Work Text:
O, all the money e'er I had,
I spent it in good company.
There had been nights of laughter, that rang out through the forest or across the courtyard. Nights of Ale and Mead and Cider and song. Nights when Morgana thought that perhaps she had always had a home in this place that sometimes had left her heart cold one too many times. When she had been with a King and a Prince who in turns she had thought loved her more than life, and then hated her more than the most loathed enemy.
They would never be her father, slain in Uther’s service, and they would never be her mother, taken by the Great One the winter of Morgana’s fifth year. But they belonged to her in their strange way, and she to them. And they were happy together, mostly.
And then there was Gwen, her beautiful, selfless maid. Her best memories of Camelot were of them tucked in a blanket together by the hearth when she was fourteen and Gwen scant more than fifteen. The soft, warm breath of her maid on her cheek as she turned to insist that this really wasn’t proper. The utter joy Morgana felt as, just the same, Gwen’s arms had wrapped around her and her head full or beautiful curls had found itself a place to rest on Morgana’s shoulder as they cuddled further under the rough woollen blanket.
This is what it must have been to have had a real family.
And all the harm that ever I've done,
alas it was to none but me.
Morgana wasn’t proud of all the things she had done. How many times had she come but a breath away from killing Uther? Not for the greater good, as she had told herself each and every time.
It was always for her father. Her father who had loved him more than words, more than life.
More than the will to live on for her. To stay home with the little girl with the green-grey eyes that had always known too much, loved too much, been too easily been broken apart like a vase shattered upon castle stone.
It had nothing to do with the old King who let her indulge and practice with his beautiful son, who pretended he didn’t hear her at night dragging Arthur into the emptied great hall with the soft clatter of armour and swords and shields even when he had banned her from participating any longer when she was thirteen. Uther just gave her good excuse to take it out on him, the only father figure she had known since she was ten years of age.
Uther was a good target, he had become unjust. He had murdered so many for the guilt he felt over his wife’s death, and this, Morgana had reminded herself, was why it was his fault.
Not because he had gotten her father killed.
But when the King was dead, Morgana had only felt like she had killed herself. The look on Arthur’s face was nothing to be proud of.
Arthur didn’t speak to her, look at her for years. She had killed her best friend with the old King. What she had done to Arthur was nothing compared to what she had become.
And all I've done for want of wit
to mem'ry now I can't recall;
At night, when Morgana slept in the forest that seemed half a world from the castle that had so long been her home, she couldn’t remember what it was like to hear the laughter of Arthur as he picked on his ever loyal friend, Merlin. She could scarcely remember the last time she had evoked that perfect smile on his lips. Nor could she remember the girlish giggles of Gwen as she told her the wicked things one of the visiting ladies had told her. Or whispered in the dark about the foreign Prince who had brushed his lips over her throat so softly like she was some precious thing in the garden.
The shocked gasp that her friend had made as she dreamily described it in words more befitting a poet before declaring she had promptly introduced his toes to the rather sharp point of her new boots.
If she had remembered, she hadn’t let herself think about it. She couldn’t go back, these people weren’t for her to have.
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all.
Morgana did remember the night she slipped out the city gates for what she thought was the last time. Arthur had announced her marriage to Urien, who though not unkind… she would not be his Queen.
Arthur had lead a toast in her honour, and ever the dutiful Lady she had smiled and let Urien kiss her hand and accepted, with a sigh, Gwen’s nervous congratulations toward the end of the feast as she had watched over Arthur and her would-be husband sorting out when she was to be taken away.
She pressed a kiss to Gwen's cheek and gave her the goblet of mead that had grown too heavy. It wasn’t too hard to slip out, Gwen thought she was departing for her chambers and had been convinced to stay and enjoy, Arthur, Morgana had explained, certainly never minded Gwen staying even in absence of her mistress.
The Night was clear, the stars in the heavens and the moon hanging high lit her way past half asleep guards and less than observant watch dogs.
And then she was gone. No one could find the missing bride.
O, all the comrades e'er I had,
They're sorry for my going away.
For a long time she didn’t let anyone find her. Not Merlin, not Morgause, certainly not Arthur or Urien. She let them think she had been taken. It would not be the first time it had happened, even if now her sister, at least, and Merlin, would know it was not some brutish gang that had taken her.
She had too much magic for that. And she would never go willingly to be held ransom or Goddess only knew what worse.
But she went, deep into the forests, into Faerie… into anywhere she could be away from them calling her. Where she didn’t dream of Gwen insisting time and time again that she be found. Where she couldn’t hear Arthur’s sigh and eventual agreement… where Morgause trying to reach her mind was muffled and Merlin’s attempts all but blocked out.
They didn’t need her. They needed someone who could make Arthur laugh like she once had, someone who could not make Gwen worry and fret. And inspite of what her sister had told her about her place in the world, and that what she had done over the years was right… This was where Morgana needed to be. In the strange place with the people of her ancestors. This place were they could teach her what she needed to be, as they had done to many important pieces of the puzzle that was the world since time immemorial.
