FIC: The Future Is Not Told for a_shadow_there
Title: The Future Is Not Told
Author/Artist: ???
Pairing(s): Gwen/Morgana/Morgause
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Implied dub-con
Summary: Gwen wants to understand
A/N: Set early in series 3. Thank you to L. for the super-quick beta!
Words: 2270
"Please," says Gwen. There are no words for this, she thinks. Except there are, there are words to express everything, even a servant knows that, but mere words cannot convey the depth of this plea, she's certain.
So she simply says, "Please, Morgana. Please," her heart beating out of her chest in desperate need.
"I'm sorry, Gwen?" Morgana replies, her eyes empty, distracted. She's smiling, but it's nothing more than a mouthful of teeth, Gwen sees.
"Don't do this," she says. "Please."
"Do what, exactly?" Morgana can't disguise her impatience.
"Pretend," says Gwen. "Shut me out," she says. "Ever since you came back..." her voice trails away helplessly.
Morgana straightens her spine. "You don't know what I went through," she says. She sits at her dressing table, picking up a brush and raking it through her hair in angry, sharp strokes. "You could never understand," she says, and Gwen hears the accusation in her tone.
"I want to understand," she says. She moves closer, takes Morgana's hand, impulsively, daringly. "Help me understand. Make me understand."
Morgana sneers into the mirror, her lip curled up in disgust and it's impossible to tell if she's looking at Gwen or her own reflection. She snatches her fingers away, rubbing at the skin like it's burned.
"I miss you," says Gwen. "I missed you."
"I'm surprised you had time to miss me."
"What does that mean?"
"You seemed so busy with Arthur," Morgana says. "Helping him..." She smiles, archly, "Serving him."
"No!" Gwen cries. "You know that's not true. How could you..." She swallows the words, because there's no point. Instead, she steadies herself. "I won't give up on you, Morgana," she says. "I won't give up on us."
"What a brave girl you are, then." Morgana sounds tired, now. "Go home, Gwen," she says, softly. "Go home."
"Of course," says Gwen, curtseying dutifully, but she doesn't go home. She waits.
Gwen knows how to wait. She's had to learn.
She stands hidden in the shadows of the castle's main courtyard, out of sight of the sentries. It is dark and cold and there will be rain, she can tell, but still, she waits.
It's well after midnight when Morgana appears, striding away with her green cloak billowing out behind her like the wings of a bird. Gwen follows, careful and quiet, through the castle gates, through the mud of the lower town, through the wet, slippery leaves of the forest.
Morgana walks on and on, and Gwen's shoes are blistering her feet, but she barely notices as she looks ahead, her eyes fixed on Morgana's form.
She will not lose her, she will not.
It begins to rain, a fine mist that gathers in Gwen's hair and drips slowly down her back. She shivers, squinting at the blurred night, and Morgana finally stops, halting in a small, sheltered clearing.
A woman in a red dress steps out of the dark, and Gwen knows who she is.
"Sister," the woman says, holding out her arms to Morgana, who falls into her embrace with what looks like relief. Gwen holds her breath as she watches them, exhaling only when they part.
"I see," says Morgause, loudly, voice sharp and clear as a bell, "that you have brought a guest." She smiles. "Come, Gwen," she says, "do not hide yourself."
Morgana turns, surprise sliding over her features as Gwen emerges from her hiding place. "I thought I told you to go home," she says, her voice cracking. She turns to Morgause. "She has no place here," she says. "No place."
"I won't leave you, Morgana," Gwen says.
"What a good and faithful servant you have, sister," says Morgause. She looks at Gwen. "I can understand how the Lady Morgana inspires such devotion, for she has my heart also." There's something creeping and curling in her words, something that makes Gwen's skin hum and vibrate, but she stands her ground.
Morgana moves to stand between them. "Sister," she says, pleading, "my sister, she does not understand." She gestures at Gwen. "She is but a simple maid, she has no quarrel with our cause."
