Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

[Syntra]

Usually, Morgan didn't struggle with keeping her mask on. The expressionless facade she wore so often? All too often, there wasn't anything to laugh at, anyway, and the neutrality kept her safe. It was like-- like a wall, too high for the snakes to get but a glimpse of her real self. Right now, though? With Gwen so delightfully flustered, and reeling from her touch? It took all she had, really, not to claim her lips right here and there. (Gods, it seemed as if Arthur's shadow was still hanging over them! Free they were, that much was true, but free to do what? To live exactly as they had lived, except with slightly less fear? No. No, don't be selfish, the sorceress chastised herself. When you plant a seed, you can't expect it to grow within a day, now can you? Besides, he's gone. He's gone, and that means Gwen can breathe freely. Those nights her love had no doubt dreaded? They would belong to them, and oh, was Morgan looking forward to kissing those bad memories away. Every single one of them!)

"Mmm," she hummed quietly, somehow managing to stay away. "I do know many things. How to make you feel good, for example." Saying that line with a straight face? That, uh, took some amount of effort, but Morgan had had years of practice. (Years of practice where failure would have resulted in being imprisoned, or perhaps worse. ...yes, it was safe to say the sorceress had become quite proficient at the art.) "There is no shame in admitting you need it," she continued, casually, as if they weren't playing the most dangerous game they could possibly play. As if they weren't flirting, and rather obviously at that. "A queen may belong to her people, but how is she to rule wisely if she is not content? I don't think she can," Morgan shook her head, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Because her own worries would distract her from the task. And we can't have that, now can we? Not with our beloved Camelot in such a state of disrepair. No, no. You shall need all the concentration you can gather."

"Queen Guinevere," Lancelot emerged out of nowhere, because of course he did. Duh! (Seriously, though. Was he actually a wizard in disguise? A villain greater than Merlin himself? Because this-- this had to be some kind of dark magic, designed solely to destroy Morgan's life! He would not win this particular battle, though. Oh no, no, no. They had died, over and over, for each other's smile-- for the faint hope that, somehow, their fate would be just a little kinder in the next cycle. They had earned this, and the knight wouldn't take it away from them! "Queen Guinevere, what are we to do with--"

"Do you have your own head, sir Lancelot?"

That question seemed to genuinely confuse him, for he stared at Morgan in wonder. "Well, I-- I do. Naturally."

"Then use it for once! Can't you see that the queen is tired? She needs to rest as well, and that's the next step of our plan. Her plan, I mean. So, unless the whole damn castle will collapse without her expertise, solve the issue on your own. Understood?"

Something in her gaze must have been downright murderous, probably-- not only Lancelot didn't dare to protest, but he also disappeared faster than Arthur's desire to fulfill his promises. Which, spoiler alert, was indeed quite fast! ...wow. Perhaps Morgan should utilize the power of her death stare more often? Who knew how many diplomatic quandaries it could solve!

Either way, Morgan could file away this idea for later, because she had far more pleasant things to worry about now. Together, she and Guinevere headed to the bedroom, and-- oh, okay. Her own cheeks began to heat up as well, possibly because of those fun, fun connotations. ...no, though. After all the bravado Morgan had displayed earlier, she wouldn't be daunted! Emboldened by this thought, the sorceress gestured for Guinevere to sit on the bed, and then she placed her hands on her shoulders. Gently, she began to knead. "So stiff, my Gwen," Morgan whispered, her voice practically a melody. "You truly needed this. Say, my love, what would you have me do?" 'My love.' Oh, how freeing it felt to say this outside of her head! How freeing, and sweet as well. (She'd never get tired of the word, that much was certain. Never, for as long as she breathed.)

 

[ellarose]

Guinevere can't help but let a surreptitious giggle slip en route to the room. What? The look on Lancelot's face was freaking priceless! It might've been on par with the dumbfounded expressions everyone in Camelot collectively made when Morgan threw her wedding bouquet in Eugene's face. She'd had no time to relish the sight back then, let alone laugh about it. Now that the battle's over and they're only a few steps away from a moment they can take solely for themselves, the relief is finally sinking in. (And, okay. Maybe the tiredness mixed in with anticipation is making her giddy. The sorceress's touch made silent promises that were, uh, more than a little enticing!) That said, she doesn't feel even slightly bad that Lancelot was scared away by Morgan's famous death stare. The knight interrupted practically all of their sparse and precious moments since she married Arthur. Ugh, Arthur. As they step inside the room and close the door, effectively locking the rest of Camelot out for the night, she resolves to leave any thoughts of him on the other side of it. Erasing him from her brain altogether may take another lifetime to accomplish, with all the scars he left... but at least she can start that process tonight. Live a life that doesn't have to be solely defined by being his wife.

Sitting on the bed, the weight of the day's events crashes over her again. Every inch of her is sore from overexertion and...oh. That feels so good. Morgan's hands possess a magic of their own and-- and don't even get her started on the sound of her voice! Considering how quickly her blush makes a reappearance, it's clear that Guinevere is falling under her spell. (Although in retrospect, that may not be the best analogy. The small-minded people in Camelot could take a concept like that and go running with it. Morgan was once sent to the catacombs under false charges of 'bewitching' her, for god's sake!) Guinevere is a willing participant here. Far more willing than she's ever been with Ar-- ahem. With he who shall not be named. So long as the kingdom relies on her to lead, Guinevere won't let anyone use baseless accusations to hurt her love like that ever again. Wow, her lead. That's still gonna take some getting used to, isn't it? Hm. They'll need reinforcements to help rebuild and strengthen their defenses. Which means it'd be completely reasonable for her to send for her girls as soon as tomorrow, right? And then there's also the matter of restoring the earth. Where does she even start with--

Geez. Guinevere really is stiff, isn't she? Body and soul, she's got to let herself relax already. Surviving after losing each other over and over, knowing it took their blood, sweat, and tears in multiple lifetimes to reach this very moment. Everything may not be wrapped up with a pretty bow just yet, but this victory is still one worth celebrating! The sheer scale of it is mindblowing. "Mm." She hums her agreement, releasing her thoughts with a slow exhale. Eyes half-lidded, she finally allows herself to melt completely under Morgan's touch. "You really know your stuff."

My love. Hearing those words in Morgan's voice gives her chills in the best possible way. It touches her somewhere deep, leaves a lasting impression on her heart. (Naturally, there's only one comparison she can make in her experiences, considering the only other person who referred to her as 'my love' was-- ugh-- Arthur. Coming from Morgan, though, the words swiftly redeem themselves. In fact, they could run on a loop and she would never tire of hearing it!) Guinevere's still trying to wrap her head around the concept that she loves her back. She loves her back. How is this even real?

"All I want is to be close to you." Guinevere smiles, glancing at Morgan over her shoulder. Because damn it, she can't take not looking at her for another second! She has to tilt her head at a peculiar angle to capture her lips in a kiss like this-- but it's well worth the effort. Short-lived but sweet. Like cake. "As close as possible."

"Show me what you can do..." Guinevere blushes fiercely at the prospect of the stimulation she's experiencing heightening beyond this point. (At this rate, she really might just burst into flames again, huh--) Well, hopefully she sounds smoother than she looks? Morgan may have the upper hand for now, but their night's only getting started! "Then I want to help you feel good, too. I've got some tricks of my own, you know."

 

[Syntra]

"Well, of course I do. Knowing stuff happens to be my specialty," Morgan smiled, feeling strangely light-- kind of like during the night of Guinevere's wedding, when she had gotten drunk so shamefully. Except that, no, that couldn't be further from the truth! Because back then, she had done so out of desperation. There had been thoughts to be erased, demons to be driven away, and so she had drunk, drunk and drunk, chasing that sweet oblivion. Now, on the other hand? Morgan wished to remember every second-- to etch every precious moment into her memory, really, so that she'd have something pleasant to fall asleep to. (...that wasn't actually necessary, though, was it? Old habits died slowly, so her first instinct was to hoard every instance of happiness like an overzealous dragon, but yes. There was no need to do that anymore, you see, because this would be their new normal. Every night, Morgan would drift off in her love's arms, and every day, she'd wake her up with a kiss. ...wow. What a long way they'd come! So what if they still couldn't confess their love for one another publicly, the way Arthur had been able to? What he had had had been fake, while this-- this was so devastatingly real it took her breath away. Real and raw and powerful, and million other adjectives she couldn't think of now. Why spoil this occasion with flipping through the pages of a thesaurus, however? No, they didn't need words. Not now, anyway.)

"Do you?" she grinned before leaning closer and tasting her lips. Hmm, how very sweet! Sweeter than any cake, in truth. "Then you're in luck, my love, because that is my wish as well. Has been for a while, really, so I'm afraid it may be a permanent thing. Hopefully you can come to terms with that." The words were playful, said in an airy tone, but frankly? That was a worry of hers. (Not one that related to Gwen, but to the general patterns her life had always followed-- you know, to the ones where she had always ended up discarded, like a pair of well-worn shoes. Used, and then disposed of. Magic was so convenient, you see? Convenient enough for people to want it, without necessarily wanting her as well. Without seeing her as anything but a means to an end, really. Guinevere wasn't like that, she knew, but still, still the doubts emerged. What if, what if, what if? Oh, shush, she told that annoying voice. Is dying for me, multiple times, not enough?)

And, perhaps for the first time ever, it... shut up, just like that. Wow. Who knew that silence could be this wonderful, this pleasant to her ears?

"Hmm. Do you demand a proof that I am worthy of your love? Reasonable, I suppose. Very well, then! I shall provide it, to the best of my ability." Abandoning her spot on the bed, Morgan assumed a new position-- one where she was kneeling before Guinevere, their lips practically touching. Needless to say, it didn't take her long to close that distance, and... wow. Now they were kissing for real! (Fire seemed to be coursing through her veins, not blood-- fire, wild and hot and searing. She had been waiting for so, so long! Oh, how easy it would be to press her against the bed and make her lie down. To do whatever she wanted, really. ...as always, though, 'easy' didn't necessarily equal to 'right'. In fact, it usually didn't. What would it say about her, after all, if she ignored the context? The context of this being her marital bed, where Arthur had been similarly selfish?)

Reluctantly, Morgan pulled away. (Her cheeks were burning as well now, and her lips? Those were slightly parted, and glistening in the candlelight.) "Are you sure?" she whispered, her tone tender. "I don't-- I don't want to rush things, if you're feeling tired or if you'd rather... I don't know, get a new bed first. We can, I'd be happy to, but I can also just hold you. Be there for you. As far as I'm concerned, we have all the time in the world."

 

[ellarose]

It's like magic, how every thought in Guinevere's head dissolves when she melts into the kiss. It's warm and comfortable and undeniably safe. Every intimate moment they've shared up until this moment tasted like danger, with the possibility of someone discovering them. There's something thrilling about that, sure, but... it also gets tiring pretty damn fast. (Ugh, especially after all that nonsense with Iphigenia! The woman put her through hell.) At a certain point, she craved the simple normalcy of being able to share a kiss whenever the urge arises-- to reach for her hand without feeling the sharp cut of fear in her heart, warning that there would be grave repercussions. They may not be out of the woods yet, but they've taken a leap forward after today. They've taken this moment for themselves, they've made it their own. And now? Now she doesn't have to feel guilty for allowing her walls to fall down, to focus solely on the woman in front of her while the rest of the world blurs away. Maybe to let herself drown a little, drunk on Morgan's scent, on her very presence. The desire to feel something, to feel alive stir up as she makes an effort to deepen the kiss. Because there's this emptiness she needs to fill--

It's a sort of whiplash when Morgan pulls away and asks if she's sure. With the added elaboration about a new bed on top of that, Guinevere's mind quickly refills itself with those thoughts she tried to leave behind. As much as she tried to shove Arthur out of her mind, the room is strewn with memories like ghosts. A hint of his obnoxious cologne still permeates the air. Pretending that their marriage never happened... that's what she wanted to do. Brush it off her shoulders like it never happened and soldier on through to the next thing. Besides-- marrying him was a task she had taken on her own shoulders. She knew what was going to happen. She knew and yet... she didn't. It's evident that no matter how much she tries, what he put her through is going to haunt her. The kiss she shared with Morgan was safe and good-- and yet somehow in the process, she dug up this odd desire to fill an empty void. Now she's got to acknowledge that there's something empty in her. Filling it thoughtlessly with intimacy, ignoring everything she's been through-- will that really help her heal?

"I want..." The pink dusting her cheeks reddens as she struggles with the answer to this question. Deep down, it-- it comes from a place of shame. A small part of her is afraid that she's been tainted in Morgan's eyes... but looking into them is all it takes for her to see that that isn't the case. (Not to say that she's ever done anything to make her think that way-- of course not! It's just... Guinevere's experience of losing control over her own life, her own body. It messes with her head. Fucks her up.) And while she trusts Morgan with her life, opening up about something like this, putting it into words? It... might be too much to get into right now. It's not that she doesn't want to be honest with her. It's... just going to be hard to talk about. With a deep inhale, she lowers herself onto her back, and exhales to melt against the mattress. When she speaks again, her voice is wistful. "I want you."

That's the truth. She wants to know and feel love as love again. To be loved by someone who actually loves her. But until she can make peace with herself, maybe it's for the best that they ease into this carefully. The fact that Morgan dared to bring it up? That, without question, is undeniable proof that she loves her. Guinevere didn't even realize it might be in her own best interest to take it slow.

"....But I guess we could rearrange the furniture first." Guinevere casually looks around the room, tries to take a light and playful approach with it. Acknowledging Morgan's point about the bed should explain her intentions without her having to bring any of that heavy stuff up right away. "Air the place out a bit." She'd keep those doors leading to the balcony wide open if there wasn't a cult out for her blood. (She's not stupid. Word gets around in the wastes one way or another... and they may take advantage of the chaos in Camelot to make their next move.) That's the only reason she doesn't suggest moving back into her old room. Although it had once been their precious space... it was also the room she was taken from. Staying there might make her easier to find, if they were ever to come back... ugh. On top of all that shit with Arthur, there's also everything else.

"Back when you kissed me for the first time, I thought I'd have tons of time to tell you how I felt afterwards." Guinevere admits quietly, with thoughts of the cult creeping back into her mind. "Then I woke up in that dark room... and I realized that Camelot made me soft. Out in the wastes, I never felt like I had time. I always said what I felt so I wouldn't have regrets, you know?" God, she agonized over it the entire time! That she was going to die and that Morgan would never know of her true feelings. Camelot also made her so mindful of what she said. Conversation was like navigating a minefield. (Morgan warned her when they began their lessons, of course... but she hadn't felt the full extent of that pressure until the sorceress was locked up in the catacombs and she had to pick her words so carefully to help her escape them.) Though she could be open with Morgan in a way she wasn't with anyone else, for a while there was a sort of guilt mixed in. Was it fair to be transparent about the extent of her affections, after all, when she was promising her life to an evil bastard? When their closeness could lead to the other woman getting hurt or god forbid killed.

Camelot changed her more than she thought. Guinevere scrunches her nose, making one of those funny faces she makes when she's deep in thought. She can understand, at least to a certain extent, why it took Morgan so long to trust her. This environment... god, combined with the way these people treat her like an evil witch? (And even so, Morgan said earlier that she trusts her. That's huge. The fact that they've come so far together pushes and pulls at her heart in all kinds of ways.) Now that they're free, Guinevere can take the time she needs to learn how to be herself again. She won't be a shell of the person she used to be. She won't have to force herself to hold back anymore. Moving forward, she can be unafraid of their closeness. The sparks between them no longer pose the threat of burning them up in a tragic blaze.

