Once Upon A Midnight (3/3)
Their joining was to take place in the forest, by a small, still lake that reflected the moon. Getting Morgana out of the castle had not been hard. The guards of Camelot were woefully slow and worried only about those who went into the castle. No mind was paid to those leaving it. Not even two women hooded in long, thick woollen cloaks that hid their faces and their clothes from prying eyes. The hardest part of the whole plan had been getting Morgana to leave her children, even in Gwen’s care, after a night without them. But the children had been fed then had fallen asleep and were not likely to wake again until morning. By which time, their mother would be back.
Morgause arrived at the clearing long before Morgana, so that the lanterns could be lit and all preparations double checked. She had donned a dress of purple silk slashed with gold, but the reflection in the mirror had not been her own. Her mother had worn the dress on her wedding day and though Morgause had not noticed it, she had grown more and more like her mother with age, and her image in the mirror had unsettled her. She had seen her mother in the dress many times when she was a child. Women wore their wedding gowns for every milestone in their children’s lives, bar their birth. The time that Morgause remembered most clearly was the last time she had worn it - when Morgause had come of age at fourteen. She had been only a few years older than Morgause was now and not long for the world. Morgause could not wear the dress.
Unlike Morgause, Rivalen had noticed how like Josephine that Morgause now looked. Her eyes were her father’s, but her features and graceful demeanour were all her mother’s. Even her hair, though both of her parents had been blonde, was closer in shade to her mother’s than her father’s - all streaked with rich red-gold when it caught the sun. Wearing her mother’s dress only made the resemblance all the more striking. Foreseeing it, Rivalen had had Flor alter the clothes that Morgause’s father, Kendrick, had been wed in. When Morgause saw them, she wept for joy.
That was how Morgause came to wait for Morgana in the forest dressed in skin-tight breeches as black as the night sky above them and a dark-purple silk shirt embroidered at the neck and seams with gold knots. Though Morgause was a good foot shorter than her father, Flor had not wasted any of the fine obsidian silk of the breeches. That which had been cut off the bottom of the legs had been used to form a corseted waist that hugged Morgause’s curves all the way up to just beneath her breasts. Where the sleeves of the shirt had been too long, Flor had not shortened them but removed them completely and moved the embroidered seam to the shoulder, leaving Morgause’s lightly muscled arms bare. A black leather belt held the Wilde wedding dagger secure at Morgause’s hip and two pins held her mother’s maiden broaches in her intricately braided hair, pulled back in twin braids that joined at the base of her neck and tucked under into a soft bun.
“You look beautiful,” Rivalen told her. “Morgana’s knees will turn weak when she sees you.” He turned to the Priestess standing calm as still water by the lake. “Is that not right, your Grace?”
The Priestess smiled, her ageless beauty shining like the moon. “You grow more beautiful every time you stand before me, child.”
Though the Priestess looked no older than Morgause, she had been there at her birth and had guided her through every great ceremony in her life since that day. In all that time, she had not aged a day. It started Morgause how powerful magic could be, and this woman was not even a High Priestess, but one of her handmaids.
Before long, midnight was approaching and they heard the rustle of people moving through the forest. When Flor joined them in the clearing, the ceremony began.
“Child,” the Priestess prompted taking Morgause’s hand and leading her to the lakeside, “who are you and why have you come to me at this sacred time, in this sacred place.”
“I am Morgause Wilde, daughter of Kendrick Wilde and Josephine Baine, Knight of Camelot and head of the Wilde Household. I have come to seek the Gods’ blessing to join my soul to another’s,” Morgause said, her voice loud enough to carry to where Morgana stood unseen in the trees. She was not speaking from a script but she found the words flowing from her mouth like she had known them all her life.
“Whose soul do you wish to join to your own?”
“That of Morgana Le Fay, daughter of Gorlois Le Fay and Vivienne Fearainn, heir to the Le Fay household and Queen of the kingdoms of Camelot and Worchester.” Morgause’s mouth was dry, her throat like parched earth.
“Does Morgana Le Fay wish to be joined to you?” the Priestess asked.
Morgause waited, sure that this was Morgana’s question to answer, but the Priestess kept her eyes on Morgause and made it clear that she was to answer for Morgana.
“I…” Morgause did not know what to say. She bowed her head and said the only thing that she could. “My soul is not yet one with hers. And even if it were, it is she who must answer that question.”
The Priestess smiled. “Then come, Morgana Le Fay, and answer for yourself.”
