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Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

Morgan suppressed an amazed chuckle because, really? She had thought there were limits to one's audacity, but apparently not with Jennifer. Trying to seduce some random guard within the ten minutes they had likely spent together-- yeah, okay, that was some serious dedication to her cause. (Also, did she have no other tactic at her disposal? So far, her approach to solving problems heavily hinted at that being true. Hmm. Did she not find that demeaning, having to use her charms to get what she wanted? Morgan certainly would have. To be fair, though, the sorceress had never tasted the desperation that must have come with living in the wastes, so perhaps she should be careful with such judgments. Who knew what path she would have chosen had her options been different? More cruel, more restrictive?)

Just like before, Morgan let Guinevere work out her problems with Jen without interfering. It just-- wasn't her place to do so? She had only been involved with the woman for a few weeks, after all, while Guinevere had had to deal with her for the entirety of her life. Stealing the spotlight away from her wouldn't have been fair. (Besides, Morgan, too, was interested in what she had to say for herself. Would there be excuses? Explanations, or maybe begging for forgiveness? Jennifer was still a mystery to her, and she didn't dare to guess what her next course of action might be. Unpredictability seemed to be her most prominent trait, after all.)

...and, yeah, Morgan had not expected to hear such a story. How much of it was true and how much of it a fabrication? That she couldn't even begin to estimate, really, but at least some of it must have been genuine. Guinevere had been a part of that particular history, so there was a much, much smaller wiggle room for manipulation. One thing, at least, appeared to be obvious-- at the beginning, Jennifer had been dragged into this against her will, too. Children just didn't have the capacity to orchestrate schemes that far-reaching, that complicated. (And, in that moment, she did feel some sympathy for Jen. Or maybe a shadow of it? Yes, that would be more accurate. It wasn't difficult to see why she had turned out to be this way now, but that still didn't grant her the absolution for her sins. Not in the slightest. Everyone's lives were difficult these days, and yet most people had miraculously managed not to sell their sibling to bloodthirsty cultists. What a concept, huh?)

In a way, Morgan almost regretted coming down there-- what the sisters talked about was just so deeply personal, and airing their dirty laundry before a third party couldn't be pleasant for Guinevere, either. Still, since Jennifer had proved to be a fearsome opponent, she had given her no choice, hadn't she? And so she stood there and listened, taking in every detail and feeling guilty for it. (By now, it seemed as if Morgan knew everything about Guinevere-- in return, what did the woman know about her? Nothing aside from her name, basically. How terribly unfair! Perhaps-- perhaps she should tell her stories from her life, too, in order to make things just a little bit more even. The thought sent shivers down her spine, but she tried to embrace it nonetheless. If this relationship was to continue, after all, then Guinevere would ask sooner or later anyway. Wasn't it only wise to prepare for that inevitability?)

Now wasn't the time, though. Not when Jennifer turned to her, uncharacteristically meek. (Was that truly regret she saw in her eyes? Oh, how curious. So she did have a conscience, too! Or at least some rough approximation of it if nothing else.) "Yes. Yes, I do, in fact, have questions," Morgan nodded. "They're mostly practical. I would like to know where exactly the camp is, how many people live there, what kind of weapons they have at their disposal-- basically everything that would come in handy if someone, theoretically, wished to crush the cult." That that 'someone' was her, of course, went without saying; the fire in her eyes made it quite obvious. "If you can think of any tactical advantage, feel free to throw it in, too."
 
"Oh? I see..." Jennifer takes her sweet time pondering this particular question and it becomes clear that gears are turning in her head. "If you let me out, I could guide you there myself. I'll even help you crush them." She smirks, as if the idea itself pleases her, as if she hadn't just been working alongside them herself. Technically if the story she just told is true, that they had approached her by kidnapping her the same way, she has reason to want revenge against them, as well. "I hope you know that taking this one village off the map isn't exactly going to solve the problem, though. There are cultists scattered all over the wastes who are out for your blood, Gwen. I would know, because I get mistaken for you all the goddamn time." She sighs softly, as if she's being compassionate here, "Don't let that scare you, though. You could probably take out a majority of them with one swing of your sword. Not everyone's as... put together as this village. They wouldn't have the resources to hold you prisoner the same way."

"Jen... I'd love to believe that you'd help. But I can't. For all I know you might betray me when we get there and try to take my place again." Guinevere shakes her head. She'd been strong up until now, but hearing her nickname in that soft tone of voice almost lulls her into a false sense of security. The narrative she spins where she changes and works alongside her again like old times -- it's a tempting one. But she knows better than to follow that temptation. (Remembering her dark cell, the ropes, the needles in her skin -- it's pretty good incentive to steel herself once more.) And the part about people being out for her all across the wastes? Somehow it doesn't hit quite as hard as she might expect. After all, it might as well be part of the reason why she's in Camelot to begin with. Arthur had selected her specifically for... something. Excalibur's a whole other matter entirely, though. She hasn't even had the opportunity to talk to Morgan about it yet. Maybe it's because that Merlin guy gives her the creeps? For some reason, she feels that just mentioning the sword's name within Camelot's walls might trigger a spell that spies on them, or something like that. They keep it so heavily guarded, after all, and it's connected to 'Arthur's destiny'. As soon as they're out, though, she intends to tell her absolutely everything. The information's just waiting to burst out of her at this point.

"I don't think I'll get away with that while you've got your girlfriend at your side. She's dangerous. You always liked that in a woman, didn't you Guinevere?" Jen tilts her head, her eyes flicking between them. That fire in Morgan's eyes? The way she'd halted her advances before the wedding? It did make an impression on her. Picking on her sister seems to be a tactic just as much as using her nickname was, though. Making herself into a nostalgic ghost of the past in attempt to soften her sister's hardened heart. "And to be quite frank, I wouldn't want to return to Camelot as much as I don't want to die here. Fine, though. If it makes you feel better, I'll cut my hair short."

"Shut up. Please. And... you'd cut your hair?" Guinevere's bewildered and flustered all at once. Shit. She's obviously trying to fluster her so she lowers her guard! But really, Jen hates cutting her hair. Hates wearing it short. So technically it is a pretty big sacrifice for her, knowing her sister's priorities on a personal level. But is it really that big a sacrifice compared to her life? Right! She's got to be firm. "Hair grows back."

"I'll dye it too. I know a place I can get some. Hey, do you remember that time you tried to go red, Gwen--" Jennifer's quick to find another option, and her eyes light up with a memory that makes Guinevere want to crawl into a shell, because she knows exactly where she's going with this. "And it turned pink instead? God, it stayed like that for months."

"--I will leave you here to die." Guinevere reminds her, cheeks tinging their own shade of pink (Suddenly she's thankful that it's so dark in here-- considering her teasing about Morgan flustered her, too.) but it's more a quip than it is wholly serious this time, even though she still appears severely unimpressed. "And dye washes out eventually."

"Okay. If that's not enough, then maybe you can make a change, too. Have Arthur give you something shiny and expensive. Something that I could never hope to find in the wastes. Make a habit of wearing it every day." Jennifer suggests with the shrug of her shoulders. "I'm sure he'd love a visible reminder that you belong to him. It was always a trend in those old films, right? Where the protagonist receives a beautiful necklace from her terrible, unwanted fiancé? You could put an enchantment on it, you know... have it burn anyone who isn't you. It'd be a telltale sign of your identity."

Guinevere wrinkles her nose at that. It's an idea, sure, but -- ugh. When she says she'll 'belong to him', it's almost like she's suggesting she wear a collar around her neck. That might as well be how Arthur perceives her, though. A loyal dog meant to obey his every command. Gross. It doesn't escape her either, that all Jen's suggestions thus far have been appearance based. Maybe she's realized that Guinevere won't believe anything overly sentimental at this point. Maybe it's her honest approach, because matters of appearance on a surface level are most important to her and therefore the most 'meaningful'.

"--I'll give myself another scar." Jennifer cuts through, visibly becoming a bit desperate. Realizing flustering Guinevere isn't getting her anywhere for once, she seems to take bargaining for her life a touch more seriously. "It'd be a reminder of the time I slighted my sister. A reminder to never do it again." She swallows, "And if even that's not enough, then... I'm sure you have suggestions, Morgan?"
 
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The offer of help would have been moving, really, had Morgan believed Jennifer more than a hungry dog in a butcher's shop. (Which, spoiler alert, she very much didn't. No, the idea of an armed Jennifer standing anywhere close to her or Guinevere-- that was possibly even scarier than the whole damn cult. At least you knew what to expect from cultists! With Jen, on the other hand? Only the gods themselves would be able to poinpoint the exact moment when she would turn around and stab you in the back. ...was she being paranoid here? Perhaps, though she preferred paranoia to, you know, death.) "No, thank you," Morgan said, polite but firm. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I believe I can take care of myself."

Any sense of nonchalance she tried to cultivate, though, evaporated the second Jennifer mentioned the word 'girlfriend'. Blushing furiously, Morgan looked away from both of them and prayed the darkness was deep enough to conceal it. Gods, why was she even having this reaction? (Maybe because, despite everything, they still hadn't defined exactly what they were to one another. Words had great power, and perhaps that was the reason they had refrained from doing so. Naming it-- well, that would make it real. More tangible, really. And now that Jennifer had opened that particular Pandora's box? Morgan had no freaking idea how to cope with that. Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. How could one word taste so sweet? Damn. If something didn't distract her soon, she might start smiling like a total idiot. So much for her being dangerous, she guessed!)

Thankfully, the distraction came fast enough. "...pink?" Morgan asked, doing her best to suppress the chuckle that threatened to spill from her lips. "You must have looked charming, I'm sure. Beautiful." Because, yeah, at this point, Morgan couldn't imagine her not looking beautiful. Not with her big eyes, and perfect lips, and gods, that radiant smile-- umm. How had she ever managed to convince herself that she wasn't attracted to her again? Now that must have been quite a feat.

Meanwhile, the sisters kept exchanging various ideas. Either Jennifer was pretending very convincingly, or she finally understood her position-- either way, Morgan welcomed that development. Whether her attitude was genuine or not, this could potentially be the answer they were looking for. A way for anyone to be able to differentiate the two of them with a single glance? How very convenient. The protection wouldn't be perfect, of course, because Jen could easily retaliate even without taking her sister's place, but still. It was something-- a gesture of good will, so to speak.

"Hmm. A lot of those solutions sound reasonable to me," Morgan shrugged. (Not the one about Guinevere possibly being branded as Arthur's damn property, but she kept that to herself. No, Jen didn't need to know how close to home it hit for her-- how real it would become once that cursed wedding finally took place.) "A scar should do, I think. It won't be the only protective measure, though." Relying on a single thing in such a delicate situation-- that sounded like a recipe for a disaster, really. What exactly should they do next, though? Should she place a tracking spell on Jen? No, too risky. The upkeep would be too taxing with her so far away, and if Jennifer had a modicum of talent magic-wise, she would likely find a way to remove it. Hmm. Guivenere, on the other hand, would have no reason to try and destroy the spell, right? Plus, she would stay by her side, making it very energy-effective. Suddenly a bit shy, Morgan turned to her. "I can-- I can link us magically," she said, her head full of silly ideas. (Silly ideas such as this being their equivalent of-- of matching bracelets, or something like that. A symbol of their bond, really. Instead of Arthur's ownership of Guinevere once again being affirmed, they could get wedding bands of their own. ...gods, she could be awfully sappy at times, couldn't she? Where had those thoughts even come from? Because Morgan certainly hadn't been fantasizing about such things before. Then again, Guinevere's arrival had changed so, so many things it probably shouldn't feel too surprising.) "Nothing too complicated or invasive, of course. I'd just sense you being around."
 
