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Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

"...It's okay. Really. We can take it slow." Guinevere sighs softly and leans gingerly into Morgan's touch. To say this is a lot to take in at once would be a severe understatement. The hurt she's still nursing on her own behalf, from everything she'd endured up until this point... and now the pain she's feels on the other woman's behalf, for the horrid experiences that must have led her to close herself off to this extent. (Understanding that pain like it could very well be her own because-- well, she'd trusted and loved her own sister and ended up in a nightmare she thought she'd have to die to wake up from.) It's plain to see why she was often warned against keeping her own heart wide open to those around her. Left unchecked, it can become excruciating. But is life even worth living if she doesn't have other people in her life to live for?

When Morgan speaks up about the kiss, though, those thoughts dissolve and Guinevere's eyes crinkle playfully. One of those little things that only Morgan would say, really, one of the many things she'd failed to mention on that list of qualities she admired. (The list, however, would have likely taken her the evening to describe if she was given the chance.) She can't help but giggle at that. And it's possible that her heart just fluttered at the concept that she was the first person she'd ever kissed. "The theory? Well, from what I can recall, it was definitely satisfactory, but... my memory might be a little too blurry for me to give you a detailed report."

"I'd ask you to remind me right now, but--" Guinevere's gaze is soft, lingering on Morgan's lips, like she's so close to closing that bit of distance herself... but listening to her better judgement, she holds herself back at the last second. Though the heat in her cheeks is in part due to their proximity, it's also because she's still suffering symptoms of whatever sickness she'd contracted when she was locked up. She smiles a touch apologetically. "--I don't want you to catch my fever. Might be contagious."

God. Guinevere wants to kiss her, though. The desire burns bright and quiet in her chest. Perhaps it's for the better, though. Their attraction to each other is clearly mutual, the trust between them... isn't there yet. Nor does she know if Morgan sees traces of Jen when she looks at her face, or-- or if it's even fair of her to reach for any sort of intimacy when she's not entirely sure if the other woman feels safe with her anymore. Although Guinevere just confessed her most heartfelt thoughts, she doesn't expect it to change much about Morgan's stance. Not so quickly, anyway. Trust related issues tend to have poisoned roots that take time to heal. Which is why it'd be necessary to take this slow. Probably for both of their sakes, at this point.

"I want to feel like myself again. There's so much I still need to process about... everything." Guinevere says, glancing thoughtfully at her hands and tracing the purpling juncture of her wrists. "And there's so much I have to tell you, too. Feels like ages since we last talked. I... I really missed you."
 
"Is that so?" Morgan asked, smiling through her tears. Gods, this was so embarrassing! (Or it would be, really, if not for the fact that Guinevere looked just as weepy and shaken as her. Just as affected, which... Well, wasn't that kind of wonderful? In that moment, the hierarchy between them dissolved. She was no longer the king's sister, and Guinevere wasn't his bride; they were just two women, crying and laughing and desperately trying to find some semblance of footing in this mess. Guinevere and Morgan. The sound of their names joined with that simple conjuction, free of their titles and all the other assumptions -- it did things to her, okay. Things she didn't understand that well yet, but hadn't Guinevere promised they would find out? That they'd do it together?)

"I'll remind you when you feel better, then," she caressed her hair again. A simple, non-invasive gesture that (probably) didn't cross anyone's boundaries. Surely Guinevere would tell her if that was the case? Believing in that, at least, would help Morgan with trusting her when it came to the big things as well. To trusting her with her heart, really. "Hopefully I won't have forgotten it all by the time you do. I'm afraid it would, um, result in much more diligent practice. If you don't mind, of course." (Ugh. She was being terrible at this whole flirting thing, wasn't she? But really, that wasn't surprising considering the fact she had spent her teenage years-- well, trying to survive. Acquiring these skills had obviously taken a backseat.)

"I don't think it's contagious, though. From what you've told me, it's likely some sort of infection. I really, really doubt that the people you were stuck with clean their needles. Or exertion, perhaps, if you're lucky. I'll send a servant for my medical kit so I can prepare a medicine for you." She could have gone herself just as easily, of course, since her chambers weren't that far, but-- fine, this was silly, but the last time she had left her, they had stolen Guinevere away from her. The probability of that happening again so soon was astronomically low, though Morgan preferred not to take her chances. (And maybe, maybe she also wanted to bask in her presence, alright? At this point, she was oh so tired of coming up with all those ulterior motives.)

"I-- can relate to that," she sighed when Guinevere spoke. "To missing you, I mean. And also to having a lot to process, I suppose. Your sister left quite an impression on me. Is it her usual modus operandi to try and seduce people who are interested in you, or did she make an exception for me?" Morgan chuckled. Even if it decidedly hadn't been funny then, it kind of felt that way now. Especially since she had done it in her wedding dress! Shameless, truly. Had they not been enemies by definition, Morgan would have probably admired the audacity. "I was so shocked I couldn't even devise a diplomatic way to reject her. I just-- asked her to stay away, and then I sort of threatened her. I don't think she likes me now." Since she was likely rotting in prison now, though? Yeah, it hardly mattered anymore. Jen was a nightmare, yes, but at least it was a nightmare Morgan could happily forget about now.
 
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Guinevere softens entirely at that point, savoring the feeling of Morgan's fingers in her hair. Warm, comforted and truly safe for the first time in weeks. Though she's tired and worn out, there's a lively spark shining in her eyes with the promise of having more diligent practices to look forward to in the future. The way she flirts is just -- too adorable to resist, really. (And it offers her a little hope that her touch won't make her flinch away the way she feared just moments ago. If Morgan was that uncomfortable, then why would she go as far as to suggest practicing that way?) "Expanding our curriculum, hm? I wouldn't mind that at all." She's almost surprised for a moment at just how smooth she manages to sound when she's so exhausted. With the gentlest of touches, she finally reaches for Morgan's wrist, as if to tell her without words that she appreciates the feeling of her hand in her hair. That it's okay. (Wouldn't it be nice to drift off to sleep while Morgan sifts her fingers through her hair? After everything she's been through, it might be the only way she could envision herself sleeping soundly. Too bad they're... in Camelot. Guinevere might be free from her prison, but Camelot is still Camelot.)

"You're could be right about that. They would use lighters, sometimes, but..." Guinevere bites her lip. Vaguely haunted as she recalls the pierce of the syringes into her skin, the way sometimes they'd miss the mark and prod her over and over with them. That first man who had walked in and compared her blood to rubies. The way he'd stroked her arm afterwards. It was so gross that she nearly shudders with the heightening urge to bathe and change into a fresh nightdress. They'd seemed concerned that she might die on them... serves them right for being so eager to take so much from her at once. At least it had given her the opportunity to escape. "Ugh. I'd be perfectly happy to go the rest of my life without so much as seeing another needle."

“Wait. She-- she did what?” Guinevere's eyes become wide with absolute horror... which then gradually fades to a relieved shade of amusement when Morgan goes on to explain that she didn't take any of Jen's bullshit. (Is it bad that she almost wishes she could've seen the look on her sister's face when Morgan put her in her place? Because she totally had it coming!) Geez, though. It's... certainly more to process along with everything else. With a sigh, she brings a hand over her face as though from secondhand embarrassment. A habit, really, specifically when it comes to her sister. “Christ, Jen. Always either batting her eyes at someone or threatening to kill them. I'm glad she didn’t intimidate you. Sometimes people have trouble differentiating us... treating us like individuals.”

"Honestly, I don’t know what she said or did half the time... but, uh, people who were interested in me didn’t tend to stick around for long. It took a while before I found out that Jen was scaring them away." Guinevere says, finding it surreal that she's even talking about this. That Morgan has been on the receiving end of Jen's antagonism-- and yet she's still present to hear her out, now. (And thank god for that. If she'd returned to Camelot only for Morgan to reject her entirely--? She'd have fallen to pieces.) "We were vagabonds. After we got kidnapped, it never felt safe to stay in the same place for too long. Eventually I noticed that she always insisted we pick up and move whenever I got close to somebody. I guess she was trying to protect me in her own way, but..." It's complicated. It always has been. And now? Now Jen has tried to replace her. Sent her to a cult that's connected to the very people who stole their childhoods and put them through hell. It's hard to make sense of it all at once. They've been together since the beginning-- so sorting through every layer of their relationship in one sitting would be... a challenge, to say the least. "...Well, I don't know what to think right now. I never thought she'd go this far."
 
"People have trouble differentiating you?" Morgan repeated, disbelief painted all over her features. "Seriously? I knew something felt off about her from the very first moment. I didn't act on that knowledge, of course, since I managed to convince myself it was just the amnesia making thing all awkward, but it really wasn't hard to notice you weren't being yourself." Like, what? How had people managed to miss the crucial difference of Guinevere, you know, having a soul? Had they never bothered to just talk to the two sisters? Because every single world, every single gesture, betrayed that they were not the same. Not even remotely.

"Yeah, that probably wasn't a coincidence," Morgan said, continuing to stroke her hair. Gods, it was so soft. "I mean, this little stunt of hers proved what she is capable of. I'm almost glad that it's Arthur who is my sibling and not her, really. At least he is incompetent." Because, from what Guinevere had told her? It seemed that Jennifer had been pulling at strings from the shadows for most of their lives, making things happen and painting herself as the innocent party. Just-- despicable, really. (Morgan was no stranger to manipulation, either, though she liked to think she didn't use it to hurt those who didn't deserve to be hurt at least? Which was, of course, entirely subjective, but still.) And another bonus? It wasn't hard to hate Arthur. Not when he spoke of his thoughts so freely, so shamelessly, and all of them were so shallow they would give a puddle a run for its money. (Except that puddles didn't tend to be as cruel. An important distinction!) For all his faults, her brother didn't lie about who he was. Jennifer, though? She had brainwashed Guinevere so thoroughly that the woman still believed she had her best interest at heart. Had Morgan not known better, she would have blamed black magic at this point, really.

"Protection," Morgan said, tensing up a bit. "That's an awfully sanitized way to refer to it, I think. To me, it sounds like she was just trying to isolate you so that you'd have nobody else to rely on." And yes, maybe she was being unfair, but considering what Jennifer had tried to do to her? To them? Morgan reserved her right to remain biased, dammit. "She-- didn't speak very kindly of you, either. Always wondering what people ever saw in you and such." ...which honestly should have been a clue, but she had been so exhausted emotionally it had kind of flown over her head back then. "Anyway, it kind of seems like this is just the logical conclusion to all of her bullshit? I wasn't there, of course, but it feels that way to me," Morgan shrugged. Abuse, after all, manifested itself in many forms, and not all of them were obvious to spot. What she had been doing before? It hadn't been any better just because it had never ended in Guinevere not being sacrificed to a blood-crazed cult. That was not the measuring stick you wanted to use for a relationship! (Arthur hadn't stabbed her so far, either, and yet she didn't love him for it. That just wasn't how these things worked.)

