Fic: Roundabout Route [Merlin/The Tudors crossover | Morgana/Henry]
Title: Roundabout Route
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,868 words
Pairing: Morgana/Henry VIII
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: up to and including Series 3
Summary: Morgana's plans to travel north meet an unexpected delay.
Author's Notes: I wrote this based off two scenes in the second series of The Tudors where Katie McGrath guest-starred. It had been festering in my WiP Folder until the wonderful ella_bane came up with Write All the Words a.k.a. Getting Shit Done, where she challenged everyone to finish a work-in-progress in a week. As a result of the challenge, I was actually inspired to finish this fic, so many, many thanks to ella_bane. *hugs her*
Traveling had become more and more difficult as the centuries passed. Morgana could recall a time when it was a simple matter to slip out and go where one willed. For all the guards in Camelot, she had easily crept out of the citadel to visit Morgause and snuck back in with no one ever being the wiser. Nowadays, one could barely step out of one’s door without needing a pass or permission of some kind.
Like now, for instance. She had plans to go further north, but to even contemplate on going in that direction, she had to first make her way through the King’s Forest. King’s Forest, Morgana snorted inwardly. Not even Arthur in his most egocentric moments had claimed the forests as his exclusive property, not when they fed and did service to so many. Not so now. Now, royalty claimed everything as their own. The King’s forests, the Queen’s colleges, and so on. It was ridiculous!
Luckily, Morgana still had her magic about her. It was little matter to secure a helping hand to get her through that area so that she could continue on her way. The young man she’d selected was a kind enough man, sweet and obliging. She wished there were more like him. It would make her life so much easier.
The horse plodded along at a sedate pace, and Morgana peered up through the trees. She’d never had the affinity for nature that Merlin had, but even she could hear the whispers of the trees around her.
Hello, lady, they greeted her cheerfully.
Morgana smiled briefly from behind her scarf. Hello, my friends. Are you content? Are you being treated well?
Oh yes, lady. The Steward comes often comes among us with his servant, just as the King and Emrys once did. The Steward is very good to us here.
She rolled her eyes. Nearly everything and everyone that remembered the old days still referred to Arthur as the King. The Normans that had taken over England and their descendents were usually referred to as stewards, the ones who were left to hold the land in good stead until Arthur returned. It was amusing to listen to and know how they all still considered Arthur the rightful ruler of these lands, when those who ran the kingdom maintained that the throne theirs by natural and divine right.
Morgana couldn’t help but look forward to the day when their eyes were opened to the truth. She wouldn’t even mind if it was revealed to the current man on the throne, the one who called himself Henry the Eighth. The rumors of his pride and conceit outdid even Arthur at his worst moments.
My lady, several of the trees ahead of her and her escort, the Steward and his servant approach, with several guards.
Morgana’s eyes widened. Thanking them for alerting her, she tightened her grip on the man in front of her. “Someone’s coming, William,” she said, doing her best to sound nervous.
“Nonsense, Bess,” William said condescendingly. Morgana gritted her teeth in annoyance. “I -”
“Dismount your horse!” a stern voice shouted. “Dismount now!”
Morgana peered over William’s shoulder and saw several red-clad guards hurrying toward them, their long spears held out in front of them threateningly. They reminded her somewhat of the soldiers of Camelot. She’d lost count of how many times she’d seen them running at her, usually when she had her own men racing toward them in return.
“Down!” one of the guards shouted.
They had come close enough that Morgana had a clearer view of the men mounted on horses behind the guards. One was tall and lean, a man with close-cropped hair and a goatee. His companion was of a stockier, more muscular build, with a beard and lightly curled hair.
The Steward and his servant, lady, one of the trees pointed out helpfully. I believe the Steward calls him Charles.
Ah. Likely then that Henry’s companion was Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, Morgana supposed as she slipped lightly off the horse’s back. Hoping to maintain her disguise as a simple maid, she knelt, bowing her head with seemingly all respect. William jumped down from the horse as well, before bowing lowly.
“Good morrow,” said the leaner of the two men, both of whom were still seated on their horses. Henry, Morgana thought.
“Good morrow, Your Majesty,” William answered, his voice almost shaking with anxiety.
Henry dismounted his horse and walked toward him, slipping past his vigilant guards. He came to a halt in front of them. He said nothing for several moments, and Morgana could feel his eyes on her. “What is your name?” he asked.
Morgana determinedly kept her eyes on the dirt. The men of today did not expect a woman to speak for herself, something that had not changed all that much since the days of Camelot. The only difference was that Morgana was no longer in a position to flout such a custom, as she had been in her days as Uther’s ward and, later, Arthur’s nemesis. It was William who responded, identifying himself as he believed that his king was speaking to him, not to her.
