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Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

"Nah, we won't care what those prissy lords and ladies think. Will we?" Guinevere tilts her head to look in the puppy's eyes, touches her nose to his little wet one, and breaks off into a laugh when he licks her cheek. A laugh that deepens after a snort upon hearing Morgan's suggestion to spruce up her first suggestion. She straightens herself up in attempt to assume a royal air, mocking those pompous lords in court. "Toastington. Ah, well... it does have a fine ring to it, doesn't it? Very noble." Of course, her airs don't last for long. How can she be expected to act so serious when for the last couple of minutes, she's been treated to the sight of Morgan's smile and the sound of her laugh? (The most beautiful scene she's ever experienced. She'll challenge anyone who disputes that to a duel!) It unleashes a whirlwind of butterflies in her soul, excites her without requiring the usual thrill-seeking antics she's had to resort to in the past. Fighting for her life, jumping into the throes of a battle-- in a way, she relied on those things to give her the kick she needed to remind herself that she was alive. And though it was dangerous (and maybe not entirely healthy?) she thrived on it. With Morgan, this puppy, as well as the concept of their future? Well, it floods her with that same sensation. This is sensory overload to the point where she really isn't sure how much love her heart can take. It'll have to take more, considering her gang is on their way. She sees a future at long last. Sure, it's just beyond their reach for now. But in due time they'll be able to reach out and hold it in their hands. Is there anything more thrilling than that?

"Indeed. We can't be too hasty. Finding a proper name is very important business!" Guinevere nods, pursing her lips. She means to look serious again, but the corner of her mouth betrays the hint of a smile she can't tamp down on. "After all, he'll be in my life longer than Frankenstein and Spider ever were. I'm not clayvoyant either, but you'll be a very loyal boy. I can tell." Oh. She says it so smoothly, completely oblivious to the fact that she just butchered the pronunciation of clairvoyant. Anyway, she vehemently hopes he and Morgan will both be in her life for many years to come. Because if this future she's been gushing over turns out to be some kind of fever dream-- then yikes. That kind of reality would be too cold for her to face."We'll hold onto Toastington, just in case."

"Right." That's a brilliant idea! Well, of course it is. Can she really expect anything less than brilliant from Morgan at this point? The kids would love that. When the implications of going to the courtyard to meet them hits her like a train, Guinevere's eyes light up with the realization and suddenly she's rocking on antsy feet. That whirlwind of butterflies? It's morphing into an entire hurricane right about now. "Right."

Guinevere bites her lip, feeling a warm prickling behind her eyes. Geez! Why is she such a sap? They haven't even gone out to meet them yet and she's already on the verge of tears. The puppy, as if already sensing her emotions in the few minutes they've known each other, catches her off guard with another affectionate kiss. With a laugh, she sets him down and interlaces her fingers with Morgan's.

"Is it weird that I'm kind of nervous? Maybe it's excitement too, but..." Guinevere has trouble putting it into words, staring at Morgan searchingly. "Magic makes a real convincing reality sometimes. I'll get hit with this fear every now and then like... it's too good to be true. Like I was thrown into this happy dream world ever since I connected with Excalibur. Then one day I'll wake up and--" She shakes her head, smiling guiltily. Can anyone really blame her? How often do things go right to this extent? How often-- in her whole life-- has she ever felt as happy as she is in this moment? "That sounds stupid, doesn't it? Besides, it's not like we can get away with holding hands all the way to the courtyard." So, yeah, not quite a dream. Not yet, anyway, and the kiss she presses to the back of Morgan's hand says that better than words can. "It's nearly perfect. I'm just saying, I'd suspect there was some kind of magic afoot otherwise."

"Aaand dealing with the lords has been a pain in the ass for the most part." Yeah, that's also a solid reminder that this world isn't some manifestation of her sweetest desires. On top of that were all those shitty rumors floating around. "But I can't complain. As long as I get to kiss you at the end of the day." She grins and leans in to give Morgan a kiss. Without a doubt, things are better than they were before. That goes without saying at this point. "Geez. I don't know where I'm going with this. Well, I guess I do. I'm just trying to--" She sighs with a sort of helpless defeat. Words! Why are words so hard? Especially to encapsulate emotions that are so very big? "I want to say thank you. 'Cause I never would've imagined a future... let alone one like this without you."

That said, Guinevere claps her fingertips over her cheeks a few times to get herself back on track and shakes her head quickly as if to shake off the vulnerable, touchy-feely-ness of her words. "Anyways! You're right. We shouldn't keep them waiting." She gives Morgan's hand a squeeze, wishing she could hold it all the way to the courtyard. "Shall we?"
 
"Clairvoyant," Morgan corrected, firmly but not unkindly. (It would have been easier to remain silent, of course-- easier, though definitely not wiser. Guinevere was a queen in her own right now, you know? Which meant that hundreds, if not thousands, would hang on her lips every single day. She didn't judge her for the occasional misstep, but as for the others? For her political opponents? They would rip her to shreds for far, far less! No, it was kinder to correct here, in privacy, where nobody thought less of her for it.) "It comes from French," she continued, slipping into her old role of a mentor easily. (Did she enjoy it? Well, yes and no. Yes because, duh, sharing these pieces of trivia was interesting! But also no, not really. What if Gwen, for example, thought her to be a show-off? Creating this impression was just about the last thing she wanted! ...still, though. The ability to retain one's knowledge largely depended on understanding the concept, so surely she wasn't wrong for attempting to explain the logic behind it? Since blind memorization was a terrible, terrible tool-- just a single step away from blind faith, really.)

"The 'clair' part, I'm pretty sure, means something like 'clear'. And the 'voyant'? It has to do with seeing. So, clairvoyant could literally be translated as 'the one who sees clearly'. Makes sense, doesn't it?" Morgan smiled, hoping the little speech didn't come of as... preaching, or something like that. "But yes, he'll be there for many, many years to come. Just like me." ...if you'll have me, the annoying voice in the back of her head said, but she chased it away. What victories, after all, could be won with insecurity? Very few of them, Morgan was sure. (Nobody liked being asked for affirmations, again and again and again. All those little gestures of love? They'd gain a flavor of duty, and that wasn't the kind of development she'd appreciate. Duty rarely tasted sweet, you know? And she needed that sweetness to stay-- this easy, almost effortless connection that had somehow been established between the two of them, even if the sorceress hadn't sought it at all. ...no, this problem was hers. It had been born in her head, and in her head, it would also perish. No need to drag Gwen into this! Gwen, who had been nothing but loyal and kind and so, so understanding. Aaaargh, how stupid her brain was! What kind of proof did it even need to be able to cast those doubts aside when literally dying for her, multiple times, apparently wasn't enough? Would the gods themselves descending from the heavens and informing her that, yes, she was loved, be sufficient? Sadly, Morgan didn't really think so. Gods could lie in order to further their own agendas, and-- ugh, just ugh!)

"No," she said quietly, deciding to ignore these feelings for now, "that's normal, Gwen. I read somewhere that... well, that brain is kind of like water, in that it retains the shape of the container it is in. You are formed by your surroundings, in other words. If you stay in that metaphorical container for quite some time, though? It will remember that shape-- the water will turn into ice. You're still operating with these old shapes in mind, so to speak. The good news is that ice can thaw, though, and you can learn to think differently. In fact, you will! You just need the right environment, and, uh. I'll try to create it." Gently, she pressed a kiss on her cheek-- Toastington whined in what seemed to be a fit of jealousy, though, and so Morgan scratched him behind the ears. "Hungry for attention, aren't you? Well, well, well. You only need to ask, friend!"

"And yes," the sorceress giggled, "once the lords start acting reasonable, you can safely assume you're stuck in some kind of illusion. Feel free to treat this factor like a canary in a mine, really. It's said that our canary is just common sense, but yeah." A few more jokes were burning her on her tongue, but when Guinevere switched to thanking her instead? Well, let's say her own eyes might have gotten suspiciously wet as well. "No need to thank me. I mean, I never would have imagined this future without you, either. I did imagine some other futures, yes, and none of them contained my dear brother, but... I like this one the most, really. Because of you being here, so I believe you do deserve the credit. But, yes," Morgan straightened the skirt of her dress, "we really should go now. You wouldn't want the knights to be the ones to welcome them, now would you?" ...hopefully, they wouldn't welcome them with stones. Still, the thought was too grim, and so Morgan didn't share it. "I believe they deserve better than that." And so the duo, along with Toastington, made their way to the courtyard-- it was empty aside from the guards, who were still stuck doing their duty at the gates. "Well," Morgan turned to Gwen, "that is... actually rather disrespectful of your subjects-- not to show up at all, I mean. Even so, it might actually be better for everyone involved, so you may want to be lenient with them."
 
On their walk to the courtyard, Guinevere repeats the word 'clairvoyance' in her head exactly the way Morgan said it. In the past, she might've scoffed and continued to butcher those big words she struggled with. Back when her only source of entertainment in Camelot was seeing what reactions she could garner from her teacher. Then the ladies tittered behind their fans the first time she slipped up and analyzed her every mistake under a metaphorical microscope-- it lit a fire under her. Morgan might have shielded herself with an icier exterior back then, but she had been looking out for her in her own way. The knowledge her love gives her is power. And as queen, it's more important than ever that she's armed with it. There's unspoken contempt in some of the gazes she meets in court. Saying they remember exactly where she came from, challenging her to slip and fall so that she can prove them right.

Clear, seeing, clairvoyant. Except she doesn't need the power of clairvoyance to know that none of her subjects would show for this particular occasion. Is she gonna cry over it, though? Hell no.

"Eh, I can't force them." Guinevere shrugs nonchalantly at the inevitable, rising onto her tip-toes and squinting as if that might help her see further into the distance. No sign of them yet. When Morgan says it may be for the best, she nods in agreement. "True. Last thing we need is a bunch of ladies pretending to faint all over the courtyard." She drapes her hand over her forehead dramatically, mocking the woman who did that exact thing when she first arrived. It was such an overzealous performance that it bordered on comical. Considering the timing and circumstances, though, it only succeeded in delivering a punch to her gut. A crowd hadn't been gathered to greet her when she arrived. But the few who did see her? Oh, she'll never forget the horror in their eyes. She wouldn't wish that on her gang. (Sure, they've survived worse than Camelot's pettiness and contempt. Even so. Last thing they need is to put up with that shit!) "'Sides, I know they don't like this. And I know not everybody's going to get along... that's not something we can force, either. Such is life." Forging two worlds into one won't be an easy task. Looking at Morgan, she bolsters herself with a smile. "But what are we if not living proof that people from two very different worlds can see eye to eye?" And love, she would have said, if it wasn't the equivalent of walking on broken glass. What if someone's hiding nearby, hoping to overhear information they can use against her? What if the guards can hear from their post? "We're all human. Capable of growing and changing..."

Or nearly human. Guinevere squashes that thought, sweeping the courtyard with another searching gaze. She's been busy enough lately to distract from those existential questions. But it still lingers that there's this whole part of her that she knows nothing about. What happens if her fae traits rise to the surface? All she sees in her mind are the people rallying together with pitchforks and leading her to--

A whine from Toastington cuts those thoughts short before they can escalate any further. Could it be--? Oh no, false alarm. It's just Lancelot.

"My queen. Lady Morgan. I see I made it in time." When the knight dips into a slight bow, Guinevere nods in acknowledgment and finds that she's relieved to see him there. Nice to know that not all of her subjects disagree with her decisions! Even if it's, uh, just one. Toastington, though, is on the defensive. Not barking outright... but kind of growling under his breath? Biting back a grin, she pats him on the head to soothe him. Aw. He'll be a protective little warrior-- she can tell.

A few minutes pass and Toastington yips again. And this time it's not a false alarm. Guinevere sprints ahead before she can even think, Toastington right at her heels, to meet them halfway. She crashes into Sam-- and from there, she's practically bounced around from person to person in tired, half-hearted hugs and tearful greetings and it's nothing short of overwhelming. All at once they're reacting to her flowery scent, to her dress and her hair, the castle looming ahead, and everything they know she's been through since they last met. And she's just-- taking how thin and sickly they all appear like knives to the heart. It was never this jarring before... because she lived among them. Now that she's used to dealing with the people in Camelot, it gives her something to compare their way of life to. No matter what anyone in Camelot says, this is worth it. She has to take care of them. Then she finds herself face-to-face with Adrianne and--

"--You look pretty lively, Gwen. Here ya go." Liv cuts in, tossing a bag at her and obscuring her vision. Guinevere crinkles her nose teasingly when that starts a trend of girls haphazardly chucking their stuff at her. Not that she minds. They all packed light, so it's no trouble for her to carry as much as she can possibly fit in her arms... as well as a child on her back, evidently, as Mia pounces on her. Thankfully they're far more polite when handing their things over to Morgan and-- and then there's Lancelot. Who takes his definition of chivalry so seriously that despite being understandably overwhelmed, he suggests they leave their bags at the gate so he can carry all of them in himself. (Guinevere catches a select few of them snickering over Lancelot in general and she realizes with a belated sort of terror that they know all about him and his failed attempts to woo her. Oh god. They need to get inside immediately.) Most of the gang brushes his attempts off, intent on keeping their only belongings in the hands of those they trust. "...If you would be so kind." Tamara takes pity on him, handing her bag to Lancelot with a graceful flourish that would make even Iphigenia jealous.

"My... my queen. Shall I--" One of the guards speaks up as they approach the gates, bewildered. (...Despite the fact that they knew they were coming.) Well, maybe it's understandable. The queen is weighed down with two armfuls of bags and a child, carrying far more then they might deem proper. And they're opening the gates to her gang. It's one thing to hear about them. Now they have to confront the way the outside world can wear a person down with their own eyes. It might make them feel uncomfortable, maybe even a little guilty if they've got a shred of humanity left in them.. "I've got this." Guinevere slips instinctively by being around her friends and then coughs. "I mean, no thank you. I'm quite all right."

"Wow. They treat you like a real queen 'round here." Mia's voice sounds in her ear as they approach the castle and Guinevere laughs. "I am a real queen." Geez. She can already overhear some girls in the back mocking her 'quite all right' when they're out of the guard's earshot. This clash of two worlds is gonna take some getting used to. "And you got a puppy!" Mia continues, so eager to catch up that she jumps from one subject to the next with rapid-fire speed. Speaking of which, where is-- ah. The other kids are preoccupied with an overjoyed Toastington as they walk. Ah, the sight is so cute and warm that her heart's going to melt!