"Maybe... maybe we do have time now." Daring to hope for a better future is what brought her here, after all. Can't she dare to hope for more? "But I still don't wanna to take a single moment for granted. I don't want to hold back anymore, either." She bites her lip thoughtfully. "That said, any time spent with you is well spent. No matter what we're doing." Kissing is nice. So is everything else about intimacy... with Morgan and only with Morgan. She's associated those things with nightmares for months now and wants to replace it all with pleasant dreams. Except maybe it is a bit too soon. If she closes her eyes, who's to say the sensations won't dredge up flashbacks? After all, Morgan has a point about... being in this room. In this bed. Though they're both willing, though they both want it... it's tricky to say whether or not it'll actually end well.

Besides, Guinevere didn't fall for Morgan just because her lips are so enticing. (Although that is a factor, don't get her wrong!) She opens her arms, an unspoken request for the other woman to move in closer to her. She wants-- no, needs her there beside her.

"The first time you dropped formalities with me, I was so happy. When you snapped while we were fighting that monster, it seemed like you were finally speaking your mind. And I loved that." Because, duh, there was an actual person beneath all those formalities! A lovely, passionate person with a vision for a future better than the stifled life in Camelot she always knew. "I got excited for those lessons I used to dread, 'cause I realized there was so much I could learn from you. But... in the end, I think what I loved most was learning more about you." She reaches to play with Morgan's hair, then, winding her finger around a copper curl. A playful grin comes naturally to her, then, and she giggles. "I guess you're my favorite subject?" Pfft, did that sound lame? Yeah, probably. Either way, they spent nearly all of their spare time preparing for this coup, for this battle that they've finally won. Now they're free to talk about anything. "Like I was thinking earlier... I freaking love this woman, but I still don't know the little things. Hell, I don't even know what her favorite color is!"

 

[Syntra]

"Yes?" Morgan encouraged her, gently, as if speaking to a scared kitten. (Not that she thought her Gwen, her valiant knight, might be compared to one, but still. This would be a process, wouldn't it? Because, no matter how much they would like to pretend her marriage to Arthur had been just a bad dream, it had happened. It had happened, and the wounds it had inflicted? Those would scar, Morgan was sure. It was one of those universal truths-- the action and reaction, really. If you punched a wall, you could expect some bruised knuckles, right? And if someone sank their claws into your very soul, it wouldn't be that different. Pain was pain, period. It always left its mark, in one way or another. ...one day, the sorceress knew, the scars would probably fade into the background-- the mind was plastic, you see, and never stopped adopting new patterns. The dark hole you found yourself in from time to time, with walls so high they seemed insurmountable? You didn't have to stay there. As cliche as it was, time really was the best doctor, and Morgan-- Morgan would give her as much of it as she needed, really. That, and anything else she might desire.) "What is it that you want, Gwen?"

And, indeed, time was what she asked for. (Not in those exact words, perhaps, but if you read between the lines? If you also listened to what hadn't been said, as opposed to what fell from her lips only? Oh, Morgan heard it loud and clear, alright. Also, one other thing she heard? Guinevere preferred not to dwell on her experiences, which-- okay, she could accommodate her. Easily, too, because talking about Arthur and what he had been doing to her in this very room was about as appealing as the idea of chewing her own tongue off. ...gods, how she hoped he suffered! A thousand deaths would still be too kind for him.) "It is a dreary place, isn't it?" the sorceress smiled nonchalantly, as if none of this was a big deal. (As if her own heart wasn't bleeding, really.) "Truly, no thought went into making this room even slightly aesthetically pleasing. I'm pretty sure it's primary purpose is to give people depression. Let's get rid of these ridiculous curtains, alright? We'll let in some light, and--" her gaze wandered to the pieces of Arthur's armor, still lying on the floor like a disemboweled corpse, "--then we'll throw away all the garbage that found its way here, too. We can replace it with flowers. Soon, you'll be able to sleep much more soundly, I'm sure," Morgan pressed her lips against her knuckles, warm and chaste. Afterwards, she sat on the bed next to her, wrapping her arm around her shoulder.

"You didn't get soft," the sorceress frowned. "You just learned to wear a different kind of armor. Besides, learning to expect that you won't, in fact, die tomorrow isn't really a weakness. Before the Catastrophe, it was the default setting. With some luck, we'll return there. All of us, not just the chosen ones lucky enough to live in here." ...yeah, Morgan could be a bit avoidant, too, apparently. Because, the thing that was wrapped in all those sentences? Its core, the true meaning she had wanted to express, but somehow hadn't managed to? 'I get it. It's okay, I forgive you, no need to dwell on it.' Back then, it hadn't felt that way-- mildly speaking, really, because it had been like her universe straight up collapsing on itself. Jen, with her unique gift for sowing seeds of doubt? Let's just say she had gotten under her skin. She had been drowning in paranoia, and in her grief, and-- well, it just hadn't been a good time in her life. Few of them had been, though, and as of now? It was yet another closed chapter. The ending had already been written, and only one with a thirst for suffering would allow it to seep through into their future.

"Wow," Morgan chuckled, "if I was the most interesting thing about our lessons, then clearly, I failed as a teacher. I mean, being more interesting than magic? Sounds fake, Gwen. You can't use me to set something on fire, for example." Still, though, she would be lying if she said it wasn't flattering, and the pink-ish hue returned to her cheeks. "It is strange, isn't it? I know all those important, life-defining things about you-- that you're brave and smart, and that you'd die for me." That she had, multiple times. "That no rule is firm enough to bend you, much less break you. That you're the most magical person I've ever met. What kind of food you like, though? A mystery for the ages."

"Alright," Morgan slipped under the blanket, making herself comfortable, "we'll have a sleepover, and use this time to get to know one another. My favorite color is..." 'Black,' she wanted to say, except that no, that wasn't true. Black was good for her image of an evil, wicked witch, not what she gravitated towards naturally. What was that, though? Was it anything at all, even, without all those charades to keep up? "...blue, I think. It feels calming, somehow. My favorite drink is green tea. Have you ever had green tea? It's difficult to get a hold of, but every gulp is like-- like a garden blooming in your mouth. I don't know how to explain it, but it is true." Hmm. What other tidbits could Gwen be interested in? "My darkest secret," she began, and her smile gained this mischievous quality, "is that I actually really liked one of those silly romantic novels the ladies around here read habitually. If you want to know which one it was, though, you'll need to share something interesting as well. For example... I know! What's your happiest memory from the time you spent in the wastes?" Because, quite obviously, wallowing in tragedy would do them no good now. Plus, Morgan genuinely was interested! Gwen's experiences had been so, so different from her own, and she still couldn't conceptualize what life in the wastes must have been like.

 

[ellarose]

"Hey, I'm not that much of a pyromaniac. Kindling starts a fire just as well!" Guinevere puffs her cheeks amusedly before breathing out a laugh of her own. Yeah, says her. The one who became fire itself just hours before! Wrapping her head around that is still going to take time. Even still, she's being totally upfront with her feelings on this. Magic is impressive and all... but it was a means for survival more than anything. And Morgan? Morgan is so much more to her than that. "Besides, you technically lit a fire under me. Can't even tell you how bad I wanted to impress you." There's more to it than that. Before Morgan introduced her plan, Guinevere declared herself good as dead. There was no escape route from the life she had taken on her shoulders. The sorceress reignited her desire to live. To fight for a future, for one they could claim together.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're the best teacher I've ever had. You had me hanging on your every word." Which is true! The fact that Guinevere is alive right now is a testament to that. Remembering their lessons in such vivid detail was what helped her escape from the cult. And she wouldn't have worked nearly as hard for that old woman Arthur tried to replace her with. A woman's only duty is to... what was it? Please her husband or some shit? Camelot's got to outgrow that perspective-- and fast. If the people confirm that Arthur is gone for good, there's no telling when they might pressure her into finding a new husband. Before that happens, she'll have to prove that she can be a capable leader without some big strong man there to call the shots. Today was a pretty good start, all things considered.

"All the food here is unreal. My diet before was made up of mostly crickets and slugs." Guinevere admits sheepishly. She's come a long way from lifting stones to find insects to roast. When game was hard to come by, they had to take what they could get. Even when they caught something decent, as the leader she was always inclined to prioritize the kids and anyone who needed it more. Oh, it'll be exciting to introduce them to those sweets that Morgan brought her! "I... don't know what I'd consider my favorite. Not yet, anyway." She breaks into a grin, then. "A mystery for the ages, like you said." Hah, even to herself. Maybe they'll find out someday. After all, she has a hunch that her appetite will improve when she dines with Morgan instead of Arthur. (Even better when her gang arrives. Guilt tends to mix in with every bite, knowing they're all hungry outside.)

For now, though, it's time to rest. Guinevere joins Morgan under the blanket, nestling down on her side to face her while they talk. With her tired body all covered up and snug and the soft of a pillow pressed against her cheek, all while listening to the sound of her favorite person's voice? This moment may sound so mundane on paper... and yet they fought so hard to earn it that it could honestly bring tears to her eyes. It was all worth it for these sweet, deceptively simple moments to be their new normal.

Blue, huh. Guinevere always harbored a fondness of her own for blue-- which only deepens now, seeing as it'll make her think of Morgan from now on. (Maybe she'll suggest a shade for her new bed. Their new bed.) She listens intently to the rest, hanging on her every word. "A garden blooming in your mouth?" Her eyes crinkle gently as she thinks about it, "I've never tried it. Em would brew wild teas sometimes, if we found the right plants for it. That was pretty rare, though." The food and drink in Camelot was impressive from day one. There's so much she still needs to try, too! "I can't imagine anything tasting better than cocoa. That was..." She doesn't have the vocabulary to describe it, really! "Warm and sweet, like a hug in my mouth. Okay... I think that sounded better in my head. But that's-- that's besides the point! It was mind blowing."

"Oh?" Bringing her fingers to her lips, Guinevere gasps in a teasing and unquestionably affectionate way. That's just too cute, she can't stand it! Makes her heart flutter to know that her love is a romantic deep down. Besides, reading some of Morgan's favorite books has interested her for a while now! (And, um, if she happens to gains some pointers on how to make her blush along the way-- that's a bonus, really.) "Now you've gotta tell me! I swear I'll take your secret to my grave."

When her terms are introduced, Guinevere giggles and nods her head, relenting. "Okay, it's a deal. Let me think." Her happiest memory, huh? There are a few contenders for that moment that... have sour implications when she considers recent events. (As in anything involving Jen. Better to lean towards her friends for this one!) There were countless moments where happiness and relief blended into one. Reuniting with lost friends, coming home after a successful hunt and enjoying the warmth of the fire afterwards... the greatest joys existed in things that many people in Camelot might deem small. Morgan would likely understand this better than anyone, especially since she's met them herself. But this seems like an opportunity to talk about something cheerful.

"Alright. Don't know if it's my happiest, but...I was seventeen. Moody as hell. My hair was pink. I was just getting to know Sammy and Adrianne." Guinevere closes her eyes as she tries to picture her past self. The memories are fairly clear and yet-- she's changed so much since then. Astronomically so, when she includes everything she's been through since arriving in Camelot. "They helped me and Jen after we got into a serious scrap with some guy. Instead of thanking them, Jen wanted to make off with all their stuff and--" She shakes her head. "Long story short, she roped me into it. 'Course I felt bad afterwards, so I went back and returned all the shit. I tried to be real stealthy about it, but... they figured out it was me pretty fast."

"Fast forward a few days later. Sam shows up and I'm ready to tell her off, 'cause she and Adrianne were really starting to weird me out. They'd been following me around and trying to talk to me... but I ignored them. I thought they hated me." There's more to that, considering Jen was in the picture and sprinkling little seeds of doubt in her head. It isn't a part of the memory she's leading up to, though, and Morgan knows how Jen is by now. It goes without saying. "But Sam says that she needs my help, all serious... so I decide to repay my debt and go with her. I thought it'd settle things between us. I follow her and we end up on this street corner full of old shopping carts. People were out there gearing up for a race. Sam and Tamara needed a third person to compete and wanted me to fill that spot. All I had to do was ride in the cart... so even though it took me for a loop, I said fuck it! Why not?" She smiles, remembering the thrill of it. The wind roaring in her ears, flowing through her hair. "I tried real hard to play it cool... but hell if I wasn't a giggling mess by the end. I mean, it was kinda stupid... but fun. I hadn't felt that happy or alive since I was a little kid."

 

[Syntra]

"Ah. That would... color your judgment, I suppose," Morgan said after Gwen described her experiences with food, grim as they were. (It made sense, of course it did, but on some level? The sorceress had forgotten about it, for she had been too wrapped up in her own perspective-- the perspective of someone who had never starved, never had to eat things that would give a delicate lady a heart attack. What was it like, coming here and witnessing the abundance? Eating like their ancestors once had, before The Catastrophe had robbed them of it all? Whiplash. Whiplash of epic proportions, most likely.) "I suppose we'll find out together," Morgan squeezed her hand. "You absolutely need to taste some of my favorite meals. Have you ever heard of pizza? It's like-- a cake, I guess, but savory rather than sweet. We don't have it often because it is impossible to eat in a ladylike manner," she air quotes for the word, "but it is straight up divine. I would kill for a slice of pizza right now!" Not Guinevere, obviously, but frankly? Arthur was just the tip of the iceberg. The old attitudes still prevailed, even with the King Asshole himself gone, and-- well. Wouldn't it be so much easier, simply removing people who would plunge them back into the dark ages? Who would trample upon their newfound freedom? You couldn't build a house on rotten foundations. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't! (Time would tell, Morgan guessed, who could be saved-- who would follow them into the future, and who would rather die along with her brother's regime. Because, the small oasis they had managed ti carve out for one another? They couldn't have it, and if the price for being able to keep it alive was their blood, then oh, Morgan would spill it. And gladly, too!)

"Cocoa is good, I'll give you that," the sorceress conceded, "but you are wrong. There is at least one thing that feels better-- your lips, for example. I, at least, prefer them to cocoa." ...wow. Where had that confidence come from? Morgan could remember not knowing what to say, stumbling over her own words as if they were obstacles in her path, and now-- gods, now she was able to say such scandalous things without so much as blushing. What a curious, curious transformation! (...love did that to you, she guessed. Loving, and being loved in return. What was there to be afraid of, after all, when you knew the other person shared your feelings? That they wouldn't write you off as an idiot for one clumsy phrase? The butterflies in her stomach wouldn't be crushed now, she was certain of that now, and it felt... exciting, really. Pleasant, rather than vaguely scary.)

"Pfft! It seems you don't understand the stakes here, Guinevere," Morgan began, raising her index finger. "This is reputation-ruining stuff. What would people think of me if they knew my interests were this mundane? Do you think I would be able to convince them I'd turn them into frogs over their insolence? No, no, no. They'd look at me, and see this chick who cried over a romantic story. Not the evil witch who emerged from their worst nightmares!" ...wait. Had she-- had she actually admitted she had cried over the book? Wow. Gwen's presence had loosened her tongue, truly, for the old Morgan would rather have fought a lion in hand to hand combat before sharing that. Oh well! With the cat out of the bag, there was no point in trying to hide the info, really.

