Flight of Le Fay.
Title: Flight of Le Fay.
Author: binglejells
Prompt image no.:14, 23 and 37
Rating: Somewhere between a strong PG-13 and a soft R.
Length: 3,892.
Summary: After another string of endless executions, Morgana finds herself unable to keep up appearances. With Merlin ignoring the pressures of their secrets, she decides to take matters in to her own hands and take a part of him with her.
Warnings/Spoilers: Maybe very mild season one if you squint and a tiny little spoiler I stole from a season 2 trailer regarding Morgana. Warnings for implied sex and some disturbing images.
Story/Author's notes (optional):This is definitely not the best it could be. It’s had me stumped for months but it was still begging to be written. I hope it isn’t too painful for you. This is also unbeta’d due to my running out of steam and time. I’m sorry!
Disclaimer (optional): Merlin and Co. belong to the BBC and Shine. I own nothing. Boohoo!
Flight of Le Fay.
It started with another execution.
From the window above the courtyard Morgana watched as the drums were beaten harshly, the axe raised and the young man’s head was parted from his shoulders with a smooth swipe. The block was soaked and splashed with crimson blood and in the crowd someone retched, probably having just witnessed their first execution. The accused left behind a little blonde son, a girl child still in swaddling and a wife whose young face looked twisted and agonised. The mother clutched her children tightly, so tight the baby let out a cry but she was muffled by the sounds of her mother’s grief.
The little boy looked solemnly about, his enormous blue eyes wet with tears rose up towards the king. Morgana could not even begin to think of how Uther could look back and not think of his own son, another person‘s sorrow. It was a wonder he wasn’t sentencing the wife as well for conspiring with a sorcerer.
Merlin wasn’t there, at least she couldn’t see him but she knew that where ever he was he would be feeling the same cold entering his bones, the same anger seeping into his blood. Sometimes they watched the executions together, fingers laced in a solid clasp, lips firmly sealed; they flinched at the same moments. Neither of them ever wanted to watch yet they both felt they had a duty to whomever was sentenced to death for sorcery.
She missed his presence greatly, yearned for someone who could understand in those moments. She felt the chill in the air stronger and more bitter than usual and was sure she could see her breath freezing before her face. Even as blistering rays of sunshine bore down upon the breaking crowd, the headless corpse, the cold would not relent. Her fingers were stiff and her hand was empty, no warm, slightly sweaty fingers clutching hers in a binding grip. Morgana could never work out how Merlin’s hands were always warm, just as her own were always cool.
She heard Gwen approach, the serving girl’s eyes were forlorn and cast downward knowingly, she knew her Lady would be downcast and miserable, perhaps even ill for the rest of the day. It pained Guinevere that Morgana had slowly been made in to little more than a spectator to an evil sport.
“My Lady?”
There was a long pause as Morgana breathed deeply and readied herself to look in to the face of her loyal friend.
“Yes, Gwen?”
“Are you alright? You look…Perhaps you ought to rest before the celebrations this evening?” Gwen asked softly, her voice catching over the words that usually tumbled too easily from her mouth.
Of course, Morgana was always pale but now she looked ill, the sun streaming through the window stealing what little colour was left in her face. For a moment Gwen thought that Morgana might just sink down to the stone floor in a puddle of fine blue silk but instead the beautiful face tilted up slightly.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Morgana’s lips failed to pull up in even the smallest smile and her usually graceful glide was more of a shuffle. She turned to the direction of her rooms without the need of further persuading and Gwen’s heart broke.
__________________________________________
The feast of celebration Uther threw that evening did not bode well for Morgana. With every violent death she felt a little more of herself whither away, she felt tainted. The anger she felt at having the strength sucked out of her bit by bit was nothing compared to the fear that she might be losing the strong woman inside her. Where was the woman who challenged the king? Where was her courage hiding? Where was Morgana LeFay?
When she nearly fell over her own feet in the main hall, unable to hold herself up any longer, it was both Merlin and Gwen that caught her.
“Morgana?”
“My Lady?”
They both spoke at the same time, looking from each other to the pale woman they were holding up.
She could feel eyes settling on her, endless pairs of eyes, the king’s included. She glanced to Arthur, who had not spoken to her at all day, knowing her moods and feelings were not to be toyed or dwelled upon. The crowned prince watched as Merlin’s gentle fingers curled firmly around Morgana’s elbow holding her up, his other hand clasped in hers. Gwen was on her other side in the same posture, the three of them a pillar of something uncommon in a royal house hold, servants and mistress held tightly to each other. He gave a nod to the three and they exited quietly as the music changed to another tune.
