Standing Resistance

Chapter 4

He found her. Of course he did.

Morgana put on a scowl on her face as she resumed adjusting the fitting of the corset and the shear fabric slung across the some of the dancers' bodies, re-stitching a couple of places and checking on the performers' appearances from time to time. She spared a single glance at his direction and saw him leaning against the doorframe of the dressing room, and when she saw the smug smirk on his lips, she could not help the flare of annoyance that she felt.

She was working, for Christ's sake. Couldn't he wait for a better time to do this? She could feel his heated gaze on the back of her head as she continued to ignore him, tightening the seams that supported the loose shear fabric to the costumes of the ballerinas.

Morgana did not want him to find her, but at the same time, deep in the core of her heart, she knew she did want him to track her down. But the muscles that surrounded her tattered heart protested her desire, telling her that it would be for the best to lock him out of her life until his presence became necessary. She could not trust herself enough to be around him, because Morgana knew of his effect on her, whether or not he knew of it himself. No, if he was determined to bother her when she already told him that the two of them would not work out, then he would have to wait, at least for a while.

"Ouch!" cried the performer Morgana was attending to as her needle pricked the ballet dancer's leg. Morgana whispered an apology and cursed for allowing herself to be distracted by him. She could just picture his widening grin as he looked at her, knowing full well that he had disrupted her concentration.

With the cue, all the performers shuffled out of the dressing room, passing by Morgana as she stood from her kneeling position. When the room had emptied, she slowly made her way to one of the dancers' dressing table and stared at her own reflection on the mirror in front of her.

Truly, she hadn't aged a bit. Her skin was still pale and flawless with barely any dark circles under her eyes. Her dark locks were pinned up on her head, and she trailed her eyes down her long neck. Only the look in her eyes assured her of the millennium that passed by painfully, showing her precisely what had made her so old and distrustful. Her gaze darted to the door that was reflected on the mirror and found him still standing there, his arms crossed on top of his chest. When their eyes met with her back towards him, Merlin began to stride towards her, never leaving her eyes as he approached her sitting form.

"You did wonderfully a while ago," Merlin remarked as he reached her, standing behind her as they stared at each other through their reflections. She did not answer him, gave no sign that she registered what he said. Morgana merely looked back at him, her expression unreadable as she betrayed no emotion.

"You knew I was going to try to find you." It was not a question, but a simple enough statement. Morgana nodded.

"Did you want me to?" But instead of the nod that Merlin craved to receive from her, this time, she shook her head. She was lying to herself, and she could tell from the look on his face that he knew.

Merlin flared up in anger. "So that's it? The day before was just so you won't be lonely and to enjoy my company, you lonely, lonely girl?"

Morgana growled and stood from her seat, facing Merlin and raising her chin high. "You won't understand, because I know you won't listen. I know that no matter how much I explain to you that I didn't want to do that to you, again, I know you'd be as stubborn as ever. So do us both a favour and just leave." But before Morgana could walk away, Merlin grabbed her arm and forced her to face him.

"You think that if I left now I'd be doing both of us a favour? No, Morgana," Merlin laughed humourlessly. "I'd be doing you a favour. So while I still have the patience, I think you should explain to me what the hell it is you're doing, because—"

Merlin tried to push her away as she pressed her lips against his, unwilling to let her get her way and steer their earlier conversation to other tempting activities. But as she clung to his neck and her body deliciously pressed against his, he found himself unable to cast her aside. He wound his hands up her back and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer to him as she tightened her arms around his neck ever so slightly. Morgana's raven hair unwound in its loose bonds and tumbled on her back. He let out a moan as Morgana bit his lip too hard, drawing hot blood with her teeth, and when his lips parted to gasp, she thrust her tongue into his mouth without waiting to ask for any permission.

He let her ravish what she could as he hoisted her up on a dressing table, not caring if they pushed anything that was laid on top of its surface, and Morgana wrapped her legs around his waist. She sighed into his mouth as Merlin's hands slid down her back to her waist where his fingers played with the hem of her crème satin top, his skin grazing against hers. He tasted like hot iron and something that she could only describe as Merlin. She whimpered as he caressed her under her clothing, wanting more than what he was currently giving her. He fumbled with the clasp of her bra as he peppered her jaw line with a trail of wet kisses, her eyes shut with pleasure as she clung and grasped at his button-down shirt that somehow became, well, unbuttoned.

Morgana gasped and arched her back as she felt Merlin suck at her pulse point, her hips bucking into where she had her legs around him. When she was about to push his shirt off his shoulders, Merlin paused, and with his hot breathing against her neck, she didn't know how long she could do all this teasing. Morgana growled, but when she inched her face closer to his to show that she didn't want to stop, the look in his eyes made her freeze. He loosened his hold of her waist so he could look at her face properly, and saw the impatient and annoyed frown that creased her forehead.

"Is this what you want?" Merlin whispered with his voice hoarse from their activities. "You know that I want this, that I want us. Just let me know that you do to, and I'll give myself willingly to you." He pushed the stray tendrils of her hair behind her ears, stroking her face in a lovingly gesture.

Her eyes then widened, as if she had realized something. She gently pushed Merlin away as she stood on her feet. "No," she whispered in some kind of despair that confused Merlin. Hearing that one word poked at his building fury, and at that he began to button up his shirt hastily as he glared at Morgana, leaving the ones at the top open for comfort. He tucked his shirt in his slacks and wiped his bleeding lips as Morgana re-pinned her hair and smoothened the slight wrinkles on her blouse. He noted how she would not look at him, not even face him.