So, instead of attempting some form of damage control, Morgan simply sank into the cushions. One should get comfortable for storytime, right? And, gods, was she glad that she had done so, for the story Gwen told her was spectacular. (That they were able to find a piece of happiness in that dreary landscape, devoid of life? It gave her hope for mankind, in this roundabout way. Often, Camelot had made her think it would have been better to push the reset button-- to let them all die, and let the Earth cleanse itself. Without them constantly making everything worse with their greed, it would recover in time, right? Except that the world wasn't Camelot, and Camelot wasn't the world. Women and girls like Guinevere lived there as well, and didn't they deserve their chance? ...privately, Morgan promised to herself they would get it. Not tomorrow, probably, or even the day after tomorrow, but their time would come. Why else, after all, even mend the broken Earth? It wasn't like they'd ever have children of their own, but they would still give the world to the ones who would come after them, and that-- that felt meaningful.) "Sounds like you had a good time," she smiled and patted her head. "I still can't imagine what you looked like with your hair dyed pink, though. I mean, I'm sure it was charming, but it's like-- like trying to picture a cat with five legs, you know? It just doesn't feel like you," she giggled. "But, okay. Brace yourself, Guinevere, because you are about to learn my darkest secret."

Grabbing the blanket tighter, Morgan sat up. "It was Pride and Prejudice. Don't judge me, okay? The heroine was allowed to have a personality, and the hero didn't try to change her. In fact, he changed for her, because he realized he was being a jerk. Now, the novel still had its flaws, but it wasn't anything I couldn't edit out in my head. Once I started imagining Mr. Darcy as Miss Darcy, for example, my experience got so much more, uh, satisfying." ...maybe, maybe this genderbent version of his had been her first fictional crush, but honestly? Gwen didn't need to know everything. No, some amount of mystery kept a relationship alive! Intrigue was the spice of life, or... or something. (Morgan just liked her dignity and preferred to preserve it. Now, the trends so far suggested she would embarrass herself in front of Gwen in five different ways before breakfast, but that didn't mean she also had to dig up the corpses of her old shame! No, totally unnecessary.)

"What about you? What kind of stories did you enjoy?" Morgan tilted her head aside. "I know you didn't have books, but I refuse to believe that nobody told stories in the wastes." ...mostly because dwelling in their fantasies must have been better than their cruel, cruel reality. And, hey, wasn't that what always inspired humans to come up with fiction?

 

[ellarose]

"Yeah. It was an unspoken rule that everyone set their beef aside and have some fun. Don't let that fool you, though-- cart racing's a pretty intense sport out there!" Guinevere nods with a sort of severity, but can't help blooming like a flower under Morgan's affectionate touch. It was fun. And accessible, more than anything. Old shopping marts had more than enough to go around. Find a few spare carts and an abandoned street and you were ready to roll. "I even got into racing competitively for a while. Turns out that wasn't the real reason the wanted to talk to me in the first place, though... Sammy had me pegged as a thrill seeker and thought that'd help 'em get through to me." Hah. And she was right, as it turns out! As satisfying and intense as it is to protect her loved ones with a sword, doing something wild just for the hell of it eliminates a whole lot of stress. Those rides gave her a little taste of self-indulgence in a world filled with trials and strife. "I found out later that a friend of theirs fell victim to that guy Jen got mixed up with. All they wanted to do was warn us... even after we stole from them like total assholes. That's how I knew they were real, you know? We stuck with each other ever since."

"In my defense, I was going for red." Guinevere struggles to speak through a laugh, her cheeks blushing as pink as her hair used to be. "Didn't have a mirror to see the damage after I did it-- hah-- I'll never forget the look on Jen's face. Having a new color sorta helped me make an identity for myself. We made a living off pretending to be the same person for so long..." Guinevere couldn't be Guinevere if she wanted to survive. (It was true with Jen like it was with Camelot and the cult... she was a tool. The shield, the sword or the resource.) Guinevere was a mess, a total fuck up, and needed someone else to make all the tough decisions for her. Stuck in that abysmal mindset with no escape, it was no wonder she took on such a bad attitude. But meeting her friends...? She learned from their selflessness and found herself-- and a purpose-- through it. They gave her something to live for, the confidence to forge her own path. (To the point that they even began to look at her of all people to lead.) So when Arthur strolled in with all his promises to make their lives better-- she had to take his offer. Because while on the surface she would become his wife, she would never forget who she was or who she was fighting for... 'Course, Camelot turned out to be way more than she bargained for. Morgan, though. Morgan didn't let her slip through the cracks. Regardless of her difficulties with trust, she saw through all the bullshit-- down to the person she truly was. She laughs, then, shaking the heavy thoughts off. "Anyway, I'm never dying my hair again. Never."

The promise of learning one of Morgan's deepest darkest secrets demands Guinevere's full attention. And the answer? The answer just makes her break out into another grin. It's endearing more than anything else. One of her favorite things in the world is listening to Morgan talk about what makes her passionate-- be it magic, food, or romantic books. There's this light that fills her eyes and it's the most breathtaking sight in the whole world. She's drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. (Morgan's tough and smart as a whip, but also considerate. And to hear that she cried while reading a romantic story? That's not something to judge-- no way! It just means she's got heart.) A little laugh slips from her and she leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Sorry, I don't mean to laugh! I just love this. Getting to know you better." Guinevere confesses, never losing her smile. And that she imagined the story with two women? Well, it's incredibly relatable. "I've never read it, but even I know it's one of the classics. Sounds pretty revolutionary, the way you describe it." A man changing himself for a woman? It's like something out of a fantasy-- god-- especially now, with the perspective of a married woman. (Married to Arthur of all people. Ugh. The bastard keeps haunting her mind like a ghost.) Even out in the wastes... Jen had a talent for picking her 'boyfriends' from the bottom of the barrel.

"Mm. I came across books sometimes, when I went looking for materials. They weren't necessities, though, so I never took any with me. I liked flipping through comic books, though. Or anything with pictures." Books existed, of course, among other forgotton things. But Morgan's right that she didn't have any. Hauling too much shit around slows you down out in the wastes. Besides-- it was rare to find time for reading when every day was a fight for survival. "Even if I had books, I'm not smart enough to follow along. I realized that pretty quick after visiting Camelot's library a few times." She laughs making that jab at herself, in attempt to lighten the mood. Not book smart, anyway. Her dad taught her the basics on how to write and read. But her education beyond that? Non existant. It was a matter of trying to decode the words she didn't know by using context from those she did. Sometimes that just wasn't enough. And somehow it dredges Arthur back up, too-- when he forced her to write those wedding invitations. She's a horrendous speller! He clearly took pleasure in pointing out all her mistakes. It's one thing for her to knock her own lack of education... but coming from him, it was so condescending! As if it was just confirming his stance that she was helpless without him. Good riddance! "But, hey. My vocabulary's imporved a lot thanks to you!"

"You're right, though. We tell all kinds of stories. Tamara's the best. She loves telling the old fairytales and greek myths her grandma taught her." Guinevere beams with the opportunity to boast for her friend. Tamara and... and Jen were probably the best. But this is a happy topic she'd rather not bring her sister into. "'Course, my gang's so rowdy. We'd always interrupt with our own ideas. Our versions prolly sound nothing like the originals at this point." Unless they were sharing personal experiences around the fire, storytime often turned into a game-- one where they passed the torch and contributed with their own personal touches and plot twists.

"Honestly, it was kinda spooky watching my past self telling stories. It's like those stories are still in my head... if that makes sense. I swear I've told some just like that." Guinevere muses, "Fantasy and adventure with a twist, I mean I know it's pretty common, but that's my go-to." Geez. She can feel the gravity of everything they witnessed today pressing down on her again. With a sigh, she tries to brush it off. "...I never was much of a romantic." Guinevere gives Morgan another brief kiss. "But I think I've been warming up to it lately."

Alright, time for another question. She blinks slowly, feeling that she could easily fall asleep at any moment and knowing full well she doesn't want to. This night they're sharing together is everything to her... she's afraid that closing her eyes and falling asleep might bring it all to a close. That she'll open her eyes to realize it was all a dream-- that Arthur will be there beside her instead. Or she'll find herself tied to a bed somewhere dark and dreary. (She's dreamed one too many of her days away in a drugged daze, for god's sake. That shit's going to make her question her reality for a while.) Guinevere pinches herself to stay awake. "Have you ever had any pets?" She asks as the question comes to her, "Or if not... what's your favorite animal?"

 

[Syntra]

"Don't," Morgan agreed, her gaze infinitely fond. "I mean, I wouldn't judge you for your, uhh... creative decisions, but I'm not sure whether the same could be said about the rest of this lot." Translation: no, it couldn't! In a woman, standing out was a sin-- because, duh, not toeing the party line diligently enough meant that her head was probably full of dangerous, dangerous thoughts. You know, such as the radical idea that she wasn't a decoration? That she existed for a purpose greater than to be ogled, used, and discarded? Yes, these things. (Things they would have to get used to, in other words. Changes were coming, whether they liked it or not, and those who refused to conform-- well, they would be given the same level of consideration Arthur had once extended to Morgan, back when she had been scared and powerless. So, none at all!) "Besides, I like you like this. Your hair is so pretty." All of her was, really, but pointing the individual examples out couldn't hurt. (...hmm. Perhaps, once she had some time, Morgan could compose a poem extoling her virtues? Not that she had ever raised her quill to do something like that, but hey, this was a new start! Would it not be thoroughly wasted if she remained stuck in her old patterns, never leaving her comfort zone? No, that-- that sounded like Arthur had done, dammit. Alright, then. Why not! Morgan would try, and if it was as terrible as she suspected it would be? At least they'd have something to laugh at. Gods knew they could use every opportunity for that-- especially since, for such a long time, Camelot had felt like a coffin. ...had been their coffin, too. In so, so many ways.)

"Hey!" the sorceress pursed her lips, looking like a pouty child more than anything else. "This is serious stuff, Gwen. I'm opening my heart to you, and this is what I get? Mockery? From the one I love? Ah, you wound me so!" she placed her hand where her heart was and shook her head in this 'disappointed, but not surprised' manner. (Was she actually angry? Well, no. No, of course not! Even a blind person could see there was no malice in Gwen's words, but, you know, this was just plain old fun. Grand manipulations, and complicated plans? Morgan had left those in the great hall. Tomorrow, she would pick them up once again-- she would don them, much like other people donned clothes, and make them hers again. Keeping her hands clean while getting rid of Arthur's mess was just a pipe dream, you see? An impossibility, much like jumping into a lake and expecting to remain dry. ...tomorrow was tomorrow, though, and today was today. No, the rest of the day belonged to Gwen.) "And to think I wanted to share my greatest faux pas with you, too. Hmm, hmm! I'll have to reconsider that now."

"But yes," she conceded, "I suppose it was revolutionary, for its time period. From what I understand, there were more daring stories out there as well, though you can probably imagine what happened to these books. My brother dearest didn't like them." Now, if he had been a normal person, that likely would have translated into him not reading them-- except that that would have required the ability to acknowledge that the things he didn't enjoy weren't necessarily had. Which, wow, what a concept! ...a concept he had never grasped, to his own detriment. When Guinevere disparaged herself, though, Morgan frowned. "Not smart enough? Gwen, you understood the fundamentals of magic within few lessons. Nobody who isn't smart wouldn't be able to pull that off. If you have trouble with books, it's only because you aren't used to them-- I can guarantee that. Your brain is a muscle as well, you see? And of course that it'll struggle with tasks it is unfamiliar with. It just hasn't had the chance to grow strong yet. I can, uhh... find you something fun to read. None of the boring things that are popular around here-- something you'd enjoy, so that you'd want to know what happens on the next page. With that motivation, I'm sure you'd learn quickly." Because, duh, Morgan wasn't going to listen to this Guinevere slander! Especially when it came from Guinevere herself. No, if there was a way she could help her love see herself in a more positive light, then, by gods, was she going to do it. Victory would be hers!

"Hmm," Morgan nodded. "I imagine the experience must have been quite surreal. Action and fantasy are fairly solid picks, too. I mean, it's not like I, with my romantic book, can judge you. You'd laugh me out of the room." Well, that, and she also didn't wish to judge her. Not everyone who lived in Camelot was a pathetic control freak, thank you very much! As far as Morgan was concerned, people were allowed to have preferences, and those preferences didn't need to align with hers.

"Hm," Morgan ruffled her hair, her expression mysterious all of a sudden, "I did have a pet, and I also didn't have one. It's complicated. More than that-- it sort of revolves around my most tragic faux pas, actually, so I'm thinking you'll need to offer something interesting in exchange. Well, Guinevere? How will you convince me? Got any spicy information to bribe me with?" she grinned before leaning forward, close enough so that her lips were almost touching Gwen's ear. "I can tell you it was a squirrel, though. As a little appetizer."

 

[ellarose]

And why would Guinevere want this night to end? Morgan makes her blush one moment, then elicits a laugh from her the next. At first, being sheltered by four walls and having a soft, warm bed to sleep in was a luxury. In a place like this, though, it got old fast. Whether she was grounded like a child, shackled to one by a cult, or... trapped in one with Arthur. While part of her felt selfish for it, the benefits of having a comfortable place to land were tainted by her circumstances. How long has it been since she last felt this content? It's been so long that she has to keep reminding herself, over and over, that it isn't a dream.

"No--!" Guinevere wails teasingly, taking a childlike approach of her own when Morgan threatens not to divulge the details-- like a parent threatening to take away a favorite toy. She buries her face in the crook of the other woman's neck, as if to hide her shame, and then presses a soft little kiss to her shoulder. "Please tell me. I love you, I'm sorry." When she pulls back again, her eyes gleam brightly with an eagerness to know, to listen to every word her brilliant sorceress has to say. Drowning in her eyes, her scent, the sound of her voice... she's drunk on it.

Of course, the implications that Arthur trashed books that didn't fit his ideals sobers her up pretty fast. Guinevere glares at his armor on the floor. Oh, it'd be so therapeutic to kick it, wouldn't it? Except he's not even worth the grief of a stubbed toe. Maybe it'd be more fun to toss it over the balcony? Or use it as target practice? Her fire simmers down a bit, though, when Morgan comes at her with reassurances. It's-- different. Most people tend to feed into her jokes about her lack of intelligence. She learned to laugh at herself for it, never took it all too seriously. But there is something kind of nice about being treated like she's not a lost cause. Morgan won't let her give up on anything, will she? (Because Morgan's not the type of person to give up. How else could she have survived for as long as she has in Camelot? No, Guinevere knew that about her... all the way back when they had their first heart to heart in her tent at camp. When she offered to help her, even though she'd definitely have her work cut out for her.) "It's all 'cause I had a great teacher, you know." She smiles broadly. "Seriously. I don't even know where I'd be right now without you." God-- pregnant with Arthur's first child, maybe? Or dead and forgotten in that blood cult village. Maybe she'd have just ditched Camelot altogether, to starve with her gang in the wastes after realizing that none of Arthur's promises would ever come to fruition. Would he have hunted her down like she was that poor white stag if she did that? Well... probably. She was the key to his so-called destiny, or whatever. Honestly, things could have been really grim. But there's no point having an existential crisis now, is there? They've claimed the future for themselves-- from here they can look forward, not backward. "I guess it's worth a try, if you think it's possible."

"Laugh you out of the room? I wouldn't dare." Guinevere solemnly promises. Though she's just playing along, it'd also be true to say she's being completely serious. The thought of Morgan going anywhere right now-- well, she just couldn't bear that! She snuggles in closer to her to solidify to herself once more that this is indeed real and not a dream. "I want you to stay right here."

