{fic} To Follow In Destruction's Path (R)
Title: To Follow In Destruction's Path
Author: faynia
Character: Morgana
Warnings: Squintable Spoilers for Series 3, masturbation
Rating: R
Word Count: ~800
Summary: Morgana has no need to do anything but let destiny unfold before her.
Author's Note: Written for ♥ Multifandom Sex is Not the Enemy!Fest ♥.
Based on this picture.
The night was still beyond the window. Calm settled over the city like a tucked in blanket under the new curfew. Men in armor patrolled the walls of the city in silence, hands gripping sword hilts and daggers, pikes and for all of them rage in the face of unforeseen danger.
War had been coming. It was long overdue and while the citizens of Camelot slept in innocent obliviousness. Morgana knew none within the barricades of the castle walls did. She leaned back into her pillows and covers, satisfied. Her dressing gown lay over the chair by her vanity where Guinevere had seen fit to leave it and Morgana sprawled along her bed naked.
Cendred had been easy to manipulate and easier to goad into hostility against Camelot's leviathan. She'd never seen a man bend so easily to the whims of any woman as Morgause grew bolder in her council. Cendred had not stood a chance against Morgause's whispered deceits. Uther would fall even faster.
Morgana imagined the look on Arthur's face when he woke to find himself being sent off to battle, his father weak and frightened for his life and Morgana at the center of it all, playing the part of the defenseless bystander. His face would contort through rage and fear and settle, settle firmly and well into determination, a look Morgana knew well. His face would become hard lines and thoughtful frowns, his eyes would roam the room, seeking and finding solace in no one's face. He would do what his father commanded he do.
That was Arthur. He lived up to so many expectations and fell short of far more.
She slid her hand over the inverted curve of her stomach, fingers finding places to press and pinch that set her heart in motion.
But he would gain counsel from others, Gwen and Merlin. They'd both become his highness' shadows, Gwen in Morgana's absence, Merlin since a date Morgana had lost, each with their own words of encouragement or disappointment. It was enough to make anyone ill. Arthur would brush them both aside and ignore their outrage and frustration. He'd push away Merlin's grasping hands and ignore Gwen's searching glances as he pieced on his armor without aid.
They wouldn't be deterred. Morgana splayed her legs until both her heels slid from the mattress. Exposed she became invincible.
Gwen would grasp Arthur's hand and Merlin would clutch his shoulders and together they'd speak all the words they'd been bottling in the silence of Arthur preparing himself to lead a weakened army into battle. Gwen's voice would be soft and firm against Merlin's impassioned rant that had made once made sense and would end with gentle begging for Arthur not to leave him there. That he is needed.
Her fingers spread her folds and slid inside her body slickly, hips arching as she closed her eyes.
Uther would be convulsing in his bed at this late hour, unaware of what she had done and what she was going to do. His mind was screaming with terrors half told and he saw fire and hail, lightning and Arthur burning, burning, burning and he was too weak to save him. Arthur was out on patrol and knew not what was coming for him in the early morning hours. Merlin was his loyal shadow and Gwen.
Morgana fisted the pillow beneath her head as she thought of her maidservant sitting in her cold house alone with only candlelight to keep her company as she sobs and can't understand why. Her lips twist in a mockery of a smile as she thinks on the ways she might have been there had Guinevere not spurned her first, had Merlin never done the unthinkable, had Uther tried to see that his precious control had been slipping from the beginning.
It was strange to think that Arthur, infuriatingly upright, noble and slow Arthur, was the innocent one and yet he would be the first one to die should he not heed Merlin's frantic warnings like the fool he was.
When she groaned it swelled from her stomach and tore from her throat and she twisted her fingers, brushing her thumb against her clitoris until she was seeing stars in the heavens and not the twisting vines that would one day grow over Uther's tomb, centuries from now until the rock was rubble and no one thought of the tyrant king, but of his bright and beautiful son who burned brighter than the fires that one day would consume him.
She shattered in an explosion of rushing blood and gasped breaths, squirming and panting and unable to still. On her tongue she tasted copper and steel and knew what the future lay for them all and she laughed.
