To Fill a Pond With Fish

It’s Baobhan Sith, funnily enough, who kickstarts this realization.

“Mother!” She storms into her room, “is it true that you’re looking to adopt another?”

 Morgan barely pauses her reading. “It is not.”

“Oh.” Baobhan Sith stops in her tracks. “You do not have any other apprentice?”

“I do not.” Morgan had thought her first response had been clear on the subject. She slides a bookmark between the pages, then sets the book down. “I do not want any, and no one has asked for me to be their mentor.” Perhaps this elaboration will clear Baobhan Sith’s mind.

Unfortunately, it does not. Baobhan Sith frowns, scowls. Opens her mouth. Closes it.

“Speak your mind.”

A short pause. And then: “Then why do you keep seeing Mash?”

What an odd question. “I have no intent to take this knight as a daughter.” Besides, Sir Kyrielight is already quite the capable knight on her own. And her affinity with magecraft is quite poor anyways. “Sir Kyrielight is merely…”

… What is Sir Kyrielight to her?

Not an apprentice, this has been established. In fact, Morgan would ever go as far as to say that she considers Sir Kyrielight her equal in strength and status- not someone she should ever have to educate or protect. So that makes them… comrades, perhaps? Companions in arms? The words don’t seem to quite fit, though. Describing Sir Kyrielight as merely anything sounds like an insult, really. Morgan has nothing but the utmost respect for this knight beholden to no one but her ideals-

“Mother…?”

 “I will tell you in due time.” She shouldn’t give an answer unless she is certain of it. Certainly, Morgan can figure it out in a couple hours at most.

She does not figure it out in a couple hours. Nor in five hours. Nor in twelve hours.

The Master of Chaldea raises an eyebrow. “I don’t… really know what you expect of me here.”

“Spouse of mine, if there is one person in this facility who can take pride in having every relationship known to man, it’s you. Surely you of all people can help me fix this issue in my vocabulary.”

They stare at her for a few second, then sigh, reaching out to grab a pen and a paper. “Alright. First thing first. Would you consider your relationship with Mash to be positive or negative?”

“Positive. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Sir Kyrielight. She is what every knight should aspire to be like.”

They jot down a couple things. “Do you want her to pledge allegiance to you?”

“Negative. I do not wish for any sort of hierarchy to exist between us.”

“So. She’s a friend.”

Morgan pauses for a moment. A friend… she sincerely hadn’t considered the possibility. “I suppose so.”

“You don’t seem satisfied with that label.”

“I’m not sure I am.” She thinks it over for a second. “Habetrot is a… friend. She is my equal, and someone dear to me. But Sir Kyrielight is… different.” Not necessarily more or less, just… different.

“Do you perhaps want her as your wife?”

That would be politically advantageous. Mash is the oldest servant in Chaldea. She is a respected and beloved member of this community, as she should be. There is no reason why Morgan shouldn’t want Mash as a wife. “I… do not believe so. Framing our relationship through political lenses makes me… uncomfortable.”

The Master taps their pen against the desk. “Okay, let’s tackle this from another angle. What do you want from Mash.”

“Want? I do not wish to take advantage of her in any ways.”

“I know, I know, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… you seek her out for tea parties, right? Among other things?”

She does, indeed. “I see. I do want her company.”

“Why is that?”

“I find it enjoyable. She makes me feel…” Well. She makes Morgan feel, period. Which is already a feat in itself.

The Master makes a vague gesture of the hand. “If you don’t know what you’re feeling, then describe the physical sensations to me. Bring your metaphor game, I don’t mind.”

Her spouse truly is wiser than they seem. “Warm. And soft. It is rather pleasant.” If Morgan’s soul is water, then being near Mash is the difference between a stagnant puddle and a lake full of life.

“Happy, then.” Ah. Is that what it is? Morgan prides herself in her knowledge, but she will admit she has grown… disconnected, to her own heart. “You know what I think, Morgan?”