The walk to her chambers was silent and somewhere along the way she regained a part of herself, she began to feel stronger with every step she took away from Uther and his party. By the time they reached the door to her main room she had regained some of her poise. It was awkward for a moment as Gwen opened the doors and Merlin let go of Morgana quicker than necessary. Something passed over his face as he watched Gwen usher the Lady in to her rooms and he tried to smile at the maid as he left, though his heart was pounding in his chest.
____________________________________________
It was well in to the night when Merlin returned, the castle was quiet and the torches cast their flickering shadows over him as he walked passed.
Arthur had been subdued and distant after the feast as Merlin had stoked the fire in his chambers and watched him climb into bed. He was well aware that Arthur knew the effect his father’s actions were having on the kingdom. Outwardly people seemed glad to be rid of another evil force of life, inwardly they were all praying it wasn’t going to be them next.
Merlin too was feeling downcast; mooching around, unusually quiet and focused on his duties, though it was obvious his mind dallied elsewhere. He was thus dismissed early so that they could both have time to think and rest.
When he reached the Lady’s chamber, he barely had time to knock before the doors were flung open and he was being dragged inside. She had obviously been waiting for him, listening for those footsteps. Once he was inside, he turned with a slightly incredulous look on his face.
“Who else could it have been, Merlin?” Was all the reply he got.
Before he could answer, he was being tugged further into the room and his soft, worn jacket was being pushed from his shoulders. He opened his mouth to reply, to tell her she should be more careful but she swallowed his words and moulded their mouths together. Merlin let his eyes flutter closed and his shoulders sag into a relaxed posture.
He let her divest him of his clothing piece by piece, slowing her as her fingers caught and pulled when she became impatient, guiding her when she became too wrapped up in frustration and need to notice she was pulling his hair and not his neck scarf. The sigh that escaped her lips as he slowly undid the fastenings of her dress ghosted over his mouth and chin and made him shiver as though he were cold.
“What…What is it?” Morgana whispered, her fingers stilling on the ties of his loose breeches, her mouth brushing his as she spoke, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just…Take it easy,” he sighed, his fingers freeing the last fastening on the dress, allowing the soft lilac fabric to pool around her ankles. “There’s no rush. We have time.”
“Have we?” She raised a shapely eyebrow almost sarcastically and tugged the last knot in the laces of his trouser free. They dropped to his knees and she helped him stay standing as he kicked them off.
Merlin sighed and closed his long, lean fingers around one of her wrists, tugging until she stepped forward out of the puddle of silk at her feet. He pulled her flush against him, the only thing separating their skin being her undergarments, which he made short work of. He threw them to the side, not bothering to see where they landed and spoke quietly.
“Whatever time we have, it has to be enough.” He punctuated his words with soft, feather light kisses to her face and forehead, his hands wandering down her bare back and sides.
Morgana shivered. Damn him. He always had an answer to her less than pleasing reminders about what she had seen in their future, even when he had not seen it himself, and he always managed to distract her from those thoughts with his fingers. Not tonight.
“Where were you today Merlin?” She pushed back in the circle of his arms to look at him, her own face was pale and serious, though not angry. Not yet.
“I was…busy. Serving my Lord as best as any loyal servant can,” Merlin sighed.
“Right. And Arthur refused to let you leave for a few moments?” she countered.
“I didn’t ask him.” Merlin knew she would not be happy no matter what answer he gave her. It was better to simply be honest, because in his life, the opportunity to be truly honest about certain things were actually a blessing.
“Why?” The word was bit out, too quiet and too measured to be anything except an accusation. Why was she asking if she already knew his reasons?
“I think you know why…You know what it does to you, and yet you still watch. You don’t see yourself stumbling over your own feet, glaring at the king like you could set him on fire with a glance.” Merlin curled a long lock of her dark hair between his fingers as he spoke, his actions soothing against his honest words. “Every time the axe falls I feel it prickle the back of my neck and I see you crawl away from everything and everyone. I can’t watch anymore. Not until I’m sure there is something I can do.” His jaw was set, his eyes staring intently in to her face but his voice betrayed the pain it caused him to admit that there was nothing he could do.
Of course, he was wrong. She knew better than anyone just how much she was stumbling, how she seethed inside and how it turned her face sour. She knew the damage better than anyone, she just pretended not to notice. For now though she was tired of arguing, tired of having to think about it. She knew what she needed and Morgana knew that Merlin needed her just as much. Even if he’d never admit it. Even if he’d choose Arthur over her. It wouldn’t matter after tonight anyway, she had a part of him that Arthur could never reach, master or not.
She softened slightly, tension from the conversation melting from her bones as she came to a decision about what had to be done.
“Alright,” she whispered. “It’s alright. I know it causes you as much torment as it does for me. We just…have to grasp this while we can. It can’t last forever-”
Merlin opened his mouth, sucked in a breath about to tell her to say no more, to just forget a moment and pretend that they weren’t walking on egg shells all the time. She stilled his lips with a gentle finger and shook her head.
