So yeah, it's been a while. Understatement. No excuses, but my charging port for my laptop did break so things have been a tad difficult. I'm using my parent's computer now though so it shouldn't be too much longer. Promise. Anyway, I was watching The Tudors on youtube and a "suggestion" popped up, a dancing montage, like all the dancing scenes from the show mashed together and it got me thinking about how no one really danced on Merlin. Too busy fighting evil I guess... So! I got to thinking, then writing, so since I'm kind of blocked on No Light right now I'm putting this up. Simple 5-shot that'll be done really soon. I'll get back to The Lost One and No Light as soon as possible. Promise! In the meantime, enjoy. And check out my Tumblr, link is on my page.
Third Person's Point of View
1
The first time Merlin sees Morgana dance, it's with the prince. He's at a feast being held in honor of the Great Purge, a thought that makes him sick. Arthur, the royal prat, has asked his father's ward to join him in a dance.
In her rather daring red gown, her obsidian hair elegantly pinned up, the Lady Morgana steals his breath away. He's not sure he's ever seen someone look quite so beautiful.
They begin their dance, twirling in tandem with those who've joined, her long fingers entwined with the princes. There is a small part of him that feels ill watching her dance with him, yet they look... perfect together. The opposite of one another, perfectly complimenting their partner.
Arthur is all gold, shining as bright as the sun. His golden circlet atop golden hair and red Pendragon cape affording him all the regality he was born to. Morgana is dark, sultry, her skin ivory against the black of her hair. He realizes the two match, each dressed in red.
She smiles at Arthur, tendrils of hair stuck to her cheek.
He doesn't know what dance this is, something upbeat with plenty of woodwinds, cheery. The women and men seperate and stand in lines opposite each other, then approach, hands clasped in the air above their heads.
Arthur and Morgana circle one another as do the others, though the way they dance seems almost predatory. They smirk at one another, eyes lowered to lips, the very definition of sensual.
He watches from the sidelines beside Guinevere, and he shoots a quick glance to see her grinning proudly in their direction. He remembers her saying something earlier in the evening about Morgana one day being the Queen to Arthur's King, and initially he'd balked. But now, seeing the way they gaze at one another, he can see the possibility for the future.
She dips her head and spins away, doing a few steps on her own, the skirts of her gown fanning out around her ankles. A breathy laugh escapes her and her right hand reaches to the side, sweeping low towards her knee as Arthur reclaims the left.
They do a jig that winds them in with the other dancers, toes pointed, feet moving in perfect rythm to the bursting song.
Guinevere has begun clapping in tandem with the other guests, laughing politely behind her hand when one of the younger girls nearly trips over Morgana's skirts. He finds himself laughing too.
There were never any festivities of this sort in Ealdor, the village he'd been born to was too poor to afford such luxurious activities. He wishes his mother could attend such a feast as this, if only to experience the leisure and joy as he is.
Morgana's skirts are fisted to her calves as she spins by him again, and he can't help but wonder how she manages to dance so gracefully in such high shoes. She and Arthur stand across from one another as the song changes, slows, and they each hold up a flat palm.
They bring them close, yet never touch, and begin walking slowly around one another. The dancers do the same, and all together, moving in the same way, it creates a surprisingly beautiful effect.
The slowness of the walk doesn't last though, and suddenly the men and women have seperated. The prince and the other male dancers stand at a distance as the women grab elbows and twirl from one partner to another, soft skin and hair of all shades blurring together.
He finds himself growing dizzy, watching their long skirts and slender limbs as they glide and turn and spin and spin and spin. As the music reaches its peak the men rejoin, sweeping their partners into their arms. Each one a prince, rescuing their princess.
He cannot help but watch Morgana, her cheeks flushed as she smiles widely at Arthur. How he wishes it was he she smiled at.
They're pressed close to one another as the song ends, and she curtseys low as he bows, smirking devilishly as they return to their seats on either side of the King.
2
The second time Merlin sees Morgana dance, it's past midnight.
It has been a few months since his initial arrival into Camelot, and subsequent rescue of the prince from Mary Collins's revenge. As a reward for said heroic acts, he has been gifted the privilege of being manservant to the royal prat.
