The Grieving Ghost (Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Arthur)
Title: The Grieving Ghost
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: ~4,000
Summary: A porcelain pale face flashes in the corner of Gwen’s eye at her wedding and later, at her wedding reception, she spies shock of raven black hair in the crowd.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
The chapel was bright, light streaming in through hundreds of windows that circled under the domed roof. Of all the buildings in Camelot, the chapel was the most ornate. It was painted in rich greens and blues that had cost the Crown more than the gold on the pillars and borders but were, at least to Gwen, far more beautiful. Angels fluttered above her head, some holding between them scrolls of the gospels and others playing curved horns in a heavenly chorus. They were, all of them, golden haired like the Crown Prince and dressed in his Pendragon red, symbolising the Godliness and power of his line. By far the most beautiful of all was the painting above the altar. It showed the Christ on an earthly throne, surrounded by his apostles, a gold halo behind his head and a meek expression on his face. If he was supposed to represent Camelot’s monarchy then Gwen was sure that the artist had never crossed paths with Uther.
Walking towards the altar, it was these paintings Gwen kept her eyes to. She couldn’t look at all of the people who had come to watch her. Half she had never spoken to before, the nobles, and the other half, the ones at the back of the chapel, were the servants she now commanded. They hated her, every single one of them. The upper class thought her unworthy and the lower class most often referred to her as a whore. That was what they thought. How else could a serving girl earn the attention of a prince and, more than that, persuade him into wedlock? The truth couldn’t be more different but still, she could not bear look at them. Training her eyes gradually upwards, she passed the scene of Christ and the apostles and hit the balcony above. Like a lot of the architectural detail in the chapel, the balcony’s woven grape vine-like spindles and rail were picked out in gold, with the fruits glazed in reds and greens that shimmered like nothing that ever grew. Usually, balconies were home to a choir or musician of some sort, at least that was what they had been designed for. Uther had decided years ago that such frivolities were not to be mixed with religion and so the balcony lay empty.
Empty, at least, on first inspection. For a brief flash of a moment, Gwen saw Morgana there. Her face was pale and blotchy, like the time she caught a fever and reacted badly to Gaius’ remedy, and her eyes were at once shiny and dull. But then Gwen blinked, and she was gone. An uneasy feeling slithered, heavy, into her stomach and the hairs on her arms stood up. Quicker and quicker her breathing became, until she thought she might cry from the absurdity of what an imaginary glimpse of her former friend had done to her. Then, Arthur turned around and smiled at her like the sun warming her face on a summer morning and every bad feeling she had ever had disappeared.
When she reached the altar, he took her hand and held it between them, and as one, they looked to the priest, who began to talk.
“We are gathered together here in the sight of God and His bounty of Angels to join together this Man and this Woman in a binding of life; it is an honourable estate, ordained in Paradise, and into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be bound,” the priest bellowed. The ceremony had started long before Gwen had arrived, with the ritual knighting of the men who escorted Arthur to the altar and the blessing on Arthur himself. As Gwen had entered the chapel, proceeded by her escorting ladies and noble children with flowers and bells, the priest had spoken a blessing onto her as well.
After a brief pause, the priest continued. “At this day of binding, if any man do alleged and declare any impediment, why they may not be coupled together in Matrimony, by God's Law, or the Laws of the Realm; and will be bound, and sufficient sureties with him, to the parties; or else put in a Caution to prove his allegation; then the solemnization must be deferred, until such time as the truth be tried.”
Morgana danced through her mind. She had hated the idea of Gwen and Arthur being together, had been willing to have Gwen killed to prevent it. The congregation cheered for the priest to continue and Gwen pushed the sickening recollection away.
Being the most senior of Camelot’s priests, Father Corwin was older still than Gaius and had studied, it was said, twice as long. He wore rich garments fitting of his position and a long beard like the prophets of the Old Testament. Though he spoke with a voice that could strike fear into every Christian’s heart, his eyes were kind and when he turned to Arthur, he looked proud as any father. “Man, Wilt thou have this Woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Arthur answered, his voice calm, sure and full of authority.
Kind as he was, when the priest turned to Gwen, fear flared beneath her ribcage.
“Woman, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Gwen answered as she had been coached to. “I will.”