"Mhm. Against all odds, Morgan got me a puppy." Okay, Guinevere's been dying to boast about her girlfriend's greatness and compassion to someone. (Girlfriend... they never did have that conversation, did they? But they've exchanged confessions of love already-- so maybe that goes without saying?) Mia sighs dreamily with a 'so cool'. "Amazing, right? She even helped me get everything together for you guys. These last few days have been..." She grunts and shifts to handle the weight on her shoulders. "A lot." At last, they make it into the castle and a hush falls over her gang as they take in their surroundings. Which is, uh, relatable. She remembers all too vividly when she stood in their shoes. The castle is big and lavish and... so big. "...Welcome to Camelot." Guinevere grapples with a sudden bout of nausea. Maybe it's the unhappy memories, maybe it's that she's nervous for her gang inside these walls. The sooner they can unwind behind closed doors, the better. Except she's been so busy with staff and lords that she actually doesn't know where their rooms are. "Would you mind leading the way from here, Morgan?"
 
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"Yes," Morgan agreed readily. "Being different isn't necessarily an obstacle-- as long as you aren't pushing your worldview as 100% correct, such relationships can be beneficial. There is always something new to learn from someone with such a... hmm, different mindset." Because Gwen herself had shown her so, so many things! How to be courageous, for example. How to stand her ground, and how to do it proudly. It wasn't that Morgan had ever been particularly demure, of course-- that hadn't ever been true, mostly because the wolves would have eaten her alive. Still, Camelot had twisted her, hadn't it? Living in the shadows just did that to you, no matter how much you resisted. If you never straightened your back, it assumed that crouched, pathetic shape, and... well, Guinevere had reminded her what walking upright meant. (That it was an option, really, because that hadn't always been obvious. Intellectually, the sorceress had always known, but the heart and the mind didn't necessarily have to exist in harmony, you know? And, without Gwen to guide her, perhaps she never would have been able to build that bridge. ...perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. One little word, just two syllables, and yet it could be so terrifying! Especially if they contained the hypothetical scenario in which she'd never met Gwen.)

"Good morning, sir Lancelot," Morgan greeted the knight, cool but perfectly polite. (Would she ever grow to like the man? She... didn't think so, actually. For that, the knight was too bland-- honorable, yes, but about as exciting as boiled potatoes. When she looked deep, deep into her soul, some amount of respect for him could be found there, though genuine friendship? No, certainly not that. There was very little he could offer aside from bull-headed bravery, which just wasn't intellectually stimulating. Toastington would have the same characteristics once he grew up, Morgan was sure, and he would be cute as well. Try to top that, Lancelot! ...also, perhaps it would have been easier to like him had it not been his life's mission to intrude upon any moment of privacy she and Gwen might have had. At this point, however? The sorceress wasn't holding her breath.)

The messengers hadn't lied, as it turned out, for Gwen's girls arrived within minutes-- and, as always, Morgan sort of faded into the background. This was her moment, you know? Seeing her friends after such a long time was a gift, truly, and so she shouldn't steal the spotli-- oof. Before the sorceress could even finish that thought, some kids practically jumped on her, giggling and grabbing her skirts in the process.

"Hi, Morgan! How have you been?" Ah. Um. Okay? If they-- if they demanded her attention, then she should give it to them. Etiquette demanded it! (And the warm, fuzzy feeling that spread from her center to her fingertips? Just a pleasant, pleasant bonus.)

"I, um. I have been fine," she smiled, her cheeks coloring red. "I knew you'd be coming, you see, and so I had a lot to look forward to." Well, that, plus she had also been able to kinda sorta murder her asshole of a brother, you know? Which had been freeing, even if it had happened in some different version of reality. Still, that wasn't exactly the kind of information you'd offer to children, so Morgan censored herself. "And recently, our family became just a little bit bigger! Meet Toastington." ...wait, what? Had she just called Gwen family? Oh, gods. In the privacy of her mind, she had thought like that about her for quite some time, but damn. What if this was too quick? What if this was too much? What if, what if, what if? (Relax, the sensible part of her said, and, for once, it wasn't difficult to listen. Why should she be afraid of these things, after all? The thread that connected them hadn't been severed by multiple deaths, so surely, surely this was just a formality. And if it wasn't? Morgan could, uh, claim she had only used the term in order to make their situation more comprehensible to the children! Haha. Ha. ...gods, she was still dying.)

"But yes, welcome," Morgan beamed at the rest of the gang. "Hi Sam, Adrienne, Tammy and... everyone. And, of course. I can lead the way. I assume you'd like to eat first, though? I mean, we do have servants around here. I'm sure they won't mind carrying your luggage to your rooms." And, as if they were spirits responding to their names being called, a few maids indeed materialized out of nowhere-- they refused to meet the newcomers' eyes, but they did take the backpacks, and disappeared just as quickly. "They'll get more friendly in time," Morgan shrugged, feeling somewhat embarrassed for the icy reception. "I'm sure they just... heard a lot of interesting rumors about you. As long as you treat them with kindness, they'll thaw in time." And yes, she was speaking from experience here-- winning over the staff wasn't difficult, mostly because their standards were so low it would make one cry. "Anyway, follow me. The cooks knew of your coming, and so I had them prepare something special."

The great hall was still a shell of its former self, and so they headed to one of the smaller dining rooms near the kitchen-- back in Arthur's time, only maids and servants ate there, but the lords and ladies had learned to appreciate the fact that it wasn't, you know, charred or otherwise demolished. Ah, what a nice lesson about priorities had the monsters provided! "Please, sit down," she encouraged them, and once they did so? The serving girls began to hand out mugs of something hot and sweet-smelling-- cocoa, from the shipment Morgan had, uh, confiscated for their private purposes. (...what? It wasn't like the lords and ladies needed more of the luxuries they'd been able to enjoy since forever. Gwen's girls would be able to appreciate them more!)

"So," she looked around, "once again, welcome. I'm happy to have you here, really, because common sense is in short supply in this place. I'm sure you'll discover what I mean soon enough." ...to their own detriment, Morgan wanted to ask, but she did. Being forced to listen to stupid remarks was still better than being eaten, right? It had to be! "Say," she decided to breach a new topic, "have there been any interesting developments in the wastes? Are the monsters still evolving, or...? I haven't had a lot of opportunities to dabble in my research recently."
 
Guinevere sends a grateful smile Morgan's way when the cocoa is served. As queen, her attention is in such high demand that overseeing her gang's accommodations was a task left more so to the other woman. And, of course, Morgan didn't disappoint. After receiving such a cold reception from the servants, it's only right that they're given something warm and sweet to make up for it! They're all exhausted from their travels as is-- and a spacious, imposing castle doesn't make a welcoming setting. Especially when you don't fit in. She can tell some of the women are unsettled by the fact that they just handed their only belongings in this world off to people who didn't even bother making eye contact with them. Sure, it's not like any of them are toting around precious jewels... but what they perceived as treasure could easily be mistaken for trash by Camelot's standards. (Arthur didn't understand why she'd been so offended back when he suggested they burn her old things. So offended that she threatened to break his legs. Hah, memories.) Either way, it makes her feel better that she made the effort to reorganize her staff.

At first, most of them curl their hands around their mugs to warm their hands. Others blow at the steam curling in the air or look perplexedly into their mugs as if to try and guess what they were being served. Then the reception begins to stir through the room as they try it. There's excitement over the new flavors. Relief to taste something that melts on the tongue and tastes so pleasant. Watching their reactions floods her with immeasurable happiness. Is this how Morgan felt whenever she'd bring her new desserts to try during their magic lessons? "It's... brown. What is it?" Mia whispers, pinching at her sleeve. She's not being picky-- could never afford to be picky-- just curious.

"I'll tell you after you give it a try. Trust me, I think you'll love it." Guinevere promises, sliding Mia's mug closer to urge her on. "--Oh yeah. It'll be hot, so blow on it first."

"Love is a very strong word, Gwen." Mia says with a seriousness that makes some of the girls around her chuckle. Then she tries it and, well, the wide-eyed expression on her face speaks for itself. "--And by jove, it's the right word! Do you drink this stuff every day?"

By jove? Who taught her-- oh, well, it doesn't matter. "No, not every day. It's a special treat. And your arrival is a very special occasion." Guinevere never loses her smile. She's overjoyed that Morgan set this aside for them to make it that much more memorable. Even if they're not going to be drinking cocoa every single day, this still marks a beginning where they don't have to wonder where their next meal is coming from. Whether or not it's coming at all.

For a little while, there's excited but quiet chatter over cocoa. Catching up on some of the simpler things, discussing how rare it is to get shipments of treats like the one they're experiencing now. A few of them poke fun at Guinevere for holding herself like a 'real proper lady'. And, yeah, that's fair. Though she did give them stories about her life in Camelot on her scattered visits, she can understand how weird it must be for them to see her like this. As her friends slurp down their drinks the way they always have, using the backs of their hands to clean their mouthes, it becomes all the more evident how much etiquette has been engraved in her. Nowadays, she has to actively try if she wants to behave the way she did before. Manners in Camelot were survival. Once that conversation dies down, Morgan steers them on a track towards more serious matters.

"Gwen gave us a head's up." Sam mentions, sounding slightly uncertain. "But hearing about this place and actually seeing it are two different things." That point invites a musing of agreement among most of them. Which is understandable. It's hard to comprehend a place like this when you're used to living in a tent. "It is a bit intimidating. Nothing we can't handle, though." Tamara adds. That, too, invites words such as 'I'll take anything they throw at me if I get to sleep in a real bed' and 'can't complain if my belly's full'.

"Yeah. Besides, if Gwen can do it, anyone can." Liv adds, oh-so helpfully. Guinevere puffs her cheeks and pretends to take offense as the other women join her in agreement. It's all in affectionate, good fun. "You really worked some magic on our Gwen, Morgan. She's a real lady now-- I hardly recognize her!" Heh. And they don't even know the half of it. There's so much they still have to catch up on... and some details she's a little nervous to divulge. (Like, say, the fact that she's not entirely human?) But there seems to be some unspoken consensus as the jokes die down that there's more to be said.

"Sure, the monsters've been bad as ever." Adrianne speaks gravely. "We found tracks on our way here. Something huge and vicious no doubt. Running amuck and tearing trees out of the ground. Thank god we didn't run into the bastard, but..." She shakes her head somberly. "That's not all. We saw another monster out there. One you're gonna be more familiar with."

Guinevere reads the pointed look Adrianne gives her without needing elaboration and the color drains from her face. "You saw Arthur?"

"Sorry." Adrianne averts her eyes and Guinevere can't pinpoint the exact reason why her stomach drops. Is it the blatant pity written all over her face, or is it just... the fact that Arthur's still alive out there? It could easily be a combination of the two.

"He was talking to this old dude..." Lucas sits up tall and proudly puffs out his little chest. "Mia and I were extra quiet, so they didn't notice us."

"We couldn't hear what they were saying. But he looked real bad. He was throwing a tantrum like he was two years old!" Mia rolls her eyes, hugging Guinevere's arm in attempt to make her feel better. Even sensing the affection behind the gesture, she can't quite relax. It doesn't really matter if Arthur is pathetic and weak or even standing at death's doorstep out there. The fact that he's alive frightens her more than it reasonably should. She can know that she's strong enough to take him in a fight, she can know that for a fact and still feel an icy grip of terror around her throat. He held her life, the lives of her friends and Morgan's life hostage for months. Had more control over her than any human being ever should. Morgan said the brain memorized patterns and, well, it seemed he still held some semblance of control over her in that sense. After all, the pattern Excalibur established mere days ago was that her life always ended by Arthur's hand, one way or another. It's like some cruel trick of fate, a curse that she may never break. Because why else would the universe allow him to live on like a cockroach?

"Before we could decide what to do about it, Sam shot an arrow at him." Liv shoots the woman a chastising look and Sam shrugs her shoulders. "Scared 'em off real quick."

"Lookin' at his face pissed me off." Sam defends her decision, crossing her arms over her chest. "He deserved it."

"Ahem. We didn't learn much. But because of Sam's actions, we did see that they weren't in any state to fight us." Tamara interjects before an old argument can be brought back to the surface. "For the time being, he's not a threat. Do you think he could be searching for allies on the outside?"
 
"Oh, I can imagine," Morgan smiled. Going from eating herbs and roots and the like to cocoa? That must have been, uh, quite a cultural shock. (Better than the reverse situation, unquestionably, but still! It would probably take them a few months to get used to the new surroundings-- and to the dangers that lurked there, largely hidden. ...surviving in the wastes couldn't be simple, of course, but at least you could mostly see the danger, you know? You could see it and hear it and touch it, and also shoot it with an arrow if your aim was true enough. It was simple, in other words, even if it wasn't easy. Here, though? The dangers were like wind. They traveled unseen, from mouth to mouth, and if you weren't paying attention, the gentle breeze would grow into a storm within seconds.) "And I don't doubt that you will get used to Camelot in no time. Still," Morgan looked first at Gwen, then at the other women sitting at the table, "might I offer a bit of friendly advice? To speed up the process." Because, yeah, in no way did the sorceress wish to imply that Guinevere's people weren't capable enough-- that, without her enlightened guidance, they'd walk right into the abyss.

"Don't talk to anyone unless it's necessary. Well, at least at the beginning. The lords and ladies weren't..." Hmm, how to say it in a way that wouldn't be deemed offensive? "...thrilled by your arrival, and so I sincerely doubt their intentions with you will be pure. More than likely, they'll be looking for some gossip material. Now, don't worry," she raised her hand pre-emptively, "I am not planning to turn you into a bunch of princesses locked in their ivory towers. That's not what I'm planning at all. I will be... integrating you, so to speak, but first, I need to give you some lessons on how those people work." Dramatic much? Perhaps, but it was true that every word that fell from their lips was a trap-- often a very elaborate one, too. No, sending them there unarmed would just result in bloodshed! "Of course," Morgan said, "I am not forbidding anything here. Feel free to talk to whoever you want to, if you are so inclined. I'm just stressing that there may be consequences, and I'd like to help you avoid them." Raising her own mug, the sorceress took a sip-- immediately, a sweet kind of warmth spread through her stomach, and Morgan closed her eyes. Ah, how pleasant!

