#this discovery makes me feel slightly more charitable toward him than I have ever been in the story | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foxofthedesert · 3 years ago

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So I just finished my 3rd watch thru of Merlin, and yet again am brokenhearted. Not only by Arthur's death and Merlin's grief, but by Morgana's tragic descent into madness. Though I loathed the choice, I always understood why the writers went the direction they did with Morgana. What I did not understand was the way they handled her relationship with Gwen. It just never made any sense to me that Morgana could be so cruel to someone she clearly loved very deeply - even if only in the platonic sense. To me, it seemed like the Morgana that existed at the end of season 2 was replaced by a totally different, inexplicably cruel and insufferably smirky one by the start of season 3.

Still, prophecies need fulfilled and such, and after all it is a fantasy series based on a complicated mythology where Morgana sometimes is portrayed as evil. I just wish it was handled better.

Be that as it may, as a writer I tend to gravitate toward the untold stories within canon. That being the case, Gwen and Morgana's relationship is a natural attraction. I adore their chemistry, which makes them so easy to pair up. Since I am also not necessarily beholden to canon, that means I can imagine whatever the hell I want for them. Such an AU where their potential is realized before Morgause enters the picture to warp Morgana into her father's daughter.

This little piece is part of that. I may or may not add more entries in the future.

As a side note, this was initially supposed to be much shorter, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing words. Silly digits.

Ficlet below the line!

Morgana awoke giggling in an entirely unrefined manner. Her uncharacteristic bubbly mirth, she discovered, was due to a gentle tickling sensation all across her face. Once the wispy haze of sleep was blinked out of her blurry eyes, a familiar shape resolved into an entirely too handsome face wearing such a love-sick expression that her chest reflexively suffused with an affectionate warmth that quickly seeped into her very bones.

“What time is it?” she asked to the person hovering above her, voice still gravelly and slightly slurred from having been roused out of such a deep, blessedly dreamless repose. The pleasant tickling sensation began anew immediately after her half-slurred inquiry, and when she lifted her gaze she was greeted by rich brown eyes she would swear on her life she could live and die in.

“Just after dawn.” The utterly enchanting creature paying her such lovely attention continued to delicately and reverently brush calloused fingertips across the expanse of her jaw. “Sorry I woke you. I meant to let you sleep in a bit longer, I just really couldn’t help myself.”

A pause allowed a full, dusky lip to be pulled rather invitingly between pearly white teeth before her beloved added, “It seems I never can where you are concerned.”

Morgana smiled. A genuine smile, too. Nothing like the false ones she graced her guardian with, full of barely suppressed loathing and rage. Lately she had been consumed by disgust for the man who so many times proclaimed to cherish her, a man who would see her burnt at the stake if he knew who she truly was. Uther Pendragon claimed to be a fair and just king, yet he waged unlawful wars against territories that dared stand up against his brutish rule and relentlessly persecuted innocents whose only crime was to be born different. People like her. People with magic.

Coming to terms with her gifts had cost Morgana both countless nights spent in wakeful torment over horrific visions that plagued her dreams and untold days spent wrestling with throat-clogging anxiety over the possibility of discovery. There were many occasions during that frightening period in which she felt as though tottering precariously over a dark, abyssal chasm at the bottom of which lie only inescapable madness. Every second spent at court was an exhausting exercise in choking down a nauseating terror of the tyrant who held the power of life and death over her and would surely decide upon the latter should he learn the truth about her magic. Meals were a unique form of torture due to the perpetual knot residing in her stomach and every event she would normally revel in was transformed into a dreaded affair during which she could scarcely breathe for the crushing weight resting upon her chest.

Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Guinevere and Merlin she is sure she would have already plummeted headlong into those foreboding depths, right into the waiting arms of a hatred no human heart could withstand without incurring irreparable damage.

If Merlin hadn’t told her the truth about his magic as he lead her to Aglain’s druid camp, the pervasive sense of isolation and desperation worming insidiously through her mind would have inevitably forced her into drastic choices. Even before her magic manifested she had silently nursed treasonous thoughts toward Camelot’s cruel monarch. What might she have done if the walls closed in so tightly on her she felt there was no avenue of escape outside of acting upon those unsavory impulses? It hardly bears thinking about for risk of inviting such evil desires back in to her heart when of all her attributes, it is her heart which makes her most special – or at least that is what Guinevere insists to be the case.

Thankfully, finding a steadfast friend and ally in Merlin had done much to ameliorate the suffocating feeling of helplessness she felt as a member of the court harboring so deadly a secret. With much diligence and patience he was teaching her to control her powers, to harness them for good, and to have faith that better days were ahead for their kind. It was also mostly due to the Merlin’s deceptive wisdom and boundless optimism – and to be fair what reasonable person could resist that impish, dimpled smile? – that she began to view Arthur through a fresh lens.

If she bothered to look deeply, as Merlin insisted, to ignore the chauvinistic bravado and infuriating superiority complex, it was not difficult to recognize Arthur’s innate nobility and compassion that existed despite his monstrous father. And seeing as Merlin was as stubborn as he was convincing, it did not take long for Morgana to accept with a cautiously hopeful heart that with the aid of loyal friends, Arthur had it in him to become to the greatest sovereign Camelot had ever seen, a king who might actually prove himself worthy of the people both common and magical to whom he would be sworn to serve. Of course, she and Arthur still had their mundane squabbles and butted heads frequently over political and legal matters, but in the months since Merlin began her training, Morgana had acquired a new appreciation for the young man who was to her as good as a sibling.

As much as Merlin had done for her, however, it paled in comparison to Gwen’s contributions to her health and happiness.

