Crack fic of sorts. I've taken a bit from some of the Arthurian myths, as well.
In which Snow is the Princess of Camelot. The beautiful Queen of Camelot longed for a child, though she and her King could not bear an heir. Luckily for her, her sister-in-law and best friend could not stand the sight of hers. She had hair black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow.
Once upon a time, there lived a King and Queen so beloved by their people that the townspeople lovingly referred to the time in which they lived the 'Golden Age of Camelot'.
The kingdom prospered; everyone had jobs, food, health and happiness. Children were carefree, for there were no wars or invaders. Everyone was happy.
Everyone, that is, except the Queen.
Queen Guinevere wanted nothing more than a child. She spent her days wishing, praying and hoping. She'd lost two children already. Her first child, a little girl, was dead at birth. Her second child had always been sickly, but fell terribly ill at the age of five. He was so ill that not even the Court Sorcerer (the King's most trusted adviser) could save him. The poor child had been cursed by the enemies of King Arthur; so the devastated King in turn waged a war, killing the king and destroying the kingdom. Since then, no war had been fought.
The Queen had locked herself in her chambers, crying, mourning the loss of her children, her babies. The worst fate to befall a parent was a child's death. For her it happened twice. She would shy away from the King's touch, terrified to let him down again.
"Guinevere," he would say as she stared out the window, watching the stars shine, "come to bed, love."
She would nod minutely and join him. They still would not have a child.
Years later, the King's half-sister (and High Priestess) surprised them with news at dinner. She should've noticed that the Lady Morgana had hardly touched her wine.
"I'm with child," she said with a wide smile, clasping the Warlock's hand in her own. He wore a matching grin, blue eyes shining with joy.
The Queen burst out into a wide smile and rushed out of her seat to hug the pair, with the King staring at them with a little smile.
"Well, Merlin, Morgana," Arthur grinned a little, "congratulations." He wanted to add 'it's about time, now when are you finally getting married?' but kept his thought to himself.
"Thank you," Merlin and Morgana chorused, hands still clasped so tightly together.
"I'm going to be an aunt," Gwen giggled like she was a young girl once more, dark curls bouncing up and down.
"The best aunt in the world," Morgana said, biting her lip in excitement.
The High Priestess's pregnancy was an easy one. She was perfectly calm, and experienced no complications for eight months.
All was well in Camelot. Except for a battle being fought with the neighbouring kingdom of Essiter. King Arthur had left with his knights, with the Knights of the Roundtable (Lancelot, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Elyan) leading the way. Merlin had accompanied them for advice and a bit of magic if need be.
The two women had stood by the wrought and wooden doors of the castle in front of their respective loves to bid them luck and safety. Morgana turned to her brother and hugged him.
"Bring him back safe, I beg of you," she whispered. He nodded. He would always care for Merlin with his life. It was the least he could do after all he had done for him when he was still prince.
She then hugged Merlin, pressing him close. His hands rested on her large stomach, as if he were communicating with the yet unborn child.
"I will always come back for you. Even if I get lost, I will always find you," he said. She laughed a little, remembering the scare she had when he had gotten lost in the woods, only to turn up in Camelot two days later, covered in mud. And the time she had gotten lost in the woods after escaping from a group of bandits, only to be found by Merlin around sunset, who was frowning with worry.
He kissed his lover goodbye, and rode off with the men.
A week later, only half of the men returned. Essiter was now King Arthur's, but the casualties had been great.
A very pregnant High Priestess ran to the courtyard, dress billowing behind her. When she saw the King alone, her hand flew to her mouth, tears flowing down her cheeks. Arthur himself looked as if his heart had been ripped out.
"You promised!" she screamed at him.
He held his sister by the elbows as she proceeded to punch his chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, hugging her close to him.
Gwen rushed forward, taking the sobbing Lady into her arms, stroking her hair, trying to comfort her like she used to.
"He's gone, Gwen," she croaked helplessly when she was in her chambers.
She was in bed, hair piled on top of her head in a messy way. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face pale.
"We'll find him," Gwen assured her.
Morgana shook her head. He'd just disappeared in the middle of the battle. No one knew what had happened to him. She hoped he was safe, but something in her heart told her she'd never see him again.
