Chapter 2: Cut from the Same Cloth


After talking to Merlin at the stocks, the day passed by slowly amid many tasks and chores that kept Guinevere up until the early hours. So the next morning, dragging her body out of her warm bed was a chore itself. Before she even opened her eyes, she could tell it was going to be a cold morning. There was a distinct contrast between the warm blankets of her bed and the chill air outside of her wonderful blankets. Something scratched her nose.

Guinevere reached up out of the blankets, hesitating, and found one of the sprigs of dried thyme that she had stuffed under her pillow the night before. Thyme was good for sleep and keeping nightmares at bay. And it did. It had kept any uneasy dreams away that night. Something itched her head. Gwen reached back and scratched. She froze. Then sighed. The real nightmare was how all of the thyme had found its way from underneath her pillow and tangled in her hair.

Slightly late and still combing dried thyme leaves from her hair, Guinevere hurried from her father's house and flat out ran to the castle. The streets were mostly empty. Mostly. Speeding up the cobblestones in her dress and petticoat probably looked a little funny. The few people that she passed by made silly comments about her being late or something like that.

And the old man out for his morning stroll raised a hand and called to her. "Good morn, Anwen!", he said.

Gwen tried to smile at him as she ran, huffing and puffing, and panting out a hasty "Good morning!"

Finally, she was trotting up to the castle gates and passed through with a smile and a nod to the guards.

"Mornin', Gwen." They said.

"Good morn, sirs!" She called over her shoulder, already inside the castle walls and hurrying to the kitchens.

Guinevere crossed the courtyard as quick as she could, clutching a stitch in her side and breathing hard. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and the castle was filled with that early morning grey light. Everything looked fresh and new as the light slowly warmed from a those cool blues tones to a rich golden. Guinevere ducked into the kitchens.

"Late!"

Good morn, cook, Guinevere thought sourly. She straightened out her skirts as the cook, or rather the old red-haired woman in charge of the kitchens, approached her from across the bustling kitchen.

She barely listened, holding back a dozen or so yawns and finding some more thyme in her hair, as the cook rattled off a list of chores that needed to be done once she had finished attending to the Lady Morgana and to not dawdle because there was a very grand and special dinner tonight for the King and the Lady Helen and absolutely nothing must go wrong and are you even listening, girl!

Guinevere started. "Yes." She smiled. "Yes, I am."

"Good." The cook squinted at her. "You've got stuff in your hair."

Guinevere almost rolled her eyes. She satisfied herself by imagining that she did so.

Cook continued. "The Lady Morgana's morning meal is there on the table. Take it on up! Get on!" And the cook waved her hand and dove back into the kitchen's activity.

Guinevere swallowed her frown and took the meal, leaving the hot, loud kitchen and padding through the cool, dark, and quiet castle on her way to Lady Morgana's chambers.

The day had barely began and Guinevere was already feeling overwhelmed.

Guinevere knew that she had to bring up some more firewood for Lady Morgana's hearth and several buckets of water for her bath. That needed to be done today, and since the whole castle was abuzz with activity, there was no one to help her. In addition to that, she had promised a remedy or two to some of the midwives in the Lower Town. They had remembered a specific ointment that her mother had made for chapped hands. So she had to work on remembering how exactly her mother had made it. She knew there was beeswax in it. But what else? Maybe her father remembered. When she had free time. She didn't have a lot of free time these days. And of course, she still had a few of the kitchen girls asking her to mend their frocks. They wanted her to use that pretty red thread that she usually used for the Lady Morgana's red gowns and that she had to use in a pinch for little Mary's torn frock a week ago because she had just run out of the plain thread that day and she had substituted with that lovely red thread. And now all the girls were asking for it and Guinevere unhappily suspected that some had intentionally ripped their dresses in order for them to be mended with the pretty red thread. So far she had not had the heart to tell them no. She had put off that conversation. So much to do. So much.

"I had another nightmare last night."

Guinevere started. How long had she been kneeling and staring into the fire here? She stood and brushed off her apron. "My lady?"

Morgana, staring at the floor, put another piece of bread smothered in honey in her mouth and chewed slowly. "I had another of my nightmares, it was horrible." Guinevere watched the woman shudder a little and push aside her plate. "I can't keep living like this."

That was not a good thing to say. Her lady should not be saying that.

Guinevere walked to the Lady Morgana, who sat at her little hand-carved table, and knelt beside her lady's chair. She did not know what to say just yet. In fact, she never really knew quite what to say. It hurt her heart that Lady Morgana would ever feel this way, so helpless and lost. She had to fix it. But she did not know how to fix it. So she took the lady's small hand, which lay in her lap, and held it within her own for a moment.

Guinevere knew she should say something.

I should say something comforting, but true. No lies. Something to make the lady braver.

She stroked the small, white hand and stared down at the thin fingers and blue veins therein. "My lady," Guinevere began. She paused. Then began again. "You should not let them trouble you. They are nothing. Just dreams."