Morgause turned and watched as Morgana came into view, her heart thundering from fear, anticipation and desire. Morgana wore a gown of shimmering green silk that seemed to dance with the light of the stars with every step she took. The fine material hung down to the ground, brushing the grass as she walked. Across her bodice golden vines wove an intricate pattern in a downturned triangle whose point finished at her navel. The gown’s neckline, in keeping with tradition, was far lower that would have been thought decent in the chapel. It dove in a V from her shoulders to the embroidery at her navel, cutting across her breasts to leave the inner curve of them free and bare but for the lattice of gold she had commissioned in Mermering. Her sleeves dipped down to touch the ground, but did not cover her arms below her shoulders for the slash that ran down them, making them open and allowing a glimpse of the gown’s darker green lining. At Morgana’s temple was a beautiful gold diadem that came to a point at her brow and was made to match her necklace and the net of gold and diamonds in her hair. She wore her own maiden’s broaches - entwined gold vines that bore green and purple fruit - as part of her diadem. It was everything a maiden’s dress should be and the sight of Morgana wearing it for her sent shivers rolling like waves through Morgause’s body, settling heavy and warm between her thighs.
“And what is your answer, Morgana Le Fay?” the Priestess prompted, smiling at the two lovers before her, enraptured with one another. It had been a long time since she had felt such a swell of love and power pass between two people whom she was to join.
“I want it more than anything,” Morgana said hurriedly. As she turned to face the Priestess, Morgause caught a glimpse of where an impromptu alteration to the back of her gown had been made to show off the Wilde mark on Morgana’s shoulder.
Before they could lose themselves in one another again, the Priestess spoke. “Then it falls upon me to hear your vows and bind your souls as one.” Turning to Morgause she said, “Morgause Wilde, you have proven your heart true in refusing to answer on behalf of another. Do you promise that never speak on Morgana’s behalf, nor act for the two of you without her consent?”
“I do,” Morgause swore. “Before the Gods, this I promise.”
“Morgana Le Fay, will you make everything that is yours into something shared? Do you renounce your previous ties and swear fealty to the Wilde family?”
“I do,” Morgana promised.
“And will you declare to the Gods that your children are fatherless?”
Morgana had not been expecting that. Flor had been childless and maiden when she had married Rivalen, and the children she had borne since had both been his. No one had warned her. No one had known.
“Aye, to the Gods I promise this,” she answered, her voice trembling. In Uther’s religion, it was sinful to have a child out of wedlock and any fatherless child was a bastard to be scorned.
“Who do you wish for the Gods to acknowledge as their sire?”
Morgause’s heart skipped a beat.
“Morgause Wilde is their sire,” Morgana said, sounding more confident now. A smile broke out on her face and she turned and beamed at Morgause.
“Morgause Wilde, do take responsibility for these children? Will you feed them, protect them and raise them to be children of the Old Religion?”
“Yes,” Morgause said urgently, in case the chance should pass her by. “Yes and yes and yes. For these children and any more that she may bear. I claim them all and make this promise to all of them.”
Morgana sniffled and a tear turned her mouth as salty in her smile as their first kiss. She had never wanted anything more.
“And will you protect, honour and sate Morgana? Will you be her sword, her comfort and her teacher?”
“I will,” Morgause promised, pleasant shivers feeding her smile.
“Morgana Le Fay, will you promise to follow, respect and learn from Morgause? Will you shelter her, guide her hand and feed her body and soul?”
“I will,” Morgana vowed, repeating each promise in her head and swearing to live by them in every way. “That and more.”
The Priestess gave a soft laugh and handed Morgause a small golden chalice from the folds of her robes. “Take this and fill it from the lake.”
Morgause did as she was told, but when she tried to give the full chalice back, the Priestess shook her head.
“Fill the water with the essence of your magic. Draw it deep from within yourself and pour it out into this sacred vessel. When that is done, drink deep from the cup and when half the water is gone, hold it for Morgana to drink from.”
Morgause closed her eyes and felt her magic eagerly rising to the surface. She watched in her mind’s eye as it ran like a river down her arm and flowed into the cup, making the water turn the purple of wine. When it was done, she tipped the cup to her lips and tasted the purity of her tongue being washed anew - never having tasted a thing before in her life. As it slipped down into her stomach, she felt the aches of battles fought disappearing from her bones. Every sensation she had ever felt was gone - her body made blank to be rediscovered by Morgana’s hands and the sensations they would evoke. When half the liquid was gone, she held the cup up to Morgana’s lips and watched as she drank from it, her eyes closing as she felt the same being done to her body that Morgause had felt moments before.
“For this night, for as long as the moon reigns over you in the sky, you are made new for one another. Every year on this night, you will drink water made pure by Morgause’s magic from the cup and live this night again until the day that you die or the time has come to sever your union. Should that day come, you must cleave the cup and each take one half and drink from it. In that, your joining will be undone. But know this, once your union is severed, you can never be joined again. Even attempting to do this will arouse the wrath of the Gods. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Morgana promised as Morgause said, “I do.”