Guinevere can feel the heat prickling at her cheeks as the warmth of Morgan's breath tickles her ear. (Spicy, huh? But what could be spicier than her face right now!?) She swallows, discovering her mouth has gone dry. "A-- a squirrel, huh. Sounds cute." It starts to paint a picture in her head (one with Morgan as a little girl, holding a squirrel with a big bushy tail-- which, quite frankly, is freaking adorable!) although she has no chance of guessing what this could actually be about. She had one... and she didn't? It sounds like a riddle of some sort-- which piques her curiosity all the more. Not to mention that the other woman being this close, sending electricity down to her toes, keeps her from thinking properly at all! Geez. Every braincell she has left is unhelpful-- preoccupied with Morgan's lips and how kissable they are. "I, uh--"

Now, what can she give in return? "...This is a secret, okay? I can sing." Guinevere's blush only deepens with the confession. It might not be groundbreaking-- but it isn't something she brings up often. Or at all. She's a gang leader from the wastes, for god's sake! It's kinda embarrassing. Only Mia, with her pleading puppy-dog eyes, could persuade her to sing a lullaby from time to time. Out of her gang, Adrianne and Tamara are the only others who've heard her. And she definitely wasn't going to bring it up to anyone in Camelot. Arthur might've deemed it an acceptable, feminine pastime for her to pursue-- which could've easily turned her into even more of an ornament than she already was. The thought alone makes her want to shrivel up and die! He probably would have forced her to sing something about her 'love' for him and... ugh, barf. "I, uh, I used to make up a bunch of stupid songs to pass the time when I was a kid. There wasn't much else to do." There's truth in that. Unless you hit the jackpot and found the right supplies, or an instrument intact-- hobbies were reduced to what little you had. Guinevere had her sword, of course... and her voice. The sword just happened to be the more useful tool out in the wastes. As she got older, her tough front took priority and her passion for song fizzled away. Besides, there's a sort of vulnerability that comes with expressing yourself that way. Openhearted as she tends to be, a place as cold and cruel as the wastes persuades everyone to hold their guard up to some extent. She covers her face with her hands. "I mean, I'm not remarkable by any means! Don't ask me to sing now. I've just been told I'm not terrible."

After taking a moment to recover, Guinevere peeks through her fingers at Morgan. "...Your turn."

 

[Syntra]

"In a place much more unpleasant than this, I'm sure," Morgan said, completely serious. Because, well, it was true, wasn't it? Denying the impact she had had on Gwen's life would have been an insult to them both-- a shrug towards everything they had gone through together, specifically so that they might grasp a better life for themselves. At the same time, however... "You would have survived nonetheless, though. You've survived worse things than an egomaniac with a crown, Gwen. I'm sure you would have found a way to thrive eventually, too. I mean, that's kinda your whole shtick, isn't it?" A survivor from the wastes, tougher than anything Arthur would have thrown at her. Steel? Ha! Steel paled before her will-- because, you see, steel melted in fire, and Guinevere was fire made flesh. No, a man this weak never would have broken her. (How could he have hoped to control others, after all, when he remained a slave to his own desires? A prisoner to his lack of imagination? Oh no, no, no. The only way he could truly rule over anything, Morgan knew, was if his kingdom composed of corpses. ...why was probably why he had tried to turn his subjects into those, really. Into puppets, obedient and unthinking.)

"Still," the sorceress continued with a smile, "facing it alone would have been harder, so I am glad I was there to help. Besides, you've changed my life quite considerably, too. Don't you dare to forget about that, Guinevere." Outwardly, that change probably seemed much less drastic-- for her, there had been no husband to slay, no throne to win. Not exactly the stuff bards composed songs about, you know? The thing was, life wasn't a song, and devil was in the details. Details such as being able to breathe freely, without having to fear that a wrong glance could earn her a stay in the catacombs or worse, or... or finding out that someone could love her, despite everything. That the scars she bore didn't make her too ugly to look at, much less embrace. (That the tiny voice in the back of her head which claimed otherwise was lying, lying, lying. How could that not be significant? It was, Morgan knew, and she wouldn't let Gwen downplay the role she had played in that realization out of some misplaced sense of humility. Just, no!)

"Again, my love, you're in luck," she chuckled and huddled closer. Ah, how warm Gwen was! Now, when they had all the time in the world, Morgan could finally savor the little details-- the smell of her hair, the curvature of her smile, the way her skin felt underneath her fingers. (An uncharted territory, but hey, that was what made it so appealing, right? This desire to know more, to learn everything there was to learn and made her hers, in a way she had never been anyone else's.) "Because you'd have to try very hard to get me to leave. In fact, I think you'd need to resort to exorcism. Have I ever told you my mother actually tried that? Back when I was a child, shortly after my magical potential awakened." ...that wasn't one of her favorite memories, actually, but the words slipped past her lips before she could have stopped them-- whatever safety lid she had put on to protect herself was gone, and without it, the filth just spilled. Uh oh. ...well, it wasn't like Morgan could switch the topic now, could she? Because Gwen would ask, doubtlessly, and she'd have to answer nonetheless. Fine. Fine, just breathe. It happened a long time ago, and none of it matters now. Speaking of it won't hurt you. "She... well. When my powers manifested themselves for the first time, it was a scandal. A large one, as you can probably imagine. A daughter from such a good family, now associated with magic? A great tragedy, and also a great shame. She tried to protect me, in her own way, via trying to... separate me from my gift. Needless to say, it didn't work. I don't think it can be done in the first place, and if it can, then certainly not via her methods." Wow. When had been the last time Morgan had even spoken about this? (...had she ever, actually? No, probably not. Sympathy wasn't something inhabitants of Camelot would have showered her in, you see, and besides, Morgan hadn't even wanted it. Why, after all? To make them pity her? Pity was for ladies, not witches. No, the only tool at her disposal was fear, and pity would have undermined it. Quite severely, too! The fear of magic was a disguised fear of the unknown, of that which might have been lurking in their own minds, of darkness, in other words-- which meant that allowing them to understand her would have been like handing them a goddamn torch. ...Gwen, though. To Gwen, Morgan would give it gladly.)

"Oh?" she tilted her head aside when Gwen began speaking of secrets, noticeably more cheerful. "Do go on. I promise I won't betray your trust." Singing out of all things wasn't something the sorceress had expected, though, so she let out a sound suspiciously close to a giggle. "Wow. Is there anything you can't do?" she teased, mischievous sparks dancing in her eyes. "My beautiful, talented Guinevere. I hope you understand you'll have to sing a song to me at some point, right? I mean, you can't just drop this bomb and then expect me to act as if it has never happened in the first place. It doesn't work like that! But, alright, I concede that that is spicy enough. Me and my squirrel story, then."

"Obviously, I wasn't allowed a pet," she began. "A lady from a good family could hope to have a horse, or perhaps a hunting dog, but not more than that. Don't ask me why-- yada, yada, yada, 'it just isn't done, Morgan.' That was what they told me every time I begged for a hamster, anyway. You know what, though? As a child, I didn't give up easily, and so I noticed a squirrel was living in the tree near my window. I... I started feeding it in secret," Morgan admitted, blushing slightly. "I stole food from the kitchen and everything. To this day, I don't know how nobody noticed. Maybe they were too busy with their own business? Anyway, the squirrel took a liking to me. Eventually, I could... well, not exactly pet it, because it was still a wild animal, but exist in its vicinity without spooking it. I loved it. ...until my mother entered my room without knocking once, and, uh. I have no idea how it happened, but when the squirrel tried to escape, it ended up in her hair." Okay, her cheeks? Those were positively burning now, but Morgan steeled herself. A promise was a promise, right? "She panicked and screamed, and everyone heard, and so they ran to my room to find out what happened. There, they found my mother engaged in combat with a squirrel. It was terrible! I genuinely thought I'd die."

 

[ellarose]

"No. Not without you." Guinevere stays firm on that, gives her head a serious little shake. Because she won't let Morgan brush herself aside, either! Sure, she survived the wastelands... but she's also had to rely on Jen and on the kindness of strangers countless times. On her gang. And now on Morgan. No one can do it all alone. And after seeing those past versions of herself dying off by Arthur's hand? It doesn't matter what she's fought in the past, how many battles she won or lost-- she's not invincible. "I considered myself dead the minute I stepped through Camelot's gates. So when you offered to help me..." She can recall the feeling of relief that swelled through her in that moment clear as day, the feeling that inspired her to give away one of her one and only possessions. Because that's how important it was to her. "There's no way would I have figured out what was happening to me without you. My past lives might've known what they were, but I..." She had breadcrumbs. But the rest of the fae are dead and gone. "Point is, you made me feel safe when my whole life was ripped out from under me. Didn't let me give up." Shoving down on the grief and panic that comes with that, she pushes herself to smile. To reciprocate Morgan's, when she mentions how she changed her life. Her eyes crinkle amusedly. "Well, naturally. My rebellious spirit kept this place from getting too boring, didn't it? First I took down the curtains and now the great hall's in ruins!" Her comic evil laugh dissolves into a simple fit of giggles. But still, her gaze gleams with understanding. "We changed each other's lives. We stand on equal ground here, Morgan le Fey."

Guinevere cuddles in even closer as Morgan begins to touch on her past, so close she can hear their mingled heartbeats along with the other woman's voice. "Exorcism...?" Her brow furrows slightly. Concern mingles with confusion. She's heard of the term before, but doesn't know exactly what it entails. It's some kind of ritual, isn't it? A topic often touched on in old horror stories and the like. Gathering what she can from Morgan's expression and implications, she can tell it isn't... pleasant. Nor does it sound pleasant. It isn't her place to be overcome by anger for something that happened so far in the past, really, but she can feel it bubbling up in the pit of her stomach regardless. Righteous fury on behalf of her love's younger self. She was just a kid. (Just like she was a kid when that cult took her away the first time, ran their tests on her. Young, small, and powerless. They both had it pretty rough growing up, didn't they? It didn't matter how different their circumstances were, the adults in their lives just-- ugh. And in Morgan's case, it was her own mother! That... that had to be devastating.) Though her thoughts and emotions run on a rampage, she listens thoughtfully rather than butting in with her own concerns. It's rare enough to hear Morgan discuss her past, her childhood. She wants to give her the comfortable space and respect she needs to do that. "That must've been tough. I'm sorry." What else is there to say, really? As her heart aches, she simply hugs Morgan closer and rubs affectionate little circles against the small of her back. Sometimes unspoken comforts and a listening ear could do more than words. A simple 'I'm here for you' can be more meaningful than anything. "Things are gonna change around here. We're finally gonna show these people that magic has potential, yeah?" And so long as she's around, nobody's going to have the opportunity to hurt Morgan like that ever again! Instead, the people of Camelot will finally have to confront the hard truth that they've been relying on a magical sword all this time. All this time, they've been benefiting off of the very thing they shunned! By shaming it and Morgan by association makes them all hypocrites.

Suddenly, guilt pierces through her other emotions. Guinevere recognizes it as what she felt before, in Excalibur's little realm. If she was responsible for bringing magic into Morgan's life in the first place and magic is the source of so much pain in her past--

--No. Now's not the time to go there. Guinevere focuses on their present conversation. The light one, meant to distract from the heavy events of the day. They have time now, right? They'll... have other opportunities to dig deeper. When they're ready. "Okay, okay." She caves, weak to the joy in Morgan's voice. Oh, she'll spend the rest of her life trying to make her happy, to make up for all those years she spent alone in this horrible place! She kisses her on the nose. "For you and you only, I'll consider it."

When Morgan tells her story, Guinevere hangs onto every word as she tries to visualize it. It's so endearing to imagine the brightness in her eyes, watching over that cute little animal from afar... until, of course, the tale spirals to its comedic conclusion. Though she makes a valiant effort, she can't stop herself from snorting before she bursts into a fit of laughter. It's all the more hilarious, imagining all these prim and proper people thrown into a frenzy because of such a small and fluffy creature! Sophisticated individuals losing their shit over a squirrel of all things. "Oh-- oh no!" She manages between gulps of breath as she tries to catch her breath, rubbing the heel of her palm over her eye to swipe at a tear. "Oh no. That's so bad." And hysterical! Morgan's face is bright red, though, and Guinevere decides that she might as well trade her a little something else to make her feel better about it. God knows she's got plenty of stories involving wild animals.

"Hey, I hear you. Small critters can be dangerous! I told you how I used to be kind of a third wheel, right? Well, there was this one night when Jen was visiting one of her guys and I decided I'd sit outside and wait for her." She purses her lips, taking her story very seriously to begin with. "I saw these little eyes glowing in the dark. It was a raccoon, just... sitting there and staring into my soul. I, uh, I started talking to it. We were having a real heart to heart! And I thought we were getting to be pretty good friends." Guinevere's trying to keep her serious front intact, but she breaks with a tiny laugh here. "Then the little shit decides he wants to make off with my stuff! Our chat turned into a full-blown argument. Jen and her guy rushed out-- they, uh, thought I was getting mugged. But what made it worse was that they were, uh... definitely in the middle of something spicy, if you know what I mean." The red on her own cheeks almost rivals Morgan's here, if the implications didn't provide enough as it was. "Yeah, that was, hah..." Technically she was being mugged! By a... a raccoon. Needless to say, her sister wasn't very amused.

"Your story was really sweet, though. Up till the end." Guinevere laughs and smiles warmly, pressing another kiss to Morgan's forehead. "Did your squirrel have a name?"

 

[Syntra]

"Hmpf!" Morgan snorted, trying her best to keep herself from smiling. (Spoiler alert: it didn't really work-- which, of course, wasn't her fault at all! The scientists of old had proved that laughter was contagious, and she could hardly resist her biological programming. Despite everything, Morgan was still human, thank you very much. So, anyone would have laughed in Gwen's presence! The girl's smile was so brilliant they hardly needed torches in this room, too. ...hmm. Perhaps they could actually get rid of them? At least until they managed to renovate the chamber-- to remove all the traces of Arthur ever being there, really. Now, Gwen moving to another room might have been the simplest way to deal with that issue, but not necessarily the ideal one. Symbols carried great power, you see? And if the denizens of Camelot believed that this room had always belonged to kings and queens, Guinevere should stay there-- if only to strengthen her image. It will be as if he has never even existed, Morgan promised to herself. Not even chronicles will mention him. Rumors will be all he'll ever get! And, as was their nature, those rumors would be distorted-- because no information, no matter how important, had managed to survive for centuries intact. That just wasn't how it worked. The creativity of the human mind couldn't be restrained by something as banal as reality, you see? Everything was a plot point, to be woven into a greater narrative. So, more than likely, Arthur would morph into something far uglier than he actually was-- an evil dragon, or perhaps a demon who had tried to steal the fair queen. A mere obstacle in their path to happiness, in other words. Yes, yes! That seemed like an appropriate fate for one such as him-- ending up as a side character in a legend he had thought to be his. ...this occasion was too joyous, however, for Morgan to spend it thinking about her brother out of all people.) "This pattern is quite disturbing, Gwen. I am telling you all those deeply personal things and you are laughing at me! How am I to ever-- pfft," the sorceress burst out in laughter as well, covering her mouth as she did so, "alright, alright. I forgive you. Only because it was hilarious, though!"

