Required Redecoration in Attractive Blues
One Japanese essay complete.
One fetching dress bought.
One pair of new boots acquired.
Several stickmen rendered in various christmas cards.
And, one completely beautiful and girlslashy episode of Merlin written an appropriately angsty tag for:
Title: In Places Not Betrayed
Words: 1,545
Rating: Err... suitable for 15+ I should think
Summary: For cienna. Morgana/Gwen. Post episode 12. Morgana bathes and Gwen worries.
In Places Not Betrayed
The moon was high and the candles burnt low by the time Morgana could bring herself to face Gwen.
Gwen, who hadn't left even though Morgana had told her a hundred times she could go home, and who had pottered around the room for however long Morgana had been in the bath, sorting and moving things and cleaning things that Morgana was quite positive didn't need sorting or moving or cleaning. And Morgana just felt wretched; Gwen was the one whose father had been killed and all Morgana could do was sit in the bath feeling sorry for herself and wondering when everything had become so complicated. Gwen, who always stayed by Morgana's side and worried and never seemed to think about herself and all Morgana could so was cry like a spoilt brat.
"Gwen?" she ventured, embarrassed by how her voice sounded rough and choked.
"My Lady," Gwen replied almost immediately, sounding close by. "Are you alright? Surely the water must be cold by now. Please come out!"
The urgency and concern in Gwen's voice made Morgana smile. "I'm fine, Gwen. Really."
"I know you are," Gwen said quickly. "I just, well, I have a towel. Can I come in?"
Morgana considered; looked down at her arms, the bruises on her wrists turned to ugly looking purples and blues, and she knew her eyes would be red and puffy, but this was nothing Gwen had not seen before so she said, "Of course, Gwen," and made to push herself out of the bath. Her limbs ached, even though she hadn't really been doing anything to warrant the pain, but she supposed it might have been the cold water, or the night in the dungeons, or the fact that she hadn't slept in days. Or the fact that she had tried to kill the king.
"You're shivering, my Lady," Gwen was saying, suddenly in front of her, leaning forward and wrapping a thick towel around her shoulders. "Come out of the water." She tugged at Morgana's shoulders, and Morgana let herself be shepherded out of the tub and she let herself be led over to stand beside the fire. For all that she could see herself shivering, and for all that she knew the hard stone was cold beneath her feet, she still could not feel it. She couldn't feel anything, hadn't since she had ridden back to Camelot, silent beside Uther, guilt heavy in her stomach.
Gwen was rubbing the towel over Morgana's arms and shoulders. "Really, you've been out in the cold all day and then sitting in cold water," Gwen fussed. She smiled, the worry falling away, her tired eyes so gentle and for a moment Morgana could feel something like warmth in her chest. She couldn't help but smile back, and was glad she had when Gwen's grin grew across her face. Morgana wanted to touch that smile, to see if she could feel it against her numb fingers.
"You're too good to me, Gwen," Morgana said instead, leaning into the touch. Gwen just shrugged and rubbed the towel through Morgana's hair.
"You'll catch a cold if I don't get you properly dried." She smiled at Morgana, then he hands slowed, her eyes meeting Morgana's, and almost whispered, "Anyway, you are to me too."
Her eyes looked down, turned sad, and Morgana knew then that she was looking at the bruises on her wrists. Gwen ran the towel down Morgana's arms to hold at her hands. "You do too much for me," she said, then leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips to the inside of Morgana's wrists.
It was only the lightest of touches, this Morgana knew, but it was still the most she had felt in hours. Lips so soft and so kind that Morgana felt her eyes sting and blinked. She wouldn't cry. She didn't deserve to cry. She should be there for Gwen. She should be looking after Gwen. She shouldn't have been plotting murder when she should have been holding Gwen, reminding her that she still had people who loved her. And when Gwen pulled back, a sad smile on those lips and eyes so warm Morgana thought they alone could stop her shivering, Morgana knew then that Gwen was the greatest friend she could ever wish for.