“No,” Henry said, sounding a bit irritated, “your sweetheart’s name.”
Morgana could see William shifting apprehensively to her right, but he answered, “Bess, Your Majesty.”
Henry took another small step forward and a hand appeared in front of her. “Come here, Bess,” he ordered, his voice soft.
Morgana sighed. This really wasn’t what she’d had in mind for her day. She had hoped for a quick trip through the forest, then using a spell to fog William’s memory concerning her physical appearance. It would have left him only with the impression that he’d escorted someone and had been given a small pouch of gold as recompense for his pains. She hadn’t counted on meeting the current ruler of the entire country.
Well, there was no avoiding it now. She took the outstretched hand and allowed him to help her up. She forced herself to keep her eyes demurely lowered, and didn’t flinch when Henry took hold of her scarf. He unwrapped it from around her head, revealing her face to him. There was a moment of silence, and then Henry’s fingers brushed under her chin, lifting Morgana’s face up.
Her eyes finally met his. He was a handsome man up close, and his eyes were rather striking. She wasn’t blind to the interest and sudden lust in them either. Morgana chuckled silently. The Steward is interested in me, she thought toward the trees, amusement lacing her thoughts. Beside her, William started stuttering about having permission to go through the forest, but Morgana ignored him. The King did so as well.
The Steward is particularly lustful, one of the trees commented to her. He brought his mate among us more than once, though it has been some time since we have seen her.
“Hello, Bess,” Henry greeted her quietly.
Morgana curtsied. “Your Majesty.” Calling him so was a little grating since, in all truth, she had a better claim to the throne than this man, his family, and indeed even his noble ancestors. Not that she could afford to press such a claim. No, the time for that was long past. Also, she had no desire to start another fight with Merlin, who would certainly come out of his little warded cottage to defend the throne that was, in his eyes, Arthur’s alone.
He leaned down to her and pressed his lips to hers gently, cutting her thoughts off. She did not fight him, and William ceased his blathering. Instead, she returned the kiss, though she did so tentatively. Morgana was no blushing maid, had enjoyed the attentions of a few men (and women) over the centuries, and this was little different. Still, she had a guise to maintain, and it wouldn’t do to appear too knowledgeable.
After a moment, he pulled back. “Come with me,” Henry invited. He started to pull her toward his horse. Morgana did as he urged her, though she quickly cast a look back at William. He looked rather horrified at what was happening. Narrowing her eyes, she quickly muttered a spell beneath her breath. There was a quick flash - one that no one else noticed, thankfully - and it was done. Once they were out of sight, William’s memory of the event would grow dim. He could then go about his business, albeit with a few more gold coins in his pocket, money he could either put to good use or waste at the local tavern. Morgana really didn’t care which option he chose.
Henry assisted her up onto the horse and then joined her himself. As they rode off, the trees all bade her farewell. Good day, lady.
Morgana narrowed her eyes at the trees’ innocent-sounding tone. She wondered if trees were capable of smirking. Perhaps it was something Merlin had taught them during his communing with them over the years?
Well, even if they could not, the Duke of Suffolk certainly could. The grin on his face was telling, as well as irritating. Just because he knew what his liege had in mind didn’t mean he had to take such amusement in it. Morgana struggled with the impulse to turn him into a toad. Perhaps then he would not exude such a smug air. She shook her head. No, it would take too much time to wipe the memory from all of the men’s minds, and she had no desire to hear the men’s hysterical shrieking, as was wont to happen in such situations. Still, it was a pleasant thought to entertain.
After traveling for about a half-hour, the party came upon their destination - a small, well-proportioned cottage.
Henry jumped nimbly down from the horse and held his hands up to Morgana, assisting her down as well. The guards and the Duke of Suffolk did not seem inclined to follow them as Henry led her to the door. When they slipped inside, Morgana followed him into the back room. Glancing around, she saw that the room had been decorated rather simply. A bed draped in dark curtains of sturdy material, and a few pieces of essential furniture were all that made up the room.
Hands came to rest on her shoulders, and Morgana started. Somehow, Henry had slipped behind her without her noticing. Such a lapse could have gotten her killed, once upon a time. Scolding herself inwardly, she focused on the man who was massaging her shoulders.
“You are beautiful, Bess,” he said quietly. His fingers moved toward the ties of her cloak, loosening them.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied.
The king’s hands showed their skill as they ran along the muscles beneath her skin. It felt good, having him knead away the tension in her body. Morgana closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax.