But she could feel the sadness of her friends, of those she loved. Even when she hid from their grasp.
And all the sweethearts e'er I had,
They'd wished me one more day to stay.
There was a time when Morgana would have dreaded, perhaps even feared walking back between the gates of Camelot. She no longer felt those things, but by the time she had come… the cracks were showing. Arthur, no longer hurting had pulled her to him. Held her. Kissed her. Told her she must promise never to leave again and then Gwen, beside him had done the same, uncaring that her husband had kissed a woman who had long since abandoned them.
Uncaring that the entire court saw her do the same.
Gwen looked warn, threads of silver beginning to weave their way into her curls which still bounced back when she pulled it straight, like it had all those years ago in their youth.
Morgana looked untouched by the cruel hand of age. Gwen marvelled in it. How strange it was, and perhaps how fitting, given that the people had taken to calling her no The Lady Morgana, nor any longer The Witch Morgana, but Morgana of the Faeries. And there she was, young and beautiful and perfect and alive…
But Morgana couldn’t stay long. A week, and only that. And she locked herself away with Arthur and Gwen and Merlin and only when the court became concerned did any of them show their faces outside of the room to prove that they were alive and present. She told them all she could, warned them of what was to come. Taught Merlin some magic she had learnt that he could never learn from books. Made sure Arthur was up to par… and they all crawled together into the too small bed when they at last became exhausted.
Gwen’s breath brushing over her breast from where she had rested her head on Morgana’s shoulder, familiar and warm. Arthur’s arms, stronger than she remembered, wrapping around her. Making sure that this time she couldn’t slip out of reach of mortal man, and distantly, from the other side of Gwen, the soft warmth that answered her own. The golden magic that Merlin blanketed her with as she fell asleep. Safer, more content than she could ever remember being.
But she had to leave, and she did. One morning as the sun rose over the eastern tower and the other slept deeply. Oblivious.
But since it falls unto my lot,
That I should rise and you should not,
I gently rise and softly call,
Goodnight and joy be with you all.
The last day arrived quietly, like a poison snake creeping up on a sleeping child.
It was too soon, and too late, and there was no more for Morgana to do. She could not stay the hand of fate, and Mordred was no longer friend to her. He had bored of using her so many years ago. Bored of listening to her.
It was not for her to fight in this battle, though she had fought it a thousand times in her mind. In her sleep. She had done the best she could do for those she loved. At least, it was not for her to raise sword nor shield here… but.
The sound of the earth as the Saxons with Mordred, and Arthur and his men marched on each other was barely there. As if the earth did not want to breathe, for she did not want to receive the souls of the men who stood upon her, in a battle to which no winner was to be had.
Mordred’s voice, so long grown now echoed in her mind. Say goodbye to your men, Morgana. They will die slowly for what they have done to us.
If she was younger, she might have replied… but Mordred was past being reminded the purges were Uther’s fault, not the fault of a King who had then been but a babe. And what Merlin had done… well. The dragon was at fault at least in equal measure to Merlin’s responsibility for the idiocy of trying to kill a child. It no longer matted who was right and who was wrong.
Morgana tried to reach out, to brush her magic against Arthur and Merlin, standing there in the cold dawn. But the gesture was hollow. She knew no way out of this. She had taught them what she could, but each dream, no matter what strategy changed, still ended with them gone.
The battle was loud and harsh and far more bloody than she could have foreseen. She watched them carefully, praying for a moments chance to save them from the killing blow.
But Morgana was not there was saviour, not there to step between the blade and those she had loved since before she knew who she could be. Who she was by birth. Far more than the Duchess or would be Queen. When it was over, when Arthur’s sword spilt Mordred’s innards and Mordred cut Arthur’s heart in two, it was only then she could move, could run down to the field and cradle Arthur in her arms as Merlin ran from somewhere down the battleground where Arthur had undoubtedly sent him to assist some fighter less than himself… Only then had she let the horror of a life time of dreams finally come true show on her face. Arthur could not rise, and she could not heal him even as he gasped and bleed under her fingers and magic. Not even when Merlin reached out with his own magic and tried.
There was no fixing it, and Morgana had known that from the start.
‘What’ve we done to you, Arthur?’ she barely whispered as she kissed his cheek, and then his smiling lips as he looked up at them through glassy, tired eyes.
‘Take me… take me home, Morgana. Let me rest. Take me to my mother…’ and they took him. Together in a whirl of golden warmth. Merlin took him from her and lay him on the stone bed that had been waiting for him longer than they had ever known. And there he slept. And Merlin slept, and Gwen, too, taken far from the savage Saxons which were ripping what little remained of the broken Kingdom from it’s cities and towns.
They all slept, too tired and wounded. And she watched over them. Waited with them until she could wake them from their slumber.