Hidden Nights

This is written for the merlin_rarepair August challenge “kinks”. It is unbeta’d. I’ve never written this pairing before, I might never again. This was a bit of a…. walk in the darker places in my brain that I try to let alone most of the time. My muse wanted to write it, though… and as all writers know, we are our muses bitches.

Title: No ones listening.
Author: Steph P. (aniraangel on lj, nashira on ij & dw)
Pairing/Characters: Morgana/Uther, hints of Arthur/Morgana, Arthur, Merlin, Uther, Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BDSM, blood play, orgasm denial, non-con, dub-con, sodomy, branding, knife play and a few other unsavoury explorations of human nature.
Spoilers: Probably all of season one.
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Word Count: 5,185.

And I wonder where these dreams go

When the world gets in your way

What’s the point in all this screaming

No one’s listening anyway

Acoustic #3, Goo Goo Dolls

Morgana had met Uther a long time ago, what for her was the better part of a life time. To say she hated him would have been too harsh a word… but still she felt no love for the man, the King with whom she could so seldom agree. Not love that a daughter might hold for a father, not even esteem earned by him looking after her since she was but a child.

Her lips curled into a slightly cruel smile as she watched him sleep… she had long since seen this in her dreams, though at the time she had not thought she had held the sheer nerve to do it, let alone ability. Magic crackled in her fingers, in her very essence. ‘Uther Pendragon. Wakey, wakey,’ she called just loud enough for him to hear, the magic reached out with her voice, creeping along his skin like an invisible serpent. The King awoke, startled and swearing… something which when he saw the elegantly clad figure of the girl he had taken in, cared for…. And consequently cast out on threat of death should she ever return when he learnt of her magic only increased three fold.

Oh, if only he knew of the wizard that was his son’s manservant. Morgana had considered telling him several times of this also intimate “betrayal” but… really, it wasn’t time yet. There would be uses for Emyrs yet, and if Morgana was to be forever the pariah… well.

She wasn’t going to let the fear she somehow caused in Uther to go to waste.

‘That is not a very good way to say hello after two years of absence, Uther,’ Morgana scolds softly as she moved to his bedside and sat next to him. She did this, in part because it blocked him from easily reaching his sword (shock, she supposed had stopped him from thinking to get it quicker) and because she knew that he did not want her near him.

‘Stupid, filthy witch. Whore. Daughter of Lucifer himself! You betrayed me, Morgana… and betrayals are not easily forgiven.’ Uther had snarled in her ear the night he had caught her floating a flower across her chambers. One of his large, strong hands had caught in her hair, yanking her head back ruthlessly. Morgana forgot to breathe.

‘It was.. It was nothing, honestly…’ she whispered softly. It was just a flower. Just a tiny spell. Not even a spell that could be used to foul means if she had tried. But Uther, blinded by his irrational hate was having none of her so-called excuses.

‘I raise you, give you everything you could ever want and more and this is how you repay me? Is it? Tell me why I should not cut your throat myself.’

‘You promised my father no harm would come to me,’ Morgana offers in an almost helpful tone. The surprise and fear melting away enough for her to find something to focus on other than her obviously impending execution. ‘A good King keeps his word, even when he no longer wishes too.’ And Arthur, she thinks, would never forgive Uther for killing her.

Even his ridiculous amounts of loyalty has to have it’s limits.

She doesn’t say this out loud, because it will only make matters worse and make Uther wonder if she had bewitched Arthur. As if she even knew how, this little levitation spell was the best she had managed yet… apart from her dreams. The value of prophesy’s that were basically ignored, however… well that was minimal.

‘And I also told you, Morgana, that I would break that promise if you ever betrayed me again, so I say-’ Uther began only to be cut off by her. To both their surprise.

‘Enough, Uther! If you are going to kill me, do so… but do not bore me to death. Have you no mercy, let alone honour?’

