new prompts will be published at the beginning of each month
there will be three different prompts to choose from
despite the name, all femslash pairings are welcome
please keep in mind that this is an 18+ space
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every fill must be inspired by the prompt(s) (you can incorporate the word in your work, use it as a title, use it for inspiration, etc.)
you can choose one prompt, create one or more fills for each prompt, or try combining all prompts into one fic -- whatever works for you!
the guideline for fics is 50 words -- this is by no means a limit, only an indication. feel free to write more (or less!) if you want
every type of fanwork is encouraged: microfic, art, gifsets, fic recs, video edits, web weaves, moodboards, playlists... go wild!
remember to tag @morgwenmicrofic when posting your work, so we can see it and share it <3
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no AI. all submissions must be human-made
works must be centered around Morgana/Gwen or other femslash pairings. gen works focusing on one or more women are also accepted. poly ships are welcome as well
all ratings are accepted (remember to include all appropriate warnings)
relationships are not required to be strictly romantic or sexual. platonic or gen fics are encouraged, as long as they keep the focus on the female characters. this is a space created to celebrate women in the show, so we ask you to keep this in mind when creating your work
Morgana stood beside the narrow window of her chambers with one hand resting against the cold stone, her fingertips numb from the chill that seeped through the castle walls, watching the courtyard disappear beneath sheets of rain until there was nothing left but indistinct movement, servants rushing beneath cloaks, guards lowering their heads against the weather, horses stamping impatiently in the stables, every soul in Camelot seeking warmth while she alone felt herself become colder with every passing moment, as though the storm had not descended from the heavens at all but risen quietly from somewhere beneath her ribs, flooding every hollow place inside her until she could scarcely remember what it had been like to breathe without drowning.
There had been a time when storms had delighted her.
There had been a time when she had run laughing through the gardens with her skirts soaked through and her hair clinging to her cheeks while Gwen followed with that helpless smile that always seemed to appear despite herself, calling after her that Lady Morgana would catch her death if she did not come inside this instant, though the warning had never carried any weight because neither of them truly wished the afternoon to end, because there were hours in those earlier years when Camelot felt small compared to the world they imagined together, and propriety dissolved beneath shared laughter until they were simply two young women lying beneath dripping apple trees, staring upward through leaves jeweled with rain, speaking of places they would never see and futures they would never possess.
But destiny, Morgana had learned, possessed all the mercy of winter.
She heard the familiar knock before the door opened.
It was always the same rhythm.
Three soft taps.
Gwen had always knocked that way, even after years of serving her, even after Morgana had told her a hundred different times that she needn't ask permission, that she was welcome whenever she wished, because Gwen insisted upon kindness in the smallest rituals, insisted upon respect even where affection had long since made such things unnecessary, and perhaps that was why Morgana's heart betrayed her every single time she heard those careful knocks, because they carried with them every ordinary day that had ever mattered more than great victories or lavish feasts or royal celebrations, every quiet evening spent mending torn sleeves beside the fire, every shared joke whispered through laughter that dissolved into silence simply because neither wished to disturb the peace that had settled between them.
"Come in."
Gwen entered carrying fresh candles, though she stopped after only two steps, her brows knitting together the moment she looked at Morgana, because she had always been cursed with noticing too much, with seeing sorrow before it was spoken, exhaustion before it became visible to anyone else, love before those who carried it had admitted its existence even to themselves.
"Are you all right, my lady?"
"You've asked me that three times already today."
"I worry."
"I know."
Such simple words.
Such unbearable ones.
Gwen crossed the room and began replacing the candles one by one, each small flame blooming into life beneath her careful hands until warm gold chased the shadows back toward the corners of the chamber, though it never quite reached Morgana herself, who remained standing beside the rain-darkened window like another piece of the night beyond the glass.
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
"You've barely slept."
"I'm tired."
Morgana found herself watching Gwen rather than the rain, watching the graceful certainty with which she moved through the chamber, folding discarded garments, straightening books left carelessly open, adjusting the blanket draped across the chair beside the hearth, performing each tiny task with a tenderness so instinctive it seemed less like duty than prayer, as though caring for the world around her was simply another way Gwen remembered how to exist.
How terribly unfair, Morgana thought, that goodness should look so ordinary.