"Jennifer told me you hadn't seen each other for two years. How did that happen? Did she do something excessive?" Somehow, Morgan doubted it had been Guinevere's fault. Not that she was a saint, of course, but compared to her sister, she may as well have been. And given how much Guinevere had apparently forgiven her-- well, it must have been something truly shocking, right?
 
"Well... not everyone knows me as well as you do, Morgan le Fey." Guinevere grins, tapping her nose affectionately with the tip of her forefinger without thinking. Realizing the silliness she'd just inspired in her, she laughs softly, her cheeks tinging pink. Because the shock painting her features? It reassures her that Morgan won't fall for Jen's shtick if something like this were to happen again. God forbid. Her expression becomes a notch more thoughtful when she contemplates it. "We were always together back then, too. Made it easier for her to put on a production, I guess. Technically I used to be in on the schemes, too. For the longest time we fooled everyone into thinking we were just one person. There was this one town that'd have these tournaments-- like these competitions for scraps? We'd sign up under a fake name and Jen and I would switch places depending on the event. Kept us fed for a while. Only found out later that Jen had been seducing the ringleader of the whole thing. One night he caught me with a girl I was getting to know and... things got messy. He gave me the scar on my face." She brushes her fingers over it, in a sort of reverie, her eyes hard. "To tell us apart, he said. We skipped town after that and I told her I was done with the schemes. Jen didn't argue... but she found other ways. Eventually I became kind of a third wheel to her and whoever she was playing at the time. God, they were some of the shittiest guys I've ever met." Yeah, speaking of differentiating them. Those bastards were always pawing at her like it didn't matter which of them they were touching. Guinevere got fed up with that real quick. Reminded them of the difference between herself and her sister with her fists. (It's still unfathomable to her, really, that she's been able to endure Arthur's touches up to this point without instinctively kicking him in the groin.)

"Jen didn't want me to get close to anyone or screw things up like that again... to her it was always us against the world, you know? But... yeah. I know that now." She sighs out a slow, exhausted breath. There are far too many reasons why Jen is the way she is, too. Everything she is-- it's one big defense mechanism, a result of everything she's had to endure. But Guinevere's gang has told her over and over that those reasons, no matter how complicated they are, don't justify the shit she pulls. In fact, Morgan's words now are reminding her of them. It gives her the sense that she's home and it makes her smile again, if a bit ruefully. "She's mean to my face, too. There's no filter when it's just the two of us. That's how she is. Always had this weird ability to seem loving and brutally honest in the same breath."

"Um, but... us being apart for two years wasn't the result of anything, actually. That's what made this so unexpected." Guinevere's brow furrows slightly as she thinks about it. Well, Adrianne had warned her. She just didn't want to believe it was true... and paid the price. "Technically, we've been estranged for longer than two years. When we were seventeen she got mixed up with a really dangerous crowd... she was starting to scare me. And I started meeting my friends behind her back. When she found out, she was furious. Then a few days later, I walked in on her threatening Adrianne to leave me alone. Everything that'd happened up to that point started to make sense and I was angrier with her then I'd ever been. Anyway... like usual, Jen packed everything up that night and said we were moving. But I finally put my foot down and said I wasn't going anywhere. We got into a huge fight. Both of us probably said things we shouldn't have. I woke up and the next morning she was... gone. No goodbye, no letter, nothing. Just her bear sitting next to mine. I was so worried, I nearly got myself killed searching for her. Blamed myself for so long... I honestly don't know what I would've done without my gang." Yeah, that hadn't exactly been the best chapter of her life, either.

"Then she just turned up about a year later like nothing happened. Jen reassured me that she changed and... after that, she always strolled in and out of my life at her own convenience." Guinevere stares at the wall searchingly. She can't believe she's opening up this much, but... well, doesn't Morgan deserve to know? Jen had really pulled the entire world out from under them. "I wanted to believe that she was doing better. But I guess at some point she decided my life was a worthy trade for a comfortable life in a castle." Does she even feel guilty? Jen's reflection in the mirror would still be a reminder of her existence. Hell, the fact that she would have gone by her name for the rest of her life would have been a constant reminder!

"Maybe... maybe she hates me because it was all my fault that we got kidnapped in the first place. The cult she sent me to was associated with the masked guys who took us as kids." God, they had a whole village! They had built a freaking statue! Called her their goddess, their holy patron saint. It'd be downright foolish of her to assume that any of this is even remotely over. The fear starts to rise in her like a tidal wave and she has to fight with everything she has to push it down. "Morgan... I don't think they'll ever stop hunting me down. And now they know I'm in Camelot."
 
Ugh. Living with Jennifer must have been such a mindfuck that Morgan didn't understand how Guinevere had come out so well-adjusted, really. Needless to say, she did understand her attachment to Jen now. Because, what they had gone through together? It sounded like fun, plain and simple. Sharing a secret with your sister and bamboozling the rest of the world-- yeah, that was a bonding experience like no other, alright. And the more ominous parts of it? Often, the brain just erased those. (It was a survival mechanism, more or less, to prevent a deeper trauma from occurring. Forgetting, after all, could be easier than dealing with your pain-- than exorcising your demons for real. The path of least resistance, especially if you relied on that person for survival. Could she really blame her? Perhaps Morgan would have acted the same in her situation, even if it seemed so absurd now.)

"Yeah, that does sound like something Jennifer would do," Morgan nodded. "I mean, I can't say I know her well, but what I do know about her fits that picture. It's just-- wow. We are really unlucky when it comes to family members, aren't we?" she chuckled quietly. "I almost, almost regret Arthur and Jen didn't actually marry each other. They would have been the match of the century, I'm sure." It also would have solved the issue of Guinevere having to marry him eventually, which absolutely would have been a perk. ...damn. Couldn't she have shown up like, three minutes later? As 'divorce' was basically a slur in Camelot, Arthur would have had no idea to do in that situation. Right now, though? Once again, he had managed to paint himself as the victim of some evil, evil woman. (Morgan could hardly believe it, but yes, she still sympathized with Jen in that scenario. Arthur-- well, Arthur had wasted all of his chances of ever getting any sympathy from her a long, long time ago. You just couldn't come back from certain things. Never, not in million years.)

When Guinevere started blaming herself, though, Morgan clasped her hand tightly. Hearing her talk like that was just-- heartbreaking, really. (How could she even believe in such nonsense? Had Jen been blaming her for everything ranging from the Catastrophe to them, say, running out of milk? Sadly, that wouldn't surprise her, either. Not when it was such a common abuser tactic. If you managed to get your victim to believe that they had brought your anger on themselves, after all, then they were much more likely to take your bullshit. Much less likely to fight back, too.) "I'm going to assume that's the fever in you speaking, because it doesn't make a lick of sense. Gwen, it is not your fault that a bunch of lunatics decided to kidnap you. Even if your blood really was that special, it doesn't mean that you provoked them. That decision was entirely their own, motivated by them being pieces of shit. And if Jennifer blames you-- well, that says more about her than it does about you." (Morgan would have loved to comfort her, loved to say that, no, her sister didn't hate her because of such a thing, but really, this was Jen they were talking about. It may very well have been true.) "Besides, I think that, more than that, she hates you because you're so easy to lo-- like." Love. She had almost said love, dammit! Hadn't they agreed to take this slow? Because this seemed to be the exact opposite of slow! Fortunately, Gwen's next words distracted her from ruminating over that.

"Yeah?" Morgan raised her eyebrow. Her eyes darkened, too. "Let them come, then. Let them come so that I may destroy them once and for all. Now that we know of the danger, we can avoid it more effectively. I'll-- uh, devise protective spells. Spells meant to alarm me to the presence of enemies. Or if it makes you feel better, I can try and locate the place they kept you in," Morgan offered after a while. "And then I'll pay them a friendly visit." By 'friendly,' of course, she meant 'razing the whole place to the ground'. There was no need to emphasize that, though-- her expression told the story more than eloquently. "And while I'm at it, I can take their research, too. You do deserve to know what they discovered, after all. What do you think?"
 
“Oh god. It’d have been such a shitshow.” Guinevere breathes out a laugh along with Morgan at the concept of Arthur and Jen as a married couple. While it’s true that they’re both awful in their own distinctive ways, they really don’t suit each other at all. Jen might play a convincing damsel when it suits her, but she’s all the more deadly for it. Arthur’s attempts to contain her might have made her snap eventually. She’s sure her sister was plotting his untimely demise before she even stepped through Camelot’s gates. (Jen always had ambition, she’ll give her sister that.) Geez, though. It manages to remind her of the wedding itself. For the longest time it had been this distant thing, it almost didn't seem real... but Guinevere lost so much time-- she’d lost weeks. And now she has no concept of how long the actual wedding might be delayed after this fiasco. It’d be downright wasteful to trash the excessive food and lavish decorations they’d adorned the castle with for the occasion, right? But she also has a hunch Arthur might not want to present her as his bride while she’s still so bruised and beaten. Because her appearance is a reminder of failure on his part, isn’t it? He promised that he would protect her and he failed. Not only that, but she rescued herself. And nothing Arthur can say will take that away from her.

Guinevere focuses on the warmth of Morgan’s hand clasped around hers. Allows her words to take precedence over her anxieties. The healthy dose of reality she offers keeps her grounded. Old habits die hard, huh? She'd been trying really hard to work on her tendency to torture herself for things beyond her control. And she’d been doing better with some help from her gang. Seems like Jen’s reappearance has a way of inspiring it from her, though. “...You’re right.” (She usually is, isn't she? Something else she could add to that list of qualities she admires, really.) When Morgan goes on to say it’s-- it’s because she’s easy to like, something blossoms in her chest. Does she really think that? It depends on the environment, doesn't it? She never felt particularly well liked in Camelot, but... Morgan met her gang, too. Her real family. Guinevere strokes her thumb gently against the side of Morgan's hand appreciatively. "Thanks."

If that wasn't enough already, Guinevere's rendered speechless when Morgan mentions destroying the cult. And lord help her, despite all the panic, she finds her so attractive in that moment that she forgets to breathe for a second. Damn. Arthur can flash his winning smiles and spout flowery words all he wants-- he's got absolutely nothing on the dangerous look flashing in Morgan's eyes right now. So beautiful and real where Arthur is fake.

"They wouldn't stand a chance against you." Guinevere's voice is so blatantly breathless and smitten that she blushes. Sheesh, she's got to pull herself together!

"Um, at first I was just thinking of sleeping with a knife under my pillow. Or... or maybe getting a puppy, like you said. 'Cause I'd honestly trust a dog to protect me over any one of Arthur's knights." Guinevere smiles sheepishly, offering Morgan's hand a light squeeze. "I appreciate that, though. Your spells would definitely help me get some sleep at night. As long as they don't wear on you, that is." If she felt like some part of Morgan was there with her, even when she was out of sight... it might make nights in Camelot just a little more bearable.

