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She rose to his requirement, dropped {Merlin}
Pairing: Arthur & Morgana.
Word count: 1400.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Incest.
Summary: Three times Morgana kisses Arthur.
I.
Seventeen.
They brought musicians for her birthday.
Well known ones, even; joyful people in colorful attire and carefree smiles.
Her dress is deep purple and gold and Gwen is sweet enough to thread some of the gold into her hair. She makes them look like a tiara.
She thinks all her birthday celebrations look quite the same. Lords and ladies and wine and drunk knights and Gwen looking at her in a certain way that says, be patient.
Arthur brings her a bracelet of rubies and gold and she inspects it before asking him who chose it, since it couldn't have been himself.
"You are physically unable of a simple thank you, are you?" He grumbles and she smiles, noting ten points to herself and none for him.
"I would thank you if it came from you but you cannot tell one bracelet from another for the life of you," he makes a face, about to go on a rant; probably to tell her some people have important things to do, unlike herself, and cannot devote hours to silly things like bracelets. She stops him before he utters a sound, suddenly inspired, and pulls him with her out to the balcony. The night is warm and the-ever-legendary musicians are still playing and she knows exactly what she's about to do.
"Are you utterly mad - "
She figures she must look exactly that, because a moment later she leans forward and kisses him, lips and all and it feels like nothing and everything at once. She smirks into his lips at how stunned he is, all tense and still from shock against her. Except suddenly his hands come to rest on her hips and pull her forward and he kisses her, open and deep and brilliant and she would have been annoyed by his victorious smile if she could bring herself to care.
When they break apart, his lips are painted red too and she laughs and wipes it off with a handkerchief while he says, "you truly are mad."
She grins. It feels like a beginning.
II.
Thirty-one.
They meet at the throne room and all at once, she feels old.
The last time she was here was also the last time she had seen him, the second time he banished her from her Throne.
Today she didn't come for the throne, didn't come for Camelot; there would be time for battles still.
"The guards of Camelot did not improve since my last visit, I notice," she says, an easy smirk on her lips. Sneaking in was as easy as that.
He looks at her for several moments before saying, "at the very least you look like yourself now, your attire was hardly becoming last time, my lady."
She nearly chuckles, remembering long black gowns and wild hair, well she was always one for dramatics.
He turns serious in a beat, "what are you doing here, Morgana?"
She wishes he could have remained laughing for a moment longer. It relives her, somehow, that he calls her Morgana and not Morgan le Fay. It was odd, living up to a new name but it was her share now; Queen of Avalon and the only remaining Priestess of the Old Religion. Her people wished for her to be Morgan and Morgan she was.
But not to Arthur.
"I came to bring you a belated birthday gift, if you will." After all the years and the blood and the wars, she did not forget. Could not bring herself to.
"I learned it is most unwise to accept anything from you, most often your gifts are not as they seem."
It's fair enough but her face hardens all the same.
"Whether to wield it or not will be your own choice, brother." From within her cloak she pulls out his sword, his beloved Excalibur, which she had stolen not a year before. She heard what people said of it, the sword pulled from the stone by the rightful king of Camelot. She was foolish to think stealing it would make him less beloved.
It did not help that her spells did not hold against the sword, it resisted her, like Arthur himself.
She was impressed by both, maybe.
He looks at her as she offers it to him and she thinks, you have been sleeping poorly brother. Camelot is nearing the end of its days, she knows, she had Seen it long before. She finds it brings her more sadness than joy.
He takes the sword from her, restoring it to its proper place. He looks ever the king, tall and golden and handsome and she thinks of him perishing from this world with a tinge of pain.
"I could have you arrested in a moment, if I wished it," he says.
"You will not," she knows, as she knows many other things. She approaches him and he doesn't flinch, not Arthur. "I return tonight to Avalon, brother; keep your sword, you will need it. Mordred and his Saxon allies will be here in a year time."
"Your doing, no doubt. Is this your form of goodbye?"
"This is not goodbye, we shall see each other again," she knows that too, as she knows many things about future and destiny thanks to her nightly terrors. She moves forward and suddenly she is seventeen again because she presses her lips to Arthur's, soft and chaste. When she steps back, he looks at her and looks as if she hit him.
Stay.
I do wish I could.
But destiny is cruel to them, had always been.
"Happy birthday, Arthur."