That was the night the child of Lady Morgana and Merlin was born. She was a wee one, and the Queen immediately loved her niece.
The newborn already had a head of dark curls atop her head, and long, dark eyelashes. She had hair dark as ebony, lips red as roses, and skin white as snow. She looked every bit the combination of her parents.
As Morgana held her in her arms, she began to cry.
"Morgana, what's the matter? She's healthy and beautiful," the Queen asked her friend.
"She looks just like him," Morgana whispered.
Large blue eyes and ears that stuck out from behind the mop of curls. Yes, Gwen could see the babe had taken after her father.
Morgana looked up at Gwen, distress etched across her face.
"I can't do this," she said quietly.
Gwen was seated across from Morgana, and let out a startled noise as Morgana handed the child over to her.
"What?" the Queen was confused.
"I can't do this. Will you please take care of her?" Morgana asked, green eyes desperate.
The Queen's nostrils flared in shock and anger. Here was this perfect child and Morgana wanted to give her up!
"Morgana!"
"She looks like him. Every time I look at her, all I'm going to see is him," she said as calmly as she could.
Gwen bit her lip, looking at the baby in her arms.
"What shall I call her?" she asked Morgana.
She smiled, "Margaretha. Merlin chose the name for a girl. I chose for a boy."
Her smile faltered until ultimately a frown was left in its place. Gwen grasped her friends hand in comfort.
"Margaretha Pendragon. Princess of Camelot."
The High Priestess, the Lady Morgana, was never to be heard from again. It was rumoured that she left to live on the Isle of the Blessed, and that she died there alone from a broken heart. No one knows when, or if, she even died. What was true, though, was that she resided at the Isle.
Princess Margaretha grew up to be as beloved by the people as her parents' were. She was King Arthur's pride and joy. The townspeople and members of court alike always looked on in sympathy as they saw how the King looked at his daughter. Like he was in pain, mourning the loss of his dearest friend and sister every time he looked at her.
The girl grew up to have hair in ringlets as black as night, just like her birth mother's. Her eyes remained large, but the intense blue of her father's faded to the light green of her mother's, though whenever she wore a blue dress (the one she knew her father liked most, blue with a red sash) her eyes seemed to return to their former shade. She rarely had her hair up, as her ears tended to stick out (quite adorably, as her mother would say, and her father would agree wholeheartedly). Her complexion was always pale, her skin snow white.
In fact, the children of Camelot began to call her just that, 'Snow White' affectionately, as a term of endearment. By her seventh birthday, she found herself answering to the name 'Snow'.
Even Queen Guinevere used her nickname, a smile always upon her lips. The mother and daughter did everything together; horseback riding, picking flowers in the field, painting, reading, and even sword fighting in the armoury. They would walk around the kingdom together, the young Princess greeting everyone by name, and if she did not know them, she'd always politely ask for their name. She'd always remember. Birds and woodland creatures began to follow her around, and she'd speak to them as if they could understand her. Guinevere theorised that it was magic, inherited from Morgana and Merlin. Perhaps she really could understand them. She wondered when her magic would bloom, and if she'd be more powerful than Merlin and Morgana combined.
Each night Gwen would read tell her a story, of the powerful warlock and the bewitching lady of court who fell in love, and together were undefeatable. She'd go on, saying how that evil forces interfered, kidnapping one or the other, and that they would always find each other. Always. She would regal her with tales of a curse, and how true love's kiss could save anyone from any curse. Each time, she would smile sadly before kissing Snow on the forehead, wishing her sweet dreams. (Snow didn't know of her older sister, or the brother who died from a curse. There were many things she didn't know.)
The Princess was in her thirteenth year when tragedy struck Camelot once again. The Queen, who so badly had wanted a child, and had been given one by fate and her friend, passed away. She had waited one evening for her bedtime story, but her mother never came.
Snow found herself in her parents' chambers, kneeling next to the bed. Her mother clasped her hand in hers, stroking her thumb over her soft hand.
"Mother," tears streamed down Snow's face, and Gwen couldn't help but recall Morgana's sobs as she learned of Merlin's disappearance. She grimaced.
King Arthur stood behind Margaretha, watching as his wife took her final breaths.
