She is present when he goes to Cornwall to make a formal apology. It is one of the principal terms for peace- that Arthur personally atone for his men's actions to the relatives of the massacred village. And as Arthur and his entire retinue kneels before the rag-tag gathering of peasants and druids, he thinks that this is a just punishment. Though he had not ordered the village razed, it is partly his fault for being unable to control his men. He is only thankful that Gorlois is a just king, and that he has not seen fit to extract a hefty tribute. Camelot would have suffered long from such a penalty, recovering as it is in the wake of the plague.
So his pride is not even rankled as he speaks absolutely sincere words of regret and apology to the relatives of the dead villagers. And they seem to accept it, though it is clear they will never completely forgive. But in time, perhaps they will understand that he meant no harm. And Arthur is content with the thought.
The times they leave in are by no means peaceful- there are so many wars and conflicts that it isn't hard to pretend that the people you're talking with haven't been trying to kill you for the past month. It isn't hard to forget that you've been killing their families for a lot longer either.
Afterwards, there is a rather subdued feast in which they sign the renewed peace treaty. The ceremony is long and tedious, and Arthur is relieved when they all manage to get through it alive. Gorlois seems just as relieved that nothing has gone wrong. Perhaps he is remembering the poisoning incident in Camelot the last time they forged such a treaty. In any case, the revelries begin and Arthur is eager to enjoy it. He downs a glass of wine and leaves the table to join the lightened atmosphere of the dancers.
Morgana is whirling in the midst of them all and laughing. She seems carefree and happy, a far sight from the guarded leader of armies and sarcastic and lofty dignitary that he has come to know. A far sight from the grim and laughing killing machine. She twirls from partner to partner, airy and delighted as if nothing will bring her down. Arthur subconsciously makes his way towards her. She doesn't notice until she ends up in his arms in the middle of a rather spirited dance. She looks up at him and hurriedly pulls away. He holds on to her hand and goes through the dance with her, until it is time to let her go and she finds yet another partner.
He loses her among the countless faces in the ballroom. When he finally sights her again, she is dancing a slow waltz with an obviously enamored knight- holy heaven please tell me it's not Gwaine and his obnoxiously perfect hair- and the crowds have thinned somewhat. The night has grown deep and the feast is winding down. Inebriated lords and ladies stumble past him, on their ways to their chambers. The musicians finish their piece, there is a smattering of applause, and King Gorlois leaves for his bed, signaling the official end to the banquet. More people drift out of the hall, and Arthur is dismayed at the number of Camelot knights that seem rather incapitated. From what he can see of their states of being, everyone is going to have a massive hangover by dawn training.
He sees Gwaine stumbling towards the balcony and grabs him before he injures himself. Setting the knight in the general direction of the knight's quarters, Arthur suddenly realizes that Morgana is obviously no longer dancing. He gives Gwaine a gentle push to get him going and scans the now near-empty hall.
She is leaning back on a chair, arm over her eyes. When he makes his way over to her, she drops the arm and opens one eye to peer at him.
"Oh. King Arthur." She doesn't bother standing up or curtseying. Arthur grins and takes her hand.
"My lady." He yanks her to her feet and she stumbles up, shaking him off before plopping back down on the chair. It's about then that he realizes that she is most probably dead-drunk.
She doesn't sound like it, speaking as articulately as she would when sober, but it's clear that she's tipsy from her rosy cheeks, unbalanced walk, and the nonsense she sprouts out on occasion. Although, now that Arthur thinks about it, she sprouts out nonsense on occasion anyways.
"Enjoying the feast,"-hic- "Sire?" She tries to drink from a goblet near her, but misses and knocks it over instead. It spills the red liquid into her silk dress. The stain blends into her deep burgundy skirts.
Arthur rights the goblet and places it away from her reach. He's never seen her so undone. She pouts.
"Don't be a spoilsport. Hand it over."
"You shouldn't be drinking any more."
"Why? Why shouldn't I be drinking it? It's better than planning another massacre."
Arthur feels sick to the stomach. "Watch your tongue."
Morgana sighs. "When can I not?"
"When you have better things to say."
She chuckles. "Touché."