Henry wasn’t one to waste time, she soon discovered. After several moments, Morgana felt his fingers moving toward the stays of her dress. “Your Majesty…” she breathed, trailing off.
“Do you consent?” he asked, his voice low in her ear.
He was asking her permission, and she didn’t doubt that he would stop if she refused him. Morgana had heard many things about this man over the years, but that he was a ravisher of unwilling women was not one of them. “Yes.”
Henry turned her around to face him, and Morgana could feel the cool air of the room against the skin of her back, where he had pulled her dress loose. As their lips met, his hands came up to her hair, pulling it free of the pins that held it in place. Morgana could hear the pins dropping to the floor, probably bouncing off into areas where she’d never be able to find them again, but she hardly cared. She reached for his clothing as well, searching for an opening so that she might touch his bare skin.
In the hours that followed, Morgana enjoyed herself immensely. Henry had energy to burn, it seemed. At one point, when he was slowly thrusting into her from behind, she asked teasingly, “Are you really the King of England?”
He paused in his movements, and Morgana stifled an urge to moan in protest. “No,” he replied, breathing heavily. “I was only pulling your leg.”
Morgana blinked. Denying his identity? Trying to pass himself off as some mere lord? What kind of game was he playing, she wondered?
Then he started to laugh, which drew a small chuckle out of her as well, one that was interrupted when he abruptly began to move against her once more. Now was not the time for talk. It had been a while since Morgana had enjoyed the attentions of a comely man. She fully intended to make the most of this. She’d deal with Henry’s falsehoods soon enough.
Later, when they lay together amid the spoiled sheets, her pressed up against his side with his arm draped around her shoulders, she gazed at him. “Why do you deny your identity?” she asked, her fingers caressing his naked chest.
“Hm?” was his only response, though he glanced down at her.
Morgana smirked at him. “You are no simple lord,” she stated. “Do you think I have no idea who you are, Henry of England?”
Henry said nothing, but from the quizzical look on his face, she could tell that he was puzzled by her change in demeanor. She laughed lightly. “You are hardly the first king I have seen. Your father, Richard III, Edward IV, and all the many other kings who came before them. I am hardly deceived easily.”
He stiffened and abruptly sat up, roughly pushing her away from him. “What are you?” he demanded. “A witch?”
Morgana laughed again, this time much more heartily. She leaned back in the bed, unconcerned by her continued nakedness as he started to reach for his clothes. “Of a sort, though be assured, Your Majesty, I mean you no harm.”
“Why are you here?” he continued questioning, either not hearing or not believing her assurance. “Do you intend to curse me, curse my realm?”
She snorted. “Not at all. I tried cursing this realm long ago, when it was known by another name, and it didn’t work. Besides, if I was to try that now, there are those who would rise up to combat me.” Morgana stared up at him. “I am Morgana,” she introduced herself.
To Henry’s credit, he recognized her name, though he did not seem to believe her. “Morgana. Do you mean for me to believe you are Morgana le Fey?” His tone said more than his words ever could, that he clearly thought her mad.
Morgana wordlessly waved her hand in two pointed gestures. The first caused their clothing to leap up from the floor and land in neat, folded piles near the bed. The second was a calming spell. She had no desire to deal with Henry should he become panic-stricken. The people’s fear of sorcery in this day and age was even worse than it had been during Uther’s day.
Fortunately, the spell worked and Henry seemed more fascinated than anything else, despite his initial reaction. He stared at their clothing, eyes wide with awe. It took several moments for him to return his attention to her. “Why are you here, lady?” he asked. His tone was much more respectful now.
She shrugged. “This was all a bit unplanned, actually,” she informed him. “I have business in the north, but needed to get through the forests first. So I procured an escort…”
“William Webb.”
“Yes. He doesn’t know who I am, of course. By now, he only recalls escorting someone and earning a small pouch of gold.” She chucked. “I had hoped it would be a quick trip and I could continue on my way, but alas, it seemed you had other plans.”
Henry laughed. “Indeed, my lady.” He had begun to relax, laying back down beside her. For a while, they lay in a surprisingly comfortable silence. She rolled over to lay her head on his chest again, and he didn’t seem to mind, merely brushing his fingers through her mussed hair. Eventually, he said, “There is so much I desire to ask you, so many questions you could answer…”
Morgana smiled. “I have read the treatises that pass for the history of Camelot. Very little of it is true, and it would take much, much too long for me to tell you everything, but if you have specific questions, then ask. I will try to answer them, if I can.”
“Is it true you were a Seer?”
She nodded. “I still am, my lord,” she answered, “though it is not entirely a reliable tool. I could See something and attempt to prevent it, only to cause it to happen.” Indeed, that had happened more than once. Trying to prevent Gwen from becoming Arthur’s Queen when she was still a mere servant, for example, had ultimately cleared her path to the consort’s throne. “It is not something to be used or speculated on lightly.”
