Title: Beauty unfolds breathing our tale untold.
Author: Swamy
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana, Arthur/OFC
Rating: PG16
Genre: Angst, romance.
There will come an age when men will declare themselves all equals. As if nobility were not stamped upon them, beneath tattered clothes and broken promises; as if gold and love were not a curse, not a prophecy that will come to be fulfilled, whether it is wished for or not.
One man can command another, or beat his own horse to a gallop, but there are things that men cannot change; and it makes no difference whether they are kings or slaves.
There are events that are inevitable, the will of God: life, death, the heartbeat that quickens for one we would never wish to desire, the empty space that grows between those who become distant even as they stand still.
Destiny.
Men will speak, and their tongues will proclaim the truth, settling falsehoods; but that which is will be again. What is will always be.
The sudden light was reflected in the stone walls of the long corridor that led to the east tower, and for a split second the bolt of lightning illuminated his surroundings, showing him clearly the silhouette of his own shadow on the wall. It let him sink back into the darkness as soon as the flash had died, the echo of the thunder that accompanied it still resounding through the hallway.
Arthur gripped his coat in his hand and climbed the tight staircase to the top of the tower, breathing in the air – it was colder at that height, and permeated by the smell of wet earth and plants from the greenhouse.
Her back was to him; her black hair fell over her left shoulder while she stood motionless staring out of the huge window, her hands clutching at her arms in an effort to retain a little warmth.
Behind her was a chair, which she used sometimes when she came to the tower.
The prince had ordered Merlin to inform Morgana that his father had requested her presence at dinner, but the boy had not found her. Arthur didn't doubt the fact that it was pure randomness whether Merlin ever even managed to find his own room; or so he had thought initially, and informed Merlin with a thin-lipped smile. But this time it was clear that Merlin hadn't found her because, Arthur knew, she couldn't be in her chambers.
She had been fascinated by storms since she was a child, and in the middle of the most violent – her favourite – she always came to the east tower, staying for hours to watch the spectacle: the lighting spreading across the sky, the thunder roaring in the open space, a kind of magic not even Uther could forbid.
When she was young she had often slipped away from her chambers, wrapping a sheet around herself, and he had seen her run alone through the castle with the silent grace of a cat. The material following her path slid on the cold paving stones like a bridal veil as she came to perch on an old chair in the east tower, in front of the window, watching the tempest courting the night like a passionate lover – that was how she used to describe that spectacle, leaving him to ask himself for days if there was someone she wanted to be courted by.
"It won't last much longer," he commented, to make his presence known.
"All the best things are over too quickly," she replied without turning. "Like my success in avoiding your company, for instance," she commented, turning her head to fix him with bright eyes – enlivened as always by their bickering – while her lips curved with the ghost of a smile.
"Father wishes to dine with you," he informed her in a flat tone. "I think he believes that if your mouth is occupied in chewing it will force you to a far more limited conversation, making your the occasion strangely pleasurable. Of course, I'll let him discover his mistake for himself."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Morgana turned back to the window as the wind swayed the folds of her dress sleeves and lifted up wisps of her hair, making her shiver. She heard Arthur approaching behind her but did not turn, continuing to stare out at the clear grey sky covered in the sheen of the light.
"I'm going to dress, and in twenty minutes I'll be waiting to escort you to dinner," he told her.
"I don't think I'll be assaulted on my way to the dining-room, Arthur," she replied to his ceremonious consideration.
"Who knows?" he said as he returned to the door. "We need put no limit on providence – I could still be lucky."
Morgana turned to try for the last word, but he had already disappeared beyond the threshold, leaving her alone, the storm dying away at her back – and a coat thrown over the back of the chair.
Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, she took it up and put it over her shoulders, barely lowering her face to find Arthur's scent on the cloth without admitting to herself what it was she was consciously looking for.
The noise she had made in taking and putting on the coat was almost imperceptible, standing out in the stone hallway, could not distinguish it over the storm even as it abated in its fury. But he hoped that she had found his coat and was doing what was reasonable to avoid falling ill.
This time he had got the last word in – it happened so rarely he couldn't help but enjoy the moment, however briefly – and he hoped she wouldn't try to get back at him in a childish way by refusing to wrap herself up warm. In that case he would not be held responsible, nor would he worry himself over her health.
"How strange," remarked Merlin, looking about himself, as Arthur arranged the laces of his tunic to his liking. "...I can't find your coat."
"I would start to wonder if it were to the contrary," replied Arthur.
His servant ignored this to ask, "Are you sure you didn't leave it somewhere?"
"Do you really expect it to be me to take care of such things?" he asked with an expression of superiority. "In addition to my coat, Merlin, you seem to have lost your good manners."
"At least I am sure I had some up to a certain point in my life," replied the boy, earning himself a look off the young prince who, despite the arrogance and pride he was doing his best to show, remained silent.
"Make sure my armour is well-polished," he said as the young man followed him through the door of his chambers. "Walk my dogs and clean my boots..."
"What a thrilling evening..." muttered Merlin, not caring to lower his voice.
"I wouldn't complain," replied the prince. "It'll surely be better than mine," he said as they walked through the long corridor that separated the wing where his chambers could be found from that of Morgana's. "I shall have to listen to my father summarising the kingdom's finances and discussing politics... until the not-very-distant moment in which Morgana decides she is tired of staying silent like any lady of good sense and aggravates my father into threatening to throw her into a cell like a common criminal. And at that point I shall be forced to intervene in an attempt to avoid disaster." He explained in a voice overflowing with annoyance, painting with words the scenario that lay before him that evening.
"What are we doing here?" asked his servant once he noticed that they had stopped.