...at least till Liv spoke. (Needless to say, she was not her favorite associate of Gwen's. In fact, had the sorceress bothered to create a list, she would have been at the very bottom! Constructive criticism was, of course, important, but the woman just seemed to spew poison wherever she went. How was this supposed to help anything, huh?) "Have I?" she raised her eyebrow. "I don't think so, really-- mostly because Gwen remained herself, despite everything. That is not an easy task to accomplish here, I assure you." ...what? Guinevere was a queen in her own right now! Which meant that she deserved some actual respect, dammit. Not that she hadn't deserved it before, of course she had, but... well. At least in front of other people, a ruler shouldn't be ridiculed. Now, that didn't need there was a need for her to develop an ego as fragile as Arthur's had been, some sort of balance had to be preserved.

The news about the monsters, of course, didn't surprise her. "Just as I thought," Morgan sighed. "Why would they relent, after all? Not exactly in their interest. Anyway," she looked them over, "I have a favor to ask. Would some of you be so kind as to accompany me during my trips? I do need to continue my research, and I could use the help of someone who is... more familiar with the terrain than I am. I'd like to go once per month, maybe, depending on how much work we have here. Would you be alright with that?"

The conversation shifted to a less pleasant topic then-- to her brother dearest, and the treacherous old wizard who had sold his soul to him. (And, honestly? On some level, this was straight up hilarious. What an elegant karmic punishment, for Arthur to end up in the wastes! Had he not loved sending his subjects into exile as well, it wouldn't have been half as fitting. ...that he still breathed was a problem, though-- not a huge one, yes, for he had no military power backing him now, but even a straw could break a camel's back.)

"I bet that's exactly what he's doing," Morgan nodded. "It's not like him to work alone. Or, you know, to work at all, but that's not the point. Politically, though? He's dead. Nobody will support the claim of the king who lost his own castle and only has one servant at his disposal. Not in these times, anyway. Men are expensive, you see? No point to throw their lives away just to advance the agenda of a beggar with a fancy name." Hmmm. What did that mean in practice, though? "Do you have an idea of where he could gain allies? Some notorious bandit groups, for instance? I believe he'll be searching in the wastes-- especially if he doesn't have a horse." With some luck, a rogue machine would kill him and they wouldn't have to deal with any of this, but being prepared never hurt, did it? Which was exactly what Morgan was going for here!
 
"'Course. Adrianne and I can help you with that." Sam volunteers for the both of them when prompted with Morgan's research, throwing an arm around a reluctant-looking Adrianne. "We've been leading most the hunts nowadays. We know the land better than anyone."

"Yeah, I guess so. But I want to sleep before I even think about stepping foot outside." Adrianne shrugs out of Sam's hold, setting aside any reservations she may or may not have. The languid way she sips on her cocoa and sinks deeper into her chair magnifies the dark circles under her eyes. She's obviously tired. They all are, of course... but especially Adrianne. Guinevere knows the weight of leadership-- and that's essentially what she burdened her with when she left camp. Hard not to feel at least a bit responsible for that. Except the way her gaze drifts off to the side implies it's more than that. "Plus, it'd be good to know exactly what your 'research' is all about before we go sticking our necks out. Now that we finally have time to get on the same page about... everything."

"I'll go, too. Once I figure out how the castle's defenses work." Guinevere pipes up, then. As someone who knows more about said research, voicing her support of these outings by volunteering herself might help convince them, right? Not that anything in Adrianne's tone even remotely implied that Morgan's research was a bad thing-- only that she wanted to be thorough. 'To know what she was stepping into', as she might have put it in the past. And going on outings with Adrianne and Sam again would feel like old times! Old times plus Morgan. And it'd make her inexplicably happy to see Morgan get closer to her gang--

"No, Gwen. You really ought to stay here." Adrianne throws the equivalent of a brick wall in the path of her fantasy before she can venture too far.

"What? I said I'm not gonna leave the castle defenseless. Even Arthur went on quests. I can mana--"

"Plenty of bandits out there lookin' for a girl with your description. You know why that is?" Adrianne presses and Guinevere fidgets and tugs at her hair, answering her question almost immediately. Because the first thing that comes to mind is that gang they encountered on their way to find the Lady of the Lake. The man with the magic sword who wanted to hold her for ransom... before she mouthed off to him, that is. Shit. Well, she's got Lancelot to thank for that, doesn't she? Besides, if they're traveling with an actual group, a couple of measly bandits are nothing. She's about to say so-- until, once again, Adrianne beats her to the punch. "Sure, you've survived bandits in the past. But that's not all. What about those cultists?"

"...Perhaps now isn't the time to hash this out?" Tamara steps in to act the mediator. "We're all a bit tired." But all Guinevere can hear is blood rushing in her ears. She hasn't even seen them all since the mess with the cult. And looking around now, she can see traces of the same stomach-sinking pity she saw on Adrianne's face before. Shame's an emotion she's grown all too familiar with since marrying Arthur. And now, her face is flushed with it.

"You don't know the whole story." Guinevere hates that she has to fight to keep her voice level. Arthur kept her isolated in her room under the pretense of 'protecting her'-- and that's exactly what gave the cult the perfect opportunity to strike! The negligence and assumption that she was 'safe as long as she was in Camelot' is exactly what helped them get away without a trace. "I can tell you now... if I'm out in the wastes with you and Sam and Morgan, I'll be safer than I am locked up in this place."

"I am not suggesting that we lock you up. I'm just saying you'd be better off if you stayed here with the others." Adrianne gestures her arms around them, as if to garner some support from the others. "There's also your douchebag husband to worry about." She looks to Morgan, then. "I can guarantee you any bandit out there would kill for a piece of this life. Arthur's a pathetic bastard, but we all know he's a smooth talker when he wants to be. Tons of dangerous gangs out there, but a lot of 'em... ain't the brightest tools in the shed. If he proves he's got wealth, flashes them something that glitters... they'll be on it like that." She snaps her fingers. "If he plays his cards right, he could rally himself a decent army out there."

"Yeah. If his arrogance doesn't get him shanked first." Liv rolls her eyes. "The Arthur we met was wearing shiny armor. Annoying and acting holier than thou, but he had his knights there to back him up. When he made all those promises, he seemed... well, mostly legit. The Arthur we saw the other day doesn't have that same leverage. He'll struggle no matter where he goes. Gangs... especially leaders don't wanna be bossed around. Fought tooth and nail for their place on top, y'know? If we're real lucky, he'll say somethin' stupid and get himself killed."

"It's like Liv said. He's weak and therefore not a threat to me now." No matter what she does, Guinevere can't soften the edge that comes to her voice. Does the thought of Arthur make her want to shrivel up and die? Yes. Does that mean she's going to cower in his presence? Hell no! And she can't stand being looked at like a frail little flower. She's used to the people of Camelot looking at her like a 'poor thing'-- but not her freaking gang.

"Gwen." Adrianne sighs. (Ah, that sigh. Guinevere always imagined this is what an exhausted mother must sound like. Sure, her heart's in the right place. She's just worried. But she's got no right to be so overbearing-- they're equals, here! She's not a freaking kid!) "Maybe if you actually listened to my advice, you wouldn't have..."

"You want to finish that thought?" Guinevere knows she should just put this issue to bed already, but she can't help it. The anger is tight in her throat. Tight as a corset hugging her ribs. But this is how they function. The sooner they lay this shit out on the table, the sooner they can sort through the mess it leaves behind.

"--What about Jen?" Yep, there it is. The final nail in the coffin. "She's not locked up in a cell, is she? Hell, I know she's not just by looking at you. I get you're probably dying to get out of here, Gwen, but you've got to face it. You'll be a liability in the wastes."

"...Well, that's fucking great." Guinevere saw that one coming... although she didn't expect it to sting so much. She stands and makes for the door. "Now that that's out in the open, I'm gonna get some air. Don't get up, I'll be back in a few."

"You two really couldn't go a single day without getting into it?" Tamara massages her temples when Guinevere leaves. "We just got here."

"C'mon, Adrianne. Liability? That was harsh." Sam shakes her head and downs the rest of her cocoa. "After everything she's done..."

"Harsh but true. You know I'd never discredit anything she's done. She went over and beyond for us. I'm just acknowledging that because of it, half the goddamn wastes has her name in their mouthes." Adrianne counters, "Arthur and Jen are no doubt running around with their grudges, a cult's out for her blood, and she's running a whole freaking kingdom full of people whose intentions are questionable at best." She glances over at Morgan to confirm. "That's what you implied, right? Since we have to mind the way we carry ourselves?"
 
"Of course," Morgan said, all too eager. (...did Gwen's girls possibly think that she preferred to keep her secrets close to her heart, like a spider that wove its webs in the shadows? Because if so, they couldn't possibly be more wrong. Oh no, no, no. It was true that the sorceress didn't speak of her exploits too much, sure, but that was by necessity, not by design! Since she didn't particularly enjoy the prospect of being thrown into the catacombs, or whatever twisted punishment those bastards could some up with. Now when she had a less prejudiced audience, though? Oh, Morgan couldn't wait to expose what she was working on!) "Basically, I study the factors related to the appearance of the beasts. It may seem mundane when you look at it like that, but from the data I've gathered, I have been able to pinpoint the future epicentres of their activity with an... impressive accuracy, let's say." (And yes, Morgan did know the exact percentages. Did she think Gwen's people would care, though? Not really, and so she cut the information out. In this context, it would just seem like bragging, anyway.) "The data is also useful in combat, though that's not the main thing. No, mostly, I... am focusing on the restorative aspect of this. In other words, on figuring out how to reverse the situation." So what if that was to be Gwen's destiny? Their destinies were tied together, in the same way trees were tied to their roots, and maybe this was her role-- providing the theoretical background so that Guinevere might put the whole thing into practice.

(...maybe not, though. Maybe all of this was meaningless, and Morgan was just wasting her time. Still, could a pursuit of knowledge ever be considered truly futile? If nothing else, perhaps she could discover something that would allow the future generations to avoid this exact scenario-- Catastrophe 2.0, or something worse.)

Morgan almost got lost in her musings, as she often did, but... uh oh. Had she been too naive for hoping to just enjoy a peaceful, amiable dinner? One would have thought that was a pretty low bar to pass, but no, apparently! Certain people simply had no manners. (...it wasn't that she disagreed, per se. Having Gwen stay in Camelot would be the wisest option, you know? Not necessarily to keep her safe, but to ensure everything in the castle ran smoothly-- since, without their leader present, the lords and ladies often got interesting ideas. Did Guinevere not remember, after all, that Arthur's silly trips had been one of the arguments they had used against him? It wasn't that their quest would be nearly as idiotic, of course, but in the eyes of others, it might as well have been, and-- well, perception wasn't a passive thing. No, there was a power of creation hidden in the act, and if Gwen wasn't careful enough? Gossip could cut deeper than swords, which she'd learn in the worst possible way.)

...still, though. There were good ways to word such a proposition, many of them, even, and then there was this. This absolute freaking debacle! Was that what passed for diplomacy in the wastes? Honestly, Morgan probably should have said something, but she was too busy watching the scenario unfold, feeling a strange mix of horror and fascination. (...friendship, huh. Was that what it was about, punching below the belt like that? What an interesting concept. 'Interesting' as in 'infuriating,' really, because Morgan could practically see red! How dared they talk to her like this, as if she was but a rag at their feet? Unacceptable. Utterly so! Even so, or perhaps because of it, the sorceress swallowed her anger. Camelot had taught her to administer her poison in careful dosages, you know? Too much of it and they'd notice, and that would be no good.)

So, when Gwen ran outside? Despite wanting to follow her, wanting that more than anything, really, she stayed. She stayed, and sipped from her cup, and kept her expression neutral. This would be a nice opportunity to have a friendly chat with some of the girls, wouldn't it? The kind of friendly chat Guinevere, uh, wouldn't approve of.

"Yes," Morgan smiled, something dangerous flashing in her eyes, "that is correct. I might have been wrong, though-- it seems like you'll be able to get along with them just fine. You can always bond over criticizing every single action Gwen takes! I suggest you start reading about fashion so that you aren't left out, though-- they mostly enjoy lambasting her creative choices regarding shoes, rather than her being too involved for her own good." ...was the comparison cruel? Perhaps, but as Adrianne had said, it was 'harsh but true'. Certainly, the woman wouldn't mind tasting her own medicine, right?

"Look," Morgan began, deciding to be a lot more straightforward for the sake of... uh, preserving the remains of their relationship, "I won't deny that there is some truth to your words, but the way this was handled was uncalled for. Besides, if you talked to us instead of outright dismissing what Gwen had to say, you might have learned that there were other options as well. Magic can serve as a potent disguise, for example. Have you not considered that at all?"
 
Adrianne scowls when compared to the vapid women in Camelot. Even so, she keeps a cool enough head that she doesn't interrupt Morgan in the middle of her sentences. They haven't really reached the level where they can bounce off each other in an argument, have they? After all, they hardly even know each other yet. A lot was said in the last few minutes and yet so much remains unsaid. Months apart left her plenty of time to stew in all that went awry-- in all that she'd been helpless to change-- it's only natural that it'd all come rushing to the surface like this, isn't it? Last time she warned Gwen about Jen and lo and behold, Jen appeared in Camelot and sold her sister off to a freaking cult! Why should she sit still and let history repeat itself that way?

"First off, I didn't say all that stuff to be a bitch. If I mince words with Gwen, they won't get through to her." Adrianne narrows her eyes. "Tough love's saved her life more than once. We're talking practicality in the wastes, here. If she knows it's more trouble than it's worth, she'll stay put. And your research, which I think is pretty damn important based on what you've said, will go without a hitch."

"I'd like to hear more about your research..." Emily muses, loud enough to hear but quiet enough that she soon gets drowned out by other voices.

"--Can't tell you how many hunts we've gone on and been stopped 'cause someone recognized us as Gwen's gang." Liv sighs, preoccupied with picking at her split ends. Then she looks up. "Except then there were those guys who were scared out of their wits 'cause--" She squints, as if that might help her remember better. "Well, it sounded fake. They were tripping for sure."

There're some low chuckles there and whispers about 'flying maidens' and 'magic swords exploding into flowers'. Huh. Those stories they heard may be more true than they realize.

"It's nothing against Gwen personally. I'm just saying. She's a huge target and she should be prepared for that." Adrianne presses on. "Second of all... why would I consider magic? Magic's the last thing on my mind. The Gwen I knew used to avoid it at all costs... and okay, listen. I get you've opened her mind to it. Really helped us out with that monster when you visited together the last time. But it should always be a last resort out in the wastes. Maybe when you've got food on the table and a roof over your head, you can get away with using magic for every little thing. On the outside, it'll slow you down fast." She shakes her head. "Won't deny it's useful. I mean, you killed that son of a bitch monster. But you also fainted afterwards. Think you can handle maintaining some sort of disguise spell and expect to get away unscathed in a fight?"

