Merlin fic: In me, nothing is extinguished (Morgana/Arthu)
Title: in me, nothing is extinguished
Author: quietdecember
Characters: Arthur/Morgana
Summary: even now she remains a gaping chasm in the heart of Camelot, a presence he will not name
Spoilers: Season 3
Rating: PG-13
Note: Title from Pablo Neruda's If you Forget Me
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
-pablo neruda, if you forget me
It is nearly two weeks before he hears her name spoken aloud to his face and he begins to realize how easy it is to erase a person. Perhaps it has been whispered all this time but he cannot bring himself to wonder what is said about mad King Uther and his daughter. Perhaps this is his fault too; that even now she remains a gaping chasm in the heart of Camelot, a presence he will not name. He does not (cannot) speak of betrayal, not even in his own mind.
The vestiges of her reign are all but gone, his father's sorrow is all that remains. The people of Camelot are told that their king is stricken with illness, but in truth he stands in her chambers, hands ghosting over her jewels. He does not speak of her, but Arthur knows the king sleeps restlessly, can imagine him shifting in the darkness, calling out to the shadows-his voice hardly a whisper but filled with terror and reverence.
'Morgana' and it makes him sick with bitterness to imagine the love in that voice, to remember all the years that they lived side by side. To realize how often his father had buried that tenderness. How he had twisted it into the duty of a King to his ward.
So he does nothing, does not start when he imagines a flash of red or green in the castle corridors, does not glance to his left to catch her eye at court. He does not miss her criticisms or misguided insults or the way she accosted him at all hours with unsolicited advice.
Most of all he does not remember her on the throne, her face cold and pale and defiant. He tries to recall it after long hours of training but it never brings the hatred it should never fuels rage or anger. He must be forgetting something, when it only makes him wonder what he had missed, where he had failed. If he tries for too long her face stays in his mind all day-seered onto the backs of his eyelids and he will not sleep.
He will lie perfectly awake, wondering. First about her dreams, trying to recall the mornings when she would appear paler and quieter. As a child he must have known-must have seen Gaius offer her potions in the evenings or heard Gwen comforting her in the early mornings but it seemed such a silly thing-hardly worth thinking about.
He only mentioned it once-recklessly and quickly like lightning to remove that superior smile from her face. He'd felt a burst of satisfaction-then falling as she grasped his shoulders and shoved with a fierce strength. He remembers stumbling backwards, tumbling to the ground gracelessly. He had laid there for a moment and she had looked down on him. He remembers her face more than anything-the first time he ever saw the expression that would gain greater and greater power over him. Besides that moment he can hardly bring up a clear memory. She'd never corrected him when he dismissed her fears and feelings and never mentioned a thing in front his father.
Next he will think of Morgause for only an instant. At first the knights had attempted an investigation of their plot, which had proven fruitless so he cannot imagine how they spoke to one another or what they might have said. He may even question for a flickering second whether she had told him the truth about his mother after all. Then he will wonder if the seed was planted with the duel and that bracelet. If every time Morgana argued against the king alone they took another step towards this fate.
He will do his best to remember nothing at all for as long as possible after those nights-to explain away the restless nights or deny them if he can.
Because he knows how Gauis or Merlin or even Gwen would react. As if he is mad to torture himself remembering her smiles, imagining what else they hid for so many years. For hearing her voice (brother and sister) twisting the blade with every word.
His worst tempers had always seemed to bring something out of her, and she would prick and prod him to what always felt like the right thing. He'd been so certain of her, sure that that look in her eyes would always push him towards greatness. The certainty will fade-really it will. One day the betrayal will sink in and he will feel what he should have felt since she took the crown.
If his reaction has been slow he cannot help but feel some reacted too quickly by far. First there is Guenivere, so quiet and safe and calm that he can't imagine what she might be thinking. He wondered at first how she remained so tranquil, that she had never seemed surprised, never whispered to him of betrayal, never shed a tear-not even in disbelief.
And Merlin who settles into the rythm of the castle as if nothing is amiss. When the knights report no sign of Morgause or Morgana he exhales quietly in relief - shoulders relaxing. He avoids all discussion of the matter with unusual skill and flatly refuses any further knowledge. The thought that Merlin, oblivious, useless, bleeding heart Merlin who weeps for unicorns and brought her bouquets feels nothing is almost worse than everything that has happened. He tries to remember what it was he'd seen that made him question Merlin's affections so long ago. It was gone now, whatever it was.
Not that he wants to discuss this with Merlin or anything. Not that he feels anything beyond surprise. Not that he would give anything to undo whatever led her to this. No that he misses her more than he can admit.
