Lacrimosa: A Prelude (1/1)
Title: Lacrimosa: A Prelude
Fandom: Merlin (c) BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana
Genres: Drama/General-ish
Rating: PG
Words: 1684
Progress: 1/1 Complete
Summary: Morgana has nightmares, Arthur offers small comforts.
Notes: Actually written for merlin_rarepair 's challenge -- first kiss. I'll x-post it over there as soon as I figure out how to tag correctly (I'm a little bit of a tagging fail, actually >.>) This pairing really intrigues me, and the idea's been floating around in my head for a while so...I might expand it if further inspiration hits. Have a nice read.
--
Arthur was six when his father finally allowed him to climb the long, winding steps up the eastern guard tower, to watch one of the executions that he'd only been told about. He climbed the steps clutching his mother's hand. Even though he was still a boy, his father thought it was never too early to see him as a future king. His mother, more often than not of fragile health, was still beautiful with a white face and disagreed with his father.
She held his hand so tightly between her own that Arthur thought his bones were going to break. The tower rendered an excellent view of the public square down below. There was a crowd gathered there, and a horrible cry rose up among his people as an old man chained at his ankles and his hands was led by two guards up to the crude platform.
"He's a boy." His mother said, voice not quite steady. "Don't make him look. Let him be a boy."
The old man was bloody, his clothes were soaked through with blood. The platform creaked under his weight--which seemed to be nothing at all. One of the guards slipped a sack cloth over his head. Arthur, at seven, knew both the merits of a solemn face, and the merits of staying silent. His mother's knuckles were white.
His father's voice was hard, "He must know. Kings must know cruelty to show mercy to his people."
The words slipped too easily from Arthur's mouth, "Are you cruel, then, Father?"
"I'm only cruel to those who have sold their souls, Arthur." His father sounded very old. "They're warlocks. They dabble in wicked ways. They don't deserve mercy."
The axe fell. Arthur felt his stomach twist painfully, as if someone had punched him, and he hid his face in his mother's skirts.
--
Two years later, when Arthur was eight, Queen Igraine, his mother, passed quietly in her sleep. His last memory of her, was her smile, kissing him good night. Without his mother to keep him a boy, Arthur saw that his father was indeed a very old man. The king seldom slept, and there were whispers around the court that he had gone mad.
Arthur shed private tears for his mother, and kept his grief locked away where his father wouldn't scold him for it.
A week after that, Morgana Le Fay came to Camelot.
--
Morgana was a whole year and some months younger than Arthur, but he thought she looked very old. Like his mother, she was pale, and her eyes glittered. He was to be kind to her, said his father, as Morgana had no mother, or father. She only had in her possession a small trunk of clothes and a young nursemaid. She stayed in the room right next to his, but she never left her room and Arthur rarely saw her.
Perhaps it was due to Igraine's death that his father felt vulnerable. Later, Arthur found out that Morgana was the only daughter of a Duke and Duchess. The Duke and Duchess had died in a tragic fire, and Morgana had lost everything. Although Arthur's father certainly could not give her everything, he'd die trying.
He now climbed up the eastern tower to watch the executions alone. Once, Morgana had followed him. She also were a sober face as a woman clad in dirty rags begged for mercy.
Arthur said, looking over at her, "Don't look."
She turned to him, "Why?"
Arthur thought of his mother, and the way her thin hands had gripped his own. "You just shouldn't." He said blandly, "It's going to give you nightmares."
Morgana hid her face in Arthur's shoulder when the axe fell.
--
Arthur's eyes fluttered open when he thought he heard a knock sound on his door. His floor was stone cold to bare feet, and he made short work of making it over to the door, unlatching all three locks. Morgana stood there in a thin soft nightgown that seemed to swallowed her up.
"Morgana. What are you doing here?"
"I've had a nightmare." She said.
A chill ran down Arthur's spine. He didn't know why, perhaps it was the way she looked at him, so lost and forlorn. He opened the door wider, "It's late now, you can tell me about the nightmare in the morning."
