Fic: Entanglement

[gnimaerd]

Title: Entanglement
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana/Merlin/Arthur OT4
Genre: humour, romance
Summary: A morning spent in Morgana's chambers.

A/N: Written for the Gwen Battle fic challenge, beta-ed by clanne .

Entanglement

Of them all, Morgana was the most straight forward.

Gwen could not understand the ease with which she could love the woman. Common sense dictated that this would be the most complicated of any of her relationships. It should not, after all, be straight forward to love someone of your own gender.

There were rules about such things – laws, even. And biological imperatives. You didn’t lie with other women. You didn’t lick and touch and kiss and hold and murmur sweetness’s to other women.

You didn’t – you didn’t – and yet.

And yet Morgana was not ‘other women’. Morgana was just Morgana, and Gwen couldn’t fail to do anything but adore her.

She was the first of them, sleepy and sweet in the early morning as Gwen came in to wake her, smiling soft as silk from under spider-lashes.

“Morning…”

It always felt like the best thing in the world, kissing her into full wakefulness, climbing in beside her and resting her head on Morgana’s shoulder. Warm lips and tongues and cheeks in the cool morning, Morgana pliable and tender and blowing onto Gwen’s hands to warm them.

“The boys are late again…” she murmured, “where’s Merlin?”

“Watching Arthur spar,” Gwen replied, “like always.”

“He’s such a whore for that prince of his…”

“He’s our prince, Morgana.”

“You’re a soft touch.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, but nestled down closer to her mistress, enjoying the moment that they got to spend alone. Morgana pushed Gwen’s hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead, delicately tracing the curve of Gwen’s jaw and cheekbones with the tips of her fingers.

“I love you,” she never said it to the other two.

“I know you do.”

Merlin arrived, with the dawn fresh on his cheeks, grinning.

“You should come and watch him sometimes too.”

“And interrupt your quality time together?” Morgana asked, propping herself up on her elbows to peer at him from the bed, “we wouldn’t dream of it.”

Merlin snorted, as he kicked off his shoes and bounded across the room, climbing into bed on Gwen’s other side.

“Shift over, will you?”

Morgana groaned but rolled over, pulling Gwen with her. “Ugh – great big men with their great clumsy limbs taking up my bed…”

“And good morning to you too,” Merlin leant over and kissed her, then Gwen, settling down behind her, taking her hands. His lips carried the fresh cool of the new day, and his body was still chilled with it.

Gwen shivered, “your fingers are cold!”

“Sorry.”

“Mm.”

Gwen made herself comfortable between them, her cheek on Morgana’s breast, her back to Merlin’s chest, as he used his free hand to stroke her hair.

It wasn’t that loving Merlin was complicated. He was too sweet to make it difficult. It was more that… as a person, Merlin was complicated. He had secrets and depths and shadows.

Morgana had them too, of course – but not from Gwen. Gwen knew all there was of Morgana’s dark spots – the nightmares that whispered of possible futures; the magic that stirred in the back of her mind. It was frightening, to know that Morgana had such a thing lurking within her, but she did not try to keep it from Gwen, and that was a comfort. It made her feel as if they were a part of the same force – an alliance.

But Merlin kept his secrets hidden from her. His foolish smiles and warm hearted sweetness shielded something darker – something on par with Morgana’s own inner demons – and Gwen could never get more than a vague impression of its presence behind his eyes. He wouldn’t tell her about it, for all she gave him ample opportunity. And she might not have minded were it not for the fact that he had told Morgana.

She had never stated as such, but Gwen could see it about her mistress – about them both. It was in the murky glances that the pair exchanged; in the way they sometimes spoke to one another when they had forgotten she was there – heads bowed together, bodies folded towards one another, voices low, words muted. That they shared something – some secret – that she was not privy to, stung a great deal.

She feared the dark places in Morgana. Feared that they would eventually take and drown the woman she loved. And sometimes, just a little, she feared Merlin – as a part of that darkness. The shadows behind his eyes; the secrets behind his sugared smile. It wasn’t jealousy so much as it was real fear on behalf of her mistress and her friend.

Secrets were poison, she knew. They never did any good in the long run.