Father Corwin invited both of them onto the altar and turned to the congregation. “Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”
“I do.” Elyan stepped forward and took Gwen’s right hand, placing it on the priest’s hand, after which Arthur did the same.
The prince took a deep breath, before turning to Gwen and saying his vows. “I, Prince Arthur of Camelot, take thee Gwen to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I grant thee my troth.”
Taking Arthur’s right hand, Gwen vowed, “I Gwen, take thee Prince Arthur of Camelot, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth.” She didn’t quite like her own vows, but tradition must be obeyed, for they had already broken enough of it. Morgana would have snorted and told them all to go to hell. She would never promise to be ‘bonny and buxom’. She was a law entirely unto herself. The thought brought a smile to Gwen’s face. Arthur caught her eye and smiled too, unaware that the smile had not been for him.
Following the wedding, which did not end there but after several more blessings and additional ceremonies, the noble guests were escorted by the new royal couple to the feast, at which point the formalities of the ceremony were left behind and music bloomed. The fiddle player and flautist played jolly tunes whilst the servants who had accompanied their masters and mistresses to the chapel, took to waiting on them, hurrying about with great platters and even greater flagons of wine. Arthur and Gwen sat at Uther’s right side, receiving gifts from the guests. They took jewellery and blades, oils and spices, fabrics and books. From Uther, they were gifted a pair of white horses, the stallion strong and bold and the mare steady and calm. He made a remark about the mare likely bearing a foal within the year if the fierceness of the stallion was anything to go by. Gwen choked on her wine, blushed and excused herself.
As she made her way through the crowd, a shock of black hair caught her eye, long and wavy and just like hers. Without a thought, Gwen rocked into motion, pushing through the crowd, unwilling to lose sight of it.
By the time she broke free of the room, the hall outside was empty. She looked around wildly. There was no sign that anyone had been there, but something about the grand stairs tugged at her. Hitching up the skirt of her dress, she made for them. Up and up she went, passing two floors and still surging skywards. Her feet began to sting where they pounded against the hard stone, but she paid them no head. If there was even the slightest chance that what she had seen was not just a trick of the light or her traitorous imagination, then she would have run until her feet were bloody and broken. The only thing above her now was the top floor and that, she decided, was where she was going. There was nowhere else to go. As stairs turned into flat floor, she picked up her pace, dropping her skirt and rounding the bend. There, cornered before a stoned up arch, was Morgana.
She did not much look like the Morgana that Gwen used to know. She was dressed all in black, her dress not by any means silk. Her hair was wilder, wavier than Gwen had ever been able to get it and woven with dark coloured thread. It looked a little like Morgause’s and that made Gwen blood boil. Though she couldn’t see her eyes, she could see the shadow of charcoal around them and a green as beautiful as the chapel on her eyelids. This was Morgan le Fay, not her Morgana. She looked foreign in the castle.
Like a horse, she bolted, rushing forward at an alarming speed like it was her who ought to be afraid. For a moment, Gwen got her second look at Morgana’s face. She had been right before, about the blotchiness. Only now she could see that Morgana had not been ill, but crying. There were wet marks on her cheeks from tears that had not been wiped away or dried gently by someone who cared. Her eyes were wet too, but she wasn’t actually crying. Not just then. For some reason, that - something that was entirely Morgana, refusing to show the world anything but a brave face - was what shocked Gwen into action, made her shoot out her hand to grab Morgana’s as she passed, keeping her from leaving. She noticed with astonishment that the hand she grasped was shaking.
They locked eyes then, for the first time in two years, Morgana’s colourful hues and Gwen’s dark brown ones. It was only for a second though, and then Morgana looked away.
“What are you doing here?” Gwen asked, the steadiness of her voice surprising her. She felt like her insides had turned to treacle, thick and runny and heavy.
Morgana’s cheeks coloured, but not from embarrassment. It might have been anger or something else entirely, Gwen wasn’t quite sure.
“Give me an answer. For all we once were to each other. You owe me that at the very least,” Gwen said sternly.
“I had to see you,” Morgana murmured, almost too quiet for Gwen to hear. She looked up at her again, fear in her eyes.
Gwen wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Out of everyone in that chapel, everyone in that feasting hall, she could not believe that it was her that Morgana had come to see. “I don’t believe you.”