Gwen offered another story in exchange then, and Morgan couldn't help but start giggling even before the conclusion came. (Gods, she could picture it in vivid colors! Gwen talking to a raccoon, with this terribly serious expression on her face, and then-- pfft. Then getting robbed for it of all things. Like, obviously she loved Guinevere, and would go to the very depths of hell for her, but not laughing at this story just wasn't an option. In order to remain stone faced, Morgan would have had to be a corpse!) "Well," she giggled, "I hope the raccoon found its happiness. I mean, if it bested you, it must have been a hero among its kind. I'm sure that the critter has reached legendary status in its society, really. And, hey, who knows? Perhaps it was a mama raccoon who managed to feed her babies thanks to you that day." ...and perhaps not, but putting a sweet spin on the story seemed like an appropriate thing to do. Why not, after all? Making Gwen feel at least a little better about the whole fiasco would be nice. "Plus, maybe the gods simply wished to use you as their vessel. Clearly, Jennifer and that guy weren't meant to be, so they acted via you to break them up!" ...alright, now they were entering the territory of shameless lies, but so what? This was a sleepover, and silly things like that were basically mandatory. Who was Morgan to break the rules, after all? Protocols were there to be followed.

"And no, actually. It didn't have a name," the sorceress smiled, somewhat distantly. "I didn't wish to bind it to myself. That was a belief I grew up with, you know? That by giving something a name, you sort of tie your fates together. I knew I wouldn't be allowed to keep it long-term, so it seemed like a cruel thing to do. Besides, my child self also assumed the squirrel had a name already-- it just couldn't tell me what it was, as I didn't speak its language. So, uh, giving it another name actually seemed kind of rude to me! I mean, wouldn't you get mad if some stranger decided you would be called Gertrude because they didn't understand your introduction? I certainly would."

The two talked and talked, long enough so that Morgan felt she might run out of words, but the state wasn't unpleasant, actually-- more than anything else, it felt like using just the right amount of magic. You know, not enough for it to really hurt you, but enough to make you feel powerful? Either way, her lids were heavy, and so she huddled closer to Guinevere. (...this was what home must have felt like, Morgan was sure. Home and safety and all those things she had never truly had, now located right in her love's arms. How fortunate she was!)

"So, tomorrow will be your first day as the ruling queen, huh," she yawned, entirely content. "Any plans? What shall we take care of first? Or, alternatively, would you like my counsel? Is there anything that makes you nervous, perhaps?"

 

[ellarose]

Guinevere opens her arms to let Morgan in as she moves closer. Holding onto her, watching her with half-lidded eyes that refuse to close, a yawn of her own escapes. Sleep is coming for the both of them, it seems. And wishing this night could last forever wouldn't make it so-- after all, she'd done the same thing on her wedding night and that hadn't saved her. Ugh, she shouldn't go there right now. As an irrational surge of panic spears through her chest, she reassures herself that she'll never go back to lying in this bed beneath that bastard. Never again. Besides, this time will be different! This time they have a future to build, this time they... have time. They'll have other nights that belong to them. This isn't an ending. It's a new beginning. (Geez. There she goes, sounding like Diana with her old deck of tarot cards... she really shouldn't go there, either.) Even with her tired mind in a state of disarray, she can still find her answers to Morgan's next questions. There were too many sleepless nights she spent memorizing the shadows on the walls. They looked kind of like monsters. But even taking her fear of the dark into account, none of them scared her... for the worst of them slept in the bed beside her. How could she forget Arthur was there, after all, when she was forced to listen to him breathe deeply as he slept, sound and infuriatingly unburdened by the hell he put her through? She fantasized about what she would do first if-- when-- she managed to scavenge some scrap of free-will from this backwards place. To rip the controls from his hands so she could be in charge of her own damned destiny.

Ruling queen. Hearing it in Morgan's voice only reaffirms the truth-- and a garden of both anticipation and fear blooms inside her. "Heh. I keep pinching myself... feels like this is a dream." Guinevere holds her arm up shyly. It's difficult to see in the dark, but her skin is already bruising from it. "I can't believe it's real."

"...If I had it my way, I'd transform everything about this place overnight." Guinevere muses softly, gingerly tucking a strand of Morgan's hair behind her ear. The earth would be alive and flourishing, her gang would be there, and Morgan-- Morgan would be her queen and everyone would know it. But even she knows how unrealistic that is. The pressure on her shoulders is great, it'll take time and effort to ease the people of Camelot into a new way of life. Doesn't mean she's going to baby them, though. Hell no! "First... I've got some promises to keep. I want to send for my gang as soon as possible." Her brow furrows there, "It was disgraceful, the way those knights behaved today. Trampling over ladies? Clearly, Camelot needs reinforcements! To strengthen our defenses, we'll need a team who actually knows how to handle themselves in a fight." She grins there, little sparks dancing in her eyes. Excitement, hope. Finally, finally she's going to see them again. Save from that brief moment Morgan gave her with Tamara and Sam... god-- she hasn't seen them since the whole mess with the cult! "They can't argue with me if I come at it like that, right?"

"I... I just hope--" Faltering, she bites the inside of her cheek. "I mean, I guess I'm still a little worried. It's stupid. I mean... we've survived the wastes. What else could the world possibly throw at us?" But still. Guinevere remembers her first steps through Camelot's gates, the castle, her new prison, looming over her. Being thrown into an entirely new world is overwhelming. She can still recall the first whiff of perfume that assaulted her nose, the pristine people who stared agape at her like she was an insect that needed to be exterminated. Arthur shut her up in a room like she was a dirty secret, presented her with a dress finer than anything she ever owned and then left her there with orders not to go out until she was instructed to. It was pitiful. She'll never forget the sting of tears in her eyes while she fumbled clumsily with a dress she had no clue how to get into. At least they won't come into this completely alone-- and Arthur won't be around to enforce his stupid rules or lock them away. There... are other issues, though. Like Iphigenia and the other ladies piling food on her plate at that banquet. The way they laughed and mocked. That's why she ran out, feeling the burn of humiliation on her cheeks. It had nothing-- nothing-- to do with the wine-stained dress. A little stain never hurt her! But fighting tooth and nail to get a bite to eat just to be called a poor thing by women who were used to having their food delivered on silver platters... after her girls fought so damned hard to get by, she doesn't want them to ever feel ashamed of themselves like she did. "It'll be an adjustment. But I can't make them wait any longer."

Guinevere used to wear her scars with a sort of pride. They were a rite of passage out in the wastes. It's wild how a total change in environment can also change her perception of what she sees in the mirror. In the last couple of months, her heart's been full of shame. Whether it's how her body was turned into a plaything or her hard-earned life being turned into the punchline of a joke. They won't have to let those these people push them around with a performative smile on their faces like she did, though. And besides... maybe their experiences today will have humbled the people of Camelot to the dangers they faced on an everyday basis. She can hope, right?

"We'll have to take it day by day. That means rebuilding and taking care of the people first." Guinevere looks to where she propped Excalibur up against the wall. Still resting, ever since the battle. She can feel it's presence vaguely, the same way she feels her magical bond to Morgan. "I want to figure out how to restore the earth. But I'm spent after today. And I... it might take time before I'm ready for all that." All that. It's a lot. There's so much she still needs to learn, too!

Arthur. Guinevere's mind refuses to let her forget, as her gaze flits from his abandoned armor to the window. Arthur... he's still out there. Oh, she hates how she freezes like a cornered doe at the thought! Morgan said she'd take care of him, but-- like she said, this feels unreal. Like a dream, like reality can't be trusted. And he'll continue to haunt her until she confirms with her own eyes that he's truly gone. For now, though, she shoves the topic down. Realistically, it'll take time before he's in any state to come crawling back. And, hey! Maybe if they're lucky, a monster in the wastes will take care of him and they won't even have to worry about it... geez. There's also the cult! It'd be so easy to succumb to fear if not for the warmth of Morgan's arms. Arthur was neglectful, but Morgan... Morgan won't let anything happen to her. Her queen and her knight. Considerately offering her support in the here and now. So there's no need to be stewing in all of this.

"The people. They'll want to know more about what happened." Guinevere mentions, snapping out of it. "I-- I want to be as honest as possible. But I know there're things that..." It's a delicate thing, isn't it? The narrative can sway the people so dramatically here. And Morgan knows more about that than anyone else-- way more than Guinevere could ever hope to. How would the people react, if they learned their queen wasn't entirely human? Yeah... keeping that particular detail under wraps may be in their best interest. "I can't screw this up, after all the work you've put in." She can't downplay her love's contributions, after all! Morgan might have worked in the shadows-- but that doesn't erase the fact that she was there all along, planting seeds that grew and flourished today. "You know me... I'm liable to slip up. Got any advice on how I should approach all this?" Handling the busy work is where she shines. She can make sure the people are taken care of, the way she did with her gang in the wastes. Camelot's a peculiar place, though. If she says the wrong thing, they could turn on her on an instant. "Like... is there anything I should avoid saying at all costs?"

 

[Syntra]

"Oh, I feel that," Morgan sighed, the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Quite viscerally, too, but I hope you understand we cannot do that. Not so abruptly, anyway." Because, the cesspool that Camelot was? It had been stewing in its own juices for years, with all of the ugliness fermenting, and getting rid of it wasn't as simple as cleaning the rooms and perhaps buying new carpets. Oh no, no, no. The rot had claimed everything, you see-- even the very foundations of the castle. (Fire could solve this, Morgan knew, but at what cost? The behemoth would be dead, but they would be dead also, alone and shieldless in this world that belonged to monsters. No, they needed Camelot! As much as she'd love to watch flames devour it, the walls would protect them-- and, within the safety they offered, they could start building something new. It would no longer be a cage, meant to limit their growth. No, that was the way Arthur had used it, and they didn't have to go down the same path. Wouldn't, in fact! Instead of that, the castle would serve as a shell-- a protective membrane to be broken, once they were ready to shed it. ...much like a baby bird still resting in its egg, and wasn't that an apt metaphor? Because, truly, this was just a beginning.) "But at the same time, changes need to happen. I won't let allow these lords and ladies to prioritize their precious, precious feelings over other people's lives." Since that was the main problem here, wasn't it? Arthur and his ilk had built a society that was profoundly sick-- a society with values so twisted they also twisted the spines of everyone involved. This metaphorical tree had grown around a bent support stick, and the process of straightening it would be... painful, to say the least. (Painful, if not impossible. Oh, gods! Just how far had the corruption spread? Was there anything pristine left at all? A semblance of a healthy core, at least? That doesn't matter. What has been destroyed can be rebuilt, and vice versa. Things are never truly stagnant-- not unless we die, anyway.)

"Do you know how a frog is boiled, Gwen?" Morgan asked, quietly, as she caressed her hair. (The gesture soothed her for some reason-- perhaps because it felt like silk? Or perhaps because this was something she could do freely now, without worrying it might get them in trouble. Without fearing she might lose her head for it, really.) "Not the actual method, but the cultural idea. Just bear with me, okay? You'll see what I mean soon enough. The idea is that you put the frog into a pot while it's still alive, and then you pour some water on it. The water cannot be too hot-- because, if it is, the frog will notice it's being cooked and jump out of the pot. So, what do you do instead? You increase the heat gradually. You give the frog some time to get used to its new environment, you wait until it's comfortable, and then you strike again. And what do you get in time? A cook frog. That's what we have to do here as well, Gwen." ...which, really, was easier said then done. Even offering shelter to Guinevere's people was like lighting a powder keg! These women, so independent and used to the life in the wastes? Their very existence threatened the prevalent narrative in, uh, explosive ways.

"I agree we have to take them in. Making them wait for too long..." could have deadly consequences, "might not turn out too well. But, Gwen," Morgan looked her in the eye, her expression serious, "I advise against portraying them as more competent then the knights. It is true, yes, but do you think they want to hear the truth? Their egos are too fragile for that, and they can be downright ruthless. If they see them as competition, they might even try to poison them. No, really, I wouldn't put it past these guys." So, what were they to do? The cogwheels turned in her head as she considered new ideas, new approaches, and-- oh. Oh, yes, this might work! "Honestly, I think we need to milk this situation. Camelot's almost been destroyed, and it's still fresh in everyone's memory. We should make up some story about the dangers growing more dire by the day-- the monsters are fiercer, and there are more of them. That sort of thing. So, wouldn't it make sense to train more people as soldiers in the war that is to come? Even women, should they desire to contribute to everyone's collective safety. That's when your girls come in-- they will be here to guard the ladies when the knights are too busy training, and, perhaps, to teach them some basic self-defense. It'll be more appropriate to entrust this task to other women, too, because their virtue won't be compromised that way. Everyone wins!" ...on the surface level, of course. The reality of it, though? They would win, because people learned by example. So, showing to the ladies they didn't necessarily have to exist as ladies was bound to make some waves! The seed of doubt would be sown, and Morgan would see to it that there would be a bountiful, bountiful harvest.

"And there are many things you shouldn't say or do, but they can be boiled down to one point: don't threaten their egos too much. These people live for their reputations-- so, don't take it away from them. Desperate men resort to desperate measures, you see? And as for how to explain this mess..." Morgan inhaled, her eyes sharp. "If you don't want to lie, then don't. Practice the art of, uh, omitting the details that may not paint you in the most favorable of lights. As for Arthur, just say he betrayed Camelot and endangered his subjects. Which, if you look at it from a certain angle, is true-- he did destroy the seal and let the real monsters in, after all. And that we provoked him into it, in a way? They don't need to know that. In fact, they shouldn't." It was also true that Gwen was more skilled with a sword than she was with words, though, and so Morgan could see how she might be liable to slip. Hmmm... How to minimize the danger of that happening, then?

"Alright," she smiled, squeezing Gwen's hand in hers, "let's practice for tomorrow. Pretend I'm Iphigenia, or maybe some random knight. I know it'll require some suspension of disbelief on your part, but do it. Now, if I asked you what happened to Arthur, what would you say?"

 

[ellarose]

Poison? Guinevere's eyes briefly flash with alarm before darkening with understanding. Oh, she understands on a personal level at this point. Why would that be unfathomable, after all, after the week she just endured? She began speaking up and putting Arthur's competence into question... so what did the bastard do in response? He drugged her. If she weren't his queen, he could have very easily resorted to poisoning her instead. If the king himself is --was-- capable of doing something so vile, it makes Morgan's claims that his knights may do the same all the more viable. Disgust curls up in her gut. Fucking Camelot. "Will it seem too paranoid if I say I want to watch all our food being prepared from now on?" Guinevere sighs, like she already knows the answer. Yes, yes it will. But anyone who saw her with Merlin today-- or the bloody display at breakfast in the great hall several days ago-- might have an inkling that her life as queen wasn't as luxurious as it might appear from the outside. Could they really blame her for being on edge when her husband was such a piece of shit? And it's another matter entirely, knowing she'll have to ask her girls to grin and bear it. Arthur refused to let any of them in Camelot, especially if they weren't going to follow his rules-- and Guinevere agreed, solely because she wanted them to be free. (Free and fed, mind you, but all those promises never came to fruition.) She never anticipated that the monsters outside would begin mutating into a graver danger... and their days on the outside will only get colder and colder. Bringing them here is the safest option. Listening quietly to Morgan's ideas, she finds herself nodding thoughtfully by the end. Training the ladies, taking up duties when the knights were busy. It's a decent compromise. Besides, her gang may appreciate having a little time to take it easy.

