Chapter Text
I. and everyone thought you were a real hero
Gwen loves the marketplace.
No, really, she does. If Elyan wants to keep teasing her about boys she doesn't even talk to, he can go right ahead, but really, she loves the market. Everything is so colorful and the old lady who sells sweets adores Gwen and always gives her something for free.
And also, well, the boy who works with the scribe is very pretty. And smart, working with the scribe and all. She wishes she knew his name.
So, it's funny, really, that the first time she works up the nerve to talk to him — it's not like she's a coward, it's only because he's old, well, not old, but older than Gwen — it's also when she sees Prince Arthur for the first time and realises that you can get prettier than the boy who works with the scribe.
Prince Arthur is tall, for one. His hair shines in the sun. Gwen kind of regrets not going to see the jousting tournaments with Elyan now.
And here's the most wonderful thing: the boy who works with the scribe, well, he doesn't even ever look at Gwen. Till a few years back, Gwen used to go to the scribe so he could write down what her father needed to print down on swords and the like — and he'd never given her a second look. Once, she'd come in with Elyan and he'd nodded at him, and glanced at Gwen for a moment before going right back to what he was doing. Horrible.
But, and she will swear on this, Prince Arthur, who's talking to the knight next to him, catches her eye in the market, and it's almost as if he's startled, like he recognises her, and then — and then he smiles at her.
Elyan will never, ever believe this, she thinks, dismayed.
Prince Arthur just smiled at her. And he did. It wasn't a coincidence or something, he hadn't smiled at something the knight said, he'd smiled at her. She's completely sure of it.
She's too shell-shocked to smile back, but she does stare. His patrol only takes a moment to cross. Behind Arthur is the Princess Morgana, who Gwen has heard a lot of scary things about.
Personally, she thinks that people just love to say bad things about girls, even when they haven't done anything wrong at all, especially boys. And people listen to boys more than they listen to girls so everyone starts believing it, too. One of Elyan’s friends had once called Gwen a witch and after Elyan had punched him and told him to never come to their house again, he'd shrugged at Gwen and said it's not like he's completely wrong. And people often said bad things about Gwen’s mother too, things like she leaves her two young'uns alone all day just to go work, even though she had no choice.
Anyway, she only glances at Princess Morgana for a moment because she's too busy looking at Arthur.
But when Prince Arthur crosses them and she looks at Princess Morgana again, she's looking right back at Gwen, eyes somewhat narrowed, suspicious, even.
She's got dark, sharp eyes, and Gwen immediately remembers everything she's heard about her — completely forgetting about her resolve to form her own opinion on her! — and looks down at her feet. She doesn't dare meet that gaze again.
It was oddly chilling, especially coming from someone about her age.
The whole incident shakes her up so much that she completely forgets to talk to the boy who works with the scribe. But surprisingly, Gwen reflects, that she suddenly doesn't have much interest either. She sleeps early that night, thinking about Prince Arthur smiling at her. She hadn't told Elyan ultimately, not wanting to taint the memory, which had been a wise decision.
The next day, Princess Morgana comes to her father's shop.
She yelps, stumbling back. Princess Morgana just looks at her, calm. She lowers her fist, which had clearly been about to knock on the door. Why would Princess Morgana want to come to a blacksmith? It made no sense, unless, yesterday… Gwen thinks again about how Morgana had looked at her and feels her stomach sink. Maybe she'd somehow unknowingly offended Morgana. But then, wouldn't she send soldiers, or — or —
“May I come in?” Princess Morgana asks, with a sharp, little smile and Gwen realises, with horror, that she's just been standing there, gormlessly. She forces her mouth shut and tries to recover, gesturing Morgana inside.
She clears a chair, and offers it to Morgana, still completely tongue-tied.
“Your Highness,” she finally manages. It comes out significantly more high-pitched than Gwen’s actual voice. “Er, if you needed, um, my father is actually not here, at the moment, he is, um, not here, and I don't — I can just go and call him, it'll only take a—”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Morgana says, coolly, and Gwen’s heart just about stops. “What's your name?”
“Um,” Gwen cannot, for the life of her, remember. “Guinevere, your Highness. But everyone calls me, um. Sorry, right. Yes. It's Guinevere.”
“Everyone calls you?”
“Gwen,” she says, mortified. Why would Princess Morgana care about what everyone called her?
But she only smiles. She has a beautiful smile. It does nothing to make her expression less intense.