"Margaretha, promise me one thing," she whispered.
"Anything, mother," she nodded.
"Snow, find Morgana," Guinevere heaved, receiving a startled look from her husband and confused look from the girl at the mention of her long lost 'aunt'.
"Arthur, when she's old enough, you must let her, please," Gwen's brown eyes met Arthur's blue, and he nodded solemnly.
"Anything," he moved to the other side of the bed and kissed his wife soundly on the lips.
Never before had Snow seen so many people donned in black for mourning. She supposed her grandfather's funeral her been similar, but he died nearly a decade before she was even born. She stood next to her father, the knights whom she referred to as 'uncles', close by.
Her Uncle Elyan, her mother's brother, looked distraught. He had no family left. Her right hand was clinging tightly to her father's, but her left hand took hold of her uncle's. He smiled weakly at his niece and she offered him a smile.
Her father looked like death. He'd lost his wife, the two siblings she now knew about whom she'd never meet, (and from what she'd heard, his best friend and Court Adviser, and his sister, an aunt whom she'd never even met). She wondered fleetingly if true love's kiss could awaken her, but then shook her head at the silly thought. It could only break curses, and her mother was not cursed, just ill.
Behind her she heard a shaky breath and turned around. Sir Lancelot stared straight ahead at the Queen, who looked as if she was only sleeping peacefully, her silver crown glistening from the sun streaming in through the windows.
Snow's lips curved into a frown, and she tried to catch the knight's eye, but it was as if he could see no one but the once Queen. He had always been kind to her, letting her borrow his horse and bringing her treats. He called her the Littlest Princess and looked after her. All of the knights did. He and Sir Percival would take turns in letting her sit on their shoulders until she was seven. Then, as Sir Gwaine said, she got too heavy. She responded by kicking him in the knee and sticking her tongue out, and Sir Gwaine promised to let her borrow his bow and arrow and teach her to shoot. Sir Leon had been the calmest of her uncles, and he and his wife Lady Lucinda would bring her books on her whim. Sir Percival's wife, Lady Blanchefleur, would often invite her and her mother to their home, serving them tea and biscuits, chatting while she played with their daughter, Ruby. Sometimes Sir Lancelot and his wife, the Lady Elaine of Corbenic (who passed three years ago) and their son Galahad, who was two years older than her, would join them. Sir Gwaine never married, having fallen in love with a fae who lived in the Other World. Her Uncle Elyan never married either, and the two teased their married and settled down friends.
She watched as her parents' friends stood in silence, mourning the loss of not just the Queen, but their friend.
Queen Guinevere was dead and the Golden Age was over.
Snow White ran as fast as her legs could carry her away from the walls of Camelot. She was certain Galahad, the prat, was following her to make sure 'she didn't get hurt'.
'Why are you following me! I made a promise to Mother that I'd find her! I need to go alone,' she shouted at the tall, tan man.
'Because I promised my father I'd keep you safe,' he bristled, looking annoyed and very much like Sir Lancelot.
Snow grumbled. She could take care of herself. She was sixteen, after all. So she kept running, into the woods and away from her family. Her friends.
She knew the truth. She knew why Lancelot wanted her safe. Because she was his best friend's daughter, not the daughter of his ex-lover as she once suspected two years ago. No. Princess Margaretha wasn't really Princess Margaretha.
She was a Pendragon, yes, but on her mother's side. She was the daughter of the High Priestess of the Old Religion, Lady Morgana, and the greatest Warlock in all of Albion, Merlin, also known as Emrys. Her father had disappeared in battle, and her so-called mother couldn't bear to look at her.
So she gave her up. Her own mother didn't want her. Now her adoptive father (her uncle, actually) didn't even want her. All because his new wife regarded her with a scowl each time she saw her. She had seemed so kind before, and Snow hated herself for listening to her drivel, for going on walks with her, for confiding in her. She was the most evil woman she'd ever met, but it was too late because no one had seen Regina for who she was. She had the nerve to refer to Snow as the King's 'bastard sister's own bastard child' in front of Arthur.
The King's blue eyes flared in anger and he curled his fist against his side, not knowing that Snow was on the other side of the door, breathing heavily as she learned her entire existence was a lie.
