Work Text:
“There is an additional matter I would like to bring to discussion,” one of the senators speaks up— Mòrag has to briefly shuffle through the stack of names she hadn’t prioritized in memorization, and fails to find a match to his craggy face, sullen and dry like the desert wastes.
The thought loses its trail. Mòrag remains attentive, hands neatly folded together and one leg crossed over the other. No one had bothered soliciting for her input nor her advice, as these senate meetings tend to go; the Special Inquisitor’s presence is more of a formality at this point. It’s a bother, but she does prefer knowing what her brother is dealing with and other political ongoings.
But now, the senator’s gaze falls upon her, and so do the rest in turn.
Hm.
“Special Inquisitor,” he starts. “There have been rumors, regarding you and Lady Brighid.”
Without missing a beat, she lifts her chin in acknowledgment. “Please elaborate.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve been hearing of it as well,” another senator chimes in. “The nature of your relationship—“
“Is nobody’s business.”
“If you could refrain from interrupting!” The first senator restrains a sneer, eyes narrowed.
Half of them hate her, half of them tolerate her, and maybe Saundra is the only who likes her. Mòrag couldn’t quite blame them for their skepticism when she had first taken this mantle, however arrogant she may have been in her own untamed ego, but she’d prefer to believe— no, she’s confident she’d proven herself to be worthy of her title as the Emperor’s right hand time and time again.
Most of them don’t actually care. She’s sure of it.
“Petty gossip amongst our people should be the least of our concerns,” she says, loosely folding her arms.
“Gossip is not the problem.” Cambeul. That’s his name. Right, now she remembers. “Upholding the reputation of our military and nobility, however, goes hand in hand. Wouldn’t you agree, Special Inquisitor?”
Mòrag puts on her blandest smile. “To be honest… no.”
A few of the senators mumble to one another. At the head of the table, Niall runs his face over his hands.
“Senator Cambeul, if you could be more succinct?” he asks.
He splays his palms flat against the table. “You are the Special Inquisitor— have you no shame? The Jewel of Mor Ardain is a treasure of the Empire! An Emperor’s Blade! To treat such a precious heirloom so carelessly is to bring dishonor upon the royal bloodline itself!”
Something in her neck twitches, and Mòrag realizes she’d been clenching her jaw.
Oh, oh, and now she feels the heat of Brighid’s flames at her back, though she stands at the far side of the room beside Aegaeon. Mòrag doesn’t need to look behind her to know that Brighid’s temper is nearly at its snapping point, that she’s only a few seconds short of storming forth and completely laying into the argument with her own barbed insults of retribution. That flared sensation nearly stirs Mòrag to rise as well, but she keeps her arms crossed.
No, this isn’t how they deal with these things. Not in front of these people.
“An Emperor’s Blade? Have you forgotten that she is my Blade?”
Mòrag wants to bite her tongue, but at least Brighid is reluctantly pulling back. Good. “Frankly, I don’t see why my personal life is so important that it must be discussed amongst the royal council.”
“To lose respect for the Special Inquisitor is to lose respect for the Emperor himself! The Jewel of Mor Ardain should not be trifled with!”
Niall raises a hand. Everyone goes silent, and Brighid’s flames are calming. Mòrag is still wearing that bland smile.
“What Special Inquisitor Mòrag and Lady Brighid do in their free time is of no concern to Mor Ardain’s wellbeing,” Niall slowly says. “I haven’t the time to deal with such inconsequential matters.”
“But, your Majesty—“
“Let’s bring this meeting to an end, shall we?” Niall claps his hands once. “We’ll continue discussion of the proposed bills next time.”
Though there’s some discontent muttering, the senators shuffle out of the chamber one by one. Cambeul is the last out the door; he casts a dour look at Mòrag, but bows his head to Niall. There’s a heavy atmosphere left in the room even when they’re all gone, and Niall lets out a loud sigh once he’s certain no one is left within earshot.
These meetings are always an ordeal to sit through, but this time…
It was such a stupid thing to drag forth, Mòrag thinks. Brighid is at her side already, still silent, still fuming.
But, if even the senators had noticed, then she can’t quite ignore it.
