FIC: She Dreams With an Open Heart (Arthur/Gwen, PG) 5/
Title: She Dreams With an Open Heart- Part V
Rating: PG
Pairings: Gwen/Arthur, but very much a OT4 piece.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the Beeb. Certain aspects of this from Doctor Who Series Five, and the cut text is from the episode “The Beast Below.”
Summary: Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. When a tragedy occurs, Gwen finds herself in a new kingdom, with no recollection of her life in Camelot. The presence of a mysterious person is triggering her memory, but meanwhile, an injured man turns up, whom she seems to have a great affinity for. But why is she here? Who is the person she keeps on seeing? And why can’t she remember a thing?
A/N: The format of this has changed slightly. The flashbacks are now in normal text rather than italicised, because long chunks can be quite hard to read. Many thanks to _autumncolours for being brilliant, always.
Prologue/ Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three / Part Four / Part Five/ Part Six/ Part Seven
______________________________________________________________________________________
He’d had far too much wine to drink that night, but he sure as hell didn’t care. He and Merlin had defeated the Dragon, Camelot was safe and they were alive! Arthur didn’t noticed Merlin’s withdrawn demeanour and had blocked out the pain of the townspeople as they dealt with yet more losses. He ignored his father’s inadequate approval and paid no attention to the guilt of losing yet more knights. He would not look at the ruined town and tried his best to ignore the distinct absence of a very notable figure of court.
No, he would focus only on the positive tonight.
Gwen had been waiting for him when he had arrived. She had run up to him and embraced him and instantly broke those words she’d spoke of not wanting to be with him. And he had held her, and he had hoped and he wasn’t going to let her go this time.
She watched nervously as he stumbled around the courtyard rather unsteadily.
“Maybe you should go and lie down, sire,” she suggested.
“Nope,” he said, dashing ahead of her. “Can’t do that. Got to celebrate.” He waved his arms about and wobbled and she was there in an instant.
“I think you’ve already celebrated enough, my lord,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist and steadying him.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “My name is Arthur.”
“I am fully aware of this.” She let go of him and he turned to her and studied her.
“You hardly call me it.”
She smiled. “I sometimes call you it,” she corrected.
He narrowed his eyes and set off again, this time walking backwards. She tried to keep up.
“Guinevere, I am alive!”
“I can see this, yes.”
“You are alive!”
“Thankfully, I hope.”
He stopped walking and she collided into him.
He pressed his finger to her nose. “Neither of us got eaten by a dragon.”
Her eyes drew inwards as she looked at his finger. “Indeed, this is true.”
“We have a lot to be thankful for. All this talk about living, Guinevere, and you’ll find that neither of us has even begun to do so. We need to start!”
She swotted his finger away and looked up at him, amused. “And how do you suggest we start?”
“You could call me Arthur, for start. All the time.”
“Ar-thur.” She was teasing him, but he was too drunk to notice.
“And we need to start dancing. We never dance.” To demonstrate his point, he took her hand and twirled her and she let out a surprised gasp. “And I think you should come and live in my castle.”
“Your castle?”
“Then maybe I can marry you. Although I need to court you properly first,” he carried on. “I hear that’s what people do, although I’m not really sure.” He twirled her again. “I will court you and... win your heart!”
“Win my heart?”
“Yes.” He let go of her and set off yet again. “I will slay more dragons, win tournaments, bring you flowers, dispose of anyone who is disdainful of you and all sorts of wonderful things that I can’t think of right now. Everything and anything, so that you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love with me, and decide that, yes, you do want to be with me.”
He turned to look at her- and promptly tripped over himself, falling flat on his face.
She laughed and knelt by him as he groaned and turned himself over. She took a moment to enjoy the sight of this drunken prince and his rambling words.
“Silly boy,” she said, placing her hand on his grazed forehead and soothing it. “You don’t have to win my heart.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, a little bit suspicious and very much confused.
“Because, you fool, you’ve already won it.”