Guinevere's face may or may not have turned the shade of red she'd probably been going for with the hair dye when Morgan calls her beautiful. Geez, this is the second time she's heard it from her and she still fails hold onto her composure the way she usually would have in this situation! Coming from her, the compliment isn't empty. Because Morgan's never been the type to waste her breath on meaningless words. The only time that might have applied was early on in their lessons, when she would give examples of the courtesies and niceties a proper lady had to show. (Way back when Guinevere scoffed and rolled her eyes and... used a few profanities mixed in with the fancy Camelot dialogue to see just how much she could get under Morgan's skin. God, she'd really been insufferable, huh?) Either way, it causes Guinevere's heart to race like she's a lovesick teenager. This time she doesn't have a sleeping bag to hide in, either, and she struggles to bear the heat in her cheeks without hiding her face in her hands and making her flustered state totally obvious. If they were anywhere else right now, she might have tried to respond in a smoother fashion, maybe lean in a bit closer... but considering her sister's sitting right there? Yeah, she needs to remember her surroundings before she can get herself into trouble. In the meantime, she tugs self consciously at her hair and offers Morgan a brief, bashful smile of thanks. "It was so bad. I looked like a cartoon character." She'd never tried cotton candy before -- but the pale pink of her hair certainly resembled what she'd seen in photographs.

Either way, Jennifer then turns to Morgan for an idea and the scar option is considered. Guinevere would have flinched at the concept if not for the fact that her sister had seemed perfectly fine with giving herself a scar in order to replace her to begin with. A scar got her into this and a scar would get her out of it. It seems fitting, somehow, so she nods along with Morgan on that.

"A scar instead of my head -- it's a price I'm willing to pay." Jennifer nods, it seems like she's taking things seriously for once. "Though, if you'd be so kind, I'd prefer to handle it myself. Slip me a knife through the bars and I'll take do it in my cell. I can give it back before you let me out. That way I'll be completely unarmed. No risk of any backstabbing." Guinevere watches her closely and then nods back. Even after everything that happened between them, she doesn't think she'd have the heart to give her sister a scar. So the fact that Jennifer's willing to handle it works out for her.

Morgan's right, though, in the fact that it's still not enough. Guinevere's about to ponder other options when she offers the suggestion of a link.

"A magic link?" Guinevere tilts her head because she's never heard of such a thing before now, though it doesn't take long for Morgan to explain what it would do. And the idea of them being connected that way... well, it fills her with warmth, like she's standing in sunlight even within the deep depths of Camelot's catacombs. The same way protection spells put up around her room would have made her feel a piece of Morgan was with her when she was away, this suggestion offers her the same sense of safety. (And, perhaps in any capacity, the idea of being connected to Morgan just makes her heart soar like a bird.) She blushes yet again. "We could do that. As long as it doesn't take too much out of you." Somewhere along the line, this has become her go-to response in situations like these. Guinevere's comfortable with Morgan's magic, so long as the effects aren't too dangerous. That might be one of the most bewildering changes she's undergone since she met her-- the fact that she can even put the words 'comfortable' and 'magic' in the same sentence. "...Does that go both ways? Would I be able to sense you, too?" Because, well... the concept of being able to physically feel that Morgan is around? She's certainly not opposed to that.
 
"Well, I-- I can arrange it that way, if you want to," Morgan offered. She hadn't actually designed it like that in her mind, but the adjustment would be simple enough. Instead of the energy channel being a one-way street, she would just open it on Guinevere's end, too. And honestly? It might actually be easier to maintain that way because magical forces naturally thrived in symmetrical patterns-- as such, two was better than one. Besides, Guinevere also getting something out of this felt more fair, somehow. More balanced. (The last thing Morgan would have wanted was to look like-- like a stalker. Even though she was still very inexperienced in the 'building trust' department, it wasn't difficult for her to see that having too much power over Guinevere would be... unhelpful, to put it lightly. A kiss of death to any sort of positive relationship, not just the type she was hoping for.) "As I said, it won't be too invasive," Morgan continued despite her own abashment. (No, she would not focus on Guinevere's reaction and how freaking cute it was-- they were standing in front of her sister, for gods' sake. You know, the same sister who had proved to be more dangerous than a poisonous snake? No, Morgan needed to stick to the facts.)

"And it won't be too attention-grabbing, either, if I am to keep it up for a long time. It will feel like background noise in your head," she explained. "Something you can filter out easily if you focus on other things, but you'll notice immediately if it disappears." Morgan still had to work out the details, such as the radius of the spell and how to make it as unobtrusive as possible, but yeah, that was the gist of it. "It should work well, I think."

And so, with the agreement reached, they left Jen to her own thoughts. Had they decided wisely? That much Morgan couldn't tell, really. When you chose to feed a feral dog, it might reward you by biting off your fingers, yes, though it might also earn its loyalty. Not that Morgan expected any accolades from Jennifer, but maybe she could at least leave them alone? At any rate, though, excessive optimism was a drug she wasn't willing to take. Drugs dulled one's judgment, after all, and Morgan-- Morgan had to remain sharp. Jennifer not being able to impersonate her sister any longer was a boon, yes, but it wouldn't protect them from all the risks her release posed. Scheming could take so many forms! (Then again, she supposed, you couldn't live a risk-free life. Maybe if you retreated to some ivory tower and never met another living soul again, but certainly not like this, with so many factors constantly at motion. A kaleidoscope of possibilities, truly. And since few plans survived any contact with reality intact-- well, it didn't make sense to try and prepare in advance. At some point, you had to let go of your worries; you just had to live, solving the issues as they came.)

As such, Morgan filed away the whole Jen affair for later. Now, they had to focus on getting her out of her prison, as strange as it felt. (Gods, did the idea of helping her in earnest still sound bizarre. The things she did for Guinevere! They weren't even official yet, if that was the proper term, and yet she was willingly making a complete fool out of herself for her. If this went on, Morgan would inevitably find herself serenading her, or-- or some other nonsense like that. ...hmmm. Why the hell did that actually seem appealing?)

Thankfully, the opportunity to save Jen presented itself sooner rather than later-- Arthur left the castle in order to join the peace talks between Camelot and some other group, and obviously, many of his men came with him. Because, leaving their king unguarded? Unthinkable! Moreover, Morgan suspected he couldn't even tie his shoelaces on his own, and that wouldn't exactly impress anyone at the negotiations. No, a man got to maintain his precious image.

The plan was simple-- basically just to unlock Jen's cell through magic, and then let her disappear into the darkness. Just like always, though, things turned out to be more complicated than they had appeared to be on the first glance. "...shhh," Morgan put her finger on her lips as they descended deeper into the dungeon, turning to face Guinevere. "Can you hear that? It sounds like someone is there!" And, indeed, faint voices reached their ears. They seemed to be-- arguing about something, maybe? But why and how? Nobody was supposed to be there, least of all today!
 
Attuned to any sound that might indicate danger, especially considering the gravity of their current task, Guinevere picks up on the voices roughly around the same time Morgan does. She falls deathly quiet, merely nodding in response to her query instead, and squints as if increased focus alone might do something to help her hear them better. Who could it be? And... is it just her or are their words increasing in volume and clarity by the moment? Oh god. It's because they're coming closer. The realization that they're inevitably going to cross paths within a matter of moments slams into her like a meteor, driving her to take action. She reaches for Morgan's wrist instinctively, swiftly guiding them both into one of the open cells and inching back into one of the farthest corners. (She thinks her ankle... might have brushed up against something in the process, but she doesn't dare look down to see what it is.) Yeah... it's not the most comfortable hiding place by any means, but the halls down here are far too narrow-- it's not as though they have any other choice in the matter. And as much as she loathes prison cells and the feeling of a vast darkness swallowing her whole, fear of the repercussions Morgan in particular might face for being caught down here prevails over all else. (This is Guinevere's idea, so she needs to take responsibility. It'd be all her fault... but knowing the way things worked in Camelot? They'd find a way to warp the narrative, to turn Morgan into the villain.) Because of this, she even goes as far as to blow out the torch in Morgan's free hand, truly shrouding them in shadows that'd keep them hidden, so long as they remained absolutely still and silent.

Guinevere closes her eyes tight and pretends to be somewhere else, if only to cope. The panic that grips her in this cramped cell is comparable to the what she felt within the stomach of that giant monster they'd faced... and if anything, it's only heightened now because her concerns for Morgan are mixed in. Considering their proximity, she wonders if the other woman can tell just how hard her heart is pounding in her chest right now. The way it's thundering in her ears now makes her wonder if she can hear it as well. Footsteps echo against the ground and the voices are clear enough now for her to make them out as they walk past the cell.

"--to be caught courting a prisoner. Absolutely unthinkable. You must be out of your damned mind!" One of them says. Guinevere peeks in time to notice firelight bouncing against the walls as they pass by the cell they're in, illuminating the walls briefly. To shy away from it, she inches in a little closer to Morgan and ducks her head down. Must be two guards. The time they routinely brought an evening meal for Jen should have passed a little over an hour ago -- but if whoever was responsible with that task was late for his other duties, it's possible that another guard was eventually sent to check on him. At least, that's what she can infer based on what she's hearing now. "Listen. I won't tell anyone, but you should consider yourself lucky the King's away."

"Tragic is what it is. She's so beautiful." Comes a forlorn reply. An unmanly yelp echoes off the walls after that -- if Guinevere had to guess, his friend must have just smacked him upside the head. Geez. Of freaking course Jen would find a way to make her own rescue even more complicated than it needed to be! Well... maybe that isn't entirely fair. Because it's either that or the guy didn't know how to take a hint after the first time she tried to seduce him. Maybe he just wouldn't leave her alone. Wouldn't be the first time they've dealt with a stalker type who wanted to 'save' or 'change' her, anyway.

"Fool. You're giving me good reason to believe she's bewitched you, too! If all you want to do is take a gander at a pretty face, go visit Lady Guinevere. They look exactly the same." Guinevere tenses a bit hearing her own name -- but at the same time relief begins to wash over her, since their voices are starting to fade out and the glow of the firelight disappears and leaves them in total darkness again. "Exactly the same. Creepy if you ask--" it gets to the point where they're far enough that she can't make out what their words are anymore. Creepy, huh. Yeah, with the way some people in Camelot looked at her, now? It's almost as if some of them have never met or even heard of identical twins before. Though those strange looks are probably less attributed to the fact that she has a twin and more to the drama of it all, after that mess of a wedding. A story that'd provide fodder for gossip for months to come -- maybe even years, knowing these people.

Playing it safe after such a close call, it seems like ages that they stand there, waiting for total silence to envelop the area. By the time Guinevere can hear only the sound of their mingled breathing, she realizes belatedly that she's kept an iron-tight grip on Morgan's wrist this entire time. Not on purpose and probably out of fear. Their environment, the circumstances, god... she's still a bit shaken up from the accumulation of it all. Though it'd be impossible to see it in the dark, she flushes bright red and tentatively releases her. (There's a selfish part of her that yearns to keep holding on -- but it might've been uncomfortable on Morgan's end.) "S-sorry. I didn't realize I was holding on so tight." She whispers apologetically. Though the threat of being discovered seems long gone, she opts to be safe by keeping her own voice low. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Guinevere can't see much, but she can see the faint glint of Morgan's eyes in the dark. Oh... were their faces always this close?
 
