Leon clicked his tongue in annoyance. It was over an hour into the rehearsal and they hadn't acted out a single scene. Gwaine made sure of that.
"But how will they know that I'm not really dead? They'll think the knife's real."
Leon was about ready to tear his hair out. "Because it's a play! They know it's a play!"
"Yeah… but will they know the lion's not real? What if they think it's escaped from a menagerie?"
"He has a point." Elyan said. He knew Leon was near breaking point, and was annoyed with him for making him Thisbe's Mother.
"Don't encourage him." Leon muttered, "Alright, fine we'll have a prologue. We'll tell the audience that the knife's not real, none of the deaths are real and that the lion is defiantly not real." He looked at Gwaine, "Any other problems?"
"Yeah, actually." Gwaine said. "Alright, so what if the moon doesn't shine?"
"What?"
"Well, Pyramus and Thisbe met by moonlight. So we need moonlight, but what if the moon doesn't shine?"
"Then one of us will carry a candle." Leon said through gritted teeth, "Anything else?"
"Now that you mention it, I was wondering what we were going to do about the wall with the hole in that Pyramus and Thisbe spoke to each other through."
"Well…" Leon desperately searched his mind for a solution. "One of us will be the wall."
"How will they make the hole for Pyramus and Thisbe speak through?"
"They'll make a circle with their fingers." He said, touching the tips of his thumb the forefinger to make a ring. "There, is that it?"
"Yes."
"Good, then you can begin. Percival, stand over there and pretend you're a woman. Gwaine when you finish your part go behind that bush; that'll be offstage."
As the rehearsal began at last, the players were blissfully unaware of Morgana sleeping the nearby glade, right beside the bush. They would never see her, mortals never could. However, Trickler was something else entirely. He had gone to the grove with the intention of finding something humiliating for Morgana to fall for when she woke up; to please the king.
He heard the troop and turned to look at them. "Why are there so many mortals here tonight? Usually you'd be lucky to see just one, and now there's a whole herd of them." He stopped to watch them for a bit, "Are they actors? Maybe I could play a part." He grinned.
"Oh, sweet Thisbe." Gwaine muttered, "Your..." He looked to Leon, "Do I have to say this?"
"Yes."
He sighed, "Your breath is as the flowers and your voice as the lark song." He let out another pained sigh, "I long for you."
Percival had a similarly pained look on his face, "Most radiant Pyramus, you are lily-white and rose-red. I will meet you a Ninus' Tomb where we may unfold the passion of our love- bloody Hell, Leon!"
"I didn't write the poem."
"You did write the script."
"That's not the point!" Leon snapped, "Gwaine, that's the end of your scene, go offstage."
"Gladly." He said before walking behind the bush, dangerously close to where Morgana was sleeping and Trickler was watching. It was now that the seed of an idea was planted in Trickler's mind and grew at an alarming rate. Making sure to keep out of sight, he focused on the disgruntled Gwaine and started to work his magic.
0000
The play continued, unaware for what was going on in the bush. Thisbe was waiting for Pyramus at Ninus' Tomb and hoping her parents wouldn't find her. Percival was waiting for the play to end. "Oh, where is Pyramus? I long to see you again. I pray that you will be swift."
He waited, this was the part where Gwaine should have emerged back onto the stage.
"Gwaine!" Leon called, "That's your cue."
"Sorry." He said as he walked back into view, "I didn't here."
As soon as they saw him, the group turned and ran, screaming the name of various divine beings. The only one left standing was Lancelot who looked at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed, unable to move.
"What the- Hey, guys where are you going?" Gwaine frowned, and looked at Lancelot, "What do you think got into them? What's wrong with you?"
Lancelot had turned pale, he raised and trembling hand to point he his companion. He tried to speak but all that came out was an odd, choking noise, "G-Gwaine… is that you?"
"Of course it's me! Who'd you think it was?"
"I… your head…"
"What about my head?" Gwaine was getting more confused by the second.
"…It's a donkey head."
There was a silence. Then it was filled by Gwaine's braying laughter, "Is this some sort of joke you guy prepared to make an ass of me?" He started looking through the trees, expecting to see his friends walking back and laughing. "Alright, I was actually scared for a second there. You can come out again now!"
Lancelot as regained some of the feeling in his fingers. He hadn't heard anything Gwaine had said. "It'll be alright." He tried to reassure Gwaine, "I'll go and get a wise woman from the village… You'll be alright." And with that he ran away.
"Hey, wait! What are you talking about? Lancelot?" Gwaine sighed, he was starting to think the others had really gone. "You can't leave me here alone… I don't know the way back." He sat against a tree. He suddenly felt very lost and alone. No, they couldn't have gone, they wouldn't do that. 'I'll show them.' He thought, 'Trying to scare me. I'll sing and they'll see that I'm not afraid. What was that song my mother used to sing?'
"The ouzel cock, so black of hue
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill."
Morgana's eyelids lifted. "What's that noise?" She asked groggily, "Singing?" She sat up and looked around. She got to her feet and looked over the bush. When she saw Gwaine she froze and felt her cheeks grow pink as love-in-idleness did its work. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, even if she couldn't quite tell what it was. She sat and listened, not wanting to interrupt his wonderful song.
"The finch, the sparrow and the lark,
The plainsong cuckoo grey,
Whose not full many a man doth mark
And dares not answer 'nay'… damn it!"
He came to a stop, hitting the back of his head against the tree. "They're not coming back."
"Please don't stop!"
He jumped at the sound of a woman's voice, "Uh… Hello?"
Morgana ran forward, her eyes pleading, "Please don't stop. Your song was beautiful."
"Wh-" Gwaine hadn't expected this, he wasn't quite sure what to ask first. "Who are you?"
She knelt down so they were eyelevel with each other, "My name's Morgana. I'm the queen of the faeries and you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."
"I… what?"
"I know we've only just met." She said, "But I think I love you."
He had to laugh at this, "My lady, I'm flattered but you really have no reason to love me. Even if reason and love don't really have anything to do with each other."
She smiled brightly and stoked the grey fur on his cheek, "You're wise just as you are beautiful."
"I'm not wise." He muttered, "If I was I'd know how to get out of this forest."
"You don't need to leave." She replied matter-of-factly, "I could give you everything you've ever wanted." He looked unconvinced so she continued, "You will have servants; as many as you want. I will fetch you jewels from the deepest depths of the ocean and sing you to sleep on a bed of pressed flowers. I can make you immortal like me so we could spend eternity together."
Gwaine thought about it. The offer he'd just been given was tempting to say the least. But what if she wasn't really a faerie? Then again, immortality didn't sound bad. "Alright…" He murmured.
She hugged him tightly, "Thank you!" She got to her feet and helped him get to his. "My servants shall wait on you until I find you servants of your own. Nimueh, Catrina, Freya, Morgause!"
The four faeries appeared a second later. "What is it you want, my queen?" Morgause asked. She noticed Gwaine, "Do you want us to rid you of this… thing?"
"You will not speak of him that way!" Morgana snapped. "Nimueh," She said addressing the next faerie. "You will lead this wonderful mortal to my favourite resting place and give him anything he asks for. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my queen." Nimueh said, casting a smug look in Morgause's direction. She then looked to Gwaine, "This way, my lord."
Gwaine followed the four faeries, not quite able to believe his luck.
A/N: I somehow missed this scene, I had the scene after this one half written before I realised… *head desk*
Anyway, while I was on Sparknotes looking at the script for A Midsummer Night's Dream I found possibly the worst possible Shakespeare pun: Cookie Dough-thello.
-_- I hate puns. At least this one made me feel better about the title of this fic.