Morgana sniffed a humourless laugh and wiped her hand under her right eye. “I don’t care.”
Gwen dropped her grip on her but she didn’t try to run again.
“What happened to you?” Gwen asked in disbelief. “What happened to the sorceress that everyone fears? Why were you crying? And don’t try and deny it, the evidence is still wet on your cheeks.”
Exhaling deeply, fast, Morgana closed her eyes. “I watched the person I love marry someone else.”
Gwen stepped back, her face contorting with distaste. “Arthur? He’s your brother!”
“Not him,” Morgana said, looking truly angry for the first time. It disappeared just as quickly as it has come and then she did look embarrassed.
Gwen closed her eyes and shook her head. She knew what that meant, she would have to stupid not to. There were only two people who had gotten married in the chapel that day, and if it wasn’t Arthur, then there was only one other person it could have been. Not knowing what else to do, Gwen stepped forward again. “Oh.”
Laughing again, Morgana said, “Yes, ‘oh’.”
“I - I never knew,” Gwen said honestly. She had never, not even for one second thought that Morgana could see her that way. Not that it mattered now.
A desperate disbelieving sound keened from Morgana’s throat.
“I mean it, Morgana.”
“I did everything I could to get you to notice. In the end I thought you were just ignoring my affections on purpose. You must have been. There is no way you could be so blindly stupid,” Morgana said bitterly, licking her dry lips, her jaw shaking.
Gwen shook her head and ran her hand through her hair. It hung down her back unhindered. It was supposed to be virginal but Gwen just thought it tiresome. “Well apparently I am.” She was bitter now too.
“Obviously,” Morgana bit, and Gwen realised she was about to cry. The first tear that ran down her cheek was rubbed roughly away, but after that they fell too fast for Morgana to do anything about them. “I did everything for you!”
Gwen stepped back, afraid of gold flare in Morgana’s eyes.
“It would take years to tell you all the ways I tried to show that I loved you. Do you want the highlights? I spent months teaching you to read and write when everyone told me I was stupid for entertaining the thought that my maid might have a mind worth training. I gave you dresses and jewellery and trinkets like any courting man would. I put flowers in your hair and scented oils on your skin to make you feel beautiful and told you that you were every day. I said please and thank you every time you so much as moved to do anything for me, even though no one else ever did. I held you close when you were afraid and I kissed the tears from your cheeks when you cried. When Arthur arrested you for practicing magic I argued with the King, pleaded for your release and went so far below Camelot to face the beast that was responsible, that I felt scared I would never see the sun again. I challenged Uther so fiercely when they came for your father that he had me thrown in the dungeons. I tried to help your father escape and nearly killed Uther for what he had done to you!” Morgana screamed.
Gwen took another step back, looking over her shoulder anxiously at the approaching dead end.
“And what did you do to pay me back?” Morgana advanced. “You fell for Lancelot the second he walked into Camelot with his ridiculous floppy hair. He was nothing. He didn’t even know you and still you loved him. Then Arthur miraculously noticed you existed and you fell for him too. It was like all they had to was flex their muscles and make believe at being chivalrous and you melted into their knightly arms. The only person I had ever truly loved was in love with everyone but me! I spent years treating you better than they ever did and nothing! I fought your battles. I saved your life more than once. In Ealdor I killed three as they moved to bring down their swords to slay you. Three men! And you didn’t even notice. I had blood on my hands and all you cared about was trying to make Arthur a better man. It was barely six months later when you forgot my birthday. You were sheltering Arthur so he could play the gracious hero in that bloody tournament - don’t think I didn’t know - and you pretended to be ill so that you could be with him. He slept in your bed and I woke up on my birthday to a cold empty room because the apprentice maid that you got to cover for you forgot to even light my fire! You probably don’t even care that I spent the whole morning crying, alone. Yet still, stupidly, I loved you!”
Gwen felt tears well in her eyes and spill over. Despite everything Morgana had done to hurt her, she felt guilt deep in her stomach, turning the treacle to ice.
“When you were kidnapped I screamed and shouted in front of the whole court to get someone to go and save you, even though everyone thought me mad and you worthless. I spent days unable to eat or sleep because I thought I would never see you again. I thought my whole world had just collapsed around me and I didn’t know how I would be able to go on. But then you came home and it was the happiest moment of my life, until you pulled away from my hug and watched Arthur walk away longingly. I almost started crying right then, in front of both of you, not that either of you would have noticed!”
