Alone (Morgana/Morgause)
Title: Alone
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: Morgana gets lonely whilst Morgause is away.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
If there was one thing that Morgana wasn’t used to, it was being alone. Being the King’s ward meant that she was constantly guarded. As the number of years she had been at Camelot increased, so did the attempts so kidnap or harm her. The older she grew, the more valuable she became. Or so Uther told her. Her place on the social strata made most everyday tasks beneath her and she was forbidden from engaging in them. For such things she had maids and servants, of whom she was never free. At any given time she could be surrounded by as many fifteen people, but never fewer than three. Quiet came only with the twilight, when the few guards assigned to her were outside of her chambers and the only person fussing around her was Gwen. For years this was the closest she came to being alone, until now.
Now she was truly and completely alone. Closing her eyes, she found the power lapping like waves at the island keep and drew it into her, filling up the space that resided low in her stomach until it overflowed. Full as she was with magic, she could reach out her awareness and feel everything between her and the water’s edge in every direction. It was a skill that no one else she had met possessed and that made her feel powerful.
Despite the beauty of her surroundings, there was very little living on the island. She could feel a single horse in the stables, napping at the wooden stable door. On the great oak tree was perched a pair of starlings, preening tenderly under each other’s wings. By the south wall of the keep, a rabbit and her young sheltered in their warren. That was it, every single soul.
Letting out a deep breath, she opened her eyes and her awareness snapped back into the confines of her body, making her suck in a sharp, painful breath. Looking around the room as she steadied herself, she marvelled at how bare it was. There was a deceptively small wardrobe in the far corner that was enchanted to hold as many clothes as she could ever want. Beside the window there was a simple wooden desk scattered with parchments in languages that started to change if you looked at them for too long, teasing you with understanding before withdrawing it beyond your grasp. A single wooden chair occupied the corner opposite the wardrobe, a pair of faded brown breeches folded neatly on its seat. The only other furniture in the room was the bed upon which she was sat cross-legged, pulling absently on a loose thread in the woven sheet.
The sun has risen and set five times since her sister had left her to try to gain favour with a nearby warlord. He had recently acquired the land on which a stone circle of great power was located. Morgause had been making ties with rulers all over the land since the first frost of winter, convincing them to give her use of the monuments whenever she wanted in return for a small levy that only she could pay. The nature of this payment varied from man to man, that Morgana knew, but she didn’t want to know the details. Stays as long as this one was turning into meant that although their chances of success were low, there was a glimmer of hope. This knowledge, though, was not enough soften the dull ache of loneliness.
“Efestan éðel, ” she murmured, even though Morgause would never hear the sentiment. “Íc missest ðú.”
Sighing, she let herself fall backwards against the pillows. She felt as empty as the keep.
As warm and full of life as the keep was with Morgause there, it was cold and dead without her. Séo Friþsócn was her home though, empty or not and there was nowhere she would rather be, except, maybe, with Morgause. The place translated from the old language as ‘The Sanctuary’ and it didn’t fail to live up to its name. Layer upon layer of charms saw that only the members of a single bloodline, their mother’s line, could pass over the lake and dock safely on the other side. The magic had fascinated her when she first came to the island and she had begged Morgause to tell her everything she knew. It was old magic, hundreds of years old. There were no books written about it no one alive could remember had spun it, never mind how.
“It just is,” Morgause had told her distractedly one day when she had pestered her for an answer. “As long as our line continues, it will always be.”
That had troubled her slightly, made her feel as though something was expected from her, required even. “What if we are the last?” she had asked, her voice breaking.
“We aren’t,” Morgause said with something foreign in her eyes.
Morgana hadn’t understood. “Morgause what-”
“I was very young,” was all that Morgause would say. When she decided that a conversation was over, it was.
So now the magic of the island interested her less and she had learnt not to ask the questions she might not like the answers to.
Thinking of that conversation was making her restless, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and focused on the runes carved in swirls on the stone ceiling. She knew most of the meanings by now and traced them out from the centre.
“Æledfýr, æwielm, éar ond lyft,” she murmured, “Fire, water, earth and air.”