“Gwen,” Morgana says, the word foreign in her accent, which is tighter and sort of prim, compared to everyone Gwen knows. “You must be wondering why I'm here, of course. I apologise, actually, for just barging on you like that, out of the blue.”
“Oh, no, your Highness, it's—” Gwen starts, weakly, but Morgana cuts in.
“You can just call me Morgana,” she says, which Gwen knows she could never. “So, the reason for my visit, well, it's sort of odd. I… I wanted to ask you. And I want you to give me an honest answer.”
Gwen is still scared, but she thinks it's somewhat unfair of Morgana to just come in here and demand she be honest about who knows what. She nods, though, quickly.
“Okay. Tell me, do you know Arthur?”
“I,” Gwen pauses. “What?”
“Arthur. Prince Arthur. Do you know him?”
“Well, yes,” Gwen says, confused. Morgana raises her eyebrows. “Everyone does…? I mean, everyone who lives in Camelot, atleast, I should hope. He's—”
“No,” Morgana sounds impatient now, “Have you ever met him? Do you know him?”
“Oh,” Gwen almost laughs, then when she realises Morgana is serious, she stops. “No. Not at all. I, where would I even—? Um. Your Highness. Lady Morgana. Um, no.”
Morgana hums.
“Because he knows you,” she says, with galling confidence for someone who's so wrong. Something of that must show on Gwen's face, because she says, “No, really, I mean it. I know how Arthur looks at people he knows and people he doesn't. He knew you, yesterday.”
“Perhaps you should ask him then,” Gwen says, and then feels shocked at herself. “Your Highness. Sorry.”
“Surely you saw him smile at you,” Morgana insists, frowning a little. Gwen doesn't know what to say. This is very odd. Morgana sighs. “Look, Gwen, you're right, I could ask Arthur. But he wouldn't be honest with me. Not about this, far as I know. There are certain things — Arthur keeps his cards close, that's all. And I was curious, I thought maybe… you'd have some answers for me. About him.”
Gwen nods, slowly, still very confused.
“I don't mean any disrespect,” she begins, “And I certainly do not know Arthur. But… but if I did, and if this was something he wouldn't want you to know, why would going behind his back to find out make him trust you enough to tell you?”
That was disrespectful, Gwen realises immediately after saying it. But Morgana doesn't look insulted. Only surprised.
“I,” she blinks. “I suppose you're right. I get — I just need to find out what — I just don't understand Arthur. He's very frustrating that way. I don't know what makes him tick. There's always these little things, these things he does that make no sense. Things he just knows without anyone telling him.” She looks at Gwen, tired, and for the first time, she looks as young as she is. “I just go too far sometimes.”
Now Gwen feels horrible.
“No, oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to — I don't know everything about your, um, situation, I didn't mean to act like—”
“No, you're right,” Morgana says, and she seems to pull herself together, in just a moment. Smiles again. “Nobody's ever told me off like that before, you know. Not about something real.”
“Oh, God, I'm so sorry, my brother always says I run my mouth too much—”
“No, I liked it,” Morgana laughs at Gwen's expression. “Okay, not liked it maybe, but I needed to hear it.” She looks at Gwen for a long moment. “You know what, I think I'm going to keep you around.”
Gwen tries her best to keep the terror off her face. She mustn't do very well, because Morgana starts laughing again.
“Well, I'm off to pester Arthur about this,” Morgana says, standing up. “But I'll see you around?”
“Yes, your Highness,” Gwen squeaks.
“Morgana,” she corrects, and walks out.
(x)
That night, Gwen tells her mother all about Morgana, unable to stop smiling. Her mother looks somewhat worried, but doesn't say anything mean about Morgana which is why she's the best.
(x)
If Gwen had expected Morgana to forget, she would have been wrong.
Morgana comes back the next week, in the morning, and asks Gwen if she wants to go for a walk. Gwen wonders how she gives her royal guards the slip to come here.
We can pick berries, Morgana offers, smiling. She has a very pretty basket in her hands. Gwen looks at it and then looks away, suddenly too aware of how Morgana is royalty, a princess, how she must have a lot of pretty things and a lot of pretty clothes. Gwen feels a little conscious about her own clothes now, stitched from thin fabric and repaired several times by her own hand.
She takes a breath. She's being ridiculous. She's proud of her parents. They have a comfortable life. It doesn't matter.