"Gwen," she said, ignoring that it sounded like a sob. "You know we… I love you. You mean so much to me." And then she did reach out and touch Gwen's cheek, feeling tingling through her fingers.
She wasn't crying, because how could she when Gwen was here, hand moving up to lay gently against the bones of Morgana's wrist. She wasn't crying, but even so Gwen wiped away her tears and looked at her with such trust that Morgana wanted to tell her everything; what she had planned to do. What she might have done. What she wanted to do to Gwen.
It hurt; she felt it and it hurt when Gwen then said, "You mean almost everything to me, too."
"But you don't know," Morgana tried to explain, letting her fingers trail down Gwen's cheek, her neck, to rest on her shoulder. "You don't know what I have done. What I have wanted. I'm not…"
Morgana stopped, shook her head and looked away into the fire. It burned fiercely; the firewood yellow and red, the flames casting muted colour across the stone floor, throwing shadows to the walls. But the only heat Morgana could feel was the warmth of Gwen's breath. The warmth of her skin under Morgana's hands.
She remembered hatred and thought it was not right for her to touch Gwen, to even look at her. Gwen did not feel these things. She was heart and forgiveness. She was everything Morgana was not.
"It doesn't matter," Gwen was saying. Her hands were so very warm against Morgana's neck. Morgana could feel every movement against her skin as Gwen's fingers formed circles, massaging, moving down to her shoulders and at some point the towel had been abandoned, laying crumpled on the floor between them.
"It does, Gwen." Morgana shook her head again, thought she should stop, she should draw away, leave Gwen to her own grief, not add her own. But then Gwen was hugging her, holding her close, as Morgana should be doing for Gwen. She held her close and stroked a hand through tangled, damp hair. She rubbed at her back like a child and Morgana found that she didn't care. This was warmth and love and forgiveness and she cried and she cried and Gwen shushed her and whispered in her ear that she was there and she would never leave. Her breath felt like the soft warmth of fire against her cheek and her voice, so calm and so sincere, was like the assurance of a mother, like the promise of a lover's devotion.
Morgana wrapped her own arms around Gwen and held on, gripping at the rough material of her dress.
She sobbed, "I'm sorry," and "Don't leave me," and "I love you." And Gwen said, "I know," and "I won't ever," and "I love you too."
She cried until she couldn't anymore, until there was nothing left except the feel of Gwen holding her, and then there was warmth against her side from the fire, and stone so cold under her feet her toes curled.
Gwen didn't let go. She never let go, and all Morgana wanted was to show her how much she cared. That she really would do anything for Gwen and that was glad to do it, so Morgana drew back a little, her hands still grasping at Gwen's dress. She drew back, faces so close she could still feel Gwen's breath against her own lips, and she looked into Gwen's eyes, so kind and welcoming. And when Gwen smiled shyly and the pads of her fingers pressed into the skin of Morgana's back, she knew. She knew that when she leaned forward and their lips met, Gwen would sigh and open her mouth a little. They would both pull each other more closely together; Morgana would feel the fabric and the buttons and the seams of Gwen's dress along her front and she would wish Gwen was naked too. Morgana would kiss at Gwen's mouth, and then press kisses against her chin and the long, graceful arch of her neck. Gwen should whisper Morgana's name and tilt her head back and without even thinking about it Morgana would reach up to loose Gwen's hair so that she might feel that too.
So when it happened, when she tugged Gwen's dress up and over her head and they laughed together as a button got caught in her hair, as they leaned together and ran fingers over every part of skin they could reach, breathing kisses and whispering names, Morgana was not surprised. This was love, Morgana knew. This was forgiveness.
This was what she would do for Gwen, as Gwen did for her: she would keep her warm. She would keep her safe. She would stroke hands through her hair and lay her open and kiss her everywhere. She would be there, she would hold her, and she would never let go.
.End.
