The Tintagel fair was already underway by the time Lance got out of the castle. It was barely noon, but the weather remained splendid and people, not only from Tintagel, but also from the other villages close by, have decided to make a day out of it.
Lance walked to the fairground, his favourite off-duty camera around his neck. He stopped several times to take photographs of people or the things he saw that caught his fancy. He was working on a coffee table book on Tintagel; he has been at it for a year and was still on the process of photographing the best of Tintagel. His human subjects were always obliging; Lance was, after all, one of them.
He made his way to the village square, where the fair was being held. The village square had been cordoned off; no cars or public vehicles allowed as the square was turned into one open market. There were about twenty – five to thirty stalls, selling everything from quilts to roasted pheasant sandwiches.
As he reached the village square, he stopped to stay hello to some members of the Tintagel Ladies' Club. That had been an experience and an education in politeness and tactical evasiveness. The ladies were not so subtle with their queries as to why he was still single. Some offered the mobile numbers of their daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. Lance merely smiled at them and replied that he had missed out on marriage because all the lovely, wonderful women of Tintagel were happily married. He kissed them all for their troubles before walking away as quickly as it was politely possible, leaving the ladies wishing for surgical procedures on parts of their bodies and at least a decade shaven off their age.
Having escaped the clutches of the Ladies' Club, Lance walked along the stalls, looking at the merchandises sold, and taking some random shots that might unearth a gem of a picture later on. He also spotted some souvenirs he planned to buy the tea-lady and the night watchman at his office; none of his other colleagues was capable of appreciating the rustic charms of homemade marmalade or ginger snaps.
Lance finally came to the middle of the square, where the crowd seemed to be concentrated. These were the non – souvenir stalls; tarot – reading by a former hippie draped in muslin scarves, an exhibition of exotic pets, which was in a closed tent so that people would pay a pound to go inside and see the moody terrapins and albino pythons. Finally, there was the mainstay of the Tintagel Fair, the kissing stall.
In Lance's opinion, there was no other more sadder, politically – incorrect stall than the kissing stall. It was a joke from medieval times; a joke that was more painful than funny. Of course, this stall used to be the main reason they went to the fair for Lance, Arthur and Merlin. However, that had been when they had been younger, much younger, and the prettiest girl in the village was the stall minder. Now that they were grown up, the stall was an archaic reminder that, at one point in their lives, they had to pay to have a girl kiss them. What was even sadder and induces an involuntary shudder was the fact that they had spent more than a pound each at the stall. It was the worst – kind of flashback they could have and its very existence threatened their egos. They do not pay women to kiss them anymore, but the point was, the kissing stall belonged in the past, where it should have just stayed.
Lance approached the stall anyway, knowing there would be plenty of photography opportunities there. He excused his way amongst the crowd of men ; none of them looking happy as Lance jostled his way to the front of the line. He managed to get to the front of the line without getting his teeth knocked out by the irate men who had been waiting for more than half an hour for their turn to be kissed.
And when he saw the stall minder, he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He could not believe it, he was sure he was dreaming. But when someone pushed him out of the way, he knew he was awake in what seemed like the worst nightmare in his life.
Morgana was holding court, seated on a high chair and kissing each man who had put a pound each in the collection jar next to her seat. The jar was almost full, but she was not done by a long shot. Some guys were holding fivers and tenners and one was taking out a twenty pounds note from his wallet. Some were old enough to be an uncle or a grandfather to Morgana, while some were too young. A few guys their age were standing in the line too. Maybe it was just his mind on an overdrive, but Lance could swear each one of them were handsome enough to grab Morgana's attention.
The thought of someone else walking away with Morgana afterwards was something Lance could not bear. He has seen Morgana with other guys before, but he has never seen her kissing someone else who is not Arthur or Merlin or Gaius or older than three. And here was a whole village of men waiting for her to kiss them...the thought of it was mind-boggling. It did not help that Morgana was so deep into her 'work' that she had not noticed him standing there for the last five minutes.
Lance glanced to the back of the line and could swear it had grown longer. That was when he realized the whole situation seemed a little unfair. It was unfair that Morgana kisses these men and he just gets to watch. It was for charity and he might as well do his bit for it. He had some extra change to spare, after all.