Arthur is reminded of her haunting laughter on the battlefield, mirthless and cold. He can't help but ask, "Why?"
"Why what, King Arthur?"
He pauses, hesitant. "Why do you enjoy killing?"
"And why would you think that?"
He is suddenly angry. "I don't get it. You're collected and calm in one skirmish, and the next you're laughing as you slaughter my men. Tell me. Why?"
Morgana seems too drunk to take real offense. She simply snaps, "It's no worse that what you men do. You go off on your righteous quests, striking down people in the name of good and honor. Well, Sire, it's not like that. It's just a matter of chance who lives or dies."
Arthur looks down at his hands; he can almost imagine them bloody from the battlefield. "Then why do you laugh?"
Morgana tilts her head. "You cope with killing by justifying it; I do it by laughing at its senselessness. Is that so wrong?"
He looks at her. "You're belittling their deaths. Making light of their sacrifice."
She laughs, grimly this time, and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can see them, you know."
"See what?"
"Them. The dead ones. Oh, they'll be gone before long. Mother, father, brother, son. Tonight's when I banish them."
Arthur's throat constricts. "You're drunk."
"So what if I am? It makes it more bearable anyways." She reaches for the goblet, but he knocks it away. She sighs. "Don't mind me. I'm only making things up. I'm glad it's over."
"Don't even joke about things like that."
She repeats, "I'm glad it's over." and he puts that queer exchange away.
He tries to get her to her chambers, but she insists on staying in that particular chair. Aggravated, he ends up picking her up bodily and carrying her, while she shrieks and squirms.
She finally twists out of his grasp and gets to her feet. She grins. "Catch me if you can."
Arthur is rather confused- until she swings herself out the window to land in the courtyard. He rushes to the window and glares down at her, and she laughs.
"Don't be so serious, Arthur. Do you give up yet?"
Arthur is glowering by now, so that he doesn't even catch how she called him by just his first name for the first time. His pride rankled, he growls and rushes after her.
If any of the lords and ladies had looked out of their windows at that hour, they would have seen the Princess of Cornwall running around the courtyard being chased by the King of Camelot. But the ones that did were too drunk to remember anyways.
Arthur, being not as inebriated, catches her before long. Futilely trying to shake his grip on her wrist, she pouts. "Fine. You win."
Arthur finds his voice. "You need to go to your chambers."
She sighs theatrically. "And how will you make me?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Either you go there on your own two feet or I drag you there."
She smirks. "As you will, milord. I'll be good now and go to my room. But before that." He suddenly remembers how she had called him just Arthur. She giggles a little. "It's tradition that a lady get a goodnight kiss from the last gentleman she sees."
He is dumbfounded, and his eyes can't help but be drawn to her lips. He stutters for a while, unable to find a decent reply.
She giggles again, and he grits his teeth. "That's not funny."
Her lips curve up into an amused smile. "Oh, but it is." She leans on tiptoes and pecks him on the cheek. "'Night, milord."
.
She's completely forgotten about it in the morning- all she has of last night is a massive hangover. She doesn't even notice Arthur staring at her for prolonged periods of time every once in a while.
Arthur is saved the embarrassment of having the court notice his sudden fascination with Morgana's face because he leaves in two days. During those two excruciatingly long days, he avoids Morgana as best he can. Even oblivious Merlin notices his strange behavior.
"You know, Sire, you keep avoiding her and people will start to talk."
Arthur flushes. "Shut up, Merlin."
The warlock rolls his eyes and goes back to inspecting Arthur's shirts. Though he has not been Arthur's servant for a long while now, he does the chores- with magic- for old time's sake. And Arthur insults him every now and then- for old times sake.
Merlin doesn't quite know what to think of Morgana- so he sits back and watches as Arthur embarrasses himself again and again with her. It's quite good sport. And she takes him down a peg or two, whenever his pratty side resurfaces. Arthur has been too burdened by kingship to be quite as arrogant as when he was a prince, but he has his moments.
And right now is one of them.
"Merlin, can't you tell the difference between a shirt and a dress? How on earth did this…" and here Arthur gestures vaguely at some shapeless piece of pink cloth that resembles a dress "thing get into my wardrobe?"