"I didn't want to get into it now, considering we just got here... but I do agree. Gwen wouldn't forgive herself if you got hurt out there, Morgan." Tamara breathes out after taking a long sip of cocoa. "While I'm sure she would prefer to be there herself to make sure you're all right, she should trust that anyone who joins you in the wastes will keep you safe."

"It's only for one day out of the month, right? She'll get over it." Liv blows her bangs out of her eyes and releases the hair she'd been picking at all this time. "Besides, the castle should start feeling more like home now that we're here." She winces. "Even if we're starting off... like this. You really couldn't have waited, Adrianne?"

"I warned her about Jen and you all heard what happened." Adrianne crosses her arms and looks away, as if she wishes she could escape the room the same way Guinevere did. "I don't care if she hates me for it. Now that we're here, I'm not taking any chances."

"Okay, fine. Whatever. But maybe you should stop bringing Jen into this? 'Cause I think Gwen learned her lesson a long time ago." Sam suggests, leaning forward on her elbows. "Morgan's still right that you could've handled that better. She's been through the fuckin' wringer. Last thing she needs right now is more enemies."

"...And maybe we shouldn't assume we know everything there is to know about magic?" Emily finally steps in, as if she needed time to bolster herself with the courage to be firm in their current group setting. "You mentioned Excalibur the last time you visited. And sure, maybe that gang before was 'tripping'-- but what if they weren't?" She pauses, then, registering the incredulous faces around her. "Um, maybe Gwen should be here for this, too. But personally, I'm curious to know what you discovered since then."
 
Tough love, huh? In theory, that was an interesting concept-- except that, when you peered under the veil to discover what it truly meant, certain... undeniable truths came to light. (It was rarely necessary, you see? This alleged brand of love, in which you slapped your friend right in the face. Morgan would know! Because there had been many, many moments where she had needed Gwen to see reason, or go along with something she didn't fully agree with, and guess what-- miraculously, the sorceress had managed not to rub her nose in every mistake she had ever made since stepping past the gates of Camelot, nor had she put salt in her wounds. Communication, as they had learned the hard way, was the key. This thing that Adrianne was doing, on the other hand? Oh, that had nothing to do with that. A discussion was a two way street-- and if, while crossing that street, you suddenly turned around and punched your partner in the gut, then you got zero credit for your efforts. How could that be considered help? Love, even? The mere proximity of the 'tough' adjective tainted it, much like a few drops of tar contaminated otherwise pure water.

...no, Morgan decided, this was no love at all. This was an excuse, and a reason to feel drunk on your own self-righteousness. 'Oooh, look at me! I'm tough, but I'm right.' That was what it boiled down to, didn't it?) "Interesting," Morgan said, "as I've never had to resort to this. I suppose it's because it isn't that hard to reach some sort of understanding if you aren't too busy digging up past failings. Seriously, what will this solve? Who benefits here?" Since no matter how hard she tried, Morgan could see no such person. Gwen? Reduced to tears, probably. Adrianne? Cut off from her friend, if she kept this up. The rest of the gang? Caught in the cross fire. No, this was just... stubbornness, plain and simple, and that wasn't the kind of soil a compromise could grow in.

"I am not denying the reality of your situation," Morgan added, "but I stand behind what I said. Besides, there are other things you aren't aware of-- factors that might make her presence important. We may need her there, if we are to ever find out the full truth." Gwen and the Excalibur, the Excalibur and the wastes... they were connected, weren't they? Kind of like a triangle, except that what lay inside of it was still an uncharted territory. (And a scary one, too. Had she truly triggered the Catastrophe somehow? What would that mean, for all of them? For all her love of thinking, Morgan... didn't actually wish to consider that. A time would come when she would have to, yes, but before it forced her eyes open? She'd enjoy the moment, and the small oasis they'd managed to build for themselves.) "And as for magic," the sorceress piped up, "different spells require different levels of concentration. Illusions are just... parlor tricks, basically. It is nothing like leaving your body, entering the machine's core and tearing its entrails apart." ...a dramatic description, yes, and not entirely correct, but so what? It matched, very roughly, what she was actually doing, and those uninitiated to the arcane arts could could visualize it much, much more reliably than the theoretical mumbo jumbo. "And back then, I also fainted because I was unfamiliar with that type of monster. When you need to find your path, it is rather draining, you see? There will always be a strain, but today, I could take it down with greater ease."

The argument raged on, and suddenly, Morgan felt incredibly tired-- not just from this alone, but from everything they'd been through in the past few days, past few months, past few... years, really, if she counted the life she'd led before Guinevere. (And she kind of had to, you know? Because the shadow still followed her, its red eyes still gleaming in the darkness. If she looked back, Morgan knew, it would tear her throat out-- its teeth would color red with her blood, and it would be over, just like that. ...so, of course, she didn't do it. Instead, Morgan fixed her gaze on the presence, and watched, with all her might.)

"Yes, Gwen should be here for this, indeed," she nodded, "mostly because it's largely about her. I don't doubt that she'd share the knowledge gladly," unless this incident scared her off, "but frankly, the details aren't mine to share. Not entirely, anyway." Without a hint of hesitation, Morgan stood up from her chair. "If you'll excuse me." And after that? Well, hopefully Guinevere wouldn't be too mad about her denying her the privacy she had explicitly requested, for she was going to find her. (...it wasn't even about the questions only, really. Morgan was simply concerned for her, and didn't she have the right to feel that way? Guinevere had run off with a knife plunged in her heart, and perhaps she was bleeding.)

"Gwen," she said quietly when she spotted her silhouette in the darkness, and put her hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright? They, umm, want to know some answers to questions I cannot give them on my own, but we don't have to go back immediately. If you want to... I don't know, spill your heart... I'm here."
 
Guinevere twirls a black rose between her fingers and watches the petals spin, contemplating... death and new beginnings. All those things that lord what's-his-name said when he sprung a bouquet of black roses on her in the halls-- along with a long-winded spiel about how it was supposed to be a gesture to commemorate her gang's arrival and whatnot. One might have thought she'd have been better at understanding the frilly language they often used in this place... but most of what he said went over her head. (Though to be fair, her mind was still spinning with everything Adrianne said and-- and she's still gutted by the pitying looks on everyone's faces. A liability. Is that what she's been reduced to?) Even so, this marks the first time one of the lords had something positive to say about her choice. What would it say about her if she outright refused the gesture? It wasn't a proclamation of romance, that's for sure.

The color of the rose seems to draw her in like an endless void and... sure, she left the dining room to give herself some space to breathe. But it's lonely. And, sure enough, the moment she starts to feel empty is the moment Morgan steps inside. Impeccable timing, really.

"I shouldn't have left." Guinevere shakes her head. It's not the course of action a true queen should take. But in the heat of the moment, all she could do was hide. If she cries in front of them, it just gives their pitying expressions more justification. Once upon a time they looked at her like she was strong, like they could trust her to make decisions for herself and the rest of them. Like, you know, a leader. "I should be alright. Hell, I should be more than alright. I should be happy! But..." I don't want to be around them. The thought sinks her heart so deep that she can't bring herself to voice them. Why? She'd been brimming with anticipation to see them all day... and now that she has, there's this part of her that wants to stay out of sight. Maybe it's the reminder that things aren't the same as they used to be-- that they never will be again. The Guinevere they knew, to some extent, is dead and gone forever. Hell, the Guinevere they knew was human.

...But at her core, Guinevere is still Guinevere. That's what Morgan said, when the others jested about how different she seemed. Maybe she knows the ins and outs of how to lace herself up in these overcomplicated dresses, how to hold her spoon, and articulate like a lady. But she still cares just the same, doesn't she? Never once did she let herself rest when surrounded with all this luxury, nor did she ever forget the friends she left behind on the outside in favor of living a more 'comfortable' life. At the end of the day, she still wants them fed, happy and safe.

Casting the rose aside, Guinevere smears her fingers over her cheeks to erase the traces of her tears. The Lady of the Lake showed her how her life could be worse. That nursery... the kids playing with their wooden swords, the infant screaming in her arms. Living in an endless hell under Arthur's thumb. What she's living right now may as well be one of the best case scenarios! ...Then why does she feel so horrible? Shame gnaws on her with such intensity that she feels like she'll have to start pretending for them the same way she pretends for the people of Camelot.

"All my life, I kept mostly quiet about all the weird, traumatic shit that happened when I was a kid. In a way, surviving the wastes was sort of like Camelot? Only the opposite. Acting strong enough to survive was just as important as being strong enough to survive. If you're vulnerable, you're a... a liability." (Whereas in Camelot, she was expected to act doe-eyed and helpless. But that, too, required a herculean strength of spirit.) ...Adrianne really sank her claws in by calling her a liability of all things. A burden. Dead weight. Useless. Essentially, the opposite of everything she aspires to be! And the inescapable truth of the matter was that she was dishing out facts. "Now I catch people gossiping about everything that's happened these past few months. It's all out on display for everyone to see and I..." She shakes her head and gives a stubborn little huff. "Maybe it's a stupid pride thing and I just need to get over myself. Nothing I can do to change what's already happened."

"--We should go back." Guinevere tries to sound decisive as she smoothes out her skirts. Then, with an afterthought, she crinkles her nose and looks to the bouquet of roses she set on the table. "Oh, yeah. Some lord ran into me on my way out. He, uh, gave me these to celebrate my gang arriving-- I guess? I thought it'd send mixed signals to refuse them, but... what do you think?"
 
Camelot had been her prison, undeniably, but even Morgan had to admit there had been... certain advantages to it. And, no, she didn't mean the food, the feather beds or even the hearth where fire never went out-- those were important, important enough for people to murder for them, but they weren't all there was to it. No, she had also learned skills! (The fact that she didn't need to swing a sword, after all, didn't mean she could afford to stay completely defenseless. Quite the contrary. Duels took place in Camelot every day, as fierce as those you had to fight in the wastes-- except that here, in this castle, the only armor ladies wore was their wit. Now, reading your opponent? That was the most basic of skills, and Morgan saw immediately that Guinevere wasn't alright. That she was perhaps the furthest thing from alright, actually, even if she tried to seem that way. ...like a flower without sunlight.)

"No," Morgan shook her head. "Perhaps it was for the best. The conversation..." if it could be called that way, "...wasn't really going anywhere, and sometimes it's better to cool your head down. If you had stayed, it could have turned ugly. Well, even uglier than it actually turned, I mean." What had it been like, having to sit there and listen to all those accusations? From the mouths of your friends, to top it off? Gods, Morgan couldn't even imagine. She couldn't imagine and didn't want to, either, because this-- this must have been the foulest of betrayals. (In a way, the sorceress thought, it was probably worse than Arthur. Arthur had hurt Gwen in ways she didn't even want to think about, but frankly? Guinevere had known what she was getting into, in rough terms. Perhaps she had dared to hope it would be better-- that her new husband wasn't the heartless bastard he had later proved himself to be, over and over and over. Still, the offer he had made had spoken volumes about his character, and so the extent of his shittiness probably hadn't caught her off guard. If nothing else, Guinevere could have at least prepared herself! It had been kind of-- kind of like a duel, in that she had expected it. Using that comparison, though? What Adrienne had said had been a knife in her back. How cruel! Cruel and pointless, too.)

"Should, should, should," Morgan waved her hand. "Forget about that word. It doesn't matter how you should feel-- what you do feel is the important thing. And as far as I am concerned? You have the right to be upset. You have the right to be angry, too. So," she placed a hand on her shoulder, oh so gently, "just feel whatever you need to feel. There aren't any... I don't know, manuals to follow. I will be here for you regardless of what it is." That was what relationships were about, weren't they? Not that Morgan had had a lot of positive rolemodels to follow, but that was what she assumed-- from books and the like. And, right now? It seemed that Guinevere needed her to listen.

"I wouldn't call it a stupid pride thing. It is what it is, and honestly, I get it. All of that makes perfect sense. It's just that... well, this doesn't make sense. This place." This place, a shining diamond when compared to the ashes of the wastes-- except that diamonds were sharp, and you could cut yourself on their edge easily. This place, where a brother would turn against brother, and where the prospect of five minutes of glory meant more than dignity. Madness, that was what this was! ...and when among the madmen, you had to wear their masks, too. "So, yes, you will need to get used to it. I'm sorry. But, Gwen, this won't last forever. They may gossip about it now, though three months later? There will be a new story for them to chase, because there always is. In time, they will grow bored of... of what happened to you." A small solace to be sure, but better than nothing, was it not? Knowing that there was a light at the end of the tunnel must have meant something, the sorceress was sure.

"And, no. Not yet," Morgan grabbed her sleeve, her tone suddenly urgent. "There is something we should discuss. Your friends... they asked me details about my research. Namely, the details that pertain to you. So, how much do you want to tell them? Because I don't think you need to be entirely honest-- this is personal, and they don't have to know everything." Certainly not after they'd treated her, anyway. Admitting that she wasn't fully human wouldn't have been easy even under normal circumstances, but now? With the hostility that hung in the air? Oh, the sorceress wouldn't blame Gwen if she wanted to keep it to herself. "Just let me know what I'm allowed to share and I'll invent the rest."
 
Too touched for words, Guinevere settles for nodding as Morgan's advice truly sinks in. Several people have come and gone from her life, some changing it for the worse and some for the better... but has anyone ever invited her into a space as safe as this? Where it was perfectly okay to come and be exactly as she was? (Even if she was, to put it bluntly, a complete mess?) And fine, it's not like she's been completely alone until now. She's been open with her friends in the past. But even that openness had limits. Life in the wastes is a series of snap decisions. You survive one threat so you can live to face the next-- it's an endless, exhausting cycle. Out there she was free to express herself in any manner of her choosing, sure, but she was always too busy fighting to process her feelings in depth. Nothing good ever came from dwelling out there. And it's not just her-- the same could easily be said for the others as well. Oftentimes, kissing and making up was a means of prioritizing efficient teamwork over death.

If Camelot has given her anything, it's time. Time to think, time to feel. But it's not only that. With Morgan, the very concept of openness takes on a whole new meaning. They've seen given glimpses into each other's minds, even lived former lives side by side. And beyond the magic part of it, there's just... Morgan herself. The way she carries her compassion and gentleness with elegance, in a way that refuses to belittle her. Watching her now, Guinevere knows she's falling even deeper for her. Home was never a place for her. It was always defined by the person she felt the safest with... and it's clearer than ever that Morgan is that person. Years ago that person was Jen, and then Adrianne. The two might've hated each other's guts-- but they were similar in that they wielded their worry like knives. Caused her hurt and then claimed they did it because they loved her. This is different. Love with Morgan feels exactly the way it's supposed to.