"Courtesy requires me to wait for Morgana and accompany her to dinner, Merlin," Arthur informed him curtly. "I, as opposed to you, am not able to enjoy the silent company of a suit of armour." He spoke so melodramatically that Merlin tried not to roll his eyes. "I am forced to be in the presence of a noble shrew, and if you had any heart you would pity me," he scolded.
"Oh, you really have all my-" As his voice broke off it seemed to hitch in his throat. "...sympathy," he finished. Arthur regarded him with an arched eyebrow. Clearly Merlin's comment was intended to be sarcastic, but his tone of amazement clashed with what he had said, and by impulse Arthur looked to where Merlin's gaze was being held.
Morgana was approaching, accompanied by Gwen. She was walking gracefully and sinuously in a red dress, clothed in elegance and proud spirit. The crimson of her lips accentuated the pale white of her skin, and had it not been for her eyes – lively, alive, illuminated with a magic that was life in its most primitive state – he could have taken her for a statue. A perfect statue.
Being compelled to take notice of and wonder at her beauty bothered him terribly. If shaking Merlin to get rid of that dazed expression wouldn't have been equivalent to admitting the power that Morgana had over him, then Arthur would have – but he had to deny himself the pleasure. Instead he smiled – "What a beautiful dress," he said, averting his eyes, refusing to look at the two girls.
"Y-yes," agreed Merlin, naked amazement written all over his face as Morgana grinned.
"Lavender becomes you especially well, Gwen," added Arthur, making it plain that the compliment was not addressed to the recipient that his guest and Merlin had assumed. He tried to catch a glimpse of Morgana's reaction – but she remained composed, appearing completely indifferent to his words.
Gwen blushed, lowering her eyes filled with modesty and emotion. "You are too kind, sire."
Arthur thought that if it served to irritate Morgana, he would have found new reasons to compliment Gwen in front of her every day – and if he found no excuse he would make one up.
Merlin rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to shake his head, and noticed something he hadn't before. "That's your coat," he said, staring at the red fabric in Gwen's hands.
"I had it," explained Morgana, anticipating the question the boy would surely have put to her maid. "I would have had it sent back immediately, but I was cold..." she said, and Arthur breathed in more deeply, silently pleased that she had made use of it. It would have been irksome to think that he had had troubled himself for nothing. Even though he didn't, of course, care at all what she did for her own health.
"I must have forgotten it when we were talking before," he stated, trying to play down his own actions so that she would not read deeper meanings where there were none.
"I believe so too," confirmed Morgana, nodding slightly, "but it's good that you point it out. Someone might be so mistaken as to think you in possession of good manners," she added with a sweet tone and a mocking smile.
"Not I, that's for sure!" exclaimed Merlin, clamping his lips together when he realised that he had spoken out loud. Morgana's gentle laughter was short-lived, but echoed from the castle walls and resounded inside Arthur's chest, while Morgana's gaze, sweetened by good humour, rested upon his manservant.
"If you don't mind I'd like to stop wasting time and go to dinner, or we'll be late," he reminded her, trying not to sound annoyed – for all he cared she could smile at anyone she liked. If she wanted to delude servants who had no chances or hopes she was free to do so, and he certainly wouldn't worry himself over it. Even if he had felt otherwise, it would have been because her behaviour was not much appropriate; she was as obliged as Arthur not to bring about damage to the name of Pendragon, and of course this obligation included not mixing with servants.
"There are no words to express my sorrow, but I shall try to hide my pain as much as I can," said Morgana, again passing her gaze over Merlin, and finding in Arthur's manservant – traitor – an accomplice both amused and well-disposed to second her irreverence.
The moment was soon broken, however – to Arthur's relief – by the sound of pottery smashing on the ground. Their attention was suddenly brought to the end of the long corridor, inhabited by shadows and scattered candles.
"It must just have been a clumsy servant." Merlin's voice faltered as he spoke –Arthur's safety being always at the forefront of his mind sometimes made him afraid of becoming paranoid, and he had lost the habit of quickly dismissing his suspicions, even the ridiculous ones.
"Impossible," declared Arthur. "You're right here." He spoke with an ironic smile, raising his arm to offer it silently to Morgana, who accepted it whilst taking particular care to seem greatly irritated by their closeness.
Arthur was happy to leave behind Merlin and Gwen; Morgana alone was enough to try his mood, and he had no need of extra help in that. Although he had to admit Gwen was really quite harmless and probably couldn't annoy him if she had wanted to.
"Do you want to borrow my handkerchief?" he asked, without turning his gaze to the girl walking beside him.
"To what purpose?" she asked in reply.
"To wipe away your tears, in case you can no longer bear the terrible displeasure of my escorting you to dinner," he explained, trying to sound indifferent. Sometimes he would be glad to hear her say that he was important in her life, hear her admit that she was attracted to him and was jealous of the other girls. Instead she did nothing but engage him in verbal sparring matches, which left him feeling frustrated and incapable of thinking about being attracted to anyone else – even if it was something which he could never admit to anyone, least of all himself… not even under torture.
"I'll restrain myself, never fear," she assured him. "But perhaps you should keep hold of it in case Uther needs it," she suggested in a conspiratorial tone, raising a short laugh from him.
When Arthur laughed – gave a genuinely laugh, not a pompous laugh or sneer like the ones he gave out to the masses – something flittered in her stomach and for a moment she lost the train of whatever she was thinking or saying.
"Don't go telling anyone, but this is a scene I'd really like to see," he admitted, answering in the same tone.
"It will be our secret," she said, and her crimson lips curved and parted slightly, showing her white teeth and something else beyond the purely aesthetic. Something he was never able to define but knew was there, and made her who she was.