Morgan didn't make a single sound as Guinevere dragged her away; it was surprising, sure, but she also recognized that complaining about it would not be a good idea right now. Besides, she didn't even feel like doing that. Not when Guinevere was so close, anyway. Just-- damn. Morgan knew she should focus on those voices, on determining what the hell they were doing there when everyone should have been gone by now, but the difference between that 'should' and what she actually did? That was quite vast. (It wasn't her fault, okay?! Guinevere just smelled so nice, and-- well, Morgan had been keeping her distance for so long now. The decision to do that was a right one, she knew. The only way to protect her heart, and Guinevere's as well. Again, they couldn't afford to rush this! ...except that, you know, it also led to her feeling like this now. Like-- like someone who had gotten lost in desert only to discover an oasis with cool, crystal clear water now. Shit. Shit!)

When the voices got closer, though, it shattered the spell-- mostly because Morgan couldn't help but roll her eyes. Like, just how often did Jen find herself in these situations? (Was it even her doing, though? Seduction did seem to be her default tactic, yes, but her resorting to it despite her escape already being secured didn't seem too likely. Too many unnecessary risks, really. No, if Morgan had to take a wild guess, the man was entirely responsible for his own foolishness. Ugh. Why did he think this was a good idea again? As in, did the concept of flirting with a defenseless prisoner not seem inappropriate to him at all, especially from a position of power? Her brother had really picked some fine men for his service, that much was certain.)

Either way, despite her disgust, Morgan did nothing. She couldn't. Technically, them being there was still a bigger transgression than whatever the men had attempted to do, and it wasn't difficult to tell who Arthur would side with. (Spoiler alert: it wouldn't be his wicked sister, nor the fiance he had learned to hate. No, she had to swallow her righteous anger-- swallow it and let it nourish her, just like she had done so many times in the past.) When one of them spoke of 'visiting lady Guinevere,' however, Morgan's hand balled into a fist. Yeah, try that and we'll see how long it takes for your body to turn into ashes, you absolute bottom feeder. Because the idea of him laying his filthy hands on Gwen? Let's just say that Morgan was not taking it well. As if Arthur's crimes against her weren't enough! (Would it always be like this, with various men creeping on her and Morgan just-- seething quietly? Oh, how she resented that prospect. In a way, however, that was the only kind of future Camelot offered to them; one of subservience, of humiliation. Of keeping one's mouth shut, no matter what injustice took place before your very eyes. A paradise on Earth, truly.)

Thankfully, though, the guards left before Morgan was subjected to a lethal dose of their nonsense. Good! Gods knew her patience was wearing thin. ...except that the danger disappearing also meant she became intimately aware of Guinevere's closeness once more. Ah. Well. What had she been thinking, again? Because there must have been some actual thoughts in her head instead of-- of this weird, all-encompassing fog. (Of Guinevere, really, and how tempting the curve of her lips looked. How soft, how inviting, how utterly irresistible.) "Um. It does hurt, now when I think of it," Morgan heard herself say. Her tone, though? It hardly matched that statement-- instead of pained, it sounded playful. Similarly, her eyes shone like two embers in the darkness. "You may be able to kiss it away, however. I, uh, read somewhere that it works."
 
Guinevere tilts her head. She might've rambled on and apologized a few times more if the lilt in Morgan's tone didn't suggest that she was only kidding. (So... where could she be going with this?) Suddenly the darkness around them doesn't seem quite as stifling or scary, because she's got a comforting voice to focus on, a voice she honestly wouldn't mind listening to all day and night if she was able -- oh. Did she just say kiss it better? Her cheeks burn even fiercer then, if possible, and she snorts before bursting into a fit of giggles. A few of them echo off the walls and she clamps a reprimanding hand over her own mouth until they subside. She lowers it and reveals a smile she couldn't tamp down if she tried. Are they really doing this now? Flirting in a dark, creepy prison cell? Not that the idea repels her, or anything. Not at all. Not if it's Morgan, anyway. The other woman could make nearly any disquieting setting tolerable just with her presence alone. "You know, you've been making me very curious about the types of books you read in your free time." She jests. All these theories, readings, and science she's been talking about. It's positively endearing. She takes Morgan's hand in hers, her grip much gentler this time, and brushes her lips to her wrist. With the way their skin barely touches, the act is blatantly teasing in nature. Just a preview, so to speak. "Words have nothing on experience. We'll never really know unless we test it, right?"

Yes, of course she knows they still have to rescue Jen. Except she can't bring herself to feel particularly guilty for taking a moment for them, while they're safely tucked away from Camelot's suffocating illusions. (Especially not when Morgan's looking at her like that.) Jen can afford to wait a few more minutes, okay!? Guinevere was trapped with the cult for longer than Jen would have to endure the catacombs. Not to mention that down here, no one was pestering her with giant syringes, ropes, spoon-feeding or sermons describing human hubris that stretched long into the night. Awaiting what must have seemed like certain death for days must have been difficult in it's own way, of course, but in the end she wouldn't even have to face it. And the core difference between their respective captures? Jen had gotten them into this situation to begin with -- and Guinevere would be the one to get them out of it. In fact, it might benefit them to take their time. There's always the possibility that those guards might linger by the entrance in conversation. And now that they're gone, they have the entire evening to enact the escape plan.

As far as Guinevere's concerned, she and Morgan deserve to have a sweet moment amidst all this chaos. (They've earned quite a few of them at this point, she'd think, but she learned early on that life is simply uncaring and unfair.)

"The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you." Guinevere presses another brief kiss to her hand, and though she's merely playing along they ring genuine, "So I'll do whatever I can to make it better." She peppers Morgan's hand in these light kisses before placing a firm one intentionally at the juncture of her wrist, lips lingering far longer than the others with a sense of finality. Her smile reaches her eyes, which shine brightly when she looks up. The heat prickling in her cheeks is probably reaching a record high at this point and her heart is slamming against her chest. It wasn't too much, was it? Morgan's always telling her she's too much. But maybe that's okay with her? Suddenly a bit shy, she chews softly at her lower lip. "How are you feeling now?"
 
"Well, knowledge is the foundation of civilization," Morgan grinned in the darkness. "So I suppose I can show you sometime." She would be in trouble when that time came, mostly because a lot of what she had claimed to have read didn't exist, but so what? Other things did, and maybe it would be nice to have someone to talk to about all the topics that fascinated her. Someone who wouldn't accuse her of being a heretic for trying to understand how the world worked, to be precise. And Guinevere-- well. Guinevere could be that someone, couldn't she? Gods. Morgan hadn't been naive enough to hope that such a person existed, and yet, yet she was standing in front of her now. Sometimes, it appeared, fate could be kind as well. (Not that she had the presence of mind to think about concepts like fate right now, of course. No, her head was full of her-- the glint of her eyes, the teasing tone of her voice, the way electricity seemed to spark between them when her hand touched hers. Damn.) "But yes, you are right. Every theory needs to be tested," Morgan said, desperately trying to sound nonchalant. Did she manage to do so? Well, not entirely-- her voice sounded somewhat higher than usual, and if you listened closely, you'd notice the slight trembling.

Don't be so pathetic, she told to herself. She hasn't even touched you properly yet! Besides, kissing one's hand could hardly even be considered a romantic gesture. Mothers did such things to their children, for gods' sake. There wasn't anything exciting about that, obviously, so she should just calm down and-- oh. Okay. Maybe-- maybe she should take that statement back, because Guinevere's lips on her bare skin? Gods, Morgan melted. (And yes, technically, it wasn't all that stimulating on its own, though that mattered very little. No, the problem was that it gave her ideas. Ideas no lady should contemplate, probably. Vague fantasies about her lips working their way up her collarbone, her neck, her-- damn. She was so, so very screwed.) Morgan inhaled sharply, fully focused on that sensation. In a way, not seeing very well only made everything that much more intense; she could swear the spots that had been touched by Guinevere burned, and she wondered what it would feel like if she mapped her entire body in this manner. If she marked her as hers. Gods, wasn't that an appealing thought?

"... I know," Morgan muttered quietly. (On some level, she truly did; there was no way, after all, that the Guinevere who had found enough mercy in her heart to forgive Jen out of all people would want to hurt her intentionally. It just didn't fit the established patterns, and Morgan was very good at spotting those. No, at this point, it was-- more about allowing herself to believe it than anything else? Trust just didn't come to her easily, no matter the circumstances. Camelot had taught her that the price for such foolishness could be extremely high. Right now, though, Morgan didn't feel like thinking about Camelot, her brother or even the prisoner they had set out to save. No, as far as she was concerned, they could all go to hell. This moment belonged to her and Guinevere only.)

"Better," she breathed out, her heart racing in her chest. Gods, gods, gods. The way her eyes shone in the darkness? That had to be some kind of magic, too. "Much better. Still not ideal, though. I mean, now my lips are feeling neglected. And, uh, it's not good to play favorites. I heard it only leads to resentment down the road." Ugh. What was she even saying? This had to be the worst time and place imaginable for-- for such shameless flirting. Still, the words had left her mouth already, so there was little to be done about that. And maybe Guinevere would turn out to be the responsible one between the two of them? Because clearly, Morgan had just lost the right to that particular label.
 
"Is that so?" Guinevere asks, her voice tinged with amusement. She's careful reaching out for Morgan in the dark (Because accidentally poking her in the eye would be a surefire way to ruin the mood.) brushes her skin lightly with her fingers as she traces her way down from her temple, over the soft pad of her earlobe and then pauses when she finds her jawline. "I'll have to fix that, then." She leans in and kisses her then, softly and briefly, though this time the lightness of it isn't intended to tease. The need to be respectful of the other woman, knowing of her reluctancy to trust, wins out over her own desires. As nice as it would be to deepen the kiss, to make it last, she knows it's probably for the best. (After all, wouldn't it be nice to make an even sweeter memory in a different setting? Guinevere's not typically picky about these things, not by any means -- but she'd take a junkyard in the wastes over the confines of a dark prison cell.) Though it's short-lived, she presses her forehead to Morgan's to maintain the closeness between them. Holding her gaze affectionately, savoring the warmth, and striving not to lose herself completely in Morgan's eyes. It could easily happen, so she speaks up to prevent her mind from scrambling entirely. Of course she wants this closeness just as much, but--

"I know we haven't had the chance lately, but we should make some time to talk about where we're at." Guinevere suggests softly. Her feelings for Morgan could have easily driven her to prolong the kiss for as long as her heart desired, but it's because she cares so much about her that she finds the self control to hold back. Trust can only be built if she's true to her word, after all, and she was the one who said they should take it slow. "When it comes to... us." She blushes a little at that, the implication of them together.

On Guinevere's end... well, she trusts Morgan wholeheartedly. But even she has her own obstacles to overcome before taking things much further. There's still so much on her mind. The concept of disappearing without a trace had given her the courage to be honest and open with her feelings for the other woman. But the fact remains that... as she recovers, the date of her rescheduled wedding to Arthur creeps nearer and nearer. She's not sure how long she'll have to endure her position as Arthur's wife before she can help Morgan enact her plans. Any reservations she might have aren't on account of wanting to be faithful to Arthur or anything like that -- she just knows it'll be trying. Devastating, really, for both of them. (Not to mention the potential risks if they were ever caught!) Even more than that, though, is just... all of the changes she's recently undergone have been a lot to cope with. The magic, Excalibur, her blood. As if she didn't have enough weighing on her mind before with her gang and the evolving beasts roaming the wastelands. Ideal as it would be to follow her heart freely... it's not that simple, is it?