No crown.
No miracle.
No celestial light.
Simply Gwen, humming softly beneath her breath while arranging flowers someone else would never notice had been rearranged.
There were moments when Morgana believed she could have endured every nightmare, every whispered prophecy, every accusation of witchcraft, every loneliness that stalked her waking hours, if only the world had possessed the decency to leave Gwen untouched by it all.
Instead, the world had done what it always did.
It had reached first for the gentlest thing.
"You've been crying."
Morgana almost laughed.
"No."
"You have."
"It was the rain."
"You are indoors."
"I know."
Gwen approached carefully, as though nearing an injured animal liable to bolt without warning, and stopped close enough that Morgana could smell lavender on her sleeves, close enough that warmth radiated between them despite the cold lodged beneath Morgana's skin, and for one heartbeat the distance separating them seemed absurd, nothing more than a handful of inches and years of silence stretched painfully thin across it.
"You don't have to bear everything alone."
If only that were true.
If only loneliness required solitude instead of love.
Because love was what made loneliness unbearable, Morgana thought, not its absence but its presence, the knowledge that someone stood within reach and still remained forever impossible to hold without consequence.
Slowly, almost against her own will, she turned.
Gwen's face was so familiar it hurt.
Not beautiful in the way court poets praised beauty, not polished into perfection like carved marble queens in ancient halls, but alive, endlessly alive, every expression arriving honestly before disappearing again, kindness softening her eyes, concern drawing faint lines between her brows, hope lingering stubbornly around her mouth even after the world had given her every reason to surrender it, and Morgana wondered with sudden, terrible clarity whether love had always been this quiet, this ordinary, this devastating, whether it had begun not in some single lightning strike but in a thousand unnoticed moments accumulating patiently until one day she had looked at Gwen and discovered there was no corner of herself untouched by her.
"I..." Morgana whispered.
"What?"
She almost said it.
The words rose like birds startled from long grass, beating desperately against the cage of her ribs.
I love you.
Three words.
Ridiculously small.
Far too small for years of devotion disguised as friendship, for every glance stolen across crowded halls, every excuse invented merely to keep Gwen nearby a little longer, every prayer uttered without gods because Gwen herself had become the closest thing Morgana knew to faith.
Instead she smiled.
"I wish," she said softly, "that things could stay like this."
Gwen smiled back, relieved.
"They can."
Morgana closed her eyes.
No.
They never could.
Just this once, Morgana thought, with an ache so vast it seemed capable of splitting the earth itself, let tomorrow lose its way.
Just this once, let tomorrow wander so far from Camelot that even destiny cannot remember the road back.
Just this once, let every prophecy fall silent beneath the endless music of rain upon stone.
Just this once, let Gwen's hand remain within hers without either of them searching for a reason worthy enough to explain it away, let warmth remain only warmth, tenderness remain only tenderness, and the terrible miracle of being understood require no apology, no courage greater than simply refusing to let go.
Just this once, let the storm rage for as many years as it pleases beyond the castle walls, let the heavens exhaust themselves until every cloud has forgotten why it wept.
Just this once, let Morgana be only a woman in love.
For @morgwenmicrofic "You Promised" + @merlinbingo S4 Magic is Legal
This little fic is a continueation of my fic "Will you Stay?" but you don't have to read it to read this.
Nimueh was dutifully working in her study reading over some old texts looking for a spell for her beloved's birthday celebrations, when she heard a creek of a door opening.
As she turned around she saw her little prince carefully closing the big door.
"Why hello there Arthur are you hiding from your nursemaid?" she asked with a smile stepping away from her book.
"No⊠Okay maybe, but I wanted to see you ma!" exclaimed the young prince scrambling over to Nimueh and clutching her skirts with his chubby little hands.
"Well then my darling I suppose it can be our little secret?" she said scooping the boy up into her arms.
Arthur let out a small giggle and curled into her embrace, glancing down at the book on the table.
"Are you doing magic? Can I help?" asked Arthur, pointing at the book.
"You're a little young to be doing magic dear," the sorceress chuckled.
"I'm not that young! I'm five summers old! I can handle anything," he stated with all the strength he could muster.
"Oh my mistake 5 summer old you're practically grown!" she teased tickling the boy, he let out a laugh as he attempted to push away from his mother.
