Fic: The End is the Beginning is the End (Morgana/Morgause, Merlin)

[fembuck]

Title:  The End is the Beginning Is the End
Author:  Janine
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing:  Morgana/Morgause
Rating:  R
Disclaimer:  I don’t own them.
Summary:  With Morgause’s help Morgana adjusts to life away from Camelot 

---

In the beginning, her gaze turned towards Camelot often.

On some days, when her eyes tracked to the West towards the high walls of the city that had been her home since she was a child, the expression in them was wistful and longing.  On those days, she remembered walking with Gwen through the green fields just beyond the city proper.  She remembered running through dirt paths as a young girl, wearing clothes Arthur had grown too tall and broad for, fighting him with a wooden sword.  She remembered sitting in Gaius’ chambers with Gwen, Merlin and Arthur, drinking too much wine, laughing too loud and staying up far too late while Gaius was away tending to business in a nearby town.

On those days, Morgause would approach her slowly, and tenderly gather Morgana up in her arms.  She would lay gentle kisses on Morgana’s shoulders and neck as her fingers trailed softly up and down Morgana’s arms, soothing and comforting.  She would whisper, “You have me now,” and Morgana would shiver and twist in her half-sister’s arms until she could see Morgause’s face, which she would take delicately into her hands  before closing the distance between them and pressing her lips to the blonde’s.  “You’re all I need,” Morgana would whisper against her sister’s lips, and her hands would grasp at Morgause a bit too tightly as if to convince herself of her words.

On those days, Morgause would guide them to where it was warm by the fire, and would lay Morgana down dotingly, undressing her slowly as she lay kisses upon the pale skin her fingers were working to reveal.  Morgause would run her fingers adoringly over Morgana’s skin, tracing, mapping, memorizing the contours of her body, as she built their passion slowly.  Morgana would sigh and cling to her sister, her body arching, and twisting, lifting, pressing flush against Morgause’s own heated skin, before she finally tumbled over the edge into ecstasy aided by Morgause’s sweet voice whispering words of love into her ear.

On other days, when her eyes tracked to the West towards the high walls of the city that had been her home since she was a child, the expression in them was hard, angry and condemning.  On those days, she remembered the feel of iron cuffs around her wrists, digging into her skin, bruising her flesh and rubbing it raw as she sat in the stinking, dirty cells under Uther’s castle.  She remembered the sound of Gwen’s sobs and the taste of her tears as she mourned the father Uther had murdered.  Morgana remembered lying awake at night, shaking and terrified as tears streamed from her eyes and wet the pillow beneath her, horrible thoughts of what would happen to her when Uther discovered her secret plaguing her thoughts.  She remembered the feel of her throat closing, and the vice-like clamping of her heart as she stared up at Merlin’s tear streaked face, realizing with a sickening horror he was the cause of her suffering.

On those days, Morgause would approach her with quick, powerful strides, and grasp Morgana’s arms roughly, turning her forcefully around so that they were facing each other. She would draw Morgana against her body, and kiss her with enough force to bruise, as Morgana’s fingers dug into her flesh, marking Morgause through the thin, fine fabric of her dress.  “They are idiot children, deaf and dumb to the world around them.  They know nothing of anything that matters.  You need them not,” Morgause would whisper fiercely, “Fools and infidels.”  Morgana’s hands would move roughly beneath her sister’s clothes, and she would pant, “Yes … yes,” her hands tearing desperately at Morgause, as if to convince herself of her words.

On those days, Morgause would push her roughly to the ground or back her against the nearest solid surface.  Deliciously calloused fingers would drag roughly up her thighs, taking the material of her dress with them, and Morgause would press her lips to Morgana’s neck and suck with bruising intensity as her fingers invaded the raven beauty with delightful haste.  Morgana would run her hands up her sisters back, feeling her strength in the shifting muscles beneath her fingertips, and would sigh, opening herself up more to the blonde, inviting Morgause to possess her entirely.  Nails would dig into the blonde’s flesh, drawing satisfied hisses from her as Morgana’s passion rose.  And when she came, Morgause would kiss her until Morgana tasted blood, the blood that bound them together, and she would quake ever more forcefully against her sister, clinging to her with all that she was.

In the beginning, Morgana listened out for horses and the sound of armor clanging in the distance.  She looked towards the trees and ruins that surrounded her watching, waiting for blond hair and polished metal to move quickly towards her to usher her to ‘safety’ and take her ‘home’.  In those moments, Morgause did not seek to comfort her or distract her with words and touch.  In those moments, Morgause would sit away from her, aloof, still and silent, waiting for Morgana to understand and accept that there were no rescuers coming, that this and she were Morgana’s life now, and no wistful, girlish fantasies were going to change that.

In the beginning, as much as Morgana hated Uther, the truth was that she missed Camelot; she missed her home.  However, as the days wore into weeks and the weeks wore into months Morgana found her eyes turning less and less frequently towards the high walls that had been her home. 

As the days wore into weeks, and the weeks wore into months, Morgana found that she stopped scanning her surroundings for blond hair, and stopped listening for the sound of galloping horses on the wind.

As the days wore into weeks, and the weeks wore into months, instead of thinking about what was happening in Camelot, Morgana’s thoughts became occupied with the strange words that Morgause taught her as they lay together before the fire. 

As the days wore into weeks, and the weeks wore into months, when Morgana’s eyes turned towards the trees it was long, flowing blonde hair that she sought out; red silk instead of cold armor. 

Memories of walking through greenery on long summer days with Gwen were eclipsed by new ones of stalking the woods with Morgause, crouching down in the dirt and leaning close to plants Morgana had never taken the time to notice before, learning their names and the seemingly endless applications of their leaves, stems, buds and roots. 

When she thought of wine, she thought of Morgause in the firelight and running naked through the woods.  She thought of Morgause whispering words that she was beginning to understand more and more, making dancing orbs of light appear from nothing.  She thought of Morgause conjuring warriors from rocks and making them fight for Morgana who had been missing the competitions that had been such a staple of her life in Camelot.

At night she did not think longingly of soft, feather filled pillows, but sighed contently and wrapped herself around the compact warm body beside her, the now familiar feel of her sister’s body lulling her into an easy sleep that required no magic to be maintained.

As the weeks turned into months and the months turned into a new year, Morgana’s eyes stopped turning to Camelot at all.

One night, in the dawn of this new age, Morgause whispered, “You shall visit that place again,” as they lay wrapped in each others arms, naked and sweating beneath the stars.

“Only once more,” Morgana breathed out, tracing her fingertip over her sister’s slick flesh, writing invisible words that made Morgause smile in the ancient language the blonde had taught her.

“Why once?” Morgause asked, arching into Morgana’s hand.

“Because when we are done, there shall be nothing left to see and no reason to return.”

Morgause smiled warmly and reached up to cup her sister’s face. 

Morgana turned her face into the blonde’s touch luxuriating in the warmth and comfort for a moment, and then she pressed a kiss to her sister’s palm.

“You and I,” Morgause whispered, and there was something vulnerable and soft in her tone that made Morgana’s breath catch in her throat and her heart clench in sympathy.

Morgana smiled and pressed Morgause’s hand tightly against her face.

“You and I,” she confirmed.  “Forever,” she added reverently before leaning down to press her lips against the blonde’s.

In the beginning, her gaze turned towards Camelot often as she longed for home. 

In the end she realized how foolish she had been, to take so long to see that she was already there.

The End