There's still so much they need to do, so much they need to build with their own hands if they want to dare to hope for a happy future together.

"Maybe one day we'll have more of it. Time, I mean. You could introduce me to your favorite foods and all of your favorite books." She smiles at the thought. "And I... I could officially teach you how to use a sword!" Beaming with excitement, she brightens even more if possible before becoming just a bit sheepish."I swear it won't be anything like that time I tried demonstrating with the fire iron and almost took out the curtains." That had been one of their very first lessons, actually. And it was... disastrous, to say the very least. Comparing the chilling glare Morgan had given her then to the warmth in her eyes, now? It continues to astound her to think of how far they've come since then.
 
"Yes. Yes, it is. An awful tragedy, I think," Morgan said, her heart somewhere in her throat. Gods. Gods, this really was happening, wasn't it? They were stuck in a dark dungeon, with guards possibly discovering them at any given moment, and yet Guinevere was getting closer and closer and the anticipation was making her tremble and-- fuck. Their lips finally met, freezing her in place. Stars exploded behind her eyelids, too, and she wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, but Guinevere was pulling away by that point. Ugh, already? She had barely tasted her! (It wasn't like Morgan didn't understand her reasons, of course. She did, and probably better than she would have liked to admit. Uncertainty, caution, fear-- oh, how well she knew those feelings. For better or worse, they had been her only companions throughout her life. Understanding and desire, though, were only tangentially related, and at the moment, Morgan was want. She wanted, wanted and wanted-- no other verb seemed meaningful enough. Still, the look in Guinevere's eyes? Yeah, it made her pause.)

"You're right," she breathed out. "We really should talk. Maybe once we deal with this. If you're-- if you're prepared for it, of course." Because that wasn't a given, no matter how much she wanted it to be. Originally, Morgan had asked for time in order to protect her own heart, but now she saw the truth. Guinevere needed it as well, and why should that be surprising? Gods, she couldn't even imagine the chaos that must have reigned in her head! Having to abandon her friends and get emgaged to someone like Arthur all of a sudden must have been like-- like uprooting a tree. Of course it couldn't grow normally, as if nothing had happened! Things just didn't work like that. It had to adjust first, and starting a full-fledged affair with the king's very own sister likely wasn't helping. (Oh. Had she been making everything even more difficult for Guinevere? Morgan hadn't actually considered that before. Selfish, selfish, selfish-- that was exactly what she was! Maybe it wasn't late to change her ways, though? Realization, after all, was the first step to recovery.)

"A sword?" Morgan raised her eyebrow. "Do you really believe the world can handle me being even more dangerous than I am already, huh?" she asked, her voice light and teasing. Ultimately, though, why not? A little bit of exercise couldn't hurt. Just like the mind, the body was an instrument, too, and she had been neglecting it severely. Perhaps it could even increase her endurance when it came to magic? The two being connected wouldn't surprise her in the slightest. "And we will make that time," she promised. "Once, when all of this passes-- it will be possible. I swear, Gwen." When, not if. Gods, when had been the last time she had allowed herself to be so hopeful? To let her heart soar like that? Probably never, actually. Morgan hadn't been much of a dreamer, but maybe-- maybe that wasn't a bad thing to be. "Come on, let's go," she caressed her cheek softly. "Your sister is waiting."

The lock, as Morgan had expected, wasn't much of a problem. The mechanism was simple, made for resisting brute strength rather than skill, and strength wasn't the way to handle this anyway. Well, at least not if you used magic-- such a stunt would only turn your brain to mush, really. A few gentle pushes here and there, on the other hand? Simple, elegant and efficient. "Hello, Jennifer," Morgan greeted her casually, as if she hadn't been kissing her twin in the darkness a few minutes ago. No, she was all business now. "How have you been? We've come to fulfill our promise-- as long as you fulfill yours." And, with that, she slipped a long, thin blade through the bars.
 
Guinevere agrees to her suggestion to talk afterwards, because she is ready. As ready as she'll ever be. There's so much she's had to bear alone until now. The last time she was outside of Camelot's walls alongside Morgan was before she was introduced to Excalibur. And ever since then she's been either locked up with a cult or locked in her chambers at Arthur's command. While it gave her plenty of time to think and stew in it all, there wasn't nearly enough to take action. Morgan, she thinks, will give her clarity. Being as well-versed in magic as she is, it's fair to say that she could have valuable insight on the subject. Obtaining the answers she lacked might bring with it more certainty for their future. Arthur claims the gods themselves have arranged their union, that it's destiny or... or whatever. The idea that Excalibur might have somehow entwined her fate with Arthur's makes her sick to her stomach. Wouldn't it be relieving to find evidence that disproves all the nonsense he'd tried filling her head with? Because -- well, it has to be nonsense, right? Not to mention that his descriptions on her part in all of this were extremely vague. Unsettlingly so. What exactly does he have in store for her, once she becomes his bride? Will Arthur start sending Merlin into her chambers with giant syringes, to take vials of her blood away without a word of explanation like the cult did?

Now's not the time to get all caught up in that, though. Later. She finds solace in Morgan's presence, in her teasing (Would Guinevere herself even be able to handle it? Because the mere idea of Morgan wielding a sword makes her weak in the knees.) and then in her reassurances. It will be possible. The future she envisions is so sweet when it's put that way. She can see herself nestled in at Morgan's side and reading over her shoulder on a quiet evening, all of these problems nothing more than a distant memory. Where everything is just as simple as them caring for each other, without anything from the outside barging in or complicating things. "It gives us something to fight for, doesn't it?" She's soft but determined, bolstered by her promise. No point stressing herself to death over all the things that could go wrong -- they just need to keep moving forward. Briefly savoring the feeling of Morgan's hand against her cheek by leaning into her touch, she gives a small nod. It's time to go.

Jennifer appears very much the same as she did before, if just a touch more ragged and dirtied. Like a zombie bride who'd crawled right out of hell. In better lighting, it's fair to say she might look even worse than that. "I'm just peachy, really." She says listlessly, reaching for the knife and examining the blade, tilting it in her hand before looking up at Morgan and Guinevere. "I suppose you didn't think to bring a mirror as well?" Before either of them can answer, she shrugs it off with an air of nonchalance. "Whatever. It's not like I'd be able to see well enough in here, anyway."

"Might be for the best. If you could see your reflection right now, you'd probably die on the spot." Guinevere points out.

"Thanks, Gwennie." Jennifer rolls her eyes. "That persistent oaf of a guard still seemed to think I was pretty enough. Thought I'd never get rid of him." She traces the blade lightly over her cheek, practicing a few times over in the same place before applying pressure, unflinching even as blood begins to flow from the self-inflicted wound. Sure, she had plenty of time to prepare herself and consider where she was going to place it, but it almost turns Guinevere's stomach how her sister can go through with this without reacting. She gives nothing more than a sharp intake of breath before she's cleaning the blood off the knife in the folds of her soiled wedding dress and sliding it back to them through the bars. Jennifer stares intently at her. "What's wrong? Phantom pains?"

Guinevere wrinkles her nose. "No." She fires back stubbornly, biting her lip. Of course there are no phantom pains. (One of the most popular questions people asked when they were seen together was whether or they had twin telepathy.) But detaching herself from caring about her sister, whose presence was always so intrinsically woven into her life? Easier said than done. "I was just thinking it's a shame. Marietta must've worked for hours on that dress." Though it's an attempt to change the subject, it's just as true and she feels a stab of sympathy. It's far more extravagant than anything she would ever wear, personally, but she still can't deny that it's a lovely dress. Must have taken an incredible amount of effort to complete it to Jen's standards, too. By association, Guinevere can't help but feel guilty.

"It is a shame, isn't it?" Jennifer sighs wistfully at that, a hand still pressed to the cut on her cheek. Guinevere's sure that her sister is on an entirely different page, mourning the state of the dress itself more than all that time Marietta must have lost making it. "Alright. I held up my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn."
 
Unlike Guinevere, Morgan watched Jen's actions without a hint of emotion. Was it admirable how quickly she took care of it? Sure, in a way. That courage changed nothing about who she truly was, though, and so the sorceress found it hard to truly sympathize with her. (The way she had toucher her back then, cold and calculating-- oh, that would stay with her for a while. No, Morgan wouldn't forget what was hiding under that pretty face of hers any time soon.) "Sure," she said casually, ignoring the banter between the sisters. "Step aside." For small things like that, full possession wasn't even necessary, so Morgan merely... retreated deeper into herself. She made herself just a little bit smaller, just a little bit more accomodating, and waited for the spirits to find her in the darkness. And, ever faithful, they came-- flocking to her like sheep to its shepherd. Yes. Yes, that's where you want to be. Now, my little ones, listen to me...

A few seconds later, there was a loud 'click' sound followed by the door opening. "You're welcome," Morgan announced dryly. "Now, let's go. We'll accompany you outside. Such good friends we are, right?" More than anything else, she wanted to make sure Jen was truly gone; it may have been slightly paranoid, yes, but Morgan didn't think she could get a wink of sleep tonight without seeing her disappear on the horizon. Besides, what if Jen ran into some guard? All their hard work would be squandered, and Guinevere would definitely talk her into trying again. No, it was better to do things properly the first time around. (And the concept of refusing such a ridiculously risky request? What a naive notion. As if she could let Guinevere deal with it on her own! For better or worse, they were in this together, and-- well, silly as it was, the thought still warmed her heart. Together. What a sweet, sweet word to roll on her tongue.)

With her patience running short, Morgan was ready to dispatch any knight foolish enough to cross their path, but the gods watched over them tonight, it seemed. Most people were soundly asleep, and those who weren't had the decency not to wander the corridors. (Couldn't they be this cooperative all the time? Morgan might even have learned to love them had it been so!) With nobody bothering to stop them, the trio reached the gates relatively quickly. "Goodbye, Jennifer," Morgan said, her tone ice cold despite the outward politeness. "Live long and prosper. Ideally far from here, though. Because, the next time we meet? I can't guarantee I will be as friendly." And her being Guinevere's sister-- oh, that mattered very little. Her own blood ties didn't stop her from planning to depose Arthur, so why should she let this woman walk all over her? No, Jennifer would get exactly one chance. It would still be more than she deserved!

Perhaps it would have been wiser to return to the castle immediately, but Morgan found herself in no rush. It was a beautiful night, with both the moon and stars clearly visible, and Guinevere-- oh, Guinevere looked downright magical in the moonlight. It made her hair look silvery rather than gold, and the shadows painted mysterious ornaments on her face. Gods themselves had spun this night out of dreams for her only, it seemed. Why forsake that gift? Plus, they-- they still needed to talk. Right. Gathering her strength, Morgan inhaled sharply. "So, um. I suppose I should be the one to start this time, since you were so open with me before," she looked somewhere at her feet. (What she was about to say likely wouldn't be pleasant for anyone involved, but it had to said. She owed Guinevere that honesty if nothing else.) "The truth is that I still don't know whether I can fully trust you, or anyone for that matter," Morgan began. "The fault is mine, not yours. Maybe I just don't have it in me anymore," she chuckled, sad but poised. (Somehow, being so open with her feelings made it easier, not harder. It felt like-- like releasing a breath she had held for ages.) "I understand if that is not acceptable to you, because you deserve more than scraps. More than I or anyone in this godforsaken castle can offer, really. I also know, though, that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Gwen. Point blank. And I-- I don't want to lose good things. So, what I'm trying to say, I guess, is that I wish to make this work. That I will do whatever it takes, if you still want me." And, okay, phrasing it like that may have been terrifying, but Morgan didn't actually regret it. Whatever happened from now on, at least she would know where they stood. Getting rid of that uncertainty-- oh, that was so, so worth it.
 