She accepts, and they go to the very outskirts of Camelot, in the east, and true to Morgana's word, pick berries, big blue ones and small red ones. All the way, Morgana tells her a lot of things, about her father Gorlois, and King Uther — who she's shockingly unafraid of — and Arthur. Gwen doesn't say much herself, she doesn't know how to frame stories the way Morgana does, she's afraid she'll give away too much or that it'll be too uninteresting.
Inspite of her quietness, Morgana asks her a lot of questions, and sounds very interested in her answers, as if Gwen's life is just as new and fascinating for her as Morgana's is for Gwen.
By the end, Gwen finds herself relaxing. Morgana is nice, she thinks.
Everyone is wrong about her.
Gwen had heard once that a servant had been unable to arrange some specific type of cheese Morgana had asked for and she had told King Uther that he was a sorcerer and must be burnt at the stake. But Morgana would never, Gwen thinks, unable to see her doing something so dangerously mean-spirited.
All in all — once Morgana is gone, leaving the full basket of berries behind — Gwen thinks, a little discomfited, that Morgana must not have a lot of friends, especially not girls.
She seemed a little too eager to be Gwen's.
The realisation makes her determined: she'd be the best friend Morgana could ever want.
II. to always be afraid
“I told you that,” Arthur says, teeth grit and face red, “in confidence.”
“And I am confident that you’re finally losing it,” Morgana replies, with an innocent smile. “The walls aren’t talking to you.”
“I didn’t say the walls are —” Arthur sighs, clearly having given up. Boys give the weakest arguments. “I meant that I can hear — some sort of voice, in — in my head, they keep calling my name, just my name, and I think that — "
Morgana looks at him, pitying.
"There has to be a reasonable explanation!" Arthur finishes, finally, throwing his hands up. Before she can say it: "And I'm not going mad, don't even start!"
There's no explanation.
Morgana understands, really, a lot more than she lets on. Must keep a man on his toes, though. It is very difficult, what Arthur does, the number of faces he maintains — the perfect son, the perfect knight, the perfect prince and then there's the one he shows Morgana. It's dangerous, doing what he does, especially in his position. She understands. She's somewhat similar, but she has less accountability and better odds for being able to get away with it.
She can't help but think that there must be a face he can't show anyone, though.
Something he keeps close to himself, something that probably keeps him sane. Something that gives reason to everything he does, that explains just how Uther's son turned out to be like this.
Arthur's an actual wonder.
“Instead of going to the pub one night,” she suggests, sneering, instead of saying that, “Try getting some extra sleep.”
Arthur sneers right back, and moves on, mumbling something unflattering under his breath.
III. an unhappy king makes for a stronger kingdom
Sometimes, Uther thinks that the castle is rotting, from the inside out, withering into something hard and angry. Sometimes — he sits alone in his room and feels a presence with him, something big, something that sends a shiver down his spine.
He finds a sick reassurance in the cruelty in Morgana's eyes, and often muses how she is more his daughter than Arthur his son. Arthur doesn't have a weak stomach, far from it — but Uther isn't blind, as many a people like to say, of course he notices his own son's carefully crafted schedule that manages to avoid him almost all day. Arthur never shirks his duties or argues against Uther's decisions, but he doesn't like him.
It's a childish sentiment — liking someone. Besides, Uther is his father, he doesn't need nor want to be liked. He only must be respected.
Still, sometimes, he sits alone in his room and thinks about it.
He also thinks about Morgana and Arthur, and not in the separate sense. It makes him uncomfortable, of course, but he doesn't quite know how to stop it.
It would not be an issue in a few years, he knows, he will find someone suitable for Morgana and she'll be wed away.
But for now, he hopes they don't make a mistake, something that cannot be reversed.
He had tried to talk to Gaius about it, just once.
“Do you, perhaps,” Uther had started, more hesitant than he's ever felt before, somewhat afraid he'll find out something he doesn't want to know, “Do you also feel that Morgana and Arthur are getting too… close?”
Gaius had seemed a little confused, he couldn't see what was so wrong. He didn't know, of course, no one did.
“They are very… attached,” Gaius had said, finally. “But surely, it's nothing to worry about? Morgana is bright, beautiful, very well-spoken. Her family has always supported you, and if something were to happen between the two… I'm sure she would be a deserving Qu—”
Uther had raised a hand, making Gaius fall silent. He cannot hear that aloud, he just cannot.
Nobody knows, even now, nobody besides Uther.
