Disclaimer: Obviously, I am not that talented/imaginative/creative to own Merlin...Or any of the characters for that matter...
PLEASE READ!
1st A/N: Inspiration taken from Disney's song "Hellfire" from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (especially the greek version which is slightly different than the English one). I thought it would be interesting to twist the story a little (well, actually, a lot!) and make Arthur like the evil Frollo and Morgana as Esmeralda. Take note that Arthur in this one is going to be very evil and dark and twisted. Not the kind of Arthur we are used to. Consider yourselves warned!
2nd A/N: ARTHUR-MORGANA-HALF-BROTHER-AND-SISTER-THING does not apply on this fic because I started long before this was reveled and I didn't want to change my story…
3rd A/N: I certainly recommend YOU HEAR TO THE SONG REPEATEDLY while you read the story. It helps a lot with the dark mood I hope to create…
Enjoy…
It had been years since he last allowed himself to think of her as something more than his enemy. She had long stopped being Morgana, she was a threat to him and his kingdom. She no longer was the woman he once loved, the woman who could drive him crazy. The face that accompanied him always when he was younger was now distorted by her evilness. He no longer recognized her. How could they have ended like this?
"Sire, the party you've sent to secure the northern borders was ambushed." said Sir Leon after bowing in front of his King. Lately, he seemed weaker than other times. The years of his youth had passed but all the worries and the burden of duty started to be evident in his face. The wrinkles around his eyes and the constant crease between his eyebrows didn't belong there. In fact, the people of Camelot hadn't seen their King smile for a long time.
"I do not see how this could be a problem. The knights of Camelot are more than capable of dealing with a bunch of thugs." he said and looked back down to the papers he had to sign.
He felt really tired these last days. The crown on his head felt ten times heavier; perhaps it was the invaders in the North…or the fact that Guinevere didn't come to their bed at nights…Once again…
"My lord, they were not ambushed by criminals" the knight detested.
King Arthur looked back at him rather surprised. The knights had left Camelot that same morning they couldn't have gone that far to be ambushed by their enemies in the North and the barbarians most definitely hadn't invaded his kingdom that far to reach just outside Camelot.
"It was a group of Druids, my Lord." he explained. "Even though the term "ambush" may not be correct. There was a fight and most on both sides were killed. However, some Druids, including their leader, Modred escaped. Some of our own knights made it to Camelot."
The King was indeed surprised. Druids had the lairs in the far eastern borders of his Kingdom; some even further away. "Druids? So far from the East? Do we know the reason behind their presence there?"
"No, Sire. But…" Sir Leon started saying but he found it difficult to speak the words. The matter was very delicate and it had not troubled his King's mind for quite a while.
The King looked impatiently at him. "But they were able to take a few prisoners." he finally said.
"Very well. Interrogate them. Try and find out as many as you can." the King ordered but obviously that wasn't all. His loyal knight had that look on his face again. The face that spoke of a man who would rather not be the one speaking to the King right now. A man who would rather do anything else than break the news to him.
"One of the prisoners is Lady Morgana Le Fay, Sire."
Ever since then he had been trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was there. Inside his own castle; the castle she would love to destroy, as his prisoner; bent to his will. He should have had her executed the moment he heard of her capture. She should pay for all the pain she has caused to him, his Queen, his father and his people. She deserved to die.
Beata Maria
You know I am a righteous man
Of my virtue I am justly proud
He wasn't an evil King. On the contrary, his subjects loved him for his kind heart and his unique trait to be merciful and just with his enemies, to be able to distinguish the innocent and be kind to them. Traitors and criminals and enemies, he thought were a danger to Camelot, were imprisoned; never executed.
But she no longer fit in any of those categories…She was all three; a traitor, traitor to Camelot, to his father, to his heart. A criminal; he didn't even want to think of all the people who were killed in vain so that she can bring him down. An enemy; how else can you call someone who wishes your death as much as nothing else? She must die or else he and the people he loved could never be safe. And if the God ever blessed him with a child, she would hunt it down till she achieved her goals.
Beata Maria
You know I'm so much purer than
The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd
His chambers were cold, even though there was a huge fire burning in the fire place. His wife wasn't there to keep him warm and the thought of Morgana being so close made him shiver. He rose from his chair and approached the fire.
He felt weak again, as he did when he went down to the dungeons to see her. The moment he entered the arcade that led to the cells, his knees bent, he fell to the ground; so weak. He felt a burden he could not lift no matter what he did. A burden in his mind, in his heart. He was sure it was her fault. She was his worst nightmare; she would destroy him eventually; just her presence so close to him, made him vulnerable. He rose from the ground indifferent to his knights' efforts to help him. He retired back to his rooms feeling emptier than ever…
Then tell me, Maria
Why I see her dancing there
Why her smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul
He looked in the blazing fire searching for comfort and warmth. But his mind was full with her face; what he remembered of it anyway. He was sure she hadn't changed even if twenty years had passed since he last cast eyes on her. She would still be beautiful, painfully beautiful, with her long wavy raven hair; soft as the world's finest satin, pale perfect skin; that of an angel and at last the feature that makes her angelic face complete, her vivid green eyes.