"Maaaaa stop!" Arthur giggled.
"I thought grown ups didn't get ticklish my mistake," she snickered and Arthur pouted lightly.
"You still didn't tell me what you're doing," he mumbled annoyed.
"My apologies Arthur, I was working on a birthday spell for your mama," she explained.
"I was going to create a floral crown that would turn into metal once I gathered the flowers, which means that it would last forever the flowers preserved perfectly in time," she explained.
"Whoa! You can do that!"
"Yes, if I can find the right spell," she replied warmly.
"Oh, that's nice," he said snuggling in her arms as she looked down at her page picking up where she left off.
A few moments pass when Nimueh feels a tug on her sleeve, she looks back at her son with a warm smile.
"Ma?"
"Yes Arthur?"
"Will you always be my Ma?" the young boy asked nervously shying away from Nimueh.
"Why Arthur of course I will, whatever brought this on my darling?" she asked concerned.
"Someone said that because I didn't grown in your tummy like I did with Mama, that one day you'll leave and that you're not my true MaâŠ" sniffled the young prince.
She clutched her son tightly holding him close.
"Oh my dear Arthur you are just as much my son as you are your mama's you know I made a promise to your mama years ago right? A promise to stay by her and your side and to care for you both," she whispered gently.
"Yes⊠But what if you break your promise," he sniffed clearing a few tears from his eyes.
"Oh my boy, I do not break my promises. My promises as my bond, they are sacred, and I would never break a promise to you or mama, I'm afraid you're stuck with me young man for the rest of your life," she teased and Arthur grinned wildly.
"Good, cause I don't want another ma, or a da! I want you and mama and that's that," he said crossing his tiny arms.
"Alright then my prince your wish is my command," she said twirling around.
"Nim! Have you seen Arty he's run off again!" asked a worried Queen Ygraine as she pulled the door open rushing in her golden locks falling over her face in her hurry.
"He's right here," Nimueh said putting Arthur down on the ground so he could see his other mother.
"Oh my dear you can't keep running off like that, you worry me and poor nurse Arwyn," tutted the Queen walking over.
"I'm sorry MamaâŠ. But wait!" he said suddenly running over and throwing himself onto the Queen's skirts.
"You can't come over here Ma is working on your special gift!"
Ygraine swept their son up into her arms and smiled.
"Well then I suppose we better get on out of here, how about we go enjoy a nice walk in the garden hmm?" asked Ygraine.
"I think I'll join you then, after all I can finish this up later," Nimueh said spelling her book to close and return to it's place on the bookshelf.
Arthur squirmed to be put down, and grabbed one of each of his mother's hands pulling them forward into the hallway.
As Nimueh looked at her beautiful little family she couldn't help but be grateful for the promise she made her friend-turned love those few years ago.
It was in the end an easy and wonderful promise to keep.
only reminder (548 words) by HeraLysistrataEliaVisenya
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ygraine de Bois/Nimueh/Vivienne (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois/Vivienne (Merlin), Nimueh/Vivienne (Merlin), Gorlois/Vivienne (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois/Gorlois (Merlin), Morgause & Nimueh (Merlin), Morgause & Vivienne (Merlin), Morgana & Vivienne (Merlin)
Characters: Vivienne (Merlin), Morgause (Merlin), Nimueh (Merlin)
Additional Tags: Ygraine de Bois is Morgause's Parent (Merlin), Mentioned Ygraine de Bois (Merlin), Mentioned Gaius (Merlin), Mentioned Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Mentioned Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mentioned Morgana (Merlin)
Summary:
Vivienne goes to the Isle of the Blessed after Uther takes Gorlois and Morgana from her
for @morgwenmicrofic prompt: you promised
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Vivienne gazed down at the child, who looked up at her curiously. She still remembered the last time she had seen her, when she and Gaius had smuggled her out of Camelot before Uther could have her killed. And now Gaius stood by and did nothing while their people burned.
âAre you my mother?â little Morgause asked, sending a pang to her heart. Perhaps if things had turned out differently, if Uther hadnât destroyed their family when he took Ygraine and decided he would kill Morgause, she and Ygraine would have raised her with Gorlois. Perhaps then her sweet Morgana would be theirs, not a pawn used by Uther as he saw fit.