Honestly.
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
Author: quietdecember
Characters: Arthur/Morgana
Summary: even now she remains a gaping chasm in the heart of Camelot, a presence he will not name
Spoilers: Season 3
Rating: PG-13
Note: Title from Pablo Neruda's If you Forget Me
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
-pablo neruda, if you forget me
It is nearly two weeks before he hears her name spoken aloud to his face and he begins to realize how easy it is to erase a person. Perhaps it has been whispered all this time but he cannot bring himself to wonder what is said about mad King Uther and his daughter. Perhaps this is his fault too; that even now she remains a gaping chasm in the heart of Camelot, a presence he will not name. He does not (cannot) speak of betrayal, not even in his own mind.
The vestiges of her reign are all but gone, his father's sorrow is all that remains. The people of Camelot are told that their king is stricken with illness, but in truth he stands in her chambers, hands ghosting over her jewels. He does not speak of her, but Arthur knows the king sleeps restlessly, can imagine him shifting in the darkness, calling out to the shadows-his voice hardly a whisper but filled with terror and reverence.
'Morgana' and it makes him sick with bitterness to imagine the love in that voice, to remember all the years that they lived side by side. To realize how often his father had buried that tenderness. How he had twisted it into the duty of a King to his ward.
So he does nothing, does not start when he imagines a flash of red or green in the castle corridors, does not glance to his left to catch her eye at court. He does not miss her criticisms or misguided insults or the way she accosted him at all hours with unsolicited advice.
Most of all he does not remember her on the throne, her face cold and pale and defiant. He tries to recall it after long hours of training but it never brings the hatred it should never fuels rage or anger. He must be forgetting something, when it only makes him wonder what he had missed, where he had failed. If he tries for too long her face stays in his mind all day-seered onto the backs of his eyelids and he will not sleep.
He will lie perfectly awake, wondering. First about her dreams, trying to recall the mornings when she would appear paler and quieter. As a child he must have known-must have seen Gaius offer her potions in the evenings or heard Gwen comforting her in the early mornings but it seemed such a silly thing-hardly worth thinking about.
He only mentioned it once-recklessly and quickly like lightning to remove that superior smile from her face. He'd felt a burst of satisfaction-then falling as she grasped his shoulders and shoved with a fierce strength. He remembers stumbling backwards, tumbling to the ground gracelessly. He had laid there for a moment and she had looked down on him. He remembers her face more than anything-the first time he ever saw the expression that would gain greater and greater power over him. Besides that moment he can hardly bring up a clear memory. She'd never corrected him when he dismissed her fears and feelings and never mentioned a thing in front his father.
Next he will think of Morgause for only an instant. At first the knights had attempted an investigation of their plot, which had proven fruitless so he cannot imagine how they spoke to one another or what they might have said. He may even question for a flickering second whether she had told him the truth about his mother after all. Then he will wonder if the seed was planted with the duel and that bracelet. If every time Morgana argued against the king alone they took another step towards this fate.
He will do his best to remember nothing at all for as long as possible after those nights-to explain away the restless nights or deny them if he can.
Because he knows how Gauis or Merlin or even Gwen would react. As if he is mad to torture himself remembering her smiles, imagining what else they hid for so many years. For hearing her voice (brother and sister) twisting the blade with every word.
His worst tempers had always seemed to bring something out of her, and she would prick and prod him to what always felt like the right thing. He'd been so certain of her, sure that that look in her eyes would always push him towards greatness. The certainty will fade-really it will. One day the betrayal will sink in and he will feel what he should have felt since she took the crown.
If his reaction has been slow he cannot help but feel some reacted too quickly by far. First there is Guenivere, so quiet and safe and calm that he can't imagine what she might be thinking. He wondered at first how she remained so tranquil, that she had never seemed surprised, never whispered to him of betrayal, never shed a tear-not even in disbelief.
And Merlin who settles into the rythm of the castle as if nothing is amiss. When the knights report no sign of Morgause or Morgana he exhales quietly in relief - shoulders relaxing. He avoids all discussion of the matter with unusual skill and flatly refuses any further knowledge. The thought that Merlin, oblivious, useless, bleeding heart Merlin who weeps for unicorns and brought her bouquets feels nothing is almost worse than everything that has happened. He tries to remember what it was he'd seen that made him question Merlin's affections so long ago. It was gone now, whatever it was.
Not that he wants to discuss this with Merlin or anything. Not that he feels anything beyond surprise. Not that he would give anything to undo whatever led her to this. No that he misses her more than he can admit.
Honestly.
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.