There were good reasons Uther would not want him near her, and though he didn’t realise it… it had absolutely nothing to do with her gifts. He was the King, and a supposedly brave warrior… so Uther watched Morgana as she studied his own face, curious and cautious.. And cruel. There was no doubt that she had not forgotten what he did to her the night before she was thrown away like some worthless whore.

‘Morgana, you startled me,’ Uther said in a voice heavy with sleep. ‘Why are you here?’ The anger was hidden well, it was one of the things that, inexplicably, he was always good at – at least most of the time. For a man with such deeply rooted hatred, it must have been a painful thing. There was a threat under those almost nice words, though, and she could taste it like a bitter fruit on the back of her tongue.

Before she could have responded, Uther’s hand grabbed at her pulling her roughly into his control, a hand at her throat and one managing to steal both her hands. ‘Did you think you could hurt me, Morgana?’ His voice was cold and absent of any emotion she could sense. He had left out the fact that she had, already, hurt him once more than he could understand.

‘Hurt you, Uther? Perhaps I wanted to sneak in and rape you so I could have a wee Uther Pendragon to torment forever.’ Morgana hissed, pulling away from him with surprising force before saying “sal tiegan”, magical ropes sprang from nowhere, glistening in the faint moonlight from the window that Morgana had opened. They wrestled with the King, who made shouts of protest, called the guards and even asked Morgana somewhat nicely to kindly get the bloody off of him. Morgana shook her head.

‘The castle is asleep, Uther. All but we two friends… is it not nice to get some peace, sometimes?’ Morgana purred, swirling a lock of long black hair around her finger. Happier now that the control had returned to herself. Safer. ‘You will never forgive us, Uther. Magical folk could do a thousand good deeds, save Arthur-’

‘You do not deserve to speak his name, witch!’

‘As I was saying, save Arthur a thousand times as well and you would continue to condemn people not for doing ill deeds but for simply being born magical or acquiring the knowledge to use magic.’ Morgana continued, louder still when he tried to interrupt him, slapping his leg hard as she sat back beside him, secure in the knowledge her bonds would last well enough.

Not that it stopped Uther from trying to go for her throat again. ‘Magic and it’s users are evil and can cause nothing but harm.’ He spat, Morgana shrugged and sighed softly.

‘Oh, Uther. If only you actually had a damned clue about any of this. Just because, who was it? Nimueh? Didn’t tell you the cost of a son…’

‘You have no right to speak of that!’ Uther said angrily.

‘Probably not, but by the same reasoning, Uther… you have no right to torment a whole section of society that, for the most part, mean no harm.’ She paused for a moment, letting her sentence attempt to weave it’s way through his stubborn mind… to little avail. ‘Of course, at the moment I do mean harm. To you and only you, my King.’ The word King, that one little word that supposedly gave him power over all “his” people in “his” kingdom spilled off of Morgana’s tongue like it was the dirtiest of insults man had ever come up with.

Uther shivered unintentionally at the sound of her voice and Morgana smiled cruelly again. They had all night, and she wasn’t going to rush.

His hand is around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her pulse race, fear showing in her eyes. ‘Uther, please. I didn’t mean any harm! Be reasonable!’ She watches him as the hate grows greater and greater, feels the magic in her body, the magic she barely knows how to use, pool in her hands, her finger tips. Begging for her to use it. To let instinct be her teacher.

She knows it will be the last thing Uther needs to excuse breaking her neck… Morgana has always known he could do such a thing… this is not the first time that this has happened to her. Not the first time he has put his calloused hands around her delicate throat. Something in her tells her that it will probably not be the last, either.

Which means she will somehow survive.

His cold eyes are watching her, keeping her gaze so easily captivated with his own. Like a deer cornered by the hunting dogs. When his voice echoes in the silence of the room again she winces because nothing good can come of it. And she is right.

‘You presume to know what is reasonable, Morgana, yet you preform magic in my very own castle. How dare you!’ His breath comes sharply as he drops his hand away from her throat. ‘You always were a little mischeivious, but that could be ignored… this cannot.’