Lance knew that none of the guys there would give him a place at the top of the line, so he walked back, a long way back to the end of the line. He took his place behind two teenage boys who were discussing something that had to do with Morgana's body, but quickly changed it to the new line of football boots when they realized Lance was eavesdropping and not being too subtle about it. Lance crossed him arms and glared at the boys, who glared back and turned away from him. More guys joined the line and soon the single file became two. Lance wondered how Morgana was going to kiss them all.
It was only when almost at the front of the line, forty – five minutes later, that Lance actually wished he had not done this in the first place. He gets to kiss Morgana, as dictated by good social etiquettes and here he was, paying a pound for it, as if he was some kind of a desperate man, when what he really wanted to do was to save her from this stall and its skewed way of earning money for charity. Why can't the Tintagel Ladies' Club bake a few fruitcakes, for God's sake? He would buy the whole lot, just so that this...this does not happen. He was sure Arthur would not approve of this and so, he must act...in the interest of his step friend's best sister...
What?
He was only a boy away from Morgana...from doing his bit for charity. The fifty-five minutes he spent in line did not seem as long as the two minutes he waited for the boy in front of him to put his money into the collection jar and get his pounds' worth. Morgana was all business-like...smile, kiss, smile and a nod before turning to the next person in line.
It seemed time froze when Morgana's eyes locked onto Lance's. The smile, that was never quite a smile (it was only a show, Lance knew that much), wavered and apprehension dawned on her face.
"Just came to do my bit for charity," Lance said, giving a slight wave with his hand that held the pound note. He put it in the collection and looked at Morgana, wondering why he could not feel his heart; it was either beating too slowly or too fast, there was no telling what was going wrong. But standing in front of Morgana, waiting to be kissed by her, was...words failed him. There was nothing to describe it; it was not embarrassment, because there was nothing embarrassing about a woman like Morgana kissing him. It was hardly fear, because Lance was not doing anything wrong. It was not exactly excitement, because he had kissed her before on social occasions. When he heard the irritated murmurs of voices behind him, Lance snapped from his reverie and stepped forward towards Morgana, knowing that he was giving too much thought on what was essentially nothing more than a pound donated to charity.
Taking a step forward was stepping into Morgana's personal space; something that Lance had never breached before. Morgana was still Morgana, six feet away or six inches away, but today, up close with her blue eyes piercing directly into the hidden parts of his soul that loved her more than any one else in the world, Lance saw nothing else but the porcelain-perfection that is Morgana. He could not turn his eyes away from her; if he did, he was afraid he might just loose his equilibrium; her gaze was holding him to her and that was all that mattered.
He should have turned his face, but he did not. When his lips touched hers, all that existed was just him and her.
Lance kissed Morgana for what seemed like an eternity; it was only a minute or so, no more than two, before he realized what he was doing. Horrified, he pulled away, opening his eyes, seeing Morgana with her hand held out, as if beckoning him to her And at that moment, everything came crashing down on Lance.
Arthur.
Best friend's stepsister.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
And from the corner of his mind, an image of dark curls.
Guinevere.
Morgana was waiting for him to say something, but he could not even think straight. What was he supposed to say when he hardly had an explanation for what had happened. What was he supposed to say when he needed someone to tell him what had just happened.
"I..." He began, but no explanation was forthcoming.
Morgana opened her mouth to say something, but then, Lance found the word he wanted. "I'm sorry," he said. He meant it but wished he did not. He was not sorry he kissed her; his apology was for being so uncouth; he was sure she had not been waiting for him to come along and kiss her the way did. "I'm sorry," he repeated and moved away from her. "I'm sorry."
He pushed his way through the crowd, his feelings exactly as he would have felt if he had kissed another girl...guilt. He had kissed Morgana, but it was not a real kiss. It was an impulsive act...one that he paid a pound for. Yes, they kissed, but the reality of it remained.
Morgana was still Arthur's stepsister. And he was Arthur's best friend.
There could never be a chasm much wider, or closer, than it was between him and her. He knew he would never survive if he tried to cross that gap, no matter how close it seemed to the other side. He had just kissed the one woman he had wanted to kiss for the last eleven years and all he could feel was guilt and an increase in self-loathing.
The kissing stall had gotten the better of him, again, and it was not as funny as it sounded, least of all to him.