Guinevere watches as her sister becomes smaller and smaller on the horizon. The goodbyes they exchanged were unsentimental, uneventful... which is what she expected. (Besides, she'd rather hug a cactus than her sister right now.) Jennifer's not quite so chatty once she's out from behind bars. Too focused on her next move to make room for anything else. Too focused to worry or make room for anyone but herself. Once upon a time she used to have room in her heart for Guinevere, too. But once she had chosen to stay for her friends, she shut her out. Jennifer lives for herself and herself alone. There's still so much that needs to be said, to be settled between them. There are wounds they've never tended to-- they festered and they infected their relationship. Still. Every time she thinks she's seen the last of her sister, she finds a way back into her life. If there is another next time, it'd damned well better not be another attempt on her life. Because if there is, it'll push her over the edge for good. To a place there's no coming back from. Just because she let her free of Arthur's clutches doesn't mean that she's forgiven her. She doesn't think she ever will. Like trust, forgiveness is something that has to be earned.

Even after Jennifer disappears, Guinevere's eyes are fixed almost in a trance on that spot... until Morgan's voice helps her resurface from her thoughts. She comes back into herself with a spark of interest and starlight in her eyes, turns her undivided attention over to the other woman. Listens to her every word without interrupting, without allowing her gaze to falter, though touching on the subject of her inability to trust gives her a familiar pang in her heart on Morgan's behalf. (Something -- someone... or multiple someones must have hurt her before, to cause this. Though she doesn't know the reasons or the details, it's still enough to tear her heart in half.) It eases, though, when she confesses that she's the best thing that ever happened to her. That's -- what does she even say to that? It stuns and touches her all at once to hear it. Electricity zings up her spine. "Morgan." Her voice is softer than it's ever been and she reaches to hold both her hands in hers. "You're not giving yourself nearly enough credit. You've given me so much more than scraps."

"When I arrived, no one took me seriously. No one looks at my face and sees someone who's carrying a responsibility. Which... you know, I can understand. I might as well have been from another planet. Camelot's so different from everything I've known before." Guinevere smooths her thumbs over the backs of Morgan's hands. Everyone thought her head was empty, that she was infatuated with their precious king, because the idea of her being anything other than that was unthinkable. Though their beginning was anything but smooth, Morgan sees her now. She's the only one in Camelot who does. "Point is, I wouldn't have stood a chance if you weren't here with me. Hell, I wouldn't even be standing here right now. It goes beyond just that, too, as you know." She blushes, then, recalling everything she had confessed the other night. It's not just a matter of relying on the other woman for survival. Along the way, she had learned to care about her. For who she is, for being Morgan. "I want you, too." But her voice is wistful, like the concept is still just out of her reach.

With blood that sustains the earth, Guinevere's mind travels morbid paths late into the night sometimes, like what if it'll cost her life to bring it back. Maybe that's why the spirits in her vision wanted to bury her deep in the earth. There are so many paths her mind can take with the things she's learned about herself, with the uncertainty of what it all means. If she asked Morgan to open her heart to her and then -- something tore Guinevere away? Something she can't explain with words? No way does she want to put her through that. She needs answers about all of this. Or, at the very least, she needs to make these thoughts known so they can work through this together.

"That night we first kissed, I hesitated and said there was a lot on my mind. I was still giving your plans serious thought and since then, I've decided that I'm willing to do what it takes. I'll step into a role of leadership, if you still think I'm suited for it. I want to help shape a better future. For everyone I care about. For my gang and... and for you." Guinevere's undeterred in her resolve, but then she looks down at their joined hands with thoughts swimming in her eyes. Even now, there's still a lot on her mind. "But it was more than just coming to that decision on my own, I guess. Because something happened that made me realize I might... have to? I don't know. I wish everything wasn't so complicated, but I can't make any promises in good conscience when I still have no idea what--"

Guinevere takes a sharp breath, pushing down on the fear rising in her. There's so much she never knew about herself until now, so much that's changed since she first stepped foot through Camelot's gates. Her entire lifestyle, her entire being. (And there's still so much she needs to understand.) Of course she's had time to prepare how to word all of this, but in the moment she's floundering. It's a lot, isn't it? Perhaps she should just tell her, in no uncertain terms, what happened. She exhales softly. "--We're outside of Camelot. I can finally tell you. They caught us coming back together from camp last time, right? And after you left... Arthur said he wanted me to understand why I shouldn't undermine him. That there was a cross I needed to bear with him. So he took me down into the cellar." She squints a bit around the memory, "Morgan, have you ever heard of Excalibur?"
 
Morgan couldn't help but smile-- lately, she seemed to be doing that often. Probably more often than ever before, really, and the idea felt entirely overwhelming in all the best ways. (Who would have thought it would end up like this when they had first met? Certainly not her. Back in those days, Guinevere had been wild and unruly and cheeky, and it had annoyed her to no end. Now, though? Well, she was still all those things, if Morgan was to be honest. Still just as wild, still just as free, despite the chains her brother had tried to put on her. No, Guinevere hadn't changed a bit. Just like every seasoned warrior, she might have adjuted her strategy, but her core? The essense of who she was? It remained the same. And that-- that alone gave her hope. There were things Arthur just couldn't have, no matter how many titles he claimed. Things he couldn't bend to his will, really. The power he held was illusory, even within the walls of Camelot, and soon the whole illusion would be shattered to pieces.)

"Well," Morgan said, her heart soaring high, "then I am yours." Not officially, of course, as Camelot likely wouldn't even recognize a union between two women, but who cared about technicalities? The old world had died, for gods' sake. They were trying to salvage the pieces, yes, but all that bureaucratic bullshit that had permeated even the most basic of human interactions could very well stay dead. A scrap of paper ultimately meant nothing. Besides, given her upcoming marriage to Arthur-- yeah, she'd rather not tarnish what they had with those assocations. No, they would build something that would belong to them only; something unburdened by backwards traditions, by wounds others had chosen to inflict on them. (It would be new and fresh and breathtaking, and the gods would accept it more readily than words said before the altar out of necessity. That, at least, Morgan knew. How could one possibly hope to deceive the gods, after all? It would take a single glimpse into Guinevere's heart for them to know the truth, and oh, they would look. Such was their nature-- being powerful and all-knowing came hand in hand.)

"I do," Morgan nodded and clasped her hand tighter, as if it was her lifeline. (Maybe it actually was? Gods. Perhaps their fates truly were joined in a way she couldn't really comprehend yet, because this-- this really felt like something grand. Something grander than life itself. A Helen to her Paris, maybe? Not the luckiest comparison, true, but the intensity checked out.) "I really do, Gwen. I can't imagine anyone better. And don't worry-- I don't intend to just throw the role at you and let you deal with everything on your own. I'll still be there for you, no matter what happens. My counsel might not be as good as it is when it comes to magic, seeing as I am not a ruler myself, but-- together, we can figure it out. How to build a better world, I mean. You won't be alone in this." Because that was a terrifying prospect, wasn't it? Most kings and queens of old had tasted that special kind of loneliness that came with wielding so much power, and that wasn't the fate Morgan wanted for Guinevere. Not when she knew what that was like-- maybe not thanks to wearing a crown, but certainly thanks to the magic coursing through her veins. That, too, was a type of isolation.

Guinevere went on, though, and Morgan furrowed her brow. She... might have to? What? Had the cult succeeded in planting some strange ideas in her mind? (Which, honestly, wouldn't have been that surprising. Guinevere had spent weeks there! So, so many other people would have just succumbed to the pressure. She was stronger than that, of course, but maybe she hadn't escaped completely unscathed?) That line of though, however, dissolved the moment she mentioned Excalibur.

"Excalibur?" Morgan raised her eyebrow. Okay, she hadn't expected to hear that name. "Yes, I have. It's supposed to be a-- well, an amplifier of sorts. They say it greatly boosts your innate magical potential through binding you to the spirits in a much more intimate way. What it is, that I cannot tell. The accounts are scarce, and also downright contradictory at times. I don't even know what it looks like-- some sources insist it is spherical, but I also read that it's supposed to be something you wear, and others claim it's some sort of weapon. Honestly, I think it's just a legend. Why are you asking?"
 
I am yours. The words on Morgan's lips and the sight of all her features tinged soft with silver nearly compels Guinevere to kiss her again. And properly this time. More than that she craves to pull her close. To wrap her in a hug. (Guinevere could certainly use one. It's been lonely and frightening -- having to keep everything she's learned to herself thus far. To be away from her friends for this long, still not knowing whether or not they were okay. Together, Morgan says, and she finds herself standing on solid ground again.) Unfortunately, they still don't have enough time to entertain every passing whim and desire -- they might not for a while still. And for now there's a matter of importance that she needs to get off her chest. Excalibur. A reasonable voice in her head insists that they're still standing a touch too close to Camelot's gates. If they were found out here, it'd be better if it was just the touch of their hands that was witnessed. It's not concrete enough to suggest they were anything other than what the castle's illusions might imply. Perhaps she's on her toes after they got caught last time. All she can do is match the firmness of Morgan's grip. "And I am yours." She confirms. Never been quite this romantic with another person before but-- in the moment she surprises herself. The concept of belonging to someone lately has been mixed with negative connotations. But being Morgan's, just for being Guinevere and nothing more than that? There's only warmth, a sense of belonging. "I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have at my side through this. If... if I have a choice, it's the future I want to choose."

It isn't fair to theorize in too much depth about an ideal future they could share, to elevate their hopes when she still doesn't understand what's happening to her. Not everyone can predict the future, after all. (But apparently there are some who can -- enough to speak of a prophecy that she's apparently intwined in?) Destiny is a scary word, isn't it? It eliminates all manner of choice from the equation. She listens carefully as Morgan explains what she knows of it. Nothing too concrete, but the fact that she knows of it gives her enough to start with. "An amplifier..." Guinevere whispers, piecing that together with what she knows of her own potential. Somehow, she feels a step closer to the version of herself she was in the vision Excalibur had shown her. She can't run from this. She has to confront it. And maybe, maybe if they're together, Morgan can help her confront it.

"Excalibur's not just a legend. It's a sword. I know because I've seen it." Guinevere's eyes are bright when she reveals this, remembering the way it had taken her breath away. Even now, she can feel it pulling, pulling, pulling on her. Once it was disconcerting, but she's grown accustomed to it by now. The look on her face darkens a bit when she recalls the events following that moment. "...I guess I should explain. When Merlin opened the cellar door, I was possessed... same as the night of the banquet. I followed your advice and tried not to struggle against it." She swallows, "But Arthur was standing right there. He was right there, babbling about how he was going to restore the earth with Excalibur and how I was going to watch him do it. And all the while, the spirit was asking me to claim it for myself. Or... telling me to?" Yeah. It had been pretty demanding. "I refused. So it showed me a vision instead. The world was coming back to life and it was so beautiful and... terrifying all at once. Because in the vision, I was Excalibur's wielder." It's not every day that she admits to being scared. But with Morgan, she feels safe enough to. Anything else would be a lie. Who wouldn't be frightened in that situation?

