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dollsomeWith this fic, I have hereby completed a Christmas fic for everyone who requested one, yaaaay! :D This is for the dear & spectacular ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angearia, who gave me the super cool prompt 'Jane Eyre/Morgana, when Jane talks to the air, the air talks back.' I contemplated going serious with this one for about five minutes -- because how awesome would that be?? -- but then all the excess caffeine in me demanded to go silly instead. Big surprise!
Keep Calm and Avalon On - Jane Eyre/Merlin ; Jane & Morgana (with appearances by some daft males) ; 1,000 words. This is Jane Eyre, titular heroine of the novel by Charlotte Bronte. She is about to wander off into the woods in a heartbroken haze and nearly starve to death after finding out that her fiancé has a wife, who he’s been keeping up in the attic for the past ten years. This fate could have been avoided if she’d had a sassy Morgana Le Fay!
I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. I watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart—
“Talk about a blessing in disguise.”
I had not expected such informal tones; she was, after all, the goddess of the moon. Or something. I, being but a poor despised orphan child, would take my parental guidance where I could get it. “Mother? What do you mean?”
The great mother moon goddess tossed her black curls over her shoulder and pulled a face. “You can’t really want to marry that prat, can you? I know the whole bad boy bit has a kind of charm, yes – my sister was quite into a wicked warrior king for awhile, until she killed him – but this Rochester man’s gone too far. He was keeping a woman in the attic. I’ve dealt with men who solve their problems by locking a girl up, and believe me, you don’t want to go there. What’s to stop him from locking you up in a few years?”
“He said she is all madness and iniquitous excess,” I suggested, “whereas I am quiet and unassuming and honest?”
“Pfft!” said the great mother moon goddess. “Believe me, words are one thing, actions are another. My great idiot of a brother was always spewing that sort of stuff about my best friend, but that didn’t stop him from banishing her from the kingdom at the first whiff of infidelity. And that wasn’t even her fault! (It may have been mine, a little, but I’ve gotten much better since then. We talked it out.) Truly, you’d never met a nicer or more sensible girl than Gwen – but you’re very nice and sensible too. Boys are stupid, Jane, is the gist of it, and we mustn’t encourage their stupidity.”
“He swore that he would die without me,” I said, although I was beginning to see the great mother moon goddess’s side of things. Life had been very stressful ever since I had given my heart utterly to Edward Fairfax Rochester. His brooding silences were nearly as unsettling as his hours-long sin-tinged reminiscences – not that I was not happy to listen to the voice of my beloved, or gaze at his grumpy visage – and I still had not figured out the point of the whole dressing-up-as-a-gypsy-woman stunt. Why, though my life had been without color or affinity before him, I almost missed the days when my biggest problem was my abusive lout of a cousin. (Who, after all, was dead, and could not be much of a problem anymore.)
“Oh, they all say that,” the great mother moon goddess said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’ll be fine. And if he’s not, then, well, someone needs to learn a thing or two about self reliance.”
I did wonder whether perhaps the time apart might do us good. I was resolved to leave as soon as possible no matter what happened, of course – I would not subject myself to this bigamous mess, though it may tear my heart from my chest to leave Thornfield behind – but for the first time, a holiday was beginning to sound less like soul-searing agony.
“He is the only person I’ve ever met whose mind and soul are in perfect accordance with my own,” I said, though a little reluctantly.
“You can’t set too much stock in that,” the great mother moon goddess replied. “The last man I bothered to fancy in that special we’re-such-a-good-match way turned out to be my brother.”
I wrinkled my nose, and started pondering whether my beloved master and I might share any physical characteristics beyond ‘unattractive’.
“Exactly,” the great mother moon goddess said crisply. “Now, what do you say we fetch Bertha from upstairs and Adele from her room, and have a nice fortnight or so in Avalon? We just rented Bridesmaids, and Gwen’s sworn to teach us all how to knit. Morgause keeps poking people with her knitting needles when she gets frustrated, but if you sit on the other side of the room from her, it ought to be just fine.”
Reader, I liked the sound of that. (And wondered why you might rent a bridesmaid.)
“Mother,” I said, smiling and wiping the last traces of tears from my face, “I will.”
“Wonderful,” the great mother moon goddess said with a radiant smile. “And can you stop with the ‘Mother’ bit? The name’s Morgana.”
Meanwhile, Woefully Wandering The Grounds of Thornfield …
“JAAAAAAAANE,” sobbed Edward Fairfax Rochester, quite broken of heart. The fact that Bertha and Adele had disappeared along with his darling Janet was actually quite a good thing for him, because that way he would never have to lose his sight and his hand in a devastating fire, but Rochester had never read Jane Eyre and therefore did not know that. At least he no longer had to speak French and buy all those damn presents. Illegitimate daughters were more trouble than they were worth.
“My good man,” said a middle-aged man of quite kingly demeanor, stepping out of a tree or something Romantic and mystical like that, “I feel you there.”
“But there’s no use crying over it,” added a blonde rather strapping young fellow who followed him. “Why not join us on a nice hunt instead? Or get someone to polish your boots for you. There’s nothing quite as heartening as giving the order to have your boots polished.”
Rochester’s boots were looking rather sloppy.
“Can we make this quick?” implored a thin, dark-haired, light-eyed, massive-eared young man. “Gwen invited me to watch Bridesmaids with them. And I’m getting quite good at this whole knitting lark.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, who was secretly quite jealous that he had yet to get an invitation to the Avalon Knitting Club.