+++
“I keep having these dreams,” she confesses. “I know that isn’t exactly unusual, everybody has dreams. But I don’t. I never did, not until recently, and I keep dreaming of the same people. I don’t quite remember their faces or who they are, but I’m certain they’re the same people-people of high standing and I’m this...person they love and admire, which quite frankly is ridiculous. I pick flowers for a living, I don’t counsel anybody! But feeling important is sort of nice, although dreaming about these people I don’t even know over and over is unnerving. Anyway, I don’t even know why I’m telling you; you can’t even hear me, can you?” she says to the unconscious man as she again sits at his bedside. “Besides, you probably don’t have strange dreams. I bet you dream of swordfights and rescuing damsels in distress or whatever it is knights like you do. You probably don’t care what a mere flower girl dreams of.”
She fiddles with the red roses that lie in the basket in her lap and casts a look at the man, feeling slightly silly talking to him like this.
Over the last two days, she’s visited him between chores and talked to him. Just general chitchat about her day and further ponderings about who he is. She knows it is crazy- it isn’t like he can understand her. But a part of her, the delusional part perhaps, hopes that by talking to him maybe she can revive him. At the very least, maybe she can comfort his sleeping soul.
She looks down at the roses and shakes her head a little. She shouldn’t care so much about this man. But she does. More than she should do.
+
Deep in the night she bolts upright, her eyes wide-open and darting around in fear. She grips her blanket to her, as if there’s a monster in the room that she can hide from. But the source of her terror is her dreams.
She closes her eyes, not wanting to remember but finding herself grappling fading strands of everything.
She’d dreamt of love.
She’d dreamt of an aching pain deep within her and a man who elicited an array of feelings.
She’d felt fear, disappointment, heartbreak, surprise, gratitude and devotion-all connected to this man.
She’d seen deep colours and vague images: a view from above; the darkness of a confined space; a strange woodland; a bedside; running on cobblestones in the face of danger; a cramped house; a brightly-lit corridor, castle walls and castle rooms; of eyes glued on a faraway point as she assesses from above and seeing the sight of something that fixes her turbulent heart.
In these images, the man is in all of them.
She sees his hand, glimpses his smile, hears his laughter and her name, feels his chest against her hand and his lips against her own.
Gwen lets out a strangled cry, but still the images won’t fade.
His voice, it calls to her like a siren song. Softly spoken words and soul-wrenching phrases; she hears every word and commits them to heart.
Gwen knows this is all dream, knows it more than anything, but it disconcerts her and unnerves her and makes her feel that these things are all real to her. But they can’t be. She’s never loved before and she’s never been loved before.
She’s dreaming of a love that isn’t hers, a life that isn’t hers to keep and she doesn’t want these dreams anymore. She doesn’t want to taste and glimpse a story that isn’t hers to tell and she’s fed up of dreaming of being significant; of a friendship and a bond and a love she doesn’t know. She’s sick of waking up unsettled and confused, she’s tired of her mind being besieged like this, but above all, she’s disappointed that none of this is real.
Gwen thinks of the world she dreams of, and she craves it. She thinks of the man who is in the periphery of it all, and she yearns for him.
+
The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Gwen is busy making preparations for the wedding, but at the same time, her dreams plague her with growing intensity.
Night time is literally a nightmare for Gwen. She fears her dreams and what will come, and yet she finds herself anticipating them, as if what they have to offer is more than what reality can. But they leave her drained and unfilled.
The day before the wedding, she wakes up exhausted, despite falling asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. Her head is heavy, her mind cloudy and she knows without a doubt that she can’t go on like this for much longer. Her dreams may be tantalising but they are beginning to impinge on her life and take it away bit by bit.
She needs the dreams to stop. She needs normality and dreamless nights and a clear head again.
She thinks of the strange woman who she has seen around. She’s different, Gwen knows that much. She disappears at will and appears out of nowhere and Gwen knows without a doubt that the woman holds the answers to her problems.
Except she has no way of reaching her.
So Gwen leaves her house and goes to sit on the base of the statue where she first saw her. Instinctively, she pictures this woman clearly in her mind, mentally calls out to her and then she waits and she waits and she waits.
+
The woman appears as a figure in the bustling crowd. Gwen immediately spots her from the way she walks and her resplendent cloak that trails behind her. She heads straight for Gwen.
“You came,” Gwen says, surprised.
“Of course I came,” the woman answers, sitting next to her.
“But how did you know to come?”
“How did you know how to call me?”
Gwen’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
The lady gives her a probing look, but instead of clarifying she says, “Why do you need to see me?”