Morgana sighs softly, biting her tongue so that she will not say anything more regrettable than can be soothed later with insensere apologies and warm smiles that never quite reach her eyes. Uther mistakes the look of resignment on her face for, somehow, a look of defiance and something hard sets in his face.

‘Undress.’ Uther commands.

‘WHAT?’ Morgana cannot help but shout. ‘That, that you have no right too, King or Servant it wouldn’t matter.’ Morgana’s heart is in her throat, she feels as if she will suffocate herself in fear. If he finds out it will be worse, she thinks, the feel of Arthur’s skin pressed against hers coming back to her, the brush of pain replaced, eventually, with something happy and fulfilled… and then the edge of happiness, the edge of life and pleasure and love and joy all in one.

Oh, Gods. Uther really will kill her now. This is what she thinks in a frantic rush. She turns to run, leave. To hope she can somehow get away from him. Why did Arthur have to be away until tomorrow? If there was anyone she could trust not to let Uther hurt her it would be Arthur… or even Merlin. There was something about that Merlin.

‘If you will not do as you are told, I will do it for you, insolent whore.’ Uther whispers emotionless in her ear as he grabs her before she can leave the room. ‘And you can scream all you want, no one is listening.’ A cord is knotted around her hands as she tries to pull away from him, desperate to leave. To find sanctuary somewhere, somehow.

To her credit, Morgana barely even whimpers when Uthers hunting knife cuts through the fabric in such a way that it leaves little red trails of blood behind, contrasting to her pale flesh. She shudders when his hands roughly grab her breasts, pinching the nipples painfully. ‘Uther, don’t.’ She pleads again, hoping this is but a brief stint of madness and that he will come to himself. But as he spins her around and pushes her back so hard she crashes into her table and then skids over it… she realises she might just be out of luck this time.

She had stripped him of his bed clothes, removed the bed it’s blankets. His pillows (he had managed to bite her when she was doing that, a nasty bruise forming on her wrist. She would not forget) thrown hastily aside.

‘This didn’t have to happen, Uther Pendragon.’ Morgana purrs softly, leaning over his chest. For all that he was cold in almost every aggressive act against her, she  acted as though she was still somewhat untainted… un sullied by hate. Her voice was warm as the summer Uther had met her. ‘But you let hate blind you… and this is the cost you will pay.’

Not that Uther was sure what the cost would be. Or that her gleeful smile or the small fingers tracing in hypnotic circles around his nipple are in any way divulging her plans. Just that it is likely he will not like it, something which he had worked out the moment she had muttered her spell.

Morgana crept forward, the bed moving slightly even with her small weight as she went to stradle him, still fully clothed. She sat just above his slowly awakening cock, the soft fabric of her dress teasing him with every movement she made. He wondered if this was all she had come to do, to tease him, torment him… when her hand hovered over his chest, two long, thin gashes appearing on his chest with a subtle flick of her fingers.

She giggled slightly and they healed over, only to be reopened seconds later with another easy motion of her fingers. Uther hissed, biting his lower lip until it also bled. Leaning down Morgana tasted the coppery tang of blood, the warmth of life spilling out of him. Licking over the wounds in his chest before moving up to his mouth where he caught her in an angry clash of lips and teeth, bringing her own blood to the surface on her lips, the two coppers mixing on their tongues. ‘You make us the demons in your head, I am only showing you what it is you have created.’ She whispered it against one of the cuts on his chest when she moved back from his lips, eyes looking up to his stubborn chin.

‘I did not create this disease, your kind did!’

‘Perhaps you think so.’ Morgana replied, scolding him quitely. ‘But what you think is not truth simply for the fact that you are King. You are not a God.’ She had spent her time with the Druids and found much of Uther’s hatred to be misplaced. Little to none of the practices could even remotely be described as “evil” and most magic was as benign as the flower she had floated across her room that had gotten her into this mess. Uther would be deaf to the truth she could tell him, blind to the truth she could show him. He was far too determined to be right for the sake of being right, rather than for the sake of the God’s honest truth.

