Morgana was everything Gwen wished she could be, feisty, independent, and utterly stunning in the most conspicuous manner possible. She walked with a seductive sway to her hips and a crimson-lipped smirk that said she knew she was always being watched. She had also possessed this incredible personality, sometimes-strong sometimes-soft, that had every man, and half of the women, in Camelot utterly spellbound.
It was undeniable that Morgana was a beautiful woman, but Gwen was a pretty girl too, and she didn't go unnoticed. She knew just how to blink so that her long lashes dragged across her cheek, and how to smile with all the warmth and easy charm she had at her command. It was a different sort of appeal to that possessed by Morgana who was (is) impulsive and fiery and, even now, draws everyone's attention like a raging inferno.
There was only one time, Gwen remembers, that she didn't wish to be more like her former mistress. Sitting next to Arthur on a throne where the object of her obsession once sat the bitter sting of betrayal had led her to curse the woman's name then, and for many years to come, as castles fell and knights lay murdered by her hand.
But now, lying far from her and Arthur's room, in a bed belonging to one of his most trusted knights, Gwen can think of nothing but Morgana. It may be a little inappropriate to be thinking of her while, next to her, the curves of Lancelot's chest rise and fall in the pale moonlight, but she's already gone thundering over the boundaries of what is appropriate anyway. It is at this point in her life that the Queen of Camelot realises that, despite what they say, you can betray anything but your heart, and Morgana's heart, broken as it was by UIther's tyranny, needed magic, and did what it thought was best. Gwen has Arthur, and children, and a kingdom of adoring people, she doesn't need Lancelot like Morgana needed her magic. Through the open window Gwen sees Camelot, illuminated by the full moon, and wonders who the real traitor was in the end.