The Sweet, Sweet Night (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: The Sweet, Sweet Night
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Morgana/Morgause, Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,500
Summary: At night, Morgana slips away to leed the life she really wants to live. For furloughday , for merlin_santa .
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Notes: Sorry this isn't exactly a work of art but I had real writers block whilst writing this and very little time to devote. Apologies!
The day flowed slow as sap from a great tree. So slow, that Morgana almost feared she would be trapped in the daylight - frozen in time - like the ancient creatures in the glowing amber stones prized by the Old Religion, her religion. Daytime was too warm and close, too full of people she had to hide from and too lacking of the person who constantly filled her mind. In daytime she was alone. Trapped in a cage of stone and silk, bound by rules of a society she didn’t belong to. She hated the sun and the curses it brought.
Night, however, was a different matter. As Gwen grew tired, Morgana came to life. Excitement bloomed in the pit of her stomach and magic prickled at her skin, rising until it was almost unbearable, teetering on the edge of pain and bliss. When the noise of the castle fell to naught, Morgana snuck out into the night with her cloak pulled tight around her shirt and breeches. She hurried through the town, past Gwen’s house, through the deserted market and down to the walls of the citadel, where she trailed her fingers along the cold stone until she felt it give somewhat.
“Oniernan gang,” open passage, she commanded. Almost instantly a silvery archway appeared. Not a real archway - the stone was still there of course - but a weakness in the fabric of reality. The burning that flared white hot over her as she passed through was no price to pay for her night time liberty.
Just inside the tree-line, tethered to knotted oak, her spirited grey mare tossed her head, flared her nostrils and pawed at the ground, eager to run. The flighty horse had been a gift from Morgause for her birthday. She was from an uninterrupted line of steeds to the High Priestesses of Avalon, a true honour to ride. Her muscles twitched in anticipation as Morgana ran a steadying hand up her neck to grasp at her withers. Only the language of the Old Religion could instruct a horse like this and Morgana luxuriated in using it so unreservedly, as if she had been speaking it her whole life.
“Gefæstlíce Ýst,” steady Tempest, she whispered, patting her with her free hand before slipping her foot into the stirrup and vaulting into the saddle. A quick look over her shoulder told her that the archway had sealed and she hadn’t been followed. She smiled. “Ætfléon!” take flight.
Within the hour they were thundering though the gates of Friþsócn castle, a place where time passed very slowly indeed and Morgana didn’t mind at all. Two days inside the castle was passed as a mere two hours outside it; complex magic that had been spun hundreds of years before.
It took all her self control not to abandon Ýst at the steps at run, eager as a child, to the feasting hall where she knew Morgause would be waiting for her. Instead she led the horse to the stables and untacked her, leaving her with an apple as a reward for a swift journey. Duties done, she rushed through the castle, cloak discarded and tendrils of hair fallen loose from her plait flying in the breeze. When she reached the doors to the hall she stopped, took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She may not be laced in her finest dress, but the past two years had taught her that there was something to be said for her current look, she certainly wouldn’t get any complaints in this castle.
“You’re early,” Morgause observed, lifting her ornate golden goblet to her lips and taking a sip of the rich red wine. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added.
“I sent Gwen home early, she has no desire to be in my company anymore,” Morgana said, fixed to the spot, drinking in the sight before her.
“Then she has no taste,” Morgause smirked. “Not that we didn’t know that already.”
Morgana smiled and walked towards her.
“Nice breeches,” Morgause quipped, though her lingering gaze betrayed her approval.
“Nice dress,” Morgana countered. “And... accessories.” Her eyes went up to Morgause’s delicate gold mail headdress, lithe chains weaving through equally golden hair then down to the matching necklace and finally to the bracelets entwined around her fingers.
“Have you eaten?” Morgause asked, ignoring Morgana’s comments on her embellished appearance. “It took almost five minutes to create this spread.”
“You shouldn’t have.” She leant down to kiss her, Morgause’s hand coming up to her neck, playing with the loose hair there. “Miss me?”
“Terribly,” Morgause answered honestly, tilting up to meet Morgana’s lips again. “Three weeks is far too long.”
“The tournament lasted far longer than expected,” Morgana said conversationally, sitting down on the chair beside Morgause and reaching for wine. “Someone was using magic to help Arthur, I know it. There was no way he would have lasted three weeks on his own.”
“So you’re no closer to finding out who in Camelot is hiding magic?” Morgause got to the wine jug before Morgana could and poured it for her.