“Band be heorte ond dréor.” The translation was harder this time, nothing seemed to fit quite right. The best she could do was, “Bound by will and blood.”
“Drýcræft: á gelibban, á giefu. MÍn ambihthéra ond mægister. Íc bílibban beþeówan ðú.” That one, she new well. A month into her residence at Friþsócn, she had lain on the thick fur rug in front of the fire whilst Morgause inked the runes onto her bare back with a sharp quill. “Power: ever living, ever giving. My loyal servant and master. I live to serve you.” Smiling as she finished the vow, she let the memory envelop her.
Unable to suppress the laughter that bubbled deep in her throat, she buried her face in the warm fur, to muffle the sound. She couldn’t, though, stop her shoulders from rocking up and down.
“Stop it,” Morgause chastised, sounding exasperated. “You’re going to make me smudge it.”
“Sorry,” she laughed, sincere but too far gone to regain her composure.
“You do want this to work, don’t you?” Morgause asked, the answer she wanted clear in her almost vulnerable tone.
Clutching the golden silk to her chest, she rose until she was almost sat up, balanced on her hip. As she moved, her hair tumbled down over her back from where it had been placed out of the way, over her shoulder.
“Of course I do,” she whispered, laughter gone as she looked deep into Morgause’s dark eyes. “It just tickles. The quill’s so sharp its sending shivers through me, that is all.” She brought her free hand up to squeeze Morgause’s arm through her loose shirt. “I promise I’ll be good.”
Morgause’s lips quirked into a smile. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good. Lie down.” Pushing gently at Morgana’s shoulder, Morgause knocked her off balance so that she tumbled back onto the rug, her grip on the silk failing.
She was brought back into the present by a clap of thunder followed by the harsh patter of rain.
“So much for my sunny day,” she muttered, rising from the bed and crossing to the window. “Alinnan,” she commanded feebly, not for a second believing she could order it to cease.
Ignoring her completely, the rain continued to fall.
“Where are you, Morgause?” she wondered aloud, scanning the tree-line on the other side of the water for movement. “There’s only so much neglect I can take.”
With a crack and the slight smell of geraniums, a gilded silver box appeared on the windowsill between her hands. A note resting on the lid read:
In case of boredom. ~ M
Amused, she placed the note to one side and lifted the lid. A sharp ‘yip’ from inside it almost startled her into knocking the box out the window.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”
Inside the crushed velvet lined box sat a small golden spaniel puppy looking up at her with deep dark eyes, a tiny pink tongue darting out as it yawned. Whimpering, it lifted its paw to her.
“I’m supposed to be charmed by the wavy blonde hair and brown eyes and fall instantly in love with you, aren’t I?” Morgana asked, reaching down and lifting the wriggling puppy up until it was level with her face.
“Ruff!” the puppy chirped in answer, trying to squirm close enough to lick her nose.
“Not a chance,” Morgana laughed, lowering the dog. “Well, I suppose you need a name, don’t you?”
A collar appeared around the puppy’s neck, a golden plate curved around it.
“Clufwyrt,” Morgana read awkwardly. “Some kind of flower? An herb maybe?” she wondered.
The dog, apparently, had been waiting for this. She - Morgana assumed it was a girl, it was a present from Morgause, after all - wriggled free from her grip and plucked a note from the box, holding it in her mouth.
Morgana reached out and took it. “Buttercup? Well, excuse me for not being completely fluent in a dead language.”
The puppy growled playfully, trying to tug the note back out of her hand.
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” Morgana asked as she plucked the dog back up off the windowsill.
A bark which seemed suspiciously deft at delivering the message, ‘that rather was the point’, emitted from Clufwyrt.
Shaking her head lightly in amusement, Morgana’s gaze drifted back out of the window. The rain had stopped.
Hours later, when the sun had set, she had grown tired of playing with Clufwyrt and sleep had taken her, she was awoken by a soft kiss on her cheek. Groaning and arching her body to stretch her sleep-heavy muscles, she gradually opened her eyes.
“Hello, Love,” Morgause whispered, kissing her lightly. “Did you like my gift?”
