Note: I'm truly sorry I gave up translating this fanfiction but my beta was unavailable and I was too busy. I still am because of studyng but I'll be done in two weeks and I'll have a chance to properly work on my armor stuff.
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The doors of the hall were wide open and Uther was laughing, probably at something his guest had just told him.
"Did you know we'd be having company?" Morgana asked without emotion, even if the idea of an evening of shallow and chauvinist chatter did not arouse in her any particular enthusiasm.
"I knew an ambassador was to arrive from a nearby kingdom, but I had no idea he was already here," explained Arthur rapidly, before they stepped past the doorstep and fell silent lest their guest should hear them.
"We can always count on your extraordinary intuition, Arthur. Who could ever deny you're gifted with the nose of a bloodhound?" she commented sarcastically, giving her best smile as they moved forward into the hall. "You could dig up a clue from a mile away."
He had no reply and barely held back an irritated smile. "Have you finished?" he asked, trying to sound bored, "Try to behave," he advised her, treating her like a capricious child so he could deny her the last word.
Morgana cast him a sideways glance, and he raised an indirect smile.
"I'll do my best," she promised with a smile that wiped Arthur's off his face. "Then no one will notice your inability to form a coherent sentence or one that results in anything interesting." She turned to Uther and his guest, who were by now in front of them and ready to be formally introduced.
Sir William Colburn had the harmless appearance of a man used to dealing with rooms invaded by stacks of paper, calculations to be puzzled over and more than one ego to be kept under control. He had clear eyes and half his face was covered by a beard, which made him appear almost paternal. Perhaps that was why Morgana accepted his compliments with benevolence, instead of being bothered by them as she usually was.
Arthur thought it was just concealed proof of the absurdity of that girl, who was so accustomed to being complimented for her good looks that she attached little importance to it. Maybe she had learnt to find the offered praises to be in some way owed to her, and so could not appreciate them. And he certainly did not need ulterior motives to avoid offering her any.
Morgana's participation was moderate, both out of boredom and for etiquette's sake. It would have been scandalous to let their guest see that a woman had personal opinion or was gifted with wit, at the dinner table no less, when he had come to give thanks, acknowledgement and promises of friendship for the King, who had just acquired his kingdom from a father who had reigned for thirty years with severity and chauvinism. Morgana was not so foolish as not to know what was good for Camelot. In any case, she found satisfaction in giving Arthur an amused look every time he was forced to give a static and frustrated smile at something he did not agree with, or in which he simply had no interest.
Morgana was always amused by catching his rare moments of rebellion against the role into which he had fallen so well since birth, boasting convictions free of doubt and a heritage that was the envy of Britain. She could almost hear the thoughts that crossed his mind – thoughts of boredom and fantasies of duels – as he tried to distract himself from a tedious conversation and stared at the roasted guinea-fowl on his plate, thinking how he would have preferred ostrich.
"I know there will be a tournament in a few days, and I have heard tell of your son Arthur's skill with a sword, so much so that I sincerely regret being unable to attend," Sir Colburn remarked once the dinner was over and all four of them were walking through the weapons hall.
In that moment Morgana saw Arthur's fake smile transform into one more gentle and sincere.
Lord Devon Ainsworth was a man of twenty-seven, whose refinement was nowhere near that of many of his equals but who prided himself on honest ways, which proved equally attractive. With Morgana he had been nothing less than a perfect example of gentility, and had shown his interest in her without imposing his courtship. It had been a pleasant change from those nobles who put forward their desires as if they were orders, and who spoke of imperishable love – not inducing in her any feeling but that of frustration.
Arthur had made his acquaintance, weighing him up with his usual practicality, and considered him solely a rival in the tournament. Sometimes it seemed to Morgana that the only aim in life of certain men was to find a painful way to get killed.
"I don't know if what they say about my abilities as champion of Camelot is true; certainly Lord Ainsworth will be the first to discover." Despite his measured words, Arthur's smile showed a certainty and impatience that could hardly go unnoticed.
Sir Colburn nodded, full of approval, and turned to Uther, asking the age of one of the shields hanging on the wall.
Morgana continued to observe them, speaking to Arthur in a low voice only two feet from them.
"Sometimes it seems that you only live in anticipation of aiming your weapons at someone," she remarked, annoyed at the general idea of men gaining so much satisfaction from overpowering one another. "The day you lose we shall never find an effective way to repair the damage it will do to your self-esteem."
"Fortunately that day will not come soon," he replied. "Rather, we will have to think of an effective way to remedy the disappointment your Lord Ainsworth will prove to be.
She looked to him with her usual disinterest as he smiled at her, his eyes alight with vexation.