He pulled at his bonds again, and found them unwilling to give in. Morgana pressed back against his cock which had at some point become more excited by the closeness of perhaps not her but something, someone undeniably female. Perhaps even the pain itself. ‘Mmmn, you are liking this entirely too much to make it good revenge, even if your lips say otherwise.’ His voice whispered not in his ears but in his mind, it made him feel dirtied, foul, as though she had sullied his very soul by the presence of her mind near his rather than the presence of her body.

‘Uther, floterest’ she commanded in a purr, his body and bonds rising up off the matress and half way up the posts of the bed until she spoke again. ’Blódseten’ the words were not heavy with power, but the magic obeyed her unquestioningly, unwaveringly. The magic dropped away again and Uther grunted when he realised she was still sitting on him, her legs dangling off either side of his body, creamy flesh exposed to mid thigh where her dress bunched around her. She was a light thing, barely more than a wisp he would normally think… but the way she had tied him made every move she made while sitting astride his stomach strained his arms and legs painfully as though he were being stretched. Something Morgana was more than aware of.

‘Whatever you’re playing at, Morgana, it will not work.’ His voice was strained though his breath remained calmer than she would have liked. To fix this she rocked her hips back viscously, the thin fabric of her dress and the warmth of her body pressing back against him, the force with which she did it rocked them both slightly. Uther groaned again but with some show of what strength his old bones had in them he thrust up, meaning to knock her off but only hitting her head on  the canopy of the bed, knocked forward she landed with her body pressed against his, face to face with Uther’s mocking stare.

It was then she whispered the words that would truly make him regret agitating her more, making her take the steps that she had been hesitant to take. ‘Málswyrd inbestingan Uther earsþerl!’ The sword… his sword flew to her side without hesitation then behind her and out of sight of them both. Hoping absently that the spell would backfire and stab Morgana, Uther waited for this to happen, but it did not. Instead he was greeted with the feeling of ice cold metal as her hands brushed over his back and down to his arse, swiftly parting his arse cheeks to give it room to do as she bid it and the hilt of the sword slammed into him, making both their bodies swing forward with the force, Uther screamed out as the ornately carved metal pressed further and further within him. He could feel even the smallest of the stones as they felt like they were cutting him to ribbons. His screaming calmed down to a dull roar, mixed with the slight bang of the sword as it hit the foot of the bed every time it pulled out of him.

‘Sorry yet?’ Morgana whispered, only to be replied to with a whimper and stubborn grunt. He didn’t believe she would end it if he said he was… because she hadn’t said she would, and probably didn’t have any intention to. So while he wanted to beg, wanted to cry out, scream at her that he would do anything… he did not. He gritted his teeth and tried not to give her the pleasure of hearing him beg.

Uther spends his time tracing the lines of her body with his knife. Going over every delicate piece of flesh he can find. Enjoying watching her shudder or flinch away from him. Every now and then she whispers a plea for kindness, for clemency. That she really hadn’t meant it and she wouldn’t do it again if he would just forgive her this once. But Uther demands to know who is teaching her, who she is in league with… to what end she was learning something she so obviously aware was illegal.

‘No one.. Uther.. No one taught me… it just happened.’ It was mostly the truth. It had just happened that she had spied Merlin cleaning Arthur’s room with magic, and it had just so happened he had finally confessed to her, relieved… and told her what her dreams were. What she had to be.

So it just happened that she had been unlucky enough to practice when Uther wanted to talk to her about something. Now Morgana is covered in slowly dripping rivers of red. Her feels both dizzy and as though she will be sick if she looks at the small puddle beginning to form itself beneath her body which he has tied in such a way that she cannot really move far. Her feet each tied to a long rope connecting to some heavy objects, tied so her legs are spread far enough apart that Morgana has to rely on her hands which are tied to a fixture in the ceiling to keep her upright. He walks around to her front, stepping over the ropes that bind her feet and tracing her body with his gloved finger this time. Her eyes are closed tightly, and the softer touch surprises her enough to make her open her eyes.