Morgause smiles. "Oh," she says, "I think our Gwen is far from simple. I think..." she pauses. "I think we should show her." She looks at Morgana, her eyes bright. "She needs to learn what we are to each other."
"No," Morgana says. "No, let her go, please."
Morgause turns to Gwen. "It is your choice," she says. "But once you decide, there is no turning back."
Gwen raises her chin, defiant as she dares. "I will not leave my lady."
"Good," says Morgause. "Then come."
She walks away, into the shadowy woods, and Morgana stares at Gwen, her face anguished. There's a long moment between them, and nothing is said, but Gwen knows that, whatever this is, it's perilous. There is danger in the night, but she is sure where her loyalties lie, quite certain, so she gathers her strength and follows Morgause.
She hears Morgana's steps trailing behind her and she nods to herself.
It's only a few minutes before they reach a small stone building, tucked away under the branches of large, spreading tree. There's a light in the window and Morgause holds the door open for the two of them as they enter.
What exactly she's expecting, Gwen's not sure, but the place appears to be a shepherd's hut, one room clean and sparsely furnished with table, chair and bed. Candles burn, and Gwen looks around, warily. Surely this must be some kind of trap or ruse.
"Sit down, Gwen," Morgause says, motioning at the chair, and Gwen nervously obeys. She rests her hands lightly on the arms, feeling the worn, smooth wood beneath her fingers. She waits, expectant, prepared to face her fate, whatever it may be, watching as Morgause tilts her head like a dove, muttering something that Gwen cannot understand, and then there's a burning, prickling sensation in her wrists, and she is bound to the chair.
"Magic!" she hisses, struggling, but she is tied fast. "Morgana," she cries, "this is magic." But Morgana doesn't reply. She sits on the bed, the familiar fire in her eyes replaced by a dull blankness as she stares at the floor.
"Oh," Morgause says, "my sister knows all about magic."
"She is not your sister," Gwen spits.
"But she is. Isn't that right, my love?" Morgause rests her hand on Morgana's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Gwen," Morgana says, not looking up. "I'm so very sorry."
"Now," says Morgause. "Time for Gwen to learn." She takes Morgana's hand, guiding her to her feet, runs her fingers over Morgana's jawline, cruel and tender. "My beautiful girl," she whispers, then leans in, kissing Morgana on the mouth, and there's nothing sisterly about it, Gwen can see. She's forceful, working Morgana's lips apart with her tongue, her hands sliding over her body, and Gwen gasps at the sight.
"Cease this trickery," she says. "Please. You have enchanted her, I know. This is not my lady."
Morgause pulls away, laughing low. "Hush now," she says. "Or I will stop your throat so you cannot speak." The words are filled with venom, the arrogance of the powerful, and Gwen knows her place, even here, so she nods. She will be brave, she tells herself. She must be strong.
Mogause shifts Morgana, who turns, pliant, and stands quite still as her sister unlaces the back of her dress, working quickly, sliding the gown from her shoulders, removing her underclothes with efficient ease.
This is not something new, Gwen realises. This is something that has happened before, and that knowledge makes her heart sink like a stone.
Morgana is naked, now, shivering, and Gwen wants to look away, but she cannot. Perhaps it is more magic, she thinks, but she knows that to be a lie. She has seen her lady's body many, many times, dressing and undressing, bathing and washing, and never has she been able to avert her gaze.
All that pale, silken skin, miles of it, acres of it, filling Gwen's senses till she feels she might drown. "She's lovely, isn't she?" says Morgause, stalking round to stand behind Gwen's chair.
"On the bed," she says to Morgana, who complies. The narrow cot is set lengthwise against the wall, and Morgana leans back, her spine pressed to the stone. It must be cold, Gwen thinks, but she shows no sign of distress. "Legs up," Morgause says. "Show us everything." Morgana props her feet on the edge of the bed, her thighs spread wide, face hidden by the curtain of her hair.
Gwen stares, swallowing the lump in her throat. This is not right, she knows, this is not fitting or respectful. Morgause's hands rest on her shoulders, and she speaks into Gwen's ear. "She has no shame, now, you know. I don't think she ever did, not really."