At first he had looked upon this new happening as a curse, but since then many things have changed. Guinevere and the Lady Morgana are his friends, as is a reluctant Arthur though he'd never outrightly admit it.
On this night he finds himself destined for the kitchens, fetching a late night snack for the demanding Prince he serves.
He's passing by the empty throne room when he notices one of the massive double doors is ajar. With a glance in either direction he pokes his head around the corner. His eyes widen at the sight of Morgana within, her eyes closed as she moves.
The first thing he notices are the clothes she wears.
She is dressed rather scandolously in a corset and underskirt, thin and appearing as silk though it's hard to tell from where he is spying.
The second thing he notices is the way she dances.
Her movements are graceful as always but seem different, somehow solemn. No music plays and the light she is afforded comes only from the moonlight through the windows and a single candle that flickers from the seat of Uther's throne. Her hair is out in long waves to the small of her back, and they tickle her jaw as she spins in graceful arcs around the throne room.
He can't force himself to give her any privacy, to look away. It's almost as if he's under some sort of trance, following every toe point and leap and bound.
The very sight of her has him under a spell.
Her hands cup at her face and she stretches them away, opening her empty palms. She sweeps into a low curtsy as if greeting a partner, stepping in wide circles, then spreads her arms and spins endlessly.
He wonders how it is that she doesn't grow hopelessly dizzy.
Morgana's head tips back and she slows, reaching above her, stretching to reach the cieling.
He thinks that if she tried hard enough, she could probably grasp the stars. She brings her hands to her face, skimming her cheeks, then her lips, then stretches her hands out in front.
She stands on the point of her toes then twirls back to the middle of the room.
"Merlin." A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps away, his back to the door. Arthur smirks at him, arms crossed over his chest.
"Arthur." He stutters. The prince rolls his eyes and peers around him, into the throne room.
Morgana has the skirt held just above her ankle with one hand, raised up on the tips of her toes as she raises one leg out then tucks it behind her, almost kneeling. Her toes drag against the floor as she comes to a stand, releasing her skirt. Her arms come out to her sides, wrists rolling, fingers outstretched as she pushes and pulls like the waves of the ocean.
All the while she picks up the pace, moving faster and faster.
Her hair whips her skin, and even in the dim lighting he can tell her cheeks are flushed. A small smile graces her face.
Arthur clears his throat quietly and pushes him aside, shutting the door without a sound. He turns to Merlin, his expression is hard, and the hand on his shoulder grips him sternly.
"I thought I asked you to bring me something?"
3
The third time Merlin sees Morgana dance, she is no longer the Morgana he knew. And he has no one to blame but himself.
He poisoned her, like a coward, and the guilt eats at him day and night.
She no longer smiles and dances through corridors, she smirks and slinks down the halls like a snake. Her sister Morgause is the only person she trusts now, and it hurts him to think it's his own doing.
He watches as her birthday feast comences, and she recieves jewels from Uther and dresses upon dresses from visiting nobility. She smiles and grins and it's all very believable, except for the hardness he sees in her eyes.
When Arthur gifts her a bejewled dagger he sees genuine excitement and happiness and for a moment it's as if he's seeing the girl he killed once more, and it sends a pang through his heart.
Cheerful music comprised of flutes and woodwinds begins and she smiles cheerfully, clapping along as her guests begin to dance. More than one man asks for her hand and she politely declines, until Sir Leon comes to her.
She smiles playfully up at the knight with the head of curls, his beard freshly shorn as he stands in his cloak, red as new blood.
She stands, her slender ringed fingers swallowed up by his wide palm. He leads her around the feasting table to the floor where they stand across from one another, and bow in tandem.
They hold their hands between them, spinning in close circles. She releases him and as he stands, still as a pillar, she twirls around him, the skirts of her pearlescent gown in hand.
Her hair, peppered with crystals and gathered to one side, flutters around her chin. The red curve of her lips is pronounced against her fair skin as she stops beside him, taking his hand in hers once again.
They do a few steps before weaving between the other couples, gaining new partners every few steps before meeting again.