“I...-,” Gwen begins, but is having trouble focusing on what to say. The lady’s mere presence is affecting her in a profound way, making her feel dizzy and unsteady; as if she is somewhere that isn’t the base of the statue she’s sitting on. “Who are you?” she asks instead.
The lady’s red lips draw into a smile. “The question is, who are you?”
Gwen frowns. Is she making fun of her? “I’m Gwen,” she replies rather tersely.
The lady raises an eyebrow. “Just Gwen?”
“Of course!” Her frown deepens. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”
“I am nobody,” the woman replies.
“You don’t look like a nobody,” Gwen retorts.
She laughs. “And yet I am!” Her eyes bore onto Gwen’s. “Don’t you ever wonder, Gwen, about who you are?”
“Wonder what?”
“Wonder about your life! About who you are and where you’re from?”
“Why would I wonder that? Noble people ask themselves such profound questions. People like me deal with what we’ve been given.”
“And what have you been given?”
Gwen looks at her strangely before answering. “A job as a flower girl and a house with my aunt. I don’t need any more than that.”
“That’s fair enough.” The lady plays with the skirt of her dress. “So you’ve lived here all your life?”
Uncertainty flashes in her mind, but she instantly dismisses it. “Yes.” Of course I have! She chides herself.
“And what of your parents?”
She tries to think of her parents. She pictures her mother, a vague image that she can’t quite hold onto. But when she thinks of her father, it hurts as if she has been deeply wounded. Gwen casts her gaze down. “They’re dead. They died when I was a child.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” But the woman doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Gwen doesn’t say anything but the woman keeps on looking at her, and the light-headedness is increasing.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re part of something more than this life?”
“No,” Gwen replies instantly. “But I’ve hoped for it.” She’s surprised at how wistful she sounds.
The lady laughs hollowly. “Oh Gwen, there’s so much about yourself that you don’t know!”
“Then tell me!” she pleads.
She shakes her head. “I can’t.” The woman looks genuinely sorry. “You’ll find out yourself, soon enough.”
The woman stands up to leave.
“Wait!” Gwen cries. “Don’t go!”
The woman turns to her and smiles gently and Gwen sees only kindness in her face. “I wish I could tell you,” she says, clasping Gwen’s hands. “I wish it more than anything. But there are things you need to find out on yourself.” She extracts her hands from Gwen’s and turns her back.
“No!” Gwen protests. “I don’t understand!” she cries out to her retreating figure. “I don’t understand anything!”
But the woman has already vanished and Gwen still doesn’t know who she is.
+
When Gwen gets back home, her aunt is back and is busy cooking.
“Gwen!” her aunt exclaims. “You’re home!”
Gwen smiles half-heartedly, and goes to sort out the basket of dried flowers lying on the table.
“Auntie?” she begins after a while.
Her aunt stirs her pot and casts a glance at Gwen. “Yes, dear?”
“Can I ask you something? I mean, something other than what I’m asking now?”
“Always.”
“Have I always lived in Souhaiter?”
“Of course you have!”
She picks some flowers up and places them in her hand. “Were both my parents from here?”
“Your mother was. But your father...he was from another kingdom. I don’t remember the name.”
“Do you...remember them much?”
Her aunt turns and fully looks at her. “I remember that they loved you.”
“But what about how they died?”
“They died when you were young,” comes her aunt’s automated answer.
“I know that. But how?”
A look of confusion strikes her aunt’s face. “I...,” she begins, confused. She blinks. “They died of an illness. Your mother contracted it first. And then your father.”
“And you were left to bring me up?”
“It was hardly a chore, Gwen!”
Gwen empties her hand of the flowers and frowning, looks into her basket. There’s something missing here, but what?
“What was I like as a child?” she questions.
“You were.... a child.”
“But what kind?”
Her aunt is also frowning now. “You were quiet and very shy. You were always at my side to help me. And you loved flowers, unsurprisingly. Your favourite colour was purple and your favourite game was hide-and-seek.”
Gwen nods, but is still unsettled.
“What’s with all these questions, Gwen?”
“Nothing. Just curious all of a sudden,” she murmurs.
She looks up and smiles at her aunt, who is looking at her rather worriedly, and begins to head to her room. There’s a heavy feeling by her heart: her aunt has told her so many things, but at the same time she’s told her nothing at all.