“Morgana-” Gwen interjected, her tears forming salty pools at the corners of her lips, running into her shock open mouth and tasting of Morgana’s pain.
“I tried so many times to tell you about what was happening to me. I told you about every single dream and you knew just as well as I did that they came true. I shared my fears with you about the witchfinder and Uther’s renewed assault on those who practiced magic, but it was like you didn’t hear a single word I said. By then you were getting more and more distant, and some days I barely saw you at all. You could go weeks without saying name. When Merlin poisoned me and Morgause saved me, I watched you in the crystals. You just carried on like you did before, spending more and more time with Arthur and never once visiting my chambers.”
“I didn’t visit them because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them empty and cold and dead,” Gwen defended. “My memories of you were inside me. I didn’t need a place to remember you and pray that I would see you again.” She paused. “I would rather that you had never came home at all than have you back cold hearted and cruel like you were. I have never felt more degraded and lowly as a servant than I did serving you in those torturous months. How am I to believe you loved me?”
“I couldn’t let you get close. You were the one thing here that I missed whilst I was away. If anyone could have distracted me from my mission, it would have been you.” Morgana stopped her advance less than a foot from her and seemed, for the first time, calm. “I regret what happened to you and your brother, and I never would have let Uther hurt you. I thought that I could persuade you that being with Arthur was dangerous. Then everything went wrong and I didn’t know what to do. Believe that I love you or don’t, it makes no difference anymore.” With that, she turned and walked away.
“Morgana, wait!” Gwen called after her. She had her hand in Morgana’s again before she had even realised she had moved.
Morgana turned to look at Gwen over her shoulder. “Answer me one thing before I go?”
Gwen nodded, tears spilling over.
“Did you ever, even for second, love me?” Morgana asked, her voice breaking.
“Yes,” Gwen said simply. “I loved the woman you did all those things you said, the you with a beautiful heart, boundless kindness and grace.” Tears stung at her eyes but she would not cry. “But she died four years ago and left me with a broken heart.”
“I’m right here,” Morgana interjected, reaching out desperately for Gwen. “I’m right here.”
“No.” Gwen shook her head and moved back from Morgana’s touch. “You’re not.”
Tears fell fresh down Morgana’s cheeks and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly ice cold. She was shaking and biting down hard on her lip. For a moment, she looked just like she did when she woke screaming from her nightmares, only consolable by Gwen’s hushed voice and gentle touch. “I could be her again,” Morgana said, her voice high and shaky, the summer green sea in her eyes. “Come with me and I’ll make everything right, I swear.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s too late.”
Morgana looked away, trying to fight her silent tears turning into stomach retching sobs. Nothing had ever hurt so much as those three words.
Against every instinct screaming within her, Gwen moved forward and used her thumb to brush the tears from Morgana’s cheek. Her heart was breaking all over again. Morgana had been her entire life and when she left, Gwen had to start all over again, trying to find to a way to survive without her. And she had. She found comfort and love in Arthur, and with that she found her place in a world without Morgana. But in that moment, the world wasn’t without Morgana. She was right there, her tear stained porcelain skin underneath Gwen’s fingertips. When their eyes met, Gwen thought the force of it might kill her and she had to look away. “I’ll never forget who you were,” she whispered tearily, tracing Morgana’s lips with her fingers. “Or that I loved you.” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t breathe.
“Please,” Morgana begged. She was falling apart.
Gwen leant up and kissed her, a flutter of a touch, slippery with each other’s tears, desperate with a love long ago doomed to be unfulfilled. After a second that would have to do both of them a lifetime, Gwen pulled back and for a heartbeat Morgana’s lips brushed against her forehead.
“Be happy,” Morgana said pleadingly.
“And you, please.” No matter what Morgana had done, Gwen could not bear if she lived her life in pain.
Morgana sniffed and shook her head, her eyes sodden. “I can’t. I don’t even remember what happiness feels like anymore.”
Gwen closed her eyes and prayed for strength. When she opened them, Morgana was gone.
