InsaneJournal

WHO: Morgana and Arthur.
WHERE: The Park.
WHEN: 2011 P.A. (Pre-Angst) otherwise known some time mid-March (pre-power swap)
WHAT: Playing with swords ... wait, no. Actually ... And some siblingy moments, if slightly awkward.
Ratings: PG/PG-13ish.
STATUS: Complete.

“Tiring already Arthur?” Morgana asked as she rotated her wrist in a quick movement, expertly twisting her sword in quick spin. Morgana stepped back as her sword arched, her eyes focused on her opponent as he stumbled back from where she’d shoved him. Her tone did actually sound concern but it was ruined by the sharp thread of big sister taunting - the unspoken, “I’m better than you.”

Her grin was bright, wide, and perhaps a little happy. It certainly was as sharp as the sword. It spoke a lot of how her blood was pumping through her veins and the sweat that trickled down her back, tickling just a bit and very much welcomed. She and Arthur hadn’t properly sparred since before she had lost her sight. Not with foils or with swords and she missed it. Though to be fair she missed this a bit more. This being the heavy weight of a familiar sword, rather than the weapon used for fencing. Since Arthur had paid for classes as a birthday present back in October their focus had been more on catching up and learning the most efficient - yet still impressively difficult - ways to best each other. While Morgana, had refused to allow being unable to see to stop her from practicing - just like she hadn’t allowed it to stop her from doing magic - she hadn’t heard the sound of swords clashing in a while. At least not outside of her television.

Nothing beat the real thing.

It had been Morgana who had brought up swordplay to Arthur when he had come over in an aimless way that she was beginning to realize was his passive-aggressive yet genuine way of saying that he wanted to spend time with her.

It seemed like a good way to test out what Morgause had been teaching her for some time now against someone not her sister. And Morgana never wasted an opportunity to put Arthur in his place and he never wasted a chance to show her up - or just show off in general. They might be growing as people, or well he was, but at their core they would always be the same ….

… petty, squabbling, children.

Arthur fell back into a proper stance as Morgana readjusted her grip on her sword. They’d been fighting for a solid hour without pause, offering jibes and steel as they danced around the park. Arthur gritted his teeth and ignored the way sweat tickled the back of his neck and made his shirt cling to his back. This wasn’t even half the time he’d used to drilling.

He was out of practice.

Painfully out of practice, but he was not about to give up. He had more than a reputation to uphold. He just wanted to be able to mock Morgana for the rest of the week. “Not a chance.”

Morgana laughed, the sound oddly both heavily mocking and airily carefree, and struck forward, taking an unrelenting offensive before pivoting - a slight step behind her, movement all in the hips - to meet what was meant to be a downward blow of his sword. Preventing it, keeping it in check, before his blade could touch any part of her.

She hadn’t expected a different response. Arthur’s pride wasn’t something that ever failed to meet expectations.

“Giving up already?” he threw back as she withdrew. He swung low, aiming at her legs and then spun out as steel hit steel. Muscles long forgotten burned as he worked their way across the grass, crash meeting crash before springing back and regrouping. Once he met his stride, things would fall into place, he knew that, muscle memory never died, but he couldn’t quite meet that and before he knew what was happening, he faltered and a cut welled on the outside of his wrist, red and aching and he dropped his sword, raising his hands. Yielding. He doubted Morgana wished to explain to Guinevere any more than he did why he was bruised and cut.


Yielding wasn’t admitting defeat, not exactly. From a Pendragon, from Arthur, it was certainly something that she could pick at him over but it wasn’t the sound trouncing that she had wanted to give him. Disappointment warred with concern as the adrenaline buzzed in her brain. Morgana hesitated yet whatever, cutting remark she had been about to make mostly melted on her tongue when her eyes caught sight of his wrist. For now concern won over.

Morgana placed her sword down with much more grace and picked up a water bottle as she did so.

She took a long drink, the bottle hovering over her mouth, causing some of the water to trickle down onto her skin as well as on her throat. It was no longer cold but it was certainly cool enough. The difference against her warm skin was both welcome and an annoyance.