To Morgana it seemed extremely stupid to give such great consideration to a tournament; but she supposed that for a prince, son of a king of such resounding name as Uther Pendragon, it was vital to demonstrate to his own knights and to the kingdom that he was capable of being more than a worthy successor to his father, as a warrior and a leader. She did not enter into debate, being certain that it would only succeed in making Arthur even more annoyed with this sort of conversation, and that it wouldn't be long before he irritated her as well.
When they bade goodnight to each other that evening, neither Uther nor Sir Colburn could see the looks of defiance behind the graciousness of the other's manners and broad smiles.
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Morgana returned to her chambers and slowly began to take off her clothes and jewellery. By the time she reached her bedroom she had on only her nightgown. She smiled at the sight of the flowers in the vase in the centre of the small table, a gift (certainly) from Sir Colburn, and a wooden box inscribed with symbols which contained a splendid gold bracelet formed of two interwoven serpents.
She decided that she would wear it the next day in honour of their dear guest, and if Arthur had deduced the gift-sender incorrectly, she wouldn't bother clarifying its real provenance.
She was not tired, so she brushed her hair for longer than usual, and regretted having given Gwen the evening off, because at least she would have had someone to talk to, and to whom she could tell how childish and vain Arthur was most of the time. Yet it was a selfish idea to use Gwen's time as she pleased just to relieve the tedium of some evenings. She fiddled with the bracelet before finally putting it on her wrist. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror she noticed a bottle of perfume which she did not remember even having seen before on her toilette table; when she sniffed it she wrinkled her nose at the excessive sweetness. The scent seemed to cloud her mind for a moment. Probably it was an idea of Gwen's, and Morgana would have to think of a kind way to tell her it was not to her taste. Perhaps Gwen would like to take it for herself.
She slipped between the covers with a strange anxiety, but she pushed aside the feeling and closed her eyes, expecting that sleep would come and hoping that it would not bring to her any of the terrifying images that too often infested her dreams.
The next morning she woke because of the cold, and refused to open her eyes, huddling up further under the sheets. But she had probably moved in the night and the cover had probably fallen on the floor, leaving her to freeze. There was light filtering through her eyelids and she thought that perhaps Gwen had tried to wake her with no success and opened the curtains, leaving Morgana to enjoy the warmth of the bed a little longer while she had breakfast. Alas, the cool of the morning and the absence of the cover had forced her to give up on sleep and she opened her eyes, resigned to her fate.
She didn't realise immediately, but while her body and her mind were waking her eyes recognised the wall in front of her bed, and it was made of rough stones. She blinked her eyes open and sprang up to a sitting position on the bed, which was suddenly tiny and covered with a threadbare sheet and an old blanket from the skin of some animal she did not recognise. The room was small and the window was missing curtains. There were no mirrors or other furniture except for a small chest that she discovered full of rags. She opened the door to take a glimpse out at the hallway, and she saw the castle's servants busying themselves with their morning duties. A gust of wind brushed her hair into her face, and no one recognised her when she tried to ask them what was happening. Only one fat woman, cheeks covered with freckles and dirty with flour, answered her, "What do you think should be happening? We have to make breakfast, as always!" and gave her a dirty look.
Morgana couldn't really blame her. Who would recognise the lady of the castle dressed in this way, in an old grey dress with patches all over and dishevelled hair covering her eyes? She had no intention of reprimanding the woman for it, above all because then some strange rumours would start to spread throughout the castle. The idea that her dreams had begun to disturb her body in the night, and not only her mind, terrified her. In the best of possibilities they would believe her to be mad, and isolate her in her room until they found a convent able to host her, to save the good name of Pendragon and the dukedom of Cornwall. In the worst case they would consider her a puppet to black magic and sentence her to death in order to eliminate a plague they were afraid to be infected by. For this reason she mingled amongst the servants of the castle, trying to pass unobserved until she could speak to Gwen and find a way to return to her own chambers.
The cock was crowing as they were making the bread and only then did Morgana realise how early it was. She turned to one of the windows and saw that it looked out on the courtyard where the animals were kept, and that some young men were collecting the chicken's eggs and the milk from a few cows to provide the royal breakfast. For a moment she was amazed that so many people were needed to support the existence of a few, and only the fat woman with the freckles broke her out of her reflection, with a tug that almost made her lose her balance.
"What are you doing, timewaster?" she asked without even looking Morgana in the face, babbling about eggs to cook and floors to sweep. Morgana had never cooked an egg in her life, but at least she had an idea of how to sweep, so she took the sorghum broom that was leaning in a corner and went to clean the courtyard.