“Is it true?” Niall asks, looking up at her. “You and Brighid…”
Mòrag looks to her. Brighid silently glowers.
“Does it matter?” Her initial indignation is replaced by something else, something deeply unsettling. Relationships between Drivers and Blades aren’t unheard of, but Mor Ardain had always done things by their own ways— particularly in the military, and particularly amongst royalty. She knew that when she resonated with Brighid, and yet.
Brighid is still glowering. Aegaeon seems to sense this, choosing to stand behind Niall, staring straight ahead with sweat beading at his temples.
“I don’t mind. Really,” Niall chews on his lip in thought. “But I don’t want the rumors to escalate.”
“No matter what goes on between us, both Brighid and myself are more than capable of continuing our work without interference. I swear it.”
Niall shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Mòrag.”
Have you heard, have you heard? I saw the Special Inquisitor with her Blade the other day! Oh, you know? The Jewel of Mor Ardain? They were in the marketplace, away from the crowds, and I swear they…
Mòrag shakes her head. Mulling it over is a waste of time and energy, when there are more important things to be thinking about. It doesn’t matter. Maybe if she tells that to herself enough times she’ll start to believe it.
But Brighid still hasn’t said a word, ever since they’ve returned to Mòrag’s quarters for some brief rest to themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Mòrag says, breaking the silence. Brighid had taken a chair by the window, journal on her lap. She raises a brow.
“What for, Lady Mòrag?”
“I…” There are a lot of things she should be apologizing for, Mòrag thinks. “For speaking on your behalf.”
Brighid’s smile is thin, but sincere. “You handled the matter admirably. I would have caused a scene if you’d allowed me to speak up.”
The way she phrases it bothers her. Mòrag removes her cap and sets it down, then removes her gloves, and absentmindedly begins to fiddle with the clasps holding her pauldron in place. The way they spoke about Brighid— and then the way she spoke about her, wasn’t right. But what else could she have done in the face of the majority? Mor Ardain is set in its ways, and Mòrag isn’t one to overturn tradition and culture.
Yet, here she is, wanting nothing more than to grovel until Brighid allows her to kiss her.
“Brighid…”
“I didn’t think such petty gossip would bother you.”
“Well, no,” Mòrag admits. It doesn’t. Really. But. “I could have done things differently.”
“Oh?”
“You are no one’s possession.” The pauldron comes off. Mòrag sets it down beside her cap and takes a deep breath. Brighid is standing up now, journal left on the chair. “I shouldn’t have spoken about you like that.”
“But I am your Blade,” Brighid says, her smile a bit softer now. She approaches Mòrag, and scoffs a bit when she exhales in blatant relief as her fingers brush across Mòrag’s chest to tug at the buttons. “Actually, I kind of liked it when you corrected Senator Cambeul, after he called me an Emperor’s Blade.”
What kind of Driver does that make Mòrag, then?
Brighid tugs at her tie, leading Mòrag to sit with her on a couch.
“You are my Driver, and I am your Blade. Don’t forget that, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid says, her grip firm and the tie pulled taut.
But it’s exactly because of that, in which Mòrag had tried to fight off the seeds of doubt. As a Blade, even for one as powerful and revered as Brighid, her loyalty to Mòrag had basically been ensured in the flames of their resonance. Mòrag would have been burned alive if it wasn’t meant to be, after all.
She doesn’t want to express those doubts out loud. It scares her. Imagining what Brighid would say frightens her even more.
But Brighid, always keen and too observant, seems to understand. Her hand comes up to cup Mòrag’s face, her warmth loosening the tension kept in her jaw. Mòrag sighs aloud and melts into the touch.
“I love you not as a Blade, but as a woman.”
Mòrag’s breath hitches. She closes her eyes as Brighid’s other hand takes ahold of the other side of her face.
“I…”
“Do you understand, Lady Mòrag?”
“Y— Yes,” she breathes out, suddenly overwhelmed. “Let them gossip and spread rumors, then. See if I care.”
“That’s the spirit.”
She almost chokes, and feels utterly foolish for it. “I love you too, Brighid. With all my heart.”
Brighid smiles, and pulls Mòrag in for a kiss.