"I hear you. I'll talk to them about it. I... can't control how they'll act, though. Criminy, I can barely control myself most of the time." Guinevere's brow crinkles apologetically. Speaking of which... "Nearly lost it these last few days. I'm sorry. I could've really screwed everything up for us. I realized that after..." When she woke up in a haze and discovered that she couldn't move her arms or legs? Yeah, that was terrifying. Not only did it bring back a flood of unpleasant memories, it enclosed her in a feeling of failure and helplessness. She doesn't regret clocking Arthur and Eugene on their bullshit. But she does regret the fact that by doing so, she could have let Morgan down. After they had fought so hard and long-- the thought of that was unbearable. "Ever since my shadow self appeared--" She shakes her head, as if to scold herself. No excuses! It's been hard, but Morgan of all people doesn't need to hear that right now. Morgan already knows... she's lived with these stifling restrictions far longer than she has. "--I promise, I'll get my act together." Not only for her own sake, but for Morgan's... and for her gang, so she can set an example.

"They're survivors. They'll adapt if it means having some food, a warm place to rest, and a little peace of mind." Guinevere muses. Well, she certainly hopes so. They obviously won't put up with it forever... but surely they'll play along for a bit, as they regain their strength? Ugh. Doesn't change the fact that she's infuriated for them. Having to survive out there and then pretend that they're incapable of that just to stroke some privileged egos? Still, Morgan made a good point with the frog. Exploding into a sea of flames will do more harm than good... she has to adjust the heat carefully and slowly burn those old ideas and customs away.

"Wha--?" Guinevere purses her lips when Morgan suggests pretending that she's Iphigenia, the dubious look on her face expressing her blatant inability to do so. Damn right it'll require some suspension of disbelief! Pretending that her love could be that woman who made her life a living hell-- or anyone else for that matter-- is impossible. But this is for practice, right? Reciprocating Morgan's squeeze with one of her own, she rolls her eyes like she used to in their very first lessons, puffing out an incredulous little breath of resignation. "Fine. Let me think..." She crinkles her nose. "My idiot husband stabbed me, tried to kill me multiple times, and unleashed a horde of monsters on Camelot by playing with magic he didn't understand. Lady Morgan is not only beautiful and courageous... but she actually knows her shit, unlike you lot, and helped me fix what he broke. It's thanks to her that you're all safe and sound right now... you all should be eternally grateful and grovel for her forgiveness!"

"...Sorry, sorry. I promised to do better, didn't I?" Guinevere laughs guiltily there, kissing Morgan on the nose. "Okay. For real this time."

"I don't really know what happened at first." Wild how easy it is for her to fall back into the role of the damsel in distress at this point. Guinevere learned that feigned helplessness was her assigned role. Morgan taught her it could be a weapon, though-- if she used it properly. Pretending to be confused and innocent often softened Arthur's decisions. This time, though, there's a balance of winning the sympathy of the people while also proving herself capable enough to stand on her own two feet. If she plays it too helpless now, they could very well push some power-hungry lords on her. "I vaguely remember Merlin taking me to the great hall." Mhm. That'll match up with the memories of whoever saw her there. "Monsters barged in and my instincts from surviving in the wastes took over. I have a responsibility to protect you all, as your queen... I couldn't sit idly by and watch." Again, that adds up. Hell, she even saved Iphigenia from one of the illusionary monsters!

"I discovered Arthur with the Excalibur. He... showed me the sword once before. It's a magic sword. When he took it into his hands, though, I could tell that something was wrong with it... and him. More monsters appeared and he-- he tried to attack me." God, she'll have to act all choked up about her dear husband turning on her, won't she? It takes everything for Guinevere not to roll her eyes at that bit-- faltering only a moment before schooling her expression once more. Fuck it, she'll perfect her act by the time they're outside and talking to the people. But behind closed doors? It's fine for a little of that disdain to seep through, right? "Lady Morgan stepped in to help, as she understands these things better than anyone. Together, we purified the sword... I believe that's what closed up those holes in the ground. What happened afterwards, I can't be entirely sure. Arthur was long gone." She sighs, "What I do know is this. Arthur tried to use powerful magic he didn't understand... and his ignorance endangered all of us. If he survived, then surely he understands that as well. That's why he hadn't shown his face. That cannot be overlooked."

Guinevere peeks at Morgan then, to gauge her reaction. She's been her teacher in this particular art, after all, and she can only hope she's shown some progress after everything they've been through. "--That's prolly the best I can come up with... for now. What do you think?"

 

[Syntra]

To her credit, Morgan did try to look unimpressed. This was supposed to be serious, you know? The most serious thing in the world, even, because failing to don the mask properly... well, it could easily end in flames. (In the same flames one of Gwen's past lives had ended in, really. Power was a fickle, fickle thing, and could easily turn into ashes in your hands. So, why wasn't she trying?) "Gwen," Morgan said with a frown, "this is absolutely unacceptable. I hope you know that this won't be-- pfft," she burst out in laughter, not able to restrain herself any longer. The idea of these people groveling in front of her? Priceless! ...not that she had ever wanted that, or at least not truly. Being left alone would have been more than enough, you see? Animals that were backed into a corner bit, though, and that was exactly the position she had found herself in. "Alright, alright. I admit it was also hilarious. Can you try harder now, though? This is still practice."

And, yeah, Guinevere did try. Morgan studied her face as she talked, listened to every change in her tone, and... wow. This wasn't bad, actually! Gone was the naive girl she had lectured in the beginnings of their relationship-- in her place, someone else had emerged. (Someone stronger, someone wiser. Not that she hadn't been wise before, of course, but the kind of wisdom she had wielded? Its roots had been planted in the wastes, and everything had sprung from there. Now, though? She could wear a dress as well as she could wear an armor, and this chameleon-like quality was... well, attractive. Very much so.) "Good job," Morgan hummed in approval. "That will work. Just one thing, though-- Gwen, you are their queen. Their rightful ruler, now that the bastard is gone. So, what does that mean? That you don't have to explain every little thing. Now, it is good that you have this version ready, in case someone pried, but feel free to offer them a less detailed account in the beginning. I'd just say that Arthur tampered with forbidden magic and you had to act, end of. You don't need to justify why you decided to save them and such-- your actions speak for itself, I believe." Yawning, Morgan planted a little kiss on the tip of her nose before she wrapped the blanket around herself. "Well. Let's go to sleep, my love? Because tomorrow will be a long, long day."

...which, unfortunately, ended up being true. Once they stumbled out of the bed, they barely found a second to rest-- there was debris to be cleaned, people whose wounds wounds had to be treated, and the general unpleasantness that revolved around, you know, your castle almost burning down. (Gods! Morgan could swear her lungs must have turned black from all that smoke-- every breath hurt in this vague, scratchy way, and not even magic helped to relieve that. Still, if this was the tax she had to pay for acquiring her little oasis? For winning this piece of freedom, no matter how tiny it was? She'd pay and pay and pay, thousand times over. Besides, this was hardly a permanent state of things! Just like a phoenix, Camelot would rise from its own fire-- and it would be cleansed by that fire, too. ...was it a coincidence that, often, fire was used to clean wounds? To disinfect them, in a way? Morgan didn't think so.)

With everyone working on the renovations, it didn't even take that long-- the great hall would probably never look the same, with the charred walls and the destroyed throne, but maybe that was for the best. You know, for the visual symbolism of the change? (...which was partly the reason why Morgan had a different throne made for Gwen. Arthur had sat in this large, ugly thing-- it had been much larger than he was, in all senses of that word, and that only made him look all the more pathetic. Just like a man who had no idea his clothes didn't fit! No, that wasn't a good path to follow-- not unless you wanted to continue the trend of Camelot rulers looking like utter idiots, anyway. Now, Morgan hadn't consulted that with Gwen, but she kinda assumed that wasn't her intention here, you know? So, the new throne ended up being much less massive. In truth, it was a bench-- a bench carved out of mahogany, decorated with engravings and yet somewhat tasteful. ...it was also much more comfortable to sit in, which Morgan thought would please Guinevere more than the aesthetic aspects. Presumably, she'd spend a lot of time in this chair, right? Holding court was an important thing, after all!)

Speaking of which, the first session was about to begin now-- because, yes, people did demand their explanations. (...funny, really, because under Arthur's rule? They would have shut up and prayed he didn't exile them into the wastes for looking at him the wrong way. This is the price we're paying for not being tyrants, I guess. And frankly? Some of these people almost made her regret that.)

"Is it true, queen Guinevere," one of the knights stepped forward, his tone dripping with contempt, "that savages from the wastes are to live with us from now on? Why? And how are you planning to feed them? Our resources cannot serve everyone who comes begging-- surely, you must understand that by now."

 

[ellarose]

Guinevere's eyes flash. She knows her own fury. It's the bite of her nails digging in her palm when her fists tighten, the way it rises inside of her like a wave. She bites down on her tongue before she can bury the knight in it. Savages. Beggars. The words churn in her gut. (Completely different from hearing it about herself. When those insults are directed at her friends-- her family? It cuts way, way deeper.) Although some of these people managed to impress her with the help they offered while recovering the damages in the great hall-- Camelot continued to be, well, Camelot. The nerve of this guy! Without Arthur there to oppress her, it becomes very tempting to tear this man apart. Strip him of his title and claim point blank they were being replaced by respectable women who were far more competent than they could ever hope to be! But no matter how annoying his entitlement is... threatening to throw out anyone who questioned her judgement made her no different than Arthur. Which, duh, isn't the sort of leader she wants to become! In those few seconds, she resorts to counting to ten, imagining Morgan's laugh, and lets her shoulders relax with a long exhale. Doesn't mean she's going to let some pompous asshole walk all over her! She's striving for a good middle ground here-- making sure Camelot knows their new queen isn't a heartless tyrant like her 'husband', but not a feeble damsel in need of saving either. Otherwise she may very well become another empty vessel for one of Camelot's corrupt men to rule through again.

"We will have more than enough resources, so long as we distribute them wisely. I sent for them because it is necessary, now more than ever, to strengthen our defenses. Would you disagree?" Guinevere rises from her seat to stand tall, still feeling the burning ache of her muscles by doing so. The effects of the magic really stuck with her. She's still sore from... everything. But she doesn't dare to let that show on the surface, holding herself like a queen. She's had plenty of practice wearing her exhaustion like strength. The people gaped at her and stared wide-eyed when she appeared in trousers to help with the damages, claiming she didn't want to ruin any of her gowns, and got her hands just as dirty as the rest of them to repair the damages in the great hall. Showing her capability with actions over words-- that's how her life was in the wastes. It's what made her a damn good leader, too! She wasn't going to make the people work like ants without pulling some weight of her own. Which was the same with her gang. They'd pull their own weight-- they'd been doing that to survive their whole damned lives. "Make no mistake. They are not coming here to beg. So you best treat them with respect." Need I remind you those 'savages' were my family on the outside? The words are on the tip of her tongue-- but saying them might compel her to snowball on and on without stopping.

The knight's mouth flops like he's a fish out of water. Because how dare she ask him to treat women-- let alone 'savages'-- with respect, right? Guinevere hopes she didn't say too much. She's taking Morgan's advice into account, after all. That it might be in her best interest not to over-explain-- to say less. Might take some time before she has any skill putting that into practice, though. Up until now, she had way too much downtime to stew in what she would say to these people if she were free to do whatever she wanted. Guinevere may be allowed to walk on her own, but she'll be treading on eggshells for a while. Her restraints may have loosened, but they haven't fallen off completely.

"Queen Guinevere... you do not mean to replace us, do you?" One of the knight's friends steps up for him. There's some kind of anger trembling behind the feigned respect in his voice. Realizing that may not be the approach to go with, though, he resorts to making excuses. Ugh. Arthur picked a real pitiful bunch, didn't he? Ran around like chickens with their heads cut off and they have the audacity to be outraged? "The attack was unprecedented. If anything like that should happen again, we would be more than--"

Guinevere doesn't even realize she lifted a hand until the knight freezes in his tracks and... stops talking? Oh. That's the power that comes with being queen, isn't it? That just by lifting her hand, she could mute whoever dared to challenge her. Hah, wow! That's kind of a fun power to have, especially in a place like this! Even so, she schools herself quickly, knowing better than to abuse it with the childlike joy she's feeling now.

"Of course not. No one is going to be replaced." Guinevere reaches for one of her most ladylike smiles. Something soft and docile enough to reassure these men that their fragile masculinity wasn't going to be threatened. Ugh. At least living in close proximity to Arthur for so long made her a freaking pro at this! Even if it feels like she's walking over scorching hot coals every step of the way. "In fact, I sent for reinforcements because you knights will be busier than ever. You will be entrusted with the noble task of guarding our gates and ensuring that we do not suffer another unprecedented attack." She lowers herself into her seat again with that, tracing her fingers gently over the mahogany armrest. The smell of it is still fresh... and she likes it, mostly because it's what Morgan chose for her. It's a reminder that she's there with her in spirit, always. Because stealing one too many glances across the room when so many eyes are on her is dangerous. That said, she recalls her love's plan. "...Whereas their duties are to protect the ladies and children, in case our defenses are breached again."

Time to amp up the situation on the outside! "The monsters outside are changing. They are larger and fiercer than ever. Not only that, but we've seen firsthand that they are growing in numbers." Guinevere gestures to the ruined walls before pressing her hands over her heart. Concern is written over more than one face in the crowd-- so at least that's something. Staring death in the face clearly changed some of these people, as it should. That alone is... progress. Sort of. But clearly there're still some thickheaded assholes mixed in. Gotta encourage everyone that they're all in this together, so to speak. If there's a larger threat to focus on, after all, the won't have time to focus on turning on each other. "Gods forbid we suffer another attack... but if we do, we need to be stronger than before. Camelot nearly fell and failing to acknowledge that would be a grave mistake."

A quiet settles over the people when Guinevere finishes and a few people murmur anxiously behind their hands... leaving her a bit uneasy. What do they think? Is she screwing this up?

"That said, I really should dismiss you knights to attend to your duties." Guinevere speaks again to fill the silence. It's an old habit resurfacing, now that she's actually allowed to use her voice. Wow. When was the last time she spoke and someone other than Morgan bothered to listen to her? Well, that's assuming her words aren't going in one ear and out the other with these people. Mustering all the patience she has, she dares to ask another question. "...But I want to make sure everyone is heard. Are there any other concerns?"

 

[Syntra]

It took all self-control Morgan had, really, for her not to stare at the knight. Just, the level of audacity! Wasn't he one of those men who had run like children, utterly terrified, when the monsters stormed Camelot? (He must have been, surely, because pretty much all of them had. Now that she thought of it, who had stayed? Lancelot, definitely, but what about the rest of this useless lot? Had they fled, too preoccupied with the thought of saving their own asses? Disgraceful. Pathetic! The knights from the legends hadn't been like this-- oh no, no, no. They had worn their armor to protect themselves from harm, not as a goddamn fashion statement, and they had been willing to die for their ideals. Often, they had done exactly that! Morgan, of course, hadn't been born yesterday-- she didn't think all those historical accounts were necessarily true, for history was written by victors and those had an, uh, vested interest in portraying themselves in a positive light. Nobody in their right mind would plunge a dagger into their own chest, right? Even so, that excused nothing. Nothing! The current generation of knights had read those stories, said to themselves that, yes, they would claim that legacy for themselves, and then they stained it with their cowardice.)