He will keep it that way. He would not let anyone disrespect Ygraine like that. He can hear the Witch’s accusation in his head even as he thinks this: You disrespected her. It's your mistake that cannot be reversed.
He does try to tell Arthur about it.
“Arthur,” he says, after supper, once when Morgana's left early due to a headache. She has a lot of those; but Gaius cannot seem to pin down a singular problem. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Of course, Father,” Arthur says, brows pulling together.
Uther doesn't quite know how to say it.
“I've noticed,” he says, busying himself with his drink, “That you and Morgana seem to be very…devoted in your friendship. I do hope you know…to control yourself.” A pause. Arthur looks bewildered. “To conduct yourself appropriately. In a manner befitting your position.”
Uther sees the exact moment Arthur realises what he is trying to say.
“Father,” he says, looking appalled.
“I only warn you because I would not want you to get too attached to someone who you… who I, as her guardian and as your father, do not see in your future, especially in the role of a—”
“Father, please,” Arthur actually gets up, his chair grating against the floor.
Uther blinks as Arthur opens and closes his mouth, as if unable to find words. He looks more disturbed than Uther himself.
“I,” Arthur says, finally, carefully, clearing his throat. “I, truthfully, think of Morgana as a sister. There's — there's nothing romantic between us.”
And see, this is the thing that concerns Uther the most about Arthur.
It unnerves him, how Arthur can say the perfect thing, always, how he always finds the one thing that can diffuse a situation. How Uther feels immediate relief — and then a sour suspicion — think of Morgana as a sister — how could Arthur possibly know to say that? He shouldn't.
But Uther can't put the thought out of his head, till late that night. Arthur knows. Somehow, he knows.
IV. i don’t mean that in a nasty way
Morgana keeps coming to meet Gwen, just like that, unpredictable but often.
Gwen opens the door, one chilly day, to see Morgana standing there, with a smile and something bundled under her arm.
“It doesn't really fit me anymore,” she says, and thrusts the bundle into Gwen's hands — who opens it to find a very warm, beautifully embroidered cloak. “And I don't know anyone else I can give it to.” Gwen goes to refuse, this is too much, too generous, but Morgana simply shoulders her way past her and into the house. “Oh, please take it, I'd feel so bad if I had to let it waste away in the back of my closet! Look at the stitching, it deserves to see the light of day.”
Gwen agrees, really. She sighs and doesn't protest.
Morgana can be a little overwhelming at times, but only because Gwen makes the conscious effort to think of her as a friend and not just another royal, who for some unknown reason, spends a lot of time around Gwen.
And anyway, Gwen's been wanting to ask Morgana something. She'd been waiting for the next time Morgana came. She clears her throat.
They've never talked about this before.
“I heard about,” Gwen tries, feeling somewhat nervous, “I heard about the sorceress who got caught at the citadel yesterday.”
Morgana stiffens up immediately. She turns to look at Gwen, face blank.
“I heard you were the one who saw her,” Gwen says, somewhat awkward. She wants to shake herself. It's just Morgana. There's no need to be scared. “It must have been a little frightening. If, if you don't mind me asking, what did you see her do?”
Morgana swallows. She looks away.
“Magic,” Morgana says, after a moment. “I saw her do magic. I was with a few of the knights. And Arthur. Some of us saw her.”
But only she raised an alarm.
Elyan had been there. He'd told Gwen exactly what had happened. But for some reason, she just — she wants to hear Morgana say it. More than that, she wants to see how Morgana will say it.
“What was she doing?” Gwen pushes, ignoring Morgana's discomfort.
“She was—” Morgana is so tense that Gwen can almost feel her teeth clench. Then, suddenly, her tone turns cold, steely. “How does it matter? Sorcery is forbidden in Camelot.”
“I — I know,” Gwen blinks, a little surprised.
Morgana's usually quick to criticize Uther, but she rounds on Gwen now, walking towards her. Morgana is a lot taller than her; it's somewhat intimidating even aside from the gaping difference in their social positions.
“Surely, you're aware of how dangerous sorcery is,” Morgana says, in a tone Gwen doesn't even recognise. She stumbles back a step. “Surely, you're aware of the kind of treason you're almost committing by just asking me that.”
Gwen stares, mouth a little open. She hasn't ever before outright agreed with Morgana when she complained about Uther or Arthur, but foolishly she'd assumed she had the right to — to tell Morgana her honest opinion.