He is transfixed by this dance, a sick imitation of a dance she once did with Arthur. When she was still Morgana.
Morgana suddenly branches off on her own, and the whole court stops to watch. Her eyes are nearly closed as she spins, arms out at her sides. She tips her head back and slows, facing the table, stepping forward delicately, up on her toes.
Smiling brightly, her skirts held up to her ankles, she dances a few steps in quick succession before spinning once more and sinking into a low curtsy, peering up at the king from beneath her lashes.
The crowd claps as Sir Leon returns to her side, kissing her hand and helping her back to her seat. Uther leans over and touches her cheek with the back of his finger, undoubtedly whispering how wonderfully she danced.
He can't help but wonder if the ruddy tint to her cheeks is due to the flush she gained from dancing or the anger at being in such close proximity to the man she so desperately wants dead. As she smiles and bashfully waves her hand, gesturing for him to watch the other dancers, he can't honestly know if it's all an act.
He swears that sometimes he sees brief flashes of the girl he had befriended, the girl he caught dancing so beautifully in the empty throne room.
But he recognizes that that is all they are, flashes, of a girl who no longer exsists.
And as the king's gaze shifts to his guests and she stares coldly into the crowd he wonders if it could have been different.
4
It's been the longest year of his life, watching, waiting, dreading, for her to appear again.
She left in a cyclone of fury and magic, carrying her fatally wounded sister from the great hall. Her screams shattered the windows, raining shards of glass down upon them all.
A distant part of him, long forgotten and buried beneath his skin, had wanted to reach out and touch her. To comfort, to soothe, to do something that was beyond his power.
He knew how foolish it was to think he could do anything for her now, she was gone from him, apart of the darkness he'd been fighting against for so long. There was no reaching her in the void of black, no matter how hard he tried.
He struggled to forget about her, to forget the girl he'd unconsciously pushed further and further away with his untruths.
"Merlin." he jumped, realizing he'd been staring blankly at the wall. Arthur jokingly slapped him on the back, knocking him forward a step.
"Dozing off again Merlin?"
"Of course not sire." he murmured, sarcasm twisting through his words. The prince merely rolls his eyes at him, brushing past as he strolls towards his father's chambers.
Uther is no longer the same since Morgana's attempt at the throne, the anger and hate are gone, and he is only a shell of the man he once was. He is pitiful to behold, and he can't help the small part of him that believes it's what the King deserves for all the lives he's taken so thoughtlessly.
"Do you need me?" he blurts, suddenly feeling the need to be very far from here.
Arthur glances at him, puzzled, but shakes his head. "No. You can go."
Merlin nods gratefully and dashes towards the room he shares with Gaius, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. He's been feeling the tingling of uneasiness race down his spine for too long now, the prickle that comes with knowing someone dark has their eyes on you.
He tells himself that it's only the nerves associated with big events like these, and this is the biggest of them all. Arthur's birthday celebration.
There is still much to be done, the hall's decorations need to be finished and the tables need to be arranged to make room for the dancers. He bustles about until the sky turns dark and the moon has risen high in the night.
Sweat mottles his brow and he finally earns a reprive when the celebrations begin, and the prince is sitting, happily jesting with his knights. For once the feeling of being watched seems to have lifted and he's able to laugh and take part in the festivies he's had such a heavy hand in planning.
The flute winds soon start and he watches, lightly clapping with the crowd, as the dancers converge onto the cleared floor space. Upbeat and joyful he glances to Arthur, frowning.
His friend is smiling, politely clapping as the musicians play their best and the dancers spin efortlessly, but he can see the farce. Arthur's eyes betray him, speckled with wistfulness. Despite himself, his thoughts stray to Morgana.
He misses her, though try as he might to forget her altogether. He can't help but remember her elegance and grace as she herself danced these same steps, palm to palm with Arthur.
Needing a moment of air, he steps from the room. He rests his hands on his head as the doors shut, and he's left alone in the hall. He doesn't understand how the loss of someone so long ago still affects him so strongly.
Merlin looks up at the sound of heels on the stone floor. Black fabric slides across the ground and around the corner.
Morgana he thinks.