Morgana propped herself up quickly, searching the room with her eyes for the tiny puppy. “Where is she? Oh, Morgause, I’m so sorry. I only intended to close my eyes for a minute.”
“Shh,” Morgause hushed. “She’s tucked up safely in the kitchens with plenty of water and a plate of gammon.”
“See, you’re soft really,” Morgana said, relaxing back and reaching up to play with a gold curl.
“Just don’t tell anyone that,” Morgause said, smiling as she leant down and kissed her before snuggling down against her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Morgana asked, her hand automatically coming up to stroke soothingly through her sister’s hair. “What happened?”
Her cheek resting on Morgana’s breast, Morgause sighed. “I failed.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Morgana assured her. “It’s just one circle. What’s really upset you?”
“Tolston, the warlord, seems to share Uther’s hatred for magic,” Morgause said darkly, almost spitting out Camelot’s king’s name. “I was foolish not to have looked into him further before leaving.”
“What did he do to you?” Morgana asked tentatively, worried that it was going to turn out to be one of those questions she wouldn’t like the answer to.
“Nothing that time and you cannot fix,” Morgause murmured, rubbing her fingers in slow circles over Morgana’s stomach. By the tone of her voice, it was clear that the conversation was over.
Morgana tightened her arms around Morgause and closed her eyes. “I like this, me holding you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Morgause said, though she was making herself comfortable in Morgana’s arms. “I will be back to normal by morning.”
“Then I shall enjoy it whilst I can,” Morgana quipped, her voice laced with humour, though she felt none.
Rising slightly and turning to face Morgana, her expression contorted with concern, Morgause asked, “Are you happy?”
“Why do you ask?” Morgana brushed the hair back from Morgause’s face and tucked it behind her ear.
“Happier than you were in Camelot, I mean?”
“I thought I was happy - back there with Arthur and Gwen, even with Merlin - but I never felt like this, not like I do with you,” Morgana said, smiling softly. Morgause was very rarely this soft or gentle and, despite her worry at whatever had prompted it, Morgana was grateful for the moment. “Are you happy?”
“For the first time, yes,” Morgause said honestly, openly. “I’m happier than I ever thought possible.” She looked confused. “I always thought that the only way I could ever be truly happy was to take ultimate revenge, to have Uther’s blood drip fresh from my sword. I don’t understand it. Nobody ever taught me about this... contentedness.”
“What happened, Morgause? I swear that if he hurt you, I will kill him.” Her voice was dark and there was danger brewing like a tempest in her eyes.
“I will do it myself,” Morgause promised. “But for tonight, just...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it, even to Morgana, even when she felt as she did tonight.
Morgana nodded.
Smiling quickly, Morgause lay back down, still using her sister as a pillow.
“Do you want to hear a story?” Morgana asked. It had become somewhat of a tradition for them, when they were alone at night and neither of them were tired enough to sleep or awake enough to do anything else, Morgana would tell her a story. Though Morgause loved the people who raised her, they had never once told her a fairy story to soother her to sleep or enchant her imagination. She had never been looked after, not properly.
“What about the one with the Kelpie? I like that one.”
Morgana laughed. “Why am I not surprised that you like the story about a creature that lures people to their deaths?”
“Are you saying that I’m predictable?” Morgause asked with insincere indignation.
Ignoring her, Morgana asked, “How about a new one?” She didn’t wait for a protest. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess who, though she was surrounded by people, was terribly lonely. Though she didn’t know it, what she longed for most, deep down, was for somebody to save her.”
Laying there, retelling their story as a fairytale, loneliness seemed very far away. For the first time in her life, somebody treated her as an equal and a confidante. There was no one to tell her what to do or not to do, nobody who judged her or dismissed her. Though at first Morgause had been cautious around her, she was beginning to give her more and more of herself and that made Morgana feel giddier than anything had ever made her feel before. Ever since she had been old enough to understand what her future held for her, she had dreaded it. Now though, she couldn’t wait.