Morgana meets Uthers eyes and this time is not startled by the hate that consumes them. His fingers move to his face, watching the blood that has caught on the darkened leather run slowly down his fingers… before he slaps her hard enough to split her lip. Morgana cries out softly, licking her lip. The urge to rub her stinging cheek is almost overwhelming. She isn’t really ready for what comes next, his fingers trail quickly down along her body, pressing through the dark curls between her legs and searching for that over sensitive bundle of nerves. He finds it and it is not gentle, like Arthur’s tentative circles, uncertain if it would hurt or please her to be touched so… instead it is blindingly painful as he presses and twists and Morgana cannot help but scream between that and the feeling of anger, hatred that is building up inside her like a steadily growing inferno.

‘Uther if I were a real witch.. Why would I let you do this to me? Why would I not just leave… why?!’ It was said half as a demand and half as a sob, because as he surely believed she meant him ill, that she was some kind of wicked witch… he has to have some kind of logic to his thinking… Perhaps illgotten and completely wrong… but why else would he hurt her so?

‘Perhaps you are trying to deceive me, make me believe that I am wrong so I will stop, and then you will either bide your time until you believe I trust you then strike with all you have… or you will take your revenge on me now and be done with it.’

‘But I am not trying to deceive you!’

He does not respond verbally to her again, instead he takes his scarf and blindfolds her into complete darkness, undoes his belt and lets it drop to the ground. She shudders, because clearly this must mean he plans to take her, to use her to satisfy one of the needs he seldom lets get a hold of him.

Breathless moments pass, Morgana can hear nothing but his heavy breathing. Feel nothing but the sting of the cold night air against her skin as it brushes over the wounds that line her body.

She feels him press against her body, lifting her with what little give the ropes allow and sliding inside of her. His cock is hard and thrusts in and out of her mercilessly, not waiting for her body to catch up and smooth the way. Each thrust pulled at her ankles painfully, the ropes seeming to tighten marginally but still enough to make it hurt more as he moved in her.

‘Please, Uther.’ Morgana whispers, she is not certain if she is begging him to stop or to hurry up and finish. To get it over with. Uther grunts in reply and moans slightly when her insides become slick and without ber permission her body begins to react to him… instincts to fuck him back riding her, to finish him off and get her away from him.

He bites down hard on her throat as he comes, blood trails over her shoulder and Morgana cries out. He thrusts once, twice, three times and then pulls out of her. Tears dampen the blindfold as she tries not to ask him to let her fall over into bliss as well… because oblivion for a few moments would be miles better than being here any longer.

By the time Morgana stops the  sword from devouring him Uther is whimpering, crying, begging for her to make it stop. To make it go away. To make the pain go away.

She dropped them both down to the blood splattered bed, he was still bound to the posts even as she got off of him, nauseous and disgusted with herself for letting herself sink to the levels of the man she hated so much. For letting herself be talked into it.

‘It must be done if the son is ever going to take the throne before we are all but gone Morgana le Faye.’ The heavy, wise old voice of the dragon echoes in her mind. Morgana mutters a few spells and all signs of blood disappear from him and the bed, though the blood she has smeared on her white dress stays… the sticky blood around her lips, smeared on her thighs.

She walked to the window and leant against the cold glass. Part of herself that she lost that night two years ago was now lost with the part of her that she was sacrificing to gain Arthur his throne in time for him to save the Kingdom from the tyranny that was killing Camelot to it’s very soul. Evil deeds for a noble cause.

As Morgana walks over to the bed again, steeling herself to look Uther in the eyes she said, ‘it’s all over now, Uther… it has to end somewhere.’ She pulled a small vial from where it had been hidden between her breasts, sitting by his chest she traced the lines of scars on his bare skin one last time then removed the stopper, opened his mouth and poured the clear liquid into his throat. It burned, sizzled… his body fell into a deep coma quickly and soon… soon she knew he would no longer draw breath.

Morgana could not say she was sad about this.