She wished to put them in their place, to say something, but-- no. No, the sorceress couldn't do that. How could Gwen possibly earn the respect of her subjects if Morgan always stood behind her back, whispering into her ear? Soon, rumors would spread, and they wouldn't be pretty. 'The witch is controlling her,' they'd said. 'What if she orchestrated the fall of the king as well, so that she could sway the queen's opinion with greater ease?' Which was uncomfortably close to the truth-- not the manipulation part, of course, but the one about her involvement in Arthur's demise. And now, how would they react to that, huh? To the prospect of a wicked witch ruling them from the shadows, through blood magic and child sacrifice and whatever nonsense their overactive imagination would come up with? Not well, mildly speaking. (A dagger in the darkness, that would be her fate. That, or a vial of poison. And as for Gwen? She could expect a similar treatment, if they didn't decide she needed to be cleansed via fire. You know, just like they had decided in the past? Gods, gods, gods. The memory was still too fresh in her mind-- Gwen, bound to that ugly thing. The crowd cheering, and the defiant expression in her eyes. The first few sparks, weak at first, but hungry for more, more and more, and the way they transformed into flames licking her feet. Just remembering it made her feel sick! ...no, they had to be careful. A ruler always lived with a sword hovering above their neck, whether they knew it or not, and they couldn't forget it was there. Not now, not ever.) And so, despite wanting to speak out, Morgan bit her own tongue. You'll figure it out, Gwen. Show the bastard who is the boss here.

Unsurprisingly, that was exactly what ended up happening. Good, the sorceress thought with a smile, that's how these things are done. Gwen really looked like a queen, didn't she? All those months of learning how to negotiate with the nobles, of getting familiar with the rhythm of their conversations-- oh, how nicely they paid off! And to think Arthur himself had granted this weapon to her, probably thinking it wasn't a weapon at all. (What an idiot, truly. A sword could strike one's flesh, true, but how did you strike one's heart? With words, obviously! It was no coincidence, she thought, that a sword was just a word with an additional s-- clearly, their ancestors must have seen some connection between the two concepts.)

Naturally, new and new questions emerged when Gwen made it obvious they would be answered-- they grew in numbers until they threatened to overwhelm them, just as easily as a few gentle snowflakes could turn into a full-fledged snowstorm. 'When will the castle be repaired?' 'Do we have a long-term plan for dealing with the monsters?' 'What, exactly, will change around here?' Because, yes, change was in the air-- everyone could sense it, even if they hadn't stated it outright. It is a good sign, I suppose, that they are asking at all. They could have just come here with torches and pitchforks, Morgan smirked. Besides, most of the questions seemed fairly reasonable so far?

Well, at least until one of Iphigenia's friends stepped forward. (Amelia, if Morgan remembered correctly. The girl was young and sickly, and most likely Iphigenia's puppet-- because, duh, the lady herself wouldn't risk drawing the queen's ire to her person. That was just common sense, after everything that had transpired between them.)

"My queen," she said, her voice loud and clear, "I was just wondering about Camelot's relationship with other kingdoms. Lady Morgan insulted king Urien quite gravely, and I am sure he will no longer wish to trade with us. How do you intend to approach this issue? Who shall bear responsibility here? Because this-- this incident is bound to damage the good name of Camelot."

 

[ellarose]

At this point, Guinevere is so tired that she has to snap at herself to sit up nice and straight. 'Cause it'd be a real shame to lose all of her credibility by letting herself slouch. With a deep breath in, she bolsters herself with renewed strength to see this through as she plays Morgan's first lessons back in her head. What helps even more is knowing that she's watching and supporting her now. Besides, she's been handling the questions well. 'What do we do next if the monsters return?' This is finally, finally where she shines. Prepping for a crisis, fighting monsters, that's her area of expertise and it shows. The fact that she can see her words registering and consoling more than one face in the crowd before her reassures her that she does have some use to these people after all. Not that she would have doubted herself before walking through Camelot's gates... it was what happened between then and now. Going through the wringer one too many times, being kicked when she was down and having to smile through it all-- it made her feel powerless enough to doubt that she'd ever be of any use to anyone again. (Any use outside of donating her blood to save the earth, anyway. Just 'existing'.) And now, for once, she isn't the outsider from the wastes who's a detriment to the kingdom... or a questionable decision made by their king, which they didn't dare to question outright for fear of losing their heads. Not a helpless starving thing, nor just a pretty face who had her whole entire life uprooted like some kind of apocalypse Cinderella.

"I..." Of course, not everything can go smoothly. Guinevere pauses and resists the urge to chew on her lower lip, instead pressing her mouth into a thin line. Arthur forced her to entertain their guests, but she was never involved in discussions about trade. Probably because the bastard knew it would set her off, what with all those promises he failed to keep. And it did. Overhearing that from Eugene himself in the gardens conjured storm clouds in her heart, which only darkened during the dinner, and later that night-- well. She'd rather forget that night altogether. What really concerns her is that they'll try to force her to tell Morgan to beg for forgiveness and then marry her off. Which-- hell no! That's never, never, never going to happen! "Nothing can be said for sure until we hear word from them." And though she refuses to say it outright-- would ceasing trade with Eugene's kingdom really be such a bad thing? As far as she knew, they were the ones relying on Camelot for vital resources. It would be their loss more than anything else. Either way, she can only handle so much at a time-- and there's no doubt a shit ton of important information Arthur kept her in the dark about.

That answer isn't completely solid, Guinevere knows it, and a low murmur rolls through the crowd. What else is she supposed to say, though? She can't claim outright that Arthur did all of this to spite her, to send Morgan away as if that might get rid of all his problems. A few bold voices say 'it was the witch', 'she must take responsibility' and , ugh, 'send her away' loud enough for her to catch them-- but not loud enough for her to know who's speaking. Guinevere fumes quietly, fighting not to cast a helpless glance in Morgan's direction, lest somebody catch it. Great. Leave it to Iphigenia to indirectly stick a thorn in her side!

"--Enough." Guinevere says tightly, grappling with the words she wants so badly to say. Trying to tame them into something slightly more acceptable. "If we can speak like civilized people, we will come to an agreement one way or another. I firmly believe that not everything can be solved with marriage. Especially not one so rushed and sloppy as the one Arthur arranged."

Oops. That last part... kind of slipped out. What a radical idea, right? Some of these people look downright horrified.

"Think about it. The maids and servants who work so hard for us are exhausted with the last minute preparations. Not only that, but holding yet another grandiose wedding was a careless use of our precious resources." Guinevere flounders a little, figuring she might as well explain further now that she's already gone and said it. "Am I wrong to assume that some of you felt the same way?"

Uneasiness sets in there. It seems like a few of these people might be agreeing with her, but they're still too scared to voice their opinions on the king. As if they're afraid that Arthur is hiding behind a curtain somewhere and this is all some kind of test. Like maybe he'll appear out of hiding to banish anyone who slandered his name to the wastelands. (And, really, it'd make sense if most of these people have been traumatized by that-- having their family or friends suffer what was essentially a death sentence for daring to have an opinion!)

"We're already making strides to strengthen our defenses. There's nothing more important right now than protecting our people from the monsters. It wouldn't be wise for our kingdoms to fight amongst ourselves, especially not at a time like this. I am sure king Eu-- Urien would agree with me on at least that." Guinevere swallows a sigh before it can escape. Somehow it physically pains her, having to call the man by his name. But now that she stands as the sole leader, she can't let her pettiness come through. Especially not after what she just said about Arthur. Taking advantage of the quiet, she speaks up again. "...Thank you all for your time. You've given me much to think about. This session is adjourned."

There's still some tension in the air, but thankfully the people listen to her and begin filing out of the room without causing an uproar. She does take notice of a few lords look like they might want to stay behind or speak up-- the same ones who requested an audience with her later. (They knew as well as she did that Arthur excluded her from meetings of actual importance. Some of them might have had her best interest at heart, wanting to educate her on subjects she wasn't privy to... but she gets the feeling that some just want to get into her ear to influence her decisions for their own benefit. She'll have to be careful around them.) Fortunately, they also decide to leave without another word. Leaving only her and Morgan. Feeling completely drained, her shoulders finally sag and she drags a hand over her face.

"That took me completely off guard. I can't stand--" Guinevere winces. She can't stand hearing what those people said about Morgan! Calling her a witch, blaming her when she freaking saved their lives! What makes it even worse is that she has to bite her tongue, that she can't speak up for her unapologetically. At least she's careful enough to speak in a hushed voice now. This hall is huge and they run the risk that somebody might overhear them. "Then I went and said all that stuff before I could stop myself! Did I just screw everything up?"

 

[Syntra]

All of this, of course, was a familiar song to her. The witch accusation? Check. Thinking that, somehow, she had orchestrated all of this? Check. Implying that she should accept the responsibility? Check, check and check! (Morgan would have laughed had it not been such a tired trope, really. Did these people not have anything else to blame? When had she turned into all four Horsemen of the Apocalypse at once? Seriously, in their minds, Morgan probably also caused bad weather! I'm not a person to them, she realized. Just a bunch of human-shaped excuses for everything under the sun. ...and, yeah, once upon the time, this would have bothered her. It wasn't easy to walk through life completely alone, you know? Except that wasn't what was happening here. No, not anymore. Guinevere was there now, both to support her and lean on her, and that felt... nice. Like a missing piece of puzzle falling in place, really.)

"If I may interject," Morgan began, her voice firm and confident. "I do hope I may? Since this is an issue that revolves around me, I feel that my perspective could be valuable." Translation: "Stop talking about me as if I'm not even here, you bastards!" (...she, uh, may have taken a leaf from Gwen's book. Of course, she filled it with Morgan's handwriting, but the general idea? It remained the same, and it could be described as 'I won't be stepped on, losers.' Adopting this approach, too, felt nice.) "Is it not true that my brother arranged this marriage?" And since that was nothing but the truth, the crowd murmured in agreement. "In that case, he should bear the responsibility, once we capture him. Queen Guinevere is right. More than that, it was also a disadvantageous match! Urien had nothing of substance to offer to Camelot-- nothing but pretty jewels and rare gemstones, and how can you eat those? You cannot, obviously," Morgan shook her head. "If you are so worried about our resources, I believe we should consider not trading with him, and others like him, any longer." Yes, 'consider'. A pretty convenient word, huh? Morgan was only expressing her opinion, and fairly politely at that-- nothing about her behavior could possibly be read as imperious. No, just a good subject talking to her queen!

The dissatisfaction was palpable, but honestly? Sometimes, you just had to pick a battle to lose. It wasn't like you could make everyone one hundred percent happy all the time, and this, at least, felt like a relatively safe unpopular proposition-- because, duh, they couldn't deny needing more food five seconds after claiming it. It didn't work that way! (And also? Morgan saying it shielded Guinevere, in a way. She couldn't take over, of course, but what she could do was to absorb some of the anger directed at her address. Gwen, after all, had everything to lose! ...she, on the other hand, would only be hated more. Did it not make sense to sacrifice the chess piece with lower value, then?)

Thankfully, the meeting was nearing its end, and Morgan stepped closer to Gwen. (Still, she dared not touch her. What if a servant entered? Worse still, what if one of these noble bastards decided he had more questions, after all, and returned to them hugging? Kissing, even? No, no, no. The joy of physical comfort had to be saved for their bedroom, it seemed.) "Terrible, aren't they?" she chuckled. "But, no, you didn't screw up. Controlling these people is like trying to herd cats. You need to be firm, otherwise they will view you as weak. I think you did rather well." ...and, in time, she would slip into the role. Morgan just knew it-- if Gwen could suppress her true self enough to play the part of a blushing bride, she would learn how to wear a crown as well.

"If there is anything you need me to help with, just let me know. I've grown up with these people-- their thought processes aren't a mystery to me. We can devise some strategies to keep them in check later. And, oh, I sent a message to your friends' camp, by the way. I did so in the morning, so I suspect it might have reached them already. When do you think they'll come? As in, how long will it take?" Because while Morgan had a rough idea of where the camp was, the same couldn't be said about her ability to conceptualize how much time they would need to move so many people from point A to point B. "And are there any preparations I should take care of before they show up?"

 

[ellarose]

"The worst!" Guinevere agrees wholeheartedly, without a single beat of hesitation. Awful as it is, the stormy expression on her face begins to wane when she hears Morgan's laugh. It's profoundly sad, heartbreaking really, that this is such a common occurrence that she can take all of this evil witch bullshit without batting an eye... but it's also an admirable display of her resilience. The fact that she doesn't swerve or doubt herself, instead guiding them back onto pressing matters that need their focus, is fucking remarkable. The air Morgan assumes through this onslaught of adversity and spite is respectable. One she needs to learn and reflect as queen. "...Yeah. You wouldn't believe how many lords offered me their shoulders to cry on this morning." She gives an exasperated roll of her eyes. With Arthur potentially gone for good, she's become a oneway ticket to power in the eyes of most the eligible lords. "No way am I gonna give any of them an opening to control me. I want to be firm, like you said. But I also know I can't pull a whole one-eighty overnight. Guess it could've been worse, though. I really wanted to tell them all to fuck off." Which is how she would have approached it back in the wastes if her gang started talking nonsense. They all had the advantage of being so close-- of knowing who she was to her core-- that they would know better than to take her words to heart. ('Course, they would never single anyone out as the sole reason for all their problems. Closest they ever came to that was with Jen. And looking back on that now... their concerns were totally justified.) In Camelot's case it's about boiling the frog, right? With too much heat, the people will start hopping and dissolve things into a state of chaos.

"Strategy session tonight. Sounds like a date." Guinevere manages a small, sideways smile. There's so much to learn still! The manners part has been taken care of and, sure, she may have some inherent leadership skills from living out in the wastes. But her gang and this kingdom are two very, very different things. Speaking of her gang... she unravels herself from her depressed slouch as she listens to what Morgan has to say. "First of all, thank you. And, honestly... I can't say for sure. The wastes are unpredictable. Depends on weather and the monsters." She'd have gone to help with the move in a heartbeat, but obviously her hands are full here. Excalibur's power keeps Camelot's protection intact. Taking it with her is out-- and leaving it behind is too risky. Especially considering Arthur may still be out there somewhere, plotting his next move. "If all goes without a hitch, I'd say three days. Four tops." Normally it'd take just the two of them a single day, sunrise to sundown, to get there. But they carried very little and had the advantage of having eaten warm, balanced meals before leaving. Not only did her gang have to carry everything they had on their backs, but they're also dealing with the fatigue that comes with starving out there. Some may be injured or sick... and there's also the kids to consider. "If they run into monsters, it could take them an entire week."

"Hm..." Preparations. Guinevere can't believe that this is actual a discussion they're having. Her heartbeat quickens and it begins to set in that this is really happening. Within the span of a few days, she'll have her family back. There's excitement, of course. A sense of fulfillment that they'll have a roof over their heads and food to eat. That's exactly what she made all those sacrifices for! Except having to face them the way she is now, after going through so much-- well, she doesn't want to say she's dreading it. Hell, she should be grateful and happiness should overpower everything else! And it does, for the most part. But there's a sort of underlying feeling of anxiety that catches up with her, knowing that they'll see for themselves how much she's changed. The mannerisms, the magic, the fact that she was married to the scum of the earth, the cult shit and the fact that they were right all along to warn her about Jen. Preparations, right. Now's not the time to dwell-- she needs to plan for this! "Arthur gave me a really half-assed tour when I got here. Then I was locked up in my room or told where to go. Didn't get many chances to actually explore this place." Outside of roaming the catacombs and the cellar, anyway. This kingdom is huge, though, and it's fair to say she still hasn't even seen most of it. "Do we have enough rooms available? My girls won't mind sharing-- might even prefer it. They'll be grateful to have food, let alone someplace to sleep, but... it'll be overwhelming."

