Again, taken me a while, but I hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 11

Intimacy seemed to come easily to Morgause, whose very voice, it seemed, was made for low whispers and careful compliments. Just hearing her speak, even just about philosophy or warfare, two of her favourite subjects, made Morgana's pulse flutter like a butterfly. Her hands, though so perfectly crafted for the sword, or for the ancient parchments she often seemed to be studying, seemed to yearn for human contact. She often found Morgause clutching her pale hands in conversation, or softly caressing her cheek in the deep silences that seemed to float around the citadel. Morgana couldn't complain, it made her dizzy at times to think there was someone who could feel this close to her in so short a time. It had been a month, maybe, since her sworn alliance, since the discovery of their true relationship. Maybe that was why she was so close; Morgause had never had a family. Morgana hadn't much, her father while she was a child, Camelot as she grew up. Had she felt this close to anyone else, Uther? Arthur was as close as a brother, maybe him? Even Gwen, they had been close before, had they been this close? Maybe she just had not noticed before, for it felt everyday with Morgause opened her eyes further, expanded her mind, like she was a candle suddenly burning with the brightest flame of the whitest heat, filling her entire body.

For having belonged to one of the greatest courts in the Five Kingdoms, the ebony headed girl seemed to settle well into Morgause's care. The blonde smiled as she looked up from the manuscript she was studying and saw her sister sat in the window, a leather bound book in her lap. She had struggled at first as, despite Morgana's words of sisterhood and the bond of the Old Religion, her sister would wake in the morning and cast a disappointed glance when she found the blonde Priestess, rather than her dark haired serving girl, standing at the end of her bed. When Morgana would enter the castle's Great Hall and stop with momentary confusion when she did not find Arthur, Uther or even the crimson Knights standing there, only the solitary figure of Morgause, eyes alight with magic. When she would bark an order to a servant, only to remember she no longer had any, only to remember she was no longer the Ward of Camelot. But all that had faded quicker than Morgause had expected. And all that remained to the Lady Morgana was her: sister, mentor, friend. Something Morgause had no complaints about.

A slight ripple of the cascade of ebony curls as her sister looked up from the yellowing pages before her distracted Morgause from her thoughts. She found peridot eyes gazing at her, and rosebud lips parted as though ready to speak.

'Sister, your mind seems clouded by thought,' Morgause said, placing her parchment straight on the table. 'Are you well?'

At the question, Morgana let a slight smile play across her lips, looking down momentarily. 'Quite well, you needn't worry. I meant only to tell you I watched your training this morning.'

'I know, I saw you. I see you watching every morning.' She trained in warfare every morning, just as the Knights in any Kingdom did, but harder, with a sharper glint in her deceptively wide eyes. And, every morning, she saw a pale hand pull back the curtains, and a pale face watching her, eyes glittering with curiosity.

'I want to join you. Uther taught me to fight, I can wield a sword as well as any Knight of Camelot. Even as well as Arthur. I want to train with you.' Morgana stood, carrying the heavy book in her arms to the table, until she was level with Morgause, their eyes meeting in a steely lock. 'I will not hold you back, or ask you to be lenient. I want to be challenged.'

'You are weak still, I cannot allow you.'

'It has been over a month since I was poisoned, Morgause. I am as well as I will ever be.'

'You are not strong enough. The effects of hemlock can take many months before the effects have sufficiently worn off.'

'Maybe usually. But, of course, not everyone is so well treated and cared for as I have been. Not all healers are as talented as you are.' She was almost purring, something the blonde had never heard from her. But something that was not at all repulsive as she slipped elegantly around the table, moving closer to the Priestess. 'Surely, you cannot deny that.'

Morgause felt a smile creep across her lips as the space between them closed, and the raven haired ward stood behind her chair, almost close enough to feel her breath on her neck. 'No, you are right. And you do seem much improved. Though how far is another matter.'

'I can fight. I will not disappoint you.' She spoke in earnest now, her voice had lost its smooth tones to resemble those of a child, an almost desperate plea to her sister's emotion.

'I know, Sister. You could never disappoint me.' Morgause turned her head to look straight up at Morgana's face, her eyes soft in a wave of tenderness. She would regret her next words, she knew it, yet the speech escaped her mouth as if it was alive. 'Tomorrow morning, Morgana, we can train together.'