"I love you a whole freakin' lot. You know that, right?" Guinevere tries on a smile. It takes a little work, but it's a genuine attempt bolstered by Morgan's kindness. "Thanks for coming after me. You always know the right things to say." She never thought she could feel so lonely surrounded by her friends. But she never seems to feel that way with Morgan. Still, she decides she'll give them all the benefit of the doubt. They're all tired from traveling-- from living that ceaselessly dangerous life out in the wastes."I guess this is kinda overwhelming for everyone. Realizing that a place like this even exists after you live your whole life out there is just..." She taps her fingertips to the sides of her head and brings them outward, as if to mime her mind being blown. "God, I remember my first few weeks were bad."

Yeah. Although that was less about Camelot's existence and more about the fact that-- well, yeah. No point reopening old wounds when there're new ones to touch upon, anyway-- seeing as her gang isn't overwhelmed enough to refrain from asking questions.

"Shit. Already?" Guinevere blinks, plopping down on the end of the bed and tugging at her hair. "I..."

"Well, I'm sure they'd be thrilled if they learned I could fix the earth with Excalibur. Anyone would be." Except that they might be weary in regards to the magical aspect of it all. Hell, the fact that she's been dipping her toes in magic alone is going to throw them for a loop. (And she's not even dipping her toes in at this point. She's freaking submerged in it.) And... "--Except I have no idea what I'm doing yet. I don't want to get their hopes up." And while she trusts them, it's hard to say whether every single one of them would be able to keep it a secret among all the people in Camelot, eavesdropping and starving for their next hot piece of gossip. And perhaps a selfish part of her doesn't want to shoulder the weight of their expectations just yet. Not when she's already carrying enough responsibility to break her damned back.

"Then there's... the rest. I don't know how they'd take it." Guinevere swallows hard, shrinking inadvertently. They're her friends. Of course they won't hold it against her! But in her mind, she still sees dozens of faces in a crowd, eager to watch her burn. Because what if it turns out that she was responsible for the hellscape the world has become? What if she reveals what she is to them and they never look at her the same? The only thing worse than those pitying stares would be stares of complete and utter horror. "I don't even know how to take it yet, to be honest."

"...We can tell them I've been learning magic. That I'm connected to the sword." She bites her lip, gazing hesitantly up at Morgan. "But there's a lot to all this that even we don't know, right? So technically it's not a lie if we say we don't have all the answers yet."
 
"And I love you," Morgan confirmed, casually, as if those words hadn't been so, so heavy just a few days ago. (Heavy enough her back had almost snapped under the weight, actually! How she had managed to carry it for such a long time, even? Utterly alone, just her and feelings so intense they had almost reduced her to ashes? That, the sorceress suspected, she'd never understand. The thing was, she didn't have to-- because, no matter what happened now, she knew she could talk to Guinevere. And, yeah, they didn't always have to agree, but so what? As long as the arguments didn't devolve into Adrienne's level of acidity, things would be fine. Fine, fine, fine! ...this time, she wouldn't lose her. Not to the burning pyre, or to her brother's whims, and most of all, not to her own stupidity. The home they had built wasn't a house of cards, and it wouldn't fall apart with the first storm. Never!) "Well," she smiled, "I'm trying. I've set a standard, you see, and I'd hate to underperform. Besides, you deserve it." More than anyone, actually.

"Hmmm," the sorceress hummed, "I suppose you are right." The 'suppose' was filled with a great deal of doubt, though, because stress wasn't an excuse. (Speaking wasn't like breathing, or blinking, or even needing to answer the call of nature, dammit! Not once in the entire human history had there been a case where a person had become a slave to their words-- where they had threatened to cut their throat from the inside had they not obliged, and turned into their vessel. Sleeptalking sorta came close to that, the sorceress guessed, even if that wasn't nearly as dramatic. So, her point? None of those harsh words had needed to be said at all! Adrianne could have bit her tongue and remained silent, for as long as she needed to organize her thoughts. Or, or, or, a revolutionary idea! She could have taken a deep breath, counted to ten and re-phrased her concerns in a way that wouldn't, you know, feel like a backstab. Instead, though? The woman had gone straight for the jugular, like a wolf hunting a doe. Disgusting, truly. Blaming outside influences was reductive, and not at all accurate-- Morgan herself knew what it was like, having to crouch, crouch and crouch under the pressure, so much that you forgot how to walk straight. At the same time, however? Not a single ugly word had escaped past her lips, for she had known her enemies would use it as ammo. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the crux of it! The difference between wanting and not wanting something, really. Both Morgan and Adrianne had a perfect control over what they were going to say at any given moment-- and Adrianne had chosen to be hurtful, because it was the easiest thing to do. The past of least resistance, really, even if taking it meant cleaving Gwen's heart in half.)

...still, however. They were Gwen's friends, not hers, and that second chance? That was Guinevere's gift to give, not hers. Very well, then! Morgan would play along, even if the whole premise seemed doubtful at best. I wonder when this is going to backfire on us. This... this tendency of hers to hand out forgiveness when it hasn't been earned, and likely never will be.

Even so, Morgan moved on. The day of reckoning would come for them one day, she was sure, but that day wasn't now and planning for hypothetical situations this abstract made about as much sense as trying to predict the weather for the next year. No, there were too many variables, too many moving parts. All she could do was to remain vigilant-- to look for the signs of the gathering storm, and react swiftly when the events were being set into motion.

As Gwen described what she was comfortable with, Morgan nodded. "Alright. Alright, that works for me. I think it's fair, too. Listen, Gwen-- if I go too far in my explanations, just... focus on the link. I'll sense it, and interpret it as a signal to shut up. Okay?" Because friends or not, Guinevere's gang surely wouldn't enjoy knowing that a secret this large was being kept from them-- in fact, them being her friends would only make it worse. Oh, Morgan could imagine the emotional blackmail already! 'Why? Don't you trust us, Gwen? We used to be so tight!' Oh no, Guinevere needed none of that nonsense.

And so, once they returned back to the room, Morgan put on her best neutral face. "Now we can talk, I believe," she said, calm and quiet. "I learned a great deal of things, both good and bad. At the moment, though? I'd say good news are more prominent." For the first time in her life, probably, and gods, was that a powerful feeling-- entirely overwhelming, too, like three glasses of wine drunk in quick succession. Don't get carried away. Give them just breadcrumbs, and nothing more! "We found out that Guinevere is the true heir of the Excalibur. As you can probably imagine, it is an... intensely magical sword, capable of great things. Of what, that we do not know yet exactly, but we intend to find out. That's why I've been mentoring her in the use of magic." And there it went! A grenade, casually thrown right into their faces. How would they react, huh? Would they be able to get over it, or would their anger explode? Because their response now, to this relatively tame revelation, would surely serve as a preview of what was to come later.
 
The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Or maybe, Guinevere thinks, they'll hear her botched attempt at gulping down her anxieties. Their eyes all dart to her, as if checking her expression to confirm that this is indeed the truth and not some kind of elaborate joke. Truthfully, she might've stared at herself the exact same way if her past self stepped through a time machine this very second. Coping with a racing heart and flighty nerves, she supplies her answer to their unspoken questions with a vigorous nod of her head. Her lips part and... nothing. What are words, again? Oh geez, where does she even start? Their minds are already blown and they haven't even heard a fraction of it! (Hell, she's barely started coping with all this herself... mostly in favor of making sure they all made it to Camelot safely. And now she has to try and figure out how to console them over things that happened to her? Things she, quite frankly, has no control over? It's not very fair... but such is life.)

"...Who would've thought, right?" Guinevere waves her hands in a lame attempt to make light of the absolute bombshell that was dropped. There's got to be some way to ease them into it. Silence won't do it, so she opts to start talking and hope for the best. "It all started when I had this... er... odd reaction to a place Morgan was researching. Happened when we were traveling back to Camelot after our first visit." Wow. Come to think of it, if hadn't been for that day when they ran into each other by the gates... well, they might not be standing here together right now. It's so wild to think about what her life might look like right now if they had missed each other by five minutes, or had decided to go their separate ways. They may have never begun to bridge that enormous gap that once stood between them. Morgan could have gone on to conduct her research on the night of the banquet... and had she not known anything at all about her research, Guinevere may very well have awoken from her two-day coma confused and frightened enough to believe the absolute bullshit Arthur fed her about enchantment and sabotage. Yikes, yikes, yikes. Morgan would still be locked up in the catacombs and-- and Jen probably still would have come for her. Both of them locked up with no way to control their own fates. And knowing nothing about magic, Guinevere likely would have died quietly from an infection in that cult village.

"Odd reaction?" Adrianne's eyes grill her with a heat that hasn't seemed to cool down, even after their brief break. Does she really have to nitpick? Compared to the scenario she just played out in her head, those 'odd reactions' she spoke about were nothing but child's play. Even so, Guinevere holds her tongue. She's had time to catch her breath since talking to Morgan. Besides... she's just worried. Right? Don't let her get to you.

"Uh huh. And since I was so close to the sword in Camelot, I had more of those... odd reactions." Guinevere narrows her eyes slightly. "Morgan explained that it'd be safer if I knew more about what was happening to me. About magic. And as you all can see, I'm still standing, so..."

"You're dodging the question. What do you mean by 'odd reactions'? If anything, that's just another reason why you shouldn't--"

"--Or maybe it's a reason why I should. There's so much we still don't know. So much I need to know." Guinevere cuts her off for a change. Geez. It's frustrating, having all her points bulldozed over! But, deciding to be the bigger person, she takes a deep breath and reasons with herself not to lose her head. And it's the truth, to top it off. They may be omitting a ton of details here, but there really is a ton she doesn't know about herself. About the dangers she could pose to herself or to others... by being something other than human. "Look. If I didn't have Morgan around to teach me about what I was going through, I wouldn't even be standing here right now."

"That's... a bit dramatic, isn't it?" Liv appears chooses her words carefully here, as if gauging whether or not she should phrase it like that as she says it.

"No. It's the truth." Guinevere answers Liv, but levels a hard stare at Adrianne. There's one issue she needs to put to bed, isn't there? One thing that Adrianne won't ever let her live down... it's about time she addressed it, even if it's painful to talk about. "Even if I believed your warning about Jen, Adrianne-- I don't think that would've stopped what happened to me. And I know what you're going to say. There's no way of knowing that, is there?" She glances at Morgan with undisguised warmth. Recalling the memories that flooded her mind as soon as it was clear enough to process them, the way she held onto them and wielded them like a sword to forge a path for her escape. "But in the end, I was saved. And I know exactly what saved me."

"Using magic, I put the guard to sleep. Untied my bindings..." Guinevere suppresses the urge to flinch when she remembers the rest. Maybe now's not the best time to bring up her big marble statue in the village square. The one that she sent crashing down, down, down. "Then I ran like hell. And I could only do all that because of everything I learned from Morgan."

Adrianne's got a peculiar glower as she looks between them, sensing their closeness and probably... not liking it so much. (This could be considered a win, though, because for now it seems like she has nothing more to say on the subject. Maybe they can finally let this Jen thing die?) Somehow, Guinevere still feels the slightest twinge of pity for her. Not enough to backtrack or downplay what Morgan did to spare her feelings, but... when they have a minute, she'll have to set aside some time to give her the proper closure she needs. If they can, you know, talk like civilized people and not tear out each other's throats.

"And that's not even half of it. I mean, you walk into a place like Camelot and you see the nice clothes, the furniture, the food... and it all seems pretty great. Especially when you compare it to the outside. But living here hasn't been easy by any means. We've been through more than we could ever explain in single sitting." Guinevere sighs. Because it's a lot. But it's also part of what makes them what they are now-- and that, at least, is something to appreciate. "I know you guys've had it rough out there, with the monsters changing and your hunts slowing down... but just because we've got walls here doesn't mean you should let your guards down. Okay?"

There're some low chatter amongst them at this point-- about heiresses and Excalibur, about Camelot, about a whole number of things. But no one has really spoken out yet, so Guinevere decides to take the opportunity to reintroduce her thoughts on traveling in the wastes.

"Um. That said, I want to come along to help with Morgan's research. We still haven't seen how Excalibur will react to the outside world... and I'm the only one who can carry it." Guinevere stands a little taller as opposed to shrinking down. It'll be harder for them to trample over her ideas if she stands her ground, right? It's been... hard to do that lately, while it's been so unsteady beneath her feet. Morgan's on her side, though, and that knowledge alone gives her some of the stability she needs. "--And really, guys? Don't you fuckin' dare look at me like I've forgotten how to hold my own sword! I'm not dead yet, so I've gotta be doing something right." Something about her tone clicks in that second, eliciting laughs and knowing smiles from a few of them. Well. It's good to know she hasn't completely lost her spark? She breaks into a small smile of her own, there. "Probably fair to say I'm a little rusty with my sword... but I'm sure you guys'll help me take care of that. And you haven't even seen me cast magic yet." Not useless, not useless, not useless. She's not! And most importantly not a liability.

"What sort of spells have you been teachi--" Poor Emily is too quiet to stand a chance when Adrianne decides it's time to speak up again.

"Well, I guess it all boils down to what Morgan thinks is best. Since she seems to be the expert and all." Adrianne can't seem to disguise the notes of bitterness in her tone. Hard to say if she's even trying at this point. "Do the pros really outweigh the cons here? Fact remains that she'll be hunted like quarry out there."
 
Well? What now? Would there be questions, or accusations? The former was good-- questions were a symptom of wanting to understand, and understanding was in short supply in this goddamn castle. The former, though... oh, the former. (Morgan could already imagine it, in vivid colors. The shock first, because it always began in shock, but then anger-- anger so hot it could burn you, if you were foolish enough to touch it. Would they think she had ruined Guinevere? Tarnished her oh so pure leader? Because while they had admitted magic was useful, they clearly didn't like it. ...much like the people of Camelot, actually. So many fun, fun parallels! No wonder, truly, that Gwen wanted to control how much information would be released. So, how deep did the rabbit hole go?)