+
Gwen walks over to the vase in her room. The forget-me-nots and the daisies that the woman had given her are still in full bloom and show no sign of wilting, but somehow this doesn’t surprise her. She had placed a couple of lilies and roses in the vase, along with some carnations of various colours. The bouquet is a clash of flowers and seems out of place and far too extravagant for her simple room, yet it looks extraordinary and moreover, it’s hers.
That night, she sits on her bed and ponders many things: she thinks about her troubling encounter with the strange lady and the unsettling feelings her presence and her questions bring. She wonders about the man who been plaguing her dreams and exactly what he means. She worries about the unconscious man at Gerald’s and whether he’ll be okay.
But most of all, she begins to question herself. She feels like there’s a missing piece in her life and absolutely everything is entangled but she has no idea how. Now she wonders whether she really is part of something big. But it seems too much to hope for.
+
When she falls asleep, she dreams of three prominent figures who haunt her often.
She sees a boy with a permanent smile on his face and pink flowers in his hands, who embraces her when he sees her.
She sees a woman who hands her lilies just as she presents her with wildflowers, and when they reach one another, they hug each other tightly, tighter.
Then there’s a man who watches from afar and steps toward her as the others step away. He has a rose in his hand and a look of devotion on his face. She reaches out to touch him just as he pulls her towards him. She stares up into his face, and sees his gleaming look in his eyes and the smile on his face; she feels his hand touching the yellow flowers in her hair and then drawing down and settling firmly on her waist. She knows his affection and feels his love. He’s here in front of her, a testament to all of this, and she won’t leave him.
As she sees these three people, she can hear a voice singing the same refrain over and over:
Forget us not, forget us not, forget us not, forget us not.
***
A/N/Unrepentent Whinge: If you’re enjoying thus far, please take a moment to comment and let me know! I know a lot of people are reading this, but very few are commenting (and with LJ Stats, I can even see who some of you are), and it is disheartening to see that people aren't making the effort to say anything. I know that some authors are also having this problem atm, so if you’re reading a fic and you like it, then please say! It takes hours to write a chapter/fic, but only seconds to say you like it, and every comment is much appreciated.
Thanks for reading and a big thank you to everyone who has made the effort to comment so far. <333
***
Part Six
Rating: PG
Pairings: Gwen/Arthur, but very much a OT4 piece.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the Beeb. Certain aspects of this from Doctor Who Series Five, and the cut text is from the episode “The Beast Below.”
Summary: Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. When a tragedy occurs, Gwen finds herself in a new kingdom, with no recollection of her life in Camelot. The presence of a mysterious person is triggering her memory, but meanwhile, an injured man turns up, whom she seems to have a great affinity for. But why is she here? Who is the person she keeps on seeing? And why can’t she remember a thing?
A/N: The format of this has changed slightly. The flashbacks are now in normal text rather than italicised, because long chunks can be quite hard to read. Many thanks to _autumncolours for being brilliant, always.
Prologue/ Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three / Part Four / Part Five/ Part Six/ Part Seven
______________________________________________________________________________________
He’d had far too much wine to drink that night, but he sure as hell didn’t care. He and Merlin had defeated the Dragon, Camelot was safe and they were alive! Arthur didn’t noticed Merlin’s withdrawn demeanour and had blocked out the pain of the townspeople as they dealt with yet more losses. He ignored his father’s inadequate approval and paid no attention to the guilt of losing yet more knights. He would not look at the ruined town and tried his best to ignore the distinct absence of a very notable figure of court.
No, he would focus only on the positive tonight.
Gwen had been waiting for him when he had arrived. She had run up to him and embraced him and instantly broke those words she’d spoke of not wanting to be with him. And he had held her, and he had hoped and he wasn’t going to let her go this time.
She watched nervously as he stumbled around the courtyard rather unsteadily.
“Maybe you should go and lie down, sire,” she suggested.
“Nope,” he said, dashing ahead of her. “Can’t do that. Got to celebrate.” He waved his arms about and wobbled and she was there in an instant.
“I think you’ve already celebrated enough, my lord,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist and steadying him.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “My name is Arthur.”
“I am fully aware of this.” She let go of him and he turned to her and studied her.
“You hardly call me it.”
She smiled. “I sometimes call you it,” she corrected.
He narrowed his eyes and set off again, this time walking backwards. She tried to keep up.
