- 10 / Clueless -
Galahad glanced at Morgaine in uncertainty, clutching the Cauldron, as they stood, bloodied, dirty and exhausted, in the Healing Rooms. 'Set it on the table' she said, rolling up her sleeves. 'And find a clean goblet.'
While Dagonet searched the shelves for the requested item, Lancelot peered into the Hallow : 'It's empty !' he remarked, looking expectantly at Morgaine. 'I know' she hissed through clenched teeth. 'Now, get lost.'
The families of the ill people were gathered in the room, waiting for the miraculous cure, and Galahad shifted uncomfortably on his feet, conscious about being the centre of attention. 'What do I do now ?' he asked in a low voice. 'Touch it' commanded the young woman.
At first, hesitant fingers brushed the bronze surface. Then the youngest knight lay both his hands on the metal ; but nothing happened. 'You must wish for it to fill up' explained Morgaine patiently. Galahad closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose in concentration like a child. He was still almost a child, she thought. And it was the remains of this broken innocence that would save the poisoned people.
The bottom of the Cauldron shimmered slightly, and suddenly water appeared, its level rising until the Hallow was full. 'Galahad, the goblet !' whispered Morgaine, and he grabbed the cup, filling it with liquid.
The people in the room drew closer hungrily, looking at the water shimmering in the goblet with wide eyes. Someone reached out to snatch the cup from Galahad's hand, then another one tried to push his way through to the Cauldron. Angry cries rose as the knights tried to protect the Hallow, and soon the people were fighting, clawing their way through to the cure. Morgaine was pushed brutally against the wooden table ; as pain shot though her midsection, she gritted her teeth. 'Enough !' yelled Arthur, trying to calm the populace down. 'Enough !' Dagonet shoved the most aggressive relatives away, but the despair and the fear had annihilated the remains of any moral law. There was a cure ; they needed it.
Morgaine saw Gawain try to push his way through to her. Galahad and Lancelot had drawn their weapons, their faces bewildered. They had expected gratitude, not a mutiny. Someone elbowed the young woman in the ribs, eager to reach the Cauldron.
'Enough !' screamed the priestess, and the closest aggressors were thrown away, and the sickening smell of burned meat filled her nostrils.
She held a hand to her ribs, wincing as she walked to the Caudron. 'Form a line' she ordered, glaring at the shocked people in the room. 'And no pushing, cheating, yelling or other… pleasantries.'
Reluctantly, the families of the victims queued in front of the table, muttering in discontent ; some of them picked their relatives up from the floor. 'Those burned line up as well' drawled Morgaine.
With shaking hands, Galahad served water from the Cauldron to the men and women laying in the beds ; Dagonet held them up. Morgaine watched from afar as colour returned to their cheeks ; their breathing eased, and they drifted into sleep.
Then the cup was brought to the centre of the Healing Rooms, and those whose poisoning was milder, or those who had been unlucky enough to be too close to Morgaine, were healed in their turn.
Morgaine glanced behind her. Below, in the courtyard of the fort, a feast was being held, to celebrate the return of the knights and their success in saving the victims of Woad poison. Insanely huge quantities of meat were being roasted on a bonfire ; music drifted through the cold air. The people danced, sang, ate and got drunk, celebrating the fact that they and their beloved ones were alive and safe.
The priestess scowled. She would find no consolation in feasting, tonight. Not with her dilemma, that demanded to be solved. A part of her even hoped that Tristan and Gawain would refuse to free her, delaying the choice.
Two drunken guards staggered over to where she stood, oblivious of her presence ; they were discussing animatedly the merits of some wench's charms, until they spotted the sorceress. Instantly, colour drained from their cheeks, and they stumbled backwards, almost running down the stone stairs.
"Scaring people off again ?" smirked Gawain as he came to stand beside her. Morgaine sighed. "You got your Cauldron, you got your cure. What do you want now ?" she asked, faking exasperation. The knight shrugged. "We talked" he said. "Tris and I. We agreed that you're free." He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. "Free of your debt, I mean."