"...If you go, then I'm going too." All her fears sharpen to resolve. Though the thought of returning to that place, facing those people again is terrifying-- there's no way she'd send Morgan in there alone. (With Morgan at her side, she'd be even stronger than before. And unbound? Guinevere would be a force to be reckoned with in her own right.) The other woman makes a good point about finding their research. And of making sure they couldn't pose a threat again in the future. "I-- I saw it with my own eyes. They were making flowers grow in the middle of the wastes. If I'm capable of something like that, then I need to know about it. And who knows? Maybe I can use it for good."
 
"That they wouldn't," Morgan agreed easily, all storm and fury. Using her powers against people-- well, that wasn't what she usually did, but it didn't mean it was beyond her abilities. Not in the slightest. How could flesh hope to withstand the power of spirits? It couldn't, that was the reality of it. Just like fire melted ice with ease, so could they rend bodies asunder. (Her own body was the proof of that, wasn't it? Constantly covered in bruises, wounds and blood, despite them technically being friends. As for what they had in store for enemies-- oh, they wouldn't like it, Morgan would guarantee that.) "I'll see to it that they pay for their crimes." Because, without her intervention, they would never have to face actual justice. That was something Morgan had learned long, long ago-- just like, say, taxes, justice was a made-up term, and karma certainly did not govern one's day to day life. If it had, Arthur would have combusted spontaneously by now. No, if you wanted things a certain way, you had to build them with your own hands. And punishing those lowlives for hurting Guinevere? She'd enjoy that, truly. Their screams would be like a symphony to her ears, and she'd bask in their terror, their pleas. They would curse the day they had decided to abduct her!

"Well, I did promise you that puppy, didn't I? I'll get it for you," Morgan smiled softly. Not that she thought a puppy would do much against grown men, but-- well, the idea of Guinevere with a freaking puppy was just too adorable, alright? Besides, recovery was as much a mental thing as it was a physical one. With something to distract her from her pain, surely Guinevere would get better faster? Everything seemed to suggest so.

Morgan only looked away from Guinevere when a maid entered the room, carrying her medical equipment. "Lady Morgan? I, uh, I have brought the items you requested," she said, her eyes downcast. (Just like most inhabitants of Camelot, this girl, too, was afraid to meet her gaze. 'She'll curse you if you do,' they had probably told her. A foolish, foolish notion, but at least it granted her some semblance of privacy, so Morgan didn't complain.)

"Thank you. Set it on the table. Afterwards, you are free to go." The girl obeyed the command, as fast as humanly possible, and practically darted off. Kind of excessive, at least according to Morgan, but hey, who was she to judge? It wasn't the servant's fault they had filled her head with nonsense.

Reluctantly, the sorceress left her spot by Guinevere's side and began sorting through the equipment. "I don't like that," she announced while placing a beaker above a burner. (An ancient technology, really, but Arthur had banned anything more modern than that. It did its job, Morgan supposed.) "The idea of you returning there, I mean. They want you, so why make it easier for them? ...if you insist, though, I won't argue with you." More than anything else, this was Guinevere's revenge, after all, and Morgan had no desire to take it away from her. No desire to control her, really. She wasn't her brother, dammit!

Guinevere's words about what the cult had accomplished with her blood, though, piqued her interest. "Flowers?" Hmm... What a funny, funny coincidence! "Do you think Jen could have gotten them from there? She was in charge of wedding preparations, after all." And as for whether she was twisted enough to use flowers grown from her own sister's blood to make her wedding look pretty-- yes, absolutely. Morgan didn't doubt that in the slightest. "Perhaps we should pay her a visit in the dungeons. She's bound to have some important information on the cult, don't you think? If you don't want to see her anymore after all of that, though, I'll go alone. I have ways of making people talk." Ways Guinevere... probably shouldn't witness. Not if she wanted their relationship to survive.
 
To say Guinevere's eyes brightened at the prospect of getting a puppy would be a severe understatement -- they practically glowed. She's beaming. It's quite possibly the first time she's smiled without a single trace of melancholy. The moment is cut short, though, when the maid walks in. She's gone as soon as she enters and Guinevere watches the her scurry away with a small frown. Sometimes it still baffles her how deeply Camelot is shrouded in illusions, how no one in this place seems to see Morgan for who she is. (There are some exceptions, perhaps, like Marietta and Caelia... but still.) The king who they praise so highly, the one who claims to 'love' her so much is nowhere to be seen right now, is he? Morgan was the first to rush to her side when the magic took ripped through her body in the chapel, she's the one who's taking care of her now... and not only that, she's offering methods to help her cope with the trauma. (And yet Arthur expects her to walk in line with the rest of them and shun her like she's this evil witch? Ugh.) Even so, she stays silent on the subject for now. It'll certainly take more than a day to unravel the backwards thinking that holds this terrible place together. There'll be time for that when they enact Morgan's plans.

"...I was delivered to them drugged and bound. And I stayed that way the entire time I was there. Only required to exist, they said. Couldn't so much as raise my arms over my head or turn over on my side." Guinevere doesn't sound the slightest bit frightened now-- just quiet and angry. She rubs her wrists again, flexes her fingers out to test the way they feel. It'll take time to regain her strength, but she intends to be ready by the time they go. "If we're coming for them, then they're not gonna take me off guard. Not this time. And they have no fucking clue what I'm capable of." Okay. Well technically, they do and they don't. They know things she doesn't know about her blood, maybe... but they sure as hell don't know a thing about Guinevere herself. The woman who can weather the wastes with only a sword in hand, the woman who built her strength from scratch without relying on the oh so special blood flowing in her veins like a crutch. (No. If anything her blood was a curse. It had robbed her of so many things -- eliminated an aspect of agency from the course of her life.) Her fury eventually whittles down to something slightly sheepish when she recalls the nature of her escape. "Well, actually... I did kind of leave the place in a state of chaos. It was my first time using magic like that, so..."

If Guinevere seems unshakable at the prospect of revisiting the cult so soon after escaping their clutches, the idea of talking to Jen right away has her... quite a bit more shaken in comparison. Especially hearing Morgan's theory about the flowers, which, yeah. After everything it wouldn't surprise her. Even so, it does serve to drive the knife in her gut a little deeper if that's possible at this point. The cult was distant, the cult didn't know Guinevere as anything but what they chose to label her as. Whether they perceived her a goddess or a damned blood bag, neither of those titles had any meaning. Jen, though? Jen knows exactly what kind of person she is and yet she still -- she still did this to her.

"I do want to face Jen eventually." Guinevere leans back against her pillow, grappling with all her conflicting feelings about her sister. Without Morgan by her side, she has time to really observe her room for the first time since she's been gone. The traces of her sister's presence are still strewn about. The extravagant dresses hung about out according to their color and style. The smell from whatever perfume or soap she must have been wearing still permeating the air. The setting always changes. They've shared rooms in so many abandoned places before and the clothes Jen scavenged for might have been shabbier. But the ghost of her presence is familiar enough to flood her with nostalgia for the times when things were decidedly simpler. When the sisterly love between them was mutual. And not... not like this. Torn apart and possibly damaged beyond any hope of repair."I think it's the only way I'll be able to get closure. But... I'm not ready yet."
 
"...gods," Morgan muttered, absolutely horrified. "Just exist? As if existing without having something to do isn't the greatest prison." In their heads, though, that probably wasn't a problem. Not in the slightest. If you followed their twisted logic, then they had given Guinevere the most important task of all-- and that it would technically turn her into a living doll? Details, mere details. (Oh, she'd make them regret all of this, alright. They wouldn't just bemoan the day they had decided to kidnap Guinevere. No, they would curse their mothers for giving them their worthless lives!)

"That's fine," Morgan said quietly as the substance brewed. She stirred it from time to time, but more often than not, she let the heat work on its own. It did need to permeate the herbs properly, after all-- without the treatment, the healing properties would not manifest themselves properly. (In one way or another, healing was always inevitably about the cleansing power of fire. And if she had anything to say about that-- well, Camelot would be bathed in it, too. What other way to drive out the rot?) "There's no rush. You'll have as much time as you need, for all of your endeavors. Jennifer can wait." And after the fate she had subjected her sister to? Yeah, she deserved to spend some time surrounded by the nothingness of the prison cell, too. (Maybe karma existed, after all? Because Morgan couldn't think of a punishment more fitting, more ironic.) "There," she handed Guinevere the brew. "It's still hot, so be careful. It will also taste disgusting, but I promise it's good for you. Sugar would only suppress the effects, I'm afraid. If there's an infection in your body, it should make it go away."

Morgan wanted to add something else, too, but a light knocking on the door interrupted her string of thoughts. "Lady Morgan?" Marietta said. "Just thought you'd like to know that the king wants to visit lady Guinevere. As in, he's heading here now."

Right, of course he was! Arthur had a particular talent for choosing the worst possible moments to intrude on, really. Had Morgan not known any better, she would have accused him of planting spies in this very room! (Except that, had he done that, she would have lost her head already. Making a move on his fiance-- yeah, that would have buried the rest of any love he might have held for her real fast. ...gods, Morgan still couldn't believe that it had turned out this way between her and Guinevere. Who would have thought? ) "Thank you, Marietta. And Gwen-- I'll see you later. I don't think I should spend too much time with you openly."

Mere seconds after the door closed after Morgan, it opened again, and this time Arthur went inside. "Lady Guinevere," he greeted her. Unlike Morgan, though, he didn't sit down-- maybe he enjoyed towering above her? Well, it was either that, or he hadn't forgotten the Excalibur incident and still kept his distance. Either way, at least he didn't touch her anymore, so perhaps there was a silver lining after all. "I still cannot believe what transpired here. To think that she fooled me like this, under my own roof! Truly, she must be a wicked witch. A match for my sister, even. And even as powerful as I am-- well, there's no escaping the clutches of magic, is there?" Wow, how charming. So he had gone all the way there just to... spout excuses for his foolishness? Apparently. What a grand, grand romance. "But worry not, my lady. What she did is treason, and I have no mercy for those who violate my trust in this way. Once you have recovered, she will be executed," he said, smiling, as if he had just announced to her that they would be celebrating Christmas every day from now on. Did he-- did he really think that would make Guinevere happy? Judging by his relationship with Morgan, it certainly looked like that. "Moreover, you must tell me who saved you. The man deserves a reward, and a reward he shall get. I will grant him knighthood-- I swear that on my honor. So, who is it?"
 
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Guinevere wants to reach for Morgan's hand, to ask her not to leave her there -- but just because she's escaped from one cage doesn't mean she's necessarily free as a bird. Because when does anything they want matter in Camelot? So she nods, her gaze saying that there's so much more she wants to say, and holds the brew between her hands instead. It's in the few seconds that she's alone that she swallows some of it down and... oh yeah. It tastes awful and even burns her tongue a bit, so she sputters. Right, right. She warned her it'd be hot. (Morgan would have probably chided her for being such a terrible listener if she were there. God. Only a few seconds and the absence of her presence is already gripping her with an iron-tight fist--) The desire to get better overrides her desire to spit it out, though, so she braces herself and downs the rest. And, honestly? It's easier to swallow than the news Arthur comes to her with only a few moments later.

