Chapter 12
All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one
"Where the Story Ends" by the Fray
They were seated next to each other on the bench. Wrapped in the blanket, they were close but not touching. His eyes shifted towards hers and she quickly glanced away. It was the fourth time he'd caught her staring at him. She kept gazing at him, wary and confused.
They'd awoken that morning, nearly frozen but alive. He'd almost immediately helped her tie back up her gown under the pretense of warmth. In truth, he was afraid that further glimpses from the curve of her breast might prove his undoing.
The guard came in less than an hour later, clearly meant to check and see if they were still alive. He had smiled, a little too pleased at their residual shivering. "Good night?"
"Delightful," Morgana had said, with a deadly smirk. "You can tell your king that it'll take more than a little snow to get rid of us."
The guard had kept smiling and slammed the door. Food was shoved through the whole a few minutes later.
They'd made little conversation since breakfast. She still seemed rather tired. And truth be told, he was pretty exhausted. Cold nights always made him lethargic and coupled with the anxiety, the escape plans, the fights…and the nighttime activities, things were taxing to say the least.
She hadn't mentioned last night and he didn't either. In the cold light of day, he still wasn't sure what to make of it.
He didn't understand her. Nor did he understand what was happening here or what was happening between them. One moment they were tearing each other apart with horrible words and meaner phrases, the next they were touching each other with tender kisses and hot passion. It was unsettling. He didn't know where they stood. During the day they were fighting and planning, at night they were damn near close to love making.
She was so unpredictable. Open and loving one moment, mean and cruel the next. He felt like he was jumping out of his skin. She couldn't be trusted. And apparently, he couldn't trust himself around her either. She kept stealing into his life, breaking down barriers that he'd carefully constructed so that he could continue on the slow path to his destiny. But she questioned and criticized, comforted and calmed. He knew his path, he knew how crucial a role he played in Arthur and Camelot's future. But more importantly, he knew how hell-bent on revenge she was. That should've been enough to keep him bottled up and in check .
But no, he had to be the hero too, didn't he? He just had to try and save her this final time, even if it meant an end to his sanity. He called himself a fool for the hundredth time.
"I…ummm…suppose… I should thank you for last night," she said awkwardly glancing away.
Feeling equally at sea, he said, "Then I guess you're welcome."
More silence. Don't ask, he thought, don't ask, don't ask. But of course he couldn't resist asking the question that had plagued him all morning. "What was the dream about? Like what would…er…make you want to, I mean, that is…oh never mind. It's none of my business," he finished stiffly. What did it matter? Why did he care what it was about? Or rather whom it was about? He cursed inwardly.
"No, it's fine," she said, although she continued to glance away, the curve of her cheek pinkening. "I suppose you've earned some of the details. I was making love to someone…well, my future self was making love to someone. I'm not quite sure if it was a dream or a vision."
"I see," he said, scowling. He could just imagine how that dream went. Some handsome knight or powerful sorcerer with a rock hard body and a glowing tan. Two elegant people entwined in a sexual abyss of limbs and flesh….only for her to wake up to a pasty and gawky servant with a penchant for insults. A sufficient stand-in at the time but hardly a substitute. "Anyone I know?" he said, trying for a joking manner.
"Maybe," she said in that mysterious voice that was quickly coming to unsettle him.
Before he could say anything else, she suddenly changed the subject, "Do you like children?"
Puzzled, he asked warily, "Why do you ask?"
"Just making conversation," she said in a haughty voice, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't have much experience with them, being an only child and all. I mean, I had Will, who was sort of a brother to me. But no younger siblings. But yeah, I like children. I'm the one who brought Mordred to you, remember?"
There he went again, sharing more details, bearing more pieces of his soul, reminding her of their shared history. How did she manage that? Manage to get past his defenses? Why was he so very eager to answer her questions? So eager to please her even the tinest bit? That only led to a mess of trouble.
"I was an only child too…well, or I thought I was," she said quietly.
He felt a tug in the area of his heart, yet another thing they shared. He thought back to what he had told Kilgarrah after Morgana had returned, "I thought because she had magic, I thought we were the same." He couldn't afford a connection with her. He couldn't afford to sympathize with her, to see so many of the similarities between them. They were on opposite sides of the divide. His feelings now…this lust, this softening was merely a manifestation of nostalgia. He longed for a woman who was essentially dead. A woman who had died with the poison from a water pouch he'd given. He shouldn't be softening. He couldn't be. His entire future depended on his loyalty to Arthur.
Trying to get back on better footing, he said tartly, "Considering I spend most of my days protecting your one sibling from the other, I'm well aware."
She took the bait. "Protecting, really? You'd think you were a guard or a knight with that attitude," she said with a sniff.