The Lady Morgana gave a shaky laugh, scoffing, but let Guinevere keep stroking her hand. "How can I? When I fear to sleep now. And when I do sleep, I wake screaming and weeping." She then took one of Guinevere's hands in her own and squeezed, hard. "Last night, I dreamt of some evil thing, slithering underneath the castle. Just waiting there. And I could do nothing. I just walked about, knowing it was there, every day. It was torture. I could hear its whispers from underneath." She let go of Guinevere's hand. "I cannot shake it. I still feel as though there lives something horrible beneath my feet, and I wait for it to spring out at me."

Guinevere suppressed a shudder herself. What her lady had described sounded awful. Perhaps this was something that infusions of ground apple or sprigs of thyme could not keep at bay. Perhaps they should go back to the other methods… "Should I ask Gaius to make more of your sleeping draft?" She asked.

"No!"

Guinevere started.

Lady Morgana took away her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just-" She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Gwen. I detest it. It helps, but I feel so distant and fuzzy the day after…I don't feel myself."

Guinevere nodded. She watched her lady, waiting to see if there was more. Her lady remained silent, staring down at her own hands now, back hunched over and eyes closed. Guinevere stayed where she was though, kneeling on the floor there. There must be something that could be done to help with these night terrors that left the Lady Morgana so shaken. Something more than a draught to make her sleep or little charms murmured over herbs. Something different…

"There must be something we can do." She murmured.

"There is nothing." Lady Morgana shrugged, hair hanging down, curtaining around her pale face.

"My lady." Her lady's hair was still so tangled and messy from sleep, but Guinevere reached up and tucked back her lady's hair behind one ear. "You have been brave for so long. These visions have not broken you yet, right? And I know they won't. I have faith in you."

Lady Morgana smiled and hiccuped a little, tears in her eyes again. "They are just dreams, Gwen, bad dreams."

Guinevere smiled back. "They are ten times more frightening than what any man would meet on a battlefield, and yet, here you are. Waking up, alive, strong, every day. And trying again every night. You are the bravest person I know."

"Good gods, Gwen!" The Lady Morgana rolled her eyes then wiped her nose on her sleeve. But she leaned down and wrapped her arms about Guinevere. "Thank you."

Guinevere hugged back. "We'll find something to help you, my lady. And I am always here, every morning, every night. I promise."

And they stayed like that for a while, embracing, and silent. Until Lady Morgana sniffed loudly. "You smell lovely, Gwen."

Guinevere closed her eyes. Her hair probably still smelled of thyme. She smiled. "Thank you, my lady."

The lady corrected her. "Morgana."

"Lady Morgana."

"Gwen." The lady warned.

Gwen grinned. "Thank you, Morgana."

They spent the rest of the morning discussing the dream and Guinevere could see Lady Morgana relax more and more as they spoke of it. Guinevere tried to talk practically about the nightmare, since the lady seemed to attach so much emotion to it. Guinevere's thinking was that if the lady could just let that emotion go and talk about what she saw, then maybe it wouldn't frighten her so much. It worked this time. Her lady was laughing and smiling again by the end of breakfast. But to be honest, as Guinevere sat on the bed and smiled over some joke that her lady had just made about one of the knights, she was also slow to leave those chambers due to all the chores that cook and others had ready for her as soon as she finished here. And she dreaded that. But, eventually, she could put it off no longer.

An hour or so after leaving the Lady Morgana to pick out a gown to wear to the feast tomorrow night, Guinevere found herself trotting through the castle gates and into the town to gather some supplies for the cook. She had gotten stuck in the kitchens chopping things and turning things and all sorts of things. She felt exceedingly sweaty and the cool air outside of the kitchens was a blessing. Guinevere panted as she walked. Cook had told her to hurry and hurry she would. The faster she could finish this, the faster she could get back to her lady. Guinevere entered the market. So cook needed-

A crash.

Guinevere froze.

She saw a scuffle out of the corner of her eye.

What is it now? She sighed and moved closer.

A flash of black hair…and a flash of blonde. Guinevere craned her neck over the crowd. It was Prince Arthur. The figures moved past a stall and she could see more clearly. And Merlin! The Prince and Merlin the Idiot were tussling again, only his time, with real weapons! Maces! God's Teeth, did anyone want to actually live? Did everyone have some sort of death wish she did not know about, or was it only these two morons?

Guinevere stood there with the rest of the small crowd, a basket on her arm and a frown on her lips, watching. It was just like either of these two children to pull something like this, she admitted, watching some stalls get destroyed in the fight. To completely disregard the needs or belongings of others. Besides, there were people in the market who needed to buy things, such as herself, and these two idiots were delaying her. She had things to do today. She had a schedule. And she had a mind to step in soon if no one else did.

Merlin was tripping over everything but he finally went down and the Prince moved in for the kill. Or something? Was he actually going to kill someone? He was not hesitating.

Gwen bit her lip and took a step forward. Those maces looked dangerous.

And then a flash of gold. She blinked. The hooks behind the Prince moved by themselves. And the Prince's mace was tangled in them.

