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New Fic: Swirls of Light and Ice (Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, Morgana/Uther)
Title: Swirls of Light and Ice
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rivestra
Rating: NC17
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana, Morgana/Uther
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Non-con and violence. Dark.
Disclaimer: I own nothing here and make no profit. This is probably for the best, since I seem to hurt them a bit.
A/N: Slightly overgrown![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic written for restlessme's prompt of Merlin, Morgana/Uther, "I raised you". Much thanks to ailise for the lightening-quick beta.
Gwen flies through the air. She hits the wall hard, breath torn from her and head cracking heavily into the stone. She goes down, unable to steady herself as the room sways around her. A bone in her wrist gives with a wet, sickening snap as she tries to check her fall. Her head cracks again, this time into the cold stone beneath her. She tries to call out to Morgana but has no breath to spare. The candles around her flare, their light and shadows spinning out across the bed and everything just… fades away into blackness.
She's shivering. The stone floor has pulled all the warmth from her core, drawn it from her naked skin and leeched it out, her blood warmth flowing out into the icy, endless sea of the surrounding castle. Gwen licks her lips and can still taste Morgana there. She opens her eyes and shadows surge at her, heaving up and swirling away. Her stomach empties onto the cold, cold stone, the retching turning violent when she shifts onto her shattered wrist.
When it finally stops, she sucks in careful breaths and is grateful for the solid stone beneath her. She doesn't dare open her eyes again, but she tries to shut out the roaring in her ears and listen. There's a thudding, rhythmic and dull, off to her left and harsh breathing under that, almost in time.
Gwen can make out another low sound too, and while she knows it should carry meaning, can make it make no sense. Vowels and syllables swirl in her skull like the light, refusing to coalesce into language until memory slams into her like a runaway bull - Uther! - and suddenly she can hear every word.
"…omination in my house!" He's panting. Straining. Incredibly angry. Mad. His voice rises into a hoarse shout, "I raised you, Morgana! How could you betray… everything like this?" His madness seems to swell, robbing him of coherency. The words stop, but the pounding continues mercilessly, now accompanied only by the ragged sobs his rage tears out of him.
The thudding becomes frantic, frenetic, and Gwen can feel it everywhere. It pushes at her through the stones beneath and behind her, and she lets it swell until it's pushing so hard she can ride it upward. Cradling her wrist, she claws her way up a chair until she's standing. She has to lean back against the wall, and it's freezing, but she welcomes the cold, lets it flow through her. It's steadying. It pushes back the nausea and quells the fiery panic lurking at the edges of her mind.
She knows she'll never be ready, so she opens her eyes anyway. Light assaults her like a swarm of blackbirds, swooping and diving, swirling and raking across her naked skin with a million tiny talons. Gwen clutches at the wall with her good hand, imagines her fingers melding into the chill stone behind her, firm and sure.
She looks toward the bed. The chaos is at its worst there, but she stares hard into its folds, willing herself to see, to take in what she knows is there, no matter how desperately she wishes it were not. The images take too long to make sense though, and the listening is killing her, taking her breath and her heart as surely as the stone still sucks at the little warmth she has left.
She can't just stand here and do nothing. She can't.
She tries to move toward the door, but the ground lurches beneath her feet and Gwen knows it's hopeless. She'll never make it down the stairs to the main hall. She would be lucky to escape the room, let alone to reach help. What little strength she has leaves her as reason asserts itself. Help? This is Uther, not some street wretch. The only help she might find is in Arthur, and he's hunting tonight, not due back until sunup.
The cadence of the pounding changes, becomes louder and erratic. A low cry issues from the bed, anguished and high. Female.
Morgana.
Gwen tries to be glad of it. Tries to take in only that she's still alive.
Still, despair surges through her, a blood-warm wave, alive in all the cold. Her muscles ache with its burn. She sags against the wall, head lolling back, cradled by the freezing stone. Abruptly, she realizes that she has no idea how long she'd lain unconscious. She wrenches her eyelids back open and turns her head slowly to look for dawn in the window, but is distracted. Morgana's begging now, low, and Gwen knows it's to God, not the king.
Morgana does not beg. Not while she has any hope left in her.
Gwen's shaky gaze never makes the window, caught instead on the bright shine of a heavy brass candlestick. Its glow beckons her, glittery and strangely stable in the spinning room. It feels solid in her hand, almost warm, after the stone, the stone she can still feel under her.
Ice licks at her bare heels as she moves.
Warmth streaks across her, bright and sudden, painting her skin and splashing across her naked chest and thighs.
She lets the heavy brass drop, fingers numb and useless now. It clangs against the stone, its knell ringing out through the room as Uther falls forward, onto Morgana.
His crimson spills out onto the white sheets, and Gwen thinks of snow. The white swirls up and around her, and she falls into its embrace.
~Fin (for now anyway)~
~ Fic Index ~
Author:
rivestra Rating: NC17
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana, Morgana/Uther
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Non-con and violence. Dark.