Translations, courtesy of http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/ :
Efestan éðel = Hurry home
Í c missest ðú = I miss you
Fandom: Merlin
Characters & Pairings: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: Morgana gets lonely whilst Morgause is away.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
If there was one thing that Morgana wasn’t used to, it was being alone. Being the King’s ward meant that she was constantly guarded. As the number of years she had been at Camelot increased, so did the attempts so kidnap or harm her. The older she grew, the more valuable she became. Or so Uther told her. Her place on the social strata made most everyday tasks beneath her and she was forbidden from engaging in them. For such things she had maids and servants, of whom she was never free. At any given time she could be surrounded by as many fifteen people, but never fewer than three. Quiet came only with the twilight, when the few guards assigned to her were outside of her chambers and the only person fussing around her was Gwen. For years this was the closest she came to being alone, until now.
Now she was truly and completely alone. Closing her eyes, she found the power lapping like waves at the island keep and drew it into her, filling up the space that resided low in her stomach until it overflowed. Full as she was with magic, she could reach out her awareness and feel everything between her and the water’s edge in every direction. It was a skill that no one else she had met possessed and that made her feel powerful.
Despite the beauty of her surroundings, there was very little living on the island. She could feel a single horse in the stables, napping at the wooden stable door. On the great oak tree was perched a pair of starlings, preening tenderly under each other’s wings. By the south wall of the keep, a rabbit and her young sheltered in their warren. That was it, every single soul.
Letting out a deep breath, she opened her eyes and her awareness snapped back into the confines of her body, making her suck in a sharp, painful breath. Looking around the room as she steadied herself, she marvelled at how bare it was. There was a deceptively small wardrobe in the far corner that was enchanted to hold as many clothes as she could ever want. Beside the window there was a simple wooden desk scattered with parchments in languages that started to change if you looked at them for too long, teasing you with understanding before withdrawing it beyond your grasp. A single wooden chair occupied the corner opposite the wardrobe, a pair of faded brown breeches folded neatly on its seat. The only other furniture in the room was the bed upon which she was sat cross-legged, pulling absently on a loose thread in the woven sheet.
The sun has risen and set five times since her sister had left her to try to gain favour with a nearby warlord. He had recently acquired the land on which a stone circle of great power was located. Morgause had been making ties with rulers all over the land since the first frost of winter, convincing them to give her use of the monuments whenever she wanted in return for a small levy that only she could pay. The nature of this payment varied from man to man, that Morgana knew, but she didn’t want to know the details. Stays as long as this one was turning into meant that although their chances of success were low, there was a glimmer of hope. This knowledge, though, was not enough soften the dull ache of loneliness.
“Efestan éðel, ” she murmured, even though Morgause would never hear the sentiment. “Íc missest ðú.”
Sighing, she let herself fall backwards against the pillows. She felt as empty as the keep.
As warm and full of life as the keep was with Morgause there, it was cold and dead without her. Séo Friþsócn was her home though, empty or not and there was nowhere she would rather be, except, maybe, with Morgause. The place translated from the old language as ‘The Sanctuary’ and it didn’t fail to live up to its name. Layer upon layer of charms saw that only the members of a single bloodline, their mother’s line, could pass over the lake and dock safely on the other side. The magic had fascinated her when she first came to the island and she had begged Morgause to tell her everything she knew. It was old magic, hundreds of years old. There were no books written about it no one alive could remember had spun it, never mind how.
“It just is,” Morgause had told her distractedly one day when she had pestered her for an answer. “As long as our line continues, it will always be.”
That had troubled her slightly, made her feel as though something was expected from her, required even. “What if we are the last?” she had asked, her voice breaking.
“We aren’t,” Morgause said with something foreign in her eyes.
Morgana hadn’t understood. “Morgause what-”
“I was very young,” was all that Morgause would say. When she decided that a conversation was over, it was.
So now the magic of the island interested her less and she had learnt not to ask the questions she might not like the answers to.
Thinking of that conversation was making her restless, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and focused on the runes carved in swirls on the stone ceiling. She knew most of the meanings by now and traced them out from the centre.
“Æledfýr, æwielm, éar ond lyft,” she murmured, “Fire, water, earth and air.”
