prompt: "guilt" | Morgana/Arthur | Explicit | chose not to warn
{Guilt (Sick Thoughts) written for @merlinmicrofic & inspired by this amazing video}
A sick taste in his mouth, an upturned stomach and uneasiness in the gut.
This—because of a thought, a memory, once pleasant turned barbed like the plucking of a rose.
Morgana, his childhood companion, once almost lover.
Morgana, now sister, are you still sweetly called?
And how, in his teenage years, he had wanted to pluck her, to fuck her down bad and nasty, to be the one to strip her of that crimson gown, blood red as the heart in his chest beating arrhythmically at the sight of her, crimson grape poised enticingly at her mouth.
He knew then she had felt it too.
But what had stopped them? Some cresting fear alighting in the back of his mind, saying, this, you cannot touch.
Or for the sake of propriety? A matter of honor?
Where was that honor now?
He couldn’t stop playing over in his mind as if on rewind, his boyhood fantasies, all involving her, and the guilt splashed over him in waves, painting his memory red with past desire, coupled with a revulsion he simply couldn’t vomit up.
The scene in the throne room, himself watching from the alcove above, half-lit, half cast in shadow:
Enter Morgana, in a gown so white as to be presumed the color of innocence, her lips painted red, a smirk splayed upon them, and with the glowing glint of malice in her eyes.
Morgana: I’m your daughter after all.
Now, he couldn’t stop reliving the memory in his mind, the past thoughts circling like vultures in his mind come to feast on the guilt spilling out of him, violent red as entrails and guts.
And yet when he glanced down at his body, not a wound in sight, his hands impeccably clean, as if washed of the sin of having lain with his sister in his mind, though he had not known her thus.
And Morgana, how comfortably close she had come to him since he rescued her from the woods? Feigning innocence all this time? Could it be that she had known then…their inescapable relation? And toyed with him anyway?
You can tell me the truth, he recalled once saying, drunk on wine and desire.
It’s obvious that you like me.
Never had it occurred to him how obvious it was that he liked her.
So that she played on those feelings, those he erroneously thought he had outgrown, and used him this last year to serve her end of stripping the gilded crown from their father’s head.
Morgana: In my experience, you don't need any help looking like a fool. What are you waiting for? Take a look.
And he had. A long, deep look. At her. Promptly left—not to carry on the search—but to relieve himself of his guilty desire.
Now, seated in a cavern, both he and his father deposed and dispossessed of their birthright, to Merlin:
I’ve known her all my life.
How could she do this to us?
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