“No.” Morgana sat back and crossed her legs, taking the goblet that Morgause handed her. She took a sip, closing her eyes as she savoured the taste. Camelot’s imported wine had nothing on what Morgause could conjure with only the flick of her hand. “But I am beginning to think that Merlin is in love with my brother. It’s sickening, everyone falling all over him like he’s already united Albion.”
“You think that if you had stayed in Camelot, he and Gwen wouldn’t have...” It wasn’t a question, Morgause already knew the answer.
“I don’t regret my decision,” Morgana assured her fiercely. Taking another gulp of wine and brushing that from her mind, she asked, “How is our plan coming along?”
“Cenred will do as I ask.”
“I’m sure he will.” There was the smallest hint of bitterness in her voice.
“When our plans come to fruition, he will no longer be necessary.” Morgause was as composed as ever, her expression neutral.
Morgana, however, did not hide her emotions so well. A sly smile spread across her lips; she tried to hide it by eating some of the flaked gammon on her plate.
Morgause laughed. “I thought you’d be pleased. Though I do have one condition.”
Morgana looked up at her. “Anything. You know that I would not deny you anything.”
“I want the pleasure of ending your maid,” Morgause said calmly. “Painfully.”
Morgana’s breath hitched.
“It’s only fair.” Morgause tilted her head, challenging. “Like for like.”
Swallowing, Morgana nodded. “As I said, anything.”
“Good.” Morgause smiled. “Now eat up. It’s been three weeks.”
The rest of time together was spent on more... fulfilling things, and despite the pang in her heart when she thought of Gwen, Morgana left the castle with limbs heavy with satiety and enough memories to see her through the upcoming separation. The journey back to Camelot seemed quicker, it always did when she was riding away from where she really wanted to be. She would rather be queen of Friþsócn than queen of Camelot, but that wasn’t exactly her decision.
As usual, she got back to Camelot just as the moon was dropping in the sky. Everybody was in theirs - or someone else’s - bed, the streets were completely deserted; all the better to sneak back into the castle. It turned out that it was a lot harder sneaking in than it was sneaking out. There were all of those pesky guards to consider. However, she usually managed to get back to her quarters unnoticed but tonight, tonight someone was following her. They had been trailing her since the market, knocking things over in their pathetic attempt to be covert. Just before she reached her door, she realised who it was.
“Ouch!” She heard Merlin whisper, promptly followed by another crash.
“Right, that’s it.” Morgana turned around and put her hands on her hips, regarding him with annoyance. “If you are going to follow me then at least give me the satisfaction of feeling clever for sensing you. Arthur could have heard you following him and that man is so self absorbed that he pays no attention to what goes on around him.”
“Why are you dressed like that?” Merlin’s voice was airy with his usual sense of self-importance. He thought he was the hero of this tale, but he didn’t even come close. Even on Uther’s side there were several people more heroic than Merlin: Arthur (however incompetent he was), Gwen (however traitorous she was), Sir Leon (however much he followed Arthur like a puppy) and even Gaius.
“That’s none of your business.” She had the upper hand, she had magic. “Why are you here to tell me that it isn’t proper for a woman to wear breeches?”
“It isn’t, but no, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Care to enlighten me?” she said impatiently after a minute or two of silence.
“I put an audicia crystal on your boots, I could hear everything.” His brow was furrowed with something that looked like a mixture of confusion and disgust.
She raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Morgana, no matter how twisted your morals have become, you much see that it’s wrong!” His voice went lower as he tried for authority, he missed.
“You know nothing about it,” she growled, turning her back on him and opening her door.
“I’ll tell Arthur!” Merlin threatened. “You won’t be able to explain away the marks on your skin. At the very least you’ll be disgraced.”
Morgana laughed. “And how will you explain to Arthur how you found out?”
“I’ll tell him I saw you.”
“I’ll say you did it, against my will,” Morgana countered.
Merlin shook his head. “Arthur won’t believe you.”
“I’ve been able to wind Arthur around my little finger since he discovered what the female sex was,” Morgana said, giving him an almost pitying look. “And who would believe you over the King’s ward. Face it Merlin, I win, I always win.”
Again, Merlin shook his head. Morgana had noticed that he did that a lot when he was being especially self righteous. “No Morgana, I will win. It’s my destiny to protect Arthur and I will not let you hurt him.”