For as long as Morgana had known Gwen she had held the blacksmith’s daughter in esteem far higher than any Lady should their maidservant. What started out as mutual respect born from shared grief over the loss of a parent soon flowered into genuine friendship. For many years they were the best of friends, each providing for the other a refuge from the storms of life and a confidante more reliable and wise and loyal than could be hired with all of Midas’ gold.

By the time Morgana entered womanhood, her fondness for Gwen had only swelled to become boundless as it was profound. In her eyes, Gwen was the most wonderful person in all the world; none could hope to be her equal in breathtaking beauty, charitable kindness, seemingly endless stores of patience, altogether praiseworthy meekness, a silent strength surpassing steel, or in nearly saintly levels of graciousness. Gwen was the unfailing light to Morgana’s rapidly encroaching darkness, the quickening sun to her deathly pale moon, the Aurora to her Luna. She neither trusted any more deeply as she did Gwen, nor did she desire the company of another so keenly. As a result, they were rarely parted until retiring for bed, and then only by necessity of station. So inextricably attached were they Gwen’s friends often jested that she must have accidentally stitched herself to her lady’s garments at the hip. The noblewomen were not nearly so kind. Some of the more prominent Ladies in the castle questioned the innocence of their arrangement, going so far as to exchange idle speculation which painted them as clandestine devotees of Sappho.

If Morgana could be bothered to care about the rumors, she would have confronted the useless busybodies long ago. But quite frankly, their opinions on her relationship with Gwen mattered for naught seeing as Arthur dismissed them as absurd upon reaching his ears and, beyond even that, Morgana would rather die than provide the snide gossipers ammunition that might serve as tacit confirmation that their unwelcome conjecture was not without merit – which was in fact the case.

All the same, though, she took great pains to prevent them from reaching the ears of the king. Uther already disapproved of their unusual bond and reminded her of such every time she treated Gwen with an ounce of basic human dignity while in his presence. Rather than censure the prejudice as she might have no long ago, Morgana now bore the chastisement with pride. Were it required, she would gladly wear forty stripes upon her skin if that be the price of Gwen’s love. The haughty bigotry of her guardian could never dissuade her from the path her heart had chosen to travel. Gwen was far too precious to ever surrender without a fight, to death if she must.

For what felt like ages, Morgana had believed her feelings would never be reciprocated. And that was perfectly acceptable to her, so long as Gwen remained an integral part of her life. The constant yearning that caused her chest to ache, sometimes almost painfully, was something she could endure so long as Gwen was happy.

That perspective radically transformed the night Gwen’s father died.

The midnight bells sounded in the citadel as Morgana slipped out into the upper town. Her intentions were pure at the time. She had only meant to visit her friend and offer what support she could, no matter the reckless impropriety of her visiting the her maidservant’s home so late at night. Instead, one glimpse of Gwen’s devastation over the pointless tragedy reignited her rage. All too quickly it boiled over, allowing those old, bitter feelings to spill out as impetuous threats of vengeance, and not only on Gwen’s behalf but for all those wronged by the merciless hand of Uther Pendragon. For what felt like hours she railed, heedless of the effect her malicious speech was having on the distraught girl she was supposed to be comforting.

It was only when Gwen – sweet Gwen, kind and thoughtful and selfless to a fault – had been pushed to her limits that Morgana’s perilous vitriol was interrupted.

Casting aside station, Gwen grasped her by the face and made her swear to never utter such dangerous words again.

“My brother has already abandoned me and now both my parents are dead,” Gwen had said, lips quivering and cheeks stained by tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t survive it.”

“Of course you would, Gwen. You’re the strongest person I know,” Morgana had replied, grasping reflexively at lean wrists, Gwen’s hands having migrated to the back of Morgana’s neck, thumbs cupped round the front of her ears. It was the first time she had been embraced so intimately, and if it weren’t for her anger she most certainly would have shivered with excitement at the surprisingly welcome contact.

“I’m not,” Gwen had half-sobbed, voice hoarse from hours surrendered to grief. “I’m only standing at all right now because the person I love most in all the world is here with me.”

Morgana hadn’t understood the nature of that declaration at first. Not until Gwen tucked her lip between her teeth, her nostrils flared with what could not be misinterpreted as anything but raw want, and her eyes went impossibly dark. A sharp gasp of realization was all Morgana could manage as a response, so stunned was she that her most secretive and treasured wish was being fulfilled.

But when Gwen nodded, chest heaving with emotion, despair and fear warring with adoration in her eyes, Morgana could no longer contain herself. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fused together, revealing the explanation as to why a simple smile from Gwen was able to chase away the storm clouds gathering above her head, or why Gwen’s chiming laughter kicked up butterflies in her stomach and a captivating warmth in her chest, or why even the most airy of touches from Gwen left a wake of goose-flesh in her skin. It wasn’t just love. It was destiny.

In retrospect, Morgana probably should have been as if not more terrified of crossing that final, socially forbidden line between mistress and servant, friend and lover, than she was of being magical. The thing of it was, the only relevant factors in that moment was Gwen willingly offering of herself more than she probably should and Morgana being selfish enough to accept.

They made love that night beneath Gwen’s threadbare sheets, and it was glorious, just as Morgana had imagined it would be.

All of their sorrows and anxieties and animosities drifted away like dandelion seeds upon a crisp summer breeze. Cliches regarding such unions suddenly made sense. Somewhere along the journey that began by laving the stiffened peak of a pert breast then languidly progressed into nestling her face into the delicate, aromatic flower situated between smooth bronze legs, she lost all sense of self. It was as if with each bruising kiss, playful nibble, and greedy draw with open mouth, she and Gwen were merging into one being. Gwen’s throaty noises and keening pleas reverberated through her every muscle fiber, down even into the very marrow of her bones. Gwen’s intoxicating flavor permeated her senses until it was all she could taste or smell. And Gwen’s gratification became hers as her hand slipped beneath her ridiculously extravagant undergarments to relieve the desperate pressure upon a mound so slick with arousal that the sound of her feverish rubbing was positively obscene.

