"The Mists of Fate"Author: pre_raphaelite1Characters/Pairings:
Merlin/Morgan le Fey, Godric/Rowena, Godric/HelenaRating:
NC-17Kinks/Themes Chosen: All the crap I didn't use last year!:
celibacy, claustrophilia, cock rings, cunnilingus, discipline, festivals, flagellation, genital shaving, handkerchief codes, harems, humiliation, incest, jewelry, menstrual taboo, paddling, pediophilia, phallophilia, prostitution, pyrophilia, rectal exams, sacrifices, sexual harassment, sex under the influence, tattooing, thalpotentiginy, vasectomy, xenophiliaOther Warnings:
fisting, domination, s/mWord Count:
1900Summary/Description: Morgan knew the fate that awaited them all, the stretching path through time that would see so much bloodshed that she was powerless to stop. Author's Notes:
So I lost track of days and realised this evening that it was my day to post so I wrote this quickly... and after spending two days watching The Mists of Avalon
. This explains everything. I think. Well that and I'm pre_raphaelite1
? For which there is no explanation.
“It's nearly time, Morgan. You must know that.”
“I do but....” The witch faltered in speech then sighed. She knew the fate that awaited them all, the stretching path through time that would see so much bloodshed that she was powerless to stop.
Merlin laid a hand on her arm and smiled, sad but steady. “You cannot change what we have both seen. We must guide them as best we can.”
Morgan nodded. She knew this, knew the course was set for those in their keeping and time merely ticked away as they talked. “Then we shall make our preparations.”
He squeezed her arm, his touch lingering on the warmth of her skin. It has been years since he'd promised himself only to his calling, forsaking the pleasures they'd had so often shared in the dappled light along the lake or the soft furs before the fire. He only occasionally regretted what he had given up; his work, the young that needed his guidance, they were more important that bringing himself to completion in the arms of a willing woman or the mouth of a needy whore.
“Merlin,” she cautioned, always more intuitive than was comfortable, even for him. Then, after a pause, she continued with a wicked glint in her eyes, “Continue such touch and I shall not give you the answers you seek the next time you come here for my Sight until your tongue is tired from use on me.”
Wryly, he huffed then moved his hand away and rose to his feet. “Until the moon is full then.”
He left the room, left the temple without gazing at the maidens who filled it, waiting to attend to Morgan's needs and her plans. He knew they laid about the courtyard he walked through: their pale limbs entwined together; their laughing mouths suckling at breasts, settled between spread thighs, lapping delicately at the tight holes between curving buttocks; their hands stroking, striking, slick with wetness and flowing wine. His pace increased; not rushing, not fleeing, but purposeful. Or so he told himself.
When he arrived once again in his own lands, his own house, he finally allowed himself to breathe normally again, though he was still thrumming from the briskness of his travel and the rich imaginings he wished he could deny. He had to refocus, set himself for the task at hand, that of preparing his young charge for the first steps into his destiny. And so he stripped himself bare, laying aside dusty robes and worn shoes, until all he wore was glittering ring around his balls. The light glow of magic was visible but he had worn it so long that its faint warmth was rarely noticeable, unless he thought specifically of its purpose, that of rendering him permanently incapable of fathering any children, of complicating complexity.
It was the complexity which he must be able to set into motion in less than a fortnight and he needed to begin his preparations. From the wall beside his bed, he picked up the one thing that would clear his mind: a tight bundle of leather straps.
As the first stroke seared across his back, he could feel the fog of desire and age start to lift.
“Are you in there, Rowena?”
“Yes, Lady,” a distant voice murmured demurely.
“Do you still bleed?”
Suspicious but amused, Morgan queried further, “When did they finish?”
There was a significant pause before a nearly inaudible murmur, “Eight days ago?”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Then why, in the name of Medea, are you still in there?”
After a quiet rustle of movement, the door creaked open and a sturdy girl only a few years into womanhood emerged. Her cheeks were pink and she wasn't meeting Morgan's eyes, “I like it in there.”
Rowena shrugged, “It soothes me and... I like the way it feels as though the walls of the earth are embracing me, pressing me against itself.”
“Like a lover?”
She gave a quick nod and Morgan embraced her, placing her lips softly against the girl's forehead. “You feel the world differently, my daughter, and there are things you must do in it. The stars have shown me your fate and it begins tonight.”
Morgan escorted the girl to a room where some of the older women waited to ensure her readiness for the full moon's rite. She was bathed in water scented with herbs then the dark and downy curls between her legs were carefully shaved away, leaving her blushingly pink and exposed. The hair on her head was braided back from her face, and a needle was pushed through the one delicate arch of her nose. Her whimpers faded as the needle was replaced with a finely wrought ring. She was dressed in robes of rich greens and a mask of the fresh leaves and vines that grew so abundantly in the area.