A haunted voice hung in the empty air where she had stood. “Goodbye, my love.”
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: ~4,000
Summary: A porcelain pale face flashes in the corner of Gwen’s eye at her wedding and later, at her wedding reception, she spies shock of raven black hair in the crowd.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
The chapel was bright, light streaming in through hundreds of windows that circled under the domed roof. Of all the buildings in Camelot, the chapel was the most ornate. It was painted in rich greens and blues that had cost the Crown more than the gold on the pillars and borders but were, at least to Gwen, far more beautiful. Angels fluttered above her head, some holding between them scrolls of the gospels and others playing curved horns in a heavenly chorus. They were, all of them, golden haired like the Crown Prince and dressed in his Pendragon red, symbolising the Godliness and power of his line. By far the most beautiful of all was the painting above the altar. It showed the Christ on an earthly throne, surrounded by his apostles, a gold halo behind his head and a meek expression on his face. If he was supposed to represent Camelot’s monarchy then Gwen was sure that the artist had never crossed paths with Uther.
Walking towards the altar, it was these paintings Gwen kept her eyes to. She couldn’t look at all of the people who had come to watch her. Half she had never spoken to before, the nobles, and the other half, the ones at the back of the chapel, were the servants she now commanded. They hated her, every single one of them. The upper class thought her unworthy and the lower class most often referred to her as a whore. That was what they thought. How else could a serving girl earn the attention of a prince and, more than that, persuade him into wedlock? The truth couldn’t be more different but still, she could not bear look at them. Training her eyes gradually upwards, she passed the scene of Christ and the apostles and hit the balcony above. Like a lot of the architectural detail in the chapel, the balcony’s woven grape vine-like spindles and rail were picked out in gold, with the fruits glazed in reds and greens that shimmered like nothing that ever grew. Usually, balconies were home to a choir or musician of some sort, at least that was what they had been designed for. Uther had decided years ago that such frivolities were not to be mixed with religion and so the balcony lay empty.
Empty, at least, on first inspection. For a brief flash of a moment, Gwen saw Morgana there. Her face was pale and blotchy, like the time she caught a fever and reacted badly to Gaius’ remedy, and her eyes were at once shiny and dull. But then Gwen blinked, and she was gone. An uneasy feeling slithered, heavy, into her stomach and the hairs on her arms stood up. Quicker and quicker her breathing became, until she thought she might cry from the absurdity of what an imaginary glimpse of her former friend had done to her. Then, Arthur turned around and smiled at her like the sun warming her face on a summer morning and every bad feeling she had ever had disappeared.
When she reached the altar, he took her hand and held it between them, and as one, they looked to the priest, who began to talk.
“We are gathered together here in the sight of God and His bounty of Angels to join together this Man and this Woman in a binding of life; it is an honourable estate, ordained in Paradise, and into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be bound,” the priest bellowed. The ceremony had started long before Gwen had arrived, with the ritual knighting of the men who escorted Arthur to the altar and the blessing on Arthur himself. As Gwen had entered the chapel, proceeded by her escorting ladies and noble children with flowers and bells, the priest had spoken a blessing onto her as well.
After a brief pause, the priest continued. “At this day of binding, if any man do alleged and declare any impediment, why they may not be coupled together in Matrimony, by God's Law, or the Laws of the Realm; and will be bound, and sufficient sureties with him, to the parties; or else put in a Caution to prove his allegation; then the solemnization must be deferred, until such time as the truth be tried.”
Morgana danced through her mind. She had hated the idea of Gwen and Arthur being together, had been willing to have Gwen killed to prevent it. The congregation cheered for the priest to continue and Gwen pushed the sickening recollection away.
Being the most senior of Camelot’s priests, Father Corwin was older still than Gaius and had studied, it was said, twice as long. He wore rich garments fitting of his position and a long beard like the prophets of the Old Testament. Though he spoke with a voice that could strike fear into every Christian’s heart, his eyes were kind and when he turned to Arthur, he looked proud as any father. “Man, Wilt thou have this Woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Arthur answered, his voice calm, sure and full of authority.
Kind as he was, when the priest turned to Gwen, fear flared beneath her ribcage.
“Woman, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Gwen answered as she had been coached to. “I will.”