Phillip had been waiting for them at Gaius's surgery, with dry clothes for all those who had an unexpected encounter with river water. He inquired quietly after Arthur and was assured by Merlin that the Marquis would live to torment them all another day. Arthur was taken inside for his x – ray, while Merlin showed Guinevere the way to Gaius's living quarters at the back of the surgery where they changed their clothes. Whoever chose their clothes, Guinevere noted, as she stepped outside the spare room she had used, was exceptionally practical and had good taste. She never knew her clothes could be matched the way it had been sent to her. Merlin looked reasonably normal in the sedate selection that had been chosen for him, although he kept tugging at his collar as if he was uncomfortable being colour – coordinated. Their wet clothes were stowed away in the car Philip had driven to the surgery before they went back in to get the latest prognosis of Arthur's injury.
Gaius's surgery was blessedly empty that morning. He had four full – time nurses, three of whom were at the fair and one was in the adjoining hospice, looking after the five children in there. Arthur was in Gaius's consulting room, clad in a hospital gown and sitting forlornly on the bed. He looked up when Merlin and Guinevere entered the room.
"It's going to take a while," Arthur told them. "One of the children in the hospice has got a temperature, so he went to check on her."
"That's all right," Merlin replied, taking his seat next to Arthur. "We'll wait." He looked at Guinevere, who nodded her support. She took a seat on a chair opposite them and promptly began to study her fingernails. She found it rather disconcerting to look at Arthur; the man fell into a river and emerged as if he had just finished doing a photo shoot for jeans commercial. It was miracle she did not jump on him when they were alone by the river. Gorgeous, golden and dripping wet with his white t-shirt clinging to his body, Arthur Pendragon was a walking health hazard for all women. These kinds of thoughts and imagery were very disturbing to her, so Guinevere decided that she should stop looking at him to give her overly – excited mind a rest.
Besides, epiphanies aside, she was still technically 'with' Lance. And after this weekend, or any time after she sorts things out with Lance, Arthur would just be another acquaintance, someone she knew. She may be hopelessly attracted to him, but that was it. She was probably one of the million of girls who have swooned after Arthur Pendragon. Guinevere does not believe in swooning. But then again, she had not thought she would be meeting a modern equivalent of a prince charming, so perhaps a little swooning could be allowed in this situation.
"Phillip will wait with me," Arthur said. "I would prefer if no one waited, but I don't think Eliza and Marie would let him into the house without any confirmation that I am all right. Anyway, Merlin, you take Guinevere to the fair. Lance should be there. I will finish up here and meet the rest of you back at home..."
"That's okay. I..." Guinevere began, but Arthur would hear of it.
"You're here to see Tintagel," Arthur pointed out. "So, please, go out there and enjoy the day."
"But..." Guinevere began.
How was she supposed to tell him she enjoyed the sight of him more than his village?
"Arthur's right," Merlin said, looking rather reluctant with the idea himself. "Maybe Arthur can join us after Gaius has checked him."
"I will do exactly that Arthur said, getting off from the bed he had been sitting on. "Now, please, the both of you, get out of here."
"Are you sure?" Guinevere asked, as she stood up.
Arthur looked at Guinevere; something indiscernible in his blue eyes. "Of course," he replied. "I will be fine."
Merlin stood up from the bed and came to stand beside Guinevere. "Yes, he will be fine," Merlin said, looking at Arthur. It was as if the two of them had some sort of an unspoken communication going on; it was hard for Guinevere to tell because Merlin kept an impassive expression.
Therefore, it was decided that Guinevere and Merlin would go to the fair. They left Arthur at the surgery and set out for the village. There was hardly a moment for Guinevere to reflect that strange look in Arthur's eyes, for Merlin kept her talking as they walked. As they approached the village square, Guinevere was suitably distracted by Merlin, who was a great guide to have, with in- depth knowledge of the people and the places in Tintagel.
The village fair was every bit delightful as Guinevere imagined it would be. If it was up to her, she would have bought each of everything on sale there, but then, she would have to sleep outside her flat. Besides, her building had a strict rule forbidding its tenants from keeping farm animals in their flats, so that ruled out the calves and the lambs. They walked around the fair, taking their time, as Merlin had stop at every stall to say hello to someone he knew. Merlin was like the favourite nephew of the people they met; he was charming and adorable and had to politely declined countless offers of meals from those who thought he was not eating enough.
They finally arrived at the centre of the village square. There was a large group of people in one of the stalls there. Guinevere inquired the reason for the crowd.
"The kissing stall," Merlin answered, craning his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the person minding the stall.