Pretty deep, as it turned out. The expressions Morgan managed to read? It wasn't disgust, at the very least, but it was definitely disapproval. ('Why Gwen?' they probably thought. 'Aren't you enough?' Because Guinevere was their friend, you see, while she-- she was expendable. A sacrificial lamb who had chosen to walk to the slaughter of her own volition, really. So, why the hell was she dragging someone else down with her right now? Of course, they wouldn't ever say that. Even growing up in wastes, they had to understand there were certain things you just didn't say-- words that, once they left your mouth, couldn't be taken back. Oh no, they wouldn't insult her like this! ...except that their eyes still betrayed such thoughts, you know? The way they looked at her, with this maddening mix of pity and something downright apprehensive. Had they been brought up in Camelot, would they have cheered when Arthur had had her dragged to the catacombs? An extreme scenario for for sure, but... well. Morgan couldn't exactly get it out of her head now, when confronted with this invisible wall of iciness. No. There's no need to make assumptions like this, the sorceress reminded herself. They saved you, remember? Back when you passed out.)

So, mostly, Morgan remained silent. This was Guinevere's fight to fight, after all-- her friends, her reputation. She wasn't abandoning her, of course, but letting her flex her reasoning skills could only ever be helpful. A queen had to know how to earn respect of her subjects, didn't she? And this was a relatively safe environment for her to practice! ...that still didn't mean she wasn't going to correct blatant misinformation and when it cropped up, though. "This is not a what-if situation, Adrienne," the sorceress sighed. "I understand you may want to jump to conclusions, but..." you are not qualified to do that jump without hurting yourself, "you don't know enough about magic. Different rules apply here. These odd reactions she's having... they mean that the spirits are calling out to her. They won't stop just because you want them to, and if she doesn't learn how to listen, there could be consequences. Serious consequences."

There, that should shut her up. It wasn't even a lie, so this counted as a win, right? Especially since Morgan had been vague enough not to actually tell her anything of any real importance! Essentially, the only information Adrianne learned from this was "it's for her safety."

In an ideal world, this would have stopped the argument-- except that they didn't live in an ideal world, and wouldn't for a while. On an on it dragged, without an end in sight, and, really, what was this actually about? Because Morgan had a creeping suspicion that Gwen's newfound interest in sorcery wasn't the only thing that bothered Adrianne here. Oh no, no, no. The sharp edge of her voice? It cut like a knife, and oh, the sorceress knew such weapons were only ever brandished in personal situations. Still, she made no attempt to investigate-- with her self-control hanging on a thread this thin, Adrianne would soon reveal everything herself. No point in putting any effort into this, was there?

Ah, she suppressed a small smile, so this is the core of our issue. Me. Disappointing, truly, but not exactly surprising-- given certain hints Adrianne had provided earlier, Morgan should probably have expected it. But, alright. Alright, then! If she insisted on being obliterated with words, then the sorceress would deliver. "Yes, I am the expert here, Adrianne," she smiled sweetly, with just the faintest hint of danger in that curvature. "Since I'm the only one in this room, besides Gwen now, who knows something other than rumors about how magic actually works. Or would you perhaps like to teach me something new about my craft?" she arched her eyebrow questioningly. "Do go on. If you've made a breakthrough, sharing that knowledge will be most helpful to our cause. If this is about something else, though..." Morgan let the statement hang in the air for a few seconds-- made her guess, really. What would she offer next? A threat, or perhaps a compromise? Something sour, or something sweet? "I suggest we go outside and talk it out in private. Don't you think airing our dirty laundry in front of everyone like that is demeaning? Because I do." Oh, how good this felt! To be able to speak so openly, without fear of retribution. For years and years, this pleasure had been denied to her, and Morgan reveled in it now. "Don't worry-- I won't turn you into a frog," she added with a smirk. "That isn't actually something I can do."
 
Guinevere bites her lower lip, bracing herself for a storm as Adrianne releases yet another one of those long, long sighs. A hush rolls over the room. In fact, it becomes just as quiet as when they brought up magic the first time. Waiting with baited breath to see what she's going to say next. Everyone knows it isn't like her to push this hard-- Adrianne was usually the farthest thing from a hothead. Even if she disagrees with a plan, she tends to fall back and see things through anyway. Hell, she used to be her rock! Supportive and, yes, sometimes firm, but not-- outright destructive. Because right now, it feels as though she's trying to tear through Guinevere's ego like a wrecking ball. Airing out dirty laundry, huh. Morgan's sharp-- probably the sharpest person she's ever known-- and though Guinevere sensed it, she didn't want to believe that was what was fueling all of these attacks.

"Yeah, well, it's not being turned into a frog that I'm worried about. Maybe I didn't grow up in a castle, but you shouldn't go insulting my intelligence like that. Won't claim I'm an expert, but... we both know magic can do worse things than that." Adrianne doesn't bother hiding her glare at this point, most definitely beyond the point of trying. It might go unspoken, but everyone in that room (aside from sweet little Toastington) knows exactly what the proclaimed 'dirty laundry' was. Yikes. This is going to be... sufficiently awkward unless they can lay this issue to rest once and for all. The sooner the better, too, because looking between the two of them it-- it could get messy. And after all those battles she fought to make sure they'd make it here in one piece, that they'd be safe... she doesn't want there to be mess and hurt feelings. Or at least not more than there already was. Especially not on the first day! Guinevere prepares herself to speak up on Morgan's behalf if need be... when those narrowed eyes suddenly aim themselves at her. "It's you. What I saw you do, Gwen. I know enough to know it wasn't normal."

Um. What? Everyone's looking at her now, but all their expressions reflect the very same confusion she's feeling now. Except for Adrianne, who seems to know exactly what she's talking about. "Me? What are you..."

"Actually... you're right, Morgan. Maybe we should take this outside." Adrianne's glare falters. Seems like she might regret saying what she just said in front of everybody. Not that Guinevere's even paying attention to that. No, her head's spinning trying to make sense of what was said. What does she mean, what she saw? Either way, they do find a secluded place outside the room to hash this out without an audience. A nearby study, where they'll have some privacy behind closed doors. Privacy from the rest of the gang and the people of Camelot alike.

"What are you talking about? You’ve never even seen me use magic.” Never touched it before she got to Camelot. (But maybe that's not exactly true anymore, when there's something innately magical inside of her. There's no denying it anymore, no going back.) For some reason, Guinevere’s heart pounds like it wants to escape her chest— almost like something deep inside of her feels she has. And Adrianne is looking at her like she has, too. It dredges up foggy memories of waking up on her stomach with fresh scars all over her back. Those nights that followed, when Adrianne’s fingers brushed over her so hesitantly, as if she was afraid she might break. (...But honestly, it wasn’t even that. Not exactly. It was more like Adrianne was worried about herself. Like she was afraid of getting burned.) Which could have very well been the case, considering she had acted so dodgy and uncertain back then. Come to think of it, it was all those little unspoken things that piled up and caused them to break.

It'd been hard to see Adrianne that way. All too reminiscent of the reactions of people Jen made the executive decision to ‘break up with’ for her. Flinching away as if just looking at her face hurt them. (As if Jen did more than just break hearts, really.) But this was different. Because Jen wasn’t around to blame for whatever this was.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what I saw exactly, Gwen…” Adrianne finally softens. Not cruel enough to drive this knife in with too much force. “Deep down, you knew something happened that night. You must’ve.”

At the time, Guinevere decided it was because of the scars themselves. (Or rather the stupid decisions that gave her those scars in the first place.) But maybe… maybe she was naive in thinking it was only Adrianne’s worry that caused the rift between them.

“…You were out of it. I know you didn’t mean it.” Adrianne tries to reach for her hand. Guinevere pulls back. “But you tore that guy apart and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Because I knew you’d react like this.”

“Like what? Why are you—“ Guinevere can feel something trembling behind her words. Tore him apart, huh. That's what really happened? Something in her snaps with just enough weight to flatten those tremors, turning to something hard as steel. It's another load of baggage to unpack, sure, but at this point-- “Why are you bringing this up now? You could’ve told me back when I needed the answers. Back when I asked for them! Right now, it sounds like you’re just bringing it up to prove a point.”

"That night... it's still a blur. I don't even remember what happened. And maybe if I understood, things would've turned out differently. What matters now is that Morgan's been teaching me. If you keep rehashing this, Adrianne, we're just going to keep going in circles." Guinevere closes her eyes and presses her fingers over her temples. Suddenly, she just feels so exhausted. Maybe it's the staggering news she'll have to cope with on top of everything that's already happened, but... yeah, this really clicks some things into place. "Okay. Okay, I had a gut feeling, you know."

"...You and your gut feelings." Adrianne mumbles.

"I didn't want to be right. But I was right. You were scared of me." Guinevere says it plainly, her eyes taking an uncharacteristic quality. Like she's staring through her rather than at her. Adrianne opens her mouth to speak and no words come out. Great. "And maybe you don't trust me, either. If that's how you feel, maybe you're the one who should stay behind."

"And then you can leave me behind again?" Adrianne twists it and... well, there it is. It goes exactly where Morgan expected it to. "You make all these risky decisions and it's like you have some kind of death wish. Who wouldn't be scared shitless of that? "

"--Morgan, you said yourself Excalibur's an intensely magical sword. Can you really know for sure that you're not going to get killed trying to 'figure things out'?" Adrianne crosses her arms over her chest. "You haven't known Gwen for nearly as long as I have. Sure, she's got good intentions... but how do you trust she won't do something reckless with it?" She shrugs when she catches Guinevere's pointed glare. (Seriously. As far as she's concerned, time isn't the issue here! Seems like she's still just skirting around the issue, isn't she? Using their circumstances to avoid any talk of feelings. And Adrianne has no right to speak, not knowing what they've been through. It took time and work to get there-- but Morgan said herself that she trusted her. Guinevere wouldn't dare to take that for granted!) "She left for Camelot without a plan... and clearly had no idea what the hell she was getting into. What if it's the same thing with this magic sword? You're the expert, sure, but you even said there was a lot you still don't know. For all we know, it could be some sorta pandora's box. We're already living in the apocalypse. Don't you think that some things are better off left alone?"
 
"Insulting your intelligence?" Morgan tilted her head aside, the smile on her lips just slightly ironic. "Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm just saying you don't know enough. That doesn't mean you're stupid-- it just means you've never learned. Now, the only stupid thing here would be to refuse to learn. But you're not heading down that path, are you, Adrianne? I'm sure that someone who survived the wastes must understand the value of being able to... hmmm, how to say it... adapt." And, honestly? With each passing second, Morgan became more and more convinced that the woman should just shut the hell up, for her own good. Did she seriously not see that she was making a fool out of herself? (Second-hand embarrassment wasn't an emotion the sorceress dealt with often, mostly because she rarely empathized with the denizens of this wretched place enough, but damn. Some part of her respected Adrianne! ...that part was swiftly dying, though-- like a flower that was being watered with acid, really.) "Wait," the sorceress blinked, "what?" Because, wow, that wasn't the sort of plot twist she had expected. Gwen was the problem here? Alright. Alright, why not! At this point, Morgan probably shouldn't be too shocked even if it turned out Adrianne was actually an alien who had forged the Excalibur as a transmitter to communicate with humanity, and was now testing Guinevere's talent for sending out radio waves.

...still, that idea was too entertaining, and that meant Morgan could probably discard it. Sigh. Would they truly never enjoy a second of peace, even with Arthur gone? The conclusion seemed more and more likely, even if the sorceress hadn't accepted it in her heart just yet.

The one thing she could thank the gods for, though? Adrianne's willingness to speak in relative privacy. "Excuse us," Morgan smiled at the rest of the gang, somewhat awkward. "I will try not to make a habit of this. If you're hungry, just notify the cooks-- they'll give you something to eat." (Hopefully that would make this up to them, at least a little bit. The girls who weren't Adrianne probably also regretted it, you see? Not being able to talk with their friend without this-- this strange something hanging in the air, just waiting to explode.)

Now, Morgan didn't dare to guess as to what Adrianne might want to tell them-- for all she knew, the other woman might as well have planned to challenge her to a duel for Gwen's hand, or something. (The answer would be no! The very concept was a dehumanizing fragment of something they were striving to eradicate-- a cancerous growth that just wouldn't die, really. Supporting such practices would be betraying everything she had ever believed in! ..well, that, and the sorceress also refused to become Adrianne's suicide weapon. Magic wasn't exactly a tool for subjugation, you see? No, magic yearned for blood, and it would get it-- one way or another.)

Except that Adrianne chose to, uh, drop a bomb of a very different nature. Oh, gods. Oh, gods indeed, for it was hard to think of any other commentary-- it was entirely too much, in a way Morgan was way more familiar with than she would have liked. (Unbidden, the parallels came to her mind. Gwen and Adrianne? They might as well have been her and her mother, because the fear that filled her eyes... oh, it was the same. The same, same, same! The fear of the unknown, which could so easily grow into anger. Fight and flight were two sides of the same coin, weren't they? Both were responses to danger, real or imagined, and-- and-- No. This time, nobody will get hurt. You can protect her.)

Protect her from what, though? From the endless stream of words Adrianne kept pouring in her ears, like molten lead? And the worst thing was that they were running in circles, too! If they were getting somewhere with the woman, Morgan might have been more patient, but... no. No, she wasn't arguing in good faith, just like foxes weren't entering henhouses with the intention of finding new friends. "Pffft," the sorceress chuckled, "I believe that you haven't known her for as long as I have." And an explanation to that statement? Adrianne could wait an entire lifetime if she felt so inclined, but Morgan wasn't obligated to answer. No, let her wrack her brain for the solution to this puzzle!

"And no, I can't guarantee that I won't die," Morgan sighed and folded her arms on her chest. "What is this but another kind of death, though? Do you want to hide behind these walls for the rest of your life, Adrianne? Trust me, it's not as great as it probably seems. You'll see in a few weeks, I'm sure. And Gwen," she raised her chin, "Gwen saved my life, multiple times. She has also been a part of every scheme I've run since her arrival, and she's played all of her roles admirably. There is nobody I would entrust the Excalibur to sooner. But, you seem somewhat unconvinced. Very well, then! What would you have us do instead, Adrianne? If you have a plan that is 100% safe and also 100% guaranteed to bring about a meaningful change, then I'm all ears." ...and if Morgan's tone sounded doubtful, then that was only true because she did doubt Adrianne! (Jealousy spoke via her lips, not reason. Now, was the reason still there, buried under all that resentment? If so, perhaps they could awaken it once more.)
 