My First Girl!Slash. Comments and concrit most welcome and appreciated.
One fetching dress bought.
One pair of new boots acquired.
Several stickmen rendered in various christmas cards.
And, one completely beautiful and girlslashy episode of Merlin written an appropriately angsty tag for:
Title: In Places Not Betrayed
Words: 1,545
Rating: Err... suitable for 15+ I should think
Summary: For cienna. Morgana/Gwen. Post episode 12. Morgana bathes and Gwen worries.
In Places Not Betrayed
The moon was high and the candles burnt low by the time Morgana could bring herself to face Gwen.
Gwen, who hadn't left even though Morgana had told her a hundred times she could go home, and who had pottered around the room for however long Morgana had been in the bath, sorting and moving things and cleaning things that Morgana was quite positive didn't need sorting or moving or cleaning. And Morgana just felt wretched; Gwen was the one whose father had been killed and all Morgana could do was sit in the bath feeling sorry for herself and wondering when everything had become so complicated. Gwen, who always stayed by Morgana's side and worried and never seemed to think about herself and all Morgana could so was cry like a spoilt brat.
"Gwen?" she ventured, embarrassed by how her voice sounded rough and choked.
"My Lady," Gwen replied almost immediately, sounding close by. "Are you alright? Surely the water must be cold by now. Please come out!"
The urgency and concern in Gwen's voice made Morgana smile. "I'm fine, Gwen. Really."
"I know you are," Gwen said quickly. "I just, well, I have a towel. Can I come in?"
Morgana considered; looked down at her arms, the bruises on her wrists turned to ugly looking purples and blues, and she knew her eyes would be red and puffy, but this was nothing Gwen had not seen before so she said, "Of course, Gwen," and made to push herself out of the bath. Her limbs ached, even though she hadn't really been doing anything to warrant the pain, but she supposed it might have been the cold water, or the night in the dungeons, or the fact that she hadn't slept in days. Or the fact that she had tried to kill the king.
"You're shivering, my Lady," Gwen was saying, suddenly in front of her, leaning forward and wrapping a thick towel around her shoulders. "Come out of the water." She tugged at Morgana's shoulders, and Morgana let herself be shepherded out of the tub and she let herself be led over to stand beside the fire. For all that she could see herself shivering, and for all that she knew the hard stone was cold beneath her feet, she still could not feel it. She couldn't feel anything, hadn't since she had ridden back to Camelot, silent beside Uther, guilt heavy in her stomach.
Gwen was rubbing the towel over Morgana's arms and shoulders. "Really, you've been out in the cold all day and then sitting in cold water," Gwen fussed. She smiled, the worry falling away, her tired eyes so gentle and for a moment Morgana could feel something like warmth in her chest. She couldn't help but smile back, and was glad she had when Gwen's grin grew across her face. Morgana wanted to touch that smile, to see if she could feel it against her numb fingers.
"You're too good to me, Gwen," Morgana said instead, leaning into the touch. Gwen just shrugged and rubbed the towel through Morgana's hair.
"You'll catch a cold if I don't get you properly dried." She smiled at Morgana, then he hands slowed, her eyes meeting Morgana's, and almost whispered, "Anyway, you are to me too."
Her eyes looked down, turned sad, and Morgana knew then that she was looking at the bruises on her wrists. Gwen ran the towel down Morgana's arms to hold at her hands. "You do too much for me," she said, then leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips to the inside of Morgana's wrists.
It was only the lightest of touches, this Morgana knew, but it was still the most she had felt in hours. Lips so soft and so kind that Morgana felt her eyes sting and blinked. She wouldn't cry. She didn't deserve to cry. She should be there for Gwen. She should be looking after Gwen. She shouldn't have been plotting murder when she should have been holding Gwen, reminding her that she still had people who loved her. And when Gwen pulled back, a sad smile on those lips and eyes so warm Morgana thought they alone could stop her shivering, Morgana knew then that Gwen was the greatest friend she could ever wish for.