"--A match for your sister? Your sister who rushed to my side in the chapel and saw to it that I was taken care of?" Guinevere's eyes are bright with the kind of fury that refuses to dim for anything. Everything that's happened until now accumulates under her skin and... well, Arthur is the natural target of her frustration at the moment. The way he can just waltz in with excuses and smiles like she hasn't been suffering alone in the dark for weeks. And it's because of that experience, really, that staring danger-- even death itself in the eyes isn't such a challenge for her. Still. She needs to tread carefully. Putting herself at risk isn't a problem, but she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if her words got Morgan into any trouble. She clears her throat, a little awkwardly. "Even you can't deny that was kind of her. And I'd like to thank her properly for it."

Her hands reach instinctively for her neck upon hearing the word execution. Gooseflesh rises on her arms and she shivers. It it possible to be so unfathomably angry at her sister and terrified for her all at once? "--And you came to this conclusion before even speaking to me?" She blinks, still trying to process. Arthur sought her input after the night of the banquet, but -- well, perhaps the incident with Excalibur swayed him from ever letting her in on any matters of importance. "She needs to be held accountable for her crimes, I agree, but... execution?" Jen's sentence would be built entirely on false charges of witchcraft. This isn't about finding justice for his wronged queen -- it's all about his own damned ego. Like hell is her sister dying for that!

Guinevere peels back the covers and forces herself up to stand after that. She needs the rest, sure, but she's so goddamned tired of lying in a bed. Of being talked down to. Considering her current state? She holds herself with a practiced posture that'd make even a queen envious. Knowing what she knows about herself, now, she understands she might be able to get away with small rebellions. For once, perhaps she can use the blood in her veins as a sort of armor. It isn't a coincidence that Excalibur beckons to her-- the same way it probably wasn't a coincidence that Arthur came upon her gang in the wastes and asked specifically for her hand without knowing a single thing about her. Why else would he have selected her and not some docile thing from Camelot. A 'true lady' who would obey his every command? No, if Arthur needs her for something the same way that cult needed her... he won't be getting rid of her that easy.

"...Do you truly swear it on your honor, my love?" Guinevere is deceptively soft and takes one step closer, "Then I suppose you'll need to make good on one of your promises for once," she takes another step closer, her softness becoming something sharp and lethal, "--and grant me knighthood. Because I escaped from that prison myself."

Guinevere holds her ground firmly, doesn't falter, even when she knows the audacity could cost her. "You know, I learned a lot about myself while I was away." She decides not to specify what, exactly, if only to gauge his reaction on the subject. "You chose me as your bride for a reason... didn't you Arthur? Will you finally tell me why?"
 
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"Hmpf. Morgan only did what she did because she wants to manipulate you, my love," Arthut said, his smile just a little bit tense. Apparently, hearing Guinevere praise Morgan just wasn't something he appreciated. "Just give her some time and she'll use it against you, my lady. My sister always been like that, demanding honors that don't belong to her," he shook his head, oh so regretful. "A terrible, terrible tragedy. If she was a little more humble, her position in the court would be much higher." Right, probably something akin 'Arthur's greatest sycophant.' At any rate, it didn't sound like a fate Morgan would enjoy. "I did try to warn you, but if you don't intend to take that warning seriously, feel free to spend your time with her. As much of if as you wish, in fact. At least you will see for yourself who exactly she is." ...oh? Now that was quite a change of tune! Still, what could have compelled him to open the door of her cage? Guilt, perhaps? Or was it something else? Just like always, Arthur didn't bother to explain his reasoning. Guinevere, after all, didn't need to understand-- if anything, understanding only complicated everything. Actually knowing what was going on often led to pesky things such as, you know, people arriving to their own conclusions. No, she merely needed to obey.

"And why should I talk to you about it?" Arthur asked, clearly confused. "There is only one punishment for treason, and that is death. It is good that you are soft, my lady, but sometimes, people around you don't deserve that softness. You sister certainly doesn't." The amount of care poured into those words would have been moving, really, if not for the fact he was likely only mad at Jen for deceiving him so completely. Obviously, that could never be forgiven. Forcing the king to confront his own weaknesses? In Camelot, that equaled to death sentence. Almost an assisted suicide, really.

When Guinevere took a few steps forward, though, Arthur retreated instinctively. "You? You? But how?" he asked, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Clearly, the option of Guinevere saving herself had never occurred to him before. How could it, though? In his mind, Guinevere had grown soft within Camelot's walls-- soft and fragile and ladylike, kind of like a flower that had withered without being bathed in the sunrays. Now that he found out it hadn't happened, though? That she had only gained a new kind of strength? Yeah, the collision with reality wasn't pleasant. "Don't be silly, my lady. Why would you want knighthood? You shall be the queen soon. Technically, I am not a knight, either. For us, it would be a demotion." Well, at least he still found an opportunity to do what he loved the most-- to explain things to Guinevere. Marvelous, truly.

Maybe he would have continued missing the point in the wildest of ways, but it seemed that Guinevere's question startled him. "What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes suddenly guarded. "I chose you because I love you. No other lady would make me half as happy." ...yeah, Arthur really was a terrible actor, because the manner in which he refused to meet her gaze? How he clasped his hands together, probably to hide panicked movements? Oh, he was lying, lying, lying. Even a child could tell at this point! Some of his own incompetence must have reached even the man himself, though, because he continued to fumble around for answers.

"The Excalibur told me," he finally said. The name of the sword seemed to give him his confidence back, too, because his eyes once again shone brightly. "It told me that you are meant for me, and that you shall be the queen. It is-- it is fate, my lady. The gods themselves have decided that our union is the best thing that can happen to this scorched land. That only you can support me well enough for me to succeed in my task. Don't you see how great of a role that is? How important you are in the grand scheme of things? That Excalibur guided me to you is nothing short of a miracle." Well, well, well. Now wasn't that interesting? Even though he had always denied Guinevere to be relevant in any way, suddenly he relied on making her feel important? Oh, how fast a narrative could crumble!
 
Guinevere just stares at him. So that's it. Arthur chose her because the magic sword told him to? If she relayed this information to her past self, she would have thought it was some kind of joke. Because it sounds utterly ridiculous, right? Now, though? Now she doesn't know exactly what to believe. He shows this conviction that tells her he truly believes he's going to change the world with Excalibur, that he has a destiny... and yet, she had been shown that very same vision-- only with herself as the wielder. The possibility that Excalibur lures victims in with illusions of grandeur for sinister purposes had crossed her mind when she'd been completely isolated "to recover" after encountering it for the first time. However, there's a part of her that knows that isn't the truth. She feels it in her blood. Yes, her blood, which also has the uncanny ability to restore the scorched earth. Does Arthur intend to use her the same way the cult did, then? Perhaps her cage in Camelot is fancier, perhaps she has more freedom to move about -- but it's essentially the same thing, isn't it? Depriving her of her agency so that she can provide 'support' to those who refuse to give her any relevant information on what this so called support even entails. One moment she's too trusting, the next she's too soft, then she's silly-- and now? Now she's important?

"Am I supposed to feel important? Because you have a real peculiar way of making me feel important." Guinevere doesn't know where to start with Arthur, really. Talking down to her like he believes she's so gullible, that Morgan would 'nefariously manipulate her' as though Jen hadn't just made a complete fool of him. Acting like her input doesn't matter at all when she's the one who was truly wronged -- let alone when it's her sister's life on the line. Though it was satisfying to see the shock on his face when she revealed that she escaped on her own, it's also insulting. She's so fed up with him that she starts counting his faults off her fingers. "You've barely kept any of the promises you made since we walked through Camelot's gates. You don't listen to me. And you don't tell me anything. Contrary to what you might believe, Arthur, I'm not stupid." It's a short list, because lord only knows how much trouble she'd get in for giving him the uncensored version occurring in her head right now. Best not to get too carried away. (Much like she could discuss the qualities she admires about Morgan all night, she could just as easily do the same when it comes to badmouthing Arthur.)

"You want to know why I wouldn't consider knighthood a demotion? It's because being your future queen doesn't appear to grant me with enough respect to be taken seriously." Guinevere's eyes flash. God. She's saying things she never believed she'd get to say to his face before. But if Arthur's precious destiny is riding on the the fact that 'only she' can support him? Well, she's not expendable to him anymore, is she? That gives her a little power. Not a lot, perhaps, but enough to speak at least some of her truths. "If you really want my support, then I suggest you stop treating me like I'm completely useless. I've already proven that I'm not."

"It's strange, really. I had an unexplainable reaction to Excalibur when you first showed it to me and-- and you avoided me afterwards." Guinevere curls her hands into fists at her sides, trying to contain herself before she can overflow. It seems dangerous to explain the vision she'd had to Arthur. The fact that she could take this precious, heroic narrative away from him could be enough to shatter this armor she's recently found for herself. But she wants to know more about the sword. About the magnetic pull the name 'Excalibur' has on her attention. About where its origin and why it reaches out to her so incessantly. It had even reached her out when she was escaping the cult, now that she thinks about it. "I want to know more about it. About Excalibur, I mean. If it has such a pull on fate that it affects mine as well as yours, then I should know. Wouldn't you agree?"
 
"Promises require time, Guinevere." Guinevere. Not 'my lady' or 'lady Guinevere,' just her name. Well, wasn't that interesting? It seemed that finally, finally she was able to get under his skin, even if his expression didn't betray any strong emotions. "I am the king. Can you even imagine how heavy the responsibilies weigh on my shoulders? How difficult my task is?" he clasped his hands, almost theatrically. (Everything about him was fake-- faker than the safety Camelot provided, faker than the crown that rested on his head. How did nobody see that?) "Of course I don't think you are stupid. On the contrary, I believe you are smart enough to recognize when your wants should be trumped by my realm's needs." How convenient that it fell to him to define what 'wants' and 'needs' were, right? Such was the power of the king-- even breathing could be framed as a want under the right circumstances. "I just ask for your patience. That is all."

When Guinevere spoke of respect, though, Arthur's forehead crinkled in utter confusion-- it almost looked as if she had just, say, told him that the sky was green. "But why, my lady? How come you do not feel valued enough? You are to become my queen, and there is no higher honor. Most women would do anything to get where you are." And women possibly having ambitions other than marriage? Pfft, such nonsense! (He didn't voice that, of course, but his expression conveyed that quite eloquently.) "I know that the life in the wastes is-- different," Arthur acknowledged. "That you have had to grow thorns in order to survive. The thing is, you don't need them here. You can afford to be weak-- that is my gift to you," he announced, pride ringing in his voice. (Maybe it actually would have meant something, too, if Guinevere hadn't been kidnapped from her very own bed a few weeks prior. Was his memory that bad, or just that selective? Who knew, really. Arthur's mind seemed to be a chaotic, chaotic place.) "What could you want that you do not have? You get to live in the lap of luxury, but surely you understand that not even our resources are infinite?"