"No..." Gwen whispers, but the word dies on her lips.
"This is what you've always wanted, isn't it, Gwen? This is what you've been longing for, all these years. Waiting and watching, being so good and patient and true."
And Gwen will not even try to deny it, not now. This is too far.
Morgause moves, settling herself on her knees before Morgana. "Sister," she says. "You must look at Gwen. You must look her in the eyes, do you understand?"
Morgana shakes her head like a wilful child, and Gwen wants nothing more than to comfort her, hold her, but she sees that they are both powerless here, in this moment.
"Do you question me, Morgana?" Morgause asks.
"No," Morgana replies. Her voice sounds strange, as if from a distant place.
"Then look." Morgana raises her head, gaze locked on Gwen's, and she understands. "Good girl," says Morgause, and lowers her face to Morgana's sex.
Gwen tries not to see, her view mostly blocked by Morgause, but perhaps not as much as she would wish. Perhaps more than she would wish, but she steadies herself. There are sounds, also, and they echo throughout Gwen's body in ways that are seemingly beyond her control.
Morgana's mouth is slack, open, and her breasts shift and sway as she begins to tremble, shuddering against her sister's ministrations. Morgause's hands are under her thighs, gripping tight and pulling her closer, closer.
She's so beautiful like this, Gwen thinks, and she could weep for what that means.
It seems like forever, but it doesn't take long, not really, until Morgana grimaces, her head thrown back, muscles tense and rigid, and Gwen could swear she feels the tremors, as if the walls themselves are shaking, but that's not possible. Of course not.
"Now," says Morgause, all business, and Gwen considers the fact that she may hate this woman more than anyone she's ever met. But that is not relevant. Gwen's opinion is never relevant.
"Now you know," says Morgause, and she grabs Morgana's wrist, roughly, hauling her up from the bed, pushing her to her knees in front of Gwen.
Morgana looks up, and her eyes are sad, but she says, "It's all right, Gwen, everything's going to be all right." And Gwen understands, because she knows what loneliness and desperation can do to a person, what isolation can drive someone to, or she can imagine, anyway, and she wants desperately to tell Morgana that she is loved, and that she is not judged, not by Gwen, not ever. But there is nothing said.
The important things between them always went unspoken, were simply known.
"Come," says Morgause, and Gwen knows what she has to do, sliding forward in the chair, opening her legs, lifting her feet as Morgana removes her underclothes and raises her skirts.
This is all they have left.
Morgause's hands circle Gwen's throat, light, insistent pressure, and she closes her eyes, thinking of all the times she's pictured this, the ways she dreamed it would happen. Morgana's mouth on her, suckling, tongue working, gentle and relentless, long, slender fingers inside her, curling, working her open until she's spread wide and exposed, naked in every way.
She thinks of Morgana's room, of the secrets they've shared there, fire crackling in the grate, the two of them enveloped in warmth and softness, safe in a way that could never be real, not in this world.
It's enough, and soon Gwen feels her pleasure spiking, flowing through her like wine, thick as honey as she cries out, voice choked down by the cold hands that rest around her neck, sinking into blackness as she fades away.
She opens her eyes, surprised to note that her wrists are no longer bound. Morgana is curled on the bed, her back to the room, and Morgause sits beside her, stroking her hair.
"You can go now," she says.
"I..." Gwen starts, but there's nothing to say.
"She'll be back in her chambers by the morning," Morgause says. "She may not even remember this."
Gwen shakes her head, because she knows better. "She's stronger than you realise," she says. "She will surprise you."
Morgause shrugs. "Perhaps," she says, careless. She turns back to Morgana. "Goodbye, Gwen," she says.
Gwen gathers her things, stepping out into the cool, still night, feeling like a hundred years have passed and she has grown so, so much older. Wiser, too, but this is not a wisdom that offers any comfort.
It is better to know, she tells herself. However terrible the truth, it is better to know.