“No, Merlin, let’s not play. You know,” she said, fixing him with a regretful look.
“I know,” he whispered back, his shoulders dropping as the apprehension he felt at their conversation ebbed away. He knew it was no good arguing.
A small smile spread upon her lips as she leaned forward into his embrace, pressed her body against his. She could feel just how much he was still interested in her. He was hard and damp, pressing against the soft skin of her belly, his breath hitching as her hands slid upwards, nails scratching lightly at his shoulder blades.
Morgana pressed her lips to Merlin‘s, slow and sensual, inhaling his earthy scent and catching his sighs between their lips. Taking a step back, she pulled at his shoulders bringing Merlin with her, retreating towards her bed where they managed to pull apart long enough to arrange themselves comfortably. They curled around each other, lips and hips and legs tangling, bumping, gasping.
She could pretend there was no reason to rush if that was what he needed. She could pretend that what they had was perfectly acceptable and not at all complicated. She could pretend this wasn’t going to be the last time.
________________________________________
“Morgana.”
Her name. Someone was calling her name. She could barely hear it over her own distraught cries.
“Morgana!”
A child’s body lay before her, burned almost beyond identification, half covered by a dirty shroud ready for burial.
“Calm down,” The Voice soothed. “You’re dreaming, Morgana, wake up.”
Her throat was hoarse with screaming, burning from bile crawling up her throat. The unforgiving smell of charred flesh choked her, thick and heavy in the air all around and she wept hard, harder than she ever dared weep outside her dreams. How could she possibly be calm with this child’s broken body spread before her like this. Like he had been thrown into the pits of hell and dragged back again. It was so wrong.
“You’re alright.”
No, she wasn’t. How could she ever be alright again?
“You’re safe.”
No one was safe. Not even a child. A boy child with dark hair, marble white skin and blue eyes, the son of a sorcerer and a seer.
Their child.
She wrenched violently out of the dream into a pair of open arms, hands shaking her, holding her, stroking her hair. Merlin crooned softly in her ear, the voice from her dream soothing away the sound of her own harsh breathing.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “It’s not real, it’s over now.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracked and hoarse. “It’s only just begun.”
“What has?”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Morgana?”
She wretched into the chamber pot from under the bed, Merlin holding her hair from her face and hovering over her shoulder torn between watching and looking away. She shrugged him off and wiped her mouth, breathing deeply as her stomach settled itself enough for her to lean back and accept Merlin’s warmth once more.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she replied.
“I think you should.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The time for talking was over.
“Are you going to be alright now?”
“Yes, Merlin. We’re going to be fine,” Morgana said with a small smile and let herself be gathered closer to him.
“Of course we are,” Merlin sighed and curled his arms about her.
They watched each other in silence for some time, sharing a gaze, breathing space, knowledge that a word from one or the other could break this fragile thing they had. Eventually Merlin’s eyes slid shut, his hold remaining firm and Morgana let her own eyes do the same. She listened to his breathing deepening, his heartbeat even out; it was the perfect lullaby for them to fall asleep to.
___________________________________
“Merlin!”
Gwen’s quick footsteps echoing through the corridor preceded her call as she burst through the door to Gaius’ chamber, stumbling to a halt before him. He reached out to steady her, his hands on her shoulders and tilting his head to take in her blotchy, tear stained face. Her panic set him on edge and he took her face in his palm, brow furrowed in concern as he waited for her to calm enough to tell him was what wrong.
“Gwen? What is it? What’s happened?” he asked, thumbing away the tear tracks on her face.
“My Lady, she’s gone!” Gwen sobbed, pressing a crumpled piece of parchment into Merlin’s hands.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Merlin took the parchment and straightened it out, eyes scanning over Morgana’s scripted handwriting. He read it again, and again, the thundering noise of his own pulse in his ears blocking out Gwen’s ragged breathing beside him. He looked up, his face pinched, wounded looking.
“She could have been gone for hours, Merlin. They’re sending a riding party out but they’ll never catch her.”
Of course they wouldn’t. Though Morgana had grown apart from herself in more recent times, a part of the old, unbeatable Morgana was still very much aflame and if she didn’t want to be found, they had no chance.
___________________________________
I am going away,
The letter read.
Merlin had kept it, folded and creased and faded inside his jacket pocket, close to his heart for nigh on eight years. Every now and then, when the evening had quieted and he had a moment to himself, he would take out the parchment, rub thumb and forefinger against the material and stroke out the creases. The handwriting looked worn, the colour of the parchment all but washed out.