âI suppose I am,â Vivienne answered, smiling sadly. âIn a way. Iâm sorry I couldnât be here sooner.â
Morgause scrunched her face up. âNimueh said my mother was dead, that she died giving birth to my brother. You canât be her.â
âNo,â Vivienne said, âbut we would have raised you together if the Pendragons had never entered our lives. You look so much like her, you know.â
âI do?â Morgause asked.
Vivienne nodded. âYou have her hair.â Though Ygraine had always worn her hair up, Vivienne supposed things of that sort did not matter as much as that she was safe, here with Nimueh.
âMorgause,â a familiar voice called as footsteps rounded the corner, âyou shouldnât go wandering off. Iâve been looking for you everywhere.â She stopped as she noticed her. âVivienne?â she breathed.
âNimueh,â Vivienne greeted, lips twitching into a smile. âIt has been entirely too long. I would have come sooner, but I wanted to check on Morgana, see how sheâs settling in.â At Nimuehâs look of alarm, she rolled her eyes. âDonât worry, darling. Uther had no idea I was there, in the heart of his kingdom.â She smirked. âMorgana seems to have taken a toll on him.â
âWhy have you come?â Nimueh asked. âAnd why now?â
âI had to be there for Morgana,â she replied. âGorlois refused to let me take her. He wanted to be able to raise at least one of his children -â though Morgana wasnât born of him, he had always looked on her as his daughter â- and he didnât want us to leave Tintagel. He said it would make him a coward if he abandoned his ancestral lands because of the threat we faced from Uther.â She shook her head. âHe still believed he could mend ties with Uther, that he wouldnât leave him to die just because he was Ygraineâs husband first.â She sighed heavily. âUther refused to let me raise Morgana, after. This whole thing reeks of a conspiracy against our family. But Gorlois couldnât see it.â Had he died still believing Uther would send them reinforcements?
She glanced at Morgause, at the only remainder she had of Ygraine and Gorlois. âYou promised you would take care of our Morgause, all those years ago. I am here to do the same. One daughter has been taken from me; I refuse to lose both.â
Nimueh smiled and took her hand. âItâs good to see you, Vivienne. Welcome back to the Isle of the Blessed.â She looked at Morgause and smiled. âYour other mother will be staying with us from now on. Now come, we must eat.â
for @morgwenmicrofic | prompt : « you promised » | 380 words
Guinevere kneels on the polished oak floor, eyes fixed on the lifeless body lying before her.
"Morgana, you promised," she chokes out, her throat tight with barely-restrained sobs. "You promised you'd never hurt him. I promised you that one day I'd make Camelot safe for magic users."
"I guess I got tired of waiting," comes Morgana's response, but her triumph is whispered, her victory hollow.
"But Gwen, look," she continues, desperate, her hands cupping Guinevere's chin. "You can have all you ever wanted now. We can rule Camelot together. You can be my Queen."
"I am my own Queen," Guinevere says softly, her voice determined. "I would rather die than rule alongside you." She does not even think as her fingers clasp around the dagger hidden on the strap around her thigh, she has no time to process as the words come out her mouth unbidden.
"But I beg you, grant me one last kiss," she says, and suddenly Morgana's lips are on hers, the taste of ash and regret slipping into her mouth. Bitter tears run down her cheeks as she slides the dagger into Morgana's ribs, as she hears a surprised "oh" escape from those lips that once loved her so. She lowers Morgana's shaking body to the floor, their lips still touching, their arms locked in one last, desperate embrace.
"I used to love you," Guinevere whispers, the confession halting in the heavy silence of the throne room. "I used to think you'd make a better ruler than he ever would." Her words catch in her throat. "But I was wrong. He made himself better for me. He wanted to earn my love. You were arrogant, Morgana. What is given can also be taken away." The dagger slides out, and one last gasp echoes from Morgana's blood-stained lips.
Guinevere contemplates the two bodies pooling red on the throne room floor. Her husband, who she was too late to save. Her first love, who she never tried to save in the first place.
"The King is dead," Guinevere whispers to herself, reaching forward to gently close Arthur's eyelids. He could be sleeping, if not for the bloom of red across his stomach. She stands up, adjusting the weight of the crown atop her head.