"But very well," he conceded. "You should know more about Excalibur. Perhaps, if you understand the scope of my-- no, our role, then you will be more reasonable about all of this." ...reasonable meant more obedient, didn't it? The words behind his words were easy to read, even if he didn't bother to explain anything. (That was apparently a running theme in their relationship.)

"Excalibur is a sacred sword," he began, "imbued by great magics. It was pulled from a lake-- the only lake in the world not swallowed by the filth." Ugh, there he went again, with his imprecise terminology. What did he mean exactly? The levels of pollution in the water sources throughout the world? Maybe. The only water that was still perfectly drinkable was rain water, to the point that some of those who lived in the wastes made a living via catching such water in suitable containers and selling it. The water from ponds and streams, though? A foul-smelling substance, usually somewhat yellow-ish in hue, and only a madman would resort to drinking it. (A madman or someone with the access to those fancy filters, but such people were, of course, in the minority.) "It is what grants Camelot protection," Arthur continued. "And it is said that, when the time comes, the rightful ruler shall pull it out of the stone and restore the earth to its former glory. I do not know much about it, aside from my own connection to its fate-- it was Merlin who brought it here, on the behalf of Lady of the Lake. She wanted me to have it." Ah, so Arthur had been given the sword. Was there one thing he had earned for himself? One tiny thing? No, apparently not. "In her visions, she saw my destiny, and so she made sure I would receive it. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" Oh, did he sound a bit-- agitated? Yes, most definitely. Where he had once talked her with sweetness, there was only formality now, cold and bitter.
 
"...I can imagine, actually. If you recall the day we met, Arthur, then you would be smart enough to know I'm not in Camelot to live selfishly in the lap of luxury. I never was. I'm here because I have a responsibility for the gang I left behind in the wastes." Guinevere's anger only builds from the way he talks to her like she's a little girl who wants for too much, like she's being entitled when he's the one who gets to hoard resources for his people. When he's treated like a hero for it. At least he doesn't have to worry constantly about his subjects being killed off by monsters or dying out from starvation. God, she can't believe he's going as far as to lecture her on differentiating want versus need! The issue with her missing girls resurfaces and only fuels her fire into an inferno-- she can hardly hold herself back from burning everything in her path. If her actions were dictated by what she wanted? She'd have chosen her freedom over comfort any day. "My gang. They're counting on me so they don't starve to death out there. So don't lecture me about my wants versus your realm's needs. Camelot's resources might not be infinite, but at least you have them." When she first arrived and saw the food for herself, she even had suggestions on this very topic. On rationing the resources, on the fact that they would have enough to keep several more people alive as long as no one took too much. But Arthur hadn't cared to listen back then.

"You say that. You promised you'd keep me safe, too. But you can take one look at my face and see what lowering my guard has done to me." Guinevere's eyes shine accusingly. Bruised and pale as death. Only her newfound sense of determination and purpose allows her to emanate a sort of strength. Why should she let him walk all over her when she's had to endure has finally given her some leverage? Of course she's going to run and see just how far she can get. And if Arthur's not going to hold himself accountable, if he's going to blame Jen for enticing him with witchcraft, then she'll just have to do it enough for the both of them. "If your destiny is as important as you say it is and I'm meant to support you through it... then maybe you should be a little more thankful that I'm not weak. Because you would have married the wrong woman and I would have died waiting for rescue if I was."

Reasonable, reasonable, reasonable. Guinevere might be frustrated, but she's been perfectly reasonable. Even so, she holds herself back from retaliating enough to listen to what Arthur has to say. And if anything, it only packs her mind with more questions than before. How is she meant to play a role in all of this, for one. Where is this lake? Who is the-- the Lady of the Lake? She wonders if she was able to locate it-- if perhaps she could get answers from someone other than Arthur. Because she'd be a damn fool to believe he's not omitting important details from his story or fabricating them completely. Especially considering his current disposition. Honestly? The fact that he's grown so cold to her is satisfying, like she's finally shattering one of his many illusions. This is a loveless marriage and he doesn't feel even an ounce of compassion for her as a person. He's not the romantic hero who saved her from the wastes and they never fell in love. And if he's dragging her down with him for the sake of his own oh so special destiny, if he's going to take her agency away in the process, then she's going to make him miserable. If he's so used to things coming easily to him, then it's fine time he has a healthy dose of something that doesn't.

"Not really. I still have tons of questions." Guinevere mirrors his iciness tenfold, as though to say she'll never be satisfied. Certainly not with him. Oh, how the tables turn. He usually loves getting the chance to explain things to her. "Excalibur brought me here, after all. I want to know everything. But if even you don't know that much about it, I guess it can't be helped. If you do learn more, I hope you'll be decent enough to talk to me about it next time. Because it's just like you said... I'll only be able to play my role properly if I understand what it entails."
 
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Every word she uttered, every accusation she flung at him, only seemed to make the distance between them grow. The way he looked at her now? Yeah, it was miles away from the sweetness from before. (Because, for all the patronizing, it had been sweetness. Maybe he truly did love her, in his own way? Maybe he wasn't capable of loving in any other way? Camelot, after all, did twist the hearts of men.) "We do have them," Arthur said, "and that means we need to be responsible about their management. I cannot feed the entire world, Guinevere. Your-- your friends," he spat out, apparently unable to reconcile with the idea of a gang full of women, "have to wait. I have not forgotten, but supporting them in any meaningful way before we are ready will doom us all. Surely you can understand that?" Which was a whole lot of words for mere 'no', really. And honestly? It might as well have been 'never'. Given how enthusiastic he seemed about all of this, it was more than likely that he just-- hoped to wait her resolve out. Hoped for Guinevere to lose herself in all the silks and precious gemstones and lavish feasts, and simply forget about her friends. Wouldn't that be ideal?

Still, even despite this new chasm between them, the accusation of not being able to protect her did seem to wound him. This was, after all, about his pride. If he had failed to protect one woman, what did it say about his ability to do the same for the kingdom? Nothing good, of course. "Nobody could have predicted that," he argued. "But perhaps I would have been able to react more quickly had you not been so against the idea of guards in your chambers." ...was his solution to blame her? Really? Wow. How did he always manage to find new, creative ways of ensuring he'd be the most despicable person in the room? One was almost inclined to think it was intentional, really, for this couldn't possibly be anybody's true nature. Right?

"You are free to investigate the mystery of the sword as much as you like," he shrugged. "If you believe it will make your task easier, than why not. I suggest you start with Merlin-- my friend's knowledge is vast, and he has a personal history with Excalibur. Tell him I sent you. That will make him answer any and all questions you might have." Was he just trying to get rid of her or did he genuinely believe that getting access to that information would make her more docile? It was hard to tell, really, though one aspect of this seemed easy to read at the very least-- Arthur didn't like pressure. Perhaps he wasn't used to it, perhaps he thought that such matters were beneath him, but ultimately, the reason behind it didn't matter; what mattered was that strong-arming him was shaping out to be a legitimate strategy. Heh. Interesting.

Either way, Arthur didn't have anything else to say, so he bowed to Guinevere and saw himself out. Considering how this whole exchange had gone, perhaps he at least wouldn't pester her with endless visits?

His sister, on the other hand, seemed determined to do exactly that. Just a few minutes after the king had left, Morgan returned, holding a tray with two cups resting on it. (Two cups of something hot? The steam rising faintly from whatever substance was inside suggested it.) "I didn't find any bananas this time," she admitted, her cheeks rosy pink, "but we received a shipment of cocoa, and that is rather tasty as well. It's, uh, important to treat yourself when you're sick. The body gets more motivated to fight the illness off as opposed to dying, because it starts looking forward to the future treats," Morgan said teasingly as she sat next to her and set the tray on the table. "Don't argue with me. It's science." She raised her own cup only to sip from it, savoring the taste. Hmmm. One could really get used to this! Too bad they only got cocoa like, every other year. Apparently, getting a hold of it wasn't easy-- the plants needed very specific conditions to grow, and only a few producers across the world managed to secure them. "So. What did my brother dearest want?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
 
Guinevere is somehow left with even more to process than before. What a day this is turning out to be! She can't seem to catch a break. In the span of the few minutes that she's left to her own devices, she had changed herself out of the virgin sacrifice garb the cult had given her and into a fresh nightdress, paced her room, and then plunked herself back down in bed-- taking to tossing half of the pillows across the room into a big pile. Partly throwing things to vent her frustration -- but it's productive, too, because they're contributing to a nest on the floor she intends to bury herself in. Because she's sick and tired of lying in bed. She's just about to grab for another one when Morgan enters once more and far sooner than she would have expected. It's a surprise, but a welcome one. The last time she was left alone in this room, she was-- well, it doesn't matter now, does it? Morgan's here. The smile that comes to Guinevere's face as a result is genuine, in spite of everything, but it's difficult to maintain when there's so much on her mind.

"I see." Guinevere plays along weakly, truly appreciating the gesture in spite of all the thoughts threatening to bury her alive. "Can't argue with science. Thank you, Morgan. I... I appreciate it." With that, she takes one of the warm cups between her hands and tries a sip. At the taste, her cheeks bloom with a natural shade of pink. It's sweet. And rich. And compared to the brew she had to drink before, it's especially tasty. "Oh wow." She breathes out before taking another sip. She's bright for a moment before dimming -- tinged with a bit of sadness. It's hard to tell whether it's the mention of Arthur that does it or if it's something else.

Maybe it's a little of everything. The conversation about resources still sits with her, the ache that Arthur really just intended to wait things out until her entire gang starved to death out there and he wouldn't have to deal with the problem anymore. She'd known it before, because how could she not at this point-- but hearing it put in no uncertain terms like that... along with him freaking blaming her for his own incompetence! How can he claim that his responsibilities weigh so heavily on his shoulders when he refuses to take accountability for anything? Oh, she would have flayed him alive if he had the guts to stick around. Seems that the pressure of it all scared him away, though. If there's anything to feel triumphant about, perhaps it's the fact that she discovered she's not disposable. In the grand scheme of things, she's an important piece on the board who just learned of her importance-- and isn't that dangerous for him? She's no longer a lowly, insignificant woman from the wastes who he had chosen out of the goodness of his heart... but a someone with a connection to Excalibur. He can't very well have her executed for badmouthing him when he needs her specifically to ensure his heroic narrative doesn't fall apart.

And oh, does she intend to exploit that for all she's worth. She'll tell her ladies that she intends to be cold to Arthur until he grovels on his knees for mistaking her for her sister. Because how unromantic is that-- a man who cannot resist the allure of a seductress in the name of true love? She'll tell the knights stories of her adventures in the wastes and beat them all at swordplay. Oh, she'll play her part. But she'll play it differently than before... all in the name of making Arthur squirm. If she can get away with it, then why the hell not?