“She's going to be burnt at the stake today,” Morgana continues, ruthless. “Evening, sharp at five. I hope you'll be there. And if you're not, well,” Morgana is very close to her, all of a sudden. “I'll assume you don't agree that her punishment is fair.”
“I — of course, I don't think that!” Gwen says. This has taken a very bad turn, very suddenly. “Of course the punishment, it — fits the crime, obviously, I—”
She falls silent. She sounds unconvincing. Morgana is still looking at her, eyes narrowed.
And then: “Did you know that woman was a sorceress?”
“No!” Gwen says, too fast. Something flashes on Morgana's face, some kind of realisation that terrifies Gwen. She swallows, hard. “No, no, I had no idea, of course. I — nobody knew, if anyone did, they would obviously have come forward—”
“You knew,” Morgana says, decidedly, and she seems almost excited. As if she's happy about — about —
All of them are right about her. Morgana can be very cruel.
Gwen had so easily trusted her, thought they were friends. It was laughable almost. She would laugh, certainly, if she wasn't scared out of her wits.
Gwen is shaking her head now, vehement.
“No, Morgana, I swear to you, I didn't know,” she says, in a tone she hates, pleading. “I didn't. I didn't even who she was. I just — I asked because I was curious, I don't know why — please, forget it, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me—”
Something in this, thankfully, seems to break Morgana out of whatever she's thinking. She blinks and takes a step back, clear guilt flashing across her face.
“Gwen, Gwen,” Morgana says, hands up in a calm down kind of way. “I'm sorry, I just — I jumped to conclusions. Sorry, of course I believe you.”
Morgana's lying. And badly. She doesn't believe Gwen.
But Gwen doesn't know what to do now. Would Morgana report her? What would her father do if — if something happened? What if they did something to her mother? Or, or Elyan? Or —?
“Gwen,” Morgana says, placating, as if she knows what Gwen's thinking. “Really. It's okay. I promise. It's fine. I reacted too strongly.” She pauses, clearly conflicted. “I'll just leave for now, I apologise again—”
She's going to tell someone.
“Would — would you like to eat something?” Gwen offers, desperate for Morgana to not go right now, somehow buy herself some time, as if she can win Morgana back over or something stupid like that. “Or we could go to the market or something?”
“Really, Gwen, you don't have to,” Morgana says, and Gwen abruptly feels her eyes stinging. Why did she do this, why did she —
This is all Gwen's fault.
She doesn't speak as Morgana says her goodbyes. Gwen forces a nod. Morgana leaves. She's still there, sitting at the table, when Elyan comes back home.
Gwen looks at him and bursts into tears.
Elyan is horrified. He comes and pats her back, awkwardly. Gwen doesn't say a word. She doesn't want Elyan to know what she's done. He'll hate hate hate her.
(x)
Gwen stays awake the entire night, guilty, terrified, jumping at every noise. The banging she keeps expecting doesn't come. Her mind wanders.
Gwen had been very sick once, when she was a child. The healer they went to, he said that there was nothing to be done.
Gwen, even so young, had known she was going to die. She knew what it meant.
Elyan had cried all night. Her mother had kept her company, held her hand. And then her father had come back home with Maria in tow, who was very thin, her hair red and bright. She had touched Gwen's forehead, and whispered something. Then she'd reached into her pocket and brought out a vial. Her father made her sit up and drink it.
She fell asleep and when she woke up the next morning, she was completely fine. Her body didn't ache at all, her eyes didn't burn.
She had known to not ask her father how it happened. In turn, her father knew to not remind her that she couldn't tell anyone. She knew. She never told a soul.
Maria, yesterday, had been walking down the steps on the citadel.
Someone had been walking behind her, the tailor or the carpenter or someone, their young baby boy held in one hand.
And then something had happened, the man had tripped — his baby had gone flying, almost comically, Elyan had said in a dark tone when he recounted the incident, and Maria had just — she'd raised her palm upwards, outwards.
And the baby, as if by magic, had floated and settled down on the ground.
“Only some people really saw it,” Elyan had said, shaking his head. “But still, it was like — Maria didn't even mean to do it. That it just happened. That she didn't realise what she'd done until she'd done it.” He frowned. “You know, the strange thing? Everyone looked away, immediately. Got busy, got loud. There was a patrol crossing. I saw one of the knights see. I know he saw. But he just looked at the man, rushing to his baby, and then looked away. You know who didn't, though?”
