Chapter Text
The Dark Urge... not many lived to know the name, but the few who were lucky enough to survive feared it and the woman behind it: Morgana. Well, almost everyone...
The windows of his office were closed when she slipped in. The security system, which Enver himself had invented, stayed silent, she was not an intruder, but a familiar guest.
"You get blood on the floor again, Mor..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, it was not the first time this conversation had taken place, and yet nothing had changed.
"It's just blood, or have you become too much of a snob, Enver?"
Morgana grinned at him, raising an eyebrow. Enver simply sighed. Was she always this irritating? Looking at her smirk, he had his answer. Perish the thought.
"I am not. And even if I were, you could have learned some manners over the years, but here we are..."
Her grin grew wider. She walked over to him, and rested her hands on the arms of his velvet chair, trapping him. She leaned dangerously close. "You like it when I'm covered in blood."
His eyes darted to her mouth, then back to her glazing red eyes. It was a sight he never grew bored of. He reached up, his thumb brushing a stray spot of blood on her cheek, only succeeding in making her face messier.
"I never said I didn't like it. I like it on you, darling, but I don't like it on my floor."
"Snob."
"Insufferable woman."
They stared at each other for a moment - red eyes against dark brown - and then the corners of their lips curled upward. In their case, banter was merely a form of flirting. His hand remained on Morgana’s face, making it easy to capture her chin and pull her closer for a kiss. Her silver locks tickled his skin, and her scent was a sharp mix of copper and leather. The kiss was deep and lazy, and he couldn't resist a smile against her lips.
"What?" she whispered, drawing back just enough to glance at his face.
"You always have a hint of blood in your scent."
"And you always smell of ink and wine."
She was very fond of his scent, knowing he always worked, hunching over letters or new designs for his machines, with a cup of wine on the table. She let go of the chair and sat down on his lap, making herself comfortable. He put his hand on her waist without a second thought, it had become a natural movement over the years since they had become more than just partners. Morgana looked at his drawings, tracing a rune with her finger. "What are you working on?"
"A new security system. Since you criticized my last one."
Hearing the hint of offense in his voice, she shifted her gaze to his face, poking his cheek with a sharp nail. "Don't forget the tiny detail that I criticized it after I had to kill someone before they made it into your room."
"I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Nobody asked you to intervene."
"And I'm the insufferable one..."
-
It had been only a few days since she was last on her way to see Enver. She had been using his carelessly unlocked bedroom window instead of the door, as was her custom, when she noticed a dark figure on the roof. A moment later, the hooded figure fell to the ground with a heavy thud. She hadn't bothered to see who it was; her dagger was already buried deep in the intruder's back, right where it pierced the heart.
She had slipped into his room without a sound. Enver was at his desk, writing letters by lantern light. A grin spread across her face as she pressed her blade to his throat. His body stiffened, but his hand continued to write for a second before relaxing as he recognized the elegant, yet dangerously swift fingers on the dagger.
"You're lucky I'm fond of these little greeting rituals of yours," he murmured.
The blade tightened slightly against his skin, and he felt a sting and a tickle along his neck as the edge nicked his skin. A shallow, narrow cut. She was the only person he knew who could press a dagger against a man and draw exactly as much blood as she intended, be it the full length of the blade or the span of a fingernail. He judged the cut on his neck to be no wider than a coin.
"And you are lucky to be alive. I can't say the same for the fella on the ground outside." Morgana drew her dagger back and leaned against his desk, smirking as his eyes widened. She couldn't hide the smugness in her voice. "You're welcome. I saved your ass. Again."
"Which I didn't ask for." His eyes hardened while Morgana started playing with her dagger, already bored with this conversation.
"It's too easy to slip in. Your security system isn't worth a crap."
"It works just fine. You can slip in because I let you, not because the system failed."
She sighed, then put away the dagger, her smirk faded as her gaze slid over his night attire. Not in sight his usual extravagant, wide-collared coat, just a simpler black tunic and trousers. His raven hair a little more dishevelled than during the day, a small sign that he had run his fingers through it many times while writing letters. A sight not many witnessed, but Morgana had seen countless times.
"I just don't want to see your innards on the floor, that's all. Even if it would make for a lovely scene..."
He ignored the last comment. She was a Bhaalspawn; by now, he didn't even blink at such remarks. Instead, he focused on the concern in her voice. It was a rare, unnatural thing to hear from the Daughter of Murder. Yet, she was so much more than her father’s blade. Morgana was clever, cunning, and sometimes very irritating, but sweet when she wanted to be. He slowly set down his pen and looked at her. Her eyes held the same silent care as her voice. His chest tightened in a pleasant way that he stubbornly ignored.
"You don't need to worry, Morgana."
"And you know I'm going to anyway." Her voice was calm, even confident, but Enver could hear the slightest change in it, that faint tenderness meant only for him.
His eyes softened. "I know."
-
Her gaze shifted back to the papers, the blueprints were an improvement, much better than the previous ones, but a rune caught her eye, and a frown creased her forehead. Enver was many things, an inventor first and foremost, but magic and runes? That was Morgana's forte.
"You should use a different rune there. This one is good for defense, but if you change it just slightly, it can actually block an intruder's path. They won't even be able to step foot inside."
"Hm." He tapped the end of his pen against his chin, then began modifying the rune on the paper. He looked at Morgana with a smirk. "You were right, my clever sorceress."
"When am I not?" Her smile was playful, not many knew that she was not just Bhaal's most dangerous blade, but also a very powerful sorceress.
She was a Bhaalspawn, but unlike the others, she had not been born – Bhaal had created her from his own divine, dead flesh. Morgana was the only Bhaalspawn who had the guarantee of murder, the Urge, woven into her blood.
She had grown up outside the cult, taken in by a wizard and a fisherman’s daughter. She had a relatively peaceful childhood for a time, her foster mother often taking her to the market by the docks, and learning runes and spells from her foster father, before the Urge finally claimed her. She murdered her loved ones, and after that, Sarevok Anchev took her in. He was a mortal child of the dead god of murder, seeking to ascend to godhood, leading the Murder Tribunal, testing potential assassins for Bhaal.
At times, she regretted it, but it was her destiny, her Father's will. The Dark Urge was not meant to care for anything, and yet, Morgana cared for the man whose hand now rested on her waist. She felt the weight of his golden gauntlets - a familiar, pleasant feeling. She had become selfish with her affections, and that, she did not regret.
"Do you want to help me finish it?" Enver’s voice pulled her back from the long-forgotten memories. He raised an eyebrow, knowing her thoughts had been elsewhere.
"Very well. Without me, you wouldn't finish this by nightfall."
"Of course I would," he rolled his eyes, picking up his wine. "I'm just being nice by humoring you."
She laughed, stealing his wine cup from his hand, and started reading the blueprints again, not seeing the fond smile that remained on Enver’s lips.