“I think you have figured it all out. So you could directly tell me the answer.”

“I think you should go see Mash. Spend some time with her. Examine what that makes you feel and hand. And if you still can’t figure it out by then, come to see me again, alright?”

Well, that was wildly unhelpful.

At least being with Mash calms her frustration somewhat. They’re watching a movie, though Morgan can’t be bothered to pay attention to it. Her mind is still busy on the puzzle that is her relationship with the knight, rotating it in her head.

How does Mash make her feel? She’s laying her head on Morgan’s shoulder right now. Mash is not afraid of her; never has. She’s amongst the bravest people Morgan has ever known. This makes her feel… trusted. Comfortable. The only other times Morgan recalls feeling something similar was with Uther, and (and?)

“I think the butler did it.” Mash speculates out loud. She likes to do that a lot. Her love for mystery stories is quite endearing. “He had this one line at the beginning of the movie, it has to be foreshadowing.”

Her hand is on her own thigh, inches away from Morgan’s own. On impulse, Morgan grabs it. Mash startles at the sudden touch, turning to look at her- but, after a few seconds without any explanation on Morgan’s part, she turns back to look at the screen.

It’s a nice hand. Small. Calloused, as she (knew it would be) expected from a knight. Morgan slides her fingers between Mash’s. Her own hand is rather big in comparison. Her skin is pretty soft. Morgan has half a mind to bring it up to her face- the lips, after all, are among the most sensitive parts of a body. Surely kissing it would feel… would…

Ah.

“I see. I understand now.” Suddenly, her spouse’s reluctance to tell her their thoughts makes a lot more sense. She really had to pierce it together herself.

“You figured out the culprit, Morgan?” Mash tilts her head to look up at her, eyes half-hidden beneath her hair. Morgan thinks she could look at these eyes for years and never grow bored.

She reaches out for the tv remote, and pauses the movie. “Apologies. I have realized something of the utmost importance, and this cannot wait.”

“Oh.” Mash shuffles back to sit properly. She almost takes her hand back, but Morgan applies the tiniest of pressure, just to show reluctance, and Mash does not insist. “What’s wrong?”

Hm. Perhaps Morgan should have studied the matter more before speaking up. This is, after all, not something she has ever done herself. However, now that she is aware of her own feelings, she finds herself reluctant to keep them inside. These have been caged up for (months) (decades) (centuries) so long, little fish begging to be let back into the pond. If Mash accepts them, let them roam free; if Mash refuses them, let Morgan cull them herself.

“I would like to court you.”

Mash’s eyes widen. A slight blush rises up her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry?”

“We are friends. I would like to be lovers.” Lovers. That’s the word she was looking for. Lovers. This is what she would like to tell Baobhan Sith. She and I are lovers. “However, I understand that this is an important change to request so suddenly. So if you will allow me, I would like to court you.”

Mash stares at her. That is understandable. That realization was a surprise to Morgan too. Mash stares at her, and she-

Starts crying.

Her chest hiccups. Her breathing stutters. Tears roll onto her cheeks.

… Ah.

“Apologies. It seems that I made you upset.” This is alright. Morgan should have expected that outcome. This is fine. It was foolish of her to think otherwise, really. This is no fault of Mash. “I will take my lea-”

“Don’t you dare!” Mash’s hand suddenly tightens around her own. “Don’t- don’t leave me. I- these are h-happy tears, I swear.”

Oh. That’s. Oh. Is that relief she feels? This emotion like a wave cleansing her from the inside out?

“I just,” Mash continues, sniffling, “I thought I’d never- you- I thought- I thought I had lost- for good-”

She starts about a dozen sentences, and finish none of them. Whatever Morgan has done, it evoked something powerful enough in Mash to shake her to her core.

She still hasn’t let go of Morgan’s hand, though.

“May I hold you until you calm down?”

Mash nods frantically. Through the tears, she smiles, and it’s like the spring after a harsh winter. “I- I would like that very much, yes.”