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ineedmyfics2011-09-14 05:13 pm
ineedmymods) wrote in ineedmyfics2011-09-14 05:13 pm
Entry tags:
Enemies
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erised1810
From:shellebelle
Title: Enemies
Fandom: Arthurian Romance
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: I could not fit Merlin into what this fic became, but I hope you like it!
When did we become enemies?
Morgana had time to think of this during her exile from her brother's court. She would sit in her chambers quite often, wondering that very thing.
She admitted that her affairs had been bad decisions. She was miserable in her marriage but she'd ought to have been more discreet. But sometimes, unhappiness blinded a person to the world around them. And when she was taking her pleasure where she would, she had certainly made herself blind.
Somehow, she had thought (had hoped) that her brother's wife, married too young to a man she barely knew, would have helped her, would have sympathized. But she'd been wrong. Guinevere had exposed Morgana, rather cruelly, in open court.
Even then, she'd hoped that perhaps her brother would have mercy on her, would allow her to take refuge with him.
But she'd been wrong on that count too, and it had broken her heart. The younger brother she'd played with, soothed after hurts, who had encouraged her to pursue her sorcery in defiance of the Church--now he'd grown as cold and unsympathetic as any other man out there. She'd searched his face for any sign of her brother's love, and found nothing.
He cut her off, as certain as if he'd used Excalibur to do it. If he'd used Excalibur, she doubted it would hurt more than this.
She went her way, finding her kingdom and winning it, using her sorcery to enchant and beguile and surround herself with everything she ever wanted.
And yet...and yet...the anger still burned inside of her, and so she used the only weapon she truly had to make her brother and his treacherous wife hurt. When it came to Morgana's ears that Guinevere and Lancelot were cuckolding her brother, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and so she did both, laughing like a mad thing in her court, and retiring alone to her chambers to weep.
And now she would teach him, and now he would learn. She would send things into the court: a cup that could only be drunk from by a chaste and honest woman, for instance.
He wouldn't see it as being taught, of course. He would see it as being attacked, and unjustly.
But in the end...he would understand.
~*~
How did we become enemies, sister mine?
When they were children, they didn't distinguish their half-sibling status. When they were children, they were close. Children in a noble family should stick together. And they had...for a long, long time.
But then Guinevere had come and exposed Morgana's multiple infidelities with men who were not her husband. At the time, Arthur felt he had no choice but to support his wife in her accusations—he had to save face, had to be the example...
Somehow, he'd never expected her to hold the grudge for so long.
He was jostled on the cart suddenly. He didn't remember being placed on the cart...he must have fainted. He was in pain, but it didn't really matter now. His kingdom was in ruins. His wife had betrayed him, and the hypocrisy of that would be intolerable if he cared.
He'd started a war for her, and she didn't love him. And now he was just an old, tired man, all of his fighting and striving for naught, and he just wanted it all to end.
Not that his remaining knight would let him go so easily. Sir Bedevere kept talking, kept telling him that "Of course Your Highness won't die, you are still quite a young man," and Arthur did not have the heart to contradict him. Instead, he gave him orders, quietly, his voice sounding frighteningly weak.
Throw Excalibur into the Lake. He wasn't surprised when Bedevere told him that a hand reached up from the water to catch it. The Lady of the Lake had always been faithful.
And he needed no more weapons now.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
He knew what was coming. Once the Lady told Morgana that Excalibur had returned, she would come. And somehow, even before the barge came through the mist, he could hear it, not with his ears, but with his heart.
If Morgana decided to kill him, what difference did it make now? He was dying anyway. But he wanted to see his sister one last time, no matter how they met.
The sun was hot, and Arthur closed his eyes.
~*~
"Fancy meeting you here."
The voice is familiar, but different than it used to be. It used to be harder, more arrogant. But she was still dignified, even if her voice held more softness than it used to.
"Morgana," he murmured, without opening his eyes. A cup was placed to his lips, and he sipped water. He hadn't tasted anything that pure and good for years.
"What are you doing here?" Her cool fingers pushed hair from his face.
Arthur could hear Sir Bedevere making an indignant noise, no doubt from the easy familiarity of Morgana with him.
"Why are we enemies, sister mine?" The words on his lips had been on his mind for so long, he could not quite figure out if he'd spoken them aloud.
She sighed and patted his cheek. "Look at me."
It was difficult but he managed to open his eyes and look at his sister, all pale skin and dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, and lines on her face he'd never seen before, since the last time they were so close they'd been little more than children. With the brightness of the sun behind her, she looks like the Holy Mother, and she'd laugh if she knew that was in his head.
"We were never enemies. I was simply using the only weapon I had to get you to see."
Arthur looked at his sister through as if through a lens of pain and sorrow, and saw what was truly there.
"Morgana," he murmured, and his voice was barely a whisper.
She gestured to her servants and they lifted him carefully to place him in her barge. He could hear Sir Bedivere making objections, but he was past caring. "I am going to my sister, where I should be, all is well," he murmured, but he wasn't entirely sure that Bedivere heard him.
And then he felt his sister's hand on his shoulder. "I will take you to Avalon. And we will both lay our weapons down for the rest of our days."