Morgaine faced him, dismissing the uncomfortable and cold feeling that had settled in her stomach. There would be no delay, then. She was to choose her side.
The young woman nodded, acknowledging his declaration ; Gawain glanced at her. "So…" he started uncertainly, "You'll be leaving soon ?" Again, he seemed absorbed in a fascinated contemplation of his boots.
Morgaine lifted an eyebrow. The question sounded much like him ; the tone, however, did not. "Don't sound so eager" she drawled mockingly. "It hurts my feelings, you know."
Gawain's head jerked up, his blue eyes boring into hers. 'I don't…' he began, and she smiled involuntarily at his awkwardness. It was a sight to behold, since it was the first time that she saw him speechless.
'I… Never mind.' Gawain sighed heavily and turned away. Puzzled, the priestess saw him trudge down the stairs ; only once did he look back, his eyes darkening with something the young woman couldn't identify. She frowned, chasing away the unwelcome feeling once again.
She repeated his words in her head. She was free of her geis, free to accomplish what she had come to do. Closing her eyes, the young woman pictured herself her future life : books and silence, and the beloved sights of Avalon. Morgaine sighed. It would've been lovely.
She couldn't kill Tristan. Not that she really cared or minded for the man – she doubted that he valued his life much himself, lately – but Gawain did.
Gawain cared for all his brothers, and had even cared enough to save her life. Morgaine herself wasn't sure that she would've done the same for him, had she not been bound by the debt. But this time, she wasn't about to stick around and wait until the Woads decided to launch another attack on some other hole on this island, curing crawlies in the interval. She would simply pay Gawain back, even if he'd never know it.
There, she had decided. She'd leave at dawn, conveniently avoiding any unwelcome questions and hypocritical wishes of well-being.
Morgaine looked up to the sky. The night seemed darker, all of a sudden.
The priestess pulled on the reins, and glanced behind her. Camboglanna lay on the horizon, peaceful and shrouded in fog, its inhabitants barely waking. When she had ridden to the gates, the streets were still empty, reminding her of yesterday's feast, and of Gawain's strange behaviour. By the Goddess, what was wrong with him ?! He had left with a face worthy of a burial, not a celebration, and Morgaine was damned if she understood. Shouldn't he be relieved that she left ?
Nudging her horse forward, the young woman thought about Tristan. The man was lucky, even though he didn't know it. Despite his creepiness, his brothers loved him. If only he hadn't met her sister, he would've lived a life that could almost be called happy. But Isolde had that rare, if questionably useful, gift of poisoning the existences of people around her. Morgaine thought that she didn't envy the knight : to love and be despised in return was probably a torture even she could never achieve… Or could she ?
Morgaine almost smacked herself on the forehead, as everything slipped into place in her mind. How could she have been so blind ? The silent stares, the small, almost insignificant attentions, the kind gestures, and his words… Every detail was coming back to her, now.
The sorceress suddenly understood what had been bothering her : Gawain's eyes had held the exact same expression than Tristan's, when the scout had spoken of his feelings for Isolde. Gawain had said that he liked her, the young woman recalled. But he had meant so much more than that. He loved her.
And she, where did she stand ? Was there anything within her that longed for him ? Or did she truly despise him, like she had thought up to this minute ?
The answer came simply, in its uncertainty. Morgaine pulled from her memory every moment when her heart had ached in his presence, or skipped a beat when he had touched her. She remembered every time that she had fought with him. If she had been indifferent, she wouldn't have bothered to argue…
The horse snorted, protesting, when she pulled abruptly on the reins, turning around. Urging her steed forward, Morgaine smiled. She wasn't sure she loved Gawain ; the very name of the sensation was foreign to her lips. But there was only one way to know, and she was damned if she just let the occasion pass her by.