Author's Notes:

Hi! This is a work where Gwen's mother was well versed in folk magic and taught it to her daughter. It's not quite like Merlin's kind of magic. It deals more in household tasks or problems, herblore, and fortune-telling. I kind of wrote it in response to not being able to find many Gwen-centric works. She was a character I was never particularly interested in, which is why I wanted to write this.
This is Gwen-centric, fairly character driven, and will feature Merlin's POV quite prominently as well. Anyway, this is more of an experiment than anything else. I just wanted to show Gwen a little love and attention. Sometimes, her quiet strength is overlooked.

Chapter 1: The New Boy in Town

Guinevere had become familiar with being a doppelgänger.

She was a maid, just like her mother before her. She had the same duties that her mother had performed every day. The same hair. The same eyes. Her father had said more and more each year that her voice was just like her mother's. Whenever she said something, anything really, he'd smile and shake his head. "You sound just like your mother." The little old man down the lane, who had lived there forever, now confused her with her mother every day. "Good day, Anwen!" He would call to her, gap-toothed but still smiling. And she would give him some sort of answer, probably the same as her mother did before her. Even her brother had said it when she had tried to stop him from doing something stupid; like climbing that dead tree, or picking fights, or leaving home. He had said: "You sound just like her. You're not mother!"

Even she had noticed it.

She was in the bustling kitchens of Camelot right now, looking down at her hands. Her mind had wandered. And now she had noticed. Her hands looked just like her mother's hands, thin and small but the fingers were long and strong. They were rough. Her mother's had been rough too, but warm. Guinevere's palm almost tingled as she remembered her mother drawing lines across her tiny hands with a strong finger, telling her that there were breaks in everybody's lines and that she should not worry herself about it. Hands reading her mirror image. Their hands had even had the same lines. It was almost as if her body was not hers. Was her mind even her own?

Someone knocked into her.

Guinevere started, gasped.

"You done with that?" A kitchen maid nodded at the cutting board.

"Oh!" She had just been standing there for however long, she couldn't remember, hands resting next to the herbs she had been cutting, knife slack in her hand. She had been daydreaming again. "Sorry. Almost done." Guinevere cleared her throat, blinking, and finished chopping up the ground apple she was preparing for an infusion. It was a bunch of fresh wild flowers that she had picked earlier today. She had spotted the tiny white and yellow blooms in a nearby meadow the other day and woke up early today to pick them for her lady. She then gathered the minced flowers into a white handkerchief, tied it, and hurried off. "I'm off." She mumbled to the kitchen maids, taking Lady Morgana's breakfast as she went.

The sun was just about risen by now. A rising sun and no clouds to be seen yet, just a haze over the hills as the cold, night-chilled lands began to heat in the sun's light. Guinevere paused here where she could see the sun. Feel its warmth on her face. The only difference between her and her mother was that she was alive and her mother had been dead these ten years or so. The memories were slipping away. And all that remained to remind Guinevere of her mother was, strangely enough, her own body.

Guinevere stirred herself, took a deep breath, then hurried up to her lady's chambers. She knocked softly then entered on the count of three. Of course, her lady was still abed. A lump shifted slightly under the thick blankets and a wash of dark hair was laid out over the white pillow.

"Good morning, Lady Morgana." Guinevere was gentle when she set the tray on the table and turned around, reaching for the curtains that covered the windows.

"Don't!"

Guinevere stopped. "My lady?"

"I am not… quite ready." Came the muffled, slow, and sleepy answer.

Guinevere found herself smiling then turned back to the breakfast on the table. "I'll just get that fire going again and make an infusion for you."

"Good…yes…do that… Infusion?"

"Yes." And Guinevere got to work. She stoked the waning coals from last night, added on more firewood from the little pile there, and got the flames good and hot. She filled a little pot with water from the bucket she'd brought up last night and hung the pot over the fire. Guinevere brushed off her hands and turned around. Her lady was finally sitting up in bed, watching her work.

"Good morning." Guinevere smiled at the sleepyhead-ed noblewoman, taking in the tangle of black hair she would have to tackle in a short while. So…many…knots…

"Ugh!" And Lady Morgana flopped backwards, back into her blankets, sighing. "How do you do it, Gwen! I can hardly move."

Gwen suppressed a snort. She could hardly move too in the mornings. She just didn't have a choice. But she answered properly. "I don't know, my lady."

"Come, Gwen, bring your sleep-clothes in here and we will go back to bed and pretend this day never happened." The lady spoke into her pillow the entire time.

That was it! Every morning it was the same. Every blessed morning! Gwen marched forward and tossed open the curtains. "Pretend this lovely day never happened?" She made sure the growing sunlight fell over the Lady Morgana.