Some things must simply be borne, and that is the way of the world.
She walks on.
Author/Artist: ???
Pairing(s): Gwen/Morgana/Morgause
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Implied dub-con
Summary: Gwen wants to understand
A/N: Set early in series 3. Thank you to L. for the super-quick beta!
Words: 2270
"Please," says Gwen. There are no words for this, she thinks. Except there are, there are words to express everything, even a servant knows that, but mere words cannot convey the depth of this plea, she's certain.
So she simply says, "Please, Morgana. Please," her heart beating out of her chest in desperate need.
"I'm sorry, Gwen?" Morgana replies, her eyes empty, distracted. She's smiling, but it's nothing more than a mouthful of teeth, Gwen sees.
"Don't do this," she says. "Please."
"Do what, exactly?" Morgana can't disguise her impatience.
"Pretend," says Gwen. "Shut me out," she says. "Ever since you came back..." her voice trails away helplessly.
Morgana straightens her spine. "You don't know what I went through," she says. She sits at her dressing table, picking up a brush and raking it through her hair in angry, sharp strokes. "You could never understand," she says, and Gwen hears the accusation in her tone.
"I want to understand," she says. She moves closer, takes Morgana's hand, impulsively, daringly. "Help me understand. Make me understand."
Morgana sneers into the mirror, her lip curled up in disgust and it's impossible to tell if she's looking at Gwen or her own reflection. She snatches her fingers away, rubbing at the skin like it's burned.
"I miss you," says Gwen. "I missed you."
"I'm surprised you had time to miss me."
"What does that mean?"
"You seemed so busy with Arthur," Morgana says. "Helping him..." She smiles, archly, "Serving him."
"No!" Gwen cries. "You know that's not true. How could you..." She swallows the words, because there's no point. Instead, she steadies herself. "I won't give up on you, Morgana," she says. "I won't give up on us."
"What a brave girl you are, then." Morgana sounds tired, now. "Go home, Gwen," she says, softly. "Go home."
"Of course," says Gwen, curtseying dutifully, but she doesn't go home. She waits.
Gwen knows how to wait. She's had to learn.
She stands hidden in the shadows of the castle's main courtyard, out of sight of the sentries. It is dark and cold and there will be rain, she can tell, but still, she waits.
It's well after midnight when Morgana appears, striding away with her green cloak billowing out behind her like the wings of a bird. Gwen follows, careful and quiet, through the castle gates, through the mud of the lower town, through the wet, slippery leaves of the forest.
Morgana walks on and on, and Gwen's shoes are blistering her feet, but she barely notices as she looks ahead, her eyes fixed on Morgana's form.
She will not lose her, she will not.
It begins to rain, a fine mist that gathers in Gwen's hair and drips slowly down her back. She shivers, squinting at the blurred night, and Morgana finally stops, halting in a small, sheltered clearing.
A woman in a red dress steps out of the dark, and Gwen knows who she is.
"Sister," the woman says, holding out her arms to Morgana, who falls into her embrace with what looks like relief. Gwen holds her breath as she watches them, exhaling only when they part.
"I see," says Morgause, loudly, voice sharp and clear as a bell, "that you have brought a guest." She smiles. "Come, Gwen," she says, "do not hide yourself."
Morgana turns, surprise sliding over her features as Gwen emerges from her hiding place. "I thought I told you to go home," she says, her voice cracking. She turns to Morgause. "She has no place here," she says. "No place."
"I won't leave you, Morgana," Gwen says.
"What a good and faithful servant you have, sister," says Morgause. She looks at Gwen. "I can understand how the Lady Morgana inspires such devotion, for she has my heart also." There's something creeping and curling in her words, something that makes Gwen's skin hum and vibrate, but she stands her ground.
Morgana moves to stand between them. "Sister," she says, pleading, "my sister, she does not understand." She gestures at Gwen. "She is but a simple maid, she has no quarrel with our cause."
Morgause smiles. "Oh," she says, "I think our Gwen is far from simple. I think..." she pauses. "I think we should show her." She looks at Morgana, her eyes bright. "She needs to learn what we are to each other."