Father Corwin invited both of them onto the altar and turned to the congregation. “Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”
“I do.” Elyan stepped forward and took Gwen’s right hand, placing it on the priest’s hand, after which Arthur did the same.
The prince took a deep breath, before turning to Gwen and saying his vows. “I, Prince Arthur of Camelot, take thee Gwen to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I grant thee my troth.”
Taking Arthur’s right hand, Gwen vowed, “I Gwen, take thee Prince Arthur of Camelot, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth.” She didn’t quite like her own vows, but tradition must be obeyed, for they had already broken enough of it. Morgana would have snorted and told them all to go to hell. She would never promise to be ‘bonny and buxom’. She was a law entirely unto herself. The thought brought a smile to Gwen’s face. Arthur caught her eye and smiled too, unaware that the smile had not been for him.
Following the wedding, which did not end there but after several more blessings and additional ceremonies, the noble guests were escorted by the new royal couple to the feast, at which point the formalities of the ceremony were left behind and music bloomed. The fiddle player and flautist played jolly tunes whilst the servants who had accompanied their masters and mistresses to the chapel, took to waiting on them, hurrying about with great platters and even greater flagons of wine. Arthur and Gwen sat at Uther’s right side, receiving gifts from the guests. They took jewellery and blades, oils and spices, fabrics and books. From Uther, they were gifted a pair of white horses, the stallion strong and bold and the mare steady and calm. He made a remark about the mare likely bearing a foal within the year if the fierceness of the stallion was anything to go by. Gwen choked on her wine, blushed and excused herself.
As she made her way through the crowd, a shock of black hair caught her eye, long and wavy and just like hers. Without a thought, Gwen rocked into motion, pushing through the crowd, unwilling to lose sight of it.
By the time she broke free of the room, the hall outside was empty. She looked around wildly. There was no sign that anyone had been there, but something about the grand stairs tugged at her. Hitching up the skirt of her dress, she made for them. Up and up she went, passing two floors and still surging skywards. Her feet began to sting where they pounded against the hard stone, but she paid them no head. If there was even the slightest chance that what she had seen was not just a trick of the light or her traitorous imagination, then she would have run until her feet were bloody and broken. The only thing above her now was the top floor and that, she decided, was where she was going. There was nowhere else to go. As stairs turned into flat floor, she picked up her pace, dropping her skirt and rounding the bend. There, cornered before a stoned up arch, was Morgana.
She did not much look like the Morgana that Gwen used to know. She was dressed all in black, her dress not by any means silk. Her hair was wilder, wavier than Gwen had ever been able to get it and woven with dark coloured thread. It looked a little like Morgause’s and that made Gwen blood boil. Though she couldn’t see her eyes, she could see the shadow of charcoal around them and a green as beautiful as the chapel on her eyelids. This was Morgan le Fay, not her Morgana. She looked foreign in the castle.
Like a horse, she bolted, rushing forward at an alarming speed like it was her who ought to be afraid. For a moment, Gwen got her second look at Morgana’s face. She had been right before, about the blotchiness. Only now she could see that Morgana had not been ill, but crying. There were wet marks on her cheeks from tears that had not been wiped away or dried gently by someone who cared. Her eyes were wet too, but she wasn’t actually crying. Not just then. For some reason, that - something that was entirely Morgana, refusing to show the world anything but a brave face - was what shocked Gwen into action, made her shoot out her hand to grab Morgana’s as she passed, keeping her from leaving. She noticed with astonishment that the hand she grasped was shaking.
They locked eyes then, for the first time in two years, Morgana’s colourful hues and Gwen’s dark brown ones. It was only for a second though, and then Morgana looked away.
“What are you doing here?” Gwen asked, the steadiness of her voice surprising her. She felt like her insides had turned to treacle, thick and runny and heavy.
Morgana’s cheeks coloured, but not from embarrassment. It might have been anger or something else entirely, Gwen wasn’t quite sure.
“Give me an answer. For all we once were to each other. You owe me that at the very least,” Gwen said sternly.
“I had to see you,” Morgana murmured, almost too quiet for Gwen to hear. She looked up at her again, fear in her eyes.
Gwen wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Out of everyone in that chapel, everyone in that feasting hall, she could not believe that it was her that Morgana had come to see. “I don’t believe you.”