@morgwenmicrofic | you promised | gwen/morgana | <370 words
~
âGod, he was so slimy. Did you see the way he was looking at me? Like I was a meal. Heâs practically old enough to be my Grandfather,â Morgana shudders, holding her hair up so that Gwen can undo her lacings.
Gwen giggles, pulling one of the strings so that it tightens, instead of loosening. âSorry,â she mumbles, and her thumb brushes warm over the skin she has exposed. Her breath hitches at the contact.
âAhh, but you know itâs what Uther wants,âMorgana continues, unaware. âMe, married off to some horrible old friend of his, somebody elseâs problem.â
âI would never let that happen,â Gwen says, fervently.
âI believe you, Gwen, but I donât know how you could stop it.â
âIâd find a way,â she says, mouth set determinedly. âOr Iâd go with you.â
âYou would?â Morgana asks, turning to face her. She looks surprised, her still painted lips parted, slightly.
Gwenâs hands twist, discomfited. âOf course I would. Youâreâ youâre myâ I couldnât ask for a better mistress.â
âGwen,â Morgana says kindly, her green eyes shining, âI hope that is not all I am to you. Not after all this time.â
âOf course not. Only Iâ I would never want to speak out of turn, or offend you. Never.â
âYou could never. Youâre my friend, Gwen. My best friend. I hope that you feel the same way.â
âI do.â
Morgana smiles, genial. âSo when I am married off and sent to some distant place, I will bring you with me. I would miss you too much if I did not.â
âThat wonât be for a long time,â Gwen reminds her.
âIt better not be,â Morgana says, resolute. She turns, moving her hair out of the way again so Gwen can continue her work, âbecause you promised me that you would help me embarrass Arthur, and I donât think heâs been sufficiently flummoxed yet. I wouldnât want to leave Camelot if he still had his ego. Think of all the people who would suffer.â
âMm,â Gwen says, distracted by the expanse of skin, the way the deep green silk looks, open at Morganaâs waist. âWe canât have that.â
In which Sefa and Freya are sapphic (78 words) by HeraLysistrataEliaVisenya
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Freya/Sefa (Merlin)
Characters: Sefa (Merlin), Freya (Merlin)
Additional Tags: Promises
Summary:
Sefa keeps a promise
for @morgwenmicrofic prompt: you promised
âIâm sorry, I have to go,â Sefa had said to the woman who had risen from the lake. âMy father will be worried about where I am. Iâll come back.â
âYou promise?â she had asked.
Sefa had nodded, to which the girl had smiled. âMy name is Freya. I look forward to our next meeting, Sefa.â
This time Freya rose from her lake almost as soon as Sefa had arrived. âYou promised,â she said.
âYou daft, wonderful girl!â Freya playfully admonishes Elena, launching herself out the lake and into her waiting arms.
Water droplets cascade over both of them, as well as a laughing Sophia, who is quickly dragged into the joyful, damp embrace.
But when Freya pulls away, her smile is faltering.
âWhat are you doing back here? Your curse is broken! You promised youâd go and enjoy your life!â
She sits down on the stony shore and stretches out her legs, letting the water lap at her feet. She can already feel the magic calling her back in.
âNow whoâs being daft?â Sophia asks as she unties her cloak and kicks off her shoes.
Freya rolls her eyes.
âIâm serious. The lake already has me tetheredâthereâs no sense in you two being held back by itâby meâas well.â
âHeld back?â Elena sinks down next to her and kisses her cool cheek, âI can think of no greater pleasure than returning to youâthis is me keeping the promise I made.â
She squeezes Freyaâs hand.
âNow, letâs get you back in the water before the separation starts to hurt.â
âI can last a bit longer.â
âAre you sure?â Elena asks, very pointedly untying the laces on her dress. Freya considers for all of half a second.
âWhat a good idea, thank you for being so considerate.â
The crowd only held their breath in shocked silence for a second, before erupting in cheers and applause for the mystery knight who had bested their king.
Arthur shook hands with his opponent, and lead them to the podium where Guinevere was waiting.
âYour champion, my lady,â he said, kissing her hand and then stepping graciously aside.