And she watched as Morgana began beaming, her smile bright enough to rival the candle sat on the table. Then, quickly, as though mere instinct rather than a thought out process, she bent down and pressed her lips to Morgause's cheek, the Priestess' skin burning slightly under her touch as her lips lingered there for a moment before she hastened from the room.

And all Morgause could do was sit, musing in pleasant disbelief, for the rest of the afternoon, her manuscript long forgotten.

Sunlight burnt her eyes, despite the sun only just rising in a dim dawn, and Morgana felt herself raise a hand to block its fiery gaze. Before her, dressed only in her oversized shirt and breeches, Morgause laughed, the golden light reflected off her long mane only serving to blind Morgana further.

'I wouldn't do that, Morgana. It is almost impossible to duel if you shield your eyes the whole time. Besides, you must learn to use everything to your advantage, that is how to truly succeed.'

'I thought you might, at least, wear chain mail,' Morgana said sullenly, lowering her hand. She had been given no choice, of course. From somewhere, Morgause had pulled out a chain mail vest, heavy on her young sister's shoulders, given the light armoured bodice she wore in Camelot. Even in the early morning chill, she could feel a sweat developing under her arms. Yet, Morgause walked freely, her clothes light, and, for some reason, her mood even lighter. 'Surely, we should both be wearing it?'

'If I feared injury, I would wear my armour, Sister.'

'I was trained by Uther's best swordsman.'

'And why does that not inspire fear into me?' Morgause asked, a slight curl at her lips, yet her tone remained in jest and Morgana felt herself give a slight smile. Yet, she felt it slip just as soon as Morgause spoke. 'Here, this is the sword you must use.'

Morgana stared hard at the broadsword being handed to her. It was old, rust was starting to form along the edges and the once ornate handle had been eroded to nothing more than an unrecognisable lump. Scratches and dents littered the blade and the Ward did not think she had ever seen a blade in so poor a condition. But, that was not what caused her to stand in slight shock. That was caused by the sheer length of the blade.

'Morgause, I cannot fight with that. The sword is huge, it cannot be right for me,' Morgana stammered, yet still the steel blade was forced towards her and she felt herself grip it tightly, willing herself to keep the weight of it.

'No, the blade itself was made for a taller stature. Probably male.' Morgause had picked up her own weapon now, and was casually circling Morgana where she stood, yet her dark eyes remained focused. 'But, Sister, once you learn to master a foreign sword, any will come more naturally to you. For you cannot say you will always have your own weapon with you. My first battle was fought with a dead man's blade, forged in Camelot, used to kill my own kind. Yet, I made it my ally. You must do the same.'

And, without warning, she swung, her blade slicing through the air quicker than the wind. Morgause had been prepared to stop her attack, just at the last moment, her sudden move only serving as a warning, yet the clash of steel on steel pleasantly surprised her as Morgana raised her sword to block. Not even the heavy chainmail seemed to slow her as the ebony haired girl withdrew before stepping forward for the attack. The Priestess raised an eyebrow casually, the attack easily blocked. Yet, her sister did not seem to want to yield so easily. A flurry of attacks followed, varied in strength, in height and speed. The two sisters circled each other as they fought, sweat building on each of their brows, dripping down their faces inelegantly, their sword handles becoming more difficult to grip as they moved faster and worked harder, yet neither would surrender to the other.

'I told you, I was trained by the best swordsman in Camelot. I have fought in battle before, I have killed men,' Morgana spoke, her words barely audible over the clash of the metal. 'Only ever to protect others, but I can still wield a blade.'

'You have more talent than Arthur,' Morgause replied. 'Yet, your footwork is entirely incorrect.'

Morgana stopped suddenly, her sword dropping back to her side. It took Morgause only extreme skill to stop her blade, mid-swing, from cutting into her sister's still form. 'Sister, you must always give warning if you mean to stop. We do not fight with wooden swords as children. But, still, you are the victor of the morning.'

She looked up, peridot orbs wide, no longer blinded by the early rays of the sun. 'How can I be the victor?'

'You spent much of the duel on the offensive. If I had been less skilled, you would have easily beaten me.'

