Once, they had all been together and they had all been happy. This was rare. It wasn't often they weren't torn into fractions by petty arguments or obsessively hidden secrets. It wasn't a fact Gwen recognized when she was younger. She remembers always thinking to herself, this shall pass. It will all pass, and we'll all be okay. Just like normal. She knows, now, that the fighting was the normal for them.
This doesn't change the fact that they had all loved each other. She remembers being willing to fight armies singlehandedly to ensure their safety. She remembers loving them each so fiercely it felt like something raging inside of her. A sharp tug pulling at her ribcage, dragging along her hands, forcing her feet to move. She loved them when they laughed with her, or lied to her, or betrayed her. It is something she still feels, not dulled even by their absence. Only now the armies are literal, and she is alone, and there's still nothing she can do to protect them. Her King, her Lady, her Sorcerer. All dead or gone from her.
Merlin, Morgana, Arthur. It's on repeat in her head for days.
Merlin, Morgana, Arthur.
Merlin, Morgana, Arthur.
Merlin, Morgana, Arthur.
There are certain things she recalls more easily. Either because they had made an impression on her, or because she has been unwilling to remember the rest.
Merlin never ages in her memories. She remembers his hair, the darkness of it and how it curled around his ears. She used to run her fingers through it when she feared he'd drift away from them all. She feared that often, with Merlin. He had a way of talking so that he never stopped, but he never actually said anything. She remembers the blue of his eyes and how they crinkled when he smiled. She remembers how he was the first servant who didn't treat her differently due to the favor she had with Morgana. He was her first kiss and her first love and, in a lot of ways, her first heartbreak. He is, in more ways than one, the sweetest heartache she has.
Arthur always shines. She remembers him best in the sunlight. His hair had a way of transforming into a halo whenever he was out during the day. He is a king in her memory first and foremost. He belonged on a throne, with a crown and an adoring kingdom. She remembers holding his hand and kissing his cheek. She remembers wanting to sing him lullabies. Arthur was her husband and she his wife, but she feels like she'd rather the world remember them as King and Queen. She thinks that's the most accurate description of them available. She regrets a lot of things with Arthur, but she doesn't regret that.
Morgana. There's too many things she can say about Morgana. Morgana treated everyone like nobility. To her, everyone deserved to be heard and cared for. Morgana used to wear the flowers Gwen picked for her in her hair. Morgana used to mock fight with her with dull swords, dancing around the field with grace and amusement. Morgana held a real sword against her neck and- No, no this is not the place for that. (Even then, Gwen still loved her.)
Morgana is, perhaps, the first real tragedy in Gwen's life.
She finds herself dreaming of them. Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, side by side and looking for her. It's enough to make her wish for that spark of magic Morgana had. If she thought she had even a touch of such magic, she thinks she'd be happy. Just because of the slight possibility that those dreams, those marvelous, grief stricken dreams, could one day be proven true.
There are times when she resents Merlin so much it makes her sick to her stomach.
She can feel him sometimes. She doesn't think it's intentional, doesn't even think he's aware of it. It feels more like the snapped strings of destiny pulling at them pointlessly. It's enough to let her know he is alive, though. He'll appear at the edges of her consciousness and she'll suddenly be able to feel him as if he were in the same room with her. She feels the rise of his chest as if it's her own and the closing of his eyelids is all that can lull her to sleep some nights.
It makes her angry that she can know he is alive and still not see him. It makes her angry that he is unwilling to return to her and the kingdom they had all fought so hard for. She has lost Morgana and Arthur and now he's making her lose him too. It's enough to make her want to hit him, swear at him-
She wants to run her fingers through his hair again. She wants to lay his head in her lap and sing him the lullabies she never got to share with Arthur. She wants to swap stories with him about the dead.
Merlin, tell me about the time you and Morgana stayed up all night drinking wine and sharing petty gossip.
Merlin, tell me when you knew Arthur was your destiny. No, better yet, tell me when you realized you were glad that he was.
Merlin, tell me, tell me, tell me.
Life has turned into the constant feeling of falling in a dream. The falsely calm, anxiety producing beginning and then the seemingly never ending fall. The startled jump back into awareness.
She'll be holding council when, suddenly, Morgana laughed and just the sound made her feel warm. Even with the darkening circles under her eyes, Morgana was no less lovely than she had ever been. There was a new sleeping drought on the vanity and Gwen dearly hoped it worked. She hated seeing her Lady so worn thin and tired, even if Morgana refused to openly show the weakness.