Who could miss her beautiful, torturing eyes? They seemed to have their own will; they were all he once needed to be happy. At a time long ago, she was his future Queen but most of all she was one half of him. He loved every little piece of her, every look, every notion, every expression on her face, every word she spoke.
The flames danced in the fireplace reminding him of her. Her luscious body, her sinful heart. He saw her dancing through the flames; desperate to reach him; in need of his mercy. She existed only to please him, she belonged to him.
I feel her, I see her
The sun caught in her raven hair
Is blazing in me out of all control
He should stop thinking about her. He could end up a crazy man. All those years she had not crossed his mind, memories and thoughts had just built up to tonight's frenzy. He took his eyes from the fire; her figure still lingered in there.
But now the thought was inside his mind. Her fluid moves, the seductive carves of her body. He could hear her call; begging him to look back in her eyes; wishing his attention. How was it possible for him to resist such a temptation?
He turned and the dance had grown wilder. Her naked body provoked him to touch her. Get himself burned; destroyed. He felt her taste on his mouth; her soft lips; her smoothing tongue battling with his own. He had her in his arms, still dancing, moving her body all over his; dancing, hugging, touching, kissing.
Like fire
Hellfire
This fire in my skin
This burning
Desire
Is turning me to sin
He felt his need for her, his body screamed for hers to become one. He had to have her, he needed her now. The fire in the hearth was nothing in comparison to the heat that nested in his body. He was burning from the inside out; he burned of the desire to feel her around him.
His chambers were too small; he was suffocating. The room was drowning him; he had no space; no air to breath. She had taken all the oxygen from the room and turned it into her irresistible perfume.
For the first time in his life, he felt the lust that old stories spoke of. Beautiful women; sirens, that drove men crazy until they were their slaves for eternity. However, one was certain, he felt no love for her; he was sure of it. He hated her and his hate only fuelled the fire inside even more. He wished to punish her for everything, make her regret every single act of hers and have her on his mercy.
He screamed her name in his mind. She made him hate her and himself even more with the effect she had on him at this night. His people spoke of her with fear; powerful as the devil, they said she was. Maybe that was true; if she could make their King's mind a mess like now; maybe they were right to fear her.
He felt the danger hanging in the air around him. He felt how easily he could snap and act like his thoughts commanded him to. He was soaked in sweat, still lost in the darkest and most twisted corners of his mind.
He feared for himself; for his sanity. The fire that was burning him from head to toe had now become even worse; even more torturing. He closed his eyes in hopes of erasing her figure of his mind. He should know better. Her fiery figure just tightened her grip on his body; desperate to keep him with her; afraid not to lose him; making it even harder for him to restrain.
The mirage of the gorgeous woman changed; the surroundings around her shifted in a strangely familiar room. It was her old room, the one in which he was welcomed so many times, the one in which he had been a guest for many nights when he was younger.
The witch danced her way towards the big bed with every move only emphasizing every part of her exposed body. Her slender waist, her long legs, her full breasts…She raised her smooth, delicate hand calling him to join her. Mocking him for his weakness to control himself in the presence of her naked body.
It's not my fault
I'm not to blame
It is the gypsy girl
The witch who sent this flame
A part of him responded to her call, taking her hand, kissing it and then kissing all the way up to her neck. His hands moved to her back pressing her to his body. She used her skilled hands to undress him leaving him bare in front of her. She, then, took those few steps to reach her bed. She laid there in all her glory, like an ancient Goddess waiting to be pleased by her humble servant. He was left staring in awe; admiring the magic that she was made of.
But the Goddess was impatient. She rose from the bed and approached him once again putting her hands on both sides of his face. With an unbelievable force she made him to lean as if to kiss her. He stared deeply into her blazing eyes; he knew there was no coming back if he felt her in his mouth. Her grip was steady and slowly their lips were only a breath away. She smiled a victorious smirk just before their lips became one; she knew she owned him now no matter what.
It's not my fault
If in God's plan
He made the devil so much
Stronger than a man
The other part of him stood his ground. In his madness, he was glad a part of himself wasn't lost in this unending yearning; this unbearable need. The witch kept calling him to bed with her but this Arthur was strong, unyielding to the witch's seductive moves.
She was angry now and that made her even more passionate and desirable to his eyes. She started her devilish dance again. Only this time the moves were even more perfect and slow; especially made to finish him of. Every step brought her closer to him. Every step of hers was a breach to his defences.
"You'll never be able to resist me" she said with a low, husky seductive voice. "You never could and you'll never will."