"A kissing stall?" Guinevere asked, incredulous. "Really?"
"Biggest money-maker of the fair," Merlin said, as he took Guinevere's hand and plunged into the thick of the crowd. "Just put a pretty girl in there and suddenly all the guys turn charitable."
"Including you?" Guinevere asked, an eyebrow raised.
Merlin stopped walking. He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "Only because I was compelled by Arthur and Lance."
Guinevere laughed, shaking her head. She squeezed her way through the crowd, apologizing all the way, as Merlin merely bulldozed his way towards the kissing stall. As they neared the stall, Merlin stopped again. "I don't believe it," he said, looking at the stall. "It's Morgana."
Guinevere followed Merlin's gaze and saw that it was indeed Morgana. She was seated on a high stool and performing her 'duties with a panache that would put politician and beauty queens to shame. Merlin laughed when he saw Morgana kiss a greasy, middle-aged man who held out a five pounds note.
"Are you going to donate as well?" Guinevere asked, turning to Merlin.
"If it means getting a laugh out of it, why not?" he replied, as he checked his pocket for change.
Guinevere shook her head. When she turned back to look at the stall, she saw a familiar figure standing before Morgana. "Look, Merlin. It's Lance," Guinevere said, pointing towards them. Merlin stopped rummaging for change and looked up. Guinevere watched with interest what was going to happen. Lance certainly seemed to be taking his time, something that did not go well with the guys behind him. He leaned forward and then...
The kiss lasted half a minute, maybe more. Guinevere was not sure. But the moment she saw it, the pieces began to fall into place. No man kisses another woman like that...unless...
Unless the man was in love, or at the very least, attracted to the woman.
While Lance had always been cautious when he kissed her, it was not so with Morgana. It was as if he was finally allowing himself to enjoy the kiss...indulging himself.
Lance was in love with Morgana.
The thought momentarily stunned Guinevere, until she realized that it had been so obvious from the beginning. The strained social interactions, the stolen glances, Lance loosing the blinking competition...
She wondered if Lance knew that he was in love with Morgana and decided that he was probably in denial. Thus, the serial dating. She wondered if Merlin and Arthur knew about this. She turned to look at Merlin again.
Merlin was looking straight ahead at the stall, his face pale as if he had witnessed a horrifying accident.
"Merlin?" Guinevere called, touching his arm. Merlin turned to look at her, his face still pale. When he looked at Guinevere, his eyes became wider. He opened his mouth but he could not speak.
"Are you all right?" Guinevere asked, concerned.
"No." Merlin shook his head slowly.
"What's wrong?" Guinevere asked again.
"Everything," Merlin whispered. "Everything." He glanced at the stall.
Guinevere turned towards the stall. Lance was no longer there and Morgana sat on the stool, looking dazed. The crowd was clamouring for the same thing Lance got from Morgana. The Ladies' Club committee was having a tough explaining the situation to the men. Guinevere was curious as to what they could possibly say to the crowd. As for Morgana, once she recovered from her shock, she got down from the stool wand walked away, helped by well – meaning committee members who were probably consoling her.
Morgana does not need consoling, Guinevere decided. Her response to the kiss confirmed that her feelings for Lance were similar to what he felt for her. Guinevere shook her head, wondering if there were others in Tintagel, going about with misplaced feelings, before realizing something.
She was still technically 'with' Lance. That was what Lance knew and that was what Morgana knew. But what they did not know is that now Guinevere knows that they were in love with each other. And for as long as Guinevere was still in the picture, both Lance and Morgana will remain in denial, choosing to overlook their hearts just for the sake of not hurting others.
She did not belong in the picture anymore. She was the odd piece of the puzzle; she could not be forced to fit in. It was none of their fault; it is just the way things are. If she was here, everyone would be burdened guilt and nothing would happen. If she left, there was at least the guarantee that Lance and Morgana would get their happy ending.
That much, Guinevere knew she was obliged to do, in return for having had the good fortune of meeting and getting to know them.
I know mentioned just a few more chapters, but who can really tell how the muses work, anyway? Having said that, I seriously believe, the end is near...at least for this particular story. I apologize for the delay, but real life happens and then everything goes haywire. Each review, each alert means the world to me...makes my day over and over again. I never knew Merlin would give me so much happiness. And I hope that this little story makes everyone one of you happy as well.
New updates will be up the soonest real life would allow me.
Thank you for reading.