Title: If the World Ends
Pairing: Morgana/Gwen, (background Morgana/Gwen/Arthur friendship)
Rating: PG13
Word count: 2051
Disclaimer: The characters are property of Shine Ltd on behalf of the BBC, but they're borrowed from Arthurian legend in the first place... I own nothing but the plot.
Warnings: proto-feminism? mentions of canon character deaths.
Summary: A cage is a cage, whether the bars are gilded or wrought iron.
Notes: Many thanks to the appropriately named lefaym for a thorough and speedy beta. Written for hyel in the femslash 09 ficathon
Morgana is only ten years old when she first sets foot in Camelot, her mother long dead and her father so solid at her side, though dead every night in her nightmares. Her father leaves her in King Uther's care and sets off on his mission with promises to be careful, and pays little attention to his daughter's shadowed eyes. She spends her days chasing his young son Arthur round the castle, playing sword fights and increasingly wild pranks both together and on each other. For a while it is nice to have a playmate of her own station, someone who does not always defer to her opinion or let her win. Then the fact that he is actually an insufferable little brat distracts her for a while longer.
When news comes of her father's death, nothing can keep her from the thought that she had known and not prevented it. Arthur allows her a full week of shuttered windows, hushed voices and only the company of the ladies of the court, before he steals her away. Much as she still wishes to hide from the world, another hour of constant fussing and she knows she will not be able to avoid screaming herself hoarse at them. They sneak away in the early light of dawn, with only servants to catch them, though in truth, they are so glad to see her out of her chambers that they turn a blind eye. They sneak out of the gates and into the town, ducking and diving, watching the townspeople as they set up for the market. There's a whole other world out here that Morgana has never seen nor thought much about. She watches Arthur through different eyes, the familiarity and comfort of his movements avoiding the wandering guards with ease, as the stallholders pretend not to see him.
They watch the blacksmith at work for a while, hands steady and skilful, unaware of the pair of them in their hiding place. His skin is darker than any she has seen before, but that is soon forgotten at the appearance his daughter. Father and daughter speak of the best technique for the piece in hand as he works; before he hands over to his daughter, affection underlining the instructions he gives her, hand only occasionally reaching out to steady her younger one.
"Tom the blacksmith is the best in 50 miles. Knights come from the other end of Albion to charge him with important work." Arthur whispers, "He teaches his daughter well. She might grow up to be better smith than he, were she not a girl. If she's lucky she'll have her own stall in the market, a husband who is not a brute, and will not follow her own mother into an early grave in childbirth."
He doesn't mention that that fate befell both their own mothers for all their power and wealth. Morgana thinks of the woman whom she knew nothing of but her father's stories, of Arthur's mother whose death had caused magic to be purged from this entire Kingdom. She cannot put her thoughts into words so instead she asks, "What's her name."
"Guinevere," he responds.
"A name fit for a queen," she murmurs. Arthur responds with a nod, and Morgana continues, "She deserves better than that fate."
"So do you," he states.
Morgana thinks of the cruel words of the ladies of the court to their servants, of the equally cruel gossip between the servants about their mistresses, of the way they talk of her chances of making a good marriage, one that will secure the safety of the kingdom. A cage is a cage, whether the bars are gilded or wrought iron.
Tom, who is more amused than annoyed by their antics, catches them before she can think on it further. He draws them into the forge to watch in the open, too proud of his daughter's skill to care for the gossip it might start. They eat wedges of still warm bread and steal Gwen, as she insists on being called, away to play in the fields beyond the town walls. She walks between them, shy and giggling, a hand in each of theirs and it feels right in a way that few things in Morgana's short tumultuous life have done. Glancing back up the street behind them she can see Tom watching them from the doorway of his forge, and there is a sadness to his smile that gives her a sudden desire to run back and hug him fiercely, as she would have her own father, despite the scolding it would have incurred. Instead she turns away again and holds tighter to Gwen's hand instead.
They are bound together that day, though time with Gwen is fleeting and stolen. Early mornings when Uther and the knights have gone hunting or close to dusk when banquets they are too young to attend occur. Sometimes they bring the training swords from the armoury and Arthur attempts to give the girls lessons; for her own part Morgana learns more from Gwen, who knows little about warfare but much about balance how to handle a sword without hurting oneself. Other times they bring the cut-down dresses that were once Morgana's mothers, which served dressing-up clothes in her younger days. They dress Gwen up in faded finery building her a throne among the trees and call her 'Lady Guinevere'. She laughs at them but plays along knighting them both with a willow wand they find beside a stream, insisting that if she can be a queen than Morgana can certainly be a knight. Morgana gladly plays the gallant hero and spars enthusiastically with Arthur for her hand in marriage. Morgana does not tell either of them about her dreams in which Gwen is truly a Queen with Arthur by her side and Morgana rides out to meet her in real mail though whether with battle or rescue in her heart is as yet unclear.