It was taking her a bit to get herself under control.

Morgana truly did agree with her sister. There was something about a sword, about sparring, about a battle - about just being in there, matching blow for blow that actually managed to surpass the rush of magic.

Holding out her hand, “Let me see it.” Morgana murmured as she held out the bottle toward Arthur.

Arthur took the water gratefully, swallowing some down well before he even brought the lip of it to his mouth. It slid down the back of his throat, cool and welcomed as he held out his wrist for her to inspect. He wasn’t going to be petty about this. Between Morgana and Merlin, he knew where the healing specialty lay. He wasn’t about to abuse himself further by letting Merlin experiment on him and ultimately fail.

Besides, both he and Morgana would benefit from her being able to heal this wound and fast. Arthur needed further practice. Morgana would enjoy lording this day over him until he possibly died and that would happen if Gwen found out he’d managed to hurt himself while doing this. Ever since Abigail’s birth, he’d more or less lost his friend and wife and gained a mother. A very easily panicked, but dear mother.

It was as maddening as it was sweet and he couldn’t very well fault Guinevere for never quite switching out of either role when dealing with him.

“It’s shallow.” But they didn’t have time for it to heal on it’s own.

“I noticed.” She shot at him, however, her tone lacked bite and was in fact, almost as gentle as her fingers. This was familiar all for what she was about to do and the location. For as long as Morgana could remember, she was patching something up on Arthur. Especially when they grew older, he grew less scandalised over her seeing him without his shirt, and he was allowed more frequently to the forefront. As Prince and leader of the Knights of Camelot. As Champion and the People’s Defender, Arthur had received quite the number of blows. Typically to the head, knocking him out, and thus making any help she could give him impossible - however, there were others. And Gaius was only one man. Morgana had seen more linens and potions and herbs than might be normal for one person; however, given the time that she lived in and how frequently creatures (and people with magic) tended to attack her home, her people, it made sense. It made sense that she knew how to take care of people, this particular one, especially.

This way. With magic? It was new. Morgana was no Morgause, and she most certainly not anywhere near Neria’s skill level. However, she was better than Merlin. Or so Arthur had told her once when she had mentioned that she at times practiced. It was harder to practice healing as she had less to practice on. It wasn’t as if she would simply show up at the clinic and demand that they allow her practice on the ill. Setting fire was much more simpler in that perspective. That didn’t mean that she hadn’t read up on all that she could whenever she had the chance. Morgana had ever since she had read in the legends what a powerful healer that she was meant to be. She had latched onto that so quickly and held onto it so tightly that no one would be able to make her let it go. Even if she hadn’t been able to through magic, she would have learned more in other ways. Because that had been one of the things that Morgan le Fey could do that didn’t end in destruction and death. Morgana needed that hope, that dream that steadied her.

When her sister appeared she had her teach her what she knew. Morgause was the only person where her stubbornness didn’t trip her up. There was no pride involved in asking her sister and only joy in learning from her.

Maybe one day it would be able to feel effortless, she thought as her fingers traced along the welt, but for now it took a lot of concentration as her eyes grew gold and she focused on her task. Her appreciation though, at Arthur’s willingness was strong, and it gave her a push that she needed.

Morgana’s let out a tiny sigh of relief when it worked. Because there were still many moments when it didn’t. She grinned at him, smile showing her pleasure.

It was a smile he shared. Arthur flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist and was satisfied by the results.

“I’m rusty.” He sighed and shot her a rueful glance. “And you improved.”

It wasn’t earth shattering, nor fully unanticipated but it still smarted his pride. Being skilled at swordplay wasn’t something he looked at lightly. It had been his life. His duty. It meant maintaining his honor and defending his people to his utmost best.

He shuddered to think what would happen if he was sent back in this form, knowing what little that he did about the future of Camelot and how tenacious every position was.