He read about dreams and paths that must be wandered, about murder and bloodshed, about old life and new life. He was sure he would never understand, even running his mind over their last night, their last conversations and her last dreams. He had known about her dreams for longer than she’d known about his magic. He’d helped her, providing a friendly ear at first, then an understanding shoulder to lean on and eventually a body to share warmth with.
He smiled at the memory despite himself. Feelings he thought long buried and forgotten about still crept up on him from time to time after studying the letter once again.
Gusts of an early November breeze swept in through the open stable doors, the air chill and crisp. He didn’t have to much out the horses anymore, court magicians were far too valuable to waste on straw raking. Though apparently he was not too important to be used as a children’s entertainer from time to time for the King and Queen’s children, not important enough to always be taken seriously. Or given a raise for his services. He still enjoyed coming to spoil the horses occasionally though, and really he couldn’t complain, there were far worse positions to be in.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck raised, alerting Merlin to another presence. A soft shuffling sound and one bright, curious blue eye pressed up against the crack in the stable door gave the intruder away. A breathy giggle and the eye was gone, the sounds of shoes tracking through dust thudding away.
He followed and caught sight of a flash of pale blue material disappearing behind the other stable building, the corner of a cloak belonging to a small figure whipping out into view from the hiding place. Merlin stalked forward slowly, tilting his head as he approached, ready to gently admonish the child for being out so late. Above them the stars were waking up in their sky-beds and the sun settling down for sleep.
“Come on then, I know you’re there,” he called quietly, his voice unthreatening. “Let’s be seeing you.”
A cloaked figure appeared from behind the wall, but it wore red velvet, thick and rich looking. The hood hung low over the face, leaving only a smooth white chin visible where the head was titled down. This figure was tall, almost as tall as Merlin, and certainly didn’t speak with a child’s voice.
“You’re skills at hide and seek have improved, Merlin. Though I see you seek more now than you hide.” The voice belonged to a woman. Smooth, calm, the lilt of a gentle accent.
“Morgana?” he whispered in disbelief.
Pale hands pushed the hood back. Her dark hair tumbled down over petite shoulders in familiar waves uncovering the pale, beautiful face. She looked unchanged, unblemished as though the last six years had excluded her from natural time. She had the same half smile she saved for those private teasing moments and she was aiming it at him.
“Hello, Merlin.“ She fixed him with a pointed stare, eyes roaming over his face and he sputtered before her. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly. “It has been quite awhile.”
A small smile tugged at his lips despite the surprise and the sadness, the endless list of questions lining up in his head he couldn’t ask for fear of bursting the delicate bubble surrounding the moment.
“You look well,” he said.
“As do you. Your new position suits you,” she replied, taking a moment to looking him up and down, give an approving nod at his dark blue robes, his polished leather boots.
“Yes, it…has it’s perks.” Merlin looked down at his shoes, an essence of the awkwardness he used to possess seeping in from memory and he kicked at the cold, muddy ground. His eyes caught movement as he raised his head and he looked questioningly at Morgana.
“You can come out now,” she called. “Come and say hello.” Morgana turned to look behind her and the small, blue cloaked figure appeared, standing in front of her with Morgana’s hands on his shoulders.
“Hello,” said the boy obediently, raising his head. The hood dropped back, aided by Morgana’s hand and Merlin sucked in a breath. The boy’s eyes were piercing, bright and blue, his skin pale and smooth, flushed with a healthy smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His hair hung about his ears in dark tendrils much like Merlin’s, he was slim and small but full of life and promise.
“Hello,” said Merlin, eyes transfixed, taking in every detail. It was uncanny, it was…It was like looking at himself.
He raised his eyes to Morgana, pleading and hoping and dreading all at once, begging her, please, tell me I’m wrong.
“Merlin, this is-,” she said, giving the boy’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“Your son?” he asked.
“Our son,” she corrected slowly.
The boy looked between them, silence hanging heavy in the air and magic crackling around them, stirring in the blades of grass as the energy built and tumbled about. He remained silent, leaning into his mother’s reassuring touch, but obviously intrigued by the man who was apparently his father.
This child, this boy, was his. Theirs. A combination of their flesh and blood and magic, by the gods, what happened to a child conceived by a seer and a sorcerer?
The child blinked, his eyes swirled gold, an icy cold gust of wind whipping through their hair and carrying leaves across the air about them before misting back to their usual blue. A mixture of dark and pale. Of him and Morgana.
Taking a steadying breath, Merlin looked down into his son’s face, eyes drinking in the sight of the power dancing behind the child’s eyes. He moved closer, resisting the urge to bed down to the boy’s height and look within him, reach out a hand and cup his perfect little face. The youngster looked up at him expectantly and raised his chin ready to receive his acknowledgement.
“I’m Merlin. What’s…What’s your name?” asked Merlin.
A grin pulled at the boy’s lips.