'My footwork?'

'Quite wrong.' Morgause came suddenly closer, her sword no longer in hand. 'Stand as you would if you were about to attack, Morgana. Just as you were doing before with me.'

A confused frown, yet still Morgana repositioned herself as if about to swing out at an unknown villain. Her sword, still firmly grasped after recovering from its sudden weight, was held in her two hands, her face now wearing a hard battle scowl and Morgause had to wonder where she had acquired such hate, or who she was now directing it towards. The blonde stepped closer, standing directly behind her sister, placing a hand firmly on her waist. Despite the chainmail, Morgana froze, as Morgause's other hand found her upper thigh, repositioning it gently. For a second, with this foreign presence against her waist and the warmth against her leg, she could feel Morgause pressing into her, their two bodies together, Morgause's hot breath against her exposed ear. She gave a slight turn of her head, just enough to see the golden curls behind her, some snaking over Morgana's shoulder, before Morgause's hand trailed up Morgana's body from her thigh, to her arms, and, in that slight move, reminded them both exactly why they were so close.

'You're very stiff, Morgana. It is not helping me in your teaching.' Morgause had dropped both her hands and was now circling the Ward's new, repositioned figure. 'If you wish to improve, you must be looser, and lighter.'

'I am not so used to being treated as a ragdoll.' Morgana frowned, still feeling the woman's touch against her body, and what that had seemed to do to her.

'I don't understand. How were you taught in Camelot if not through physical contact? You're learning to fight, physical contact is not something that can be avoided.'

'I was the Ward of King Uther Pendragon. The female Ward. Of course, I was not allowed to be touched. Especially not by some swordsman.' Morgana scoffed. 'I would be told what to do and merely follow instruction. No-one had any problem with that.'

'Well, I have a problem with that,' Morgause said, slightly more defensive than she wished to sound, as if Morgana's sword was really raised against her. 'To learn to fight, you must be close, almost as if to simulate a battle itself. That is how to be the best possible.'

'I presume you were close with Cenred, then?' She didn't mean to sound so bitter, but the words felt like a harsh Winter wind once they had left her mouth. She wasn't even sure why.

'Yes, you could call it close, Morgana. You could call it many things, many a lot worse than 'close'. Personally, I call it doing all I needed to do to stay safe, so I could be here now for you. I am sorry if that is a problem.'

Morgana felt her stance collapse, armour suddenly too heavy, her arms falling from their rigid position. The sword clattered to the cobbled ground, scaring away any birds nesting for the night in the crevices around the stone castle. 'I apologise, Morgause. I meant nothing by it. It is difficult to hear criticism when brought up in the Pendragon court. Uther sees any opinion but his own as wrong, and to listen to criticism as weak.'

'But you are not a Pendragon, Morgana.' Her slim hand reached up to her sister's face, making contact with her porcelain skin in a gentle caress. Without thinking, Morgana raised her hand to meet Morgause's, stroking her fingers lightly. 'You are better than them, Morgana, the Old Religion runs in your veins; you will always be more than they could ever dream.'

Yet, despite everything, Morgause's kind words of encouragement, her gentle tuition the rest of the day, despite the smile Morgana could not force from her lips as she drifted into her sleep that night, the nightmares returned. A pounding heart as she ran down stone corridors. A warning bell rang in the distance. Her breath was jagged. Fear. Then swirling images, nothing focused. Faces and muffled voices, she was sure she could place them, but clearly not for no names sprung to her mind. Then, she saw her. Silver cloak, shimmering as light on a still lake, and long golden curls covering her face as she lay, motionless, on the stone floor. And she ran to her, feet echoing, the hands reaching for icy cold cheeks to turn her over, to see her face, though she knew already whose face she would see. But she refused to believe it. No. No…

A cry in the night. Nothing more. Almost as soft as the breeze that blew through the trees outside the castle, rustling the leaves ever so slightly. Most people would not even hear it, they would sleep through it with no trouble. But not her, she knew this sound. It was a cry for help.

