queen of the fae

steel

a ruler of steel leads their people with strength and determination. they are renowned throughout the lands for their dedication to their people and their high levels of ambition. they have opponents, and many whisper about their ruthlessness. however, it cannot be denied that a ruler of steel cares for their people and their kingdom, and aims to always rule them with strength and with success.

       TO READ IS ONE  thing, to experience is another. Sections of finely spun silk part at her scrapes, the sharpness of her nails digging into his flesh making him let out a slight hiss of awareness. He is awake, very much so; the pain does that quite well, but she wills him to look at her and he does. There is no trace of the binding sort of magic in her eyes  —  he respects her greatly for it, simply because he senses her stance and intentions to ground him with her sheer will alone.

       “Forgive me,” he whispers back, his breath hot against her pale neck as he wraps his arm around her waist to pull her closer to his frame, inviting her to possibly do her worst. He asks for forgiveness simply because of propriety; a man ought not to touch a respected lady, a queen even less so. A low growl escapes his lips with the blood boiling and rushing through his veins, invoking memories of the thrill of his own manufactured madness.

       “Turning coat so fast, my lady,” Louis goads, taking her hand roughly in his as he presses a constrastingly gentle kiss at the back of it. “Now see, I have taken your hand; I will not let it go. Wrench it away if you will, but the consequences will come slowly in time. For the both of us, we will see and doom ourselves. Will you agree to this, my lady?”

The dragon within Morgan is left content at his touch, and she fights her growing urge to make him hers, to claim companionship with the man so bold he graced her hand with a kiss. She can’t possibly let this side of her win ; it would mean losing to this foolish king, and they’re not through with their little game quite yet.

She laughs now, and her laugh is almost devoid of the smugness that she was so full of earlier ; and, taken aback, she stops mid-laugh. Her mind races as she realizes she enjoys their little game - and the realization unconsciously makes her wrench her hand away from the man’s grip. The dragon roars inside her, and it beckons to stay attached to the hand at her waist - but she refuses.

“Then let the consequences come, my king.” Her expression becomes unreadable past this point - no more smiles or laughter, be it cocky or genuine. She keeps her hand - the hand that he sullied with his kiss - close to her bosom, but she makes no further movements to wrench herself away from the hand that connects them still. She, instead, furrow her brows, silently beckoning him to walk away from her.

       THE TOUCH OF ANOTHER  woman’s hand on his shoulder, as well as the manner in which she whispers in his ear, feeling her warm breath against the shell of it, is foreign to Louis. Never had he received such forwardness even in the grander scheme of things, particularly in an interplay of under-torrential danger, but he makes no move to back away from her. The fae are enchanting folk; her actions only serve to make myth into truth.

       With a smirk forming on his face, he places his hand over her slender one, near daring her to grip tighter, to make it feel like pincers sinking into his skin. The snake in the grass has coiled up and made subtle dares, and to either himself, her, or the both of them, he finds himself as amused as she when he laughs softly. A gentle laugh in contrast to a more sinister smirk; Louis has changed indeed from what his legend had portrayed him.

       “Dearest Lady Morgane, it has been a pleasure to amuse you,” he indulges her; do not all wise women love flattery as well? “Though, I think that the consequences that we fear ought to be shared; we would both fall into the pit together.”

Her eyes linger on the hand that covers hers, his gentle touch becoming one of the many constrasts between the two royals ; and she answers his challenge, her nails scraping against his clothes and placing small rips into the fabric. A fairy she may be, but in that moment, she felt more like the dragon she could have become.

Morgan shifts focus unto his eyes, staring intently as her nails connected with his skin. Her fingers remain in place and she smiles eagerly, awaiting for him to consent to the next part in their twisted, budding relationship. If he wanted to play, she would play with him : she prays he is ready for the consequences of teasing and enabling a dragon.

@eidivine​: "I would think a lady of your status would be used to this sort of stuff." The blonde master teases dryly as she effortlessly carried the Assassin.

       IT WAS NOT  as if this has never happened before, but rather, it has happened too many times to even count! Whether Louis was tainted with his own brand of malice and hatred or not, it always seemed ever so difficult to get his point across; as soon as the lady fae had said what she needed, it suddenly hits him that she probably thought him being like their foolish summoner whom they had to call Master. Empty-headed, futilely optimistic, an overall blithering idiot in the name of helping others and being uselessly kind. Yet, was that not Louis himself at his core? 