"Anyway... I passed out after that. Arthur didn't say another word about it. Just kept me locked up in my room." There's a note of bitterness in her tone. It wasn't until she cornered him that he even brought the subject up again. Asshole. "I had so much time to think about it afterwards. To overthink, really. I considered so many different possibilities that I nearly drove myself mad. And the concept of restoring the earth just seemed so farfetched." She glares at a random spot on the ground. "That is... until I found out what my blood could do. I asked Arthur point blank why he chose me for his bride, because I knew it couldn't be a coincidence at that point. And he said Excalibur led him to me... because apparently it's my 'fate' to support him? Ugh, his whole explanation was vague. And I'd be a goddamn fool to expect what little he did tell me was the truth."

Guinevere runs a hand back through her hair, digs her fingers in at the back of her neck to soothe the stiff tension there. This is so much to unpack all at once and she's still stressed as hell, but opening up about it lifts a weight from her chest, makes it easier for her to breathe.

"I can still feel Excalibur pulling on me, even now. It's what led me back to Camelot when I freed myself from the cult." She confesses, exhaling a shuddering breath. She was miles away and it still managed to seek her out. They're tethered in some way, that's undeniable at this point. "Arthur told me to go to Merlin with my questions, but I don't trust him either." There is one other lead, though, and she meets Morgan's gaze again. "God, I know this is a lot. I'm sorry. But he... he also mentioned this Lady of the Lake? Do you know of her?"
 
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"Me neither," Morgan smiled, and it was maybe the truest thing she had ever said. (Among all those backstabbers and cowards, Guinevere had no real competition, though she refrained from mentioning that. Somehow, it felt like that would cheapen it? The message could be interpreted as something along the lines of 'okay, you're good enough, but only because everyone else sucks,' and that was not what she wanted to imply. Not even remotely.) Still smiling, Morgan lifted Guinevere's hand and pressed a small, chaste kiss into it-- a seal of their covenant. "You may not have that choice now, but you will. That I swear. And when that time comes-- well, I'll still be there." And, gods, did the idea of being with Guinevere openly seem appealing! They'd rest in Camelot's gardens, perhaps beneath one of those large trees, and she'd watch the sunlight reflected in Guinevere's hair, and-- no. No, it was too early for those fantasies. Such a future had to be earned, dammit. Until then, Morgan had no right to dwell in such thoughts. Stolen moments of privacy were all they had for now, and it would stay that way if she didn't make her move soon. Besides, Guinevere looked like she wanted to tell her something important, so maybe she should actually pay attention?

...and, yeah, it was important. Massively so. "What?" she asked, breathless. "You've seen it? Where? And what does it have to do with anything?" Because Morgan would kill to get her hands on it, just like any witch worth their salt would, but why was Guinevere interested? Guinevere, who always shied away from magic unless it was the only way to proceed? That Guinevere? No, this seemed out of character for her. As she spoke, though, everything got clearer-- clearer and, somehow, also simultaneously more confusing.

"Arthur said what?" Morgan spat out. "I can guarantee with one hundred percent certainty he's making all of this up. Well, maybe not all, but definitely everything about his involvement. An amplifier is only functional when it actually has something to amplify, you know? And unless he is a phenomenal actor, then there's nothing in him for Excalibur to latch onto. Nothing. Zilch. Nada." Just hearing this filled her with an almost irrational sense of anger, really. Like, this was the man who had turned large parts of her life into living hell because he considered magic to be impure! How come he had the audacity to proclaim himself to be the heir to the most magical thing there was? To energy personified? Gods. Morgan had known he would stop at nothing when it came to constructing his precious heroic narrative, but this seemed excessive. As in, did the inconsistencies not bother him? Not even a little bit? ...on the other hand, that would have required self-awareness, so she guessed not.

"What I'm saying is that supporting him is not your fate. Something grand might be, though." Because, honestly? All of this made terrifying amounts of sense. Morgan had been aware early on that something was up with Guinevere, but she hadn't dared to leap to conclusions-- the clues had been too scarce, too vague. If Excalibur herself had chosen her, though, then-- then-- well, she didn't know, actually. Not with any degree of certainty. Still, the spirits didn't lie, and facts didn't, either. Fact number one: Guinevere's blood apparently had restorative effects on the barren soil. Fact number two: Excalibur spoke to her. Was it really that far-fetched to take this at face value? To believe that Guinevere could make some lasting change happen, on a scale much larger than just Camelot? (It was scary, sure. All big things were, though, and this seemed massive.)

Morgan raised her hand and caressed Guinevere's hair, her touch gentle as a butterfly's wings. (To think she could do so whenever she wanted now-- that still baffled her, alright. For so long, she had thought Guinevere to be untouchable, and now here they were. Gods, this would definitely take some getting used to!) "Breathe, Gwen. It'll be fine, okay? I know it's a lot, but we'll figure it out. And if restoring the earth really is your fate-- well, the thing about fate is that it will happen no matter what. Your only job is to be yourself and follow your instincts. We'll see where that path leads us, eh?"

When she mentioned the Lady of the Lake, however, Morgan frowned. "So that's where he got it from! She's a-- a witch. A powerful one, in fact. I learned a lot about magic from texts penned by her. I didn't think she was still alive, but life is full of surprises, I suppose." Sadly, it also meant that Morgan had no freaking idea where to find her. And the fact that Merlin did-- that was yet another insult, really. As if someone like him could understand her significance! Hmm. Maybe his knowledge could be used, though? With some careful maneuvering...

"Gwen," Morgan looked up to her, "do you think you could talk to Merlin for me? Lady of the lake-- well, to say that she's secretive would be an understatement. I wouldn't know where to start looking for her. And if he knows already? That would help tremendously. You don't even have to ask him where she lives-- or rather, you shouldn't. Too suspicious. If you manage to find out her actual name, though, then I will be able to locate her with my magic. Names have power, Gwen. That's why she goes by a moniker."
 
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"Okay." The worried little crease in Guinevere's brow dissipates at Morgan's touch. (Oh, she's hopeless. How can she be expected to breathe when Morgan makes her breathless!?) Having someone to talk to about this is a relief, though -- especially when that someone is Morgan. She'll offer any information she might have to help her through this mess, won't leave her in the dark. Not only is her intelligence attractive as hell, it's legitimately saved Guinevere's skin more times than she can count. And learning about the dormant potential sleeping inside of her won't only make her feel safe -- but it'll arm her, too, if that day in her vision comes to pass. So when she reassures her that everything will be fine, she strives to meet her halfway and believe it, in spite of all her fears. The concept of finding herself in an early grave is still near the top of that list, but it's impossible not to consider the good she could do. Restoring the earth... it won't come at the snap of her fingers, that's for sure. Nothing comes in this world without hard work and sacrifice. But if she learns what she can do, if she actually pulls this off? Now's not the time to ponder the what ifs, though. Guinevere needs to take this one step at a time. Hand in hand, they'll face it together. "Okay. We'll figure it out." She repeats, managing a breath and the ghost of a smile.

Before Camelot, her entire world had looked so different. Nearly every moment occupied with scavenging for food and clean water, moving with the change of the weather, taking care of her friends, defending them from monsters and other gangs. Surviving. Guinevere never had the opportunity to learn about magic in depth -- she only bore witness to the consequences, the way it would destroy lives on the streets. Naturally, she kept her distance. There are plenty of other subjects she doesn't have a proper textbook education on, simply because she never had the time, resources or necessity for it. Her dad had given her a basic education as a kid. And the rest? The rest she had gleaned from personal experience and from the lessons others had taught her on the road. In an environment where her most basic needs are taken care of -- it seems all she hungers for now is knowledge. (Okay, okay. And maybe Morgan's touch? Because she'll never tire of the caress of her fingers in her hair.)

Seeking the Lady of the Lake for answers -- well, naturally Guinevere will do whatever she can to obtain them.

"Arthur said the Lady of the Lake wanted him to have the sword... but that must have been another lie. The more I asked about Excalibur, the more he seemed to squirm. I'm not sure what he's planning to do with it." Guinevere mentions. Does he even know? He was always talking down to her like she was a child... and the instant she wanted to have a conversation like two functioning adults, he was quick to point her in Merlin's direction instead. Maybe to spare himself the trouble, or maybe because he really doesn't have much of anything to say on the subject. (Yeah... who's the child, now?) If this is a fabricated destiny on his end, then what does he intend to do? Let her do the heavy lifting behind the scenes while he takes all the glory? She shakes it off for now, steeling over with resolve at Morgan's question. "Of course. I'll talk to Merlin."

"So... what approach should I take with him? We only met once. I still don't know what to make of him." Guinevere bites her lip, the look on her face indicating plainly that she doesn't like him. The first impression she got from him was foul, based on the glare he'd given Morgan when they returned from camp. Not to mention the fact that Arthur relies on him for magic and somehow finds ways to abhor Morgan for using it as well? It's disgusting and unfair. "I guess I should pretend to be curious about Excalibur for Arthur's sake?" Play the role of the dutiful queen-to-be, willing to step into her supporting role without stealing the spotlight. If the man's loyalties rest with Arthur, then she supposes that's the approach she'll have to take. But he's still an enigma to her. She has to be sure.
 
The way Guinevere's worries disappeared once she touched her, as if they were something ephemeral and not a boulder on her shoulders? That was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. Morgan didn't know much more than she did, after all; her eyes, too, were blind to the truth. And how could they not be? Only the gods themselves could perceive the tapestry of fate in its full glory-- only they saw the ripples certain actions would cause across the ages, as well as echoes of deeds long past. They and they alone had the benefit of full context. In comparison, Morgan was just... flailing around in the darkness, really. Flailing around and grasping for straws. As much as it pained her to admit it, all of her assurances had been worthless-- they hadn't come from a place of understanding, and so they were just empty words. Kind of like Arthur's bragging, except less malicious. And yet, despite that, Guinevere believed her. She believed her so fully that the weight of it floored her for a second. How could she possibly deal with such a responsibility? By turning it into the truth, obviously. By staying by her side, no matter what. Hmmm... Yes. Yes, that didn't seem like a terrible fate at all.

"Exactly," Morgan smiled. "See? You do know how to play the game, even if you haven't played it for long yet. You truly are a dangerous one, aren't you? In a few months, you'll be better than me. Perhaps I will be coming to you for advice soon, my clever Gwen," she teased, even if the core of her statement was true. All things considered, Guinevere truly picked skills up with a terrifying ease-- a byproduct of having spent her childhood in the wastes, probably. (Those who weren't quick to adapt, Morgan knew, simply didn't last. All the corpses she had come across on her travels proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. The wastes were a mass graveyard, full of both bones and dreams, and if you weren't careful, they consumed you whole. Of course Guinevere understood how to navigate Camelot-- at this point, vigilance must have come to her as easily as, say, breathing.)

"If Arthur was stupid enough to send you after him, take advantage of it. Straight up tell him that explaining things to you is the king's order-- he won't be able to deny you answers then, as long as he doesn't deem your interest to be suspicious. In other words, don't mention me and it should be fine. Just act like a good little wife who wishes to get familiar with her husband's plight." The very concept of that felt so viscerally wrong that swallowing glass probably would have been more pleasant, but-- well. Fate had dealt them that hand, so why not play it to their advantage? (A pawn could potentially become the strongest piece in the game, yes, but only if it moved carefully. Guinevere needed to do that, too, if she wanted to become the queen in more than just a name.)