"Mmm! I said I wasn't quite ready!" But Morgana sat up anyway, slow, and moaning.

"My mistake." Gwen hurried back over to the now boiling pot of water and took it off the hook, setting it on the stone floor with a light thud. She took the little handkerchief full of ground apple flowers and opened it.

"I had another dream last night."

Well then, it was lucky Gwen had noticed the white flowers yesterday. Gwen leaned over the ground apple and spoke a few words to the chopped flowers before dropping them in the hot water. She told them to do their work well and to taste sweet and to calm her lady's nerves. Spoke gently to them. Encouraging them. And then she left the herb to steep in the little pot. Fill everything and everyone you meet with love, her mother had always said.

"Did you, my lady?" Gwen asked. "Was it a normal dream, or…?" She left the question open ended. Lady Morgana rarely liked to talk about her dreams much less give the more terrifying and vivid ones a name. They were more than nightmares, Gwen suspected, more sinister. But she said nothing. Her thoughts were not her own to give. She got up from the stone floor, knees popping and other joints creaking a little. Stone floors could be so rude to your bones.

"It was horrible." Her lady whispered. "I remember little, save for the feeling of being so helpless… and hurt."

Gwen picked up the silver dish from the tray and brought it over to the bed, settling it in the blankets. "It's over now, my lady."

"Not inside my head."

Gwen took Morgana's hand in both of her own. That little hand was cold. "My lady-" She began.

The dark-haired woman, pale and wild-looking from a sleep that obviously had not given her any real rest, corrected her. "Morgana."

Gwen smirked. "My lady Morgana." She played dumb.

And then there was that smile. There was that curling at the corners of her lady's lips. Much better. "Guinevere." Her lady warned her. "Just Morgana…please."

"Morgana…" Gwen agreed, nodding, patting Morgana's small, feather-like hand within her own rough ones. She had to be gentle with this hand, she felt like the rough edges of her own might catch and tear Morgana's silky skin. She continued. "I have bread and honey for you and I braved the cook's wrath when I snuck a wee bit of the last of the whitty pear preserves. Now…" She tore off a bit of the bread and spooned some of the sweet fruit onto it. "Eat."

Lady Morgana took the bread from Gwen and ate it without a word. A slight frown. A pout. It wouldn't last long though. "Thank you, Gwen."

"You're welcome." Gwen smiled again and moved back to the little pot of hot water, cooling on the floor, now infused with ground apple flowers. "Now keep doing that while I finish making your drink."

She heard Morgana sigh behind her, but a shift in the blankets and the plate and spoon clinking told her the lady was now eating. Mouth obviously full, Morgana spoke again. "Is that the hot water that tastes of apples?"

"Yes, my lady."

A pause from her lady. "I rather liked it last time."

"That's good." Gwen took the white handkerchief and fitted it over a rough clay cup, holding it there with one hand.

Some more clinking. "It was very… well, it made me feel a little lighter, my mood was easier, maybe it was soothing?"

"It's meant to be." Gwen took the handle of the little pot in her other hand and poured the steaming water through the handkerchief and into the cup. The cloth caught all the chopped flowers and only the water passed through.

"Is it?"

Gwen set the pot down and straightened up again. "It's good for nerves." She handed the warm cup to Lady Morgana. "My mother made it for me all the time."

Morgana looked up at Gwen, smiling, and took the cup. "Did she?"

"It's called 'ground apple', my lady. 'Cause of the smell, and the taste." Gwen wiped her hands on her apron.

"Did your mother also mutter constantly while making it? Morgana took a small sip. "Oh it's still very hot! But I heard you over there, talking about something."

Gwen nodded, keeping a smile plastered on her face while doing so, while she worked out some words to explain herself. "Oh, that…" She laughed a little. Yes, act casual. Your mother had done it for so long, can't you too? "It was nothing…"

Her mother had called the little recitations 'prayers' or 'words of love'. Just things to say while you're preparing some food, or cleaning a house, tending to animals, weeding a garden. They were a little extra help. They made a blackberry harvest taste sweeter. They helped decide the best time to let the pigs out to forage. And so on and so forth. Who was going to marry who? What day should you dig your well? So natural, so normal, the words were just a part of life. Almost like breathing. What her mother, Anwen the maid, had not called those words, was exactly what they decidedly were. Charms. Spells. Magic.

"I was just thinking out loud about all my chores today, lots to do, what with…with the celebrations so soon. Cook's having a fit in the kitchens, needs everyone's help." Guinevere shrugged. "You know: help Cook, mend some maids' dresses, mend your dresses, gather firewood for guests' rooms, and so on."