“Guinevere, I am alive!”
“I can see this, yes.”
“You are alive!”
“Thankfully, I hope.”
He stopped walking and she collided into him.
He pressed his finger to her nose. “Neither of us got eaten by a dragon.”
Her eyes drew inwards as she looked at his finger. “Indeed, this is true.”
“We have a lot to be thankful for. All this talk about living, Guinevere, and you’ll find that neither of us has even begun to do so. We need to start!”
She swotted his finger away and looked up at him, amused. “And how do you suggest we start?”
“You could call me Arthur, for start. All the time.”
“Ar-thur.” She was teasing him, but he was too drunk to notice.
“And we need to start dancing. We never dance.” To demonstrate his point, he took her hand and twirled her and she let out a surprised gasp. “And I think you should come and live in my castle.”
“Your castle?”
“Then maybe I can marry you. Although I need to court you properly first,” he carried on. “I hear that’s what people do, although I’m not really sure.” He twirled her again. “I will court you and... win your heart!”
“Win my heart?”
“Yes.” He let go of her and set off yet again. “I will slay more dragons, win tournaments, bring you flowers, dispose of anyone who is disdainful of you and all sorts of wonderful things that I can’t think of right now. Everything and anything, so that you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love with me, and decide that, yes, you do want to be with me.”
He turned to look at her- and promptly tripped over himself, falling flat on his face.
She laughed and knelt by him as he groaned and turned himself over. She took a moment to enjoy the sight of this drunken prince and his rambling words.
“Silly boy,” she said, placing her hand on his grazed forehead and soothing it. “You don’t have to win my heart.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, a little bit suspicious and very much confused.
“Because, you fool, you’ve already won it.”
+++
“I keep having these dreams,” she confesses. “I know that isn’t exactly unusual, everybody has dreams. But I don’t. I never did, not until recently, and I keep dreaming of the same people. I don’t quite remember their faces or who they are, but I’m certain they’re the same people-people of high standing and I’m this...person they love and admire, which quite frankly is ridiculous. I pick flowers for a living, I don’t counsel anybody! But feeling important is sort of nice, although dreaming about these people I don’t even know over and over is unnerving. Anyway, I don’t even know why I’m telling you; you can’t even hear me, can you?” she says to the unconscious man as she again sits at his bedside. “Besides, you probably don’t have strange dreams. I bet you dream of swordfights and rescuing damsels in distress or whatever it is knights like you do. You probably don’t care what a mere flower girl dreams of.”
She fiddles with the red roses that lie in the basket in her lap and casts a look at the man, feeling slightly silly talking to him like this.
Over the last two days, she’s visited him between chores and talked to him. Just general chitchat about her day and further ponderings about who he is. She knows it is crazy- it isn’t like he can understand her. But a part of her, the delusional part perhaps, hopes that by talking to him maybe she can revive him. At the very least, maybe she can comfort his sleeping soul.
She looks down at the roses and shakes her head a little. She shouldn’t care so much about this man. But she does. More than she should do.
+
Deep in the night she bolts upright, her eyes wide-open and darting around in fear. She grips her blanket to her, as if there’s a monster in the room that she can hide from. But the source of her terror is her dreams.
She closes her eyes, not wanting to remember but finding herself grappling fading strands of everything.
She’d dreamt of love.
She’d dreamt of an aching pain deep within her and a man who elicited an array of feelings.
She’d felt fear, disappointment, heartbreak, surprise, gratitude and devotion-all connected to this man.
She’d seen deep colours and vague images: a view from above; the darkness of a confined space; a strange woodland; a bedside; running on cobblestones in the face of danger; a cramped house; a brightly-lit corridor, castle walls and castle rooms; of eyes glued on a faraway point as she assesses from above and seeing the sight of something that fixes her turbulent heart.
In these images, the man is in all of them.
She sees his hand, glimpses his smile, hears his laughter and her name, feels his chest against her hand and his lips against her own.
Gwen lets out a strangled cry, but still the images won’t fade.
His voice, it calls to her like a siren song. Softly spoken words and soul-wrenching phrases; she hears every word and commits them to heart.
Gwen knows this is all dream, knows it more than anything, but it disconcerts her and unnerves her and makes her feel that these things are all real to her. But they can’t be. She’s never loved before and she’s never been loved before.