“Very well. Turn to face one another, the time has come for you to be bound together.” The Priestess took Morgana’s right arm and stretched it out before her. Then, she took Morgause’s left arm and did the same, laying it atop Morgana’s before holding her hands out to Rivalen and Flor who each gave to her a slim silver rope. “With this rope,” the Priestess began, braiding and binding and knotting Morgana and Morgause’s arms together, “I join you before the Gods. From this day forth your souls are one. You have no master but each other. Each kiss you share, each act of love is a prayer that only your two bodies together can create. It is only through these prayers that you can truly find harmony together and be fulfilled. Together, you will find the answer to every question you have ever asked and a thousand more you have yet to think of. You are one - bound by the Gods in a bond that only you can break. Feed your union and not even the Gods can part you.”
When she was done, she stepped back and smiled at them. This was always her favourite part of the joining. “Before we leave you, in front of the Gods and men, you must seal your union with a kiss.”
Shyer than a doe, Morgause stepped closer to Morgana. Her pounding heart was beating like a drum in her ears as she reached out to cup Morgana’s cheek - a familiar gesture done a thousand times before, but never with such a swell of love as then. The first brush of their lips was accidental, an inevitability of how close they stood. Morgause hovered hesitantly, her breath hot on Morgana’s lips. For what felt like eternity, Morgause waited, not quite daring to take the kiss and seal it all. It was Morgana, in the end, who initiated it. With her free hand, she steadied herself on Morgause’s waist and leant in to find Morgause’s lips trembling in a way that only she could still. The moment their lips touched, her eyes closed, reducing the world to nought but the two of them and the way their mouths melded together like the Gods themselves had carved them a perfect fit. Eager for what she knew that Morgause would never ask for with others’ eyes on them, Morgana parted her lips for her Knight’s tongue, refusing to deny herself that sweetest of pleasures that was in opening up for her and taking her inside. She shuddered and clutched at her as their tongues touched and Morgause’s fervour was suddenly ignited. Their bound arms made it hard to grasp at each other, but they managed all the same. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and nothing or no one could break the spell that held them enthralled.
When they finally parted, Morgana realised that they were alone.
“Where did they go?” she asked, her doe-wide eyes scanning the trees around them.
Morgause nuzzled Morgana’s flushed cheek. “It is time.” Morgana’s flush deepened as Morgause’s hand made a trail down between her breasts to the ‘V’ at her navel. “Though I see your dress has done most of the work for me.”
Morgana shivered. “Do you like it?”
Morgause’s eyes were narrowed in torment as she slipped one cool finger beneath the silk. “Oh yes. I like it very, very much. It may even be too beautiful for me to ruin.”
Morgana bit her lip and guided Morgause’s hand from under her dress to the dagger at her hip. She had known that Morgause might be reluctant. Flor had warned her that Rivalen had been the same. They were much alike in that respect, Morgause and Rivalen. Both were all too aware of the unequal nature of Camelot’s society and neither wanted that inequality in their marriages. But this was different, Flor had explained, and Morgana agreed. It was less about the taking and more about the freeing. The High Priestesses would not have practiced it, had it been anything more sinister.
“I want you to,” Morgana whispered, holding Morgause’s hand in place on the dagger as she walked them backwards towards the big oak in the centre of the clearing. “Not just for the fact that it will make me yours, but to be free at last. Only you can give me that. Only you can give me the freedom that I never had as a Le Fay and certainly never as a Pendragon. Take the dagger and free me.”
She grasped Morgause’s hand and made her pull the dagger from its sheath. It was a beautiful thing, old and a little worn, but beautiful all the same. The blade was not the grey of steal but the silver of a moonbeam. It glittered and gleamed in the darkness of the night, making Morgana’s breath catch in her throat. From what she could see of the hilt in the firelight, it was circled by thin rivulets of copper turned green and dark purple obsidian. She smiled at their colours twisted together on the dagger that would join them.
“Green and purple,” she whispered, stroking her fingers over the dagger’s hilt. “It is as if the Gods invented the tarnishing of metal itself to make tonight perfect for us.”
Morgause’s troubled expression softened into a smile. She brought Morgana’s eyes back up to meet hers with a hand under her chin and kissed her. “Such a romantic heart you have, my love.”
“It is only that way because you reside there, making it so,” Morgana countered, suckling for a moment on Morgause’s bottom lip to make her whimper. She loved making her Knight whimper for her. There was no sweeter sound in the earth but perhaps that of her babes’ laughter.
Leaving Morgause aching for more, Morgana leant back against the tree and let her arms fall at her sides, leaving her open for Morgause’s dagger.