"Oh, yes, that." Morgana began to frown again, staring down into her drink. "I don't think there needs to be any sort of feast tonight." And her gaze strayed to the window.

Gwen followed it. Oh… that. The execution.

Gwen's heart threatened to start aching at that tragedy. That poor man…

But there's no time. She took a deep breath. There's no time to cry over every helpless creature that was caught in a trap. Not when she had to make sure she wasn't caught in one herself.

"My lady." Gwen stepped over to the fire again and got the flames going good and hot. The room was becoming little warmer now. March was such a chill month, halfway between the life of spring and the stillness of winter. "Is there anything else you need for breakfast? By your leave, I'm going to go start airing out some of the guest chambers."

"As you like." Morgana waved her hand at Gwen, staring into her cup again. "Come back in an hour to help me dress."

"Thank you, my lady."

And she left to go shake out the dusty curtains she'd noticed the other day. Goodness knows they needed it. Too bad there weren't any charms to rid curtains of dust. Alas, she knew of none. This was one job she'd have to do by herself.

Of course she didn't get to all the guest chambers yesterday.

Gwen strained, reaching up as high as she could. The little stool she was on still wasn't enough. Wasn't tall enough. She got up on her tiptoes, wavering back and forth.

No of course not! That would have been too easy!

She grasped the edge of the curtain. Just a little further… There! The curtain came unhooked from the bracket there. And then she promptly lost her balance. The world spun.

This was the last chamber she had to air out and she was going to kill herself doing it!

The stool tipped to the side. Overturned. Gwen tumbled to the ground, tangled in the curtain. And now she had a big lungful of dust to deal with. But it had been a soft landing. Coughing, she pulled the cloth off her head and squinted up at the now bare window. The dust motes floated there lazily in the light. "Well…" She cleared her throat. "At least it's down now."

Of course Cook had to recruit her for the feast because there never were enough kitchen staff. Of course all the maids needed their dresses mended right that second. Of course Morgana had been in a foul mood after the execution. Gwen stood up, still coughing a little. She didn't blame the poor lady, but honestly, it didn't help that she had insisted that Gwen stay and chat for over three hours.

Gwen bundled up the curtain in her arms and walked back to the window. She flung the dirty curtain out of window, keeping two fistfuls tight in her hands, and began to shake. The cloud of dust that arose! Whew! Gwen had to stop and step back, blinking. The dust settled.

She could see down in to the courtyard where servants and guards passed through, carrying out daily tasks, preparing for the visit of Lady Helen. The Prince was down there on the green, training or practicing or something along those lines with his gaggle of fellow boys. Gwen began shaking the curtain again. She hesitated to call them men. Children, was probably the better word for that group. Some sort of target practice. Something to that nature. She let the curtain hang still for a moment. The Prince was throwing knives…at a servant. Good lord. Gwen sighed. The servant was behind the target, but obviously scared.

Who would not be scared. They are knives, flying at you, and very sharp!

And she knew that boy. Morris… Morris something. She'd brought his mother a remedy once, for achy joints.

And no one was helping!

Gwen had a mind to throw down her curtain right this second. March down there. Right now. And give those 'children' a talking to. Throwing knives! She ought to throw knives right back at him. She ought to-

Morris had tripped, the target fell out of his hands, and rolled to the feet of a village boy. And the black-haired boy put his foot on the target when poor Morris tried to pick it up again. Gwen squinted. Who was that?

The black-haired boy was saying something. The Prince and all the other 'children' all turned around.

God's teeth! Why couldn't she be down there and hear what was going on?

The Prince was walking towards the scrawny black-haired boy. Yes, that probably was not good. The boy held out his hand to the Prince, a handshake she supposed. Well, of course the Prince ignored that. They were still talking, face-to-face now. A couple more words exchanged. Gwen noticed that she herself was half hanging out of the window at this point. She reeled herself back in.

The village boy was walking away. No, the Prince had just said something else. And they were back to talking. Lovely. Oh, and now the Prince was challenging the boy. He held his arms out, big stupid grin on his face.

Am I about to witness a murder?

Of course the stupid boy tried something. He threw the worst punch Gwen had ever seen. And of course the Prince twisted the poor boy's arm behind his back. She cringed. That looked painful. It looked like something Elyan had tried on her when they were playing as children, or fighting, either way it had been about the same.

And soon enough a few guards came around and hauled the black-haired, scrawny village boy away. It was strange that she had not yet recognized him. She thought that she knew everyone in the city of Camelot, if not by name, then by face. At least someone had done something for Morris. Whoever he was, he was stupid and brave, or just stupidly brave. One of those.