Gwen had known, even then.
“Princess Morgana,” Elyan says, bitter. He's always liked Maria. “She started shouting, said she'd seen her doing magic. The knights captured Maria then and there.”
Gwen worries herself sick.
But then the sun rises and the banging on the door still hasn't come. She gets up, washes. She can't understand what's happening at all.
(x)
Over breakfast, Elyan tells her, smug, that there had been no burning after all.
Maria had escaped.
(x)
Morgana doesn't come back for almost a month. Gwen stops waiting for someone to break down their door and tell her she's arrested.
And then, out of the blue, she comes back from work — she's found work! The seamstress at the corner in the market thinks she has a lot of potential but then again, she's friends with Gwen's mother so she might not be completely truthful — anyway, Morgana's waiting outside her house.
Immediately, Gwen tenses up.
“Your Highness,” she says, carefully.
“Gwen,” Morgana tries for a smile, but it's weak. “I'm sorry I didn't come around for so long.”
“It’s no problem,” Gwen wonders why she's come around now, anyway. But, still, she does have something to say. She's wanted to say it, no matter the outcome. “I — thank you. For, um.”
“Please, Gwen,” Morgana looks ashamed. “I've done nothing worth thanking.” She sighs. “Is there any way — that we could possibly—” She sighs again, and looks at Gwen, face drawn. “The truth is, I've missed you.”
There's a long silence.
“I've missed you, too,” Gwen admits.
And just like that, it's like it never happened.
But Gwen is careful now, to never, ever push.
(x)
Gwen is sixteen, when everything changes.
Her mother's been sick for a while, now. Her hands hurt when she works and she walks very slowly up the steps. But then, one day, she can't walk at all. She can't get up at all. And then — one day —
The next few days are a blur in her head. Everything's happening so fast. Her father gets everything done, all the arrangements, all the people, the ceremony; he's so, so strong. Gwen can't even hold his hand without shaking, sobbing. Her mother is — she's gone. She's just gone. Gwen's never going to see her again.
And then — and then Elyan isn't home either.
She and her father look for him, everywhere, all day, all week — they don't find him. I can't breathe here anymore, he'd said, the night before. The same way Gwen and her father were — Elyan and their mother had also always been very close. He used to tell her everything, she was his one confidant, the only person he took any advice from. Everytime I'm in this house, he'd said, I want to die too.
Elyan had left. He hadn't even told Gwen.
But then again, Gwen hadn't asked. She'd been too caught up in her own pain.
Aside from everything else, the money has halved.
Her mother worked two jobs initially, and then one, almost until the end. Elyan worked not only with their father, but did a lot of odd jobs here and there — at the mason’s, at the butcher’s.
Now, suddenly, there's barely enough to buy food for two square meals a day. Her father can handle only half the orders he could before, with nobody to help him at the shop.
Gwen starts to learn. But still, it's not enough. They start to make clocks, horseshoes, along with the usual ploughs, axes. Swords. It's still not enough. Most of their customers can't pay a lot, is the thing, nobody has much money.
Worse, the job at the seamstress’s doesn't pay much at all, even though Gwen gets her fair share, and it takes a lot of time from her day. She has to quit and find something better.
Help comes from a completely unexpected source.
After her mother's passing, Prince Arthur had come along with Morgana to give his sympathies. Gwen hadn't known that Prince Arthur even knew they were friends, she had just assumed that Morgana would feel a little embarassed to tell anyone, or maybe she wouldn't because it just wasn't proper.
A month or so after, he comes with Morgana again, to meet.
They're arguing about something, as they usually are.
“Because I don't require one, Arthur,” Morgana is saying, as Gwen opens the door. “Hello, Gwen!” She turns back to Arthur almost immediately, “I don't need someone to dress me up, the way you do.”
“I'm not saying that,” Arthur says, clearly frustrated, “I'm just saying that Uther is bound to order you get a maidservant sooner or later and if you don't want to be stuck with someone as terrifying as George, you should hurry up and choose someone on your own!”
“Maidservant?” Gwen asks, carefully.
“See,” Arthur says, gesturing wildly, “She's curious. Because she listens before forming an opinion! It's not such a big—”
“I don't want someone who doesn't even like me living in my quarters all day, Arthur!” Morgana huffs.