"No," Morgana says. "No, let her go, please."
Morgause turns to Gwen. "It is your choice," she says. "But once you decide, there is no turning back."
Gwen raises her chin, defiant as she dares. "I will not leave my lady."
"Good," says Morgause. "Then come."
She walks away, into the shadowy woods, and Morgana stares at Gwen, her face anguished. There's a long moment between them, and nothing is said, but Gwen knows that, whatever this is, it's perilous. There is danger in the night, but she is sure where her loyalties lie, quite certain, so she gathers her strength and follows Morgause.
She hears Morgana's steps trailing behind her and she nods to herself.
It's only a few minutes before they reach a small stone building, tucked away under the branches of large, spreading tree. There's a light in the window and Morgause holds the door open for the two of them as they enter.
What exactly she's expecting, Gwen's not sure, but the place appears to be a shepherd's hut, one room clean and sparsely furnished with table, chair and bed. Candles burn, and Gwen looks around, warily. Surely this must be some kind of trap or ruse.
"Sit down, Gwen," Morgause says, motioning at the chair, and Gwen nervously obeys. She rests her hands lightly on the arms, feeling the worn, smooth wood beneath her fingers. She waits, expectant, prepared to face her fate, whatever it may be, watching as Morgause tilts her head like a dove, muttering something that Gwen cannot understand, and then there's a burning, prickling sensation in her wrists, and she is bound to the chair.
"Magic!" she hisses, struggling, but she is tied fast. "Morgana," she cries, "this is magic." But Morgana doesn't reply. She sits on the bed, the familiar fire in her eyes replaced by a dull blankness as she stares at the floor.
"Oh," Morgause says, "my sister knows all about magic."
"She is not your sister," Gwen spits.
"But she is. Isn't that right, my love?" Morgause rests her hand on Morgana's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Gwen," Morgana says, not looking up. "I'm so very sorry."
"Now," says Morgause. "Time for Gwen to learn." She takes Morgana's hand, guiding her to her feet, runs her fingers over Morgana's jawline, cruel and tender. "My beautiful girl," she whispers, then leans in, kissing Morgana on the mouth, and there's nothing sisterly about it, Gwen can see. She's forceful, working Morgana's lips apart with her tongue, her hands sliding over her body, and Gwen gasps at the sight.
"Cease this trickery," she says. "Please. You have enchanted her, I know. This is not my lady."
Morgause pulls away, laughing low. "Hush now," she says. "Or I will stop your throat so you cannot speak." The words are filled with venom, the arrogance of the powerful, and Gwen knows her place, even here, so she nods. She will be brave, she tells herself. She must be strong.
Mogause shifts Morgana, who turns, pliant, and stands quite still as her sister unlaces the back of her dress, working quickly, sliding the gown from her shoulders, removing her underclothes with efficient ease.
This is not something new, Gwen realises. This is something that has happened before, and that knowledge makes her heart sink like a stone.
Morgana is naked, now, shivering, and Gwen wants to look away, but she cannot. Perhaps it is more magic, she thinks, but she knows that to be a lie. She has seen her lady's body many, many times, dressing and undressing, bathing and washing, and never has she been able to avert her gaze.
All that pale, silken skin, miles of it, acres of it, filling Gwen's senses till she feels she might drown. "She's lovely, isn't she?" says Morgause, stalking round to stand behind Gwen's chair.
"On the bed," she says to Morgana, who complies. The narrow cot is set lengthwise against the wall, and Morgana leans back, her spine pressed to the stone. It must be cold, Gwen thinks, but she shows no sign of distress. "Legs up," Morgause says. "Show us everything." Morgana props her feet on the edge of the bed, her thighs spread wide, face hidden by the curtain of her hair.
Gwen stares, swallowing the lump in her throat. This is not right, she knows, this is not fitting or respectful. Morgause's hands rest on her shoulders, and she speaks into Gwen's ear. "She has no shame, now, you know. I don't think she ever did, not really."