Guinevere knows from experience. She could've used a friend when she first arrived. Even in the most comfortable bed she ever had, it was impossible to get any sleep. Although, to be fair, that could be attributed to the despair of having to sell her life away to marry Arthur. Back then it was a life sentence, not just a temporary arrangement she was going to fight her way out of.

"They won't need anything fancy. But if we find some time, it'd be nice to set things up for them." Guinevere ventures, tilting her head. Having clothes, food, medicine and maybe even a few shiny new items from the armory available in their rooms could help. "They'll be tired from traveling. So the easier we can make it for them to rest and adjust, the better. 'Course I don't want to hide them all away like Arthur did to me... but if these people are gonna look at them like savages, I don't want them to feel like they have to risk leaving their rooms for any reason before they're ready."

 

[Syntra]

"Pfft. Haven't all of our dates been like that? One would have guessed you've grown used to it by now," Morgan teased. And, honestly? That was the one aspect of living in Camelot that she didn't hate. The reason behind their strategy sessions was unfortunate, of course, but that she got to pick Gwen's brain like that? That she got to teach her, and be taught in return? The sorceress thought it to be a great blessing, really. Hopefully, this tradition would stick even after they won all of their battles! ...if they ever reached that stage, that was. "But, alright. That should be no problem at all. I bet there are enough free rooms to house them, but if they prefer to live together, I'll see to it that the beds are moved where we need them to be. And after they come, we'll give them a tour, okay? A proper one."

The next few days, of course, were hectic as well-- the repairs consumed most of her energy, and the lords and their ridiculous demands sapped away the rest. (With each passing second, Morgan felt that her fuse was becoming shorter and shorter. No, they did not have the time to hold tourneys! Similarly, shopping for nice fabrics wasn't their priority at the moment. Did they not see that they were effectively living in ruins now? Or that the world had been a hellscape for a few years, for that matter? Seriously, what would it take for these people to accept the reality as... well, reality? Either way, having to explain these things to them was downright exhausting, and Morgan felt deader than dead every time the night approached. Just, ugh! (She was almost, almost tempted to say she understood Arthur's negligence-- except that he had been just like them, and the fact he had avoided dealing with them hadn't been caused by some hidden exasperation at their antics. No, the minutiae of ruling just weren't exciting enough for him! ...perhaps, if crowns were made of wood rather than gold, he never would have wished to become the king, either.)

A few times, malicious rumors reached Morgan's ears. "They are sick," someone said, "these unwashed barbarians queen Guinevere wants to shelter. They will infect us, oh, I know, I know!" "I heard they want to murder us and take our valuables," a different person claimed. "Women wielding weapons? Nothing good can come of this. People should know their place!" The sorceress, of course, did exactly nothing-- reacting to that sort of nonsense would only lend it an air of credibility. No, it was much better to let them talk. (No storm lasted forever, you know? Just like the clouds eventually ran out of water, these people would grow bored with their own conspiracy theories as well. Once released, a rumor couldn't be controlled, but as long as they didn't pour oil into the fire? Everything would be fine. ...she hoped, at least. Either way, monitoring the public opinion couldn't hurt-- if only to ascertain just how careful they had to be. Their food, at the very least, should only be prepared by the most loyal cooks.)

And so, rather unceremoniously, four days passed. Gwen's girls were almost at the gates, Morgan knew-- scouts had informed her of this development an hour ago. So, it was time to go greet them, right? Well, not yet. Not yet, because she had a surprise for Gwen first! "You cannot look before I allow it," she explained to Guinevere as she wrapped some fabric around her eyes. "This is essential, I promise. Now, come! Don't worry, I'll guide you." Gently, Morgan took her hand and led her... somewhere. It was hard to tell where they might be heading, really, and it seemed as if the sorceress had purposefully picked some obscure route in order to confuse her, too-- multiple times, it looked as if they returned to their starting point. Would they ever reach their destination? Apparently, the answer was 'yes'. "Careful, there will be a step," she announced. After that, there was a soft 'click' that suggested a door was being opened, and... well, something jumped at Guinevere immediately. Something very enthusiastic, that also seemed to whine quietly? "You may take it off," Morgan said, and when Gwen did so, she saw a black puppy basically hanging on her leg. "I did promise you one," the sorceress explained with a bashful smile. "I know it's somewhat late for that, but you cannot rush these things, and... well. I figured you'd still appreciate it."

 

[ellarose]

Things are better than they were before. Through the four days that pass, Guinevere reminds herself of that every time she's about to lose her goddamn mind. After tending to repairs in the great hall, she set her eyes on the staff. Stationing the maids closest to Arthur as far away from her as possible and inviting the few she did trust closer. Merlin said himself that they had spies among the staff. And no, she didn't care one bit for the integrity of all those years some of them worked for the royal family! To dig her heels in, she claimed she knew she'd been drugged and it wasn't exactly a mystery for the ages who had been involved in that. (Arthur loved the sound of his own voice more than he ever loved her; enough that he had this habit of monologging whenever he felt he had the upper hand. Annoying as it was to listen to, she learned valuable information that way. Sure, he fancied up his dialect, using the word 'medicine' when he meant 'drugs', for instance. But Guinevere isn't stupid. Thanks to Morgan, she can decode that particular brand of Camelot nonsense by now. While she may be the furthest thing from a detective, she outs the culprits.) Once a few snakes were exposed, they panicked and began throwing each other under the bus. That chaos gave her a general idea of who she could trust and who she should be wary of. Just a general idea, though. While there were some maids she trusted wholeheartedly (those who covered for her absences or helped her with the gentlest of hands upon finding her at some of her lowest points) there are too many she still doesn't know well enough. Thank goodness for Morgan, who she could consult with on these things. Finding the most loyal staff was her top priority-- especially with her girls arriving any day now. If any of them died to a vial of poison under her watch... oh, she'd never forgive herself. Never, never, never.

Then of course, there were the lords and ladies. Apparently the lords had an unspoken contest on who could compose the most, er, unique compliment. Even Guinevere, oblivious as she was, recognized it. Lancelot had her fooled once before-- even with the flowers and serenades-- but he'd been her friend beforehand! She genuinely thought he was just... being a friend. God, it's still embarrassing to look back on. Listen, she knows better now! Besides, it's more obvious than ever when some of them go as far as to call her an angel or a muse. Resisting the urge to wince or gouge her own eyeballs out, she forces herself to smile politely through it all. Keeping her air polite but distant. Oh so very, very distant. When they invite her on afternoon strolls to 'clear her mind' or offer her flowers, she dismisses them or tries to change the topic. You know, to discuss matters of importance? Many of them were less concerned with educating her as they were with nabbing power for themselves so that they could use it to order everyone else around. When they realized that she wasn't going to be putty in their hands, she finally earned some valuable information about Camelot's inner workings and trades. Even then, most of them were only invested in trivial things. Tourneys and whatnot. It's like... like herding chickens or something! Is that how the saying goes? Not that Guinevere's ever herded chickens. But it sounds exactly what it feels like.

The cherry on top of these tiring days are the ladies and their rumors. Though Guinevere doesn't hear them often herself, that doesn't mean they don't exist. The room goes quiet when she walks in and that alone is evidence that they exist. It's the same as when Iphigenia began spreading those rumors about her. Morgan's better at garnering that sort of information... and though she knows her love probably doesn't want to give her all the gory details, she can infer from their sessions in court that it's all infuriating nonsense about her friends. It's probably better that she remain in the dark in this particular instance. All those rumors do is weigh her down. Every bone in her body aches to fight when she hears someone call Morgan an evil witch, or her friends a bunch of savages. And there's nothing more exhausting than silencing her heart's vehement screams to defend them with everything she's got. The only solace she can rely on is Morgan's assurances in the dead of the night. That at the end of the day, rumors are just rumors and someday they'll vanish into obscurity.

Speaking of the evenings... by the time she and Morgan find time together at the end of each day, they're both too exhausted to do much more than compare notes and drift off to sleep. Even so, she cherishes the little moments, tries to assure herself that they'll have more time when this initial chaos melds into some semblance of an actual routine.

So when the day comes that Morgan pulls her aside and ties a blindfold around her eyes, Guinevere has no earthly idea what to expect. Could this be related to her gang somehow? Oh-- or maybe they received a supply of bananas? After all, she still has yet to try them after all this time. (Well, that thought only occurs to her because she thought they were headed in the direction of the kitchens-- a route she had memorized long ago for her supply runs. Except then they turn in an unexpected direction and her whole thought process gets turned around.) "Morgan," She giggles when she runs out of guesses. "Where are we going?" Her heart races faster with every turn they take. It's not that she's scared of what's going to happen-- because she trusts Morgan wholeheartedly, even blindfolded. It's the anticipation of it, the not-knowing part. No one has ever gone to such lengths to surprise her before! And no matter what this surprise ends up being, this experience right now is a nice respite from the stresses of the last few days. At this point, anything Morgan has to show her will make her ha--

Well, okay. Okay. Happy may actually be an understatement. "What...? No way!" No freaking way. The whine, the vague scrape of claws at her leg... could it be? When the blindfold lowers, etiquette be damned, Guinevere is brought to her knees the instant she notices the adorable puppy on her leg. (First of all, she has to cuddle it. How can she not? Second of all, her legs are so jellied by the gesture that she couldn't possibly hope to hold herself upright at this point.) It makes itself at home on her lap before she can even blink, hopping up enthusiastically to cover her face in slobbery kisses. "Woah, hello there! We haven't even been introduced yet." She laughs and has to dodge so the puppy doesn't get her right on the mouth. It relaxes as she scratches it affectionately behind the ears... the warmest, big brown eyes she's ever seen stare up at her and, oh, happiness doesn't even begin to cut it. Overjoyed? Oh, what's the point of coming up with the right words? Morgan... Morgan really got her a puppy. On top of all the bullshit she's undoubtedly had to deal with these last few days, she still found time to do this for her. "Appreciate it? I love it." Beaming brighter than the sun itself, she gives the puppy a hug before springing to her feet with a weightlessness she hasn't felt in practically a lifetime. "--I love you." She emphasizes, throwing her arms around Morgan and punctuating her statement with a kiss on her cheek. The puppy whines by their legs, clearly jealous of the shift of her affections, and Guinevere scoops it up into her arms with a relenting laugh.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you? You're adorable." Guinevere addresses the puppy, crinkling her nose playfully. "I've gotta admit, I'm really bad at names." She hums thoughtfully and the puppy takes the opportunity to kiss her temple. "I've never had a pet before. Well, not technically." She coughs a bit awkwardly. "Unless my old cellmates count as pets. One was a spider named Frankenstein. And then there was this rat I named Spider... you know, after the spider mysteriously disappeared." After a moment, she manages a lopsided smile. They weren't the best memories; but comparing them side by side with this one shows her just how far she's come. She's not that terrified little girl curled up in a cell anymore, but a queen... a queen standing strong beside the woman she loves. "Hm... how about Toast?" Oh, here she goes. She had toast for breakfast this morning... it's only natural that it'd be the first name to pop into her head! Guinevere shakes her head. This is a royal dog! Her dog... their dog. "No, no. You deserve better than Toast. Let's see..." She glimpses Morgan for some much-needed help. "What do you think, Morgan?"

 

[Syntra]

The stars in Guinevere's eyes? Even if Morgan didn't smile easily, she couldn't help but beam at the display-- she wasn't made out of stone, you see, and this scene would be enough for pretty much anyone to melt. (What was, after all, cuter than her Gwen? A few days ago, her response would have been 'nothing,' but the sorceress had seen the light now. The correct answer, of course, was Gwen with a puppy! ...or possibly Gwen with more puppies, though she wasn't sure whether the world was even ready for such a high dosage of cuteness. Considering how rare it had been these past few decades, it might just combust spontaneously upon exposure!) "Well, I did promise," she said, not even bothering to hide her own satisfaction. "And eventually, I always deliver. Don't you know by now?" Because, yes, it had taken a while, but Arthur was gone. Together, they'd get rid of his ghost, too, and afterwards? They would live just like they had always wanted to, or at least as close to that ideal as possible. (Once, Morgan had nursed doubts in her heart, but not anymore. Oh no, no, no. The greatest obstacle was out of their way, and they could focus on rebuilding-- or, more accurately, of building that which had never existed before. Daunting? Perhaps, though with Guinevere by her side, the sorceress wasn't afraid. ...after literally dying for one another, multiple times, nothing could stop them. The lords and ladies were total jokes in comparison!)

"I think I know what you are going to do with him," Morgan chuckled, fondness shining in her eyes. "Obviously, you're going to love him for the rest of his life. Now, I don't really enjoy playing second fiddle, but for him? For him, I believe I could lower my standards," she nodded her head solemnly, as if a great epiphany had just come to her. "I mean, I understand that I cannot cover all of your cuteness-related needs. Time to stop being selfish, I suppose." ...did she manage to remain serious throughout her speech? Well, not exactly, but to her credit, Morgan did try! Plus, the giggle escaped her lips right as she concluded, which was honestly a wonderful score. Not many would have kept it up for as long as she had, that was for certain. So, did her perseverance not deserve accolades? Surely, surely it did! Still smiling from ear to ear, the sorceress knelt and scratched the puppy behind his ears. "Clairvoyance is not an art I am well-versed in, but I still have one prediction to make here: a think you'll be a good, good boy." The puppy licked her hands, and Morgan? Morgan had to laugh. "See? He agrees-- or at least it looks that way to me. I have never studied communication with animals, though, so I might be wrong." (Not that there was any point in studying it, really. The scientific basis to that discipline was shaky at best, so she had always considered to be a combination of superstitions and wishful thinking-- a particularly dangerous concoction. And considering how few 'pure' animals remained? Yeah, it would have been a waste of time even if it hadn't been just hogwash.)

"Gwen," Morgan chuckled, "why are you lying to me? Clearly, you are a genius when it comes to naming things! A rat named Spider? Revolutionary. I would expect no less from one such as you-- since rule-bending seems to be your very essence," she teased. "And, really, why should he have a serious name? Not everyone needs to conform to these rules, least of all a dog. I don't think the lords and ladies will judge him." ...well, they might, mostly because they usually had very little to do, but hey, it wasn't as if they had to care for such opinions! At least not in this case. There were transgressions that could potentially lead to Gwen losing her had, though this one? This one was eyeroll-worthy at best, and they could deal with some eyerolls. ...in fact, they would need to deal with much, much more if they were to implement lasting changes. "Plus, Toast is cute! If you want something more noble-sounding, though... Hmmm..." Morgan rubbed her chin, apparently deeply in thought, "I know! Toastington. -ington is a very aristocratic suffix, you see, so nobody can possibly complain about that choice. It is supported by many, many literary sources!" ...and, yeah, it was safe to say that she lost the battle with her self-control again, gods knew how many times in row, because she burst out in laughter. "Sorry, I don't think I can be more helpful than that. Naming animals is sort of daunting! I mean, this is a living creature. It shall bear the name for as long as it breathes, so it strikes me as a lot of responsibility."

"Although, come to think of it... Maybe you could ask one of the children?" she suggested, playful sparks in her eyes. "Mia and the others would be overjoyed, I'm sure, and children are supposed to come up with the best ideas. In fact, I'm thinking we should move to the courtyard soon? To welcome them in their new home."