Morgause paused, uncertain. When Rivalen had told her of the dagger and what it was used for, she had been horrified. Not once had she noticed the slit in her mother’s dress. Nor in Flor’s. It seemed such a violent way to say something so sweet.
“Please, do not deny me what I so clearly yearn for,” Morgana begged. “It is nothing but a preface to a prayer, my love - one we have prayed together hundreds of times before.”
Taking a deep breath, Morgause raised the dagger and brought it gently to Morgana’s gown at the bottom of the ‘V’, just above Morgana’s navel. As gently as she could, for the blade was razor sharp, she slipped it beneath the delicate silk and drew it down and out, splitting Morgana’s dress open for her as easily as if it had been made of butter. She stopped when the blade hit a snag and stepped back to watch as the dress pooled at Morgana’s feet, bearing everything beneath. Her eyes widened as the green of the gown darkened and bloomed into a deep, dark purple as the Gods made it known that Morgana was no more a Le Fay but a Wilde, body and soul.
“By the Gods,” Morgause breathed, dropping the dagger and trembling. Though she did not remember moving, she was suddenly flush against Morgana, pressing her up against the rough bark of the tree and kissing her with all of the fervour a woman on fire. Morgana smiled and laughed into her mouth, her hands first pulling Morgause closer and then going to the ties of her corseted breeches. She pulled at them until she could slip her hand inside, but she did not feel warm skin against her cool fingers, but silk. She whimpered in annoyance. It was then that Morgause remembered her surprise for Morgana. She broke the kiss and stepped back, making Morgana’s hand fall disappointed at her side.
Morgana whimpered again, pouting and reaching out for Morgause again.
“Soon my love,” Morgause began, “but first I have something to show you.”
Taking Morgana’s hand, she brought it to the ties of her breeches and guided her to unfasten them fully and then pull them down.
Morgana’s eyes glinted as her gaze fell between Morgause’s thighs. “This I have already seen.”
But Morgause was not done. She guided Morgana’s hand to unlace her shirt for Morgana to see her surprise. On the soft skin beneath her left breast was an interwoven design of knots and swirls picked out in black ink. She took Morgana’s hand and made her trace it with her fingers. Only then did Morgana see the letters woven into the device.
“An ‘M’ my Queen, an ‘F’ for my Finnian and an ‘I’ for my Isolde,” Morgause named them as Morgana traced them one by one. “My wife, my son and my daughter all etched into my skin for the rest of my life and on into the next. And it is only for you to see, so that you will know that I am yours every bit as much as you are mine.”
“That, my love, I already know,” Morgana swore, bending her knees to kiss the promise picked out on Morgause’s skin. “That I already know.”
Morgause drew her back up for a kiss and pressed her again against the tree
“Say it again,” Morgana gasped, struggling for breath between Morgause’s demanding kisses. “Name me your wife.”
Morgause smiled, one of her hands trailing down Morgana’s side and beneath her hip, encouraging Morgana’s leg to curl up around her waist.
“My wife,” she whispered hotly in Morgana’s ear, skimming her hand back down to caress the smooth skin of Morgana’s thigh. “My wife, my wife, my wife.”
With that they were lost - praying a prayer so ancient that even the Gods could not remember when it had come into creation. And when they were done, they prayed and prayed and prayed some more, whilst above them a fairytale flew, smiling down on a dream come true.
Epilogue
Finnian and Isolde slept peacefully in their crib. Though Gwen had wished to see Morgana happily married, the chance to spend some time alone with the babes had been a greater wish. She had missed them terribly whilst she had been parted from them, and they too had longed for her if what Morgana said was true. Taking her time to enjoy them, she called for a warm bath to be filled before the fire and washed them and played with them until the water began to turn cold. She dried them and cuddled them whilst they drank their cow’s milk and sang them a story of a brave Knight and a beautiful Princess and all the adventures they had together.
Gwen, like the babes, was asleep when the fairytale flew soundlessly through the window and touched down on the cool stone floor. Quieter than a whisper, the fairytale crept over to the children’s cot and smiled down at her tiny charges. Glimmers of moonlight fell from her silver hair and tickled Isolde’s nose, making her squirm in her sleep. When the fairytale laughed, it was the sound of the crackling fire and the whisper of wind.
“Your mother’s fairytale has come true tonight, little ones, and she has no more use for me,” she said in a voice that did not reach their ears but appeared crystal clear in their sleeping minds. “Luckily for me, she has begotten two wonderful little creatures, each with their own fairytales needing to be fulfilled. And I promise you, little ones, I will make them just as sweet as your mother’s.”