The next day, the gossip in the kitchens was usually so banal and mundane that two of the maids were halfway through a conversation about the new boy in town who was in the stocks and how he'd stood up for Morris against the Prince and goodness was he funny with his big ears but kind of sweet-looking in a- God's Teeth they were talking about the dark-haired boy! Gwen resisted whirling around and strained her ears to catch heir words instead. The two maids did not say much else of worth. As usual. Too bad. She had hoped for a name. But, oh well. Cook needed some her knives sharpened and on the way to her father's blacksmith shop she would pass by the stocks. So convenient.

So when the gaggle of children, who had been hurling armloads of rotten fruit and vegetables at the boy in the stocks, finally tumbled off in search of more refuse, Gwen took her chance. She walked forward just as he was spitting out a seed or two. The maids were right. His ears were ridiculous. She got a good and long look at them when he looked up at her. He probably thought she had something to throw at him too.

She smiled down at him. "I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen." Actually, most people called her 'Anwen', but she was not at a desperate enough point to start introducing herself as her own mother. He was looking a little confused. She continued. "I'm the Lady Morgana's maid."

The dark-haired boy squinted up at her. "Right. I'm Merlin." And he stretched and held out a shackled, seed and marrow-covered hand to her to shake."

Charming. Gwen took his hand and shook it. Absolutely charming. Also a little slimy.

He went on. "Although, most people just call me 'Idiot'." His frown was small but Gwen saw it. Or she heard it in his words. One or the other. She knew she would not specifically call him 'idiot'… 'Simpleton' might have been a better word. But no matter.

Gwen shook her head. "No, no, no, I saw what you did. It was so brave."

"It was stupid." If he could have shrugged, he probably would have.

It was stupid. But good. Poor Morris had needed the help. "Well, I'm glad you walked away." Gwen had been relieved that the Prince had not mashed the boy to a pulp. The Prince was notorious for being a competent fighter. She smirked a little. "You weren't going to beat him." Honestly, though, what had Merlin been thinking when he had started mouthing off to the much larger man?

Merlin the Idiot was grinning. "Oh, I- I can beat him."

Yes, definitely an idiot now.

Gwen could not help but notice that the boy's wrists were almost thin enough that he could just about slip his hands out of the stocks. "You think?" She did not dare point that out specifically. Or mention that fact that it looked like a good stiff breeze might catch him the wrong way and carry him off and over the trees. Insult to injury and whatnot. But she could not help but comment. "Because you don't look like one of those big, muscle-y kind of fellows."

It took him a hilarious moment before he quite puzzled out what she said. Merlin's face fell. "Thanks." He looked quite put out.

Drat. "No!" That may have been too rude. "No, I'm sure you're stronger than you look." Yes, dig your hole a little deeper, Gwen. Soon you'll have a grave. "It's just, erm… Arthur's one of those rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and… well…" This was the reason she usually kept her mouth shut and smiled and nodded. She was a little too honest sometimes.

"What?"

Well, he asked. "You don't look like that." She shook her head.

Merlin the Idiot looked around a moment, looking for others close by. What is he doing? Then he motioned, as best as he could, for her to come in closer. She did. He whispered. "I'm in disguise."

For a moment, one sweet strange moment she believed exactly what he said. She was not sure why. Maybe something about the way he said it. Maybe he said it so well because he believed it himself. But when the small smile at the corners of his mouth began to show itself, she could not help but laugh with him. But mostly she was laughing at herself. Gullible Gwen. It's what Elyan and his friends had called her. For far too long.

But Gwen cleared her throat and sighed. "Well, it's great that you stood up to him."

"What? You think so?" A little spark there, right there in his eyes, told her she had finally said something right.

She nodded, fanning that spark hopefully. "Arthur's a bully, and everyone thought you were a real hero."

"Oh, yeah?" That spark grew into another grin.

"Mm-hmm." She smiled back. Lord, he was infectious.

But his smile faded and he sighed. "Oh, excuse me, Guinevere." Merlin was looking off to the side. Gwen noticed that the children from before had returned. He pointed to the children, as best as he could, and their new harvest of rotten produce. "My fans are waiting."

Gwen hurried past, but could not keep the smirk from her face, leaving Merlin the Idiot to his dear fans.

RESEARCH NOTES

1.) "Ground apple" is an older term for Chamomile, a wild flower that reportedly smells similar enough to apples that it earned that name. Chamomile has been used for quite a while to calm nerves.

2.) Whitty pear is another term for a Service Tree, the fruit of which is used in preserves around this time.