Arthur felt that he did not have many more days left, but he nodded.
It would be good to rest.
erised1810From:
shellebelleTitle: Enemies
Fandom: Arthurian Romance
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: I could not fit Merlin into what this fic became, but I hope you like it!
When did we become enemies?
Morgana had time to think of this during her exile from her brother's court. She would sit in her chambers quite often, wondering that very thing.
She admitted that her affairs had been bad decisions. She was miserable in her marriage but she'd ought to have been more discreet. But sometimes, unhappiness blinded a person to the world around them. And when she was taking her pleasure where she would, she had certainly made herself blind.
Somehow, she had thought (had hoped) that her brother's wife, married too young to a man she barely knew, would have helped her, would have sympathized. But she'd been wrong. Guinevere had exposed Morgana, rather cruelly, in open court.
Even then, she'd hoped that perhaps her brother would have mercy on her, would allow her to take refuge with him.
But she'd been wrong on that count too, and it had broken her heart. The younger brother she'd played with, soothed after hurts, who had encouraged her to pursue her sorcery in defiance of the Church--now he'd grown as cold and unsympathetic as any other man out there. She'd searched his face for any sign of her brother's love, and found nothing.
He cut her off, as certain as if he'd used Excalibur to do it. If he'd used Excalibur, she doubted it would hurt more than this.
She went her way, finding her kingdom and winning it, using her sorcery to enchant and beguile and surround herself with everything she ever wanted.
And yet...and yet...the anger still burned inside of her, and so she used the only weapon she truly had to make her brother and his treacherous wife hurt. When it came to Morgana's ears that Guinevere and Lancelot were cuckolding her brother, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and so she did both, laughing like a mad thing in her court, and retiring alone to her chambers to weep.
And now she would teach him, and now he would learn. She would send things into the court: a cup that could only be drunk from by a chaste and honest woman, for instance.
He wouldn't see it as being taught, of course. He would see it as being attacked, and unjustly.
But in the end...he would understand.
~*~
How did we become enemies, sister mine?
When they were children, they didn't distinguish their half-sibling status. When they were children, they were close. Children in a noble family should stick together. And they had...for a long, long time.
But then Guinevere had come and exposed Morgana's multiple infidelities with men who were not her husband. At the time, Arthur felt he had no choice but to support his wife in her accusations—he had to save face, had to be the example...
Somehow, he'd never expected her to hold the grudge for so long.
He was jostled on the cart suddenly. He didn't remember being placed on the cart...he must have fainted. He was in pain, but it didn't really matter now. His kingdom was in ruins. His wife had betrayed him, and the hypocrisy of that would be intolerable if he cared.
He'd started a war for her, and she didn't love him. And now he was just an old, tired man, all of his fighting and striving for naught, and he just wanted it all to end.
Not that his remaining knight would let him go so easily. Sir Bedevere kept talking, kept telling him that "Of course Your Highness won't die, you are still quite a young man," and Arthur did not have the heart to contradict him. Instead, he gave him orders, quietly, his voice sounding frighteningly weak.
Throw Excalibur into the Lake. He wasn't surprised when Bedevere told him that a hand reached up from the water to catch it. The Lady of the Lake had always been faithful.
And he needed no more weapons now.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
He knew what was coming. Once the Lady told Morgana that Excalibur had returned, she would come. And somehow, even before the barge came through the mist, he could hear it, not with his ears, but with his heart.
If Morgana decided to kill him, what difference did it make now? He was dying anyway. But he wanted to see his sister one last time, no matter how they met.
The sun was hot, and Arthur closed his eyes.
~*~
"Fancy meeting you here."
The voice is familiar, but different than it used to be. It used to be harder, more arrogant. But she was still dignified, even if her voice held more softness than it used to.
"Morgana," he murmured, without opening his eyes. A cup was placed to his lips, and he sipped water. He hadn't tasted anything that pure and good for years.
"What are you doing here?" Her cool fingers pushed hair from his face.
Arthur could hear Sir Bedevere making an indignant noise, no doubt from the easy familiarity of Morgana with him.
"Why are we enemies, sister mine?" The words on his lips had been on his mind for so long, he could not quite figure out if he'd spoken them aloud.
She sighed and patted his cheek. "Look at me."
It was difficult but he managed to open his eyes and look at his sister, all pale skin and dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, and lines on her face he'd never seen before, since the last time they were so close they'd been little more than children. With the brightness of the sun behind her, she looks like the Holy Mother, and she'd laugh if she knew that was in his head.
"We were never enemies. I was simply using the only weapon I had to get you to see."
Arthur looked at his sister through as if through a lens of pain and sorrow, and saw what was truly there.
"Morgana," he murmured, and his voice was barely a whisper.
She gestured to her servants and they lifted him carefully to place him in her barge. He could hear Sir Bedivere making objections, but he was past caring. "I am going to my sister, where I should be, all is well," he murmured, but he wasn't entirely sure that Bedivere heard him.
And then he felt his sister's hand on his shoulder. "I will take you to Avalon. And we will both lay our weapons down for the rest of our days."
Arthur felt that he did not have many more days left, but he nodded.
It would be good to rest.