“Yes,” said Rochester, who was – let’s face it – a dollophead. “Shut up, Merlin.”
angearia, who gave me the super cool prompt 'Jane Eyre/Morgana, when Jane talks to the air, the air talks back.' I contemplated going serious with this one for about five minutes -- because how awesome would that be?? -- but then all the excess caffeine in me demanded to go silly instead. Big surprise!Keep Calm and Avalon On - Jane Eyre/Merlin ; Jane & Morgana (with appearances by some daft males) ; 1,000 words. This is Jane Eyre, titular heroine of the novel by Charlotte Bronte. She is about to wander off into the woods in a heartbroken haze and nearly starve to death after finding out that her fiancé has a wife, who he’s been keeping up in the attic for the past ten years. This fate could have been avoided if she’d had a sassy Morgana Le Fay!
I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. I watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart—
“Talk about a blessing in disguise.”
I had not expected such informal tones; she was, after all, the goddess of the moon. Or something. I, being but a poor despised orphan child, would take my parental guidance where I could get it. “Mother? What do you mean?”
The great mother moon goddess tossed her black curls over her shoulder and pulled a face. “You can’t really want to marry that prat, can you? I know the whole bad boy bit has a kind of charm, yes – my sister was quite into a wicked warrior king for awhile, until she killed him – but this Rochester man’s gone too far. He was keeping a woman in the attic. I’ve dealt with men who solve their problems by locking a girl up, and believe me, you don’t want to go there. What’s to stop him from locking you up in a few years?”
“He said she is all madness and iniquitous excess,” I suggested, “whereas I am quiet and unassuming and honest?”
“Pfft!” said the great mother moon goddess. “Believe me, words are one thing, actions are another. My great idiot of a brother was always spewing that sort of stuff about my best friend, but that didn’t stop him from banishing her from the kingdom at the first whiff of infidelity. And that wasn’t even her fault! (It may have been mine, a little, but I’ve gotten much better since then. We talked it out.) Truly, you’d never met a nicer or more sensible girl than Gwen – but you’re very nice and sensible too. Boys are stupid, Jane, is the gist of it, and we mustn’t encourage their stupidity.”
“He swore that he would die without me,” I said, although I was beginning to see the great mother moon goddess’s side of things. Life had been very stressful ever since I had given my heart utterly to Edward Fairfax Rochester. His brooding silences were nearly as unsettling as his hours-long sin-tinged reminiscences – not that I was not happy to listen to the voice of my beloved, or gaze at his grumpy visage – and I still had not figured out the point of the whole dressing-up-as-a-gypsy-woman stunt. Why, though my life had been without color or affinity before him, I almost missed the days when my biggest problem was my abusive lout of a cousin. (Who, after all, was dead, and could not be much of a problem anymore.)
“Oh, they all say that,” the great mother moon goddess said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’ll be fine. And if he’s not, then, well, someone needs to learn a thing or two about self reliance.”
I did wonder whether perhaps the time apart might do us good. I was resolved to leave as soon as possible no matter what happened, of course – I would not subject myself to this bigamous mess, though it may tear my heart from my chest to leave Thornfield behind – but for the first time, a holiday was beginning to sound less like soul-searing agony.
“He is the only person I’ve ever met whose mind and soul are in perfect accordance with my own,” I said, though a little reluctantly.
“You can’t set too much stock in that,” the great mother moon goddess replied. “The last man I bothered to fancy in that special we’re-such-a-good-match way turned out to be my brother.”
I wrinkled my nose, and started pondering whether my beloved master and I might share any physical characteristics beyond ‘unattractive’.
“Exactly,” the great mother moon goddess said crisply. “Now, what do you say we fetch Bertha from upstairs and Adele from her room, and have a nice fortnight or so in Avalon? We just rented Bridesmaids, and Gwen’s sworn to teach us all how to knit. Morgause keeps poking people with her knitting needles when she gets frustrated, but if you sit on the other side of the room from her, it ought to be just fine.”
Reader, I liked the sound of that. (And wondered why you might rent a bridesmaid.)
“Mother,” I said, smiling and wiping the last traces of tears from my face, “I will.”
“Wonderful,” the great mother moon goddess said with a radiant smile. “And can you stop with the ‘Mother’ bit? The name’s Morgana.”
Meanwhile, Woefully Wandering The Grounds of Thornfield …
“JAAAAAAAANE,” sobbed Edward Fairfax Rochester, quite broken of heart. The fact that Bertha and Adele had disappeared along with his darling Janet was actually quite a good thing for him, because that way he would never have to lose his sight and his hand in a devastating fire, but Rochester had never read Jane Eyre and therefore did not know that. At least he no longer had to speak French and buy all those damn presents. Illegitimate daughters were more trouble than they were worth.
“My good man,” said a middle-aged man of quite kingly demeanor, stepping out of a tree or something Romantic and mystical like that, “I feel you there.”
“But there’s no use crying over it,” added a blonde rather strapping young fellow who followed him. “Why not join us on a nice hunt instead? Or get someone to polish your boots for you. There’s nothing quite as heartening as giving the order to have your boots polished.”
Rochester’s boots were looking rather sloppy.
“Can we make this quick?” implored a thin, dark-haired, light-eyed, massive-eared young man. “Gwen invited me to watch Bridesmaids with them. And I’m getting quite good at this whole knitting lark.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, who was secretly quite jealous that he had yet to get an invitation to the Avalon Knitting Club.
“Yes,” said Rochester, who was – let’s face it – a dollophead. “Shut up, Merlin.”
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Date: 2011-12-25 04:47 am (UTC)Every problem can be avoided if you have a sassy Morgana Le Fay.