fic - Dreams of the Foregone - Merlin
Dec. 28th, 2008 11:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiki_miserychicTitle: Dreams of the Foregone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiki_miserychic
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Rating: Vaguely explicit
Characters/Pairings: Morgana, Morgana/Uther
Timeline: anytime during season one
Summary: short Morgana drabble focusing on her childhood and relationship with Uther.
When Morgana thinks of her mother, she remembers the small moments in time. She can smell the lightness of jasmine floating on the air. She can hear her mother's hushed voice speaking seemingly meaningless phrases in Latin. She can feel a brush going through her hair a hundred times, even while her mother had braided her own longer hair.
She has pleasant memories from her childhood, more than most. When she closes her eyes and presses the palms of her hands deep into them, she can see the gleam of her father's sword slicing through the air in victory. If she holds herself still enough, she can feel the weight of the wooden practice sword that her father had placed in her thin hands on a chilly afternoon. When she opens her eyes, she is no longer a child with parents. She is the ward of the king now.
Morgana wants to remember her father as the kind and brave man that the knights toast, but she has harsh memories of him as well. She used to hide between the wall and the large chest of drawers in her mother's chamber. Her father would tightly hold her mother's arm, his face buried in her hair, grinding out warnings about silly things like books and plants that her mother had left out. Other times she would see her father glare sternly at her mother for smiling, showing her teeth.
It was many years later when she sees the things in her childhood for what they really were.
Now, with every touch from Uther's hand on her shoulder, Morgana can feel them drawing closer to their inevitable conclusion. She has known how they would end since she had freshly turned eleven years of age. He had kissed her forehead, holding her jaw in his bare hands.
When he pulled away he had said he knew he was not meant to be a replacement for her father, but that he would very much like to be something for her. Morgana stayed silent, not out of a childish notion, but because she could see a glimpse of what laid before her.
Sometimes she can even see those things on nights when she has been kept awake by her other dreams. The images are nearly still in her mind, but they vibrate through her as thought she were experiencing them. It's the heavy scent of freshly polished armor and slow burning candles filling her head. Or the ticklish feeling of fingertips on her shoulder blades in the cold of morning. Or it's the burn of a growing beard raking across the soft skin of her inner thigh. Once she heard a strangled cry of her name drawn out long and loud in Uther's voice.
She wants to be sick at the thought, but she never feels herself flinch. She looks into Uther's weathered face and wishes that she longed to see something else reflected there besides love and lust. The two are so tangled up inside her that she cannot separate them in the dark of her chambers.
She knows he will come to her one of these nights. She knows not when, but she knows how she will pretend to be sleep when he
The door will be almost closed when she will call out his name, calm and sure. For a moment she will think he has already retreated down the hall, but the door will gradually open again. Uther will stand there and look at her with the most open expression of confusion he has worn since before the crown had been firmly placed on his head. It's Morgana who will hold her hand out.
She knows this. She has seen it. She waits.
Author:
kiki_miserychicFandom: Merlin BBC
Rating: Vaguely explicit
Characters/Pairings: Morgana, Morgana/Uther
Timeline: anytime during season one
Summary: short Morgana drabble focusing on her childhood and relationship with Uther.
When Morgana thinks of her mother, she remembers the small moments in time. She can smell the lightness of jasmine floating on the air. She can hear her mother's hushed voice speaking seemingly meaningless phrases in Latin. She can feel a brush going through her hair a hundred times, even while her mother had braided her own longer hair.
She has pleasant memories from her childhood, more than most. When she closes her eyes and presses the palms of her hands deep into them, she can see the gleam of her father's sword slicing through the air in victory. If she holds herself still enough, she can feel the weight of the wooden practice sword that her father had placed in her thin hands on a chilly afternoon. When she opens her eyes, she is no longer a child with parents. She is the ward of the king now.
Morgana wants to remember her father as the kind and brave man that the knights toast, but she has harsh memories of him as well. She used to hide between the wall and the large chest of drawers in her mother's chamber. Her father would tightly hold her mother's arm, his face buried in her hair, grinding out warnings about silly things like books and plants that her mother had left out. Other times she would see her father glare sternly at her mother for smiling, showing her teeth.
It was many years later when she sees the things in her childhood for what they really were.
Now, with every touch from Uther's hand on her shoulder, Morgana can feel them drawing closer to their inevitable conclusion. She has known how they would end since she had freshly turned eleven years of age. He had kissed her forehead, holding her jaw in his bare hands.
When he pulled away he had said he knew he was not meant to be a replacement for her father, but that he would very much like to be something for her. Morgana stayed silent, not out of a childish notion, but because she could see a glimpse of what laid before her.
Sometimes she can even see those things on nights when she has been kept awake by her other dreams. The images are nearly still in her mind, but they vibrate through her as thought she were experiencing them. It's the heavy scent of freshly polished armor and slow burning candles filling her head. Or the ticklish feeling of fingertips on her shoulder blades in the cold of morning. Or it's the burn of a growing beard raking across the soft skin of her inner thigh. Once she heard a strangled cry of her name drawn out long and loud in Uther's voice.
She wants to be sick at the thought, but she never feels herself flinch. She looks into Uther's weathered face and wishes that she longed to see something else reflected there besides love and lust. The two are so tangled up inside her that she cannot separate them in the dark of her chambers.
She knows he will come to her one of these nights. She knows not when, but she knows how she will pretend to be sleep when he
The door will be almost closed when she will call out his name, calm and sure. For a moment she will think he has already retreated down the hall, but the door will gradually open again. Uther will stand there and look at her with the most open expression of confusion he has worn since before the crown had been firmly placed on his head. It's Morgana who will hold her hand out.
She knows this. She has seen it. She waits.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-30 03:39 am (UTC)I especially love the inevitability you seem to bring out in her, because that's the core of everything about her. Her visions of Uther, it's all so damning and great. I adore it.
Have you thought about x-posting it anywhere? I'd suggest
no subject
Date: 2008-12-30 04:55 pm (UTC)Thanks. I'll have to whore it around some places.
I'll change those sentences, they sound better your way.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-30 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 04:02 pm (UTC)i think it's interesting that het is slowly becoming marginalized. Perhaps that's more because of where I "hang out" online.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 04:28 pm (UTC)(Also I apparently can't spell from my previous comment. Obv I meant to say SAY.)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 04:37 pm (UTC)I never spell properly on the internet. There's no rule that says we have to. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-31 04:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-02 12:44 am (UTC)