“My name is Mordred.”
-End-
Author: binglejells
Prompt image no.:14, 23 and 37
Rating: Somewhere between a strong PG-13 and a soft R.
Length: 3,892.
Summary: After another string of endless executions, Morgana finds herself unable to keep up appearances. With Merlin ignoring the pressures of their secrets, she decides to take matters in to her own hands and take a part of him with her.
Warnings/Spoilers: Maybe very mild season one if you squint and a tiny little spoiler I stole from a season 2 trailer regarding Morgana. Warnings for implied sex and some disturbing images.
Story/Author's notes (optional):This is definitely not the best it could be. It’s had me stumped for months but it was still begging to be written. I hope it isn’t too painful for you. This is also unbeta’d due to my running out of steam and time. I’m sorry!
Disclaimer (optional): Merlin and Co. belong to the BBC and Shine. I own nothing. Boohoo!
Flight of Le Fay.
It started with another execution.
From the window above the courtyard Morgana watched as the drums were beaten harshly, the axe raised and the young man’s head was parted from his shoulders with a smooth swipe. The block was soaked and splashed with crimson blood and in the crowd someone retched, probably having just witnessed their first execution. The accused left behind a little blonde son, a girl child still in swaddling and a wife whose young face looked twisted and agonised. The mother clutched her children tightly, so tight the baby let out a cry but she was muffled by the sounds of her mother’s grief.
The little boy looked solemnly about, his enormous blue eyes wet with tears rose up towards the king. Morgana could not even begin to think of how Uther could look back and not think of his own son, another person‘s sorrow. It was a wonder he wasn’t sentencing the wife as well for conspiring with a sorcerer.
Merlin wasn’t there, at least she couldn’t see him but she knew that where ever he was he would be feeling the same cold entering his bones, the same anger seeping into his blood. Sometimes they watched the executions together, fingers laced in a solid clasp, lips firmly sealed; they flinched at the same moments. Neither of them ever wanted to watch yet they both felt they had a duty to whomever was sentenced to death for sorcery.
She missed his presence greatly, yearned for someone who could understand in those moments. She felt the chill in the air stronger and more bitter than usual and was sure she could see her breath freezing before her face. Even as blistering rays of sunshine bore down upon the breaking crowd, the headless corpse, the cold would not relent. Her fingers were stiff and her hand was empty, no warm, slightly sweaty fingers clutching hers in a binding grip. Morgana could never work out how Merlin’s hands were always warm, just as her own were always cool.
She heard Gwen approach, the serving girl’s eyes were forlorn and cast downward knowingly, she knew her Lady would be downcast and miserable, perhaps even ill for the rest of the day. It pained Guinevere that Morgana had slowly been made in to little more than a spectator to an evil sport.
“My Lady?”
There was a long pause as Morgana breathed deeply and readied herself to look in to the face of her loyal friend.
“Yes, Gwen?”
“Are you alright? You look…Perhaps you ought to rest before the celebrations this evening?” Gwen asked softly, her voice catching over the words that usually tumbled too easily from her mouth.
Of course, Morgana was always pale but now she looked ill, the sun streaming through the window stealing what little colour was left in her face. For a moment Gwen thought that Morgana might just sink down to the stone floor in a puddle of fine blue silk but instead the beautiful face tilted up slightly.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Morgana’s lips failed to pull up in even the smallest smile and her usually graceful glide was more of a shuffle. She turned to the direction of her rooms without the need of further persuading and Gwen’s heart broke.
__________________________________________
The feast of celebration Uther threw that evening did not bode well for Morgana. With every violent death she felt a little more of herself whither away, she felt tainted. The anger she felt at having the strength sucked out of her bit by bit was nothing compared to the fear that she might be losing the strong woman inside her. Where was the woman who challenged the king? Where was her courage hiding? Where was Morgana LeFay?
When she nearly fell over her own feet in the main hall, unable to hold herself up any longer, it was both Merlin and Gwen that caught her.
“Morgana?”
“My Lady?”
They both spoke at the same time, looking from each other to the pale woman they were holding up.
She could feel eyes settling on her, endless pairs of eyes, the king’s included. She glanced to Arthur, who had not spoken to her at all day, knowing her moods and feelings were not to be toyed or dwelled upon. The crowned prince watched as Merlin’s gentle fingers curled firmly around Morgana’s elbow holding her up, his other hand clasped in hers. Gwen was on her other side in the same posture, the three of them a pillar of something uncommon in a royal house hold, servants and mistress held tightly to each other. He gave a nod to the three and they exited quietly as the music changed to another tune.
