust at herself as she shuffled backwards, bumping back into a chest in her attempt to distance herself from Gwen. The thought of her being near anyone as good and kind as Gwen turned her stomach. She turned away, her head dropped, and held her breath, trying to overcome the retching in her belly.
“Oh Morgana,” Gwen soothed, suddenly beside her and rubbing her back. When Morgana flinched away, tears pricked at her eyes and she let her hands fall limp at her sides.
“Do not pity me. I am not worthy of it.”
“Yes,” Gwen insisted, “you are.” She reached out again and this time Morgana didn’t flinch when Gwen’s hand touched her shoulder. “None have been through what you have been through. Not even close. You have suffered at the hands of the vilest and foulest creatures on this earth and never once have you let them beat you. You have been scorned, poisoned, chained and, by the Goddess, I cannot bear to think on what else they have done to you - and all for who you are. They would have done it to the little girl who smiled and held my hand and asked for bedtime stories, just as they did it to the terrible women who was no more placed to shape her destiny than she was the day she arrived - orphaned - into my care in Camelot.“
Morgana raised her head a little, struck by the memory, but still would not look at Gwen.
“You were nothing but a girl yourself then.”
Gwen smiled and dared to shuffle closer to her. When Morgana did not move, she dropped a kiss onto her shoulder.
“A girl who you helped grow into a fine woman,” she smirked, “even if I do say so myself.”
She heard a scoff from behind the tattered ringlets of Morgana’s hair.
“How did I do anything but hinder you?”
It was Gwen’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Do you not think that teaching me to read has helped me to where I am at all? Do you think I learnt nothing from your rants on politics and injustice? What about your kindness and love, do you think that has meant nothing in my life? Or that we shared our first kiss together? And do you think that going to bed with you, sharing that beautiful first together, had no impact on who I am?”
She reached out to brush back Morgana’s hair, longing to see her face. “Let me see those eyes that make me weak at the knees.”
Slowly, like a puppy who spilled the cream and is afraid of the back of her owner’s hand, Morgana lifted her eyes to Gwen, as wet as the stormy oceans they echoed. “I deserve your kindness even less than I deserve your pity. I deserve neither from any man nor beast on this earth.”
She felt guilty for the sorrow in Gwen’s eyes. She did not deserve her sorrow either. Nor had it been her intention to provoke it. Or maybe she had. Deep down. Uther had lectured her more than once on the corruption and selfishness in women’s hearts. No one ever gave them anything they did not ask for. She must want it, then, the pity. Despite the pain it brought. Why else would Gwen be giving it to her? That was what Uther had said.
“And what of Aithusa, does she owe you no debt of gratitude?” Gwen reasoned, trying to take Morgana’s hand. It was pulled away too fast.
“Can she speak? Can she do magic? Or fly worth a damn?” Morgana probed almost angrily, but an anger turned inwards, not towards Gwen. “No. And all because she tried to help me.”
“All because a twisted man chained you like an animal at the bottom of a pit!” Gwen spat. “You have done plenty of things for which you must take some share of the blame - not least of which you have done to me - but that dragon’s pain is not one of them!”
When Morgana, too startled, did not respond, she continued. “You suffered unspeakably for two long years, all because you would not risk hurting her. If that deserves no gratitude then nothing on this earth does. Nothing, Morgana.”
She took Morgana’s limp hand and kissed her just as she had all those years ago when she did not dare to kiss Morgana’s lips, but instead summoned the courage to show her devotion with a kiss in the most innocent and yet intimate of places - the inside of her wrist.
“Do you remember this?” Gwen asked, as her lips brushed against Morgana’s skin again.
A slight smile ghosted across Morgana’s lips. So slight, that it might not have been there at all. “My first kiss. You smeared rosemary oil on wrists for Uther to show me off to some suitor, and then you kissed where you had anointed me. I tasted it on your lips when we kissed. Spice and rosemary. I went into the banquet feeling sure that no man could have me, not now that I was yours.” She smiled again, brighter this time. “It was midwinter. You were in one of my gowns. The one with the purple trim. I dreamed of you in that dress whilst I danced with him.”
Gwen smiled and nodded, her hand on Morgana’s cheek. “You sewed it on in the dead of the night. The purple ribbon all shaky. Stitches too big. And you wore the rest of the ribbon in your hair. It was perfect.”
“No,” Morgana shook her head and bit her lip, her tears finally overflowing. “You - you were the perfect one. And I wanted everyone to know it.” Her eyes dulled. “When did I stop wanting that?”
“I don’t believe that you did, not really.” Gwen said. “You just saw Arthur and I as one and the same. And why not, that is what love and marriage is supposed to be.”
Morgana’s expression turned unreadable.
“Except it isn’t, is it? I shouldn’t have to be like Arthur to love him. I shouldn’t have to become him to be his wife. But I did, a bit.” Gwen stared off into the shadows. “I don’t know why. I never felt the need to become you. You never expected me to change.”
“You have now,” Morgana pointed out, her heart thundering. Did this mean that Gwen loved her still? “You changed after the tower.”
“I changed because they lied to me and that made me do things I regret. I put people to death, Morgana. Your people. All because of Arthur and Uther’s twisted laws,” Gwen reasoned. “That is why I changed. Something like that… coming to such an epiphany and realising all you have been through… It changes you. It changed you. Now it has changed me.” She sighed. “None of us are who we were when all of this started.”
“When was that?” Morgana asked distantly. “I can’t remember.”
Gwen tilted her head and leant in, her hand slipping from Morgana’s cheek to the nape of her neck, drawing her attention. When she spoke, her voice was dark and dangerous. “It don’t know, but I want my Morgana back, the one with the ribbon in her hair. But they killed her - Uther, Arthur and the rest of them. They killed her and made her think that it was all her fault. But maybe, just maybe, killing them can bring her back to me. So I promise you, I will not rest until all of them are nought but dust. I will make them pay for what they did to us.”
Tears were running down Morgana’s face when Gwen had finished her vow. So she kissed her, slow and gentle. And when Morgana’s mouth opened for her, still passive, it tasted of rosemary and the salt of a broken woman’s tears. Gwen only hoped that she could fix her. Fix both of them.
When Morgana began to kiss her back, Gwen began to hope a little more.