"Arthur did exactly what you'd expect him to. Tried to smooth things over with a load of bullshit." She laughs, then, maybe just a touch hysterical from the fact that she actually got away with saying all the things she'd said just now. Incredible. Crashing her own wedding and talking back to Arthur all in one day? (And escaping a freaking cult with magic?) It's only natural that it's all starting to catch up to her with a sort of delirium. "And I... I didn't take it. Not one bit of it. You should've seen him crumble under the pressure. Would've been hilarious if I wasn't livid with him."

"I had the audacity to ask for some human decency as his future wife. So of course he had to squeeze in a lecture on the difference between wanting something and needing something. Found a way to blame me for getting kidnapped, too." Oh, she's going to start ranting if she doesn't stop soon. And to think he didn't even ask her once if she was all right after the hell she'd been through! He didn't ask her if she needed anything, if she was comfortable, if there was anything he could do to make her feel safer in her environment. Arthur should really consider himself lucky that she's even sticking around at this point. It's increasingly clear now she's only staying in Camelot because of Morgan. Because they have plans to put him and his incompetence on full display. "It's really incredible how he can gripe about the responsibilities of leadership when he doesn't take responsibility for anything."

Eventually, though, Guinevere crashes off the high she got from talking back to Arthur. Because there's one piece of news he gave her that she simply wasn't going to have any say on. She's quiet for a while, it's probably evident based on her expression alone that something is wrong. That something is weighing on her. She's not even sure at this point how she's going to make the words take shape in her mouth. "Jen..." She sets her cup down and hugs one of the remaining pillows on her bed tight to her chest. "He told me she's going to be executed."
 
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"Tasty, eh?" Morgan smiled. Gods, there were so many meals she had to introduce to Guinevere! Especially if she was going to be so goddamn cute about it. And once Arthur was out of the way, in one way or another-- well, then she would show her the entire world. Something beyond both the wastes and Camelot, preferably. Surely there had to be something out there? They did receive food from various producers, so obviously there must have been other places. Other possibilities, untarnished by her brother's hands. Wouldn't it be kind of nice to discover them together? To finally allow Guinevere to spread her wings and let her fly, fly, fly? Oh, how gorgeous that would be! (She hadn't been born for this, Morgan knew now. Cages, no matter how luxurious, would only kill her spirit. No, she was meant to soar the skies, to feel the wind blow against her skin, and-- yeah, okay, Morgan probably shouldn't be dwelling in her fantasies now. Not when Guinevere watched, because she was sure they caused her to wear the stupidest smile on her face.)

"Oh wow," Morgan chuckled, half furious and half... amazed, really. Once again, Arthur had surpassed himself. Were there, like, annual awards for awfulness? Because it sure as hell looked as if he was trying to beat the damn record every single year! (Was she surprised that he had apparently treated Guinevere like an old rag? No, not even remotely. Still,the whole fiasco disappointed her. Would it have killed him to, say, beg her for forgiveness after she had almost died, in part because of him? Or at least not to blame her for what had happened? As far as she was aware, admitting to your shortcomings wasn't a deadly disease, for god's sake. Although-- well, perhaps it was, if you had built your entire identity on being Mr. Flawless. What a pitiful, pitiful existence.)

"Yeah, that was to be expected. I mean, Arthur and human decency, together in one sentence? You must still have fever, surely." (It hadn't always been this way, as Morgan remembered, though given how they had raised him-- yeah, this sort of outcome had been inevitable. If you told a child he was this perfect savior, prophesied to inherit the earth, of course they would believe it. Who wouldn't want to believe in a fairytale where they had found themselves in the role of the protagonist? No, the poor sod had never stood a chance. Perhaps Morgan should have called the CPS while the institution had still existed, really, but she had also been a child back then, and the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.) "I have to admit I do regret not seeing you chewing him out, though. That must have been some prime entertainment." Oh, Arthur had likely been so shocked to discover his rose had thorns! "Responsibility is his favorite buzzword, most definitely. If you want to rile him up next time, ask him what he does in order to expand Camelot's influence. I guarantee he won't have an actual answer," Morgan chuckled. No, if one wanted to know that, he had to address Arthur's shadow; Merlin, the man who had made all of this possible. (Scum. The fact that, in his hands, magic was apparently something sacred-- Morgan still hadn't forgiven him for that. Probably would never be able to, really, because certain scars just ran too deep. And him being elevated above everyone for the same things she did, aside for a few cosmetic differences? That certainly belonged to that category.)

The information about Jennifer, though, made her face go blank. "...that's pretty harsh," Morgan said after a while, sipping from her cup. 'Harsh, but appropriate,' she wanted to say, because for once, she found herself in agreement with her brother. Not that Arthur hadn't decided to do so for all the wrong reasons, but even a broken clock was right twice a day, you know? Jennifer was clearly dangerous, and didn't deserve to breathe the same air as her sister. No, her being alive would always pose a risk. Still, she was Guinevere's twin, so maybe Morgan should try not to look too happy with the outcome? Something about blood being thicker than water and all that. "I suppose we should interrogate her as fast as we can, then? So that we don't miss the opportunity to learn more about your kidnappers." And if that didn't sound compassionate, then that was only true because Morgan didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for the woman. Like, she had thrown Guinevere into the hands of a freaking cult. Was she supposed to shed bitter tears for her? To tear out her hair in desperation? Pffft, as if! Quite the contrary-- Morgan would watch the execution from the front row, wearing her best dress. (It was what Jen would have wanted, after all. Fashion before everything else!)
 
"According to Arthur, it's not going to happen until I've recovered. I don't really know how much time that'll give us." Guinevere shakes her head, oddly hollowed out. Not that he even bothered to ask her how she was feeling. About any of this, really. So it might as well be governed by the state of her physical appearance more than anything else. It's not that she believes punishment is uncalled for in this situation. Jen did the worst possible thing she could have done to her. And yet... yet the news still causes her stomach turn relentless somersaults. Guinevere wanted time to prepare before facing her sister for a reason. Their relationship was always complicated, which only makes her feelings on this subject even more complicated as a result. Now? It's fair to say she's an absolute mess on the inside. How is she meant to articulate any of this in a way that could be understood? God-- If her skin becomes any paler in her current state, she'll really start resembling a ghost. "He didn't ask me for details about what happened. Just came to his own conclusions and decided her fate right away. This isn't about finding justice, it's all about -- about saving his ego. Not that that surprises me..."

It doesn't. Not at all. Despite all the emotions crawling around beneath her skin, outwardly Guinevere very quiet and composed. She's not even close to being on the verge of tears like she was before. Maybe she'd just gotten all of them out of her system earlier, or maybe it's a defense mechanism she's begun to build around herself on the subject of Jen as a whole. Either way, she chews uncertainly at her lower lip and her eyes shift searchingly as she stares ahead. Like there's still a part of her that's trying to process the news. Like there's part of her that's trying desperately to think of another way that this could end.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive Jen for what she did to me. But... I don't want her to die." Guinevere finally manages. It's the simplest way she knows how to convey the way she's feeling, keeping it succinct and to the point. Everyone in Camelot sees her sister's story from only one angle and at one point in time-- but Guinevere? She's been there since the beginning. In every sense of the word. Before they learned to walk or talk, before the wastes swallowed them up and forced them to adapt. Jen's always putting on a show because that's how she learned to survive -- and she knows better than anyone that there's a fragile human being hiding beneath the cutthroat actress in her. A rare, loving side of her sister. One that only she knows exists. If Jen is finally locked up and held accountable (for the crimes she actually committed and not false accusations of witchcraft) -- and with enough time to reflect on her actions, to work through them... then who knows? Maybe that part of her would still be salvageable. Or at the very least she might grow regret her choices enough to one day muster an apology or-- or something. Maybe it's wishful thinking on Guinevere's part, that part of her that refuses to give up no matter what. As it is now, though, Jen would likely die vehemently hating her and Guinevere would have this big, empty void in her chest. Forever haunted by all the things that would go unsaid and unanswered between them.

There's nothing she can say to Arthur to make him change his mind at this point. He won't listen. Even if she brought herself to cry tears (Tears she doesn't even have the energy to shed at this point--) for her sister in front of him, it's highly unlikely that he'd summon enough compassion for her personal feelings to call it off. No, he needs to make an example of Jen for double crossing him. That's the logic of kings, isn't it? If she wants a different outcome that badly, she'll have to take matters into her own hands. Her heart starts racing at the prospect.

"I've got to break her out of there." Guinevere says with conviction, not fully registering the weight of what she's suggesting. (Maybe it's the fever talking again? Maybe everything she's had to deal with today has finally caught up to her and she's starting to snap.) Hell, she escaped a cult on her own! Surely she can help her sister escape Camelot, too. Arthur can blame Jen's mysterious disappearance on witchcraft too, for all she cares... and maybe the event itself would stir more talk on his incompetence as a king. If she plays it just right, this could work in their favor. "I want her to face consequences for her actions more than anyone, but it-- it can't end like this."
 
"Oh, it seems we have a lot of time, then," Morgan shrugged. "Officially, I'm in charge of your treatment, so I can just feed him lies about you still being weakened from the trauma for as long as we need. Well, okay, months likely would be suspicious, but weeks? I can pull that off no problem." Arthur, after all, loved the idea of Guinevere being this soft, fragile creature-- her recovering slowly would be a narrative he'd enjoy for sure. So yeah, Morgan would absolutely buy them enough time to investigate... except that, for some reason, that didn't seem to be what this was about?

Gods. Gods, don't tell me she's going where I think she's going with this. Because that would have been utterly ridiculous, right? There was no way Guinevere hinted at-- at saving her treacherous sister. Like, there were limits to kindness! At a certain point, it just morphed into stupidity, and Morgan had a good reason to believe this was one of those cases. Risking her neck to break Jen out of her prison would be the equivalent of feeding a dog that had tried to rip your throat out, for gods' sake. (Because, despite only having known Jen for a couple of weeks? Morgan didn't doubt that the word 'gratitude' was a foreign concept to her. She would likely see it as a display of weakness, and turn against Guinevere the second it became even remotely feasible. Jen just couldn't act differently-- just like a snake couldn't stop hunting mice, she, too, couldn't deny her own nature. Morgan understood that better than anyone.) Surely Guinevere was aware of all of this, too? She had grown up with her, after all, so this had to be some weird brand of nostalgia. Merely remnants of her Stockholm syndrome, really. The feelings she had once held for her couldn't evaporate without a trace, and as such, grieving was natural. Guinevere would just-- spend a few days pondering over the unfairness of it all, only to move on. Right?

Yeah, no. Of fucking course she wouldn't be satisfied with that-- but, to be fair, maybe Morgan was the fool here for expecting her to be passive. "...are you kidding me?" she asked, placing her cup on the tray with a loud 'clank'. (Her tone still managed to be neutral, mostly because she couldn't bring herself to raise her voice at Guinevere when she still looked so very sick, but that gesture betrayed her anger still.) "It isn't justice, yes, but what she did to you wasn't justice, either." Besides, what did she think an appropriate punishment would be? Ten years in prison? Which freaking prison, though? In case she hadn't noticed yet, the society had kind of imploded on itself! Nobody ran prisons in this world, where feeding so many hungry mouths was about as sustainable as-- as building your house from ice blocks while living on the Sahara desert. Gods. Gods, Morgan couldn't believe they were having this particular conversation!