“But have you seen anything about my reign?” Henry nonetheless persisted. “About the fate of my dynasty?”
She didn’t respond at first. Morgana would be lying if she said she had Seen nothing. Even though she still wore the bracelet Morgause had given her so long ago, some of her dreams still persisted, much like the one of Gwen’s crowning had. She had Seen things. Henry, she knew, would eventually gain the son he had turned his country upside down for, though why the boy had a head of flaxen curls when neither Henry nor Queen Anne were fair-haired was a mystery to her.
Morgana had also Seen his eldest daughter, grown and beautiful, but cold and determined. It was disturbing for Morgana, being able to perceive so much of who she used to be in the Princess Mary. Though it had taken her many years, she had come to see that her behavior and attitude had done her cause more harm than good in those final years of Uther’s life. Nonetheless, it was no mystery why Mary might come to be like she once had been. Raised as a princess, only to be denied that title by her own father and labeled a bastard for the sake of a little sister? The similarities of Mary’s situation to what Morgana’s had been during Uther’s lifetime - denied her birthright in order to spare Arthur from having a rival for his throne - were obvious. The poor child.
Perhaps most significantly, though, Morgana had also Seen another young woman, enthroned and anointed as Queen. Not the Princess Mary, but a young woman with reddish hair, who faintly resembled Elizabeth of York, Henry’s own mother. It was possible that it was the Princess Elizabeth, Henry’s younger daughter who had only been born a little over a year ago, so Morgana couldn’t be certain. All she could truly be confident about was the single word that was infused with the vision - Gloriana. There was so much love and grand dedication in that one word, it felt much like when Merlin would start to speak of Arthur and his eventual return. It was a glorious feeling.
She had Seen all of this, but there was really no way to put it all into words that Henry could understand. Instead, Morgana just settled for telling him, “Your dynasty will never be forgotten, but will be enshrined as one of the greatest ever known.”
Luckily, her words seemed to please him, and he moved on to other subjects. They stayed there for many hours, lying in the bed talking to one another, though this was interrupted on occasion when their passions would flare again. More than once, they sated their desires on one another, and Morgana couldn’t help but wonder if she might conceive through all of this activity. She had not had a child in centuries, not since she had begat Yvain from Urien. Of course, the boy had been raised by his father and Arthur far more than her, out of the hope that he might become Arthur’s heir once it was accepted that Gwen was barren. Unfortunately, Yvain had perished at Camlann, thus ending any hope for continuing the Pendragon dynasty. Morgana had never had a chance to bond with him, as a mother should with her child.
It might be nice to have a child again, she thought with growing interest. A child she could raise herself. One who would not be taught to fear and revile her, as Urien had taught Yvain.
Through all of this, however, the sun began to set, and their time came to an end. Henry had a palace - and wife - to return to, and Morgana still intended to journey north. As they dressed, Henry offered, “I could have one of my guards escort you through the forest to where Master Webb was taking you.”
She considered it, and then nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That would be most welcome.”
When both of them were attired correctly, they moved to leave the chamber, but Henry grasped her hand, bringing them both to a halt again. She looked up at him, and saw him staring at her, a wistful expression on his face. “Could you not stay?” he asked her softly.
This was always the hard part. The lure of staying with someone who knew who she was - someone other than Merlin, anyway - was always a strong one, hard to resist. Still, there was no place for her in Henry’s world. They would not suit one another in the long term. She shook her head. “I cannot, my lord. The world is not yet ready to know of people like me, will probably not be for some centuries, if ever.”
He looked disappointed, but did not argue with her. When they stepped out of the cottage, the guards were all gathered and waiting, along with the Duke of Suffolk. “Sergeant,” Henry barked, suddenly all business. One of the soldiers stepped forward promptly. “You will personally escort Mistress… Bess through the forest. See to it that she is treated with all respect, and delivered safely.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man bowed lowly. He then turned to her, “Mistress, if you will follow me?”
The soldier turned to go to his waiting horse, and Morgana obligingly followed him. However, as she did so, she began to silently weave the same spell she had used on William Webb earlier in the day. It would not be wise for these men to have any clear memory of her… not even Henry. He would recall tumbling a young peasant woman, would remember having a merry time, but nothing else. He would not remember that he had bedded Morgana le Fey.
It was better that way, for both their sakes.
As the sergeant carried her off, away from the cottage, Morgana couldn’t resist looking back. Henry was watching her, an unfathomable expression on his face.