The knight bowed, then reached up and removed their helmet; bright blonde hair tumbled down around the knightâs shoulders, framing a pretty face, flushed pink with the recent exertion.
Guinevere caught her breath, but kept her composure.
âWhat a stunning victory,â she said, glancing briefly at Arthurâhe was unsettled, but had schooled his features into stoicism.
âThank you, your majestyâyour husband fought well.â
âYes.â
For a long moment Guinevere simply stared at the woman.
âI do believe you promised a kiss for the victor,â the knight said quietly, nodding subtly to the waiting crowd.
âOh, yes, of course! My apologies,â Guinevere stammered, before leaning over the barrier and kissing the woman quickly on the cheek.
The knight bowed once more to the king and queen as the crowd resumed their cheering, then turned and left the stadium, an impish grin on her face.
Something's off. Morgana knows it, can feel it sparking in the air between them, almost likeâ but no, it couldn't be, there's magic all over this island, that's all it is, and it's not until after she's taken a sip of her wine that she realizes.
Morgause bares her teeth.Â
âHow dare you.â It's all Morgana can do to keep the shaking out of her voice as she glares across the table through the candlelight, the flickering candlelight casting flickering shadows across her sister's face. âHow dare you. Do you still not trust me, after everything? After I nearly died for you andâ and your scheme?â
Apparently unmoved, Morgause simply stares her down. âDo I trust you? You tell me. Are you loyal to me?â
âYes,â Morgana spits out. âThough I can't fathom why, when you're behaving like such a cunt.â
In a flash Morgana is on her feet, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste, knocking over her goblet; the tainted wine splashes across the table, soaking the nice white tablecloth she had laundered just that morning. By magic, of course, but she had picked the lavender by hand, scattering it into the wash water with their linens, thinking of Morgause who was due back from Ascetir that evening. âYou're unbelievable. I really don't believe you.â
Morgause pulls a frown and rises to her feet as well, trailing her fingers over the deep red stain on the tablecloth. âDear me,â she murmurs. âSo upset.â She's drawn closer, coming around the side of the table, and turns Morgana's face to her with just the graze of a finger on her cheek. Morgana can feel the humid warmth of her breath on her own lips, but she wonât be distracted. Not now. She employs her own distraction: a feather-light fingertip brushes along Morgauseâs collarbone, drags down, lower and lower, between her breasts.
âYou drink it,â she breathes against Morgauseâs jaw. âProve to me that I can trust you too.â
Sheâs not sure whether or not sheâs surprised that Morgause does: pulls back from the touch to stare at Morgana with such intensity that Morgana shivers, tips just a drop of potion onto her finger and brings it to her own lips, darting out just the very tip of her tongue to taste it, never taking her eyes off Morganaâsâ they flash red for the briefest moment before melting back to brown.
Morgana wants to ask about strategy, really she does: something about armies, routes and maps, or the cup of life; but what comes out of her mouth instead, painfully low and earnest, is, âAre you fucking Cenred?â
For a moment, Morgause looks almost hurt. Then itâs gone, swallowed back up by her inscrutable mask.
âYes.â
Itâs not as if the response is unexpected. Still, the admission wrenches a sound out of Morgana, a strangled sob, wild. Would that she could leash the feral thing and drag it back inside her. Clamp it fast inside her mouth, so it can never bite anyone again, least of all Morgause, least of all Morgana.
âYou knew this.â The look on Morgauseâs face is almost like pity. âHeâs nothing. It means nothing. You know this.â
âWell, of course not,â snipes Morgana. She knows itâs childish, but canât bring herself to care just now. Sheâs entitled to it, she thinks. âObviously. I donât know why I would have expected otherwise. Youâre not the type for a summer wedding and, and, and⊠babies. Or whatever,â she finishes lamely, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. As though she can so easily dismiss the lump in her throat, the one that tastes of lavender buds.
But the air shifts, a shade cooler, suddenly, and a shadow passes over Morgauseâs eyes. No, not a shadow, Morgana realizes with a start, but a flash of red. Morgause grimaces, presses her lips together. Grinds out her next words: âI did. Have one. Once.â
âWhat?!â Morgana splutters.