Morgana sniffed a humourless laugh and wiped her hand under her right eye. “I don’t care.”
Gwen dropped her grip on her but she didn’t try to run again.
“What happened to you?” Gwen asked in disbelief. “What happened to the sorceress that everyone fears? Why were you crying? And don’t try and deny it, the evidence is still wet on your cheeks.”
Exhaling deeply, fast, Morgana closed her eyes. “I watched the person I love marry someone else.”
Gwen stepped back, her face contorting with distaste. “Arthur? He’s your brother!”
“Not him,” Morgana said, looking truly angry for the first time. It disappeared just as quickly as it has come and then she did look embarrassed.
Gwen closed her eyes and shook her head. She knew what that meant, she would have to stupid not to. There were only two people who had gotten married in the chapel that day, and if it wasn’t Arthur, then there was only one other person it could have been. Not knowing what else to do, Gwen stepped forward again. “Oh.”
Laughing again, Morgana said, “Yes, ‘oh’.”
“I - I never knew,” Gwen said honestly. She had never, not even for one second thought that Morgana could see her that way. Not that it mattered now.
A desperate disbelieving sound keened from Morgana’s throat.
“I mean it, Morgana.”
“I did everything I could to get you to notice. In the end I thought you were just ignoring my affections on purpose. You must have been. There is no way you could be so blindly stupid,” Morgana said bitterly, licking her dry lips, her jaw shaking.
Gwen shook her head and ran her hand through her hair. It hung down her back unhindered. It was supposed to be virginal but Gwen just thought it tiresome. “Well apparently I am.” She was bitter now too.
“Obviously,” Morgana bit, and Gwen realised she was about to cry. The first tear that ran down her cheek was rubbed roughly away, but after that they fell too fast for Morgana to do anything about them. “I did everything for you!”
Gwen stepped back, afraid of gold flare in Morgana’s eyes.
“It would take years to tell you all the ways I tried to show that I loved you. Do you want the highlights? I spent months teaching you to read and write when everyone told me I was stupid for entertaining the thought that my maid might have a mind worth training. I gave you dresses and jewellery and trinkets like any courting man would. I put flowers in your hair and scented oils on your skin to make you feel beautiful and told you that you were every day. I said please and thank you every time you so much as moved to do anything for me, even though no one else ever did. I held you close when you were afraid and I kissed the tears from your cheeks when you cried. When Arthur arrested you for practicing magic I argued with the King, pleaded for your release and went so far below Camelot to face the beast that was responsible, that I felt scared I would never see the sun again. I challenged Uther so fiercely when they came for your father that he had me thrown in the dungeons. I tried to help your father escape and nearly killed Uther for what he had done to you!” Morgana screamed.
Gwen took another step back, looking over her shoulder anxiously at the approaching dead end.
“And what did you do to pay me back?” Morgana advanced. “You fell for Lancelot the second he walked into Camelot with his ridiculous floppy hair. He was nothing. He didn’t even know you and still you loved him. Then Arthur miraculously noticed you existed and you fell for him too. It was like all they had to was flex their muscles and make believe at being chivalrous and you melted into their knightly arms. The only person I had ever truly loved was in love with everyone but me! I spent years treating you better than they ever did and nothing! I fought your battles. I saved your life more than once. In Ealdor I killed three as they moved to bring down their swords to slay you. Three men! And you didn’t even notice. I had blood on my hands and all you cared about was trying to make Arthur a better man. It was barely six months later when you forgot my birthday. You were sheltering Arthur so he could play the gracious hero in that bloody tournament - don’t think I didn’t know - and you pretended to be ill so that you could be with him. He slept in your bed and I woke up on my birthday to a cold empty room because the apprentice maid that you got to cover for you forgot to even light my fire! You probably don’t even care that I spent the whole morning crying, alone. Yet still, stupidly, I loved you!”
Gwen felt tears well in her eyes and spill over. Despite everything Morgana had done to hurt her, she felt guilt deep in her stomach, turning the treacle to ice.
“When you were kidnapped I screamed and shouted in front of the whole court to get someone to go and save you, even though everyone thought me mad and you worthless. I spent days unable to eat or sleep because I thought I would never see you again. I thought my whole world had just collapsed around me and I didn’t know how I would be able to go on. But then you came home and it was the happiest moment of my life, until you pulled away from my hug and watched Arthur walk away longingly. I almost started crying right then, in front of both of you, not that either of you would have noticed!”