Mere heartbeats after Gwen went taut with a silent scream, stars exploded behind Morgana’s eyes as the most exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain engulfed her mind and set her nether regions aflame. Spent and unable to control her trembling limbs, she collapsed across Gwen’s heaving chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around underneath her arms to pull her in tight, and as she buried her nose in the damp curls at Gwen’s neck, all she could do was weep, utterly overcome by an unspeakable joy she understood without needing to ask was fully mutual. They fell asleep like that, Morgana stretched across Gwen, encased in an embrace that felt like a subconscious announcement of a claim upon her, heart and soul and body, something she not only welcomed but reveled in.

Wonderful thoughts about publicly belonging to Gwen lulled Morgana into a peaceful sleep that went markedly undisturbed.

In the pale light of morning she was still so drunken upon pure, heady, all consuming bliss to realize she would be missed if she did make an appearance in the castle. Had Gwen not pointed that out, she would have been more than glad to spend the entire day wrapped around her new lover, discovering every last spot that made Gwen’s toes curl ‘til the girl was too exhausted to move the tiniest muscle.

Alas, the constraints of reality marshaled both of them to action, and so once they had dressed, they sneaked carefully into the castle by auxiliary corridors during the changing of the guard. By only the slimmest of margins, they slipped into her chambers just as the fresh patrol rounded the corner in their direction. Once inside, the thrill of the close call and euphoria over their consummated love invigorated Morgana into a passion she could not ignore. Overcome by a need – more like an almost maddening hunger really – to touch, smell, and taste every delicious inch of the skin she had feasted upon last night, she unceremoniously dragged a breathless, ruddy cheeked Gwen straight over to her bed.

After that thorough christening, they lingered together in a tangle of limbs, both sated and happy. At least until the sound of Camelot’s awakening resounded through the chambers from the courtyard below and with it the first doubts crept in. Morgana could recall the subsequent conversation as though it had just happened.

***************

“I should see to my duties directly,” Gwen had said, immediately rustling to exit the bed upon hearing Arthur’s booming voice rattle down the hallway, clearly a response to the latest in an endless string of mistakes by his loyal yet tragically clumsy manservant.

Morgana hadn’t wanted to turn loose quite yet, so she tightened hold around Gwen’s waist, halting the undesired escape.

“They can wait,” she replied between leisurely kisses trailed up a shapely arm. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere, nor is the evening gown that needs mending. Stay with me a while longer.” She paused to nuzzle into Gwen’s shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

Rather than struggle, Gwen melted the embrace. “You know that is all I wish for. I love you, Morgana. More than anything. But…”

“But what?”

“What if someone catches us?”

Morgana scoffed, having missed the long term nature of the question in addition to the concern pouring off of Gwen in waves she should not have missed. It was not her finest moment. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, though. The idea had just seemed so preposterous at the time because she had thought Gwen was only speaking about the present.

“Who would be so bold as to enter my chambers without permission?” she had said. “Not even Uther at his most disrespectful would dare venture such a trespass. We are entirely safe here. No need to worry your pretty head.”

Gwen shifted in Morgana’s arms then so that they were face to face. “I do, though. Worry that is. And I have to ask: why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be? For that matter why should you be?” Morgana replied. And then she met Gwen’s eyes. Large, and impossibly dark, and unmistakably upset.

All of the sudden it was impossible for Morgana to ignore how frightened Gwen really was. In response, her stomach twisted almost painfully and her heart fell as the happy bubble she had been floating in abruptly burst.

What in all the world, she wondered in a moment of regrettable obliviousness, had Gwen afraid of them being caught? Her brow furrowed as deeply as it ever had as she mulled around potential causes.

Certainly they were going to have to be careful in the future to avoid exposure, she reckoned, but Gwen was as fully cognizant that there were more perilous secrets both were currently keeping. Morgana’s ability to pull the wool over Uther’s eyes was well established, and no one else besides the two of them had unfettered access to her chambers. Besides all that, Morgana knew every nook and cranny of the citadel and was able to slip out and into the upper town undetected at will, of which Gwen was also very well aware. So there had to be more to it. But what?

Only one other possibility occurred to her, and it was the one she least wanted to entertain. And yet...

“Unless you regret what has transpired between us?” she asked at length, unable to disguise her own fear, which manifested through a faint trembling in her voice. “No!” Shaking her head fervently, Gwen grasped Morgana’s face much as she did the night before. “Not even for a second. I’ve lost so much, and I have much to regret, but not this. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

Again Gwen trailed off, her hands retreating to clasp together against her mouth. And although Morgana’s anxiety had quieted with Gwen’s reassurance, there was clearly something still bothering her.

“Just what?” Morgana prompted, then reached out to stroke Gwen’s hair. “I hate seeing you so twisted up. Tell me. Please.”

A single, contrite nibble of a kiss-stung lip later, Gwen averted her eyes and gave her answer, “Don’t you wonder, even just for a second in the back of your mind, if what we did was wrong?”

Morgana very nearly sighed in relief. This was a problem she could easily remedy, as it was a one she had wrestled with for years only for Merlin’s simple yet profound worldview to unexpectedly resolve.

During the incident where Gwen was accused of using sorcery to heal her father, he had stumbled upon Morgana beside herself after a visit to Gwen’s cell. In her anxiety and grief she had confessed to having feelings for her handmaiden that although unseemly nonetheless had taken hold of her. Where she had expected disgust, she was instead given only understanding and compassion. In that endearingly provincial way of his, Merlin ensured her that love – if true and pure and unselfish, which he insisted hers for Gwen surely was – could never be wrong.