âRelax,â says Morgause, although itâs through her teeth, and sheâs clearly struggling to keep her own composure. âIt was a long time ago.â After a pause, she grits out, âYou shouldnât have given me a truth potion if you didnât want the truth.â
The lump in Morganaâs throat is gone, completely dissolved by her boiling rage. âHowâ You! I do want the truth! And it was your bloody truth potion!â A jolt startles her; itâs her own hand, smacking the table. âWere you just never going to tell me that Iâve aâ aââ
âA nephew,â Morgause supplies, apparently having regained her own calm. âIt was, oh, fourteen or fifteen years ago, now. His father was a druid, since you seem so keen to know. Iâm not sure who, exactly. I was sent to give a blessing at the Lughnasadh festival, you know how it is. Things got a bit,â she smirks, âheated.â Her face turns thoughtful, and she adds after a moment, âNimueh was furious with me.â
Morgana sags back to sitting. The lump is back, too. âWhat happened?â she whispers, wondering if she ought to reach for Morgauseâs hand. âDid heâ oh gods, was it Utherâ?â
But Morgause looks only faintly annoyed. âWhat? No, of course not. He's alive. I left him with the druids, obviously. I wasn't about to let Nimueh deliver me of a child. She didn't do very well the last time.â She makes a face, half wolfish smile, half grimace. âI went to a druid camp, a different one. It was Beltane, and even their healer was falling over with drink by the end of the night. I left before morning.â
Morgana picks at fraying lace, the edge of the ruined tablecloth. âWhatâs his name?â
âI don't know,â says Morgause in a hard, slow voice, âwhat they named him.â Her chin lifts. The shadows play dangerously across her face. âWhat? Did you think I was going to call him after Gorlois?â
âI donât know what I thought,â says Morgana, honestlyâ she canât be otherwise, can she? She canât seem to help her next question, either. She tells herself that sheâs not being cruel on purpose, that itâs just the potion, loosening her tongue. âHow do you know heâs alive, then? For all you know, he could be dead.â
âI know.â Morgause looks away. âThereâsâ a bond between us. I would feel it. If he died.â
Morgana snuffs out the candles. Above her, Morgauseâs skin is faintly grey, just barely luminous under the half-moon. She rises to her feet to stand behind Morgause, settles her hands on her waist, hooks her chin over one shoulder, and her eyes fall upon the stained tablecloth, the dark wine cooling and setting in. Thereâs an idea floating just at the edge of her thoughts: a bond between us. The impression of a blue cloak, a blue gaze, too intense for one so young.
âPromise meââ The words catch in Morganaâs throat. âPromise you wonâtâ with Cenred. I donât want you to.â
Morgause takes Morganaâs arms to wrap them around her own waist, and Morgana feels that sheâs being posed, like a doll.Â
âAsk me tomorrow,â she whispers. âIâll promise you then.â
for @morgwenmicrofic prompt: just this time | 358 words | ao3
I never could have imagined it possible to see such apathy on your face as you looked at me. That I would have to know such an inconcievable pain so particularly wounding; we are become strangers.
What changed? What did we lose? Tell me what went wrong, Morgana, tell me! I cannot bear this silence!
But do you even know? With your angered words that give way to guilt, and the smiles that you force, sometimes I'm not convinced. I see the same ache on your face that I feel in myself - do you even know?
When I see that blank face looking back at me, oh, I wonder. Do you know who is standing before you? Do you remember that she loves you? Do you, in the empty darkness, when the nightmares have exhausted themselves and the rage lingers heavy on your heart, remember that I was with you? Do you know us still?
I wonder that I'm the only one who holds in my heart the memory of your kind smiles to everyone you passed, and the brightness of our laughter, and the girl who picked for you your favourite flowers and held you through your fears.
I wonder if you know she would hold you again, if you needed it.
I would hold you again. Whenever you asked.
If only you would ask.
And now I cannot shake the fear that something within you has changed, something I can no longer understand, something that perhaps I never did. There is a wound inside you that I do not know and cannot soothe.
Well, someday, far away from here, from your wretched prison, I hope someone else can bring a lightness out of you that I never saw. I hope they come to know your once bright eyes and unheavy heart. And that you might finally feel understanding. Then, my darling, you will be happy, and free.
I won't stop you as you leave.
But won't you say you love me, just one last time, just like you used to? Before it's all over, before it's all gone.