And so a fairytale born of mother’s yearning looked kindly down on that mother’s sweet babes, sure in the knowledge that the fairytale would go on. For certain extraordinary fairytales never end, and Morgana’s fairytale the most wondrous of all and her descendants would see their dreams come true for many generations to come. And all because a mother dreamed and dashing Knight answered her call.
THE END.
A/N - Thank you very much for reading. Please let me know what you think. Expect more in this universe later this year.
Morgause arrived at the clearing long before Morgana, so that the lanterns could be lit and all preparations double checked. She had donned a dress of purple silk slashed with gold, but the reflection in the mirror had not been her own. Her mother had worn the dress on her wedding day and though Morgause had not noticed it, she had grown more and more like her mother with age, and her image in the mirror had unsettled her. She had seen her mother in the dress many times when she was a child. Women wore their wedding gowns for every milestone in their children’s lives, bar their birth. The time that Morgause remembered most clearly was the last time she had worn it - when Morgause had come of age at fourteen. She had been only a few years older than Morgause was now and not long for the world. Morgause could not wear the dress.
Unlike Morgause, Rivalen had noticed how like Josephine that Morgause now looked. Her eyes were her father’s, but her features and graceful demeanour were all her mother’s. Even her hair, though both of her parents had been blonde, was closer in shade to her mother’s than her father’s - all streaked with rich red-gold when it caught the sun. Wearing her mother’s dress only made the resemblance all the more striking. Foreseeing it, Rivalen had had Flor alter the clothes that Morgause’s father, Kendrick, had been wed in. When Morgause saw them, she wept for joy.
That was how Morgause came to wait for Morgana in the forest dressed in skin-tight breeches as black as the night sky above them and a dark-purple silk shirt embroidered at the neck and seams with gold knots. Though Morgause was a good foot shorter than her father, Flor had not wasted any of the fine obsidian silk of the breeches. That which had been cut off the bottom of the legs had been used to form a corseted waist that hugged Morgause’s curves all the way up to just beneath her breasts. Where the sleeves of the shirt had been too long, Flor had not shortened them but removed them completely and moved the embroidered seam to the shoulder, leaving Morgause’s lightly muscled arms bare. A black leather belt held the Wilde wedding dagger secure at Morgause’s hip and two pins held her mother’s maiden broaches in her intricately braided hair, pulled back in twin braids that joined at the base of her neck and tucked under into a soft bun.
“You look beautiful,” Rivalen told her. “Morgana’s knees will turn weak when she sees you.” He turned to the Priestess standing calm as still water by the lake. “Is that not right, your Grace?”
The Priestess smiled, her ageless beauty shining like the moon. “You grow more beautiful every time you stand before me, child.”
Though the Priestess looked no older than Morgause, she had been there at her birth and had guided her through every great ceremony in her life since that day. In all that time, she had not aged a day. It started Morgause how powerful magic could be, and this woman was not even a High Priestess, but one of her handmaids.
Before long, midnight was approaching and they heard the rustle of people moving through the forest. When Flor joined them in the clearing, the ceremony began.
“Child,” the Priestess prompted taking Morgause’s hand and leading her to the lakeside, “who are you and why have you come to me at this sacred time, in this sacred place.”
“I am Morgause Wilde, daughter of Kendrick Wilde and Josephine Baine, Knight of Camelot and head of the Wilde Household. I have come to seek the Gods’ blessing to join my soul to another’s,” Morgause said, her voice loud enough to carry to where Morgana stood unseen in the trees. She was not speaking from a script but she found the words flowing from her mouth like she had known them all her life.
“Whose soul do you wish to join to your own?”
“That of Morgana Le Fay, daughter of Gorlois Le Fay and Vivienne Fearainn, heir to the Le Fay household and Queen of the kingdoms of Camelot and Worchester.” Morgause’s mouth was dry, her throat like parched earth.
“Does Morgana Le Fay wish to be joined to you?” the Priestess asked.
Morgause waited, sure that this was Morgana’s question to answer, but the Priestess kept her eyes on Morgause and made it clear that she was to answer for Morgana.
“I…” Morgause did not know what to say. She bowed her head and said the only thing that she could. “My soul is not yet one with hers. And even if it were, it is she who must answer that question.”
The Priestess smiled. “Then come, Morgana Le Fay, and answer for yourself.”