"Just be careful around him. Merlin-- he's smarter than my brother. Not that it means much because almost anyone is smarter than him, but still. He is a magician, and formidable in his own right. It's not just his magic that you should be wary of, though. No, he--" Morgan hesitated, and for a second, she was tempted to retreat back into her shell of secrecy, though she ended up pushing through it. Guinevere deserved to know, after all, and maybe she wasn't ready to tell her everything at once, but she had to start somewhere. And this? This seemed like a good place to start. "He's an old family friend. More than just a friend, in fact-- he has always been a valued adviser, for as long as I remember. He's largely responsible for how Arthur turned out. Don't get me wrong, it was a collective failure of all adults involved, but he was the one who filled his head with nonsensical prophecies. He was also the one to teach him to fear magic, so, as you can probably imagine, our relationship... hasn't been that good. Mildly speaking."
 
"I don't know about that." Guinevere laughs and manages a lopsided smile at Morgan's praise. The tactic of keeping her mouth shut unless it was to bolster's Arthur's glory and ego hadn't failed her thus far. By then she had spent hours enduring his incessant talking, his presence, his touch, that she had learned how to appeal to him and lessen his wrath... if only somewhat. In her heart she knows she's far from a master manipulator. It's still difficult to say how well she'll do with Merlin in comparison, if she'll even have results to show for her efforts after the first time. But she can't afford to let any doubts slow her down -- the only choice she has is to adapt and move forward. Whatever happens will happen and she'll have Morgan at her side through it all. She scratches her cheek sheepishly. "Once I realized I wasn't expendable to Arthur, I... uh... I guess you could say I snapped and threw my act out the window?"

If Arthur had told Merlin anything about their conversation, which he could very well have for all she knows, then she shouldn't play up the idea that her actions are forged purely out of affection. That'd seem unnatural... probably because at her core, it is unnatural. Guinevere's hardly a good enough actress to pretend that she has feelings that don't exist. (Arthur was always oblivious to her feelings, so fooling him was as easy as using an empty pet name.) Not to mention if it was Merlin who told Arthur to choose her as his bride because 'Excalibur said so', he'll already know their union isn't one born of love. She'll have to come into this with a level head. Approach him more out of a sense of duty for whatever 'fate' Excalibur has assigned her in the grand scheme of things. She might not love Arthur, but she can play the part of the future queen who still wants to do right by her king and Camelot's people. She listens carefully as Morgan divulges information about Merlin. It's impossible not to catch that moment of hesitation, but Guinevere waits patiently for her to finish without any prompting or prying. It's Morgan's right to open up on her own terms, after all. When she feels comfortable and safe enough to do so. The fact that she did just now, even just a little -- it's a step forward, isn't it?

"No shit." Guinevere can't help but blurt out, her eyes alight with fury on Morgan's behalf. Because even she can see how contradictory it all is at this point. Arthur praising Merlin for his knowledge on the subject and relying on a magic sword to carry him to glory? The same Arthur who forbid his own sister from engaging in her research, the one who called her a witch and tossed her into the catacombs without a second thought? She knows she doesn't have to tell Morgan any of this -- she's lived it, she knows better than anyone. She shakes her head, feeling helpless in that moment. There's a desire to fight on her behalf, but there's no outlet for her anger right now -- she just has to quiet it down, wait until the time is right. Though she's found a new voice with Arthur, she knows that bringing Morgan into the conversation might only complicate things for her. He'll find some excuse to punish her in retaliation, say she's been bewitched again or something equally stupid. "It's messed up. But it won't be like this forever, Morgan. We're going to change things... or die trying." She chews the inside of her cheek, realizing belatedly how morbid that last bit sounded. Not exactly comforting, is it?

Death's just... been on her mind, lately. There's no fear in that on her own behalf, really, just a willingness to confront it as a possibility. She'd been ready to die, trapped with that cult for weeks. At one point she even wanted it. Any future beyond the one she expected, withering away in that bed, is a future she's willing to take. Guinevere's not taking any day she's lived beyond that for granted. Still. There is an aspect of death she considers a grave fear, though-- and it's that she doesn't want to leave Morgan alone in the aftermath of whatever happens. She doesn't want to break her heart or lose her either.

"I'll be careful. I swear." Guinevere promises, brushing those thoughts away. These answers are important, so while she could just as easily tear into Merlin with words of reproach, she'll keep a level head. It's the only option she has. The urge to hug Morgan rises up in her again, but she still has reservations about being caught out in the open like this. (But up in her room, behind a closed door?) For now, she reaches for her hand and briefly brings it to her lips. She wants to thank her properly. For helping her today, for listening to her concerns. "It's getting late. Are you tired? Or... would you like to accompany me to my chambers?" Accompany. Somehow, the word sounds so fancy. But standing in their dresses, dappled in moonlight by the silhouette of the castle, she can't help but play along with the atmosphere.
 
"I'd rather not die," Morgan chuckled, entirely too lighthearted for such a heavy topic. Honestly, though? The concept of death just didn't scare her anymore. It simply couldn't. The anticipation of her own demise had been in the back of her head for so many years, like a spider's web you were aware of but couldn't really reach. One day, as Morgan had always known, Arthur's patience would run out. And since she had known for such a long time now-- well, she had accepted it at some point. Just like those who lived in an area with frequent earthquakes had come to terms with the fact that the earth might open beneath their feet one day and swallow them, Morgan, too, had reconciled with the idea of being executed. Of not living past the age of thirty, probably. (Imagining a future was another thing they had taken away from her, now that she thought of it. Why work towards something long-term, after all, when everything could be snatched away from you? A complete waste of time, really. With Guinevere by her side, though? Maybe, just maybe it could be different. Maybe 'future' wasn't just this terribly distant, abstract thing anymore, but something she could fight for. Something she would take with her own hands, even if Camelot itself had to perish in the process.)

"But if it comes down to that-- let's make them regret all of this, shall we?" she curled up her lips in a smile, her eyes bright and dangerous. "Because I don't know about you, but I am oh so tired of censoring myself. And if I have to die anyway? I am certainly not going to make it easy for any of them." Following the code of a proper lady, after all, was a survival technique, which meant it was kind of pointless when her death was guaranteed anyway. Oh no, Morgan wouldn't smile at Arthur bashfully once he ordered the executioner to take her head. For once in her life, she would raise raise hell. (...was it wrong that the thought felt so liberating that Morgan was almost looking forward to it? To her swan song? Psychologically, that just couldn't be healthy. Then again, she supposed, she would have had to be a robot to survive Camelot unscarred.)

All of her morbid thoughts dissipated, though, the second Guinevere suggested returning to her chambers. Her freaking chambers. (She had been there thousand times at this point, surely, with all their secret meetings and endless scheming, but her cheeks still turned scarlet. The new context kind of put it into a different light, didn't it? Into a romantic one. Somehow, Morgan sorely doubted Guinevere had invited her to play poker or whatever. Damn. Was she even prepared for something like that?!) "Ah. Sure. I will-- I will accompany you," she heard herself saying despite the panic slowly rising in her throat. Maybe-- maybe nothing was going to happen, anyway. They had just confessed their feelings to one another, after all, and it was entirely possible Guinevere just wanted her to give her good night kiss. Right. No reason to be nervous! (Seriously, Morgan should probably pull her mind out of the gutter. Them spending more time together didn't necessarily mean anything, sheesh.)

And so, after a few more minutes, the two found themselves in Guinevere's chambers. The whole castle was still deathly silent; nothing indicated that Jennifer's absence had been noticed, and so they could, uh, use this time to do whatever they wanted. What was it, though? Oh, if only Morgan knew. (Her whole body was tingling with a weird sense of anticipation, yearning even, but she had no idea what to do with it. 'I am yours,' she had said to Guinevere, though that had been so abstract. What did it mean in practical terms? Or rather, where did they find themselves exactly? If only there was some book with the correct answers already filled out!)

"So," Morgan looked down at her feet, "I suppose I have finished, uh, accompanying you. I mean, this is your room." Yeah, what a brilliant observation! Gods, Morgan wanted nothing more than to kick herself in the shins. Where had her eloquence gone when she needed her the most?! "Um. Goodnight, I guess?" And with that, she leaned towards Guinevere in order to finally, finally kiss her properly. It was just-- wow. In an instant, the rest of the world faded, her attention reduced to the woman in her arms. She was melting in her, wanting more and more and more the longer it lasted, but in the end, she released her still. (Not until she was flushed and panting, though.) "Uh. Should I-- should I leave? I don't know how these things are done. I mean, maybe it's too soon? I haven't even given you anything to signify our bond." Courting someone was serious business, after all. (And yes, her technically getting, um, involved with her brother's fiance may not have been the most traditional relationship ever, but that didn't mean they could skip all the customary steps, you know? Because Guinevere deserved nice things!)
 
Guinevere notices that Morgan is acting a bit... nervous, maybe? Something certainly seemed to be winding her up ever since she suggested that they return to her chambers. Before she can open her lips to ask her about it, though, they're captured in a kiss. And, oh god, does she really kiss her, this time. There was a certain thrill to that brief kiss they shared in the catacombs, but it's nothing compared to this. Allowing desire to win out for once, letting it last for as long as they both liked. (Well, for as long as her lungs liked, maybe.) She savors the warmth, reciprocates by leaning closer and running her fingers through her hair. All her words are stolen at that point, when they're both rosy-cheeked and panting. She's not prepared for Morgan to ask if she should leave so soon and impulsively reaches for her hand, like a silent plea for her to stay. So many times before had she wanted to ask her to stay, so many times where there had been eyes watching them, or visits from Arthur to expect.

"Well... if there's a textbook out there on how these things are supposed to be done, I've never read it." Guinevere tilts her head and grins like the scruffy rebel she was during their very first lessons. There's still that ever present softness to her as she rubs consoling circles against her hand with the pad of her thumb. They agreed to take things slow -- and no matter what stage they're at, she's not going to push her to do anything she doesn't feel ready to do. No... not like men she's known in the past. And not like Arthur, who had swept her away from her world, her family, and kissed and caressed her without a mote of concern for how she felt. Maybe he's kept his distance from her lately, but once they're married, he'll still want his heirs. She tries to shove that from the forefront of her mind, like she has so many times in the past, but it's becoming increasingly harder to ignore with the wedding's fast approach. Staring into Morgan's eyes helps her forget again, if only temporary. Because this moment is theirs and theirs alone. "That's what's exciting about it. We get to make our own rules, on our own terms."

"All I need is you, Morgan." Guinevere squeezes her hand, firmly, like a promise. No material possession could compare, and their bond is already signified by all her actions leading up to this point. "Your hand in mine, just like this."

Guinevere can't resist the temptation for much longer. She takes the small step that closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around her in a gentle hug. She's careful just holding her, to gauge her reaction first, considering she had picked up on the way Morgan would stiffen when girls hugged her back at camp. If she doesn't want it, it'd be easy enough for her to pull away. She could melt right here against her, really. So warm and close enough to feel their heartbeats as one. "You've already done so much. Thank you for helping me tonight. And for listening to me." Now that she's holding her this close, she doesn't want to let go. But she takes a step back, to look her in the eye. Because this part is important.

"I'd like it if you stayed for a while longer. We could spend the night kissing or talking... as long as we're together." When Guinevere smiles again, this time it's more bashful than confident. But she has to address the nervousness she noticed earlier, or it'll gnaw at her for the rest of the evening. "If I know anything, it's that communication is probably the most important part of any relationship. I care about you. And I care about the way you're feeling. We agreed to take this slow -- so if you don't want to, I'll understand."
 