“Band be heorte ond dréor.” The translation was harder this time, nothing seemed to fit quite right. The best she could do was, “Bound by will and blood.”
“Drýcræft: á gelibban, á giefu. MÍn ambihthéra ond mægister. Íc bílibban beþeówan ðú.” That one, she new well. A month into her residence at Friþsócn, she had lain on the thick fur rug in front of the fire whilst Morgause inked the runes onto her bare back with a sharp quill. “Power: ever living, ever giving. My loyal servant and master. I live to serve you.” Smiling as she finished the vow, she let the memory envelop her.
Unable to suppress the laughter that bubbled deep in her throat, she buried her face in the warm fur, to muffle the sound. She couldn’t, though, stop her shoulders from rocking up and down.
“Stop it,” Morgause chastised, sounding exasperated. “You’re going to make me smudge it.”
“Sorry,” she laughed, sincere but too far gone to regain her composure.
“You do want this to work, don’t you?” Morgause asked, the answer she wanted clear in her almost vulnerable tone.
Clutching the golden silk to her chest, she rose until she was almost sat up, balanced on her hip. As she moved, her hair tumbled down over her back from where it had been placed out of the way, over her shoulder.
“Of course I do,” she whispered, laughter gone as she looked deep into Morgause’s dark eyes. “It just tickles. The quill’s so sharp its sending shivers through me, that is all.” She brought her free hand up to squeeze Morgause’s arm through her loose shirt. “I promise I’ll be good.”
Morgause’s lips quirked into a smile. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good. Lie down.” Pushing gently at Morgana’s shoulder, Morgause knocked her off balance so that she tumbled back onto the rug, her grip on the silk failing.
She was brought back into the present by a clap of thunder followed by the harsh patter of rain.
“So much for my sunny day,” she muttered, rising from the bed and crossing to the window. “Alinnan,” she commanded feebly, not for a second believing she could order it to cease.
Ignoring her completely, the rain continued to fall.
“Where are you, Morgause?” she wondered aloud, scanning the tree-line on the other side of the water for movement. “There’s only so much neglect I can take.”
With a crack and the slight smell of geraniums, a gilded silver box appeared on the windowsill between her hands. A note resting on the lid read:
In case of boredom. ~ M
Amused, she placed the note to one side and lifted the lid. A sharp ‘yip’ from inside it almost startled her into knocking the box out the window.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”
Inside the crushed velvet lined box sat a small golden spaniel puppy looking up at her with deep dark eyes, a tiny pink tongue darting out as it yawned. Whimpering, it lifted its paw to her.
“I’m supposed to be charmed by the wavy blonde hair and brown eyes and fall instantly in love with you, aren’t I?” Morgana asked, reaching down and lifting the wriggling puppy up until it was level with her face.
“Ruff!” the puppy chirped in answer, trying to squirm close enough to lick her nose.
“Not a chance,” Morgana laughed, lowering the dog. “Well, I suppose you need a name, don’t you?”
A collar appeared around the puppy’s neck, a golden plate curved around it.
“Clufwyrt,” Morgana read awkwardly. “Some kind of flower? An herb maybe?” she wondered.
The dog, apparently, had been waiting for this. She - Morgana assumed it was a girl, it was a present from Morgause, after all - wriggled free from her grip and plucked a note from the box, holding it in her mouth.
Morgana reached out and took it. “Buttercup? Well, excuse me for not being completely fluent in a dead language.”
The puppy growled playfully, trying to tug the note back out of her hand.
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” Morgana asked as she plucked the dog back up off the windowsill.
A bark which seemed suspiciously deft at delivering the message, ‘that rather was the point’, emitted from Clufwyrt.
Shaking her head lightly in amusement, Morgana’s gaze drifted back out of the window. The rain had stopped.
Hours later, when the sun had set, she had grown tired of playing with Clufwyrt and sleep had taken her, she was awoken by a soft kiss on her cheek. Groaning and arching her body to stretch her sleep-heavy muscles, she gradually opened her eyes.
“Hello, Love,” Morgause whispered, kissing her lightly. “Did you like my gift?”