She hesitated.
"I have a big bed, Morgana." Arthur climbed back into the bed and welcomed the warmth that his blankets provided, for it was a warm night. He patted the pillow beside him. "Come on, hurry up or else you will catch cold and my father will find some way to blame me for it."
After a moment, Morgana climbed in, and turned her face away from him. "I dreamed about you." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You're going to be killed one day."
Somehow, it didn't feel as ominous, "Morgana, don't be ridiculous. We all die. Go to sleep."
She did not speak again.
--
The next night, Morgana came to his room again. This time, she did not say what she had dreamed about. She just curled up on Arthur's bed and went to sleep, snuggled under the blankets. On the other hand, Arthur lay awoke for a long time, simply listening to her breathe. He reached out to touch her pillow, only to realize that it was wet.
So Arthur held her. She was cold, even with the blankets. When she woke up the next morning, Morgana just sat up and got out of bed. Arthur watched her while just lying there. She gave him a faint smile. "Thank you." She said, very primly, like a proper lady, and let herself out of his room.
Arthur decided that Morgana was still rathe rude, and more than a bit strange.
--
Arthur was twelve and Morgana was eleven. Things had changed, she no longer came to him at night. They'd both grown up a little to realize that their sharing a single bed most nights warranted to suspicion from most of the chambermaids and other servants. In fact, Morgana hardly spoke to Arthur at all. She spent a lot of time brooding by herself in the gardens, where Arthur had heard that she was assisting the gardener in planting wildflowers.
"They're called 'Morning Glories', young sire." The gardener, toothless had grinned at him, "Rather fitting for a little lady."
Struck by a gentlemanly nerve, Arthur picked some, and ordered a passing chambermaid to put fresh flowers in Lady Morgana's room.
--
She came to him when dusk fell, wearing a lovely crimson colored dress that made her look very pale. "I saw the flowers."
"You planted them, I think you should enjoy them." He shrugged. "It was nothing."
She stood next to him, close enough so that their shoulders touched. "I keep having a nightmare." She said softly, "It's the same nightmare. Over and over again. It won't go away."
"You're eleven. That's too old to have nightmares." Arthur said.
"I know. You don't need to tell me." She almost snapped at him, "But oh, Arthur, it was a terrible dream."
"What was it about?"
"Camelot. The wells dried up. There was sand...there was no water. People were starving, and they died." Her voice trembled, just a little. She pressed her face into Arthur's back and they stood still for a long time.
--
She was thirteen, him fourteen.
One of his father's favorite knights went on a hunting trip deep into the forest. They'd slain a unicorn, and removed its horn, because it was good magic. The king had thrown a feastfor the party and the feasting went on deep into the night. The whole castle reeked of wine.
Arthur retired to his chambers early, feigning a headache. Morgana entered the room not long after and climbed into his bed. He reached out a hand and stroke her hair, but she was already asleep.
--
There was no water in Camelot. The wells filled instead with sand, and yet nothing had changed. Arthur still climbed to the eastern tower, but more often he had Morgana on his arm. The executions continued, ruthless and unending. Morgana still wouldn't look. Although she had to hide her face in Arthur's chest now, because he was getting taller.
"I dreamed about me." She said.
Arthur knew. He knew with so much certainty that it hurt.
--
The castle no longer reeked of wine, but she came to him anyway. The castle now reeked of death, because the storage rooms were almost empty. Some part of Arthur was relieved, perhaps he would never have to be king. Perhaps his father would drive his kingdom to ruins before him.
Morgana's arms were curled around his neck, and when his lips found hers, it was entirely by accident. But she let him keep his mouth there for a few seconds before turning her face away.
"I'll be a good king." He said, "If there's a kingdon left for me to rule."
Morgana said, "There will be."
He wanted to ask her so badly if she dreamed of herself being a proud, regal queen, his queen. But didn't. Arthur didn't want to hear an answer they both already knew. He probably nearly suffocated Morgana in his arms that night, while she stayed still and slept.