The walk to her chambers was silent and somewhere along the way she regained a part of herself, she began to feel stronger with every step she took away from Uther and his party. By the time they reached the door to her main room she had regained some of her poise. It was awkward for a moment as Gwen opened the doors and Merlin let go of Morgana quicker than necessary. Something passed over his face as he watched Gwen usher the Lady in to her rooms and he tried to smile at the maid as he left, though his heart was pounding in his chest.
____________________________________________
It was well in to the night when Merlin returned, the castle was quiet and the torches cast their flickering shadows over him as he walked passed.
Arthur had been subdued and distant after the feast as Merlin had stoked the fire in his chambers and watched him climb into bed. He was well aware that Arthur knew the effect his father’s actions were having on the kingdom. Outwardly people seemed glad to be rid of another evil force of life, inwardly they were all praying it wasn’t going to be them next.
Merlin too was feeling downcast; mooching around, unusually quiet and focused on his duties, though it was obvious his mind dallied elsewhere. He was thus dismissed early so that they could both have time to think and rest.
When he reached the Lady’s chamber, he barely had time to knock before the doors were flung open and he was being dragged inside. She had obviously been waiting for him, listening for those footsteps. Once he was inside, he turned with a slightly incredulous look on his face.
“Who else could it have been, Merlin?” Was all the reply he got.
Before he could answer, he was being tugged further into the room and his soft, worn jacket was being pushed from his shoulders. He opened his mouth to reply, to tell her she should be more careful but she swallowed his words and moulded their mouths together. Merlin let his eyes flutter closed and his shoulders sag into a relaxed posture.
He let her divest him of his clothing piece by piece, slowing her as her fingers caught and pulled when she became impatient, guiding her when she became too wrapped up in frustration and need to notice she was pulling his hair and not his neck scarf. The sigh that escaped her lips as he slowly undid the fastenings of her dress ghosted over his mouth and chin and made him shiver as though he were cold.
“What…What is it?” Morgana whispered, her fingers stilling on the ties of his loose breeches, her mouth brushing his as she spoke, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just…Take it easy,” he sighed, his fingers freeing the last fastening on the dress, allowing the soft lilac fabric to pool around her ankles. “There’s no rush. We have time.”
“Have we?” She raised a shapely eyebrow almost sarcastically and tugged the last knot in the laces of his trouser free. They dropped to his knees and she helped him stay standing as he kicked them off.
Merlin sighed and closed his long, lean fingers around one of her wrists, tugging until she stepped forward out of the puddle of silk at her feet. He pulled her flush against him, the only thing separating their skin being her undergarments, which he made short work of. He threw them to the side, not bothering to see where they landed and spoke quietly.
“Whatever time we have, it has to be enough.” He punctuated his words with soft, feather light kisses to her face and forehead, his hands wandering down her bare back and sides.
Morgana shivered. Damn him. He always had an answer to her less than pleasing reminders about what she had seen in their future, even when he had not seen it himself, and he always managed to distract her from those thoughts with his fingers. Not tonight.
“Where were you today Merlin?” She pushed back in the circle of his arms to look at him, her own face was pale and serious, though not angry. Not yet.
“I was…busy. Serving my Lord as best as any loyal servant can,” Merlin sighed.
“Right. And Arthur refused to let you leave for a few moments?” she countered.
“I didn’t ask him.” Merlin knew she would not be happy no matter what answer he gave her. It was better to simply be honest, because in his life, the opportunity to be truly honest about certain things were actually a blessing.
“Why?” The word was bit out, too quiet and too measured to be anything except an accusation. Why was she asking if she already knew his reasons?
“I think you know why…You know what it does to you, and yet you still watch. You don’t see yourself stumbling over your own feet, glaring at the king like you could set him on fire with a glance.” Merlin curled a long lock of her dark hair between his fingers as he spoke, his actions soothing against his honest words. “Every time the axe falls I feel it prickle the back of my neck and I see you crawl away from everything and everyone. I can’t watch anymore. Not until I’m sure there is something I can do.” His jaw was set, his eyes staring intently in to her face but his voice betrayed the pain it caused him to admit that there was nothing he could do.
Of course, he was wrong. She knew better than anyone just how much she was stumbling, how she seethed inside and how it turned her face sour. She knew the damage better than anyone, she just pretended not to notice. For now though she was tired of arguing, tired of having to think about it. She knew what she needed and Morgana knew that Merlin needed her just as much. Even if he’d never admit it. Even if he’d choose Arthur over her. It wouldn’t matter after tonight anyway, she had a part of him that Arthur could never reach, master or not.
She softened slightly, tension from the conversation melting from her bones as she came to a decision about what had to be done.
“Alright,” she whispered. “It’s alright. I know it causes you as much torment as it does for me. We just…have to grasp this while we can. It can’t last forever-”
Merlin opened his mouth, sucked in a breath about to tell her to say no more, to just forget a moment and pretend that they weren’t walking on egg shells all the time. She stilled his lips with a gentle finger and shook her head.
