Fic: Our history in Cat Years
Nov. 10th, 2011 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
netgirl_y2kTitle: Our History in Cat Years
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG
Word Count: 952
Summary: Okay, so the talking cat. That probably deserves an explanation.
"Your cat is staring at us again," Morgause mumbled sleepily and attempted to bury herself under the duvet.
"I'll put him out," said Morgana.
Even after all this time Morgana still had nightmares about it; the knife raised high above her head, the blood spilling across the stone, so seeing Morgause alive and unscarred and sleeping next to her was... astonishing.
"And now you're staring at me," said Morgause, peeking out from beneath the covers and raising an eyebrow.
"Right. Sorry. I'll just---"
Morgana rolled out of bed. The cat leapt down, circled her ankles twice and followed her out of the bedroom. Morgana shut the bedroom door behind her, walked to the kitchen and shut that door too.
The cat leapt onto the table and said, "Anything but tuna this morning, please."
*
Okay, so the talking cat. That probably deserves an explanation.
Aithusa: the golden-white dragon who'd saved Morgana from dying bitter, terrified and alone. A creature of myth and magic and legend, one of the last of his kind. Well, he was currently occupying the form of a small, white housecat.
Reincarnation was funny like that.
Morgana always looked more or less the same - something she'd come to appreciate, aging lost some of its terror after you'd experienced it the first half a dozen times - but Aithusa had only been a dragon for that first life. Morgana was actually rather grateful for that; a pet dragon would probably raise some eyebrows in North London in 2012.
The strange thing was that as much as Morgana was haunted by Morgause's death, the last days of her own life in Camelot were mostly lost to her. If she really concentrated then she could remember... pain, guilt, a lake, and a boat... Emrys...
Then Aithusa swooping down, breathing fire, and making quite a good speech about Morgana not having to kowtow to the patriarchy that she still found useful and applicable all these centuries later.
All she knew was that in every life she'd lived Aithusa had been there. He usually turned up just after her memories had returned to her; when she thought that she was going to be crushed under the weight of all that history and rage and grief, when even the company of, in this life, a slightly mouthy feline was welcome.
Usually, it was just the two of them. She'd asked Aithusa about Arthur and Merlin once, and he'd told her that they were waiting until they were needed. Morgana had thought about this for some time and decided that that was fine with her, and as far as she was concerned they could keep waiting forever.
Occasionally she did see people from Camelot - although she was the only one who ever seemed to remember - not so long ago she'd walked into a cafe to find herself being served by one of Arthur's indistinguishable red-cloaked knights, and in the early part of the last century Gwen had moved into the house two doors down and Morgana had moved to Scotland for two decades.
But this was the first lifetime she'd found Morgause. And Morgana, who'd rather thought the twenty-first century was agreeing with her, had been stunned sideways out of her life when she'd first seen her walking down Oxford Street. The first thing Morgana had learned was that the "I hope you remember me fondly" pick-up line was not one that had withstood the test of time.
Aithusa hadn't approved. He still didn't, actually.
*
The cat finished his breakfast, licked his paws, cleaned his whiskers and said, "You haven't come to your senses then, I suppose?"
"I haven't. And shut up."
"What if she remembers?"
"Nobody ever remembers but me." And Merlin and Arthur, wherever they were, Morgana supposed, but they didn't count. "And what if she does?"
Late at night - because Morgana has never slept well, even though, in this life, Morgause sleeps like the dead, which Morgana finds oddly endearing - late at night she imagined how the conversation might go if Morgause ever did remember Camelot:
"Yes, the cat talks. It's getting him to shut up that's the trick."
"So... we're not related in this life."
"Yes, um, about the magic..."
"I'm sorry. I tried to get you back from the Cailleach, I tried so hard."
Sometimes, Morgana wished Morgause would remember just so they could recapture some of what their relationship had been like that first time, some of that intensity and obsession, but then she also remembered the confusion and rage and Morgause's protracted death, and the fact that she hadn't been able to breathe for fucking Pendragons and their servants everywhere.
And anyway, she was mostly too attached to what they have now: flats, and jobs, and awkward, unsubtle flirting. Nights out in the pub that led to sloppy, slightly drunken sex, and sleepy, careless sex the next morning. Not to mention the total lack of fucking Pendragons in their lives.
"Look," she told Aithusa, "I don't care if she ever remembers. She's Morgause. She saved me from Uther, and from Merlin, and Camelot back when you were still an egg. I can't know she lives two tube stops away and not try to be with her. I'm not going to do anything stupid, or tell her about Camelot, I just--"
Morgause opened the kitchen door, wrapping the lavender robe around herself and blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Livestock off the furniture," she ordered.
Aithusa favoured Morgause with his most haughty cat-like stare, Morgana thought he must have been practicing, and left the room, tail in the air.
"I hate that cat," said Morgause, without rancour.