The men attending to the animals looked to her with suspicion, with short glances, and lowered their gazes to ignore her. She was not very used to going unnoticed, but the situation was so foreign to her and she felt so ill-at-ease that she was grateful for it. She kept on sweeping the courtyard, which was covered in mud from the fierce rain of the previous night, and the old shoes she was wearing got dirty. She kept her face lowered out of embarrassment to avoid catching anybody's eye.
When she had finished the chore the sun was already high and the kitchen was returning to a quiet state.
"Breakfast for Lady Morgana?" she asked, looking about herself, feeling strange for talking about herself in the third person.
The fat woman didn't raise her eyes from the table at which she was plucking a chicken as she replied. "Her servant has already taken it. You missed her today."
Morgana stared at her, bemused. Obviously this woman was confusing her with someone else, probably with the owner of the clothes she had on, and the fact that she was being so careful not to show her face only fuelled the misunderstanding further.
She kept at work, waiting for another chance to slip away and return to her chambers. In this state no one would let her go near the wing reserved for the royal family, and she had no idea how to get there unnoticed. She was cautious in her movements, careful not to let anyone see her face, afraid of being recognised by someone and being at a loss to explain her attire and why she had been working as a servant for the last few hours. Finally she saw Gwen in the courtyard in front of the castle. Morgana recognised her new lavender dress and her dark hair, and smiled in relief. She made her way over to her, trying to keep her impulses under control. She had managed to remain undiscovered up to this moment, and she had to keep it up until she could return to her chambers and explain to Gaius what had happened to her, to beg him to give her a remedy to keep her from finding herself in the same situation again. It was just lucky that Gwen had been intuitive enough to not alert anyone when she had not found her mistress in her room that morning.
Gwen was watching Arthur, who was standing near his horse, busy conversing with a lady. Morgana was almost happy about this because it meant Arthur wouldn't notice her. When her friend turned to walk in her direction, careful not to wet her dress in the large pools of water on the stones, Morgana felt like the heavens were smiling on her. A few more yards and she would have someone to tell about her misadventure. She brushed the hair out of her face as she met Gwen's eyes, feeling like her own skin was rough with dirt and wishing ardently that she could take a warm, sweet-scented bath. Gwen's eyes went wide for a short moment, and she quickly covered her obvious surprise with a faint smile, then ducked her head and walked faster to pass her.
Morgana stood frozen, confused, glancing over her shoulder to see the silhouette of the girl who was hurrying away.
Arthur's horse was whinnying and it made her turn again. He was holding him by the reins, talking to him in a low voice to calm him. The lady who was with him had her head tilted to observe the scene. Morgana recognised the saccharine movements, designed to catch the prince's attention. It was something she was used to seeing, to her utmost displeasure, and in such a moment it wouldn't have gained her interest except that something in the outline of that feminine figure was horribly familiar. She felt her blood run cold as she waited to catch sight of the woman's face, so she could start to breathe again.
The girl raised her hand to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear, and Morgana saw her face. Her own face.
A strangled sound escaped her throat. She felt the panic overwhelm her body and she couldn't help it, because every fact reached her brain too slowly. Before she could stop her legs they were already running, and before she could stop her voice she was already screaming.
The woman with her face turned to look at her wide-eyed, clutching Arthur's arm; he turned to look at her, confused by this gesture.
"Stop her!"
Morgana heard her own voice giving the order. She was forced to the ground by two guards, and raised her head to stare at Arthur, catching his gaze from between the wisps of hair that covered her eyes.
"Wait," he said calmly, approaching as the lady stayed behind him, tense and immobile. "She must have been frightened by my horse," he said, justifying his behaviour, putting it down to fear that he or Lady Morgana might have been hurt.
"Arthur…" She uttered his name breathlessly as the guards loosened their hold on her wrists, which they had restrained behind her back. He turned to look at her for the first time since he had come to intercede on her behalf.
Morgana brushed a lock of hair from her face, feeling her wet fingers leaving a trace on her rough skin. As she looked at Arthur she saw his blue eyes go wide for a second, before he regained his usual composure. Surely now he was asking himself who the lady with him could be if the real Lady Morgana was at his feet – literally – and dressed in rags. Looking down, she put her palms on the ground to lift herself off the ground, remaining on her knees, and saw her reflection in a pool of water. She paid it no attention – but then she moved and so did the reflection, in the same moment and in the same direction. It was her own image, an image she did not recognise.
The face which had perhaps known kindness once was now half-disfigured, so pale that it might have belonged to a corpse, covered in dust, and on the cheek that was free of scars there was a mole. She blinked her eyes and that sad, strange face did just the same. She lifted her head only when she heard Arthur asking her, "Are you alright?"
She would have liked to say yes, because perhaps if she did she could tell herself that she was strong enough to face all of this, and strong enough to put everything right again, but all she could do was gasp before she passed out.