"Besides, how do you imagine we'll make her face these consequences you talk about? Once we release her, she'll be gone. Poof, just like that. And do you think Jennifer will use that newfound freedom to seek out a monastery and live out the remainder of her days in pursuit of repentance?" Morgan shook her head. "Wake up, Gwen! Most likely, she'll start scheming immediately. There's no cure for the type of ambition she has, and if you think she'll forgive you for what you did during that wedding, then think again." No, Jen would never, never get over it-- her pride had been damaged too badly, too publicly. The only way for her to salvage it at this point was revenge, really.

And yet, yet Morgan also understood where Guinevere was coming from, sort of. Giving Arthur that sweet sense of satisfaction also didn't sit well with her, but why couldn't she see that it was the lesser of two evils? That, sometimes, you couldn't hope for ideal solutions? (Perhaps she could try to find a better solution, though. Guinevere trusted her enough to share her plans with her, and Morgan stripping that choice away from her-- well, that would make her the same as Arthur. Just another jailer, even if a little bit kinder. And did she want their relationship to be like that?)

"Ugh. I hate it, but fine, have it your way," Morgan finally said, her brow crinkled with worry. "I'll even help you get her out of there, if that is your wish. But," she raised her hand, "only under one condition. You're going to tell me, in no vague terms, how exactly you're going to handle the situation after Jennifer is free. I want to hear a concrete plan on how to make her accountable for her crimes, and how you're going to keep yourself safe from her. Well?" Because if this was going to lead to Guinevere's demise, then Morgan was not going to be a part of this. Definitely not!
 
"She wasn't always like this..." Guinevere falters a little, realizing with Morgan's every point how it must sound from an outside perspective. From someone who actually cared that she'd disappeared and almost... well, died. Typically in these situations she'd fall back on saying that Jen would never harm her, but -- she's already proven that she can and will do just that in one of the worst possible ways. The trust between them was severed undoubtably. But the love--? No, there's always going to be a part of her that loves Jen. She can't just rearrange the way she feels. Right now she's angry beyond comprehension with her sister, so it doesn't necessarily help her in making a solid case, but she'd never make a decision so harsh as to have her executed in the heat of the moment. Camelot's the only place that really provides a prison of sorts, but -- that's not a viable option when Arthur's plans are taken into account. She sighs heavily, pressing the heels of her hands over her eyes. Wincing a little when she presses too hard on her bruise again. Damn it. This is too much to take in one day, she's at her limit. "Shit. I've got to stop making excuses for her. I know that. But I still--"

Guinevere shakes her head, attempting to steel herself with a shaky breath. "...You're right." Again. Morgan's points have never led her astray in the past and she wouldn't tune her out out of stubbornness. Of course she's going to take her feelings into consideration, too. It's something she had gained from being part of her gang, really, learning to listen to everyone's thoughts-- even if she didn't necessarily agree with all of them. Finding the solution that benefitted everyone involved. There was never a perfect solution, of course, the world they live in is imperfect in every way... but with several perspectives, it always turns out that there are far more solutions to problems in this world than one might think. Jen, however, was the one subject Guinevere tended to be stubborn about. If things are going to be different going forward, then that clearly needs to change. The fact that Morgan would even offer to help, despite not agreeing with her plan? It causes her eyes to widen just a little. It means a lot, but-- it makes the plan that much riskier, doesn't it? She wouldn't want to get Morgan into trouble on Jen's account-- on this sibling drama between them. "I don't have a plan. Not yet. But I promise I'm not going to jump into this without thinking it through. You don't have to put yourself at risk for this, Morgan. I do appreciate it, but-- if-- if something happens, I should be the one to take responsibility."

"Before all of this happened, I genuinely believed that Jen would never hurt me on purpose." Guinevere bites the inside of her cheek, "She saved me the first time, you know. When we were kids. I was always weak from tests, so she came up with the plan to get us out of there. Jen could be manipulative, but she was amazing sometimes, too. Took all kinds of risks to keep me safe." Back when she still cared, that is. "Still... none of that changes the fact that she-- she tried to replace me. It turns out I don't know her as well as I thought." Played her for a fool. If Jen had no problem making her disappear, then maybe it should have been the same for Guinevere. Unfortunately it's not that simple. They used to keep each other safe, relied solely on each other to find their footing out in the wastes. Told each other everything. Kept their dad alive with them by sharing stories. They were so close. So much that the impact of her betrayal was raw heartbreak.

"If we really have a say on how long she's in there... how about we stick with our original plan to begin with? We'll just talk to her, get the information we need. I'll make her think I'm going to let this happen. And then she can sit there and wait for a week or two." Guinevere knows it's not enough as punishment, considering what she put her through. But sitting in a cell with an imminent death sentence on the horizon, knowing she had damaged their relationship beyond repair just might bring about some kind of change in her. Maybe the experience would convince her to stay away from Camelot forever. And if not, then... "I mean, I haven't had an actual conversation with Jen in two years. We can decide what to do from there. If I can't think of another solution and if she's really so far gone and it seems like it's going to be more trouble than it's worth, then... then I'll let her go."
 
'Well,' Morgan wanted to say, 'it's nice that she wasn't always like this, but now she is. Can't you see?' The words, no matter how true they were, though, got stuck in her throat. Guinevere just looked so sad! Rubbing it in her face would have been like-- like kicking a puppy. Besides, despite the love she still held for her sister, she didn't seem entirely delusional. On some level at least, Guinevere understood just how dangerous all of this was. What would being mean to her accomplish, aside from hurt feelings? Absolutely nothing. No, if Morgan wanted to build that trust they had talked about earlier, she had to swallow all the sarcastic remarks that threatened to spill over. Trust, after all, went both ways.

"I-- guess I understand, somewhat." She didn't, mostly because her own experiences had been so different, but-- well, perhaps Morgan would have felt similarly had Arthur been kinder in the past. Had he, say, shielded her from their mother's anger, then it wouldn't have been out of question for her to hold warm feelings for him. The idea itself repulsed her, but theoretically? Yes, why not. (It was fortunate he had done nothing of the sort, really, because then conspiring against him would have been significantly more difficult. Ah, the good old silver linings!) "And no," Morgan rolled her eyes, "I'm not letting you do it alone. You can forget about that. I almost lost you, so I'll make sure that scenario won't repeat itself. I just don't wish to help if I come to the conclusion it would basically be assisted suicide."

What Guinevere said next, though, sounded-- reasonable. Again, Morgan would have been happy to leave Jennifer to the rats, but since that wasn't going to happen, this was the next best thing, really. "Alright. Alright, I have no objections to that." (Or at least no objections Guinevere would accept as valid, which meant Morgan could keep them to herself. Yeah, no reason to argue if it wouldn't lead anywhere anyway.) "I'll find out where she is, then." Returning to the catacombs was bad enough, after all, and if Morgan could help it, she sure as hell wouldn't wander around there blindly. (Those cells held many secrets, some of them possibly darker than even she could imagine. Did she want to start discovering them now? Not really. One day, that time would come, but with Jennifer consuming her attention-- no, it would have been too dangerous.)

Thankfully, locating her cell wasn't that much of a problem. Not if you went to the right people. Since Arthur wanted to make a spectacle out of her death, he obviously had to keep her alive, and for that, someone needed to feed her. That someone, of course, wasn't the glorious king, but some lowly servant. And given that Morgan had a lot of allies among those people? Oh, she found out almost immediately. Jennifer was locked in one of the blackest dungeons, where the sunlight felt like a distant memoty-- somewhat close to the cell that had been own prison, actually. (Why did he keep it empty? Had he reserved it solely for her on case he had to imprison her again? Awww, how sweet!)

Either way, once Guinevere regained a bit of her strength and Arthur went off to enjoy some stupid hunt, Morgan came for her. "Good evening," she greeted her and curtsied, more out of habit than anything else. "Come on, it's time to visit your sister. I'm sure she's dying for some company at this point." (Maybe she wasn't, but hey, you didn't get to do what you wanted while locked in a dungeon. That was kind of the entire point.)

With a flickering torch in her right hand, Morgan led Guinevere down to the catacombs, deeper and deeper and deeper. Was there even an end to this dungeon? There had to be, logically, but it certainly didn't feel like that. "They say that Camelot stands atop of hell's mouth, and if you go far enough, you'll get into the realm of demons," Morgan chuckled. (-emons, -emons, -emons, the echo repeated.) "As far as I'm concerned, they can't be worse than the people who live in the castle itself, so it has always failed to scare me."

When they finally reached Jen, it... wasn't a pretty sight, really. Arthur had ensured her survival, yes, but that was the extent of his kindness. As such, Jennifer still wore her wedding dress, which were now torn and soiled. (Soiled by things Morgan didn't really want to think about. Just-- ugh. One would almost, almost be inclined to feel sorry for her, but she closed her heart off before that could happen. No matter how pitiful she looked now, this was still Jennifer-- still her enemy. With her, one misstep could easily cost them all.)

"Hello, Jennifer," Morgan said, her tone light and conversational. "How are you today? I hope you have been happy with Camelot's hospitality." ...and yes, she may have been enjoying it just a little bit. So what? The woman did deserve it!
 
Guinevere focuses on the sound of Morgan's voice to ward off the nerves as they venture further into the catacombs. Though she had steeled herself to the idea of confronting her sister in the time she had to recover... she'd never really been fond of the dark. That fear had developed the first time she was taken as a girl and... it never went away. And considering the weeks she'd spent in her own dark cell are still fresh in her mind? Yeah, it had only developed into something worse. To think she could brave all sorts of nasty monsters out in the wastes and tense up like a child in the shadows. Morgan being there at her side... helps. (And to think this is where Morgan herself had been trapped, after the banquet. The thought makes her heart clench up. Causes a swell of anger towards Arthur's assumptions about that night to rise back up to the surface. All she can think is thank god she hadn't screwed that up, that she had managed to get her out of here.) The mention of the realm of the demons and them not being as bad as the people in Camelot even elicits a smile from her.

Then they arrive at her sister's cell. The reality is about what she'd expected walking in, really... and it's strange. Once this very same sight might have yanked down on her heartstrings, and her first instinct would have been to find a way to open the door and help her out. But now? Now she's patient and composed. Hasn't been in here for even half as long as Guinevere had been in her own prison-- so surely can hold out for a while longer. Jennifer doesn't seem to have the energy to bother so much as lifting her head at Morgan's words. Gaze downcast, she just breathes out an irritated huff.

Guinevere doesn't say anything at first. Just uses her knuckles to knock a specific pattern of notes on the wall, listening to the way each sound echoes. Jen scoffs at that, shifting as though rousing from a deep slumber.