Morgause turned and watched as Morgana came into view, her heart thundering from fear, anticipation and desire. Morgana wore a gown of shimmering green silk that seemed to dance with the light of the stars with every step she took. The fine material hung down to the ground, brushing the grass as she walked. Across her bodice golden vines wove an intricate pattern in a downturned triangle whose point finished at her navel. The gown’s neckline, in keeping with tradition, was far lower that would have been thought decent in the chapel. It dove in a V from her shoulders to the embroidery at her navel, cutting across her breasts to leave the inner curve of them free and bare but for the lattice of gold she had commissioned in Mermering. Her sleeves dipped down to touch the ground, but did not cover her arms below her shoulders for the slash that ran down them, making them open and allowing a glimpse of the gown’s darker green lining. At Morgana’s temple was a beautiful gold diadem that came to a point at her brow and was made to match her necklace and the net of gold and diamonds in her hair. She wore her own maiden’s broaches - entwined gold vines that bore green and purple fruit - as part of her diadem. It was everything a maiden’s dress should be and the sight of Morgana wearing it for her sent shivers rolling like waves through Morgause’s body, settling heavy and warm between her thighs.
“And what is your answer, Morgana Le Fay?” the Priestess prompted, smiling at the two lovers before her, enraptured with one another. It had been a long time since she had felt such a swell of love and power pass between two people whom she was to join.
“I want it more than anything,” Morgana said hurriedly. As she turned to face the Priestess, Morgause caught a glimpse of where an impromptu alteration to the back of her gown had been made to show off the Wilde mark on Morgana’s shoulder.
Before they could lose themselves in one another again, the Priestess spoke. “Then it falls upon me to hear your vows and bind your souls as one.” Turning to Morgause she said, “Morgause Wilde, you have proven your heart true in refusing to answer on behalf of another. Do you promise that never speak on Morgana’s behalf, nor act for the two of you without her consent?”
“I do,” Morgause swore. “Before the Gods, this I promise.”
“Morgana Le Fay, will you make everything that is yours into something shared? Do you renounce your previous ties and swear fealty to the Wilde family?”
“I do,” Morgana promised.
“And will you declare to the Gods that your children are fatherless?”
Morgana had not been expecting that. Flor had been childless and maiden when she had married Rivalen, and the children she had borne since had both been his. No one had warned her. No one had known.
“Aye, to the Gods I promise this,” she answered, her voice trembling. In Uther’s religion, it was sinful to have a child out of wedlock and any fatherless child was a bastard to be scorned.
“Who do you wish for the Gods to acknowledge as their sire?”
Morgause’s heart skipped a beat.
“Morgause Wilde is their sire,” Morgana said, sounding more confident now. A smile broke out on her face and she turned and beamed at Morgause.
“Morgause Wilde, do take responsibility for these children? Will you feed them, protect them and raise them to be children of the Old Religion?”
“Yes,” Morgause said urgently, in case the chance should pass her by. “Yes and yes and yes. For these children and any more that she may bear. I claim them all and make this promise to all of them.”
Morgana sniffled and a tear turned her mouth as salty in her smile as their first kiss. She had never wanted anything more.
“And will you protect, honour and sate Morgana? Will you be her sword, her comfort and her teacher?”
“I will,” Morgause promised, pleasant shivers feeding her smile.
“Morgana Le Fay, will you promise to follow, respect and learn from Morgause? Will you shelter her, guide her hand and feed her body and soul?”
“I will,” Morgana vowed, repeating each promise in her head and swearing to live by them in every way. “That and more.”
The Priestess gave a soft laugh and handed Morgause a small golden chalice from the folds of her robes. “Take this and fill it from the lake.”
Morgause did as she was told, but when she tried to give the full chalice back, the Priestess shook her head.
“Fill the water with the essence of your magic. Draw it deep from within yourself and pour it out into this sacred vessel. When that is done, drink deep from the cup and when half the water is gone, hold it for Morgana to drink from.”
Morgause closed her eyes and felt her magic eagerly rising to the surface. She watched in her mind’s eye as it ran like a river down her arm and flowed into the cup, making the water turn the purple of wine. When it was done, she tipped the cup to her lips and tasted the purity of her tongue being washed anew - never having tasted a thing before in her life. As it slipped down into her stomach, she felt the aches of battles fought disappearing from her bones. Every sensation she had ever felt was gone - her body made blank to be rediscovered by Morgana’s hands and the sensations they would evoke. When half the liquid was gone, she held the cup up to Morgana’s lips and watched as she drank from it, her eyes closing as she felt the same being done to her body that Morgause had felt moments before.
“For this night, for as long as the moon reigns over you in the sky, you are made new for one another. Every year on this night, you will drink water made pure by Morgause’s magic from the cup and live this night again until the day that you die or the time has come to sever your union. Should that day come, you must cleave the cup and each take one half and drink from it. In that, your joining will be undone. But know this, once your union is severed, you can never be joined again. Even attempting to do this will arouse the wrath of the Gods. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Morgana promised as Morgause said, “I do.”