Morgana had felt something turn loose inside her at Merlin’s easy acceptance, as if her heart had been tied into a knot being slowly and perpetually tightened. Breathing became a relief once again. And as she learned to accept herself the way Merlin did, she began to hope that perhaps one day in the future a door would open for her to act upon her feelings without destroying what she and Gwen already shared. She could not have anticipated Tom’s death being the impetus for her to do so. Yet as awful as his tragic death was, it birthed something so infinitely precious that Morgana would never cease being grateful. And if only for the memory of that kind, thoughtful, patient man, she would never stop fighting for the love she shared with her beloved Guinevere.

“Gwen,” she had said, unsuccessfully vying for her conflicted love’s attention. Twice more she called Gwen’s name, and after receiving no response pushed up slightly on her elbow. “Look at me, Guinevere.” When large, uncertain eyes, brimming with tears, met hers, she leaned over so that she could press her forehead against Gwen’s. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? If you trust me, if you love me as you assert to, believe me when I say this. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect could never be anything less than rightly divine.”

***************

That phrase that swiftly became Morgana’s favorite answer to Gwen’s occasional concerns. The world at large, and most definitely those housed within the vaunted halls of Camelot’s citadel, would most certainly view their relationship as wicked and immoral and perverse. If that was indeed the case, Morgana did not believe she ever wanted to be either innocent or righteous. Their love was wonderful, and beautiful, and perfectly divine; an immutable fact which Morgana was determined to never allow either of them to forget.

No doubt lurked within Gwen’s eyes this morning, however, only unadulterated affection. And that made Morgana exceedingly joyful indeed.

“I understand what you mean,” Morgana at last said after escaping that precious memory. She sighed contentedly and shuttered her eyelids as yet another reverent brush of fingers smoothed along the crest of her chin. And while the diligent attention felt incredible, she grew increasingly curious why Gwen’s focus appeared to have narrowly fixated on that one specific region of her face.

“What’s the matter?” Gwen said after a bit of easy silence.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Morgana replied, still basking in the glow of Gwen’s magical touch.

“You have that telltale crease between your brow which means something is bothering you.”

This time Morgana opened her eyes. “I’m not bothered, merely at a loss as to why you suddenly find my chin so hypnotizing.”

Gwen sucked at her lip momentarily as if weighing whether to answer before a crooked smile bloomed across her handsome features.

“Well, not just your chin, but if you must know it’s all these little hairs…” And then she stroked Morgana’s chin again, this time allowing her fingers to feather over said hairs all the way down her jawline.

“Are you saying my face is hairy, Gwen?” Morgana asked, frowning as a thread of hurt pulled taut.

As should be obvious, she didn’t appreciate it pointed out that her alabaster skin failed to conceal what otherwise would have been a nearly invisible coat of fine hairs that covered all humans male and female alike. Arthur teased her about it relentlessly when she was a blossoming teenager, and even now some of the noble ladies who envied her would snidely comment upon how it clearly indicated that she was a witch destined for a life of barren unhappiness.

Up til now, Gwen had made no mention of that peculiar feature and Morgana would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t wounded that it would be brought up only now that they were in an intimate situation.

“No!” Gwen’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “No, not at all! I mean...well, yes, it sort of is.” A huffed breath of remorse followed Morgana’s gasp of offense. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I swear I meant no insult. I have some too, after all. It’s just less visible because of my skin tone probably. And don’t worry! It’s nothing like Lady Johanna’s fledgling beard. Not even close. On the contrary, they’re so tiny and delicate and wispy and soft, and I really am utterly obsessed with them because they are part of you and you are perfect, so they are also perfect by extension, and I just can’t get over how adorable they are, and I am currently babbling like a lunatic with zero manners. I am so sorry, milady.”

At the end of that adorable ramble, Gwen’s shoulders hunched in as her cheeks darkened and she yet again sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Any insult Morgana felt evaporated as quickly as it formed. How could she be upset with such an enchanting creature?

Reaching across Gwen’s waist, she pulled her abashed lover down until they were flush, skin to skin from shoulders to hips.

“Oh, Gwen, there is nothing to be sorry for,” she said, legs instinctively parting as Gwen’s familiar weight settled against her. “My reaction is habit, I’m afraid, due to Arthur’s derisive mocking. It’s actually quite nice to hear a compliment for a change.”

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me? I’d understand if you were…”

No one with a functioning soul could be cross with those doe eyes staring at them, Morgana decided. She danced her fingers with lighthearted mirth across Gwen’s cheeks and over the ridge of her nose.

“Nonsense, sweetling. It’s no different than me admiring your freckles.”

Gwen’s features relaxed into a flattered smile. “You like my freckles?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not? It’s like you said, they are a part of you, and you are perfect, therefore they are perfect by extension.”

In response, Gwen gave her an appreciative little smile before arresting her hand to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist.

“So you won’t mind to be awakened like that again should I fail to curb my weird fascination?”

“Only if you won’t should I wake you by mapping the stars written across your cheeks,” Morgana said, then returned Gwen’s tactile affection with some of her own by again acting out her words with her own fingers. She was pleased when Gwen leaned in to the touch.

“I promise I won’t. I think I’d quite fancy that, actually.”

“Then I promise, too. And if you’re a good girl today, perhaps I will indulge your fancy tomorrow morning.”

“Well, then, I’d better get to work, hadn’t I?”

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Gwen threw the covers aside and made to get out of bed – a development Morgana was not prepared to authorize. Not only was she of a mind to lounge abed and cuddle away another hour or two, all of Camelot was blanketed in snow and she was loathe to be deprived of Gwen’s heavenly body...heat.