She leaves Camelot feeling older than ever.
III.
Thirty-five.
In the end, it happens as she had Seen it, it always does.
The Battle of Camlann will go down in history, she knows.
"Is this what you wanted, Morgana?" Emrys asks, Emrys who is Merlin and who had been her destiny and doom and her nightmare and friend.
Is this what you wanted, Morgana?
No. No this was not.
"Let me go to him, Emrys, you had Seen this in your crystals. Let me take my brother to where he belongs. Once and Future, Emrys."
He looks at her and for a moment, she can see Merlin clearly behind the wrinkles.
Arthur is lost to this world, he realizes. She wonders if he knows it pains her as much as it does him.
In the end, they are all lost to her. Gwen, who is alive still, Mordred, dead on the battle field, Morgause, long dead and carried by her to the Isle of the Blessed.
Now she must take another in that journey. She comforts herself at the thought that it is for a different destiny, once and future, and that Avalon had changed since the last time she carried a sibling there.
Merlin and her share a glance, we are bound together, destiny and doom.
She inclines her head; he inclines his.
Arthur is resting in her lap; the bleeding had stopped and he seems almost peaceful. She remembers the pain that Morgause was under until her death and finds herself thanking the Goddess it is not this way for Arthur.
She moves a few golden strands from his forehead and he smiles up at her. Through her heartbreak, she smiles back.
"I thought you had lied; that I shall not see you again. But you were right, Morgana, have you Seen it all?"
She wipes the blood off his lips with the sleeve of her gown. "Even I cannot See all, Arthur."
He moves his hand, so strong still, and laces his fingers through hers.
She bends down, presses her forehead to his, letting her tears wash the dirt from his face. "It will be fine," she whispers, pressing her hand to his, assuring him and herself. "It will be fine, Arthur. Once and future, do not forget."
He's smiling still. "Soon, Morgana."
She laughs. He is comforting her, what has become of them?
Without a thought, she presses her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his proud jaw and his lips last, whispering a spell that will allow him to sleep.
"It is long overdue," he tells her, "that I shall see that kingdom of yours, Morgana."
She finds herself grinning.
"Rest until then, Arthur. I will wait for you when you awake."
As long as it takes, she knows.
Fin.
Word count: 1400.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Incest.
Summary: Three times Morgana kisses Arthur.
I.
Seventeen.
They brought musicians for her birthday.
Well known ones, even; joyful people in colorful attire and carefree smiles.
Her dress is deep purple and gold and Gwen is sweet enough to thread some of the gold into her hair. She makes them look like a tiara.
She thinks all her birthday celebrations look quite the same. Lords and ladies and wine and drunk knights and Gwen looking at her in a certain way that says, be patient.
Arthur brings her a bracelet of rubies and gold and she inspects it before asking him who chose it, since it couldn't have been himself.
"You are physically unable of a simple thank you, are you?" He grumbles and she smiles, noting ten points to herself and none for him.
"I would thank you if it came from you but you cannot tell one bracelet from another for the life of you," he makes a face, about to go on a rant; probably to tell her some people have important things to do, unlike herself, and cannot devote hours to silly things like bracelets. She stops him before he utters a sound, suddenly inspired, and pulls him with her out to the balcony. The night is warm and the-ever-legendary musicians are still playing and she knows exactly what she's about to do.
"Are you utterly mad - "
She figures she must look exactly that, because a moment later she leans forward and kisses him, lips and all and it feels like nothing and everything at once. She smirks into his lips at how stunned he is, all tense and still from shock against her. Except suddenly his hands come to rest on her hips and pull her forward and he kisses her, open and deep and brilliant and she would have been annoyed by his victorious smile if she could bring herself to care.
When they break apart, his lips are painted red too and she laughs and wipes it off with a handkerchief while he says, "you truly are mad."
She grins. It feels like a beginning.
II.
Thirty-one.
They meet at the throne room and all at once, she feels old.
The last time she was here was also the last time she had seen him, the second time he banished her from her Throne.
Today she didn't come for the throne, didn't come for Camelot; there would be time for battles still.
"The guards of Camelot did not improve since my last visit, I notice," she says, an easy smirk on her lips. Sneaking in was as easy as that.
He looks at her for several moments before saying, "at the very least you look like yourself now, your attire was hardly becoming last time, my lady."