“Very well. Turn to face one another, the time has come for you to be bound together.” The Priestess took Morgana’s right arm and stretched it out before her. Then, she took Morgause’s left arm and did the same, laying it atop Morgana’s before holding her hands out to Rivalen and Flor who each gave to her a slim silver rope. “With this rope,” the Priestess began, braiding and binding and knotting Morgana and Morgause’s arms together, “I join you before the Gods. From this day forth your souls are one. You have no master but each other. Each kiss you share, each act of love is a prayer that only your two bodies together can create. It is only through these prayers that you can truly find harmony together and be fulfilled. Together, you will find the answer to every question you have ever asked and a thousand more you have yet to think of. You are one - bound by the Gods in a bond that only you can break. Feed your union and not even the Gods can part you.”
When she was done, she stepped back and smiled at them. This was always her favourite part of the joining. “Before we leave you, in front of the Gods and men, you must seal your union with a kiss.”
Shyer than a doe, Morgause stepped closer to Morgana. Her pounding heart was beating like a drum in her ears as she reached out to cup Morgana’s cheek - a familiar gesture done a thousand times before, but never with such a swell of love as then. The first brush of their lips was accidental, an inevitability of how close they stood. Morgause hovered hesitantly, her breath hot on Morgana’s lips. For what felt like eternity, Morgause waited, not quite daring to take the kiss and seal it all. It was Morgana, in the end, who initiated it. With her free hand, she steadied herself on Morgause’s waist and leant in to find Morgause’s lips trembling in a way that only she could still. The moment their lips touched, her eyes closed, reducing the world to nought but the two of them and the way their mouths melded together like the Gods themselves had carved them a perfect fit. Eager for what she knew that Morgause would never ask for with others’ eyes on them, Morgana parted her lips for her Knight’s tongue, refusing to deny herself that sweetest of pleasures that was in opening up for her and taking her inside. She shuddered and clutched at her as their tongues touched and Morgause’s fervour was suddenly ignited. Their bound arms made it hard to grasp at each other, but they managed all the same. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and nothing or no one could break the spell that held them enthralled.
When they finally parted, Morgana realised that they were alone.
“Where did they go?” she asked, her doe-wide eyes scanning the trees around them.
Morgause nuzzled Morgana’s flushed cheek. “It is time.” Morgana’s flush deepened as Morgause’s hand made a trail down between her breasts to the ‘V’ at her navel. “Though I see your dress has done most of the work for me.”
Morgana shivered. “Do you like it?”
Morgause’s eyes were narrowed in torment as she slipped one cool finger beneath the silk. “Oh yes. I like it very, very much. It may even be too beautiful for me to ruin.”
Morgana bit her lip and guided Morgause’s hand from under her dress to the dagger at her hip. She had known that Morgause might be reluctant. Flor had warned her that Rivalen had been the same. They were much alike in that respect, Morgause and Rivalen. Both were all too aware of the unequal nature of Camelot’s society and neither wanted that inequality in their marriages. But this was different, Flor had explained, and Morgana agreed. It was less about the taking and more about the freeing. The High Priestesses would not have practiced it, had it been anything more sinister.
“I want you to,” Morgana whispered, holding Morgause’s hand in place on the dagger as she walked them backwards towards the big oak in the centre of the clearing. “Not just for the fact that it will make me yours, but to be free at last. Only you can give me that. Only you can give me the freedom that I never had as a Le Fay and certainly never as a Pendragon. Take the dagger and free me.”
She grasped Morgause’s hand and made her pull the dagger from its sheath. It was a beautiful thing, old and a little worn, but beautiful all the same. The blade was not the grey of steal but the silver of a moonbeam. It glittered and gleamed in the darkness of the night, making Morgana’s breath catch in her throat. From what she could see of the hilt in the firelight, it was circled by thin rivulets of copper turned green and dark purple obsidian. She smiled at their colours twisted together on the dagger that would join them.
“Green and purple,” she whispered, stroking her fingers over the dagger’s hilt. “It is as if the Gods invented the tarnishing of metal itself to make tonight perfect for us.”
Morgause’s troubled expression softened into a smile. She brought Morgana’s eyes back up to meet hers with a hand under her chin and kissed her. “Such a romantic heart you have, my love.”
“It is only that way because you reside there, making it so,” Morgana countered, suckling for a moment on Morgause’s bottom lip to make her whimper. She loved making her Knight whimper for her. There was no sweeter sound in the earth but perhaps that of her babes’ laughter.
Leaving Morgause aching for more, Morgana leant back against the tree and let her arms fall at her sides, leaving her open for Morgause’s dagger.
Morgause paused, uncertain. When Rivalen had told her of the dagger and what it was used for, she had been horrified. Not once had she noticed the slit in her mother’s dress. Nor in Flor’s. It seemed such a violent way to say something so sweet.