Farewell, Henry Tudor, she said silently, before turning around to watch the road ahead.
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,868 words
Pairing: Morgana/Henry VIII
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: up to and including Series 3
Summary: Morgana's plans to travel north meet an unexpected delay.
Author's Notes: I wrote this based off two scenes in the second series of The Tudors where Katie McGrath guest-starred. It had been festering in my WiP Folder until the wonderful ella_bane came up with Write All the Words a.k.a. Getting Shit Done, where she challenged everyone to finish a work-in-progress in a week. As a result of the challenge, I was actually inspired to finish this fic, so many, many thanks to ella_bane. *hugs her*
Traveling had become more and more difficult as the centuries passed. Morgana could recall a time when it was a simple matter to slip out and go where one willed. For all the guards in Camelot, she had easily crept out of the citadel to visit Morgause and snuck back in with no one ever being the wiser. Nowadays, one could barely step out of one’s door without needing a pass or permission of some kind.
Like now, for instance. She had plans to go further north, but to even contemplate on going in that direction, she had to first make her way through the King’s Forest. King’s Forest, Morgana snorted inwardly. Not even Arthur in his most egocentric moments had claimed the forests as his exclusive property, not when they fed and did service to so many. Not so now. Now, royalty claimed everything as their own. The King’s forests, the Queen’s colleges, and so on. It was ridiculous!
Luckily, Morgana still had her magic about her. It was little matter to secure a helping hand to get her through that area so that she could continue on her way. The young man she’d selected was a kind enough man, sweet and obliging. She wished there were more like him. It would make her life so much easier.
The horse plodded along at a sedate pace, and Morgana peered up through the trees. She’d never had the affinity for nature that Merlin had, but even she could hear the whispers of the trees around her.
Hello, lady, they greeted her cheerfully.
Morgana smiled briefly from behind her scarf. Hello, my friends. Are you content? Are you being treated well?
Oh yes, lady. The Steward comes often comes among us with his servant, just as the King and Emrys once did. The Steward is very good to us here.
She rolled her eyes. Nearly everything and everyone that remembered the old days still referred to Arthur as the King. The Normans that had taken over England and their descendents were usually referred to as stewards, the ones who were left to hold the land in good stead until Arthur returned. It was amusing to listen to and know how they all still considered Arthur the rightful ruler of these lands, when those who ran the kingdom maintained that the throne theirs by natural and divine right.
Morgana couldn’t help but look forward to the day when their eyes were opened to the truth. She wouldn’t even mind if it was revealed to the current man on the throne, the one who called himself Henry the Eighth. The rumors of his pride and conceit outdid even Arthur at his worst moments.
My lady, several of the trees ahead of her and her escort, the Steward and his servant approach, with several guards.
Morgana’s eyes widened. Thanking them for alerting her, she tightened her grip on the man in front of her. “Someone’s coming, William,” she said, doing her best to sound nervous.
“Nonsense, Bess,” William said condescendingly. Morgana gritted her teeth in annoyance. “I -”
“Dismount your horse!” a stern voice shouted. “Dismount now!”
Morgana peered over William’s shoulder and saw several red-clad guards hurrying toward them, their long spears held out in front of them threateningly. They reminded her somewhat of the soldiers of Camelot. She’d lost count of how many times she’d seen them running at her, usually when she had her own men racing toward them in return.
“Down!” one of the guards shouted.
They had come close enough that Morgana had a clearer view of the men mounted on horses behind the guards. One was tall and lean, a man with close-cropped hair and a goatee. His companion was of a stockier, more muscular build, with a beard and lightly curled hair.
The Steward and his servant, lady, one of the trees pointed out helpfully. I believe the Steward calls him Charles.
Ah. Likely then that Henry’s companion was Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, Morgana supposed as she slipped lightly off the horse’s back. Hoping to maintain her disguise as a simple maid, she knelt, bowing her head with seemingly all respect. William jumped down from the horse as well, before bowing lowly.
“Good morrow,” said the leaner of the two men, both of whom were still seated on their horses. Henry, Morgana thought.
“Good morrow, Your Majesty,” William answered, his voice almost shaking with anxiety.
Henry dismounted his horse and walked toward him, slipping past his vigilant guards. He came to a halt in front of them. He said nothing for several moments, and Morgana could feel his eyes on her. “What is your name?” he asked.
Morgana determinedly kept her eyes on the dirt. The men of today did not expect a woman to speak for herself, something that had not changed all that much since the days of Camelot. The only difference was that Morgana was no longer in a position to flout such a custom, as she had been in her days as Uther’s ward and, later, Arthur’s nemesis. It was William who responded, identifying himself as he believed that his king was speaking to him, not to her.