His sorrow drifts away, replaced by the all too familiar feeling of single minded determination. He will not let her ruin such an important day.
Following after her is a battle as she winds her way through the many halls and rooms, only ever allowing him to catch a glimpse of her cloak. He is frustrated as he stumbles out into the gardens, wildly looking in every direction. There is no sight, no evidince that she has ever been here.
But he knows, as certainly as he knows himself, that she's here. Then he sees it, the faintest glow, coming from the direction of the pond at the edge of the wood. He looks back, at the glowing candles in the castle windows, knowing that he's most likely being led into a trap.
She's standing there, silent, in a black gown that floats just above her toes. There's a slight smile on her face and she tilts her head, beckoning him forward with a crooked finger.
"Leave Morgana!" he shouts, keeping his distance, resisting the part of him that wants so badly to approach her.
"Come dance with me." she beckons. Her hair is down and loose around her shoulders as it was the last time he saw her, and she wears a smile he wants to believe is real.
Against his better judgement he steps forward until they're only a small distance apart. Her green eyes are awash with something he hasn't seen in her for a long while, he thinks it might be hope.
She lifts her hand to touch his, lacing their fingers together, drawing him closer. She takes his other and places it on her hip, then puts hers on his shoulder. He doesn't understand this game she's playing.
"What are you doing?"
"Shh." she sways, pulling him with her. They turn in slow circles, and before he realizes it they're dancing. Her hand is soft and warm, and the silk of her dress gathers in his fingers. Her lips curve in a smile and she looks up at him, her eyes kind and welcoming.
"What are you doing?" he asks again.
She shrugs. "It feels right, doesn't it?"
He doesn't know what to say. But it does. It feels right, like they fit. They spin and turn for a little while longer, and when she stops he wonders if she'll kill him. Instead she drops his hand and touches his face, her fingers gentle as they trace his cheek.
"My visions have shown me much. But never enough. I should've seen what could have been. Because I feel it, when we touch." she emphasized by trailing her fingers down his neck, her palm coming to rest on his heart. "I wish it wasn't too late."
"It isn't." he covers her hand, and when she looks up at him he sees the tears burning in her eyes. "It's not too late. We can change things."
"But it is. Our destines were written long before you or I were born. I thought, perhaps, I could have one thing to myself, a memory to keep." She leans forward, up on her toes, and touches her lips to his. It's fleeting, and when she pulls back, she smiles. "Goodbye Merlin."
Her touch fades, and she melts into the shadows as if she is one. At the end of it all, he wonders if she came in a dream, or if it was nothing at all. But he holds on regardless, one memory for himself.
5
"Are you sure about this? This place looks kind of shady."
Arthur scoffs, whacking him on the arm. "Don't be such a baby, Merlin." he pulls him up the dark poorly lit stoop, flashing a piece of paper at the beefed up man standing guard. "This'll be fun, you'll see."
They walk through heavy black curtains to the dull pounding of music, until they reach the top of a set of grand stairs. Below them lights pulse in a dizzying array of colors, while the bass of whatever song they're playing shakes the ground.
"Let's get some drinks." Arthur leads the way to the bar across the room. As he orders for them Merlin turns, his back against the countertop. He watches the people dancing, gyrating against one another with fevor.
Then, he sees her. A lone woman in the crowd. Her hips sway, her arms above her head, her eyes closed. Waves of long black hair against skin as pale as cream helps her to stand out, unique from the droves around her.
He's not sure what possesses him, but suddenly he's stepping away from the bar and Arthur, and making his way through the crowd. Her back is to him and he settles his hands on her hips. She doesn't jump, doesn't startle, only presses her back against him and keeps dancing. They move in time to the beat, one song after another until sweat dampens the collar of his shirt.
She pulls away, taking his hand from her hip and twining their fingers together. She tugs him along, off of the dancefloor, down a hallway, until they're alone. Her touch traces his arm, up to his heart where she lays her palm flat against it.
She looks up at him, and the green of her eyes swallow him whole. "Found you."
He smiles, and this time he kisses her. And it isn't fleeting, and it isn't just a memory to keep. It's a moment that never ends.