“Now, now,” Morgana tugged at Gwen, almost desperate with a need to curl right back into Gwen’s warmth and never move again while hoping she sounded at least somewhat the dignified noblewoman she was supposed to be. “Don’t be so hasty. Have you forgotten yourself and your duties to your lady? I haven’t yet had my good morning kiss.”

Gwen tumbled back into bed giggling merrily. “For shame! I have failed my lady most unforgivably. I shall rectify the trespass immediately.”

“See that you do, Guinevere, and promptly,” Morgana said, her eyes twinkling as her own merriment curved her lips into a smile. “As you know, your lady does not appreciate being made to wait.”

After a deliberately silly half-curtsy, Gwen draped herself across Morgana’s body, and once settled whispered her reply against Morgana’s already tingling lips.

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

The brief peck that followed was not enough for Morgana. Fingers winding into dark curls, she pulled Gwen into a much more passionate kiss, which lead to another, and another, until the embrace quickly evolved into tangling tongues and undulating hips. Soon enough, Gwen’s head was disappearing beneath the sheets and Morgana was having to recall how to breathe due to the magnificently excruciating pleasure coursing through her loins.

And that was how she came to be late for her first appointment of the morning, where she was relentlessly lectured about the importance of punctuality over manchet, eggs, sausage, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon. It was worth it, though. Her giddy grin throughout breakfast only made Arthur more bewildered and Uther more angry.

#bbc merlin #gwen #morgana #morgwen

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thelastspeecher · 4 years ago

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Pirate AU - Dan and the Captain

So, in the Pirate AU, Manly Dan is the first mate of Angie (aka Sully, aka Sally). They met back when Angie first joined a pirate ship as Sully and was scared and nervous, and started up a friendship for the ages. Here’s some of that friendship.

Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

“Manly” Dan Corduroy felt like he knew his captain well, probably better than anyone else. After all, he’d been there the first day Sully joined a ship. He was the one to help Sully as he learned to be a pirate, the one who taught Sully how to be more manly.

Dan was the only person who witnessed the entirety of Sully’s gradual change from a shy, soft-spoken cabin boy to a brash, assertive captain. He considered Sully to be a friend. So it was startling to overhear the captain having a hushed conversation with his first mate, Stan.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Stan said. Passing by the captain’s cabin, Dan paused. “I mean, you’ve kept this hidden for a while. Who knows how the crew will react?”

“It’s somethin’ I’ve needed to come clean about fer a while, Stan.” Dan’s eyes widened. It was undoubtedly Sully’s voice, but more in line with how he’d sounded when he first started. High-pitched and accented.

I thought his voice changed over time. More surprising than the discovery that Sully’s voice hadn’t truly changed, however, was that the captain felt the need to keep his real voice a secret from Dan. Dan, the man he’d had as a first mate for years, who he claimed to trust more than anyone else. I guess he just trusts Stan more than he ever trusted me. But I shouldn’t hold that against him. He and the first mate are dating, after all.

“But promise me one thing,” Sully said.

“What?”

“…Don’t tell my brother how I go about it, okay? He’s already apoplectic about discoverin’ what happened to me. He don’t need further reasons to have a heart attack.”

“Yeah, he seemed a bit uptight,” Stan said with a chuckle.

Brother? Dan wracked his brain for anything Sully told him about his family. One memory came to mind. The second night Sully had spent on their old ship.

-----

“Look, kid-” Dan started. Sully scowled at him fiercely. It didn’t make him seem even slightly intimidating. Sully was too short, his face too round. He was clearly just a scared boy. Much like Dan had been not long ago when he became a pirate.

“I’m older ‘n you,” Sully snapped, a distinct twang to his voice. Dan sat next to him.

“Not with a BABY face like that,” he pointed out. “There’s no WAY you’re even out of your TEENS yet.” Sully looked down at his feet. Dan lowered his voice to fit the more somber topic. “Anyways, I was gonna ask…what’s your family situation like?” Sully stilled.

“…Complicated.”

“That’s how it is for a lot of people who find themselves on a pirate ship. But I was wondering if you had a dad or brothers, any sort of man in your life to teach you how to, y’know. Be manly.” Dan flexed his arms as a demonstration.

“My ma was a big influence on me,” Sully said softly. Dan nodded. That was in line with what he’d expected – namely, that Sully was raised by a single mother. “I have three older brothers.” That surprised Dan.

“None of them showed you the ropes?”

“We were too far apart in age. We weren’t that close.” Sully looked away morosely. “I wish they could’ve taught me more, but all they really did was teach me some self-defense.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Dan said. Sully grunted softly. “Lemme guess. You’re a university brat, aren’t you?” Sully didn’t say anything. “If you were doing anything other than reading books all day, you’d have some hair on your chest.” Sully turned pink.

“Y-you saw my-” he stammered.

“It’s an expression. Relax.”

“Oh.” Sully looked down at his hands. “You were right. I went to university before…” He trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m on a pirate ship and not prepared for it whatsoever.” Dan clapped Sully heartily on the back.

“You’re in LUCK, kid! I’m the MANLIEST man on board, so I’m gonna HELP you out.”

“…Really?” Sully eyed Dan doubtfully. “Why?”

“Even if you WEREN’T a pirate, you’d need some MANLY lessons.”

“But why are you helping me?”

“You’re not the only one with brothers.” Dan lowered his voice again. “My older brother, Orson, he was the one who helped me be the man I am today. I gotta pay it forward, y’know?” Sully softened, likely thinking of his own older brothers.

“Okay.” Sully took a deep breath. “If you’re offering manliness lessons, I guess I’ll take ‘em.”

“EXCELLENT!” Dan boomed. Sully winced. “FIRST lesson: you need to change your VOICE.”

“Wh- what’s wrong with my voice?”