But she couldn’t ask them to disclose whatever Merlin was hiding. To ask Morgana would be to force the noblewoman to choose between her loyalties to each of them, and such a decision could not be made without someone’s heart being broken in the process. To ask Merlin would be to force him to acknowledge the secrets he thought he kept so well hidden from them all – and she feared that the eruption of those secrets was likely to be destructive. She trusted Merlin enough to know that whatever he did, no matter how bizarre, he usually had good reason for. To go to such lengths to keep something private meant that he feared the consequences of public acknowledgement.

Which made such a secret dangerous.

And this situation already felt too precious – to delicately balanced – to risk.

Morgana stretched languidly beside her and nestled closer, reaching over Gwen’s waist to curl her fingers about Merlin’s forearm. Gwen held herself perfectly still for a moment, feeling the breath of the two people about her – the shift and stir of their bodies beneath their clothes and between the sheets. Merlin’s bare feet were cold against her ankles, his knees drawn up a little to press into the backs of her thighs. Morgana had shamelessly pressed a leg between Gwen’s own, tangling them together like ragdolls carelessly cast aside. Their foreheads were almost touching – the finger tips of Morgana’s other hand brushing delicately over the top of Gwen’s head.

Merlin was resting his cheek against the nape of her neck. His breath was warm on her skin.

Gwen closed her eyes, tightening her grip on his hand – he squeezed back, and she was glad of it. Just for that moment, she was anchored to both of them, and whatever secret lurked overhead could not sweep them away from her.

She was beginning to doze when the door to Morgana’s chambers was flung open for the final time that morning, and Arthur tramped in with all the ceremony of a large bull.

“Morning, you lazy dogs. Lord above, Merlin – what has a man to do to get his servant to help him with his armour? You know I can’t get the breast plate off by myself.”

Merlin sat up abruptly (Gwen instantly missed his warmth) and shrugged. “I thought you more than capable of finding your way here in the mean time.”

“So you abandoned me, to get here early and lie around with the women,” Arthur folded his arms, unimpressed. “What sort of man are you, Merlin?”

Morgana sat up too, yawning and giving Arthur a sardonic look. “You stayed out on the practice field getting cut bloody by your men, rather than come inside to get into bed with two beautiful women. What sort of man are you, Arthur Pendragon?”

Gwen giggled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn’t deign to reply as Merlin slid gingerly out of bed and began to help him with the buckles on his breast plate.

Gwen watched, curiously, as Merlin got Arthur out of his armour – pulling clasps and buckles and belts, skilfully setting aside the finely crafted metal until the prince was free of it. The way his long, fine fingers worked about Arthur’s sturdy frame – the sharp concentration on the manservant’s features angling them into something handsome. Then he dusted his master off – apparently out of habit – and grinned as he straightened Arthur’s shirt and flattened his hair.

“There you go!”

“Yes, thank you, mother,” Arthur sighed, re-ruffling his hair, “can you get my boots off now?”

“No, he can’t!” Morgana interrupted, “take your own boots off! Merlin’s coming back to bed.”

Merlin glanced from one to the other, paralysed by the sudden equal and opposite pull of the two nobles. Arthur gave him a sharply warning glance – but Morgana had raised her eyebrows, inclining her head.

“She hits harder than you do,” Merlin shrugged apologetically, backing away from his master and towards the bed.

Morgana grinned, satisfied, as Arthur flashed her a dirty look while his servant climbed in beside Gwen again. Gwen embraced Merlin, briefly, finding his hand and gripping tight – in unspoken agreement, they both pulled the covers up over their heads in order to achieve a few moments of temporary reprieve while their respective masters began to bicker.

Morgana and Arthur’s relationship was, of course, as fraught as fraught could be. One moment they were gentle, adoring, complete and unbreakable (a force – quite unified); the next they were spoiling for each other’s blood.

They were constantly struggling for dominance, and, for the most part, dominance could be claimed when it came to which of them had the favour of their servants that day.

Morgana’s genuine sweetness when it came to Merlin (and the fact that she also seemed to intimidate him a great deal more than Arthur did) meant that she could usually entice Merlin to go against Arthur’s wishes when it suited her. Their shared darkness – their secrets – of which Gwen was only too aware and of which Arthur seemed oblivious, only cemented their alliance.