He rolls his eyes and shakes it out. It turns out not to be a dress, but a fluffy towel with pompoms on the edges. Arthur is even more horrified at its fluffiness. "Get that monstrosity out of my chambers!"
Merlin bites back a chuckle. "Why don't you keep it, Sire? Might come in useful." Dropping the offending cloth to the floor, he resumes packing for the trip back to Camelot. Arthur picks it up himself, making sure to hold it out as far away from him as possible, and drops it out the window. Seeing it float down, Arthur turns back with a sigh. Then promptly lets out what he later will insist was a manly shout. And not a scream of surprise as he sees the very same towel in the exact same place it was before. Merlin has a hard time keeping back his laughter. Arthur grits his teeth.
"Merlin, get rid of this...this thing now. I don't care what you do. Burn it. Tear it. Banish it to some unknown plane of existence. Just get it out of my sight."
Rolling his eyes at the king's theatrics, Merlin snaps his fingers and the towel disappears- only to be replaced with yet another towel. Merlin frowns and snaps his fingers again. Once again, it disappears- and then comes back.
"AAARRG!"
.
A good half-hour later, both Arthur and Merlin are panting with exhaustion, thoroughly aggravated. Shreds of pink towel surrounds the room, yet there is a pristine untouched pink towel in the exact place he left it. Arthur curses and throws down his sword. At that moment, Morgana pokes her head in.
"Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?"
Arthur looks from the scattered fleece to Morgana to Merlin, then frowns. "Princess Morgana, this wouldn't be your doing by any chance, would it?"
Morgana's face is innocent, her eyes wide. "Why, whatever are you talking about? I don't go around shredding pink towels." She glides into his chambers and pokes the pink towel with her foot. "May I compliment you on your choice of colors, milord. Suits your hair very well."
Arthur growls. "That is here by some means of sorcery. And I want it gone now."
She picks the towel up. "Why? Whatever could this poor towel have done to the king of Camelot?"
He is annoyed. "It's pink. And it refuses to be removed."
She smirks. "Well, I guess you'll have to take it along with you then." She drops it into the half-packed bags merlin has been working on. "I'm here to escort you out. But it seems I must wait."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive."
When Merlin finally finishes with no further mishaps, Morgana leads them to the great hall. More tedious speeches are made, toasts drunk to the new treaty, and the court goes to the main gates to bid Arthur and his retinue farewell. Morgana stands to King Gorlois's right. When Arthur and Merlin passes by her, she winks at Merlin and nods at Arthur. He nods back.
.
The moment Merlin starts unpacking Arthur's bags in Camelot, the pink towel jumps out and dances a little tap-dance on two of its four corners. Arthur can't help laughing, and the towel suddenly 'talks' in Morgana's voice: "Hope you enjoy my little gift, gentlemen. Don't try to burn it, now. This is payback for that snake in my chambers." After the message, it flops down, an average pink fluffy towel once more. Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"What snake?"
Merlin's guilty face is enough to make Arthur figure it out. He rounds on Merlin with a sadistic smile.
Merlin spends the night mucking out the stables. All the stables in the entire city.
A/N: Hello again, and big thank yous to hillevi, AudreySalvatoreNorthman, SanveanO, and catalONIAmaes for their very kind reviews. As to hillevi's request for an explanation of Morgana's behavior, I was actually angling towards it being all her. As Morgana says in the flashback in chapter 7, and in this chapter, she deals with killing by laughter. And you know she has this dark, almost sadistic side to her that only comes out- I think it's more the sense of her being in control and the sheer adrenaline coursing through. She regrets the lives taken, of course. But she can't help enjoying the physical aspect of battling, of testing herself and of overpowering. Morgana loses herself. She isn't a perfect icy warrior princess-she breaks and fails and sometimes is blinded by bloodlust. At least, that's what I imagine Morgana to be. And this is one of her darker characteristics that I mentioned weren't going to be visible to Arthur at first. I mean, who wants to tell her destined love (although neither of them know it yet) that she can't control herself in battle- and that she thrives in killing? I don't think she knows it much herself.
Thank you for any and all feedback!