Time passes slowly as Uther watches her trembling body as he regains his senses. He walked around her a few times, Morgana is too worn out to try and swing the ropes enough to make him trip and so she does her very best to block any sign of him out… and which her eyes hidden it is not as hard as one would think, even with her skin both begging to be finished off and terrified of what the next touch may bring.

The latter is what she should really have been worrying about she will think later. Uther speaks to a guard outside of the room in whispers Morgana cannot quite decipher. There is the sound of feet running hastily away and within minutes of them coming back. Her bedroom door closes again and all she can hear is the odd footstep of the King. He stirs the fire almost silently. Toying with the golden flames as they dance in the hearth.

Time is drawing on so long without knowing what torture will come next that it is a kind of torture in itself…

But Morgana could never have imagined what it was he was planing to do to her now.

When the white-hot brand met the skin at her lower back she screamed until her voice was hoarse, screamed and cried and swore. The pain was like a thousand swords, the fire of a thousand suns blistering into her flesh. So large was the branding iron that it covered half of her lower back. Morgana passes out then, unable to tolerate it any more.

She doesn’t awake for what must be days, and when she does she is no longer in the city anymore but instead she is in some strange cottage on sheets she has never slept and a wall which she has never seen. The pain has not gotten better but worse, she realises as she attempts to roll over to see who her captor is this time when a familiar voice coos softly in her ear. ‘Lady Morgana… please, do not move… you will disturb the wound. If she didn’t feel so deathly tired she might have been afraid, it takes her a few moments to connect the voice to a name but when she does she smiles softly.

‘Merlin?’

‘Yes, milady.’

‘Am I still naked?’ She asks this in a rather unconcerned way, as though she often finds herself this way.

‘Uhm… I’m afraid so, Milady Morgana.’ He sounds apologetic, but Morgana manages the smallest of smiles.

‘Then don’t call me ‘milady’ until I’m dressed, please.’ She doesn’t see it but Merlin smiles softly before getting a clean damp cloth and beginning to dab at the one wound he had not managed to heal magically, the brand… too much iron for even his magic. Morgana drifts in and out of consciousness for over a week, tossing and turning and screaming in her sleep – both from pain and painful dreams.

She only knows that Merlin is there, and if anyone knows how to fix a broken body it has to be a wizard… but as much as Merlin finds Morgana attractive and what happened to her beyond repulsive… it does not even begin to compare to what Arthur feels when he manages to sneak away to the little cottage in the trees to make sure she hasn’t taken a turn for a worst… that the dragon forever embedded on her back by his father hasn’t killed one of the better people he has ever known… or loved.

At last when the sun had raised his head over the sleeping city did Morgana weave her way out of the castle and down to the place so few people knew about. Down into the cave where the great dragon was caged like some rabid dog that would otherwise devour the whole of Camelot. The tunnel wasn’t as long as she thought it should have been if Uther had wanted no one to ever find the creature.

She knows Merlin knows this is here, knows that the dragon talked to him so often that Merlin even sought to blame the creature when he did not want to be seen as part of the Old Religion because he saw it as nothing but evil.

As she reached the edge of the path she called to the dragon. ‘I have done as I was bidden. Defiled and dethroned a tyrannical King.’ Her voice was cold, she felt as though the life had been sucked out of her, even if it was for the better. The dragon flew down to the perch in front of her and looked at the defeated looking witch that was the girl who would one day become Morgana le Faye.

‘You have done what is needed, what Merlin could not bring himself to do. You must be content with this. If you had not you would have surely perished in the fires as many have before.’

‘It is easy enough to be a dragon caged down here with an excuse to make others go insane by talking in their heads until they do your bidding and not have to do it yourself!’

‘There is nothing easy about being denied freedom, Morgana le Faye. As you have learned once and you will learn again! Go home to your bed.’

The dragon dived down into the abyss… and Morgana. Well there was nothing left to do… no good would come of screaming eternally into the abyss. What was done, was done.

So the witch with the dragon shaped scar left the only real dragon she knew of… and longed for the comfort of the only noble dragon she had ever known. Arthur.

fin.

Current Mood: Anxious