She’s dreaming of a love that isn’t hers, a life that isn’t hers to keep and she doesn’t want these dreams anymore. She doesn’t want to taste and glimpse a story that isn’t hers to tell and she’s fed up of dreaming of being significant; of a friendship and a bond and a love she doesn’t know. She’s sick of waking up unsettled and confused, she’s tired of her mind being besieged like this, but above all, she’s disappointed that none of this is real.
Gwen thinks of the world she dreams of, and she craves it. She thinks of the man who is in the periphery of it all, and she yearns for him.
+
The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Gwen is busy making preparations for the wedding, but at the same time, her dreams plague her with growing intensity.
Night time is literally a nightmare for Gwen. She fears her dreams and what will come, and yet she finds herself anticipating them, as if what they have to offer is more than what reality can. But they leave her drained and unfilled.
The day before the wedding, she wakes up exhausted, despite falling asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. Her head is heavy, her mind cloudy and she knows without a doubt that she can’t go on like this for much longer. Her dreams may be tantalising but they are beginning to impinge on her life and take it away bit by bit.
She needs the dreams to stop. She needs normality and dreamless nights and a clear head again.
She thinks of the strange woman who she has seen around. She’s different, Gwen knows that much. She disappears at will and appears out of nowhere and Gwen knows without a doubt that the woman holds the answers to her problems.
Except she has no way of reaching her.
So Gwen leaves her house and goes to sit on the base of the statue where she first saw her. Instinctively, she pictures this woman clearly in her mind, mentally calls out to her and then she waits and she waits and she waits.
+
The woman appears as a figure in the bustling crowd. Gwen immediately spots her from the way she walks and her resplendent cloak that trails behind her. She heads straight for Gwen.
“You came,” Gwen says, surprised.
“Of course I came,” the woman answers, sitting next to her.
“But how did you know to come?”
“How did you know how to call me?”
Gwen’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
The lady gives her a probing look, but instead of clarifying she says, “Why do you need to see me?”
“I...-,” Gwen begins, but is having trouble focusing on what to say. The lady’s mere presence is affecting her in a profound way, making her feel dizzy and unsteady; as if she is somewhere that isn’t the base of the statue she’s sitting on. “Who are you?” she asks instead.
The lady’s red lips draw into a smile. “The question is, who are you?”
Gwen frowns. Is she making fun of her? “I’m Gwen,” she replies rather tersely.
The lady raises an eyebrow. “Just Gwen?”
“Of course!” Her frown deepens. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”
“I am nobody,” the woman replies.
“You don’t look like a nobody,” Gwen retorts.
She laughs. “And yet I am!” Her eyes bore onto Gwen’s. “Don’t you ever wonder, Gwen, about who you are?”
“Wonder what?”
“Wonder about your life! About who you are and where you’re from?”
“Why would I wonder that? Noble people ask themselves such profound questions. People like me deal with what we’ve been given.”
“And what have you been given?”
Gwen looks at her strangely before answering. “A job as a flower girl and a house with my aunt. I don’t need any more than that.”
“That’s fair enough.” The lady plays with the skirt of her dress. “So you’ve lived here all your life?”
Uncertainty flashes in her mind, but she instantly dismisses it. “Yes.” Of course I have! She chides herself.
“And what of your parents?”
She tries to think of her parents. She pictures her mother, a vague image that she can’t quite hold onto. But when she thinks of her father, it hurts as if she has been deeply wounded. Gwen casts her gaze down. “They’re dead. They died when I was a child.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” But the woman doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Gwen doesn’t say anything but the woman keeps on looking at her, and the light-headedness is increasing.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re part of something more than this life?”
“No,” Gwen replies instantly. “But I’ve hoped for it.” She’s surprised at how wistful she sounds.
The lady laughs hollowly. “Oh Gwen, there’s so much about yourself that you don’t know!”
“Then tell me!” she pleads.
She shakes her head. “I can’t.” The woman looks genuinely sorry. “You’ll find out yourself, soon enough.”
The woman stands up to leave.
“Wait!” Gwen cries. “Don’t go!”
The woman turns to her and smiles gently and Gwen sees only kindness in her face. “I wish I could tell you,” she says, clasping Gwen’s hands. “I wish it more than anything. But there are things you need to find out on yourself.” She extracts her hands from Gwen’s and turns her back.