“No, Merlin, let’s not play. You know,” she said, fixing him with a regretful look.
“I know,” he whispered back, his shoulders dropping as the apprehension he felt at their conversation ebbed away. He knew it was no good arguing.
A small smile spread upon her lips as she leaned forward into his embrace, pressed her body against his. She could feel just how much he was still interested in her. He was hard and damp, pressing against the soft skin of her belly, his breath hitching as her hands slid upwards, nails scratching lightly at his shoulder blades.
Morgana pressed her lips to Merlin‘s, slow and sensual, inhaling his earthy scent and catching his sighs between their lips. Taking a step back, she pulled at his shoulders bringing Merlin with her, retreating towards her bed where they managed to pull apart long enough to arrange themselves comfortably. They curled around each other, lips and hips and legs tangling, bumping, gasping.
She could pretend there was no reason to rush if that was what he needed. She could pretend that what they had was perfectly acceptable and not at all complicated. She could pretend this wasn’t going to be the last time.
________________________________________
“Morgana.”
Her name. Someone was calling her name. She could barely hear it over her own distraught cries.
“Morgana!”
A child’s body lay before her, burned almost beyond identification, half covered by a dirty shroud ready for burial.
“Calm down,” The Voice soothed. “You’re dreaming, Morgana, wake up.”
Her throat was hoarse with screaming, burning from bile crawling up her throat. The unforgiving smell of charred flesh choked her, thick and heavy in the air all around and she wept hard, harder than she ever dared weep outside her dreams. How could she possibly be calm with this child’s broken body spread before her like this. Like he had been thrown into the pits of hell and dragged back again. It was so wrong.
“You’re alright.”
No, she wasn’t. How could she ever be alright again?
“You’re safe.”
No one was safe. Not even a child. A boy child with dark hair, marble white skin and blue eyes, the son of a sorcerer and a seer.
Their child.
She wrenched violently out of the dream into a pair of open arms, hands shaking her, holding her, stroking her hair. Merlin crooned softly in her ear, the voice from her dream soothing away the sound of her own harsh breathing.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “It’s not real, it’s over now.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracked and hoarse. “It’s only just begun.”
“What has?”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Morgana?”
She wretched into the chamber pot from under the bed, Merlin holding her hair from her face and hovering over her shoulder torn between watching and looking away. She shrugged him off and wiped her mouth, breathing deeply as her stomach settled itself enough for her to lean back and accept Merlin’s warmth once more.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she replied.
“I think you should.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The time for talking was over.
“Are you going to be alright now?”
“Yes, Merlin. We’re going to be fine,” Morgana said with a small smile and let herself be gathered closer to him.
“Of course we are,” Merlin sighed and curled his arms about her.
They watched each other in silence for some time, sharing a gaze, breathing space, knowledge that a word from one or the other could break this fragile thing they had. Eventually Merlin’s eyes slid shut, his hold remaining firm and Morgana let her own eyes do the same. She listened to his breathing deepening, his heartbeat even out; it was the perfect lullaby for them to fall asleep to.
___________________________________
“Merlin!”
Gwen’s quick footsteps echoing through the corridor preceded her call as she burst through the door to Gaius’ chamber, stumbling to a halt before him. He reached out to steady her, his hands on her shoulders and tilting his head to take in her blotchy, tear stained face. Her panic set him on edge and he took her face in his palm, brow furrowed in concern as he waited for her to calm enough to tell him was what wrong.
“Gwen? What is it? What’s happened?” he asked, thumbing away the tear tracks on her face.
“My Lady, she’s gone!” Gwen sobbed, pressing a crumpled piece of parchment into Merlin’s hands.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Merlin took the parchment and straightened it out, eyes scanning over Morgana’s scripted handwriting. He read it again, and again, the thundering noise of his own pulse in his ears blocking out Gwen’s ragged breathing beside him. He looked up, his face pinched, wounded looking.
“She could have been gone for hours, Merlin. They’re sending a riding party out but they’ll never catch her.”
Of course they wouldn’t. Though Morgana had grown apart from herself in more recent times, a part of the old, unbeatable Morgana was still very much aflame and if she didn’t want to be found, they had no chance.
___________________________________
I am going away,
The letter read.
Merlin had kept it, folded and creased and faded inside his jacket pocket, close to his heart for nigh on eight years. Every now and then, when the evening had quieted and he had a moment to himself, he would take out the parchment, rub thumb and forefinger against the material and stroke out the creases. The handwriting looked worn, the colour of the parchment all but washed out.