Guinevere's heart stopped.

And just like that… She was not alone anymore in the world. There was someone else. Someone like her.

Her mother's voice floated through her mind, the voice she could hear every time she said a spell or picked an herb or read a palm, the voice that had taught her everything there was to know about magic. The voice that she had listened to every day, at her mother's side, learning. The voice that had said, after Guinevere's first dowsing spell to find water, "You can do it too, just like me. We're cut from the same cloth, sweet thing." And then she got a hug and a sweet cake. The memory faded.

And the rest of the world disappeared for a moment or an hour or days and Guinevere was lost. Her vision funneled down to a point. Formed a tunnel. And at the end of that tunnel was a flash of gold.

'I'm in disguise.' Had he been joking or telling the truth? Or both?

No more hiding. No more fear.

We're cut from the same cloth, sweet thing.

These thoughts flew through her head in slow motion as she watched the rest of the fight. Merlin kept dodging the Prince's attacks, a big stupid grin on his face and his eyes flashing gold again and again. A box moved by itself and smacked the Prince's shins. A rope tripped the Prince of its own accord. But the Prince bested him eventually. Guinevere winced as Arthur beat Merlin with a broomstick. And the fight was over. Guinevere could hardly contain herself.

And before she could grab Merlin's arm and never let go, before she could smack him on the cheek, before she could kiss him with happiness, the Court Physician whisked his nephew away and Gwen had lost her chance. She watched the two, physician and young man, swallowed up by the crowd and disappearing. Gwen stood where she was. There would be other chances. Other chances to pour her heart out. Other chances to speak with another that was cut from the same cloth as her. But she would have to wait a little longer. If waiting without hope was a crushing ordeal, waiting with hope was ten times as worse. Her heart positively quivered and her body tingled. She felt like she was floating as she walked.

You know, Gwen thought to herself, it really is a wonder Merlin the Idiot had any fans at all, at the rate he is making enemies.

Left and right, he seemed to be quite skilled in making anyone angry. The Court Physician had been complaining to the castle staff about his difficult-to-handle nephew. The Prince was complaining to his servants about the annoying midge of a boy that challenged him the other day. And the list could go on. But now Gwen could safely say that she could count herself as one of his biggest fans. The moment she became one was the moment she saw him use magic to tangle the Prince's ball and chain mace in some hooks hanging nearby. She saw the flash of gold in his eyes and the hooks move by themselves. And that was it. She was hooked herself.


She did not sleep that night.

She was vibrating all the next day.

Guinevere had to tell him as soon as she saw him. She had to say something or else she would burst into flames or wilt like a flower.

Gods Teeth!

Gwen marched down the hall towards her lady's chambers, gritting her teeth and saying things under her breath that she would not, could not, utter to another soul. Curses and promises and strange words she did not know the meaning of but they had been things that her mother would say when angry or frustrated or sorrowful or delirious. The Lady Morgana was trying on gowns for the feast that night and Guinevere was rushing back to help her with them.

Cook had finally released her. Finally! She had chopped all the vegetables wrong and spilled several things and dropped a whole plucked chicken on the floor before the cook had her thrown out. In Guinevere's defense, her mind was busy with thoughts of golden eyes and dark-haired boys.

The next time she saw the boy named Merlin she would tell him everything and ask him about his magic too. She swore it. She swore and swore it. Nothing would stop her. Nothing could stop her. After years of being alone, she had to do it. He would understand.

After his little display yesterday with the maces she could not close her eyes last night. She laid with her eyes wide open the entire night, a rushing in her ears, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She replayed what she had seen in the marketplace in her mind's eye. Over and over and over again. Nothing could stop her from being so unbearably happy and terrified.

Merlin. The stupid boy from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere came to Camelot, grinned in her face, and spoke with her so calmly while sitting in the public stocks. And this boy had magic. The same as her. The same as her mother. It was all she could do to keep from laughing as she strode through the castle. Or crying. So she was resolved. She would tell him as soon as she saw him next. Nothing would stop her. No force on this green earth would stand in her way. No, sir. She walked around the corner.

And there he was.

Standing in the middle of the Lady Morgana's chambers, his back to her. But she could recognize that mop of black hair and plain brown jacket anywhere.

"Gwen?" Her lady's voice.

Guinevere nearly choked. She swallowed hard, forcing her throbbing heart back down her throat. "I am here." She answered.

Merlin whirled around.

Gwen frowned and opened her mouth.

Merlin pointed back at the screen, behind which, her lady was dressing. He shrugged.

Gwen nodded, closing her mouth again.

Merlin grinned.

And in a moment, he was gone.

Guinevere certainly felt like crying now.


RESEARCH NOTES

A belief in traditional European (mostly early British) folklore is that sprigs of thyme can be placed underneath the pillow at night to prevent nightmares. It was also believed that thyme was conducive to sleep or courage. Thyme is originally a Mediterranean herb, brought to Europe (and Britain) by the Romans.