Time passes, as it will, and they grow older. Morgana has need of a maidservant, she is told, and there is no choice but Gwen in her heart. Separately both she and Arthur convince Gaius to speak with both Uther and Gwen's father, and before she knows where she is, Morgana is being laced into impractical dresses not by alternating almost strangers but by the young woman who would be her best friend if she had any others to compare her to. Arthur grows more distant every day, his days filled with hunting, training the knights and learning the ways of kingship. Their weekly archery lessons no longer filled with good-natured rivalry and insults; instead with cold silences and bitter sniping. Arthur rules his knights with affection and arrogance; while Gwen teaches Morgana how to rebel in small subtle ways that will infuriate those around them without incriminating them.
She's coming down the stairs one evening, their childhoods behind them now, when she hears the sound of Arthur's voice raised in anger. Taunting one of the servants for some perceived slight no doubt, she thinks, like the miniature of his father that he is becoming. She pauses a moment to decide if she is going to ride to the rescue, or merely mock him in private afterwards. From her vantage point she can see who the subject of his ire is and she's ready for both options in that moment. He has Gwen trapped in the stairwell, he's blocking the exit, she's got an armful of dishes from dinner. Her response are calm though Morgana can imagine the way her eyes will flash as she speaks, and this only seems to infuriate him more. She finally snaps before Morgana can decide on the best course of action.
"Just because you are lonely, don't take it out on me. You were the one who stopped being my friend, I did not cease to be yours."
The silence is complete in the aftermath of her words until Gwen begins to stutter her apologies only to have Arthur cut her off, shame in his words.
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I was out of line, I sought to provoke a reaction and I got one. Who am I to complain if your words cause me pain? I…would not wish this loneliness on either of you."
Morgana can here the soft clatter as Gwen puts the dishes down beside herself on the stairs, and sneaks a little further round for a better view. Gwen is perched on one of the steps with her back to Morgana, while Arthur stands slumped against the corner of the doorway, defeat written into the line of his shoulders.
Gwen's voice is soft as she replies, "You don't have to be alone. The three of us used to be friends, we could be again. Even your father has friends, people he trusts like Gaius, if you must follow his path you could at least take the good with the ill."
There is a sadness in the shake of his head and in Arthur's voice as he responds, "I rather think I do. Forgive me Guinevere, for I do not deserve such kindness, though I seek it most truly."
She nods in acquiesce and rises, dishes in hand, continuing on to the kitchens below. Morgana cannot forgive him so easily and flees upwards before she is caught.
It is barely half an hour later when Gwen finds her up on a secluded spot of the roof that she likes to think of as theirs. By now she has paced out most of her frustration, and can flop restlessly upon the sloping slates. She finds her mind drawn inevitably to nights past, of the three of them sitting on this roof with Gaius and his charts spread out on the flat expanse in front of them, explaining the stars and their meanings, the phases of the moon – waxing, waning, crescent and gibbous moons. Her eyes are drawn in turn to where Gwen has laid down beside her, wearing her father's sad smile. Morgana knows hers are not the only thoughts lost in the past. Morgana sends silent wishes to the moon that she will never know such loneliness, less hurt Gwen with it. Gwen's fingers catch in her own, nervously suggesting that perhaps they should make some new memories of their own. This thing between them is new and fragile, as precarious as their perch, neither of them daring to push too far or fast. Tonight is different however, their kisses are no longer hesitant or their touches tentative. There is heat and passion despite the cool night air. With the silvery moon above her and Gwen's dark skin below her lips, she feels more alive and more powerful than she ever knew she could. Writing promises on soft skin with her tongue to keep them from the cages that life has planned for them. In this moment she is so very glad of Arthur's absence, unwilling to share this side of Guinevere – here Gwen doesn't even attempt to protest the use of her full name - with anyone, least of all him. Gwen whispers against her own pale skin promises of her own, of loyalty and love and forever and ever, until the end of the world. Morgana would give anything to believe that either of them will be able to keep their promises forever.
Morgana rarely speaks of her dreams, less of those in which she sees the path that she must follow, less still of those which shows the path that Gwen will follow. She does not resent Gwen for the differing paths they will walk, only regrets that they will not always walk those paths together. She keeps her own council and tries not to feel guilt for the dream where she is banished, yet Gwen waits for her on their patch of roof, wearing the garb of a queen, welcoming her with open arms while a blood moon rises overhead. She does not know if these dreams herald Camelot's destruction or its salvation; all she knows is that their paths will lead them back to each other and that thought makes the path she must walk alone a little easier to take.