Author: faynia
Character: Morgana
Warnings: Squintable Spoilers for Series 3, masturbation
Rating: R
Word Count: ~800
Summary: Morgana has no need to do anything but let destiny unfold before her.
Author's Note: Written for ♥ Multifandom Sex is Not the Enemy!Fest ♥.
Based on this picture.
The night was still beyond the window. Calm settled over the city like a tucked in blanket under the new curfew. Men in armor patrolled the walls of the city in silence, hands gripping sword hilts and daggers, pikes and for all of them rage in the face of unforeseen danger.
War had been coming. It was long overdue and while the citizens of Camelot slept in innocent obliviousness. Morgana knew none within the barricades of the castle walls did. She leaned back into her pillows and covers, satisfied. Her dressing gown lay over the chair by her vanity where Guinevere had seen fit to leave it and Morgana sprawled along her bed naked.
Cendred had been easy to manipulate and easier to goad into hostility against Camelot's leviathan. She'd never seen a man bend so easily to the whims of any woman as Morgause grew bolder in her council. Cendred had not stood a chance against Morgause's whispered deceits. Uther would fall even faster.
Morgana imagined the look on Arthur's face when he woke to find himself being sent off to battle, his father weak and frightened for his life and Morgana at the center of it all, playing the part of the defenseless bystander. His face would contort through rage and fear and settle, settle firmly and well into determination, a look Morgana knew well. His face would become hard lines and thoughtful frowns, his eyes would roam the room, seeking and finding solace in no one's face. He would do what his father commanded he do.
That was Arthur. He lived up to so many expectations and fell short of far more.
She slid her hand over the inverted curve of her stomach, fingers finding places to press and pinch that set her heart in motion.
But he would gain counsel from others, Gwen and Merlin. They'd both become his highness' shadows, Gwen in Morgana's absence, Merlin since a date Morgana had lost, each with their own words of encouragement or disappointment. It was enough to make anyone ill. Arthur would brush them both aside and ignore their outrage and frustration. He'd push away Merlin's grasping hands and ignore Gwen's searching glances as he pieced on his armor without aid.
They wouldn't be deterred. Morgana splayed her legs until both her heels slid from the mattress. Exposed she became invincible.
Gwen would grasp Arthur's hand and Merlin would clutch his shoulders and together they'd speak all the words they'd been bottling in the silence of Arthur preparing himself to lead a weakened army into battle. Gwen's voice would be soft and firm against Merlin's impassioned rant that had made once made sense and would end with gentle begging for Arthur not to leave him there. That he is needed.
Her fingers spread her folds and slid inside her body slickly, hips arching as she closed her eyes.
Uther would be convulsing in his bed at this late hour, unaware of what she had done and what she was going to do. His mind was screaming with terrors half told and he saw fire and hail, lightning and Arthur burning, burning, burning and he was too weak to save him. Arthur was out on patrol and knew not what was coming for him in the early morning hours. Merlin was his loyal shadow and Gwen.
Morgana fisted the pillow beneath her head as she thought of her maidservant sitting in her cold house alone with only candlelight to keep her company as she sobs and can't understand why. Her lips twist in a mockery of a smile as she thinks on the ways she might have been there had Guinevere not spurned her first, had Merlin never done the unthinkable, had Uther tried to see that his precious control had been slipping from the beginning.
It was strange to think that Arthur, infuriatingly upright, noble and slow Arthur, was the innocent one and yet he would be the first one to die should he not heed Merlin's frantic warnings like the fool he was.
When she groaned it swelled from her stomach and tore from her throat and she twisted her fingers, brushing her thumb against her clitoris until she was seeing stars in the heavens and not the twisting vines that would one day grow over Uther's tomb, centuries from now until the rock was rubble and no one thought of the tyrant king, but of his bright and beautiful son who burned brighter than the fires that one day would consume him.
She shattered in an explosion of rushing blood and gasped breaths, squirming and panting and unable to still. On her tongue she tasted copper and steel and knew what the future lay for them all and she laughed.