Being here had made him soft, less paranoid and more accepting. These weren’t facts he could refute. He had no wish to. He enjoyed the easier honesty that flowed between his family from it. The lies and the misunderstandings were clearing a path that Arthur found he liked to wedge himself down whenever he could. It was a joyful occurrence whenever he managed to fluster someone’s expectations of him. He took great pride from the fact that he hadn’t even flinched when Morgana had healed his wrist, that asking her for it, silently or not, had been the largest sign of acceptance he’d given her in ages, at least since her sight was returned to her.

“I said that I would.” She pointed out, as she passed by him and bumped her shoulder companionably against his arm before moving to grab her jacket that was just behind him. Instead of putting it on she moved it closer to her sword before plopping down and sitting down on the warm grass. It was tact - that most who knew her became surprised that they ever thought she had it - that kept her from commenting on his first statement. As well as good humor, and the moment.

Arthur might not have recalled all those months ago, when this place decided to turn her into a man, when he clearly stated that she would never be able to beat him in a spar now - because she had all those years ago, multiple times, despite what he denied - and she had challenged that she would be able to … soon. With soon coming and going. Truth spells and invasions made it difficult to teach your baby brother what was for with a pointy object. Fatherhood and losing one’s eye-sight did it more so. Not that Morgana begrudged Abigail. Such a ridiculous statement was so ridiculous that it shouldn’t even be a thought that was considered. It was simply that there were matters that had been more important and that delayed Morgana kicking his arse.

Arthur joined her after a moment of rotating his wrist, checking for tenderness, before sinking onto the warm grass and stretching out beside her. He missed the quiet of the outdoors more than he had thought.

“We needed this,” he said quietly, glancing over at Morgana. “Winter shouldn’t be allowed to last as long as it does.”

He always said that. Arthur had never been fond of the winter months. It was a sentiment that Morgana had once shared gladly after her father died. She had let go of that resentment more or less, she even enjoyed winter for time to time. When one didn't think about how cold it was or about how difficult it was for the people to get food. They didn't have to worry about the latter here and the former not as much as they used to.

Still, some ingrained dislikes were difficult to let go of.

"We did." Morgana agreed simply stretching out her legs, momentarily taking in the sun. Sunblock. She loved it. They might have been becoming complacent, used to modern life but there was so much about it - for all of it's advanced technology - that was much more restrictive than Camelot times.

"We should do this more regularly." She offered after a moment. "Or at the very least you could practice with Gwaine or Leon." A part of her wanted him to agree to practice with her - a part of her that she would have never acknowledged back in Camelot, and that she would never voice - but so long as he did. She had Morgause. Who did he have?

“We should.” He meant it too. He didn’t dare practice with Gwaine or Leon again until he was certain he wouldn’t make a fool out of all of them by how lax he had been in the past year. Abigail and Guinevere captured nearly all his time and he wasn’t going to trade any of those missed hours for anything, not even the skill he once had. They were more important than any imaginary prestige that came from being the best, but he did need to practice, if only because the unpredictable nature of the city dictated he had some way to save his own ass should the need ever arise.

“They could come along.”

Morgana smiled again, pleased, but she mostly hid it by tilting her head back. Laughter did bubble out of her as she looked at him through the corner of her eye, “Do you want Gwaine sitting about giving you “pointers” on your footwork?”

Arthur grimaced at the thought. “He’d be unbearable. More so than he already is.”

Gwaine was not what Arthur would ordinarily call reliable. He hadn’t known the other man long, but it didn’t take very long to get a measure of another man’s worth either. Gwaine was capable with a sword, loyal to Merlin, and completely and bogglingly irritating. Arthur had never met another man as easily able to charm his way out of trouble or into trouble as Gwaine and he had to question his own judgement in knighting him at some point in his other future.

“I don’t know.” Morgana’s words sounded like a verbal shrug but they were too pointed, almost whimsically snide, to be so. “I happen to find him funny.” And Morgana was certain to find Gwaine’s comments on Arthur’s footwork to be hilarious. “He’s certainly helpful.” She added, her tone becoming much more thoughtful.

“He’s had moments, I’ll grant him that.” Some bigger than others. Arthur gazed up at the bright, blue sky with mild exasperation. He knew there would be no getting rid of Gwaine. Had Arthur been more honest with himself, he would admit he was beginning to slowly depend on Gwaine’s undependable nature.