“No,” Henry said, sounding a bit irritated, “your sweetheart’s name.”
Morgana could see William shifting apprehensively to her right, but he answered, “Bess, Your Majesty.”
Henry took another small step forward and a hand appeared in front of her. “Come here, Bess,” he ordered, his voice soft.
Morgana sighed. This really wasn’t what she’d had in mind for her day. She had hoped for a quick trip through the forest, then using a spell to fog William’s memory concerning her physical appearance. It would have left him only with the impression that he’d escorted someone and had been given a small pouch of gold as recompense for his pains. She hadn’t counted on meeting the current ruler of the entire country.
Well, there was no avoiding it now. She took the outstretched hand and allowed him to help her up. She forced herself to keep her eyes demurely lowered, and didn’t flinch when Henry took hold of her scarf. He unwrapped it from around her head, revealing her face to him. There was a moment of silence, and then Henry’s fingers brushed under her chin, lifting Morgana’s face up.
Her eyes finally met his. He was a handsome man up close, and his eyes were rather striking. She wasn’t blind to the interest and sudden lust in them either. Morgana chuckled silently. The Steward is interested in me, she thought toward the trees, amusement lacing her thoughts. Beside her, William started stuttering about having permission to go through the forest, but Morgana ignored him. The King did so as well.
The Steward is particularly lustful, one of the trees commented to her. He brought his mate among us more than once, though it has been some time since we have seen her.
“Hello, Bess,” Henry greeted her quietly.
Morgana curtsied. “Your Majesty.” Calling him so was a little grating since, in all truth, she had a better claim to the throne than this man, his family, and indeed even his noble ancestors. Not that she could afford to press such a claim. No, the time for that was long past. Also, she had no desire to start another fight with Merlin, who would certainly come out of his little warded cottage to defend the throne that was, in his eyes, Arthur’s alone.
He leaned down to her and pressed his lips to hers gently, cutting her thoughts off. She did not fight him, and William ceased his blathering. Instead, she returned the kiss, though she did so tentatively. Morgana was no blushing maid, had enjoyed the attentions of a few men (and women) over the centuries, and this was little different. Still, she had a guise to maintain, and it wouldn’t do to appear too knowledgeable.
After a moment, he pulled back. “Come with me,” Henry invited. He started to pull her toward his horse. Morgana did as he urged her, though she quickly cast a look back at William. He looked rather horrified at what was happening. Narrowing her eyes, she quickly muttered a spell beneath her breath. There was a quick flash - one that no one else noticed, thankfully - and it was done. Once they were out of sight, William’s memory of the event would grow dim. He could then go about his business, albeit with a few more gold coins in his pocket, money he could either put to good use or waste at the local tavern. Morgana really didn’t care which option he chose.
Henry assisted her up onto the horse and then joined her himself. As they rode off, the trees all bade her farewell. Good day, lady.
Morgana narrowed her eyes at the trees’ innocent-sounding tone. She wondered if trees were capable of smirking. Perhaps it was something Merlin had taught them during his communing with them over the years?
Well, even if they could not, the Duke of Suffolk certainly could. The grin on his face was telling, as well as irritating. Just because he knew what his liege had in mind didn’t mean he had to take such amusement in it. Morgana struggled with the impulse to turn him into a toad. Perhaps then he would not exude such a smug air. She shook her head. No, it would take too much time to wipe the memory from all of the men’s minds, and she had no desire to hear the men’s hysterical shrieking, as was wont to happen in such situations. Still, it was a pleasant thought to entertain.
After traveling for about a half-hour, the party came upon their destination - a small, well-proportioned cottage.
Henry jumped nimbly down from the horse and held his hands up to Morgana, assisting her down as well. The guards and the Duke of Suffolk did not seem inclined to follow them as Henry led her to the door. When they slipped inside, Morgana followed him into the back room. Glancing around, she saw that the room had been decorated rather simply. A bed draped in dark curtains of sturdy material, and a few pieces of essential furniture were all that made up the room.
Hands came to rest on her shoulders, and Morgana started. Somehow, Henry had slipped behind her without her noticing. Such a lapse could have gotten her killed, once upon a time. Scolding herself inwardly, she focused on the man who was massaging her shoulders.
“You are beautiful, Bess,” he said quietly. His fingers moved toward the ties of her cloak, loosening them.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied.
The king’s hands showed their skill as they ran along the muscles beneath her skin. It felt good, having him knead away the tension in her body. Morgana closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax.
Henry wasn’t one to waste time, she soon discovered. After several moments, Morgana felt his fingers moving toward the stays of her dress. “Your Majesty…” she breathed, trailing off.