"He doesn't like you either," said Morgana, pulling Morgause against her. "He was just telling me."
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Morgana/Morgause
Rating: PG
Word Count: 952
Summary: Okay, so the talking cat. That probably deserves an explanation.
"Your cat is staring at us again," Morgause mumbled sleepily and attempted to bury herself under the duvet.
"I'll put him out," said Morgana.
Even after all this time Morgana still had nightmares about it; the knife raised high above her head, the blood spilling across the stone, so seeing Morgause alive and unscarred and sleeping next to her was... astonishing.
"And now you're staring at me," said Morgause, peeking out from beneath the covers and raising an eyebrow.
"Right. Sorry. I'll just---"
Morgana rolled out of bed. The cat leapt down, circled her ankles twice and followed her out of the bedroom. Morgana shut the bedroom door behind her, walked to the kitchen and shut that door too.
The cat leapt onto the table and said, "Anything but tuna this morning, please."
*
Okay, so the talking cat. That probably deserves an explanation.
Aithusa: the golden-white dragon who'd saved Morgana from dying bitter, terrified and alone. A creature of myth and magic and legend, one of the last of his kind. Well, he was currently occupying the form of a small, white housecat.
Reincarnation was funny like that.
Morgana always looked more or less the same - something she'd come to appreciate, aging lost some of its terror after you'd experienced it the first half a dozen times - but Aithusa had only been a dragon for that first life. Morgana was actually rather grateful for that; a pet dragon would probably raise some eyebrows in North London in 2012.
The strange thing was that as much as Morgana was haunted by Morgause's death, the last days of her own life in Camelot were mostly lost to her. If she really concentrated then she could remember... pain, guilt, a lake, and a boat... Emrys...
Then Aithusa swooping down, breathing fire, and making quite a good speech about Morgana not having to kowtow to the patriarchy that she still found useful and applicable all these centuries later.
All she knew was that in every life she'd lived Aithusa had been there. He usually turned up just after her memories had returned to her; when she thought that she was going to be crushed under the weight of all that history and rage and grief, when even the company of, in this life, a slightly mouthy feline was welcome.
Usually, it was just the two of them. She'd asked Aithusa about Arthur and Merlin once, and he'd told her that they were waiting until they were needed. Morgana had thought about this for some time and decided that that was fine with her, and as far as she was concerned they could keep waiting forever.
Occasionally she did see people from Camelot - although she was the only one who ever seemed to remember - not so long ago she'd walked into a cafe to find herself being served by one of Arthur's indistinguishable red-cloaked knights, and in the early part of the last century Gwen had moved into the house two doors down and Morgana had moved to Scotland for two decades.
But this was the first lifetime she'd found Morgause. And Morgana, who'd rather thought the twenty-first century was agreeing with her, had been stunned sideways out of her life when she'd first seen her walking down Oxford Street. The first thing Morgana had learned was that the "I hope you remember me fondly" pick-up line was not one that had withstood the test of time.
Aithusa hadn't approved. He still didn't, actually.
*
The cat finished his breakfast, licked his paws, cleaned his whiskers and said, "You haven't come to your senses then, I suppose?"
"I haven't. And shut up."
"What if she remembers?"
"Nobody ever remembers but me." And Merlin and Arthur, wherever they were, Morgana supposed, but they didn't count. "And what if she does?"
Late at night - because Morgana has never slept well, even though, in this life, Morgause sleeps like the dead, which Morgana finds oddly endearing - late at night she imagined how the conversation might go if Morgause ever did remember Camelot:
"Yes, the cat talks. It's getting him to shut up that's the trick."
"So... we're not related in this life."
"Yes, um, about the magic..."
"I'm sorry. I tried to get you back from the Cailleach, I tried so hard."
Sometimes, Morgana wished Morgause would remember just so they could recapture some of what their relationship had been like that first time, some of that intensity and obsession, but then she also remembered the confusion and rage and Morgause's protracted death, and the fact that she hadn't been able to breathe for fucking Pendragons and their servants everywhere.
And anyway, she was mostly too attached to what they have now: flats, and jobs, and awkward, unsubtle flirting. Nights out in the pub that led to sloppy, slightly drunken sex, and sleepy, careless sex the next morning. Not to mention the total lack of fucking Pendragons in their lives.
"Look," she told Aithusa, "I don't care if she ever remembers. She's Morgause. She saved me from Uther, and from Merlin, and Camelot back when you were still an egg. I can't know she lives two tube stops away and not try to be with her. I'm not going to do anything stupid, or tell her about Camelot, I just--"
Morgause opened the kitchen door, wrapping the lavender robe around herself and blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Livestock off the furniture," she ordered.
Aithusa favoured Morgause with his most haughty cat-like stare, Morgana thought he must have been practicing, and left the room, tail in the air.
"I hate that cat," said Morgause, without rancour.
"He doesn't like you either," said Morgana, pulling Morgause against her. "He was just telling me."