"Then why don't you tell me what it is that you really want, Morgana?" Merlin ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Morgana's hands simply went limp on her sides as she stared downcast on the floor. "Why are you here? Why did you come to me? Why now?" he continued to assault her with questions, taking sure and careful steps towards her until he stood in front of her. Merlin lifted her chin to make her look at him in the eye, which Morgana reluctantly complied to.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered to her, repeating the question that continued to ring in his mind.

When she looked into his eyes, she knew she couldn't tell him, not yet. His blue-grey orbs were filled with incomparable knowledge and wisdom, and yet, Morgana knew of what he was still ignorant to. One little secret, dangling at the tip of her tongue, but she did everything that she could to hold that needed confession behind her lips.

Morgana looked down to his free hand which hung limp at his side, and she took it gingerly into her smaller one. She gave him a small brief smile when she saw the look of confusion on his face, and she tugged at his hand as she moved towards the door. He let her lead him through the winding paths of the theatre, his eyes glued to the back of her head, as he paid no mind to where they were going.

The floorboards creaked under the weight of their feet. Despite the old and somewhat medieval appeal of the grand theatre, there was a constant elegance to its décor and aesthetic appearance. It was Albion Theatre, where they were in, one of the most prestigious stages for the performing arts in all of Britain. Merlin had come numerous times to enjoy the songs and dances and other forms of art shown in the theatre, but never ventured behind the lush red curtains when they are down.

It was only when he noticed the buzzing of a crowd when he did take his eyes off Morgana that he saw that he was brought to the side of the stage, where the performers and the staff hustled about, some wearing long glittering cuts of fabric, some in civilian clothes as they helped the dancers in their costumes and rearranging the stage decors and props. She led him to a crowd of splashes of purple, deep and blazing blue, soft pinks and lavenders, and the occasional gold streaks with each turn.

They wove through the chaos of people and rich colours as Morgana gripped at his hand, and he couldn't help but watch them move with awe. She stopped at the very edge of the back of the stage, but hidden enough from the watching crowd in their seats. He then let his gaze rest on the ballet that unfolded before him.

The ever changing lights above the graceful figures hit each dip and turn of their poised bodies, and each movement they made seemed to make their opulently clad skins glow with the dreamy-like performance. The colours of the scene, which resembled that of a purple sunrise that mingled with the infinite pools of blue and the pink and scarlet fires of the horizon, seemed to change in its intensity and hue with each twirl and leap they make.

Translucent strips of cloth with intertwining wild vines hung from the ceilings in patterns like curtains, and with its faint azure blue or baby pink colour, they slightly drifted in the air in elegance. In the background stood artificial tall trees and unruly bushes and unknown flowers in bloom under the spotlight that created an effect like soft moonlight, contrasting to the colours that portrayed the dawn of a day. The scene all-in-all seemed like a kingdom of fairies, coming out in the moonlight, clad in their glowing and glittering dresses and shirts with leaps in their steps as if to celebrate a rare event that happened once in a blue moon.

The prima ballerina, dressed with a tight pale orange corset with a flowing golden skirt that reached her knees, seemed to drift about the stage, as if in search for something. In her hair was nestled a small golden tiara, and pins adorned each twist and braid of the chocolate strands like shimmering stars. Her shoes glinted with thin linings of gold, and as she roamed around the forest built upon fantasies and ghosts of dreams, she moved like the sun under the moon, a royal and aristocratic figure to represent her kind. Then her eyes set upon a man in a group, and she motions him over to her. The danseur noble, wearing a shirt only a little more decorated than the rest of the males', strode towards her in giant leaps, and together they spun and moved fluidly, their splendid dance that they performed at the tips of their toes capturing all eyes that had their focus on the stage as the other ballerinas and danseurs hastened to their own respective partners as they joined their king and queen.

It brought up old memories, the ballet, as each scene replaced another. Old times and old echoes of laughter, dried up tears and unsaid words, it all came back to him. It was both painful but hypnotizing. It even made him reminisce to his earliest years, ancient times that were the most joyous yet most agonizing at the same time. He could not help the silent tears that ran down his face as he watched, remembering, regretting.

He couldn't tell how long he stood mesmerized by the performance of the ballet dancers, in their tragic story of love and woe, but when the audience stood to applaud the dance, Merlin whipped to turn to his side and cursed when he saw that Morgana was not there. He should have known it would happen. She might have even put a spell on him to exaggerate the effects of the ballet on him! He damned his foolishness and the naivety that he seemed to never get rid of over his long and overly prolonged life.

Merlin stormed out of the backstage and checked every nook he could find in search for her, pushing against the floods of people with their somehow boisterous chatter. After searching every room of the Albion Theatre with no sign of Morgana's presence, he walked out into the London streets, breathing in the cold breeze as they shocked his warm lungs. She had run from him, again.

He began to walk through the scarcely filled outdoors of the night, striding away from the eventful theatre that was suddenly too noisy and crowded for his taste. He shoved his cool hands into his pockets, only for a frown to furrow his forehead as a piece of crumpled paper grazed his fingertips.

He immediately fished the paper out and straightened it, and under the dim light of the shops and street lamps of the busy city, he managed to read out the words that were written in a handwriting that was too familiar to him.

I'd give you my phone number, but I assume that you already have that since you managed to track down where I am currently working.

A grin crept up on Merlin's features. He folded the note and placed it back in his pocket as he thought out his next steps, with his heart thumping loudly as it pumped hot blood through his veins and his magic warmly humming underneath his skin.

AN: Hello again! :D For those who wait for updates on this story, well, I must say that I'll surely be trying to update this more often. There's more to the plot than just Mergana angst, as I hope you could tell, so I hope you guys wait for the next chapters! :) Please leave reviews, as they encourage me greatly.