God, I Love You

The banquet is in full swing; the tables heave under the weight of all the food piled upon them, and the Pendragon crest blazes red and gold on the tapestries adorning the walls. The room is awash with colour; noblemen with voluminous cloaks which trail along the ground after them, and ladies wearing dresses which vary from palest beige to darkest purple.

And then there is Morgana.

She waltzes in of her own accord, her dress maroon, her lips painted a matching colour. Golden bangles adorn her wrists. Her dark hair tumbles down her back in loose waves, contrasting sharply with her white skin. Arthur watches her approach, watches as she walks right up to him and inclines her head, watches as the tendons in her neck tauten at the movement. He swallows.

"Arthur," she greets him, and her eyes are sparkling with unspoken reminders of their last meeting. Arthur remembers kisses, holding hands, whispering words in her ear - words like, 'Never change' and 'God, I love you.'

"Morgana," he responds, and he has to fight to keep it steady. She smirks; Arthur looks away quickly. He glances around; there is nobody immediately near them, they could easily slip away and nobody would notice -

- and then Morgana smiles sweetly and moves on, going to talk to someone. Arthur stares after her for a moment, and then he exhales in a huff, but there is nothing he can do. If Morgana wants to play her games, she will play them, and nothing will stop her.

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It's late, and the banquet is drawing to a close when she returns. Most of the people who are leaving are those to intoxicated to continue; they head off for their rooms looking very much the worse for wear, supported by friends. Morgana is as fresh as the moment she arrived, untouched by the effects of alcohol. It's not that she hasn't been drinking it; her mouth is stained red with wine. It's just Morgana and her baffling ability to so painfully perfect all the time.

"Come with me," she tells him, eyes bright, hand cool in his own.

Arthur goes with her without question. She weaves through the crowd, smiling at the people who hail her but not accepting their invitations to join them. Arthur vaguely wonders if they think she is leading him away because he's drunk. Drunk on Morgana , he thinks, and giggles. Wait, giggles? Huh. Perhaps he is drunk after all.

But the alcohol does not affect his view of Morgana, so he doesn't mind, especially not when she pulls him down a little passage and they come out on one of the battlements. Moonlight provides enough light to see by, and God, Morgana looks beautiful in the moonlight. Arthur takes a moment to appreciate this, and then Morgana laughs lightly and he realises he's staring.

"Did you enjoy the banquet?" she asks breathlessly, tangling her fingers through his and tugging him closer.

"As well as I could," he manages to reply, despite the distracting factor of Morgana's hands, which are now lifting his own up. He looks down at their fingers, entwined together, and a rush of something warm and sweetly familiar courses through him.

"As well as you could?" she questions.

"Without you being there," he replies, and then wonders why such an honest response sprang to his tongue.

"Arthur, you charmer." She's even closer now, eyes gleaming. They look silver in the moonlight, he notices. Her gaze drops, and he feels a little disconcerted; for Morgana to be staring so intently at his lips doesn't seem to be helping his brain function.

And then she kisses him, and it's sudden and demanding and perfect, just like Morgana; sweet and intoxicating, just like the wine he can taste in her mouth. Arthur's not exactly thinking at this point, but still, one thought flashes through his mind.

God, I love you.

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'... and from your lips, she drew the hallelujah' ; Hallelujah, Jeff Buckley

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