Disclaimer: I own nothing here and make no profit. This is probably for the best, since I seem to hurt them a bit.
A/N: Slightly overgrown
comment_fic written for restlessme's prompt of Merlin, Morgana/Uther, "I raised you". Much thanks to ailise for the lightening-quick beta.~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Swirls of Light and IceGwen flies through the air. She hits the wall hard, breath torn from her and head cracking heavily into the stone. She goes down, unable to steady herself as the room sways around her. A bone in her wrist gives with a wet, sickening snap as she tries to check her fall. Her head cracks again, this time into the cold stone beneath her. She tries to call out to Morgana but has no breath to spare. The candles around her flare, their light and shadows spinning out across the bed and everything just… fades away into blackness.
She's shivering. The stone floor has pulled all the warmth from her core, drawn it from her naked skin and leeched it out, her blood warmth flowing out into the icy, endless sea of the surrounding castle. Gwen licks her lips and can still taste Morgana there. She opens her eyes and shadows surge at her, heaving up and swirling away. Her stomach empties onto the cold, cold stone, the retching turning violent when she shifts onto her shattered wrist.
When it finally stops, she sucks in careful breaths and is grateful for the solid stone beneath her. She doesn't dare open her eyes again, but she tries to shut out the roaring in her ears and listen. There's a thudding, rhythmic and dull, off to her left and harsh breathing under that, almost in time.
Gwen can make out another low sound too, and while she knows it should carry meaning, can make it make no sense. Vowels and syllables swirl in her skull like the light, refusing to coalesce into language until memory slams into her like a runaway bull - Uther! - and suddenly she can hear every word.
"…omination in my house!" He's panting. Straining. Incredibly angry. Mad. His voice rises into a hoarse shout, "I raised you, Morgana! How could you betray… everything like this?" His madness seems to swell, robbing him of coherency. The words stop, but the pounding continues mercilessly, now accompanied only by the ragged sobs his rage tears out of him.
The thudding becomes frantic, frenetic, and Gwen can feel it everywhere. It pushes at her through the stones beneath and behind her, and she lets it swell until it's pushing so hard she can ride it upward. Cradling her wrist, she claws her way up a chair until she's standing. She has to lean back against the wall, and it's freezing, but she welcomes the cold, lets it flow through her. It's steadying. It pushes back the nausea and quells the fiery panic lurking at the edges of her mind.
She knows she'll never be ready, so she opens her eyes anyway. Light assaults her like a swarm of blackbirds, swooping and diving, swirling and raking across her naked skin with a million tiny talons. Gwen clutches at the wall with her good hand, imagines her fingers melding into the chill stone behind her, firm and sure.
She looks toward the bed. The chaos is at its worst there, but she stares hard into its folds, willing herself to see, to take in what she knows is there, no matter how desperately she wishes it were not. The images take too long to make sense though, and the listening is killing her, taking her breath and her heart as surely as the stone still sucks at the little warmth she has left.
She can't just stand here and do nothing. She can't.
She tries to move toward the door, but the ground lurches beneath her feet and Gwen knows it's hopeless. She'll never make it down the stairs to the main hall. She would be lucky to escape the room, let alone to reach help. What little strength she has leaves her as reason asserts itself. Help? This is Uther, not some street wretch. The only help she might find is in Arthur, and he's hunting tonight, not due back until sunup.
The cadence of the pounding changes, becomes louder and erratic. A low cry issues from the bed, anguished and high. Female.
Morgana.
Gwen tries to be glad of it. Tries to take in only that she's still alive.
Still, despair surges through her, a blood-warm wave, alive in all the cold. Her muscles ache with its burn. She sags against the wall, head lolling back, cradled by the freezing stone. Abruptly, she realizes that she has no idea how long she'd lain unconscious. She wrenches her eyelids back open and turns her head slowly to look for dawn in the window, but is distracted. Morgana's begging now, low, and Gwen knows it's to God, not the king.
Morgana does not beg. Not while she has any hope left in her.
Gwen's shaky gaze never makes the window, caught instead on the bright shine of a heavy brass candlestick. Its glow beckons her, glittery and strangely stable in the spinning room. It feels solid in her hand, almost warm, after the stone, the stone she can still feel under her.
Ice licks at her bare heels as she moves.
Warmth streaks across her, bright and sudden, painting her skin and splashing across her naked chest and thighs.
She lets the heavy brass drop, fingers numb and useless now. It clangs against the stone, its knell ringing out through the room as Uther falls forward, onto Morgana.
His crimson spills out onto the white sheets, and Gwen thinks of snow. The white swirls up and around her, and she falls into its embrace.
~Fin (for now anyway)~
~ Fic Index ~
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Second? The style helped. Everything happened off camera, and the head wound ensured that most of the visceral focus was on Gwen's physical reality.
Third? See back to the first.
Besides... Desperately beautiful, ringingly quiet horror is not to be missed.
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::feels the eyes of all the characters she's ever written on her::
::shifts uncomfortably::
::wanders off in considerable haste::