“Morgana-” Gwen interjected, her tears forming salty pools at the corners of her lips, running into her shock open mouth and tasting of Morgana’s pain.
“I tried so many times to tell you about what was happening to me. I told you about every single dream and you knew just as well as I did that they came true. I shared my fears with you about the witchfinder and Uther’s renewed assault on those who practiced magic, but it was like you didn’t hear a single word I said. By then you were getting more and more distant, and some days I barely saw you at all. You could go weeks without saying name. When Merlin poisoned me and Morgause saved me, I watched you in the crystals. You just carried on like you did before, spending more and more time with Arthur and never once visiting my chambers.”
“I didn’t visit them because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them empty and cold and dead,” Gwen defended. “My memories of you were inside me. I didn’t need a place to remember you and pray that I would see you again.” She paused. “I would rather that you had never came home at all than have you back cold hearted and cruel like you were. I have never felt more degraded and lowly as a servant than I did serving you in those torturous months. How am I to believe you loved me?”
“I couldn’t let you get close. You were the one thing here that I missed whilst I was away. If anyone could have distracted me from my mission, it would have been you.” Morgana stopped her advance less than a foot from her and seemed, for the first time, calm. “I regret what happened to you and your brother, and I never would have let Uther hurt you. I thought that I could persuade you that being with Arthur was dangerous. Then everything went wrong and I didn’t know what to do. Believe that I love you or don’t, it makes no difference anymore.” With that, she turned and walked away.
“Morgana, wait!” Gwen called after her. She had her hand in Morgana’s again before she had even realised she had moved.
Morgana turned to look at Gwen over her shoulder. “Answer me one thing before I go?”
Gwen nodded, tears spilling over.
“Did you ever, even for second, love me?” Morgana asked, her voice breaking.
“Yes,” Gwen said simply. “I loved the woman you did all those things you said, the you with a beautiful heart, boundless kindness and grace.” Tears stung at her eyes but she would not cry. “But she died four years ago and left me with a broken heart.”
“I’m right here,” Morgana interjected, reaching out desperately for Gwen. “I’m right here.”
“No.” Gwen shook her head and moved back from Morgana’s touch. “You’re not.”
Tears fell fresh down Morgana’s cheeks and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly ice cold. She was shaking and biting down hard on her lip. For a moment, she looked just like she did when she woke screaming from her nightmares, only consolable by Gwen’s hushed voice and gentle touch. “I could be her again,” Morgana said, her voice high and shaky, the summer green sea in her eyes. “Come with me and I’ll make everything right, I swear.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s too late.”
Morgana looked away, trying to fight her silent tears turning into stomach retching sobs. Nothing had ever hurt so much as those three words.
Against every instinct screaming within her, Gwen moved forward and used her thumb to brush the tears from Morgana’s cheek. Her heart was breaking all over again. Morgana had been her entire life and when she left, Gwen had to start all over again, trying to find to a way to survive without her. And she had. She found comfort and love in Arthur, and with that she found her place in a world without Morgana. But in that moment, the world wasn’t without Morgana. She was right there, her tear stained porcelain skin underneath Gwen’s fingertips. When their eyes met, Gwen thought the force of it might kill her and she had to look away. “I’ll never forget who you were,” she whispered tearily, tracing Morgana’s lips with her fingers. “Or that I loved you.” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t breathe.
“Please,” Morgana begged. She was falling apart.
Gwen leant up and kissed her, a flutter of a touch, slippery with each other’s tears, desperate with a love long ago doomed to be unfulfilled. After a second that would have to do both of them a lifetime, Gwen pulled back and for a heartbeat Morgana’s lips brushed against her forehead.
“Be happy,” Morgana said pleadingly.
“And you, please.” No matter what Morgana had done, Gwen could not bear if she lived her life in pain.
Morgana sniffed and shook her head, her eyes sodden. “I can’t. I don’t even remember what happiness feels like anymore.”
Gwen closed her eyes and prayed for strength. When she opened them, Morgana was gone.
A haunted voice hung in the empty air where she had stood. “Goodbye, my love.”