“You’ve got a NECK wound,” Dan said, pointing at the bandage on Sully’s neck. Sully turned red. His first night, someone had tried to slit his throat, but he managed to get the upper hand at the last second. Sully was visibly disgruntled and unnerved by the experience. “The SHIP doc said it might DAMAGE your voice.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Pretend it DID,” Dan said. Sully furrowed his brow. “We can WORK on that together in private. Don’t talk to ANYONE until I give you the all clear.” After a moment, Sully nodded. “GREAT!” Dan got up to leave. But before he could, Sully spoke up.

“Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you,” Sully said softly. Dan grinned at his new coworker. His new friend.

“No problem, Sully.”

-----

Dan shook himself free of the memory. Sully had multiple brothers, and apparently was in contact with at least one of them. Which surprised Dan. Sully didn’t seem too fond of his family, despite clearly loving them deeply.

When would Sully or Stan talk to one of his brothers? Dan thought on that a bit more, and once he realized, he slapped his forehead with a loud groan. The person he went easy on a few months ago! The man had challenged Sully to a duel and lost, but said something softly to the captain. And whatever he had said, had been enough to break Sully’s nerve. Sully sheathed his sword and had the man thrown in the brig. After a few conversations in the captain’s cabin, the man was left ashore in some town called Gravity Falls.

Now that Dan thought about it, that man, Fiddleford, had been eerily similar in appearance to the captain. There was the obvious shared large nose, but Dan had gotten a close look at Fiddleford, and found the man to have intelligent blue eyes. Just like Sully.

Fiddleford is the captain’s brother! That’s why he went easy on him! Dammit, Dan, why didn’t you figure it out sooner? Dan knew the answer. Sully was simply that good at keeping things under wraps. Once he’d found his sea legs, it became impossible to learn something about Sully unless he said it himself. As evidenced by the fact that Sully apparently had some sort of secret he’d kept from everyone except Stan.

“Did you hear something?” Stan asked from inside the cabin.

“Go check,” the captain instructed. Quickly, Dan stepped away from the cabin and pretended to be inspecting the mast. Stan poked his head out of the cabin, looked around, then went back inside. Dan sighed softly.

No use crying over spilled milk. I would have liked the captain to trust me with everything, but he’s private. I’ll just have to wait to be told whatever this secret is. At least it sounds like I won’t have to wait that long.

-----

Dan was correct. He didn’t have to wait long. Later that same day, the captain summoned the entire crew to the deck for an important announcement. Captain Sully stood on the forecastle deck, as he was too short to be seen by everyone otherwise. He looked down at the crew with a trepidation Dan hadn’t seen in years, Stan by his side. He also wasn’t wearing a coat over his shirt, which stood out to Dan, who knew the captain to be cold almost constantly.

“I have something to tell all of you,” he said without preamble. The crew was dead silent. “I’ve lied to you all. My name isn’t Sully.” The captain took a deep, steadying breath, then ripped open his shirt, revealing pale breasts. “My name is Sally.”

“Stow it!” Stan barked at the mutters that had rippled through the crew. “The captain is sharing something personal and deserves your respect.”

“Thank you, Stan.” The captain’s voice maintained the distinctive rasp, but was now higher. “My name is Sally. I’m a woman. Have been since I was born. But women aren’t taken seriously on a ship, so I had to pretend to be something I wasn’t.” The captain scanned the crew, meeting each person’s eyes individually. “Something we’ve all done at one point.” The captain sighed heavily and straightened, putting both hands behind his – her? – back. “Going forward, I’ll be returning to my true state as a woman named Sally. I’m still your same captain, however, so I will not tolerate any disrespect or changes in how I am treated.”

“You heard her,” Stan said. “Captain Sally is the same person she was yesterday. Don’t treat her differently. Understand?”

“Aye,” the crew replied.

“Good,” Sully – Sally said. “You may return to your duties. Dan, please, come see me.”

While the other crew members, including First Mate Stan, dispersed, Dan approached the captain. He nodded at her.

“Captain.” This was clearly a private conversation, so he quieted his usual speaking volume.

“Dan.” Sally buttoned her shirt, then looked up at Dan. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Dan asked.

“We’ve been close for years. You were the first friend I made on a ship,” Sally said softly. “But I lied to you, from the beginning.”

“I understand.”

“Sure, I had a good reason,” Sally said, waving a hand airily. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t lie. I know you aren’t feeling the most charitable towards me right now. After all, I was pissed as hell at-” Sally suddenly cut herself off. Dan leaned in slightly.

“Your brother?” he asked, making his voice as soft as possible. One corner of Sally’s mouth quirked up into a crooked smile.

“You figured out why I went easy on Fiddleford,” she said softly. “You’re right. He’s my brother, and I was pissed at him. The reason is complicated. But I had hurt feelings, even though he didn’t really do anything wrong. Which is why I know exactly how you feel right now.”

“You think I’m angrier than I am,” Dan pointed out. Sally sighed.

“I can never tell with you when you’re quiet.”

“Captain, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, in that case, you can get back to work.” Sally raised an eyebrow at Dan. “Unless there was something else you wanted to say to me.”

“Your real name isn’t Sally, is it?” Dan asked. Sally threw her head back and laughed.

“I didn’t hide my tell perfectly, huh? Good thing you’re the only one who knows it. Don’t slip about that to anyone, okay? Stan thinks Sally’s my real name.” She punched Dan’s shoulder. “Now, get back to work, crewman.”

“Yes, captain,” Dan rumbled, returning his voice to its usual volume. He walked away, unable to ignore the swell of pride he felt.

I was right. I know her better than anyone else.