“Do you consent?” he asked, his voice low in her ear.
He was asking her permission, and she didn’t doubt that he would stop if she refused him. Morgana had heard many things about this man over the years, but that he was a ravisher of unwilling women was not one of them. “Yes.”
Henry turned her around to face him, and Morgana could feel the cool air of the room against the skin of her back, where he had pulled her dress loose. As their lips met, his hands came up to her hair, pulling it free of the pins that held it in place. Morgana could hear the pins dropping to the floor, probably bouncing off into areas where she’d never be able to find them again, but she hardly cared. She reached for his clothing as well, searching for an opening so that she might touch his bare skin.
In the hours that followed, Morgana enjoyed herself immensely. Henry had energy to burn, it seemed. At one point, when he was slowly thrusting into her from behind, she asked teasingly, “Are you really the King of England?”
He paused in his movements, and Morgana stifled an urge to moan in protest. “No,” he replied, breathing heavily. “I was only pulling your leg.”
Morgana blinked. Denying his identity? Trying to pass himself off as some mere lord? What kind of game was he playing, she wondered?
Then he started to laugh, which drew a small chuckle out of her as well, one that was interrupted when he abruptly began to move against her once more. Now was not the time for talk. It had been a while since Morgana had enjoyed the attentions of a comely man. She fully intended to make the most of this. She’d deal with Henry’s falsehoods soon enough.
Later, when they lay together amid the spoiled sheets, her pressed up against his side with his arm draped around her shoulders, she gazed at him. “Why do you deny your identity?” she asked, her fingers caressing his naked chest.
“Hm?” was his only response, though he glanced down at her.
Morgana smirked at him. “You are no simple lord,” she stated. “Do you think I have no idea who you are, Henry of England?”
Henry said nothing, but from the quizzical look on his face, she could tell that he was puzzled by her change in demeanor. She laughed lightly. “You are hardly the first king I have seen. Your father, Richard III, Edward IV, and all the many other kings who came before them. I am hardly deceived easily.”
He stiffened and abruptly sat up, roughly pushing her away from him. “What are you?” he demanded. “A witch?”
Morgana laughed again, this time much more heartily. She leaned back in the bed, unconcerned by her continued nakedness as he started to reach for his clothes. “Of a sort, though be assured, Your Majesty, I mean you no harm.”
“Why are you here?” he continued questioning, either not hearing or not believing her assurance. “Do you intend to curse me, curse my realm?”
She snorted. “Not at all. I tried cursing this realm long ago, when it was known by another name, and it didn’t work. Besides, if I was to try that now, there are those who would rise up to combat me.” Morgana stared up at him. “I am Morgana,” she introduced herself.
To Henry’s credit, he recognized her name, though he did not seem to believe her. “Morgana. Do you mean for me to believe you are Morgana le Fey?” His tone said more than his words ever could, that he clearly thought her mad.
Morgana wordlessly waved her hand in two pointed gestures. The first caused their clothing to leap up from the floor and land in neat, folded piles near the bed. The second was a calming spell. She had no desire to deal with Henry should he become panic-stricken. The people’s fear of sorcery in this day and age was even worse than it had been during Uther’s day.
Fortunately, the spell worked and Henry seemed more fascinated than anything else, despite his initial reaction. He stared at their clothing, eyes wide with awe. It took several moments for him to return his attention to her. “Why are you here, lady?” he asked. His tone was much more respectful now.
She shrugged. “This was all a bit unplanned, actually,” she informed him. “I have business in the north, but needed to get through the forests first. So I procured an escort…”
“William Webb.”
“Yes. He doesn’t know who I am, of course. By now, he only recalls escorting someone and earning a small pouch of gold.” She chucked. “I had hoped it would be a quick trip and I could continue on my way, but alas, it seemed you had other plans.”
Henry laughed. “Indeed, my lady.” He had begun to relax, laying back down beside her. For a while, they lay in a surprisingly comfortable silence. She rolled over to lay her head on his chest again, and he didn’t seem to mind, merely brushing his fingers through her mussed hair. Eventually, he said, “There is so much I desire to ask you, so many questions you could answer…”
Morgana smiled. “I have read the treatises that pass for the history of Camelot. Very little of it is true, and it would take much, much too long for me to tell you everything, but if you have specific questions, then ask. I will try to answer them, if I can.”
“Is it true you were a Seer?”
She nodded. “I still am, my lord,” she answered, “though it is not entirely a reliable tool. I could See something and attempt to prevent it, only to cause it to happen.” Indeed, that had happened more than once. Trying to prevent Gwen from becoming Arthur’s Queen when she was still a mere servant, for example, had ultimately cleared her path to the consort’s throne. “It is not something to be used or speculated on lightly.”