“And now we give you to your fate, Rowena.”
“Who will she be?” he asked for what must have been the dozenth time in the last three days. At least it was distracting Godric from his normal fantasy of the teaching the all the magical children of the isle in one place. Though he wouldn't show it, Merlin was glad of the temporary respite.
“That's not relevant. You will not see her true face, only the face of the Goddess she is for the night.”
Godric exhaled loudly, and Merlin ignored him, intent on his work of tapping the blue dye into the young man's sun-bronzed skin. He brought the twisting knotwork design along his left hip, fully aware of the effect this was having on Godric. His cock was lay hard against his belly, giving an occasional twitch at particularly sharp taps of Merlin's hand. Merlin ignored this too.
“Just a hint?”
“Silence, Godric, or I'll start on your balls with this.” He brandished the specialized fine comb he was using for this.
“Blue balls in more than one way, Merlin?” he laughed but fell silent nevertheless, his breath steady beyond the quiet tap-tap-tap of the wood in Merlin's hands.
When it was done and the freshly patterned flesh had been coated in healing oil in the flickering torchlight, Merlin handed a mask to Godric, one hewn of bone and intricately carved. “Put this on. The time is here.”
Godric could hardly keep at a slow pace as they wove their way through the forest; Merlin could feel the boy, for boy he would always be to him, burning with desire, with power. The distant beat of drums grew louder, more frantic the closer they got to the sacred grove. At the center burned a large fire, which was likely started by Morgan herself, as Merlin knew the intense pleasure bring the flames to life gave her. The fire nearly encircled a stone dais containing two standing statues, one male and one female. A trove of flowers and bread, wine and garlands, lay at their feet and were draped over hands, over the fullness of her breasts and the high jut of his cock. The firelight was caught and reflected in two metal crowns that rested upon their heads.
When Merlin and Godric stepped into the light of the bonfire, the drumbeats faded into silence. The crowd of gathered witches and wizards waited as Merlin and Morgan brought their masked charges together. Rowena's eyes stayed downcast while the elders spoke though they occasionally rose to the bright eyes beyond Godric's mask, her gaze sharp and curious. Godric's gaze seemed to move back and forth between the statues and her, and which was arousing him more was anyone's guess.
The metal circlets were removed from the statues and placed upon the heads of the young man and woman who would now take their place as symbol of magic's power, its union. The heat of it spread through the crowd, spread through the crowned individuals, brought the drums to life again. Morgan nodded her approval at Merlin as Godric and Rowena's mouths met in an exuberant kiss, their hands questing eagerly over one another before a firm touch separated them once more. They were led into the woods to a private bower, blossoms strewn over the soft, spell-warmed earth that would be their bed.
When Merlin and Morgan left the two, they were moaning into each other's mouths once again.
The years passed, the tides of time washing quickly, inevitably through the lands. Merlin and Morgan rode the crests and falls of it and steering people together, events into place, and destinies into being. Godric's school was built with the blessing of his mentor and the help of three of the brightest of the age.
Rowena's daughter grew up in the constantly changing castle her mother had designed, learning the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of the castle even more than the four who built it. She drew out its secrets, understood how to make it change around her, realised the possibilities that lay before her and the fates that had brought her into being.
When she finally understood why Godric always kept a red cloth tucked into his right sleeve, Helena decided to take action. She caught him in a corridor one morning just after breakfast and plucked the cloth from his sleeve and deftly tucked it into her left. Godric stared for a moment, surprised by her boldness and by the potential here.
“Interested?” She curled her fingers delicately to her palm then opened them again. He grinned; she was very attractive after all; there was something powerfully magnetic about her but he didn't know what. He took her into his rooms and undressed her with deliberate care that she found sweet but unnecessary; she was hardly a blushing virgin to be coddled. So she demanded, commanded, dominated, and he was achingly hard for her before his robes hit the floor. He bent over the bed for her, let her slick her hand and his arse and start her exploration of him. She pressed and prodded his hole, spreading it open so she could see into the depths of him, stretching him open on two fingers, three, then four, then her hand slid into him. She fucked in roughly, and he cried out for more, ever more of her and her arm.
She smiled and if he could have seen it and not the scarlet blankets on his bed, he may have grown chilled by it. The cold found its way into him when she spoke, however. “And here I thought you'd enjoy this better if I were masked. If you didn't know my name. If I was only magic to you. Or you only a sacred cock to me?”
He swallowed roughly. “That was years ago, Helena.... can we focus on now?” He squirmed around her hand, near to climax but not near enough.
“Then. Now. It's the same. We are our choices, aren't we? Or merely our fates? I've never understood which it was.”
“This isn't really the time for...” he broke off as she twisted her hand deeper into his arse.
“Maybe not. But maybe it is the time for introductions. Father.