Fandom: Merlin (c) BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana
Genres: Drama/General-ish
Rating: PG
Words: 1684
Progress: 1/1 Complete
Summary: Morgana has nightmares, Arthur offers small comforts.
Notes: Actually written for merlin_rarepair 's challenge -- first kiss. I'll x-post it over there as soon as I figure out how to tag correctly (I'm a little bit of a tagging fail, actually >.>) This pairing really intrigues me, and the idea's been floating around in my head for a while so...I might expand it if further inspiration hits. Have a nice read.
--
Arthur was six when his father finally allowed him to climb the long, winding steps up the eastern guard tower, to watch one of the executions that he'd only been told about. He climbed the steps clutching his mother's hand. Even though he was still a boy, his father thought it was never too early to see him as a future king. His mother, more often than not of fragile health, was still beautiful with a white face and disagreed with his father.
She held his hand so tightly between her own that Arthur thought his bones were going to break. The tower rendered an excellent view of the public square down below. There was a crowd gathered there, and a horrible cry rose up among his people as an old man chained at his ankles and his hands was led by two guards up to the crude platform.
"He's a boy." His mother said, voice not quite steady. "Don't make him look. Let him be a boy."
The old man was bloody, his clothes were soaked through with blood. The platform creaked under his weight--which seemed to be nothing at all. One of the guards slipped a sack cloth over his head. Arthur, at seven, knew both the merits of a solemn face, and the merits of staying silent. His mother's knuckles were white.
His father's voice was hard, "He must know. Kings must know cruelty to show mercy to his people."
The words slipped too easily from Arthur's mouth, "Are you cruel, then, Father?"
"I'm only cruel to those who have sold their souls, Arthur." His father sounded very old. "They're warlocks. They dabble in wicked ways. They don't deserve mercy."
The axe fell. Arthur felt his stomach twist painfully, as if someone had punched him, and he hid his face in his mother's skirts.
--
Two years later, when Arthur was eight, Queen Igraine, his mother, passed quietly in her sleep. His last memory of her, was her smile, kissing him good night. Without his mother to keep him a boy, Arthur saw that his father was indeed a very old man. The king seldom slept, and there were whispers around the court that he had gone mad.
Arthur shed private tears for his mother, and kept his grief locked away where his father wouldn't scold him for it.
A week after that, Morgana Le Fay came to Camelot.
--
Morgana was a whole year and some months younger than Arthur, but he thought she looked very old. Like his mother, she was pale, and her eyes glittered. He was to be kind to her, said his father, as Morgana had no mother, or father. She only had in her possession a small trunk of clothes and a young nursemaid. She stayed in the room right next to his, but she never left her room and Arthur rarely saw her.
Perhaps it was due to Igraine's death that his father felt vulnerable. Later, Arthur found out that Morgana was the only daughter of a Duke and Duchess. The Duke and Duchess had died in a tragic fire, and Morgana had lost everything. Although Arthur's father certainly could not give her everything, he'd die trying.
He now climbed up the eastern tower to watch the executions alone. Once, Morgana had followed him. She also were a sober face as a woman clad in dirty rags begged for mercy.
Arthur said, looking over at her, "Don't look."
She turned to him, "Why?"
Arthur thought of his mother, and the way her thin hands had gripped his own. "You just shouldn't." He said blandly, "It's going to give you nightmares."
Morgana hid her face in Arthur's shoulder when the axe fell.
--
Arthur's eyes fluttered open when he thought he heard a knock sound on his door. His floor was stone cold to bare feet, and he made short work of making it over to the door, unlatching all three locks. Morgana stood there in a thin soft nightgown that seemed to swallowed her up.
"Morgana. What are you doing here?"
"I've had a nightmare." She said.
A chill ran down Arthur's spine. He didn't know why, perhaps it was the way she looked at him, so lost and forlorn. He opened the door wider, "It's late now, you can tell me about the nightmare in the morning."