Morgana regarded him once more before laughing lightly and returning to her chambers. He was just a serving boy; she had far more important things to worry about.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Morgana/Morgause, Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,500
Summary: At night, Morgana slips away to leed the life she really wants to live. For furloughday , for merlin_santa .
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Notes: Sorry this isn't exactly a work of art but I had real writers block whilst writing this and very little time to devote. Apologies!
The day flowed slow as sap from a great tree. So slow, that Morgana almost feared she would be trapped in the daylight - frozen in time - like the ancient creatures in the glowing amber stones prized by the Old Religion, her religion. Daytime was too warm and close, too full of people she had to hide from and too lacking of the person who constantly filled her mind. In daytime she was alone. Trapped in a cage of stone and silk, bound by rules of a society she didn’t belong to. She hated the sun and the curses it brought.
Night, however, was a different matter. As Gwen grew tired, Morgana came to life. Excitement bloomed in the pit of her stomach and magic prickled at her skin, rising until it was almost unbearable, teetering on the edge of pain and bliss. When the noise of the castle fell to naught, Morgana snuck out into the night with her cloak pulled tight around her shirt and breeches. She hurried through the town, past Gwen’s house, through the deserted market and down to the walls of the citadel, where she trailed her fingers along the cold stone until she felt it give somewhat.
“Oniernan gang,” open passage, she commanded. Almost instantly a silvery archway appeared. Not a real archway - the stone was still there of course - but a weakness in the fabric of reality. The burning that flared white hot over her as she passed through was no price to pay for her night time liberty.
Just inside the tree-line, tethered to knotted oak, her spirited grey mare tossed her head, flared her nostrils and pawed at the ground, eager to run. The flighty horse had been a gift from Morgause for her birthday. She was from an uninterrupted line of steeds to the High Priestesses of Avalon, a true honour to ride. Her muscles twitched in anticipation as Morgana ran a steadying hand up her neck to grasp at her withers. Only the language of the Old Religion could instruct a horse like this and Morgana luxuriated in using it so unreservedly, as if she had been speaking it her whole life.
“Gefæstlíce Ýst,” steady Tempest, she whispered, patting her with her free hand before slipping her foot into the stirrup and vaulting into the saddle. A quick look over her shoulder told her that the archway had sealed and she hadn’t been followed. She smiled. “Ætfléon!” take flight.
Within the hour they were thundering though the gates of Friþsócn castle, a place where time passed very slowly indeed and Morgana didn’t mind at all. Two days inside the castle was passed as a mere two hours outside it; complex magic that had been spun hundreds of years before.
It took all her self control not to abandon Ýst at the steps at run, eager as a child, to the feasting hall where she knew Morgause would be waiting for her. Instead she led the horse to the stables and untacked her, leaving her with an apple as a reward for a swift journey. Duties done, she rushed through the castle, cloak discarded and tendrils of hair fallen loose from her plait flying in the breeze. When she reached the doors to the hall she stopped, took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She may not be laced in her finest dress, but the past two years had taught her that there was something to be said for her current look, she certainly wouldn’t get any complaints in this castle.
“You’re early,” Morgause observed, lifting her ornate golden goblet to her lips and taking a sip of the rich red wine. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added.
“I sent Gwen home early, she has no desire to be in my company anymore,” Morgana said, fixed to the spot, drinking in the sight before her.
“Then she has no taste,” Morgause smirked. “Not that we didn’t know that already.”
Morgana smiled and walked towards her.
“Nice breeches,” Morgause quipped, though her lingering gaze betrayed her approval.
“Nice dress,” Morgana countered. “And... accessories.” Her eyes went up to Morgause’s delicate gold mail headdress, lithe chains weaving through equally golden hair then down to the matching necklace and finally to the bracelets entwined around her fingers.
“Have you eaten?” Morgause asked, ignoring Morgana’s comments on her embellished appearance. “It took almost five minutes to create this spread.”
“You shouldn’t have.” She leant down to kiss her, Morgause’s hand coming up to her neck, playing with the loose hair there. “Miss me?”
“Terribly,” Morgause answered honestly, tilting up to meet Morgana’s lips again. “Three weeks is far too long.”
“The tournament lasted far longer than expected,” Morgana said conversationally, sitting down on the chair beside Morgause and reaching for wine. “Someone was using magic to help Arthur, I know it. There was no way he would have lasted three weeks on his own.”
“So you’re no closer to finding out who in Camelot is hiding magic?” Morgause got to the wine jug before Morgana could and poured it for her.