"No..." Gwen whispers, but the word dies on her lips.
"This is what you've always wanted, isn't it, Gwen? This is what you've been longing for, all these years. Waiting and watching, being so good and patient and true."
And Gwen will not even try to deny it, not now. This is too far.
Morgause moves, settling herself on her knees before Morgana. "Sister," she says. "You must look at Gwen. You must look her in the eyes, do you understand?"
Morgana shakes her head like a wilful child, and Gwen wants nothing more than to comfort her, hold her, but she sees that they are both powerless here, in this moment.
"Do you question me, Morgana?" Morgause asks.
"No," Morgana replies. Her voice sounds strange, as if from a distant place.
"Then look." Morgana raises her head, gaze locked on Gwen's, and she understands. "Good girl," says Morgause, and lowers her face to Morgana's sex.
Gwen tries not to see, her view mostly blocked by Morgause, but perhaps not as much as she would wish. Perhaps more than she would wish, but she steadies herself. There are sounds, also, and they echo throughout Gwen's body in ways that are seemingly beyond her control.
Morgana's mouth is slack, open, and her breasts shift and sway as she begins to tremble, shuddering against her sister's ministrations. Morgause's hands are under her thighs, gripping tight and pulling her closer, closer.
She's so beautiful like this, Gwen thinks, and she could weep for what that means.
It seems like forever, but it doesn't take long, not really, until Morgana grimaces, her head thrown back, muscles tense and rigid, and Gwen could swear she feels the tremors, as if the walls themselves are shaking, but that's not possible. Of course not.
"Now," says Morgause, all business, and Gwen considers the fact that she may hate this woman more than anyone she's ever met. But that is not relevant. Gwen's opinion is never relevant.
"Now you know," says Morgause, and she grabs Morgana's wrist, roughly, hauling her up from the bed, pushing her to her knees in front of Gwen.
Morgana looks up, and her eyes are sad, but she says, "It's all right, Gwen, everything's going to be all right." And Gwen understands, because she knows what loneliness and desperation can do to a person, what isolation can drive someone to, or she can imagine, anyway, and she wants desperately to tell Morgana that she is loved, and that she is not judged, not by Gwen, not ever. But there is nothing said.
The important things between them always went unspoken, were simply known.
"Come," says Morgause, and Gwen knows what she has to do, sliding forward in the chair, opening her legs, lifting her feet as Morgana removes her underclothes and raises her skirts.
This is all they have left.
Morgause's hands circle Gwen's throat, light, insistent pressure, and she closes her eyes, thinking of all the times she's pictured this, the ways she dreamed it would happen. Morgana's mouth on her, suckling, tongue working, gentle and relentless, long, slender fingers inside her, curling, working her open until she's spread wide and exposed, naked in every way.
She thinks of Morgana's room, of the secrets they've shared there, fire crackling in the grate, the two of them enveloped in warmth and softness, safe in a way that could never be real, not in this world.
It's enough, and soon Gwen feels her pleasure spiking, flowing through her like wine, thick as honey as she cries out, voice choked down by the cold hands that rest around her neck, sinking into blackness as she fades away.
She opens her eyes, surprised to note that her wrists are no longer bound. Morgana is curled on the bed, her back to the room, and Morgause sits beside her, stroking her hair.
"You can go now," she says.
"I..." Gwen starts, but there's nothing to say.
"She'll be back in her chambers by the morning," Morgause says. "She may not even remember this."
Gwen shakes her head, because she knows better. "She's stronger than you realise," she says. "She will surprise you."
Morgause shrugs. "Perhaps," she says, careless. She turns back to Morgana. "Goodbye, Gwen," she says.
Gwen gathers her things, stepping out into the cool, still night, feeling like a hundred years have passed and she has grown so, so much older. Wiser, too, but this is not a wisdom that offers any comfort.
It is better to know, she tells herself. However terrible the truth, it is better to know.
Some things must simply be borne, and that is the way of the world.
She walks on.