Morgana propped herself up quickly, searching the room with her eyes for the tiny puppy. “Where is she? Oh, Morgause, I’m so sorry. I only intended to close my eyes for a minute.”
“Shh,” Morgause hushed. “She’s tucked up safely in the kitchens with plenty of water and a plate of gammon.”
“See, you’re soft really,” Morgana said, relaxing back and reaching up to play with a gold curl.
“Just don’t tell anyone that,” Morgause said, smiling as she leant down and kissed her before snuggling down against her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Morgana asked, her hand automatically coming up to stroke soothingly through her sister’s hair. “What happened?”
Her cheek resting on Morgana’s breast, Morgause sighed. “I failed.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Morgana assured her. “It’s just one circle. What’s really upset you?”
“Tolston, the warlord, seems to share Uther’s hatred for magic,” Morgause said darkly, almost spitting out Camelot’s king’s name. “I was foolish not to have looked into him further before leaving.”
“What did he do to you?” Morgana asked tentatively, worried that it was going to turn out to be one of those questions she wouldn’t like the answer to.
“Nothing that time and you cannot fix,” Morgause murmured, rubbing her fingers in slow circles over Morgana’s stomach. By the tone of her voice, it was clear that the conversation was over.
Morgana tightened her arms around Morgause and closed her eyes. “I like this, me holding you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Morgause said, though she was making herself comfortable in Morgana’s arms. “I will be back to normal by morning.”
“Then I shall enjoy it whilst I can,” Morgana quipped, her voice laced with humour, though she felt none.
Rising slightly and turning to face Morgana, her expression contorted with concern, Morgause asked, “Are you happy?”
“Why do you ask?” Morgana brushed the hair back from Morgause’s face and tucked it behind her ear.
“Happier than you were in Camelot, I mean?”
“I thought I was happy - back there with Arthur and Gwen, even with Merlin - but I never felt like this, not like I do with you,” Morgana said, smiling softly. Morgause was very rarely this soft or gentle and, despite her worry at whatever had prompted it, Morgana was grateful for the moment. “Are you happy?”
“For the first time, yes,” Morgause said honestly, openly. “I’m happier than I ever thought possible.” She looked confused. “I always thought that the only way I could ever be truly happy was to take ultimate revenge, to have Uther’s blood drip fresh from my sword. I don’t understand it. Nobody ever taught me about this... contentedness.”
“What happened, Morgause? I swear that if he hurt you, I will kill him.” Her voice was dark and there was danger brewing like a tempest in her eyes.
“I will do it myself,” Morgause promised. “But for tonight, just...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it, even to Morgana, even when she felt as she did tonight.
Morgana nodded.
Smiling quickly, Morgause lay back down, still using her sister as a pillow.
“Do you want to hear a story?” Morgana asked. It had become somewhat of a tradition for them, when they were alone at night and neither of them were tired enough to sleep or awake enough to do anything else, Morgana would tell her a story. Though Morgause loved the people who raised her, they had never once told her a fairy story to soother her to sleep or enchant her imagination. She had never been looked after, not properly.
“What about the one with the Kelpie? I like that one.”
Morgana laughed. “Why am I not surprised that you like the story about a creature that lures people to their deaths?”
“Are you saying that I’m predictable?” Morgause asked with insincere indignation.
Ignoring her, Morgana asked, “How about a new one?” She didn’t wait for a protest. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess who, though she was surrounded by people, was terribly lonely. Though she didn’t know it, what she longed for most, deep down, was for somebody to save her.”
Laying there, retelling their story as a fairytale, loneliness seemed very far away. For the first time in her life, somebody treated her as an equal and a confidante. There was no one to tell her what to do or not to do, nobody who judged her or dismissed her. Though at first Morgause had been cautious around her, she was beginning to give her more and more of herself and that made Morgana feel giddier than anything had ever made her feel before. Ever since she had been old enough to understand what her future held for her, she had dreaded it. Now though, she couldn’t wait.
Translations, courtesy of http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/ :
Efestan éðel = Hurry home
Í c missest ðú = I miss you