“No.” Morgana sat back and crossed her legs, taking the goblet that Morgause handed her. She took a sip, closing her eyes as she savoured the taste. Camelot’s imported wine had nothing on what Morgause could conjure with only the flick of her hand. “But I am beginning to think that Merlin is in love with my brother. It’s sickening, everyone falling all over him like he’s already united Albion.”
“You think that if you had stayed in Camelot, he and Gwen wouldn’t have...” It wasn’t a question, Morgause already knew the answer.
“I don’t regret my decision,” Morgana assured her fiercely. Taking another gulp of wine and brushing that from her mind, she asked, “How is our plan coming along?”
“Cenred will do as I ask.”
“I’m sure he will.” There was the smallest hint of bitterness in her voice.
“When our plans come to fruition, he will no longer be necessary.” Morgause was as composed as ever, her expression neutral.
Morgana, however, did not hide her emotions so well. A sly smile spread across her lips; she tried to hide it by eating some of the flaked gammon on her plate.
Morgause laughed. “I thought you’d be pleased. Though I do have one condition.”
Morgana looked up at her. “Anything. You know that I would not deny you anything.”
“I want the pleasure of ending your maid,” Morgause said calmly. “Painfully.”
Morgana’s breath hitched.
“It’s only fair.” Morgause tilted her head, challenging. “Like for like.”
Swallowing, Morgana nodded. “As I said, anything.”
“Good.” Morgause smiled. “Now eat up. It’s been three weeks.”
The rest of time together was spent on more... fulfilling things, and despite the pang in her heart when she thought of Gwen, Morgana left the castle with limbs heavy with satiety and enough memories to see her through the upcoming separation. The journey back to Camelot seemed quicker, it always did when she was riding away from where she really wanted to be. She would rather be queen of Friþsócn than queen of Camelot, but that wasn’t exactly her decision.
As usual, she got back to Camelot just as the moon was dropping in the sky. Everybody was in theirs - or someone else’s - bed, the streets were completely deserted; all the better to sneak back into the castle. It turned out that it was a lot harder sneaking in than it was sneaking out. There were all of those pesky guards to consider. However, she usually managed to get back to her quarters unnoticed but tonight, tonight someone was following her. They had been trailing her since the market, knocking things over in their pathetic attempt to be covert. Just before she reached her door, she realised who it was.
“Ouch!” She heard Merlin whisper, promptly followed by another crash.
“Right, that’s it.” Morgana turned around and put her hands on her hips, regarding him with annoyance. “If you are going to follow me then at least give me the satisfaction of feeling clever for sensing you. Arthur could have heard you following him and that man is so self absorbed that he pays no attention to what goes on around him.”
“Why are you dressed like that?” Merlin’s voice was airy with his usual sense of self-importance. He thought he was the hero of this tale, but he didn’t even come close. Even on Uther’s side there were several people more heroic than Merlin: Arthur (however incompetent he was), Gwen (however traitorous she was), Sir Leon (however much he followed Arthur like a puppy) and even Gaius.
“That’s none of your business.” She had the upper hand, she had magic. “Why are you here to tell me that it isn’t proper for a woman to wear breeches?”
“It isn’t, but no, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Care to enlighten me?” she said impatiently after a minute or two of silence.
“I put an audicia crystal on your boots, I could hear everything.” His brow was furrowed with something that looked like a mixture of confusion and disgust.
She raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Morgana, no matter how twisted your morals have become, you much see that it’s wrong!” His voice went lower as he tried for authority, he missed.
“You know nothing about it,” she growled, turning her back on him and opening her door.
“I’ll tell Arthur!” Merlin threatened. “You won’t be able to explain away the marks on your skin. At the very least you’ll be disgraced.”
Morgana laughed. “And how will you explain to Arthur how you found out?”
“I’ll tell him I saw you.”
“I’ll say you did it, against my will,” Morgana countered.
Merlin shook his head. “Arthur won’t believe you.”
“I’ve been able to wind Arthur around my little finger since he discovered what the female sex was,” Morgana said, giving him an almost pitying look. “And who would believe you over the King’s ward. Face it Merlin, I win, I always win.”
Again, Merlin shook his head. Morgana had noticed that he did that a lot when he was being especially self righteous. “No Morgana, I will win. It’s my destiny to protect Arthur and I will not let you hurt him.”
Morgana regarded him once more before laughing lightly and returning to her chambers. He was just a serving boy; she had far more important things to worry about.