thewitchmorgana: (Looking Sideways)
Morgana le Fey ([personal profile] thewitchmorgana) wrote2010-01-27 03:32 am

Everyone needs a castle to call their own...

Getting to the castle, for most people, was impossible. Even her Merlin couldn't find his way to where it lay by the sea in Cornwall. But with Morgana's help anyone that she wished could enter, and so she brought him to her castle. To the place she had called home for centuries, where she had raised her family, kept the treasures of the old world. Kept all the secrets of the old ways she could in case Avalon became lost to even her, eventually.

Morgana walked through the tall wooden doors of her great hall, the doors opening by themselves and showing, when they did, a room that looked both like she'd kept it this way since she had first gained the castle, well before it had become obvious to anyone but herself that she wasn't going to start ageing again any time soon. Great arched windows let Cornwall's cool grey light into the room decorated with tapestries and fine cloths, flowers here and there making the place seem a little more alive. A great hall befitting the Royal Court itself. There was a rug under foot, newer than most of the tapestries but still old... yet soft and warm to the touch. Enchanted to withstand the ages.

Slipping off her coat (which promptly floated off down a corridor of it's own accord) she turned to Myrddin, a slight smile curling her lips as she considered him.

'A castle is a castle is a castle... but it's home.' though, this was only the hall. There was much, much more to this place than the Great Hall.

[identity profile] 2010-01-26 06:48 pm (UTC)(link)
His home is but a door, enchanted to appear in different cities and times. Outside looking in, just a narrow row house. Modest with worn wood floors and shelves piled with mountains of books and artifacts. The opposite of the expanse of stone and tall of ceiling of Morgana’s dwelling. This does not come as a surprise to him. She is storm, he is quiet. She is a flash of light, he is the in between. He smiles, slowly, following her inside.

He would take her coat, but it is not his home, and more importantly, her coat seems to know where to take itself. He’s not worn a coat, even against the cold of Cornwall. It is not as if they traveled long through the temperature to get here.
Looking up at the endless arching windows through the thick stone of the walls, he appreciates the light against the richly colored tapestries against the walls. Indeed, it is raining and he cannot hear the drops on the edges of her home, just the pattern of the weather on the windows.

“Your hall, it is…” he smiles, “great.”