Mapping out territories until Merlin squeezed her hand briefly in his, a silent reassurance, before letting go. He gave her a smile, bright enough to make her heart ache, and said, "Don't you worry, Gwen. It's just a small tour of the kingdom. I'll look out for Arthur. Trust me, nothing will happen to your one true love." She knows him well enough to know he was hoping to make her blush, to sidetrack her from the point at hand, but she batted away the attempt without so much as a second thought. "Yes, and that's all well and good. But who'll look out for you?" Merlin sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but she saw the way his eyes softened. "Gwen, everything will be fine. Nothing can so much as touch Arthur or me. Promise."
Instructing guards, but Arthur kissed her forehead softly. He met her eyes and within them she saw pure understanding. "Gwen, I want you to do whatever makes you happy. I don't- Sometimes I'm not the best in situations like this. And I'm sorry if my actions or words have ever caused you harm. But now it is your happiness I am concerned with right now. You have been nothing but loyal to me, and I'm only just now realizing the sacrifices you've made to be so."
"Your Majesty?" Someone prompts, sounding hesitant, and there's that feeling again. As if she had just jolted awake. She looks at him apologetically and realizes guiltily that she doesn't know his name. She would've know it, had she still been a servant.
There are nights when she prays for Merlin to come home. It's the only thing she can think to pray for. There is no resurrecting Arthur or Morgana. Merlin had been her only constant in Camelot over all these years. She fears she'll slip, fade, if that feeling of home doesn't return to her.
(Gwen doesn't pray for long, though. She had prayed, once, for her mother to get better, for her father to be proven innocent, for Morgana to be found, for Arthur to be safe. She's found that her prayers feel more like curses, now.)
The crown she wears upon her head feels like an anchor. Except, it doesn't ground her into reality. She doesn't have the will or youth of soul to be compared to a ship. Instead she is human, cuttable flesh and spillable blood and breakable bones, and thus the crown treats her as any anchor would treat a human. It drags her down.
The love she feels for Camelot is still present and she is sure it will never fade. The determination she felt in the beginning, however, has. If only the people would stop looking at her as if she were a savior, perhaps she wouldn't be sinking. As it is, it feels like drowning in slow motion.
Everything's so broken now.
She dreamed of Merlin and Morgana sitting beside each other. They had faced away from her, heads bent together as they whispered, and they had almost looked like siblings. She had never noted the resemblance before and she wondered if anyone else had.
Both of their appearances changed, flashing in and out at random. They didn't seem to notice, but Gwen was entranced. Merlin appeared as the young boy she first met all those years ago. His hair was wild, as if he had just woken up, and his eyes were bright and kind. He slowly, gradually, faded into who he was the last time she saw him. His hair was cut short, his eyes dimmed and lined with dark circles, and he was still kind, but so impossibly weary. Morgana's change was more rapid. Gwen feared to blink in case she missed it. Her hair was long, her eyes amused, her smile playful. She'd looked elegant, effortlessly so, and so much like the queen she had so desperately wanted to be in the end. Then, without warning, she was something savage looking. Sickly pale skin, a maddened glint in her eyes, her hair tangled in impossible knots.
Still they had talked through all of this without a pause and she wondered what they could possibly be discussing. She wanted to ask, but before she could Arthur appeared. He too changed as he walked towards the pair. He was the prince from her childhood, cruel and mocking and nothing but fake bravado, and then the king. The king songs will be composed for and stories will be written about.
When he reached the pair he didn't say anything, just took one of their hands in each of his and held on tight. It was the only thing in the dream to make them look away from each other and they looked up towards him in eerie synchronization. They both smiled at him, then, sincere and loving, before all three vanished.
The connection with Merlin comes and goes. It feels like a kick in the chest whenever she wakes up to discover it's gone, but it always comes back.
Until one day, when she's suddenly so aware of him she loses herself. She feels the earth under his feet, the chill in the his bones, the ache in his neck. She feels his exhaustion and loneliness. She feels the grief underlying it all. It's like ice in her veins, so intense she fears she'll forget to breathe, and it never ends. If she is drowning, then he has already sunk.
She feels a whisper in her mind. I'm sorry and I love you. He's finally aware of her, then. He finally feels her walking like a shadow through his mind. She knows, suddenly, that this means it's ending. She'll never have this again. He'll cut the connection, she knows he will, and this too will be vanished from her. He too will be vanished from her.
She hates him a little bit for it.
(But then again, no. She could never hate him.)
She learns to cope. She relearns how to be the queen Camelot deserves. She relearns who she is without the people who made Camelot feel like her home.
She tries, and she feels like that is a triumph in and of itself.