On the other hand, Arthur’s clumsy gentlemanliness and his flashes of true nobility had warmed Gwen to him over recent months. There was something fundamentally decent about the prince – above and beyond what his father had tried to make of him. It meant that occasionally – playfully – when she knew that Morgana didn’t really need her, she would prioritise Arthur over her mistress.

And so Merlin and she chose sides on a regular basis.

But sometimes they abdicated the responsibility of making one or other of the two nobles feel on top, and simply withdrew. It was easier, particularly in the mornings.

“Lazy dogs,” Arthur climbed over them, and over Morgana, with no apparent care for the limbs he crushed in the process.

“Watch out, you clumsy oaf!” Morgana protested, pushing him off her legs, “you’ll cripple one of us one day, you know that?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Arthur waved a hand, and pushed back the blankets so that he could sit down beside her. Gwen peeked from beneath the covers and over Merlin’s head to see Morgana give the prince a disparaging look as he kissed her, in that smooth place just below her ear, where her jaw connected to her neck.

Morgana liked to be kissed there – a fact they all tended to exploit from time to time. The same way they all knew that Merlin liked to have his ears nipped, or that Gwen tended to go week at the knees when someone stroked the backs of her arms, or the fact that the backs of Arthur’s knees were exceptionally sensitive and good for tickling.

It was a part of their self-constructed mythology.

“Your nose is cold!” Morgana protested, somewhat unconvincingly, as Arthur worked his way down her neck.

“Well, warm me up!” Arthur suggested – earning him a derisive snort from the noblewoman.

They lay down together, anyway – Morgana on her back, Arthur on his side, forming a natural fit around one another. Gwen could tell by the angle of Arthur’s shoulders that, beneath the blankets, he was stroking Morgana’s thigh – she did not seem displeased by the attention.

This has become the way they lay together in the mornings: Morgana and Gwen on the inside, the boys on the outside. Sometimes Morgana and Gwen swapped over – so Morgana got to fuss over Merlin for a while and Gwen got to feel the thrill of Arthur’s strong arms.

In the evenings, and occasionally at other times – often when there had been some upset, some stress or trigger – Morgana and Arthur went at opposite ends, and the two men would lie together and the two women – Arthur gruffly holding Merlin’s shoulders; Morgana tenderly curling herself about Gwen; Merlin and Gwen clasping one another between them. It felt protective, really. Morgana and Arthur were the warriors among them. When one or all of them felt threatened the natural reaction of the group was to put the two strongest of them in defensive positions.

To be between the two Nobles was probably one of the safest places in the world, Gwen thought – especially when it came to having Merlin next to her, as well, with all his dark spots and secrets and quiet, undeniable strength.

However they arranged themselves, Gwen was always on the inside. Her back never got cold – her arms were never empty.

Arthur grinned at her as he stretched himself out – leant over Morgana to kiss Gwen’s lips – and then Merlin’s.

He began bickering with Morgana again, moment’s later, even as Morgana ruffled his hair and called him her champion. He turned onto his stomach to look down at her derisively, as she pushed an arm beneath her head and grinned up at him just as teasingly as she always did. Gwen found Morgana’s other hand beneath the covers and squeezed it, gently – Morgana squeezed back.

“No nightmares, last night?” Arthur asked, the moment of levity masking genuine concern.

“For once,” Morgana shrugged.

Arthur nodded – then glanced briefly at Gwen who offered her own quick affirmation of her mistress’s truthfulness.

“I saw that, you know,” Morgana informed them.

Gwen huddled closer to her, “he worries for you – it’s sweet.”

“I can handle the nightmares,” Morgana promised them – behind her, Gwen felt Merlin’s gaze resting on the noblewoman for a moment longer than was necessary – then he put his arms about Gwen’s waist again and kissed the back of his neck.

It felt, for some reason, like an apology.

Arthur reached over the two women and grasped Merlin’s elbow, forming a protective clasp about all three of them. Gwen glanced at him and felt, for a moment, that she understood his sense of loss – and the need to anchor himself. Unspoken but perfectly real was the knowledge of how easily this could come apart.

In that way, it was safer to keep things messy and undefined and unsaid. The more tangled their relationships were, the more enmeshed they became – the harder it would be to pull them apart. To clean things up along visible lines would be to make them like pieces of a puzzle who could slot or un-slot together at a moment’s notice.

Like this, they were tangled string – knotted and unfathomable.

.