#Manly Dan and Angie is suddenly my brotp okay. they are. v good as friends.#Pirate AU #Manly Dan Corduroy #Angie McGucket #Stanley Pines #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

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katefiction · 4 years ago

Text

Cora, Chapter 5: Revelations

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013

Westminster Hall, London

The coffin lies still, elevated on a platform in the middle of the hall. Surrounded by six long candles, it is draped in the royal standard, the crown glistening on top. The stone walls and ornate wooden beamed roof make the vast space more chilling than it already is and I shiver slightly on the balcony where I’m standing.

Granddad has been lying in state for two days at Westminster Hall, but soon, like monarchs before him, he will be taken to Windsor Castle for the funeral ceremony and to be buried. Three hundred thousand people have passed through these doors to pay their respects to the King that was undeniably the loved by the country, but now, as the guards prepare to take his coffin to the gun carriage, it is time for the capital to say goodbye.

Behind the balcony, out of the view of prying eyes, I take Dad’s cold hand and squeeze it tightly. He keeps his eyes forward stoically, but I feel him squeeze back briefly. When I had got back to London, Dad had been in a state of shock. As well as grieving for his beloved father, he had decisions to make – when to release the information, what to write in the statement- and I could see him flinch every time someone called him ‘your majesty’.

As the coffin is prepared to be taken down, we are ushered away to join the procession.

I have never seen London so quiet. The roads are closed and along them stand thousands of people, their heads bowed as the gun carriage drives past. You can almost hear the flutter of the occasional flag in the bitter February wind. But other than that, it is silence, and sorrow.

I sit behind the gun carriage in a carriage holding my grandmother and other ladies of the family. I bow my head, trying to ignore the masses of people and cameras that surround my family. Behind us, Dad stands tall, processing on foot, showing no sign of breaking down.

I resent the fact that this moment has to be shared with the world. When I want to curl into a ball and cry, I know that I will have to be talking to dignitaries from around the world. And when I want to hug Dad tightly, I know the camera flashes will put a stop to it.

The eighty one bell tolls from Big Ben become more distant as we approach Marble Arch and I struggle to keep it together, glad of the black veil covering my face. I know that the next time we have a procession, my face covered in a veil; it will likely be for my wedding. A wedding that Granddad won’t be there for.

St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle

Staring into space, I pretend to listen to one of Granddad’s old university friends tell me old stories about him.

‘And then James filled the shower head with tea bags so she was drenched in tea!…’, he laughs.

I laugh along politely, wondering when I’ll be allowed to be alone for a while.

The funeral service had been filled with sadness and plenty of tears. From the massive show that was the procession through the streets of London, the funeral was in stark contrast, an intimate family event. But as soon as we’d thrown the dirt into his grave, it was back to duties, with the family playing host to the Granddad’s closest friends and many a dignitary at the wake.

I feel a buzzing in my bag as the friend continues his story.

‘Please excuse me’, I interrupt, ‘I must go speak to my father briefly’

‘Yes yes’, he waves me away and continues speaking to someone else.

I scuttle away into a neighbouring room and pull my phone out of my bag.

‘How are you doing?’, the text says.

I tap my reply in quickly, ‘Ok, I wish you were here though’

He replies almost immediately, ‘So do I, but I’ll see you in a couple of days’

‘I miss you’

I had only seen Ben once since Granddad had died. He had texted and called me constantly, acting as a pillar of support. I wish I could’ve seen him more often, but the attention our family was getting meant that I wanted to protect our relationship more than ever.

‘Well who wouldn’t?’, he replies.

I giggle out loud, grateful for the distraction.

‘Something funny?’, a voice from behind me makes me jump.

I turn around to find a tall, handsome figure, hid hair flicked perfectly to one side.

‘Nicholas…’, I kiss him on each cheek. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be here’

Our grandfathers were close friends. Of course he was going to be here.

‘Would you rather I wasn’t?’, he says seriously.

I laugh awkwardly, ‘of course not, it’s been too long’

I hadn’t seen Nicholas since the Highland Fling. Call me a coward, but I was too chicken to face up to him after ending things with him that night.

He nods in agreement. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Cora’

‘Thank you, it was a big shock’, I cast my eyes downwards. I never know how to respond to sympathy.

‘It must be a big change for you, becoming Princess of Wales’, he leans against the mantelpiece.

‘Oh no, that’s not happening yet!’, I protest.

‘So you’ll still be working up in Scotland for a while?’

‘For as long as I can’

‘I guess all the focus needs to be on your dad right now anyway?’, he says kindly.

‘Exactly, the less I stay out of the papers, the better’

We make small talk for the next ten minutes, until, inevitably, the conversation dries up and we’re left standing awkwardly in silence.

��Look Cora, can we just forget about what happened between us last summer and be friends’

Thank God.

I breathe a sigh of relief, ‘I would love that, I really would’

‘I’m having a dinner in a couple of days, would you like to come?’, he asks hopefully.

‘Oh Nick, I’d love to, but I’m busy’, I don’t quite meet his eye.

Because I’ll be with Ben.

He shrugs it off. ‘Another time then’

‘Definitely’. And I mean it.

* * *

Curled up on the couch a couple of days later, Ben hands me a cup of peppermint tea. I’d suddenly developed a cold the day after the funeral.

He pushes the hair back from my face, ‘your face is pretty hot’, he says, resting the back of his hand on my cheek.

‘Why thank you’, I snigger.

He rolls his eyes, ‘that was a crap joke’

‘No better than yours’.

I had been in his London flat since the afternoon. Now that that the funeral was over, all the attention was tuned onto Dad. Despite asking him if he needed me to stick around, he insisted that I get back to life as normal.

‘Normal’ now included spending lazy afternoons with my boyfriend.

Ben props my legs up onto his lap and begins massaging my feet. I notice him smile at the sight of my birthday socks.

‘I’m not surprised you’re ill with the week you’ve had. All that adrenalin keeping you going and then your body just crashes’, he mimics a plane crashing with his hand.