'Don't you dare talk about her that way. She's my child, no matter her real parents.'
The terrible woman, Regina, said something unintelligible and was rewarded with a glare.
'You insult my sister, and my best friend. And you continue to insult my daughter and wife. OUT!' he shouted.
'You still defend him. He abandoned you,' she sneered.
'Merlin was my friend. He was lost in battle. I will find him again,' the King snarled.
'He was a coward who took the opportunity of the confusion of battle to disappear. Relieving himself of his duties towards his bastard child.'
'Call her that again and you will regret it,' the King's voice was dangerously low.
Snow didn't know what happened next. All she could remember is running. She flew through the castle, tears streaming down her face. Lancelot saw her and stopped her.
'What's the matter?' he asked, eyes wrinkling in concern.
'Merlin,' was all she had to say for his eyes to widen and mouth to gape. That's how she knew that she was not who she thought she was.
So she ran to the forest, her moth—er, Guinevere's last words, ringing in her ears. Find Morgana.
She needed a boat to reach the Isle of the Blessed, and luckily for her, there was one waiting for her. The Isle itself was decrepit and looked to be uninhabited. She imagined that it must have once been grander than a palace, but now it was falling to pieces.
"Hello?" she asked in her soft voice that made the animals follow her.
She heard footsteps and held her breath, looking around. The hood of her white and silver cloak was over her head, blocking her peripheral vision.
"Who are you? What do you want?" came a tired, weary voice.
Snow turned around and came face to face with the High Priestess. Long dark curls streaked with thin wisps of gray, wide green eyes and a smooth porcelain face with a few wrinkles. Snow thought she might look like that in twenty-five years. She pulled the hood down, away from her face. Her mother gasped.
"Margaretha," she said quietly, eyes filling with tears. She'd recognise her little girl anywhere. She looked just like Merlin, but with her eye colour. Shame, she liked Merlin's eyes more than her own.
"You didn't want me," she said softly, "I've been lied to my entire life. My parents turned out to be my aunt and uncle. She's dead, you know. The Queen."
Morgana looked at her daughter sadly, "I am so sorry." She did know. She was a Seer, after all. She sneaked into Camelot, leaving Gwen a letter, warning her of the future. Of the fate to befall the kingdom if her brother wasn't careful. Since Margaretha was here, Morgana was sure Arthur wasn't careful at all.
"No. You don't get to throw a pity party. I just came to find you because that's what Mother, erm, Guinevere, wanted. So I found you. There. I'll be leaving now," Snow stumbled her way through her speech.
"You're not going back to Camelot, are you?" Morgana asked knowingly.
"I have no place there. I'm not a princess," she bit her lip and turned away.
She came all this way for this. To meet the mother who gave her away. "What happened to him? My father?"
"He went missing in battle. No one's seen him since."
"Did you look for him? Did you try at all?" she whirled back to face the High Priestess, green eyes angry.
"I've spent every waking moment for the past sixteen years," Morgana stepped closer to her daughter, "it's consumed my days and nights. Sometimes I go days without sleep, trying to follow a lead trying to find him."
She began to sound hysterical.
"It's part of the reason I knew it was best for Gwen and Arthur to raise you. I wasn't a fit mother. I spend all of my time trying to find him. Hoping, praying. I've raked through the woods at least a hundred times, with no stone left unturned. I even lived in Essiter for five years forcing whoever was left of Cenred's men to tell me what they remembered. They said he was dead. I've used every bit of magic, good and dark alike, that would help me find him, to bring him back. The dead aren't meant to be brought back, but believe me I've tried. There was no one to bring back, so he must be out there somewhere. So don't you dare come and accuse me of not even looking," Morgana finished her rant, panting heavily.
Snow started to cry and Morgana looked to be taken aback.
"Why are you crying?" her voice softened and hesitantly touched Snow on the shoulder.
"You loved him. You still love him," her voice went breathy, like she couldn't breathe.
"Always. He said he'd always find me. Now it's my job to find him," she said in a steely voice. She was determined, and Snow smiled a little. Maybe her mother wasn't so bad after all.
No idea where this came from. I've got more chapters planned, if anyone's interested. Please review if you enjoyed it (or not) and want more chapters (or not).