Protect me, Maria
Don't let this siren cast her spell
Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone
Destroy Esmeralda
And let her taste the fires of hell
Or else let her be mine and mine alone
He opened his eyes to find himself still standing in front of the hearthstone. He looked into the flames again. This time not to admire the perfection of the witch.
"Curse you, Morgana. You and everything you've ever loved!" he whispered to her. "Curse you, Morgana Le Fay." It sounded like a plea and that was not what he wanted. He was furious with himself for the power he had given her. He wished she was dead; he wished he had killed her.
The desire to hurt her, to inflict on her the same pain she was inflicting on him was now equal to the desire to have her. He saw her naked body twisted with his in a sacred dance but at the same time he saw her fall to his sword. Her blood ran down her beautiful body staining her pale skin.
Is this where he was led to? Would he kill her on an act of anger and frustration or would he enjoy her love making as a man that hasn't felt a woman's touch for decades? What would it be? Death or passion?
Hellfire
Dark fire
Now gypsy, it's your turn
He rose from his shameful position. The way to the dungeons had been calling him all day and night long. His steps carried him to the same place he was standing a few hours ago. Back then he wasn't strong enough; he had been a coward; a weak man that yield to her every will.
"The keys!" he ordered when he saw the guards looking at him not believing that the King wished to visit his prisoner at this late hour. They didn't ask; they were too afraid to. There was something different in their King's eyes. A shadow they had never seen before in his face. If they didn't know better, they would think this man was crazy.
"You are dismissed" he said to them; still unsure of his intentions. He certainly didn't wish anyone to witness his actions. The guards exchanged worried glances; maybe their King was crazy after all, they thought. Morgana Le Fay was in one of those cells; the one he undoubtedly wished to visit and she was the definition of dangerous in these days.
"GO!" Arthur said and his eyes were on fire again. All the anger that had been building up during the night was about to explode and it shouldn't be targeted towards those poor subjects of his; only her. He felt his patience running low and knowing that he would see her any moment now made the flames within him burn his body. The two soldiers bowed and left the dungeons anxious about the outcome of this visit.
Now that he was left alone with his madness, Arthur tried to gather every bit of self control was left to him. The desire and the longing was still there painfully tearing his body into pieces but he also felt the blood lust that ordered him to save himself of this siren once and for all.
Choose me or
Your pyre
Be mine or you will burn
"You're a better man than your father"
Her words sounded in his ears as he made his way to her cell. His footsteps were loud on the stone floor. When he finally reached it, he didn't dare to look inside through the little window. He knew the moment he saw her there would be no turning back. His hand would move to his sword or he would hold her tight on him experiencing every single piece of her figure; her mouth; her lips.
Anticipation was killing him; the blood in his veins was boiling and he felt the tension in his body. He took a deep breath hoping her scent had scattered across the hall; hoping that she will leave her mark there forever. He chose the right key and unlocked the big wooden door.
His heart was beating out of his chest, his throat was dry, and his lips were already shifting themselves around her name. He opened the door like a man who is finally free after centuries of imprisonment but he wanted to be locked in that dark, wet cell with her.
He saw nothing.
No one was there.
The room was empty.
His mind exploded and every single memory, every image, every sound, every scent, every touch that was Morgana filled him.
She is running behind him trying to get to him to revenge her doll.
He gives her a new doll as a present for her ninth birthday. She locks her arms around him to thank him. He feels happy.
He tells her she looks ugly in her new dress. She sticks her tongue out to him.
She is kissing the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. He watches in rage and frustration. He knows he is the Prince to whom she belongs.
She gives him her token in his first jousting tournament. He feels proud but he won't admit how happy he is.
He kisses her after the feast to celebrate his victory at the tournament. She kisses him back.
She enters the Hall looking stunning and catching every man's eye. He's speechless by her beauty but says something stupid instead.
He visits her chambers to apologise. He kisses her like he owns her. She invites him to her bed. They lay down. He reveals her angelic body. He now really owns her.
She is cold towards him, towards everyone.
He finds her in the woods wandering lost but sound. He takes her home.
She tries to kill him and for the first time he sees her true face. He is disgusted by it and her evil smirking.
She plots and twists events to her advantage endangering his Queen's and his friends' lives.
He sees her again in the battlefield fighting against him alongside Modred and hates her even more.
He doesn't see her now and he feels drained. She tortured him with no mercy just to tease him; just to display the power over him once again. Every small piece of compassion that had nestled in his chest was now as cold as ice. Every remnant of the fire that had driven him insane was out in an instant.
God have mercy on her
God have mercy on me
But she will be mine
Or she will burn!
Hate filled him from within. He could taste it in his mouth and didn't recognize himself when he screamed through the stillness of the night.
"CURSE YOU, MORGANA LE FAY"
Liked it? Hated it? Too dark? Too anything?
Of course in my mind it is 100 times better but that's all I could do…If there's anything you wish to ask, that's what I'm here for…Hope you like it…
Long live the incest!
ArMor 3
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