Morgana gave him a knowing look. There wasn’t another person who knew him better than she did - though Gwen and Merlin came very close to knowing him just as well. Morgana knew just what that comment meant but she decided that she was in too good of a mood, and there really wasn’t a current reason for her to do so, to push the issue. Whether he wanted to admit to it to himself or not, Arthur was starting to genuinely like Gwaine. The man seemed to be against everything Arthur stood for, had been raised to be as a noble and a warrior. Of course, Gwaine’s devil-may-care attitude would irk Arthur, even now as he was learning that their was a plus side to being laid-back.

“What?” Arthur scowled and leaned back in the grass, closing his eyes. Whatever Morgana was thinking was intolerable and absolutely incorrect. It didn’t matter what it was she was thinking, he understood her expression well enough to be able to conclude that he didn’t particularly care for her conclusions.

She thought she knew him so well. He’d love her to prove it.

“Nothing.” Morgana stated, ready to leave it at that. One could say that her time in Colligo had matured Morgana enough to learn when to let things go. After all, she was someone’s guardian. She had died. She had gone through a lot that would mature even the most stubborn, head-strong of women. Or … one could say that Morgana knew that her lack of response would needle Arthur even more than her saying anything pithy. Either version worked.

His scowl intensified but he managed to remain silent. He shielded his eyes as he turned to look at her, but her carefully neutral expression gave nothing away. Arthur swore she’d be smirking, or even frowning, as she truly did seem to find him incomprehensibly stupid on occasion. He’d never acknowledge how close to truth some of those moments were. Because what Morgana needed less than an ego stroke, was ammunition against Arthur’s.

If Arthur could have only heard the “evil” laughter in her head … However, Morgana’s pale face showed none of her thoughts. Instead, she looked down at her watch, before looking back up at Arthur, a brow carefully arched in question.

What? Arthur rolled his eyes and laid back down, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you need to be somewhere?”

“No.” Morgana stated, though she didn’t quite manage to hide - in those two words - her surprise that he didn’t. It was odd the navigation of her and Arthur’s relationship. They were much closer here than they were back in Camelot some ways, though they saw each other less frequently. In a way it was as if they were children again. That and of itself made the entire thing more awkward. She and Arthur did things. Even when she was blind there involved some sort of action. Just sitting next to each other in silence wasn’t done. She didn’t know why, she supposed normal families had no problem just spending time in the quiet in each other’s company. She didn’t see why she and Arthur shouldn’t be able to. Except for the fact that they had never been normal and the fact that they discovered that they were related by blood made them less so, not more so. No, she and Arthur didn’t do silence … not since they were children, her father’s death and Arthur sat outside of her door - whether to give her comfort or keep her from running away, she still didn’t know - and she pretended not to hear him. And Morgana had been all about ready to leave until he asked that question. Because she didn’t. “I don’t.”

“You want to.” He didn’t have to look at her to know how unrelaxed she was. She was over-thinking, analyzing things that should just be left alone. He couldn’t remember the last time they spent more than an hour in each other’s company before one or the other made some thin excuse to flee. For once, Arthur was content to lay in the sun and enjoy the warming weather without worrying about something else. Gwen, no doubt, would begin to wonder when he’d return, but he was under no obligation to return from this practice any time soon. Morgana wouldn’t have lied about needing to be somewhere if she was expected. Whatever was wrong was fully in her head. And he doubted he’d like hearing whatever it was. They shared plenty more here than they ever had in Camelot, but they still kept their own council in matters closest to the chest. If it was anything important, Morgana would harass him with the details of it, not keep her silence.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted to, I would have left already.”

He snorted. “Relax then.”

Morgana thought to say something about the sun, which wasn’t even that heavy, but kept her tongue for she knew that Arthur would tear that apart as the pathetic excuse that it was. Never mind attacking her vanity. So instead she rolled her eyes - as if to say, I am relaxed - and leaned back on her elbows, eyes watching the people running by.

Arthur nodded and folded his hands behind his head, content to watch the clouds move.