Instead of stiffening, Morgan leaned into her touch and embraced her back. Nothing about this was overwhelming-- no, she felt warm and safe and loved, even if it may have been too soon to use that word anywhere but in her own mind. (Privately, though? She knew she loved her. It was impossible not to, really, with the way Guinevere had waltzed into her life and changed everything. How she had wrapped her in the kindness she had never known before, as well as respected even the strangest of her quirks. Morgan wouldn't force that confession on her, of course-- not at this point in their relationship, anyway. People better adjusted than her, she figured, probably didn't get attached so fast, and so it would only serve to weird her out. That didn't mean, though, that she couldn't savor the new feeling in her chest. Even if she does betray me, it will have been worth it.)

"Very well," Morgan smiled. "I will stay, then. I will stay, and we'll talk. I do enjoy spending my time with you, you know-- possibly more than anything else in this damned castle. My inexperience changes nothing about that." That it didn't, and in showed in the frequency of Morgan's visits. While she had always spent a lot of time in Guinevere's chambers, she practically never left them now-- only to steal a new delicacy from the kitchen, really, or to get her some other gift. (Morgan appeared to be weirdly committed to that. Every other day, she returned with some book that had fascinated her in the past, an interestingly shaped stone or a pretty trinket of sorts. Once, the sorceress even presented her with an ornate dagger-- it wasn't a sword, obviously, but since Guinevere couldn't get away with carrying one in Camelot, she figured it was still better than nothing. It offered some degree of protection, some degree of agency, and just wearing it hidden under her skirt would be a small rebellion in itself. And if Morgan imagined Gwen sinking it deep into Arthur's heart when he put his filthy hands on her? Why, just a pleasant bonus!)

Despite her increased efforts to spend quality time together, however, they actually found themselves unable to do so aside from the nightly meetings. As Guinevere's condition improved, Arthur once again announced the date of their wedding-- and as it got closer and closer, his wife-to-be suddenly had new duties to take care of. Nothing terribly important, of course, because the king would rather tear Camelot apart stone by stone before allowing her to have a semblance of actual power, but they still demanded her full attention. Dealing with all the bored wives of various lords, for example? That was up to Guinevere, as well as decorating the great hall and writing wedding invitations. Mercifully, Arthur had also entrusted the task of overseeing Camelot's supplies-- probably in attempt to give her something of substance to do. What a convenient task for someone personally invested in stealing as much of it as possible, right?

Either way, the time seemed to be racing now, and Morgan's heart grew heavier and heavier with each passing day. During her waking hours, she found herself praying for something, anything that would lead to the wedding being postponed, but it seemed they had run out of luck-- not even Jennifer's escape had managed to trigger that. (And Arthur's reaction to the event? One big, fat nothing. In hindsight, that probably shouldn't have shocked Morgan; since her brother couldn't do anything about it, he opted to pretend it had never happened at all. Did his subjects really have attention spans this short? Perhaps not, though ultimately, it mattered very little what they thought of their king. Not if those thoughts didn't translate into actual actions, which Morgan knew wasn't too likely. Being exiled into the wastes was a real possibility, after all, and those people valued their comfort too much. No, as long as it didn't involve them personally, they would keep their mouths shut.)

And so, to her endless horror, the day of the wedding came. Well, not yet, but it would happen tomorrow, and it practically was tomorrow already. The sun had set beyond the horizon, what, two hours ago? (Oh, how sweet it would be if it never rose again! If-- if that bastard never got to claim her.) Just like usual nowadays, Morgan waited for Guinevere in her chambers, and when she finally returned from whatever errand Arthur had sent her on, she welcomed her with a deep, passionate kiss. "Gwen," she muttered into her hair once they parted, entirely comfortable with their closeness now. (They had, uh, practiced that quite extensively in the past few days. Extensively enough that Morgan knew the curves of her body almost as well as she knew her own, and gods, did that make her feel things.) "My Gwen. I missed you so," she whispered in her ear, caressing her on her back. And then, led by a foolish, foolish impulse: "Let's run away. I don't want to-- I don't want to do this anymore." This. Morgan hadn't said what she had meant exactly, but she hadn't had to, really. Only one thing scared her so much she couldn't even bring herself to say it aloud. The idea of Guinevere in her brother's bed, yielding to his advances-- no. No, that was too painful to voice, and even more painful to reconcile with. And why should she? Hadn't she sacrificed enough on the altar of revenge already? Gods, this had been a such a stupid idea from the very beginning!
 
Guinevere allows herself to melt against Morgan when she returns, the knots of tension in her unraveling just enough to let her breathe. The duties she'd been assigned, while boring as hell, also shoved the fact that she was going to belong to Arthur in her face to the point where it was impossible to brush aside. Up until the evenings where she could forget for a few sweet, stolen moments in Morgan's company. Sometimes she would return to her chambers with her hand sore and covered in ink (The woes of being left-handed, really.) -- god, to think he expected her to pen those invitations herself, as if writing it over and over that they were to be married would somehow engrave it in her mind that this was going to be her reality, whether she liked it or not. But she dutifully finished every single one without complaint. She cooperated with selecting the decorations, treated the maids with nothing but respect and kindness. (Because none of this is their fault. She put all Morgan's lessons to use and behaved like a lady.) Nothing good would come of allowing her dissatisfaction to put the people of Camelot off, after all.

The eve of the wedding, though, was perhaps the worst of all. She had started the day staring at herself in a full length mirror as Marietta made a few last tweaks to her wedding dress. She went on to oversee the finished food and decorations... and finally, she was forced to endure Arthur's presence for a few hours as he confirmed she knew what to do and say during the ceremony. The stage was set, so to speak, and the finality of it solidified the fact that time had run out. Come morning, this room would no longer belong to Guinevere. (To them.) This could very well be the last evening she gets to spend at Morgan's side until Arthur decides to leave on another of his quests. Because her evenings would belong to him. The thought would have made her shiver if she wasn't in Morgan's arms now. Oh, how tempting would it be to run away? To live freely with Morgan? Together, they would manage. She knows it. But...

"If we lived in a kinder world, I'd run away with you in a heartbeat." Guinevere means every single word. She manages a wobbly little smile in the crook of Morgan's neck, breathing in and committing her scent to memory. Inevitably, they will eventually have to part... physically. (Temporarily, if all goes according to plan.) Life in Camelot will probably get worse before it can get better. Living directly under Arthur's thumb, these shared evenings with Morgan stolen away. It'll be so lonely. She holds a little tighter to her, fingers digging lightly into the back of her dress. "This isn't the end, okay? I'll be promising him forever tomorrow... but that's an illusion. Just like everything else in this place."

She's trying to downplay it, to make it easier to cope with (For both of their sakes, at this point.) but it's probably not enough to smooth over the fact that it's more complicated than that. The wedding might be an illusion where her feelings are concerned, but whatever happens to her after they're married will be real, real, real. (And even more real yet, if she gets pregnant. She hasn't dared think on that subject in detail for fear of getting cold feet, but -- well, it's not as though the possibility hasn't crossed her mind before. Not when Arthur used to subject her to one-sided conversations about the names of their future children.) Even so, she can steel herself now because she's had time to prepare herself for the reality of a life at Arthur's side the moment she stepped through Camelot's gates. Because she has a responsibility to see this through, for her gang, her family. And now she has Morgan and her plan, a glimmer of hope to change her fate and their future. Change it for the better. It won't be easy, not at first, but down the line it will have been worth it. God, she hopes so, anyway.

Guinevere pulls away just enough to look at her, gingerly caressing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Arthur might own me on paper. But he won't take my heart, because it already belongs to you. That won't change." She presses her forehead against Morgan's, fighting a stinging behind her eyes. No way is she going to cry, not now. She's got to show that she's strong enough to handle this, no matter how much it might hurt. She's a surviver, damn it! So she gives a shaky little laugh instead. "And the thing about paper? It's fragile. So fucking easy to tear apart. When we take the backwards ways of this place down in a blaze, it'll be nothing but ash." ...Not that they're actually going to burn Camelot to the ground or anything, no matter how tempting that might be. Especially after tomorrow.
 
Obviously, Morgan knew just how foolish her words were. She knew it the second they left her mouth-- hell, she had known it even before that, long before the thought had been fully formed in her mind. Of course that Guinevere couldn't abandon her role now! Not when so many people depended on her, and certainly not with the mystery of Excalibur connected to her fate in such an intimate way. Running away from that-- no, something told her Guinevere would rather chew her own leg off. Still, she had had to say it, you know? Because if a miniscule chance of her agreeing existed-- oh, Morgan would jump at it. She would collect her pitiful belongings, maybe set something on fire for good measure and then they'd be gone faster than Arthur could say 'marriage vows'. This situation, however, would forever remain a hypothetical because Guinevere-- Guinevere chose to be the sensible one. Heh. Who would have thought it would end up like this, with Morgan acting like a child and Gwen out of all people trying to get her to see reason? The plot twist of the century, really! (It would have been funny, too, had it not been for the tears stinging her in her eyes. Well, that, and also the idea of what would happen tomorrow. The idea of a white dress, and all those flowers, and, gods, a marriage bed--)

"Wow. I'm being selfish, aren't I? Making you console me like that when it really should be the other way around," Morgan chuckled through her tears, though it was a sad, pitiful sound. More like someone choking than an expression of joy, really. Still, Guinevere was trying so hard to be strong, wasn't she? The sorceress had to repay her in kind. She was Morgan le Fey, after all, and yes, she could also be strong. Turning into a weepy mess wouldn't help anyone, least of all the woman in her arms. (Why the hell did the concept steeling her heart seem so fucking impossible right now? Wasn't that what she had been doing for the entirety of her life, over and over again? At this point, it should have been a reflex! ...and it was, really, except only when it came to her. The abuse of Guinevere-- that wasn't something she had grown used to. Not in the slightest. What was worse, she didn't want to! What Morgan wanted, though, had never been especially relevant to the whims of fate.)

"I don't doubt that," she said, caressing her face gently. (From now on, every touch would be rare among them, so she savored it. The skin beneath her fingers was warm, oh so warm, and Morgan yearned to make it even hotter with her kisses. To make her burn and be burnt to crisp in return, solely so she didn't have to think about the future. About tomorrow, to be precise.) "I know you are mine. I just-- didn't want you to have to go through all that. I, uh. I don't think less of you for marrying him or anything like that." Because that needed to be said, no matter how much it hurt. Guinevere had to know it wasn't some petty jealousy weighing on her mind, but concern for her well-being. "Speaking of which," Morgan planted a soft kiss beneath her collarbone, "I have another gift for you. An important one."

Reaching in one of the pockets sewn into her dress, she pulled out a-- what was it? A vial? Yes, a vial full of dark, suspicious-looking liquid. Morgan pressed it into Guinevere's hand and closed her fingers around it, a sense of urgency in her movements. "Drink this tonight, and I can guarantee you there will be no heirs. I'll make one for you every month. That should be more than enough to take care of our little problem." And yes, even knowing the recipe for such a concoction was a grounds for execution according to Arthur's precious laws, but Morgan didn't care. Her brother was not going to destroy Gwen's life, end of. This marriage would be just a short, unfortunate episode of their saga-- as such, there wouldn't be any lasting reminders. Not if she had anything to say about it, anyway.
 
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