“No!” Gwen protests. “I don’t understand!” she cries out to her retreating figure. “I don’t understand anything!”
But the woman has already vanished and Gwen still doesn’t know who she is.
+
When Gwen gets back home, her aunt is back and is busy cooking.
“Gwen!” her aunt exclaims. “You’re home!”
Gwen smiles half-heartedly, and goes to sort out the basket of dried flowers lying on the table.
“Auntie?” she begins after a while.
Her aunt stirs her pot and casts a glance at Gwen. “Yes, dear?”
“Can I ask you something? I mean, something other than what I’m asking now?”
“Always.”
“Have I always lived in Souhaiter?”
“Of course you have!”
She picks some flowers up and places them in her hand. “Were both my parents from here?”
“Your mother was. But your father...he was from another kingdom. I don’t remember the name.”
“Do you...remember them much?”
Her aunt turns and fully looks at her. “I remember that they loved you.”
“But what about how they died?”
“They died when you were young,” comes her aunt’s automated answer.
“I know that. But how?”
A look of confusion strikes her aunt’s face. “I...,” she begins, confused. She blinks. “They died of an illness. Your mother contracted it first. And then your father.”
“And you were left to bring me up?”
“It was hardly a chore, Gwen!”
Gwen empties her hand of the flowers and frowning, looks into her basket. There’s something missing here, but what?
“What was I like as a child?” she questions.
“You were.... a child.”
“But what kind?”
Her aunt is also frowning now. “You were quiet and very shy. You were always at my side to help me. And you loved flowers, unsurprisingly. Your favourite colour was purple and your favourite game was hide-and-seek.”
Gwen nods, but is still unsettled.
“What’s with all these questions, Gwen?”
“Nothing. Just curious all of a sudden,” she murmurs.
She looks up and smiles at her aunt, who is looking at her rather worriedly, and begins to head to her room. There’s a heavy feeling by her heart: her aunt has told her so many things, but at the same time she’s told her nothing at all.
+
Gwen walks over to the vase in her room. The forget-me-nots and the daisies that the woman had given her are still in full bloom and show no sign of wilting, but somehow this doesn’t surprise her. She had placed a couple of lilies and roses in the vase, along with some carnations of various colours. The bouquet is a clash of flowers and seems out of place and far too extravagant for her simple room, yet it looks extraordinary and moreover, it’s hers.
That night, she sits on her bed and ponders many things: she thinks about her troubling encounter with the strange lady and the unsettling feelings her presence and her questions bring. She wonders about the man who been plaguing her dreams and exactly what he means. She worries about the unconscious man at Gerald’s and whether he’ll be okay.
But most of all, she begins to question herself. She feels like there’s a missing piece in her life and absolutely everything is entangled but she has no idea how. Now she wonders whether she really is part of something big. But it seems too much to hope for.
+
When she falls asleep, she dreams of three prominent figures who haunt her often.
She sees a boy with a permanent smile on his face and pink flowers in his hands, who embraces her when he sees her.
She sees a woman who hands her lilies just as she presents her with wildflowers, and when they reach one another, they hug each other tightly, tighter.
Then there’s a man who watches from afar and steps toward her as the others step away. He has a rose in his hand and a look of devotion on his face. She reaches out to touch him just as he pulls her towards him. She stares up into his face, and sees his gleaming look in his eyes and the smile on his face; she feels his hand touching the yellow flowers in her hair and then drawing down and settling firmly on her waist. She knows his affection and feels his love. He’s here in front of her, a testament to all of this, and she won’t leave him.
As she sees these three people, she can hear a voice singing the same refrain over and over:
Forget us not, forget us not, forget us not, forget us not.
***
A/N/Unrepentent Whinge: If you’re enjoying thus far, please take a moment to comment and let me know! I know a lot of people are reading this, but very few are commenting (and with LJ Stats, I can even see who some of you are), and it is disheartening to see that people aren't making the effort to say anything. I know that some authors are also having this problem atm, so if you’re reading a fic and you like it, then please say! It takes hours to write a chapter/fic, but only seconds to say you like it, and every comment is much appreciated.
Thanks for reading and a big thank you to everyone who has made the effort to comment so far. <333
***
Part Six