"...We haven't used that code in ages." Jennifer finally speaks, her voice low with a mix of fatigue and disdain. Although she doesn't tap back with a coded reply, she still answers the query with an appropriate answer. Showing she still remembers what it means. "Honestly. Does it look like I'm having a tea party in here? Of course I'm not okay."

"I was just thinking that this place brings back memories." Guinevere muses almost thoughtfully, letting her gaze wander their surroundings. And not pleasant ones by any means There's not a lot she can see by torchlight... but it's for that very reason that it's familiar, isn't it? If it were brought into the light of day, this prison wouldn't appear even remotely similar to that abandoned hospital. But the air of this place is very much the same, charged with nightmare fuel. Any place can become an empty void without a proper light source. "Dark, drafty... and probably haunted."

"Be a doll and fuck off, Guinevere." Jennifer sighs, finding a way to articulate every syllable in an elegant manner despite her current state. Despite her love for all things luxurious, she somehow seems calmer without all the gloss and shine. Without anything more to fight for. "Unless you're planning to let me out of here. In which case, by all means..." She makes a delicate circular motion with her hand as if to say she should get on with it. Whether or not she's being completely serious, though, is another story. Always playing it so the other person isn't entirely sure of her intentions-- so it doesn't look as though she's too invested in giving a shit if things don't work out in her favor.

"And why the hell would I let you out? After everything you did?" Guinevere's uncharacteristically stoic reply finally causes Jen's eyes to snap up to them, alert for the first time since they arrived. She knows she'll have to keep the subject of escape deliberately vague. Because for her to cooperate, it should seem like it could be within the realm of possibility... but she can't make it too easy for her, either. No, she needs to give Jen incentive to work for this with everything she's got.

"That's fair. Why are you here, then? Taking a stroll?" Jennifer drawls out after she recovers from the shock, averting her eyes once more. "Having an illicit rendezvous in the catacombs, are you? How very romantic. Will you hold hands during my execution, too?" She might as well be discussing the weather instead of her looming death sentence as she picks at her dirtied nails. It's a front she puts on, a defense mechanism when she knows she's already lost. "Although I imagine Arthur would place your heads on display right next to mine if he ever finds out about... whatever it is the two of you have."

"...We wanted to ask you some questions. About the cult you left me with." Guinevere narrows her eyes, refusing to acknowledge her sister's petty taunts and diving straight to the heart of the matter. Jen might be able to get away with badmouthing her from time to time, but no way is she going to let her drag Morgan into it. (And on top of the entire thing with the cult, that's yet another thing that she's pissed about. Jen freaking tried to seduce Morgan!) "You must've known they were connected to those guys who took us as kids, right?"

"If you had behaved and stayed put, you would've learned everything you needed to know in due time." Jennifer tips her head back defiantly. "Why should I tell you anything?"
 
Morgan watched Jennifer, her expression a strange mix between amused and frustrated. The way she reacted to her sister's prodding? Absolutely outrageous, but that was also what made it-- well, a little bit admirable, maybe. Even when reduced to this, Jennifer managed to lose nothing of her composure, nothing of her grace. (Once again, Morgan found herself thinking that, in a different world, they might have been friends. Close friends, even. The chance of that had evaporated the second she had put Guinevere in harm's way, yes, but it didn't hurt to admit that. She had, after all, always respected women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to take it. In this climate, there was no greater act of rebellion.)

At the beginning, Morgan didn't intervene. As much as she needed to be present, she also understood this was a moment between two sisters-- their bond had become somewhat twisted, but it hadn't disappeared into thin air, and making the reunion about herself would have felt plain wrong. (And honestly? Morgan was also proud over the way Guinevere handled things so far. The confrontation had scared her before, made her wonder whether she wouldn't crumble upon seeing her twin in such a sorry state, but no. No, nothing could be further away from the reality. Instead of succumbing to her empathy, Guinevere had erected barriers around her heart, and damn her if that wasn't admirable. A warrior, both in body and spirit, she thought. How had she managed to suppress her affection for so long again? Gods, just looking at her made her feel things.)

Jennifer, of course, did her best to ruin everything. To her absolute lack of luck, though, she no longer found herself in a position where her poison could reach Morgan. The fact that she even tried? It was pathetic more than threatening, really-- like a toothless dog who still insisted on attempting to bite you. No, gone were the times when her body reacted to every such implication with a surge of panic. Instead, Morgan just flashed her brightest smile. "Are you jealous, per chance?" Because that seemed to be the root of the issue with Jennifer, didn't it? All those remarks about how she couldn't understand what people even saw in Guinevere-- oh, they sounded bitter, alright. Bitter and envious. Besides, she had literally tried to steal her sister's life; one didn't have to be a psychoanalyst in order to decipher her motives here.

"No need to worry about us, by the way. It's not like my dear brother is all too perceptive, as you may have noticed. How would he find out? Surely not from you. I mean, you haven't exactly proved to be the most trustworthy source of information out there." There, that should make her realize what kind of situation she found herself in. After the stunt she had pulled, there was no way that anyone would believe her-- least of all Arthur with his wounded ego. No, Jennifer could forget about any sort of blackmail. If she wished to get out of this prison intact, she had to play nice.

"Hmm, I don't know," Morgan said, placing her finger on her chin as she pretended to think very hard. "Maybe because people being nice to each other is a foundation of civilized society. As well as barter, now that I think of it. And if you tell us what you know, perhaps we'll look at you more favorably. Who knows where that would lead?" Morgan shrugged. "Perhaps even to your freedom." They did intend to leave her stew in her own juices for a while, yes, but that didn't mean she couldn't dangle the promise in front of her for a little bit. (If anything, that would only make her punishment more intense. Was there, after all, anything more cruel than giving someone hope and than taking it away?)
 
"Oh, yes. I'm so jealous." Jennifer replies sarcastically, lifting her eyebrows and returning a smile of her own. Evidently she doesn't have the energy to maintain it, because it collapses into something neutral soon after that. "And I might be a bitch, but I wasn't going to say a word about the two of you. At first, I wasted my energy trying to seduce the knight who brought me down here. Easy prey. I swear it would've worked if we hadn't been interrupted." Guinevere echoes the word 'might?' in a dubious way under her breath -- then proceeds to hold her face in her hands when her sister gets to the bit about seduction. And knowing the way some of Arthur knights might as well have just been clueless little boys? God. Of course she did. "Fine, I am a bitch. And what? I smelled better then and made a goddamn gorgeous bride. Had to use my assets."

Guinevere's tempted to say she should be glad they didn't gag her, considering that's the very treatment she got from Jen, but holds her tongue. Now's not the time to start a squabble over the little things. She stays quiet as Morgan presents their case, watches the way her sister's eyes sharpen with the implication that she could earn her freedom if she played her cards right. Jen's eyes dart between them, studying each of their expressions very carefully, until she finally folds from her defiant stance and resigns with a sigh.

"Well. I suppose I have nothing left to lose." Jennifer breathes out, self pitying. She closes her eyes as though that might help her refresh her memories on the subject. "Yes, Guinevere. They were associates of those men who took us as children. But I didn't go looking for them on purpose. They kidnapped me first... thinking I was you." Her eyes open and narrow in a way that's almost accusing. "Drugged me, took my blood, and when the fools finally realized I wasn't their holy patron saint they were so disappointed. I think they intended to keep me as a hostage -- you wouldn't believe some of the horrible things they would do to ensure they got you back. So I struck a deal with them instead. I had tabs on your gang and found out about your position in Camelot. So, naturally... I came up with a plan. And they helped me enact it. Besides, it wasn't like they were going to kill you. They were going to take care of their precious goddess for as long as humanly possible. They even built a statue in your honor. Did you see that shit?"

"I did. And I tore it out of the fucking ground." Guinevere narrows her eyes. Or at least that's what she thinks she did -- she didn't really look back, considering there was a whole village of people ready to hunt her down. Out for her blood. Jen's eyes widen a bit at that. A bit impressed, maybe a bit bewildered.

"What? It was made of marble, how did you even-- oh. Magic. Of course. You escaped with magic, didn't you? I was wondering why you started bleeding before I even hit you, but it all makes sense now. And here I thought you were too pure for that." Jennifer hums condescendingly. "When I heard it from Morgan, I just couldn't believe it. You were always on my case for using magic, weren't you Guinevere? What inspired the change of heart?"

"Back then... you know I was only worried about you, Jen. Right? You were hanging out with those guys who used magic to-- to--" Guinevere swallows, catching herself before she can get lost in the change of subject. It was murder, plain and simple. Which isn't uncommon in the wastes when one's survival is on the line -- but it wasn't like they were vigilante types who only targeted people who took advantage of the weak. They would hurt anyone who had something they wanted. And to let that happen, to hold her tongue and watch as her sister went down that dark path? Of course Guinevere had grievances with that! But this isn't the time to open that particular can of worms. They'd get completely sidetracked and things might get messy. Dredging up all sorts of personal baggage from over the years. "--This is completely different. And we're the ones asking questions now. Did you always know about my blood?"

Jennifer looks tempted to dig her nails deeper into the subject, but knows she's not in any position to do so. So she supplies an answer. "Not at first. But of course I realized eventually. They would test it. And sometimes they even sent it off in return for supplies like it was valuable currency. And then everything started to make sense. They were molding you into their special little goddess... and in comparison I might as well have been dirt. Just another mouth to feed. I suppose they thought you'd never forgive them if they just got rid of me. That's why they decided to put me to work instead."

Guinevere bites her lip. Well, that does make sense. She'd always known there was a difference in what they were made to do-- but once they got out she had tried to forget about everything, to leave it in the past. And focusing on survival as kids in the wastes was a pretty good distraction from all that, anyway. No time to think or dwell. Still. On a surface level, hearing that she'd been treated like a goddess in comparison to her sister almost makes it sound like she was being pampered. Like she was showered in warmth and attention while Jen was left out in the cold. But the reality was nothing like that. She was always wheeled off into another room, dead to the world for hours, and would wake up in her cell weak and tired. Likely from all the blood they'd taken from her. And Jen should know that as well as she does. They were both victims. Children who couldn't help what they were, or what was being done to them.

It's fair to say those men might have warped Jennifer's perception of their relationship, even back then. Perhaps they had done that to create a rift between them on purpose... which might have been the start of what seems to be becoming a trend in Guinevere's life. Isolating her from others so she relied solely on them, so they could take what they needed from her. The cult, Jen, and now Arthur, too. "Goddess or blood bag." Guinevere says, furrowing her brow. Being called a goddess or a saint-- it was uncomfortable for her since the very beginning. Frustrating. "Those were my only options. The only decision they were going to let me make. Didn't really seem like there was much of a difference between the two, though, so technically it wasn't a choice at all."

"...Hm." Jennifer looks visibly guilty at that, perhaps for the first time since this conversation began. She schools her expression back into something decidedly neutral before leveling her gaze at Morgan. Maybe to pointedly avoid confronting whatever feeling might have just surfaced within her. "And how about you, Morgan? Did you have any questions for me?"
 
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