Guinevere bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. (She needed a little break from the stress, okay? Adrianne's confused expression is just too funny and-- technically-- Morgan is telling the truth!) Aside from that, there's something undeniably cathartic about... this. The past they share. It's something that's theirs and no one else's. Something that no one can take away from them. And in this world? That's worth a hell of a lot. (As a twin, maybe she innately craves a connection of this breadth? It wasn't even remotely the same, of course it wasn't, but she used to share parts of her life with Jen that no one else could have. They knew everything about each other. When Jen ran off, it was like she took a part of Guinevere with her.) Oh wow. Come to think of it, Morgan was a part of her life for longer than her own twin sister. Their history transcended death itself.

I can't guarantee that I won't die. And their history was rife with death. With the good came the bad. Guinevere subtly wraps her arms around herself, pressing her fingers hard against her sides. Your fault, your fault, your fault. Those voices haven't lost their teeth yet and their bite is malicious as ever. Dig too deep and she may lose herself to them. A fog of mystery wove itself between those moments they saw. How many of Morgan's past lives was she responsible for ruining? What if she caused the very apocalypse they've been living in?

That's why these answers are so important, right? Once they know for sure, she won't have to torture herself with the what-ifs anymore. Even if the truth turns out to be a knife to the gut-- she'll take it facing forward, damn it! She'll face it and learn how to atone for it, if need be.

Mhm. Yeah. Only Guinevere needs to make sure that Morgan doesn't die. This time-- this time it's got to work out for them. They'll get to experience the future they fought for together. It'll be different. It's already different! For better or worse, the wastelands exist. And because it exists, she grew up learning to survive. Sure she didn't grow up knowing what she was, or knowing anything about magic... but she refused to accept the role of the 'liability' that Adrianne was trying to push on her. And as Morgan continues to speak, she only confirms that. (Ah. It's refreshing to hear that she's done at least something right, after those looks of pity and Adrianne's badgering.)

"Life's never gonna be a hundred percent safe. Not when the world's in this state. I just think it's dangerous enough without..." Adrianne looks from Guinevere to Morgan and then sighs. "What does it matter? Clearly, you two are gonna go on and do whatever you want with or without my input."

"I get why you're worried." Guinevere tries to empathize with her. She knows exactly why and the details are... grisly. Of course, she's not going to sink to the level where she touches upon old wounds to get her points across. (She's been on the receiving end of that enough today and doesn't want to put anyone through the same shit. Not even Adrianne.) She's got to be tired after traveling and... and probably needs to sleep on it. "And I know I've always been a bit... uh... impulsive. Don't look at me like that." ...because Adrianne's expression says 'you think?', "I promise I won't ignore the risks. Last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt. But magic is a part of me and... that's not something I can turn off or ignore. I think it'll be okay, though. Because Morgan's gotta be the most qualified teacher around." In the world, she wants to say, but, heh, is that a little too cheesy? "I trust her."

There's a period of silence, where everything they've said up until that point seems to sink in slowly. Either Adrianne's getting too tired to fight this losing battle, or they're finally managing to convince her.

"No offense... but if I hear you two gush over each other again, I'm going to claw my own eyes out." Adrianne drags her hands down her face and Guinevere blinks. "Fine, okay? Fine. Do what you've got to do. I still don't get exactly what's so meaningful about this 'Excalibur', but... you two obviously do." She breathes out a slow breath. "I've only ever seen magic do harm until..." She glances begrudgingly at Morgan, "Until you showed up. You helped us with that monster... and I owe it to you to give you a chance. Just don't make me regret it."
 
"With or without your input?" Morgan asked, her eyebrow flying high. "Not true. Well... it is true, I suppose, when it comes to magic. Surely you wouldn't take kindly to being lectured about how to hold your sword by someone like me, either, now would you, Adrianne? Given that I've never used it, not once in my life." She didn't have to finish that thought, for the implications were clear enough-- 'this is exactly what you are doing, friend.' And, honestly? Morgan had had enough of tiptoeing around this subject! Around this subject that nobody but her knew anything about, mind you, and yet they somehow thought it was appropriate to act as if their uninformed opinions were worth more than the dust underneath her feet. (...because, in order to be able to provide some insight on the issue, you first had to study it, you know? Wow, what a concept! The forgotten art of common sense, now swallowed by the wastes.) "So, yes, I don't really think you have much worthwhile to say about this," Morgan continued, with all the mercy of a knife. "But that doesn't mean that I think your opinions are worthless in general. I'm sure there are areas about which you know much, much more than I do, and I will ask you for your expertise when stumble upon such an issue. And," she added, somewhat sheepishly, "if you want to learn how magic works, I can teach you. Theory only, of course. Then, when you understand, we may actually converse rather than... rather than engage in verbal combat."

Because that was what this was, wasn't it? An argument fought not to find the truth, but to bring your opponent down. The equivalent of a dead end, really, and they had been bashing their head against that metaphorical wall for a while now. (...mostly, it was Adrianne's fault. Morgan refused to accept the responsibility here, okay? She had only defended herself and Guinevere from these entirely unfounded attacks, and... alright, alright. It kinda was her fault as well, with the way she had reacted and everything. Perhaps kindness would have been a better route, but that just wasn't her way, you see? Morgan just wasn't about that other cheek nonsense. When someone attacked her, she retaliated, and that was entirely reasonable! ...as long as you were dealing with an enemy, at least. Was that who Adrianne was? Her treatment of Gwen sort of nudged her in that direction, but even Morgan could see that there were shades of grey in this. Unlike with Arthur, her antagonism was inspired by fear and a lack of understanding and jealousy, probably-- it the difference between a dog who had been driven into a corner and lion on the prowl, really. So, did she really deserve all of that harsh treatment? ...maybe, but as of now, Morgan couldn't tell. That was the reason she decided to offer the other woman an olive branch for now-- a chance to correct her behavior, and the means to do so. And if she still continued with her meaningless crusade? Then, and only then, would the sorceress scratch her name from the list of potential friends for good.)

Somehow, Adrianne must have sensed the change in the atmosphere, because she... uhh, relented. Not in the most graceful way, sure, but the reality of the situation? She had granted them her blessing, and thus the cooperation of the gang as well. (Quietly, Morgan released breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Oh, thank you, gods! This would be so, so much more easier.)

"Thank you," the sorceress bowed, deciding to ignore the gushing comment for now. "You won't regret this, that much I can promise. We shall tell you more about the Excalibur and such in the future-- it's just that we do not want to speak before we are sure about certain things. Surely you understand. But, Adrianne? I meant what I said. It is not my intention to hold my knowledge over you forever. If you're willing to put in some work, I can show you the ropes, and once you understand how these things work, you can judge for yourself. And, umm..." Morgan looked on the floor, suddenly a bit sheepish. "I apologize if I offended you. I understand that your situation must be... difficult..." mildly speaking, "...and even if I may speak harshly at times, I don't think we need to be enemies. I don't know about you, but I don't want to have to brace myself for an argument every time we meet in one of those hallways."
 
Adrianne glances briefly at Guinevere when Morgan suggests that she learn herself, as if to gauge the reality of the situation she found herself in— as if she doesn’t quite believe she’s gotten to the point where she’s even listening to the prospect of learning more about magic herself. As a whole, she probably wasn’t entirely prepared for what awaited for her behind Camelot’s gates in the first place. That combined with the magic bombshells that were dropped— it’s a lot of new information to pile on someone’s plate in one day. Of course Guinevere doesn’t expect Adrianne or anyone in her gang to eat it all up without hesitating first. (It’s… kind of like finding insects to eat out there. No matter how hungry you were, you had to take your time and cook them through first. Get rid of the damned parasites first. They’re rightfully cautious. Had to be, to survive out there.)

“…I get it." She does. "We’ve seen magic fuck people up on the outside.” And she hasn’t forgotten that. Guinevere puts herself in Adrianne’s shoes, hoping to reach her halfway now that she’s softened a little. “In the wastes, it was just another thing that could kill us. That’s the thing. Back then, like you, I only had the perspective of someone who lived on the outside. In Camelot, we have the resources to take care of ourselves if need be. And information. Magic doesn’t always have to be a weapon. It’s also… potential.” Exactly. Someone incredibly brilliant (and beautiful) once told her that. She might've said as much with a dopey-ass grin if Adrianne hadn't snarked about their 'gushing'. Then again, rubbing it in her face when those old wounds are still sore... that'd be too cruel. “Excalibur may be a weapon." Well, duh, it’s a… a sword. "It being, um, a sword and all." Stupid, stupid. She rubs the back of her head sheepishly. "But I don’t want to to use it to hurt anybody.” She wants to help people. To restore the earth. Except she can’t bring herself to say so when she doesn’t know how yet. Hell, if she knew, she’d have done it by now!

“…I do trust you, Gwen. I know you wouldn’t. Not on purpose.” Adrianne huffs and averts her eyes (almost as if trying not to laugh) rubbing the side of her neck. “You had to kill to survive, sure… but you never picked up the sword to kill. You did it to protect people. That’s why…” Hm. Whatever she was going to say, she chooses not to say it.

“…You too.” Guinevere decides not to goad her on, nostalgia sparking in her eyes as she remembers talking about it. Side by side on the ground, out of breath and staring into the gray. Before Lancelot, Adrianne was her go-to sparring partner. Her equal in swordplay. “That’s why I’d feel better if we were on the same page about this.”

Adrianne nods (a little reluctantly-- but it’s a nod nonetheless!) and fixes her full attention on Morgan as she finishes. Her expression is hard to read for a moment… Guinevere holds her breath… and then she shrugs.

“Nah, don’t apologize. It’s not like I was behavin’ like a ray of sunshine myself. We’ve all got our own opinions. Ours clashed, so it’s only natural we butt heads.” She says matter of factly. Adrianne might put up a hell of a fight sometimes, but she tends to be pretty agreeable once she cools down. “Don’t get me wrong. It might take a while still before I’m completely on board with all this—” She nods. “—but I can respect that you’ve got the guts to stick up for yourself. Geez, you must be sick enough of playing nice with everyone in this damned castle. No need to do that with me.”

And from there, it was settled. At least for the time being. There may have been a little uncertainty in regards to the magic and Excalibur still hanging in the air, but that couldn’t be expected to evaporate like morning dew. Aside from that, the remainder of the gang’s first night carried on without a hitch. (Well. Amongst all of them, that is. Meanwhile, the people of Camelot traded plenty of conspiratorial glances and scurried away if they so much caught sight of one of the new women in the halls. The next morning, they complained of getting very little sleep knowing a bunch of 'filthy ruffians' lived behind their precious walls.) Not exactly a surprise. These were the very issues Guinevere and Morgan were prepared to face long before her gang even stepped through the gates. This would... take some time. She recommended that they stay in their rooms (recommended, because no way was she going to pull an Arthur and lock them all away) unless it was absolutely necessary to go out. They were content to oblige, having beds to sleep in and food to eat. They had plenty of time to rest... and the people of Camelot had plenty of time to recover from the initial shock. (Mostly because they kept to themselves. The gossip hadn't stopped, would probably never stop... but what could you do?) The real struggle would undoubtably arise when the two groups officially... interacted. Undoubtably there would be unavoidable disputes over beliefs and manners. Accusations would be flung around left and right. It was impossible to expect that all of this would go on without some mess.

A few weeks passed and the gang took her and Morgan's 'Surviving Camelot 101' fairly seriously. (Well. Not so much in the actual lessons themselves. Their actions reflected a bunch of early-days Guineveres who snorted and cracked jokes. But in practice? They were doing as okay as could be expected. It was clear they didn't like having to swallow their honest opinions. There were also a good handful of squabbles... but nobody's perfect, right? Point is, they really were doing their best.) Days passed by in a busy whirlwind... but eventually, something resembling a manageable routine fell into place. Before she could get too comfortable, though, things shifted as they often did. A voice is calling... a tether pulling...

Guinevere blinks her eyes open to greet a new day. Her chambers haven't been entirely renovated yet, amidst all the chaos. Priorities dictated that she focus on other things first. But improvements were made, considering they got rid of the bed and ridiculous curtains. (She chose new items in pretty shades of blue to replace the gaudy reds and golds. A decision that miiight have been attributed to Morgan saying it was her favorite color.) Prettier than the blues, though, is the sight she gets waking up next to Morgan. Positively ethereal, awash in sunlight streaming in from the window. (Ethereal? Geez. She's heard so much romantic poetry lately, it's starting to leak into her thoughts. She didn't even know what ethereal meant a few days ago!) Gingerly, she traces her fingertips over Morgan's shoulder and down her arm. Makes a slow path down towards her hand.

"Morgan?" Guinevere says, soft and hesitant and raspy with sleep. "Uh, I don't know if this is going to make sense, but... I think Excalibur woke up." For the first time since they set Arthur's throne on fire. "I can feel it again." She squints, experimentally pressing her free hand over her chest. The problem is this 'feeling' is reminiscent of what she felt the night of the banquet minus the hypnosis. After all... they're a team now, her and Excalibur, and neither controls the other fully. Either way, it's awake and impatient at that. "It's pulling. Like it wants to lead me somewhere."
 
Days turned into weeks, as they always did, and Morgan used that rare period of calm to... well, some might call it 'scheming', but that was such an ugly, ugly word. Besides, these things depended on the lenses through which you chose to view them, didn't they? And if the lords and ladies chose to see her efforts to pave the path towards a better future as nefarious plans, then that was on them.

So, the first few days? Morgan did nothing, and let the rumor mill tire itself out. (With so much fuel, any efforts to stop it would have been even more pointless than usual. Ultimately, not that much happened within the walls of Camelot, you see? They lived the lives of aristocrats, yes, but only their beta version-- unlike the true kings of old, these people couldn't look towards a lavish feast every other day, nor could they visit their relatives in other countries to flaunt their wealth whenever they liked. Oh no, no, no. The only thing that divided them from peasantry was their own sense of superiority, and that was such a fragile, fragile thing! So, endlessly, they sought for a distraction-- for that little something that would allow them to look away from that fundamental truth without even realizing they were refusing to face it. ...pathetic, in truth. Like rats in a maze, really, except that those rats, if they reached the center successfully, were at least rewarded with a piece of cheese. Now, what did these guys get? A few more seconds of peace, as fake as the rest of their identity? The ability to sleep soundly at night, without the need to confront just how insignificant they were? ...she was going to grab them by their collars and drag them out of those self-indulgent daydreams, whether they liked it or not. They could kick and scream and curse her name, but this just wasn't sustainable, dammit! The whole castle, majestic as it was, stood on feet of clay.)