"I do more than a knight," he said definitively.
"Oh really? Do tell, it must be so dangerous straightening beds and drawing baths. Or is it polishing all those pointy swords, that surely requires several years of training," she finished with that terribly annoying smirk, the one with the sideways head tilt.
He felt a flash of anger, "I've saved Arthur's life more than he'll ever know. Saved yours too as a matter of fact."
They were inching too close to his secrets, but he wouldn't stop. Just once. Just once he wanted someone to see him as more than a manservant. Someone to acknowledge the important role he played in Camelot. Not just anyone. Morgana, he wanted her to see him as more than some Arthur's servant.
But he was bound to be disappointed. "Huh, when?" she laughed without mirth.
"If you don't count the last forty eight hours, several times," he said steadily.
She chuckled at his vague response, "Come now, don't be modest. Let's hear your heroics."
He gritted his teeth. When had he become so arrogant? So desperate to reveal himself, even his darkest secret? Like an executioner, she seemed to draw every last confession from his lips before bringing down the axe. But he would resist this one secret, as he always did. No matter how much she probed and teased. "I'd prefer not to."
Smug, she said, "Yes, you're much more adept at taking lives than saving them."
Angry, he said with a lofty voice, "If you're talking about the poison, I'm the one who told her what I'd given you. She wouldn't have been able to cure you otherwise."
"It hardly counts if you're the one who put me there. Morgause would've figured it out on her own. Next example, "she said haughtily, her face close to his.
Her eyes blazed up at him, but he much preferred her like this. Then he couldn't forget her blaming and devious ways. "I'm not one to go about brandying my handiwork. I leave that up to avenging sorceresses like yourself. Maybe if you think on it, you'll figure it out. It's not as if you can say the same thing, is it? You've never saved my life,"
"You are such a condescending and arrogant ass," she said with a sneer.
He folded his arms over his chest and said nonchalantly, "I'll remind you, this condescending and arrogant ass saved your life. Unthanked actually."
She tossed her head and said with sarcastic humility, "Oh yes, Merlin, thank you so much for your lifesaving aid in said ambiguous event. I'll be forever in your debt. But that doesn't give you the right to kill me."
"I've never wanted to kill you. I still don't," he said quietly, looking away.
"Really? Because you've put on quite the performance of doing it up proper."
"If I wanted to kill you, I could've done it long ago," he said. It was true. He could've killed her several times before. Kilgarrah had warned him long before Morgana's turn to the dark side. But he hadn't lied, no matter what she'd done, he didn't want to kill her.
"What were you going to do, annoy me to death?"
"I never thought on it. Despite what you continue to believe, I never wanted to hurt you," he said.
"Huh! Hurt me? Please, I'm not so weak as to be hurt by the likes of you. Even your poisoning was half thought out at best."
More angry than he'd been this entire conversation, he spat back, "So I'm a beast one moment and a weakling the next?"
"More like an inept simpleton," she said with another toss of her hair.
That was the last straw. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her towards him, "Oh really? And I believe it was this inept simpleton whose name you were calling out last night."
She thrust her face closer and said, "And it was this avenging sorceress's that you were also calling out, Merlin."
"Like I said before, Morgana, you're beautiful and I'm only a man," he lied.
Tearing her arm out of his grip, she spat, "Yes, and I'm a wanton, right? All too eager to be Orsric's little whore?"
"I never said that!"
She was silent for a moment and then said, "Well, as I said before, thank you. For the practice. I'm sure it'll come in handy in the future." Her voice was so arrogant, so assured.
He narrowed his eyes, "Oh practice, was it? I doubt you'll be able to forget. Marry the whomever you want, align yourself with whomever you please. But you'll remember how I made you burn, you'll remember how I gave your first taste of pleasure. Not matter what happens in the future, you won't forget last night."
With an arched eyebrow and a smirk she said, "I guarantee once I get out of this place, I'll forget it all. Every last detail. Now let's see if we can find any weapons in this hell hole because I'm more than ready to forget."
FINIS
As the little lead in and my previous note about "Say When"indicates, I listen to far too much of The Fray while writing. I had been listening to the more cultured Oasis, but that put me into this sad and really depressed funk, not quite the mood for this particular fic (Oasis also derailed my dissertation work, as "The Importance of Being Idle" became an anthem for my procrastination). Yet The Fray's lines kept sticking in my head when writing this chapter. And while I love writing the sexy scenes, but there's just something equally as satisfying about the dialogue between these two. Sorry to say, that it might be a while before the next update. The next chapter's right before the turning point of the story, so I have to figure out what to do with these two before that moment.
Please review! I'm so grateful and happy every time I see a new one pop up.
