She is shivering from head to toes. Winter has been really cold and ruthless this year. She’s never been afraid of the cold nor couldn’t she fight it with her magic. Being a powerful Priestess as she is has so many advantages. She can just make the weather bend to her will, she can just keep herself warm and cozy even in the middle of a snowstorm, and she could have done all of this if she hadn’t already drained her magical spirit fighting that damn Emrys.
She even can’t grit her teeth thinking about him, about what he’s done to her, because her teeth are chattering too much. She is so damn cold. She’ll destroy him. She has no other choice.
But now, right now, her hate isn’t turned toward the Wizard.
“You should sit next to the fire, Morgana”, says that voice she hadn’t heard for years now, a deeper, manlier voice but so very much the same.
“Get lost!” She growls between her blue lips. She doesn’t want anything coming from him, nothing especially not that wrong kindness.
“Looks like to me you were the one lost”, he answers in a smirk, clearly mocking her.
She doesn’t answer; she doesn’t even look at him. He isn’t worth it.
She doesn’t know how he found her in the first place, freezing to death under that leafless oak. Her fight with Emrys has left her without her furred cloak, bared feet and in her so thin webbed dark dress wandering in the forests of Camelot. Worse than her fragile body, he has left her drained of her magic. She knows it’ll take her days to fully recover. If not for Arthur who found her, that hateful man, she may not have made it. Emrys would pay; she’d make that happen whatever it costs her.
“Stop being stubborn and come here”, Arthur tries again.
It’ll not happen. She alive, she won’t be indebted to him.
“Right, do as you want, as you always did”, he goes on.
“Don’t talk like you know anything about me!” She spits. O mighty goddesses! How much she hates him!
“I still do know how to make you fly off the handle”, he teases again.
“Don’t push your luck”, she threatens.
“Or…?” He answers and she knows he was actually smiling, the prat!
She may not be able to use her magic again tonight but she could still use this sword of his, he definitely should be more careful. Her threats are never empty.
They stay together silent for a while. It doesn’t feel wrong or uncomfortable as it should be and it bothers her. She is so very aware of his breath, of his presence that she knew he’d move even before he actually did. She is holding her breath, not knowing what to expect, perhaps scared for the very first time in years because she knows he wouldn’t harm her. He had already make it clear anytime she had tried to hurt him or anyone who was dear to him, anytime she had plotted to destroy what he was trying to achieve. Hadn’t he tell her that himself, a few hours ago in the forest?
I would never hurt you, he had said.
Then, you are more a fool that I thought, she had answered, too weak to fight him when he decided to take her with him to this shelter; a cave to protect them from the snowstorm, big enough to let them make a wood fire to warm them up, too narrow to keep them clearly apart.
No, she isn’t afraid of this man deliberately hurting her; she fears he will do it in the end with that too good heart of his.
She tenses, feeling his powerful arms closing around her skinnier frame. She can feel his warmth devouring her. How can he be so warm when she is freezing from the inside? The more she tries to fight him to break free, the more his gentle arms seem to tighten protectively around her body.
“You’re freezing, Morgana, let me warm you up”, he softly whispers against the cold skin of her check. His lips are chapped like they used to be.
Slowly, she feels her tensed muscles give in. She can’t fight him right now, not when she feels so cold, not when she needs him so much. She isn’t weak, she would never allow it, but that body of his, his so warm and powerful body and that gentle breath on her freezing skin make her burn anew.
She lets her head lolled on his shoulder; her hands loosening their grips on his wrists, falling like a broken doll.
She can feel his heartbeat steadying, the melody of his heart now beating with her own. But she isn’t scared anymore. She is feeling safe, and warm, and so very good.
“You make me think of a snowflake”, he whispers.
“Always the romantic!” She is now the one mocking him.
“So beautiful and so fragile” he adds, his nose brushing against her long tangled hair.
“Snowflakes make deathly snowstorms”, she answers, darker.
“We made it through it, though”
Later, his hands began to play with hers, their fingers tangling, their thumbs fighting, like when they’re still children to see who would have the upper hand, who would win. It has always been like that between them, a fight against each other, and a fight with each other.
“I really miss you”, he whispers to her in the morning when he thinks she is sound asleep.
Arthur’s words have always meant more than any other to her, only him still can get to her, only him could melt her heart, unfrozen it from its ice cage but she can’t allow it, not now, not ever because she could lose everything, she would lose herself.
They aren’t meant to be together. Not now, not ever.
I miss you too, still whispers her magic to him through their interlaced fingers, I always will.