She nearly chuckles, remembering long black gowns and wild hair, well she was always one for dramatics.
He turns serious in a beat, "what are you doing here, Morgana?"
She wishes he could have remained laughing for a moment longer. It relives her, somehow, that he calls her Morgana and not Morgan le Fay. It was odd, living up to a new name but it was her share now; Queen of Avalon and the only remaining Priestess of the Old Religion. Her people wished for her to be Morgan and Morgan she was.
But not to Arthur.
"I came to bring you a belated birthday gift, if you will." After all the years and the blood and the wars, she did not forget. Could not bring herself to.
"I learned it is most unwise to accept anything from you, most often your gifts are not as they seem."
It's fair enough but her face hardens all the same.
"Whether to wield it or not will be your own choice, brother." From within her cloak she pulls out his sword, his beloved Excalibur, which she had stolen not a year before. She heard what people said of it, the sword pulled from the stone by the rightful king of Camelot. She was foolish to think stealing it would make him less beloved.
It did not help that her spells did not hold against the sword, it resisted her, like Arthur himself.
She was impressed by both, maybe.
He looks at her as she offers it to him and she thinks, you have been sleeping poorly brother. Camelot is nearing the end of its days, she knows, she had Seen it long before. She finds it brings her more sadness than joy.
He takes the sword from her, restoring it to its proper place. He looks ever the king, tall and golden and handsome and she thinks of him perishing from this world with a tinge of pain.
"I could have you arrested in a moment, if I wished it," he says.
"You will not," she knows, as she knows many other things. She approaches him and he doesn't flinch, not Arthur. "I return tonight to Avalon, brother; keep your sword, you will need it. Mordred and his Saxon allies will be here in a year time."
"Your doing, no doubt. Is this your form of goodbye?"
"This is not goodbye, we shall see each other again," she knows that too, as she knows many things about future and destiny thanks to her nightly terrors. She moves forward and suddenly she is seventeen again because she presses her lips to Arthur's, soft and chaste. When she steps back, he looks at her and looks as if she hit him.
Stay.
I do wish I could.
But destiny is cruel to them, had always been.
"Happy birthday, Arthur."
She leaves Camelot feeling older than ever.
III.
Thirty-five.
In the end, it happens as she had Seen it, it always does.
The Battle of Camlann will go down in history, she knows.
"Is this what you wanted, Morgana?" Emrys asks, Emrys who is Merlin and who had been her destiny and doom and her nightmare and friend.
Is this what you wanted, Morgana?
No. No this was not.
"Let me go to him, Emrys, you had Seen this in your crystals. Let me take my brother to where he belongs. Once and Future, Emrys."
He looks at her and for a moment, she can see Merlin clearly behind the wrinkles.
Arthur is lost to this world, he realizes. She wonders if he knows it pains her as much as it does him.
In the end, they are all lost to her. Gwen, who is alive still, Mordred, dead on the battle field, Morgause, long dead and carried by her to the Isle of the Blessed.
Now she must take another in that journey. She comforts herself at the thought that it is for a different destiny, once and future, and that Avalon had changed since the last time she carried a sibling there.
Merlin and her share a glance, we are bound together, destiny and doom.
She inclines her head; he inclines his.
Arthur is resting in her lap; the bleeding had stopped and he seems almost peaceful. She remembers the pain that Morgause was under until her death and finds herself thanking the Goddess it is not this way for Arthur.
She moves a few golden strands from his forehead and he smiles up at her. Through her heartbreak, she smiles back.
"I thought you had lied; that I shall not see you again. But you were right, Morgana, have you Seen it all?"
She wipes the blood off his lips with the sleeve of her gown. "Even I cannot See all, Arthur."
He moves his hand, so strong still, and laces his fingers through hers.
She bends down, presses her forehead to his, letting her tears wash the dirt from his face. "It will be fine," she whispers, pressing her hand to his, assuring him and herself. "It will be fine, Arthur. Once and future, do not forget."
He's smiling still. "Soon, Morgana."
She laughs. He is comforting her, what has become of them?
Without a thought, she presses her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his proud jaw and his lips last, whispering a spell that will allow him to sleep.
"It is long overdue," he tells her, "that I shall see that kingdom of yours, Morgana."
She finds herself grinning.
"Rest until then, Arthur. I will wait for you when you awake."
As long as it takes, she knows.
Fin.