“But have you seen anything about my reign?” Henry nonetheless persisted. “About the fate of my dynasty?”
She didn’t respond at first. Morgana would be lying if she said she had Seen nothing. Even though she still wore the bracelet Morgause had given her so long ago, some of her dreams still persisted, much like the one of Gwen’s crowning had. She had Seen things. Henry, she knew, would eventually gain the son he had turned his country upside down for, though why the boy had a head of flaxen curls when neither Henry nor Queen Anne were fair-haired was a mystery to her.
Morgana had also Seen his eldest daughter, grown and beautiful, but cold and determined. It was disturbing for Morgana, being able to perceive so much of who she used to be in the Princess Mary. Though it had taken her many years, she had come to see that her behavior and attitude had done her cause more harm than good in those final years of Uther’s life. Nonetheless, it was no mystery why Mary might come to be like she once had been. Raised as a princess, only to be denied that title by her own father and labeled a bastard for the sake of a little sister? The similarities of Mary’s situation to what Morgana’s had been during Uther’s lifetime - denied her birthright in order to spare Arthur from having a rival for his throne - were obvious. The poor child.
Perhaps most significantly, though, Morgana had also Seen another young woman, enthroned and anointed as Queen. Not the Princess Mary, but a young woman with reddish hair, who faintly resembled Elizabeth of York, Henry’s own mother. It was possible that it was the Princess Elizabeth, Henry’s younger daughter who had only been born a little over a year ago, so Morgana couldn’t be certain. All she could truly be confident about was the single word that was infused with the vision - Gloriana. There was so much love and grand dedication in that one word, it felt much like when Merlin would start to speak of Arthur and his eventual return. It was a glorious feeling.
She had Seen all of this, but there was really no way to put it all into words that Henry could understand. Instead, Morgana just settled for telling him, “Your dynasty will never be forgotten, but will be enshrined as one of the greatest ever known.”
Luckily, her words seemed to please him, and he moved on to other subjects. They stayed there for many hours, lying in the bed talking to one another, though this was interrupted on occasion when their passions would flare again. More than once, they sated their desires on one another, and Morgana couldn’t help but wonder if she might conceive through all of this activity. She had not had a child in centuries, not since she had begat Yvain from Urien. Of course, the boy had been raised by his father and Arthur far more than her, out of the hope that he might become Arthur’s heir once it was accepted that Gwen was barren. Unfortunately, Yvain had perished at Camlann, thus ending any hope for continuing the Pendragon dynasty. Morgana had never had a chance to bond with him, as a mother should with her child.
It might be nice to have a child again, she thought with growing interest. A child she could raise herself. One who would not be taught to fear and revile her, as Urien had taught Yvain.
Through all of this, however, the sun began to set, and their time came to an end. Henry had a palace - and wife - to return to, and Morgana still intended to journey north. As they dressed, Henry offered, “I could have one of my guards escort you through the forest to where Master Webb was taking you.”
She considered it, and then nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That would be most welcome.”
When both of them were attired correctly, they moved to leave the chamber, but Henry grasped her hand, bringing them both to a halt again. She looked up at him, and saw him staring at her, a wistful expression on his face. “Could you not stay?” he asked her softly.
This was always the hard part. The lure of staying with someone who knew who she was - someone other than Merlin, anyway - was always a strong one, hard to resist. Still, there was no place for her in Henry’s world. They would not suit one another in the long term. She shook her head. “I cannot, my lord. The world is not yet ready to know of people like me, will probably not be for some centuries, if ever.”
He looked disappointed, but did not argue with her. When they stepped out of the cottage, the guards were all gathered and waiting, along with the Duke of Suffolk. “Sergeant,” Henry barked, suddenly all business. One of the soldiers stepped forward promptly. “You will personally escort Mistress… Bess through the forest. See to it that she is treated with all respect, and delivered safely.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man bowed lowly. He then turned to her, “Mistress, if you will follow me?”
The soldier turned to go to his waiting horse, and Morgana obligingly followed him. However, as she did so, she began to silently weave the same spell she had used on William Webb earlier in the day. It would not be wise for these men to have any clear memory of her… not even Henry. He would recall tumbling a young peasant woman, would remember having a merry time, but nothing else. He would not remember that he had bedded Morgana le Fey.
It was better that way, for both their sakes.
As the sergeant carried her off, away from the cottage, Morgana couldn’t resist looking back. Henry was watching her, an unfathomable expression on his face.
Farewell, Henry Tudor, she said silently, before turning around to watch the road ahead.