She hesitated.
"I have a big bed, Morgana." Arthur climbed back into the bed and welcomed the warmth that his blankets provided, for it was a warm night. He patted the pillow beside him. "Come on, hurry up or else you will catch cold and my father will find some way to blame me for it."
After a moment, Morgana climbed in, and turned her face away from him. "I dreamed about you." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You're going to be killed one day."
Somehow, it didn't feel as ominous, "Morgana, don't be ridiculous. We all die. Go to sleep."
She did not speak again.
--
The next night, Morgana came to his room again. This time, she did not say what she had dreamed about. She just curled up on Arthur's bed and went to sleep, snuggled under the blankets. On the other hand, Arthur lay awoke for a long time, simply listening to her breathe. He reached out to touch her pillow, only to realize that it was wet.
So Arthur held her. She was cold, even with the blankets. When she woke up the next morning, Morgana just sat up and got out of bed. Arthur watched her while just lying there. She gave him a faint smile. "Thank you." She said, very primly, like a proper lady, and let herself out of his room.
Arthur decided that Morgana was still rathe rude, and more than a bit strange.
--
Arthur was twelve and Morgana was eleven. Things had changed, she no longer came to him at night. They'd both grown up a little to realize that their sharing a single bed most nights warranted to suspicion from most of the chambermaids and other servants. In fact, Morgana hardly spoke to Arthur at all. She spent a lot of time brooding by herself in the gardens, where Arthur had heard that she was assisting the gardener in planting wildflowers.
"They're called 'Morning Glories', young sire." The gardener, toothless had grinned at him, "Rather fitting for a little lady."
Struck by a gentlemanly nerve, Arthur picked some, and ordered a passing chambermaid to put fresh flowers in Lady Morgana's room.
--
She came to him when dusk fell, wearing a lovely crimson colored dress that made her look very pale. "I saw the flowers."
"You planted them, I think you should enjoy them." He shrugged. "It was nothing."
She stood next to him, close enough so that their shoulders touched. "I keep having a nightmare." She said softly, "It's the same nightmare. Over and over again. It won't go away."
"You're eleven. That's too old to have nightmares." Arthur said.
"I know. You don't need to tell me." She almost snapped at him, "But oh, Arthur, it was a terrible dream."
"What was it about?"
"Camelot. The wells dried up. There was sand...there was no water. People were starving, and they died." Her voice trembled, just a little. She pressed her face into Arthur's back and they stood still for a long time.
--
She was thirteen, him fourteen.
One of his father's favorite knights went on a hunting trip deep into the forest. They'd slain a unicorn, and removed its horn, because it was good magic. The king had thrown a feastfor the party and the feasting went on deep into the night. The whole castle reeked of wine.
Arthur retired to his chambers early, feigning a headache. Morgana entered the room not long after and climbed into his bed. He reached out a hand and stroke her hair, but she was already asleep.
--
There was no water in Camelot. The wells filled instead with sand, and yet nothing had changed. Arthur still climbed to the eastern tower, but more often he had Morgana on his arm. The executions continued, ruthless and unending. Morgana still wouldn't look. Although she had to hide her face in Arthur's chest now, because he was getting taller.
"I dreamed about me." She said.
Arthur knew. He knew with so much certainty that it hurt.
--
The castle no longer reeked of wine, but she came to him anyway. The castle now reeked of death, because the storage rooms were almost empty. Some part of Arthur was relieved, perhaps he would never have to be king. Perhaps his father would drive his kingdom to ruins before him.
Morgana's arms were curled around his neck, and when his lips found hers, it was entirely by accident. But she let him keep his mouth there for a few seconds before turning her face away.
"I'll be a good king." He said, "If there's a kingdon left for me to rule."
Morgana said, "There will be."
He wanted to ask her so badly if she dreamed of herself being a proud, regal queen, his queen. But didn't. Arthur didn't want to hear an answer they both already knew. He probably nearly suffocated Morgana in his arms that night, while she stayed still and slept.