And, as expected, the ladies in particular had a field day with their new roommates. Adrianne in particular attracted a lot of unsavory attention-- Morgan didn't even bother to pay attention to most of the nonsense, really, though if she had to pick the absolute winner of the Most Ridiculous Story category, she would definitely go for the one where, uhhh... they seemed to believe Adrianne had bewitched their queen and planned to make her sacrifice the Camelot children to some dark god? (It was good to see, Morgan guessed, that some things didn't change. A suspicious activity in your neighborhood? Why, just blame a witch! Make one up if you have to, really, but don't forget to drag the name of magic through the mud for absolutely no reason at all, because that was surely the sign of being a well-adjusted adult. ...still, as days went on, the children remained unsacrificed, and even the biggest conspiracy theorists had to admit that they might have been wrong. And, when that moment came? Morgan struck.)

It began innocently enough, following the boiled frog theory-- Morgan sent the knights away on an intensive training, and nobody could possibly complain about that. (Everyone had seen the monsters, hadn't they? And, more importantly, also just how incompetent their noble protectors were. Honestly, that they hadn't been tarred and feathered yet was a mystery to Morgan, but... well, a good PR could be more powerful than actual magic, she supposed. A form of mind control so subtle that you didn't even realize you were being controlled, really, and wasn't that just the greatest?) Anyway, with the ladies so vulnerable now, they didn't find it in their hearts to complain when the sorceress suggested that Guinevere's girls protect them for the time being. It being a temporary thing, not much would change in their routines, right? ...except that, oh, everything would change. (Once they realized that these women were people, they couldn't go back to these-- these caricatures of them they had dreamt up, probably to cope with their own irrelevance. And for that realization to happen? They needed to talk, on a daily basis, and Morgan would give them the opportunity. Plenty of them, even!)

So they slipped into a rhythm, slow and comfortable-- such rhythms, however, were never meant to last. "Hmmm?" Morgan yawned and placed a small kiss into Gwen's hair, admiring the way the morning sunlight made it look like molten gold. "Can't it wait till we eat our breakfast, at the very least?" Wow, now she was apparently joking! And about such serious matters, too. (Love could and did change you, really, because the sorceress couldn't even imagine saying something like that a few months ago. ...she couldn't imagine herself in most of the situations she found herself in now, however, so she supposed it checked out.) "No, no, I'm kidding. Don't hurt me, please," Morgan chuckled before hiding behind her pillow as if it were a shield. "But," the sorceress began when she calmed down a bit, "this might be something big. In fact, I hope so. What is it that you feel exactly? Describe it as precisely as you can. If there are any feelings associated with this, I'd like to know. Are you feeling hopeful, maybe? Or is it despair that grips your heart? Something else entirely?"
 
Guinevere scrunches her nose playfully at the joke, batting a hand gently at the pillow and leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. Excalibur can wait for five more seconds, okay? After all, she waited so patiently for this. To experience Morgan as she is, free (...or nearly free) of the suffocating, Camelot endorsed mannerisms. Without the ever present squeeze of Arthur's hands around their throats. (Controlling bastard, with his grip so goddamned tight that no matter how honest they were with each other, there were just some things they couldn't express.) Even more so than before, there's an openness about the fleeting moments they share in private. Early mornings are Guinevere's favorite. Sleepiness has a way of softening both of their guards. There's an ease about them, a contentedness before the day's stresses begin setting in.

A sort of intimacy that kicks in, especially now that they've begun to learn each other's morning and nightly routines. Of course, it wasn't like they could get away with this every night. Camelot was still Camelot and people always talked. They couldn't afford to be too careless. Guinevere may not have been book-smart, but she prides herself on being observant, you know? It's a skill that happens to be helpful out in a deadly wasteland. Point is, she made a point of memorizing the little details. How Morgan likes to take her coffee, the expressions she makes when she reads in bed, what time she tends to get tired at night. All of it.

"Unfortunately for us, Excalibur doesn't seem to understand the significance of a good breakfast." Guinevere hums. Although the incessant tugging is overwriting her appetite this morning. In fact, it's twisting her stomach in knots. (Like she would, for lack of a more eloquent description, vomit if she tried putting anything in her mouth.) Oh. Except... what if she has this all wrong? Maybe breakfast is exactly the issue, here. She remembers cracking that ill-timed joke in front of the Lady of the Lake about swords 'not having mouthes' and feeding. "Or maybe that's it. It might need, uh... breakfast. Viviane never explained how often I should feed it." Arthur stabbed her with it. The bloodstain on the cellar floor indicated just how well-fed it'd been, back when she officially established her connection with it. And maybe that was enough to satiate it until... now. Ugh. Even if the thought of giving blood this early in the morning makes her want to throw the covers over her head and go back to sleep. Ignoring the urge, she bolsters herself with a nausea-denying grin. "Guess Camelot wouldn't have a guide book on this. Like... 'the art of raising your magic sword?'"

As if sensing Guinevere was making jokes about it, Excalibur yanks on her harder than before. Oof. Okay, okay. Geez!

"...To be honest, I feel sick." Guinevere admits. Her cheer doesn't fade, but the exhaustion begins to peek through. "It's like strings are wrapped around me? And they're pulling forward. Kind of like Toastington does when the cooks make--"

The name, of course, rouses the puppy snoozing at her feet. With the immediate enthusiasm to face the day that only an innocent puppy could have, he bounds across her chest. And then his tongue is all over her face. "--Ah! Hey!" Guinevere's being attacked, here! But she's not mad about it. She holds up a hand to shield herself, giggling. "I awakened the kraken. Hello there, sleepyhead." Pushing herself to sit up, she gathers Toastington into her lap and ruffles the top of his head. "Are you excited? You're spending the day with Mia. She insisted it was her turn to puppy-sit."

Mia claims she prefers Toastington's company to the other children in Camelot. Guinevere doesn't blame her.

Preoccupied with scratching behind Toastington's ears, right where he likes it, she silently tries to analyze her feelings. They belong to her more-so than Excalibur. There was something about her dream, though...

"Excalibur wants something. Badly. I can try feeding it, but... it definitely wants to take me somewhere." Guinevere doesn't want to say that it feels like if she doesn't follow it, it could tear her apart limb from limb. No point in making a solvable issue sound worse than it actually was. "Last time I felt like this was the night of the banquet. And that day Arthur showed it to me for the first time. Except this time it's less painful... like I have more control." She has Morgan's lessons to thank for that, too. "If I had to say it was feeling anything, I guess it'd be determination?"

Both times Guinevere couldn't ignore it without passing out afterwards. The first time it wanted her to find it. And then when she did, it showed her that vision. The one of the earth being restored. This sequence of events must be connected somehow, right? Excalibur wants her to fix whatever's broken. "I think you're right that it's something big. Maybe it's finally trying to show me how I can..." She swallows. After everything they've been through, saying these words aloud shouldn't be so hard. And yet they're still mind blowing. "How I can restore the earth."
 
...strings, huh. Yes, that was an apt comparison! Always, always they would stick to her-- just like a spider's web, really, clinging to you the more you tried to get it off. Such was the nature of prophecies, you see? (And, of course, that was a good thing. Without Gwen, there wouldn't have been any hope of fixing this mess-- with her, it had begun, and with her, it would also end. The circle would close, in other words. Still, what would happen to her? In front of Adrianne, Morgan had worn her mask of confidence convincingly, but the reality was that she knew far, far less than she would have liked about... all of this, really. About the Excalibur, Guinevere's connection to it, and magic in general. Trying to know these things was like mapping the starry sky, you see? You could draw such a map, and you could do a make a good job of it, but eternally, you'd be a prisoner to your point of view-- because, no matter how hard you tried, the universe grew. It grew faster than your understanding, too, and faster than your hands could possibly work. How could you ever say that you had uncovered its secrets, then? You couldn't! A small, pitiful section of it was all you could claim to own, if that, and soon enough-- soon enough she'd have to gamble with Gwen's life, relying on that pathetic fragment. What if she was wrong? ...what if the earth didn't wish to be restored? What if, what if, what if?)

These and many other questions tormented her, but Morgan knew very well she couldn't afford to fall into this trap. Turning back now, after everything they had sacrificed? No, Gwen wouldn't agree. What was more, the Excalibur itself might not agree-- and going against the will of the enchanted sword just wasn't a good idea, as Arthur could attest. (No way but forward, the sorceress thought bitterly. As if we've ever had a choice. She liked to think they had, but really, wasn't that just a self-indulgent dream? A lie only half-believed, the kind you told yourself so that you might endure another day? Because given just how their lives had unfolded, it was entirely likely they had about as much agency as a bunch of twigs carried by the stream. ...the Excalibur called, and its voice had to be heard. Hadn't it always been like that?)

This time, the preparations didn't take too long-- mainly because they were allowed to do them out in the open, instead of stealing supplies from the kitchen covertly and hoping they'd last. Ah, how nice that felt! Just another perk of being more than her brother's hostage. Who will stay here to rule, though? That was a... surprisingly thorny issue to solve, but finally, they settled on Lancelot-- the knight was honorable enough not to try to seize the power for himself while they were gone, and the others respected him enough. (Morgan still had her doubts as to whether they wouldn't find the castle in flames once they returned, but you know what? So be it. Everything was in the gods' hands, anyway, and if they decreed Camelot had outlived its usefulness, they would have to deal.)

And so, that day, they found themselves standing in front of the gates-- a mixed company, with Gwen's girls and some of the more competent knights, in order to foster understanding and cooperation. (...hopefully, anyway. And if some of those fools died in the wastes, serving as food for the monsters they were meant to hunt? Well, the residents of Camelot could hardly blame her for that! It would just mean that their lives had been lost while they were performing their duty, and hey, wasn't that the greatest honor a knight could possibly imagine? Oh, surely, surely! No, they should be thankful for being allowed to die in such a glorious way. ...somehow, though, their expressions seemed less than enthusiastic.)

The sea of grey that was the wasteland embraced them once again, as if they were its lost children, and Morgan assumed her place by Gwen's side. "Where is the Excalibur leading you? Assuming you can still feel the pull. Also, could you describe how you... huh. Is that...?" And, indeed, it was! In the distance, Morgan could see the white stag-- its pearly white hide shone in the colorless world, akin to one of those stars pilgrims were meant to follow. A sign, so early in their journey? The gods were telling them to continue, that much was certain. Who knew what miracles they'd discover? Except that then, then a vulture dropped down from the sky, large and metallic and grotesque-- its shadow lingered over the stag like a premonition, like a piece of foreshadowing nobody had ever asked for. And before Morgan could do anything? It sank its claws into the animal, making it scream in pain.
 
The scene that plays out before their eyes nearly rips a cry from Guinevere's throat. She is by no means a stranger to watching nature take its course. (Or freaks of nature, which would be a better descriptor for these abdominal mecha-beasts.) How many times has she felt relief from having tracked down game, only to watch in dismay as it was snapped up in the jaws of one of those corrupted creatures? Having to turn and run, fostering that disappointment in her empty stomach, getting the hell out of there before she could become the prey herself. This case is different. There's a tether that connects her to the white stag-- or at least the symbolism of it-- which was made clear to her after she absorbed it in the Lady of the Lake's alternate reality. In this moment, the vulture's claws may as well have been sinking into her. Unlike her shadow's self's sharp teeth in her shoulder, the impalement of those claws hurt like a bitch.

Begins with blood, ends with blood. Guinevere remembers the cult's sermons, then. She also remembers how her first self got herself into this mess in the first place by rescuing a white stag. An innocent creature that couldn't possibly thank her or-- or even acknowledge the weight of her sacrifice. In this case, though, she was helpless to do anything but watch.

"Fear not, my queen." One of the knights puffs out his chest upon seeing her expression. Criminy. Guy really thinks she's reacting because she's afraid of that vulture--? That's not it in the slightest, but for once Guinevere doesn't have the fight in her to dispute him. "Stand back, ladies. I shall take care of this beast." He sounds very reluctant to refer to his company as ladies. (They insist on wearing trousers and carrying weapons! The horror!) Her gang, in response, watch the man with unimpressed gazes as he unsheathes his sword and lunges towards the vulture. They obey and choose to bide their time. Not because they feel protected, but more because they figure they may as well humor this nonsense. See how much harmless trouble the monster can give this entitled chap before they step in to help.

--You promised. You promised me you wouldn't hurt it! Guinevere, meanwhile, copes quietly with a shortness of breath. Shrinking into the shadow cast by the hood over her head, she does her damndest not to worry her gang or the knights. In her head rings the voice of the wild woman she knows now as her first self. Screaming, betrayed. Horrified. She doesn't see her face, but she can tell that she's hysteric, fighting tears. Why, it is a present, my flower. For you. The hide of the stag that brought our fates together. And who does the other voice belong to, if not the first Arthur? (There's that unmistakable tone of entitled asshole in there. You know, the kind that specifically belonged to Arthur in any shape, form, or universe.) Possessing the arrogance to talk with a laugh in his voice and down, down, down to her like she was nothing but a child who doesn't understand what's best for her.

One moment layers itself over the other. Two hearts beat and break at once and Guinevere, somehow, feels all of it.

Meanwhile, the knight struggles with the vulture. Flailing and frustratedly waving his sword in the air, as if hoping he might catch one of its wings by some stroke of dumb luck. Needless to say, it isn't working, and it only gets worse when two of his comrades join the charade. Their attempts only piss the vulture off and it's only a matter of time before it deigns to make one of the knights its next prey. Sam rolls her eyes and takes aim with her arrow. Sure enough, she hits the vulture square in the eye. It releases a janky, mechanical shriek before landing onto the ground with a heavy 'thunk'. The knights turn to gape at her, dumbstruck, and when Sam smirks they begrudgingly turn and advance on the fallen beast to finish it off. Every pained fwip of the vulture's giant wings against the ground bears an earth-shaking thump. (Hard to say if they're really out of the woods yet, though--)

Adrianne approaches the stag and drops down to inspect it's wounds. Glimpsing Guinevere's complicated expression over her shoulder, she's a touch melancholic when she sighs and shakes her head. "I don't think..." She steels herself and rephrases. "At this point, the most merciful thing we can do is put it out of its misery."

"Morgan." Guinevere makes an effort to make her voice quiet. Quiet so only she can hear. Because how can she possibly begin to explain this to her gang or the knights? Only Morgan would show some semblance of understanding. "It hurt. When the vulture... I felt its claws."

And, okay, maybe she doesn't get the symbolism of the stag yet. But this doesn't exactly bide well with her. If she felt the vulture's claws, would it be a stretch to say she might also feel it if they put the poor thing out of its misery?
 
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