He read about dreams and paths that must be wandered, about murder and bloodshed, about old life and new life. He was sure he would never understand, even running his mind over their last night, their last conversations and her last dreams. He had known about her dreams for longer than she’d known about his magic. He’d helped her, providing a friendly ear at first, then an understanding shoulder to lean on and eventually a body to share warmth with.
He smiled at the memory despite himself. Feelings he thought long buried and forgotten about still crept up on him from time to time after studying the letter once again.
Gusts of an early November breeze swept in through the open stable doors, the air chill and crisp. He didn’t have to much out the horses anymore, court magicians were far too valuable to waste on straw raking. Though apparently he was not too important to be used as a children’s entertainer from time to time for the King and Queen’s children, not important enough to always be taken seriously. Or given a raise for his services. He still enjoyed coming to spoil the horses occasionally though, and really he couldn’t complain, there were far worse positions to be in.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck raised, alerting Merlin to another presence. A soft shuffling sound and one bright, curious blue eye pressed up against the crack in the stable door gave the intruder away. A breathy giggle and the eye was gone, the sounds of shoes tracking through dust thudding away.
He followed and caught sight of a flash of pale blue material disappearing behind the other stable building, the corner of a cloak belonging to a small figure whipping out into view from the hiding place. Merlin stalked forward slowly, tilting his head as he approached, ready to gently admonish the child for being out so late. Above them the stars were waking up in their sky-beds and the sun settling down for sleep.
“Come on then, I know you’re there,” he called quietly, his voice unthreatening. “Let’s be seeing you.”
A cloaked figure appeared from behind the wall, but it wore red velvet, thick and rich looking. The hood hung low over the face, leaving only a smooth white chin visible where the head was titled down. This figure was tall, almost as tall as Merlin, and certainly didn’t speak with a child’s voice.
“You’re skills at hide and seek have improved, Merlin. Though I see you seek more now than you hide.” The voice belonged to a woman. Smooth, calm, the lilt of a gentle accent.
“Morgana?” he whispered in disbelief.
Pale hands pushed the hood back. Her dark hair tumbled down over petite shoulders in familiar waves uncovering the pale, beautiful face. She looked unchanged, unblemished as though the last six years had excluded her from natural time. She had the same half smile she saved for those private teasing moments and she was aiming it at him.
“Hello, Merlin.“ She fixed him with a pointed stare, eyes roaming over his face and he sputtered before her. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly. “It has been quite awhile.”
A small smile tugged at his lips despite the surprise and the sadness, the endless list of questions lining up in his head he couldn’t ask for fear of bursting the delicate bubble surrounding the moment.
“You look well,” he said.
“As do you. Your new position suits you,” she replied, taking a moment to looking him up and down, give an approving nod at his dark blue robes, his polished leather boots.
“Yes, it…has it’s perks.” Merlin looked down at his shoes, an essence of the awkwardness he used to possess seeping in from memory and he kicked at the cold, muddy ground. His eyes caught movement as he raised his head and he looked questioningly at Morgana.
“You can come out now,” she called. “Come and say hello.” Morgana turned to look behind her and the small, blue cloaked figure appeared, standing in front of her with Morgana’s hands on his shoulders.
“Hello,” said the boy obediently, raising his head. The hood dropped back, aided by Morgana’s hand and Merlin sucked in a breath. The boy’s eyes were piercing, bright and blue, his skin pale and smooth, flushed with a healthy smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His hair hung about his ears in dark tendrils much like Merlin’s, he was slim and small but full of life and promise.
“Hello,” said Merlin, eyes transfixed, taking in every detail. It was uncanny, it was…It was like looking at himself.
He raised his eyes to Morgana, pleading and hoping and dreading all at once, begging her, please, tell me I’m wrong.
“Merlin, this is-,” she said, giving the boy’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“Your son?” he asked.
“Our son,” she corrected slowly.
The boy looked between them, silence hanging heavy in the air and magic crackling around them, stirring in the blades of grass as the energy built and tumbled about. He remained silent, leaning into his mother’s reassuring touch, but obviously intrigued by the man who was apparently his father.
This child, this boy, was his. Theirs. A combination of their flesh and blood and magic, by the gods, what happened to a child conceived by a seer and a sorcerer?
The child blinked, his eyes swirled gold, an icy cold gust of wind whipping through their hair and carrying leaves across the air about them before misting back to their usual blue. A mixture of dark and pale. Of him and Morgana.
Taking a steadying breath, Merlin looked down into his son’s face, eyes drinking in the sight of the power dancing behind the child’s eyes. He moved closer, resisting the urge to bed down to the boy’s height and look within him, reach out a hand and cup his perfect little face. The youngster looked up at him expectantly and raised his chin ready to receive his acknowledgement.
“I’m Merlin. What’s…What’s your name?” asked Merlin.
A grin pulled at the boy’s lips.
“My name is Mordred.”
-End-