       “You mistook me, Lady Morgane!” Louis speaks, alarmed, saying her name in the French tongue. “If you think of me like that child, I most certainly am not! Of course, we both know what’s best for us; if I were to rephrase that in a manner most clear…” As he clears his throat, he sighs. “I dare say we will both behave the same way with each other; should any of us need help from each other, we will force each other to take each other’s hands. Should I reach out my hand and if you keep yours to yourself, I will drag you down with me.”

There’s a reason for which Morgan is Morgan, and she’s fully aware of it. She’s made it her life mission to plot and betray, bringing down her own sister using hatred and malice, all for phantom recognition. As such, being treated like a helpless woman irks her to the highest degree, and she’d rather go back to the Throne than being cared for by an inept master.

       WHICHEVER CLASS ANY  of them may be really is of no consequence, for Louis doesn’t really care either way! Yet, the stunned expression on the fae’s face amuses Louis to no end, though it gives her features a more natural feel. It only serves to soften an otherwise unreachable beauty in a sense that she doesn’t look as if she’s locked into a painting as she moves.

       “I would, and even if you were to withdraw your hand, I would insist that you take mine to pull me up!” he laughs, tones lilting and merry. “I will not hesitate to pull you up should you need it too. Besides, my lady, I do not doubt your strength, but please do not doubt mine as well. Outside the battlefield, I will not harm a hair on your head even if you hurt me. Within, I will see to it that you will rue the day.”

Morgan scoffs. Her opinion of this man - of this king - keeps wavering. She thinks he’s a fool, but an honourable one at that, and it leaves her confused. Why can’t people see her for who she truly is: a blackened soul with no hope for redemption, no hope for trust, no hope for love - a truly malevolent heroic spirit. The world - no, Chaldea - would be a far better place if people and other heroes kept to themselves and only used Morgan whenever she was needed.

        FAE ARE PARTICULARLY  proud, Louis has read; it was almost borderline amusing as to how the woman quietly hissed at him simply to salvage her own pride in not taking his hand. Bemused, he smoothly retracts his hand and keeps his smile as she walks past him, shaking his head as he follows her soon after to reach their destination.

       “I would not dream of it, unless you wish for me to,” he chuckles, every bit unarmed and very much not like how he ought to be - careful at all times. Having power makes one confident. “But please, do extend your hand when I am to fall next; I can hardly stand on my own sometimes due to being easily shocked.”

Morgan pauses after he stopped talking. “Why would you tell an assassin this?” She muses, turning her head ever so slightly so that she would have the man in her line of sight. She can’t fathom why anyone would purposely go and reveal their weakness to her, one of the greatest plotters of all time? “You do realize I can end you any second, right?”

@flowermaguss: ❝ Every show must come to an end. It’s time to lower the curtain. ❞

“No! I refuse!!” Morgan’s kneeling in the dirt, profusely bleeding and pretty badly hurt. She refused to go this way: her historic death was a peaceful one, stroking her sister’s hair while singing comforting words in the fae language, so why couldn’t she go about dying that way once more?

She glared up at Merlin, her mouth bloodied by all the bruises and injuries, and she couldn’t even manage a smile or a grin. She’s growling, her brow furrowed to the point she didn’t look like the fair maiden she used to be - or is that the face hiding behind her mask? “I am not dying while you look down on me, Merlin! I won’t allow it!”

       “THEN I WILL  trust you not to do this again, for your own sake.” Kind, gentle tones escape his lips, but long has he mastered the art of keeping well-simmering malice behind. Front-lining has always been for vanguards, and in his past experience as a Master, it was always good to long-range or command from behind; with that, he extends a hand for the member of the fair folk to take from where she fell.

       “Come, are you hurt? Take some respite. The child can fight for their own,” Louis comments easily, referring to the one that nearly everyone called Master. 

@fairymorgan·  ||  from here .

Morgan keeps to herself as she gazes up to the outstretched hand. How long has it been since a stranger willed for her well-being? She has trouble recalling, which made it all the more appalling - she wagers no one has ever been this considerate. No one ever proposed to help her up.

@lesseize: ❝ I’m afraid you’ve been poking your nose into the wrong business. ❞

“I must apologize, your majesty.” Morgan’s upper body swiftly dropped into a curtsy, but didn’t go back up. She was particularly apt with false reverences, going along only for the fun of watching the other party gape in disbelief at her eventual betrayal.

@burdensword​: ❝ You can stop right there. How I live my life is my affair, not yours. ❞

 @musexcarnival​ : ❝ How does it taste? Is vengeance as sweet as you imagined it to be? ❞

“Believe me, I tried.”

@musexcarnival​: ❛  i  wasn’t  born  to  be  soft  and  quiet  .  i  was  born  to  make the  world  shatter  and  shake  at  my  fingertips  .  ❜