"Gwen," she said, ignoring that it sounded like a sob. "You know we… I love you. You mean so much to me." And then she did reach out and touch Gwen's cheek, feeling tingling through her fingers.
She wasn't crying, because how could she when Gwen was here, hand moving up to lay gently against the bones of Morgana's wrist. She wasn't crying, but even so Gwen wiped away her tears and looked at her with such trust that Morgana wanted to tell her everything; what she had planned to do. What she might have done. What she wanted to do to Gwen.
It hurt; she felt it and it hurt when Gwen then said, "You mean almost everything to me, too."
"But you don't know," Morgana tried to explain, letting her fingers trail down Gwen's cheek, her neck, to rest on her shoulder. "You don't know what I have done. What I have wanted. I'm not…"
Morgana stopped, shook her head and looked away into the fire. It burned fiercely; the firewood yellow and red, the flames casting muted colour across the stone floor, throwing shadows to the walls. But the only heat Morgana could feel was the warmth of Gwen's breath. The warmth of her skin under Morgana's hands.
She remembered hatred and thought it was not right for her to touch Gwen, to even look at her. Gwen did not feel these things. She was heart and forgiveness. She was everything Morgana was not.
"It doesn't matter," Gwen was saying. Her hands were so very warm against Morgana's neck. Morgana could feel every movement against her skin as Gwen's fingers formed circles, massaging, moving down to her shoulders and at some point the towel had been abandoned, laying crumpled on the floor between them.
"It does, Gwen." Morgana shook her head again, thought she should stop, she should draw away, leave Gwen to her own grief, not add her own. But then Gwen was hugging her, holding her close, as Morgana should be doing for Gwen. She held her close and stroked a hand through tangled, damp hair. She rubbed at her back like a child and Morgana found that she didn't care. This was warmth and love and forgiveness and she cried and she cried and Gwen shushed her and whispered in her ear that she was there and she would never leave. Her breath felt like the soft warmth of fire against her cheek and her voice, so calm and so sincere, was like the assurance of a mother, like the promise of a lover's devotion.
Morgana wrapped her own arms around Gwen and held on, gripping at the rough material of her dress.
She sobbed, "I'm sorry," and "Don't leave me," and "I love you." And Gwen said, "I know," and "I won't ever," and "I love you too."
She cried until she couldn't anymore, until there was nothing left except the feel of Gwen holding her, and then there was warmth against her side from the fire, and stone so cold under her feet her toes curled.
Gwen didn't let go. She never let go, and all Morgana wanted was to show her how much she cared. That she really would do anything for Gwen and that was glad to do it, so Morgana drew back a little, her hands still grasping at Gwen's dress. She drew back, faces so close she could still feel Gwen's breath against her own lips, and she looked into Gwen's eyes, so kind and welcoming. And when Gwen smiled shyly and the pads of her fingers pressed into the skin of Morgana's back, she knew. She knew that when she leaned forward and their lips met, Gwen would sigh and open her mouth a little. They would both pull each other more closely together; Morgana would feel the fabric and the buttons and the seams of Gwen's dress along her front and she would wish Gwen was naked too. Morgana would kiss at Gwen's mouth, and then press kisses against her chin and the long, graceful arch of her neck. Gwen should whisper Morgana's name and tilt her head back and without even thinking about it Morgana would reach up to loose Gwen's hair so that she might feel that too.
So when it happened, when she tugged Gwen's dress up and over her head and they laughed together as a button got caught in her hair, as they leaned together and ran fingers over every part of skin they could reach, breathing kisses and whispering names, Morgana was not surprised. This was love, Morgana knew. This was forgiveness.
This was what she would do for Gwen, as Gwen did for her: she would keep her warm. She would keep her safe. She would stroke hands through her hair and lay her open and kiss her everywhere. She would be there, she would hold her, and she would never let go.
.End.
My First Girl!Slash. Comments and concrit most welcome and appreciated.