“Please, do not deny me what I so clearly yearn for,” Morgana begged. “It is nothing but a preface to a prayer, my love - one we have prayed together hundreds of times before.”
Taking a deep breath, Morgause raised the dagger and brought it gently to Morgana’s gown at the bottom of the ‘V’, just above Morgana’s navel. As gently as she could, for the blade was razor sharp, she slipped it beneath the delicate silk and drew it down and out, splitting Morgana’s dress open for her as easily as if it had been made of butter. She stopped when the blade hit a snag and stepped back to watch as the dress pooled at Morgana’s feet, bearing everything beneath. Her eyes widened as the green of the gown darkened and bloomed into a deep, dark purple as the Gods made it known that Morgana was no more a Le Fay but a Wilde, body and soul.
“By the Gods,” Morgause breathed, dropping the dagger and trembling. Though she did not remember moving, she was suddenly flush against Morgana, pressing her up against the rough bark of the tree and kissing her with all of the fervour a woman on fire. Morgana smiled and laughed into her mouth, her hands first pulling Morgause closer and then going to the ties of her corseted breeches. She pulled at them until she could slip her hand inside, but she did not feel warm skin against her cool fingers, but silk. She whimpered in annoyance. It was then that Morgause remembered her surprise for Morgana. She broke the kiss and stepped back, making Morgana’s hand fall disappointed at her side.
Morgana whimpered again, pouting and reaching out for Morgause again.
“Soon my love,” Morgause began, “but first I have something to show you.”
Taking Morgana’s hand, she brought it to the ties of her breeches and guided her to unfasten them fully and then pull them down.
Morgana’s eyes glinted as her gaze fell between Morgause’s thighs. “This I have already seen.”
But Morgause was not done. She guided Morgana’s hand to unlace her shirt for Morgana to see her surprise. On the soft skin beneath her left breast was an interwoven design of knots and swirls picked out in black ink. She took Morgana’s hand and made her trace it with her fingers. Only then did Morgana see the letters woven into the device.
“An ‘M’ my Queen, an ‘F’ for my Finnian and an ‘I’ for my Isolde,” Morgause named them as Morgana traced them one by one. “My wife, my son and my daughter all etched into my skin for the rest of my life and on into the next. And it is only for you to see, so that you will know that I am yours every bit as much as you are mine.”
“That, my love, I already know,” Morgana swore, bending her knees to kiss the promise picked out on Morgause’s skin. “That I already know.”
Morgause drew her back up for a kiss and pressed her again against the tree
“Say it again,” Morgana gasped, struggling for breath between Morgause’s demanding kisses. “Name me your wife.”
Morgause smiled, one of her hands trailing down Morgana’s side and beneath her hip, encouraging Morgana’s leg to curl up around her waist.
“My wife,” she whispered hotly in Morgana’s ear, skimming her hand back down to caress the smooth skin of Morgana’s thigh. “My wife, my wife, my wife.”
With that they were lost - praying a prayer so ancient that even the Gods could not remember when it had come into creation. And when they were done, they prayed and prayed and prayed some more, whilst above them a fairytale flew, smiling down on a dream come true.
Epilogue
Finnian and Isolde slept peacefully in their crib. Though Gwen had wished to see Morgana happily married, the chance to spend some time alone with the babes had been a greater wish. She had missed them terribly whilst she had been parted from them, and they too had longed for her if what Morgana said was true. Taking her time to enjoy them, she called for a warm bath to be filled before the fire and washed them and played with them until the water began to turn cold. She dried them and cuddled them whilst they drank their cow’s milk and sang them a story of a brave Knight and a beautiful Princess and all the adventures they had together.
Gwen, like the babes, was asleep when the fairytale flew soundlessly through the window and touched down on the cool stone floor. Quieter than a whisper, the fairytale crept over to the children’s cot and smiled down at her tiny charges. Glimmers of moonlight fell from her silver hair and tickled Isolde’s nose, making her squirm in her sleep. When the fairytale laughed, it was the sound of the crackling fire and the whisper of wind.
“Your mother’s fairytale has come true tonight, little ones, and she has no more use for me,” she said in a voice that did not reach their ears but appeared crystal clear in their sleeping minds. “Luckily for me, she has begotten two wonderful little creatures, each with their own fairytales needing to be fulfilled. And I promise you, little ones, I will make them just as sweet as your mother’s.”
And so a fairytale born of mother’s yearning looked kindly down on that mother’s sweet babes, sure in the knowledge that the fairytale would go on. For certain extraordinary fairytales never end, and Morgana’s fairytale the most wondrous of all and her descendants would see their dreams come true for many generations to come. And all because a mother dreamed and dashing Knight answered her call.
THE END.
A/N - Thank you very much for reading. Please let me know what you think. Expect more in this universe later this year.