I blow my nose into a bedraggled tissue, ‘urgh I feel like hell’

‘You need a break’. He looks at me conspiratorially, ‘I’ve been thinking…’

‘Yes…’

‘Maybe this summer, I could take you on holiday, give you a proper birthday present’

‘You gave me a proper birthday present’, I wriggle my toes in his hands.

‘I mean it’

‘I would love that, you know I would, it’s just how would we do it without people finding out?’, I nibble at my bottom lip.

‘We could just tell people’. He looks me dead in the eye, forcing me to face the conversation. ‘By the summer, we’ll have been together a year, don’t you think it’s time?’

I shuffle closer to him, leaning my chin on his shoulder, ‘I just want our relationship to be ours and when we tell people, it won’t be anymore’

I think back to my discovery a couple of years back. The lengths William and Catherine went to, to keep their relationship to themselves.

His jaw tenses and his voice deepens, ‘the world will find out eventually, I’m sick of sneaking around’

I pull back, sensing his tension, ‘so am I’, I say quietly.

Just when I think he’s going to start an argument, his dark eyes soften, ‘I know’, he sighs. ‘It’s frustrating, that’s all’

I test the waters and lean towards him again. He plants a quick kiss on my lips.

‘You’ll catch a cold’, I grin.

‘I’ll risk it’, he says, pulling me into the warmth of his body.

The next morning, I’m woken by my phone going off non-stop. After ignoring Dad’s call on the day Granddad died, I now always pick up my phone first time.

I reach over to it, my eyes half open. To my surprise, Ben is doing the same, his phone going off at the same rate as mine.

‘Hello’, I say croakily.

‘Good morning Your Royal Highness’, Maggie’s voice says; her voice much too bright for 6am.

6am. Something’s wrong.

I bolt upright, ‘what is it? Is it Dad? Or Grandma, or Mum?’, I say, panicked.

Next to me, Ben in growling into his phone; all the while looking at me.

‘Everyone is fine, Ma’am. But it seems the press have caught wind of your relationship’

I feel bile rise to my throat.

Maggie continues when I don’t respond, ‘I’ve sent you a link of the article, you’ll have to decide if you want to make a statement, please get back to me ASAP’

Maggie has a way of making the biggest problems seem manageable, but even as I put the phone down, I feel my face paling.

‘Shit’, I say.

‘Let’s just see what it says’. Ben is already finding the article on his phone. That was presumably his agent calling to tell him.

I sit staring at the wall as he reads the story aloud.

‘Exclusive: Princess Cora dating tennis ace.

Princess Cora is in a secret relationship with Britain’s number one tennis player Ben Evans, the Mail on Sunday can exclusively reveal.

Sources reveal to us that the pair began dating last year after Cora began working with Evans’ charitable trust, the Marion and James Evans Tennis Trust.

The couple are said to be ‘serious’, with friends stating a royal wedding could come as early as next year.’

At that point, Ben throws the phone onto the bed, ‘what a load of bollocks’

‘Only a few people know, who’s leaked this?’, I jump out of bed and begin pulling on my clothes.

‘God knows’, Ben runs his hands through his hair and rubs his head. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think, I need to get out of here before the paparazzi turn up’, I say, struggling to button up my jeans.

Ben comes over to me, stroking my arms, ‘everyone knows now, what’s the point of running away?’

Why isn’t he more upset about this?

My phone rings again as I’m about to retort. I grab it. Dad.

‘Don’t say it Daddy’, I say before he has a chance to speak.

‘Were you planning to tell me Cora?’, he says it like he’s speaking to a small child.

‘Of course’, I button up my jeans with my free hand.

‘How long has it been going on, or shall I wait for tomorrow’s story to find that out?’

I’m embarrassed to tell him how long it’s been now that I have to say it out loud. ‘Since last July’

I hear him breathe in sharply, ‘we’ll talk about this when you get home, you’re with him, I assume?’

‘Yes’

God this is horrible.

‘I’ll see you later then’. He hangs up before I can try to back out. I don’t have a choice but to go and face him.

‘I need to send for a car’, I say, more to myself than Ben as I text Maggie quickly.

Ben sits at the end of the bed in just his boxers, watching me rush around the room. ‘Can we talk about this?’

‘About what?’ I say distractedly.

‘You can’t just run off, anyone would think you’re ashamed’

I stop in my tracks, ‘don’t be stupid’

He grabs my waist and pulls me on to his lap, ‘we can go places together now; go on that holiday without having to worry’

I clench my teeth at the thought of a hundred photographers following us around some sunny island as we attempt to have a romantic holiday.

‘It’s not the right time’, I say pushing off his lap.

‘Then when will be?’, his voice begins to rise in annoyance.

Why does he have to be so stubborn? Why can’t he just accept that I know what I’m talking about?

‘Granddad has just died’, I snap. ‘My dad needs my support, not for me to be on the cover of the fucking Mail on Sunday!’

‘Calm down’, he says slowly.

‘I sorry, but it’s like Nicholas said, the focus needs to be on Dad’

‘When did you see Nicholas?’, I can tell he’s trying to sound casual.

‘At the wake’, I don’t have time for this. ‘He was being a friend’

‘I bet he was’, he sneers.

A text from Maggie comes through; telling me a car should be outside. I pull on my coat and grab my bag. I can’t stay here and argue with him.

‘I’ll call you’, I say, as he follows me down the hall.

‘Fine’.

I turn around and attempt to peck him on the mouth as a small peace offering. He turns his head a fraction so I catch his bristly cheek.

‘Right, see you then’

‘See you’, he says.

I open the door and jump into my waiting car just as two photographers pull into Ben’s road. My car speeds away, the feel of Ben’s missing kiss hollow on my lips.

#royal fanfiction #katefiction

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