“Atleast you're aware of how unbearable you are, since you're just assuming they won't like you—”
“Your manservant hates you, I'm learning from the only example I have—”
“George does not hate me, he—”
“He does! He has to drag you out of bed, when you are at your absolute worst, by the way, and then tolerate your sorry self all day, while being polite and respectful when he probably just feels like screaming at you—”
“He's paid for that! And he has a good position in the household! He — he gets a gift on his name day—”
“Oh, well, if he gets a gift,” Morgana says, poisonous.
Arthur and Morgana glare at each other.
“It doesn't sound so bad to me,” Gwen volunteers, timidly. Morgana immediately looks embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she says, wincing, “You must be thinking how I’m so spoiled—”
“You are,” Arthur mutters.
“—really, ignore us,” Morgana says. “How is everything with you?”
“Um,” Gwen glances down. “It's okay. We — we couldn't find Elyan. He left Camelot that night itself, I think.” They both make similarly pained expressions. “But it's okay, really. Things are getting — well, they're going to get better.” She smiles, a little. “I really believe that, no matter how stupid it may sound at the moment.”
“It doesn't sound stupid, Gwen,” Arthur says, strained. “It's just about the bravest thing I've ever heard.”
Gwen's certain that's not true, since Arthur commands soldiers on a regular basis.
“I try,” she says, instead, shrugging. “I left my job at the seamstress's.”
“But you liked that work, you said,” Morgana frowns.
“There’s hardly any business nowadays,” Gwen admits.
“Oh,” Morgana is quieter now.
There's silence for a moment. Gwen wishes she had something to tell that wouldn't make everyone upset all over again.
“You know,” Arthur says, suddenly, “And this is just an idea, but think about it —” He looks at Morgana. “You need a maidservant—”
“I really don't—”
“And Gwen needs a better paid job,” Arthur raises his eyebrows. Morgana falls silent. “Atleast this way, you’ll know she doesn't hate you.”
“Oh, no, I couldn't possibly accept that—”
“She obviously wouldn't want to, Arthur, why are you even—”
“It's too kind, really, but I don't think I'm — I'm not qualified at all — I would have no idea what to do—”
“—suggesting something like that,” Morgana snaps her mouth closed. “Wait, what did you say?”
“Oh,” Gwen says, flustered. “I just… well, I don't know if I'd be any good at that. I really couldn't ask for, um, such a big favour.”
“A favour? You mean,” Morgana blinks. “You wouldn't mind?”
“Mind?” Gwen is confused.
“No, it's just, we're friends, you know,” Morgana says, uncomfortably. “I thought you might feel… I thought you might not like that.”
“Oh,” Gwen says. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's thinking, a touch derisive, there's no way, after everything that happened, that Morgana still thinks that Gwen considers them equals. Gwen's well aware of where she stands. “I didn't really think of that. But I don't think that's the problem, really—”
“That's settled then,” Arthur claps his hands together. They both turn to look at him, incredulous. He powers through. “Gwen, listen, you'd be doing Morgana a favour by accepting. And you'd get training, obviously, before you start. We'll vouch for you so you don't have to worry about anything.”
Gwen's silent for a moment.
“If you really mean that,” she says, carefully, “I'd be very grateful.”
“Of course, Gwen,” Morgana says. She probably wants to add why didn't you just ask me? and Gwen is infinitely glad she doesn't.
(x)
Gwen does get training.
She gets the feeling that everyone is ten times nicer to her and a hundred times more forgiving of her mistakes because of how strongly Arthur and Morgana had endorsed her. She makes a few friends, here and there, but everyone seems a bit intimidated by her.
She understands, of course.
Arthur grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her when he sees her in the kitchens once, in full view of the staff there, does not help. These things spread like wildfire, with the way the servants gossip. They're all too scared of her to really be friends with her. Once, Gwen enters the servants’ quarters and they're all laughing about something, she had only caught a bit of their conversation, “—and the Prince just started—” but they shut up as soon as she enters, and glance at each other, nervous.
They think she'd tell on them to Arthur.
Anyway, the pay really is very good and the training is not so difficult. It also helps, knowing that when George instructs her, sternly, if the food is cold, you will be fired, Gwen knows not to take him too seriously. She doubts Morgana will even want her to do half these things for her. She does learn the proper serving manners, however, banquet etiquette and extra duties she'll have during festivals and feasts.
In just under two months, she's deemed ready. Here she is: Lady Morgana's maidservant.
And look at that. Things did get better.