Morgause awoke suddenly. The Priestesses had taught her how to wake oneself from slumber in case of danger, but this was something new to her. She got up too fast and stumbled in the enveloping dark around her, nearly strangling herself in the curtains surrounding the bed. Wearing only a thin, white shirt, the same as she wore for her sword training, she shivered when the night air hit her bare legs. But such a harsh feeling showed her she was fully awake, at least. Reaching behind her, she pulled her hair out of the confining plait, letting gold tumble down her back, and she hurried into the adjoining room.

The first thing to hit her, as she stood at the bottom of her sister's four poster bed, was a sudden wave of compassion, so warm she forgot her bare legs and thin shirt. Peering around the green satin curtains, she could see her sister's chest rising and falling rapidly, as though gasping desperately for air. Morgana's body was tossing and turning beneath sweat soaked sheets, eyelids flickering manically, as though possessed by some unseen demon. But Morgause knew differently.

She circled the bed, eventually sitting gently beside Morgana's sleeping figure, and began stroking her ebony hair, whispering to her softly, as if she were Morgause's own. She watched, helpless, as her sister grew more restless, her breathing more rapid, until she shot up, panting heavily. Without thinking, Morgause pulled her fatigued figure into her arms and held her closely.

'Sister, sister.' Morgause felt Morgana's arms tighten around her as she stroked her thick hair through whispers. 'I am here. I'm here.'

'Morgause.' She nestled herself into the blonde's neck, breathing in her familiar scent, a mixture of light flowers and a hint of sweat, all covered with, what Morgana imagined, was the smell of magic. It calmed her, whatever it was, and she could feel her pulse slowing, though rogue tears still slipped down her cheeks. 'I was scared, Morgause. I was so scared.'

'Well, I am here with you now. You need not be scared anymore, Morgana, my Sister.' Morgause smiled, leaning back slightly so their eyes could meet and she watched a rosy blush begin to spread across Morgana's pale cheeks. 'How did they help you in Camelot?'

'Gaius would give me a sleeping draught, but it never helped. My maidservant, Gwen, would try to reassure me, but she would leave.' Morgana looked down, her hand subconsciously reaching for the metal bracelet on her wrist. At the cold touch of metal against her fingertips, she felt the ghost of a smile hover on her lips and she raised her gaze again, to meet her sister's chestnut orbs. 'Of course, I have not had a nightmare since you gave me the healing bracelet. Not until tonight.'

At this, Morgause rose from the bed, her feet noiseless against the stone floor as she walked to stand beside the ornate fireplace opposite the foot of the bed. 'The bracelet can prevent dreams, but not prophecies, Morgana. Some futures are shrouded in mist; others are clear as cut glass. But, both to see either is to see what is yet to come.'

The image of Morgause, motionless, on the hall flashed once again through Morgana's mind, and she felt her blood freeze to ice within her veins. 'It cannot be a prophecy.'

'I cannot tell you, my Sister,' the blonde said slowly, before murmuring soft words under her breath, causing amber flames to awaken like sleeping dragons in the fireplace. As the warmth began to seep into the room, she turned from the flames, to see Morgana sat up against the decorated headboard, her dark hair hung in untidy ringlets around her face, eyes wide, and Morgause felt a sudden rush of something within her, causing her heart to pound. At this, she felt herself say, 'I will leave you now. You must sleep; it is not even yet dawn.'

The feeling of her hands around Morgause's ice cold cheeks, her limp form as Morgana held her tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. 'No, Morgause. Don't go. Please, don't go.' The Priestess turned just as Morgana felt another tear slip onto her bedcovers. 'Don't leave me, sister.'

And Morgause was sat back on the bed, clutching her sister's shaking hands, lips pressed against her forehead. 'I will not leave you, Morgana. I will never leave you.'

'Not now?'

'I will sleep with you, so I can be as close to you as you need to sleep well, and I need to be to ensure your safety. The Priestesses of the Isle would often share a bed, it is common practice.' She smiled, yet of course she could not tell her sister exactly why the women would sleep together in a community from which men were prohibited. Still, Morgana returned her smile and let the blonde slip silently beside her under the heavy bedcovers. And, as she turned to her side, she let her sister slide an arm around her waist, and nestle herself against Morgana's back. Slipping into sleep, Morgana could not recall whether the warmth spreading through her body was from the roaring fire or the Priestess holding her so tightly.