Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

[ellarose]

"...We had all of these plans." Guinevere ventures gently, smiling even when an ache settles itself in her chest. Damn. How is she supposed to approach this? Morgan's had all their plans and the context of their relationship erased from her mind. Whatever she has now is a broad framework at best. And it's... unfair. Each time she thinks about it, she mourns the forgotten memories all over again. (It's unfair for both of them. Everything they've been through and at this pivotal moment, she can't open up to the person who once knew her most of all. The person beside her is still Morgan, yes. But in her love's mind, she's a stranger that she kissed once. A stranger she's... strangely connected to by the threads of whatever fate entwined them. And of course it's frustrating for her love, too! It's not her fault that she doesn't possess what was cruelly stolen from her. Seriously. Fuck those cultist bastards and their games.) "For the future. You were always so sure and... I admired that. It kept me going." It's true. The sorceress's certainty kept Guinevere firmly anchored to her true self, even when Arthur threatened to siphon all the confidence and personality she had left. Whenever she felt brittle, like something that could shatter with no more than a shove, Morgan quelled all of her doubts when she gazed at her with those steadying green eyes. Like she was still capable of victory despite it all. Like she was still the same Guinevere she'd fallen in love with and not just... Arthur's damaged, hollow doll.

Geez. It's going to feel strange to make herself entirely vulnerable in front of this specific version of her love. And again, yes, she's still Morgan. Guinevere knows she'll always love her, cruel fate and obstacles be damned. But she feels she owes this particular truth to the one who knows her inside and out. But they're doing this now, so... she's just got to stop prolonging this and rip the bandage off. No way to get a good look at the wound they're dealing with if they can't even see it, right?

"The fantasies kept me sane when I thought I was going to break. I smiled and went along with it. But deep down, I... I don't think I really believed it?" Tears threaten to spill again and Guinevere blinks hard to staunch the flow before it can start. She dips down to sit in the grass. Holding Morgan's hand with one hand, she brushes the other over the tiny blades of grass to remind herself that the potential's still there. Not dead. Still. Would her love see that confession as a betrayal if she possessed all of her memories right now? Well, there's no point in wondering. It is what it is. "For as long as I can remember, I fought my damnedest to keep everyone around me safe."

Guinevere recalls what that gross cultist said, about it being easier to mold a child. But for better or worse, they did mold her. They held her captive for years of her childhood! Years that she'd repressed that all came flooding back to the surface when they made a reappearance in her life. Maybe they hadn't shaped her into their image of an ideal goddess. Even so... they'd left her hurt and scarred in ways she didn't even see. Not until her turbulent world was frozen still and it was all thrown in her face, that is. The way they completely destroyed the bond she and Jen shared, to the point where they were at each other's throats in the chapel. The way those cultist assholes treated her and spoke to her. (And also how they didn't. Those nights she'd screamed and cursed until her throat was raw-- only to be ignored. They simply increased her dosage until she couldn't find it in her to scream at all anymore. Solved her like a problem. Like a broken machine and not a human being.) Those feelings reawakened with the force of a tidal wave with the way Arthur treated her as well. "I've dealt with ultimatums for as long as I can remember. First the cult threatened my sister when I didn't do what they said. And Arthur... he did the same thing with my friends. And you. If I took the pain myself, I'd be sparing the people I cared about. I got used to that, I guess."

Gods. Bastard threatened to kill Morgan on more than one occasion. His own sister! Yeah, he was a pathetic piece of shit down to his rotten fucking core. But she knew he'd make good on his threats if she didn't do exactly as he said. Of course that shit traumatized her.

"When I married Arthur, I was prepared to treat it like the death of myself. Needless to say, I didn't expect to meet you." Guinevere pushes past the lump in her throat. "You came to me with your plans and... you were my hope, Morgan le Fey." She bites her tongue so hard it bleeds, digs her nails into the earth. "But then my magic woke up. And I learned about my blood, Excalibur, the reincarnations and all of these things that seemed so much bigger than me and... the conclusion seemed obvious? I thought I couldn't cheat fate or death or whatever. I'm just some silly girl from the wastes who likes to wave a sword around, you know? I like picking fights with gangsters twice my size, racing, laughing over stupid shit, telling stories by the campfire." A brittle little laugh rolls out of her and she tips her head backward, feeling the rain on her face. "You said stuff about patterns before. When you told me that you weren't sure if you could trust me. We'd gone through so much at that point and I was hurt when you didn't... I said we'd take our time. Because I like breaking patterns. And I love you." She glances at Morgan thoughtfully. "I don't think I realized I had one of my own, you know? Not until all this shit came up to the surface. We fought battle after battle. I don't think I processed it. And everyone needed me to be strong, because they were depending on me. So I kept shoving it down."

Guinevere blinks, feeling the brush of something against her hand. She lifts it to find a tiny little wildflower sprouted up in the grass.

"Damn. What do you know..." Guinevere exhales incredulously, glimpsing from the flower to Morgan again. "You're fucking brilliant as always." She manages a sideways grin. "I'd pick this and put it in your hair to be romantic and shit, but I think I should let this little guy live." Sobering from her childlike joy, she scratches her cheek. "Um... I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have kept all of that from you. I don't think I really..." Realized? Well, maybe she did, on some level. But there were always bigger things to worry about. Reflecting on herself when so many people suffered seemed so selfish. But when Morgan put the issue so eloquently, that the world would need to heal as she does? Guinevere's eyes opened wide. She woke up.

Feeling absolutely drained at this point (but also unmistakably light?) Guinevere sighs and lowers herself to stretch out in the steadily growing grass. "Yeah. That was a lot. Sorry. But getting back to your question?" She tilts her head to peer at Morgan shyly through the sprinkling rain. "I think I'd like to thrive with you. I mean... if you... want to give it a try? I know we'll have to work our way back up and... it might be weird! And it's cool if you, um, need space. Or time. Or whatever." She blushes, feeling very much like a dork. "You've, uh, probably written stuff about me in your diary. Not trying to sound conceited or anything, but-- you-- you know. You mentioned it before. Maybe that'd help?"

 

[Syntra]

Plans, Guinevere had said. They had had plans. (Frankly, Morgan believed that. With all her heart, too. When the darkness was deep enough for her to drown in it, she did tend to focus on the future-- on that one bright hope spot, whether it was real or imagined. 'Endure this,' she had said to herself, 'and, one day, this too shall pass. The comeuppance will be sweet.' How realistic was it, though? How believable? And, really, could she blame Guinevere for not wanting to swallow the same placebo that had kept her sane throughout the years? It had helped her, but... well, not everyone's diagnosis was the same. A survivor from the wastes viewed the world with different eyes than she did, didn't she? They lived in the now and here, with the future being a threat more than promise.) "I don't know what the old Morgan would have said," the sorceress admitted, feeling equal parts uncomfortable and exposed. Just... was she even meant to be commenting upon this? In a strange, roundabout way, it felt like a betrayal of her past self-- of the one who had guarded ancient secrets, and had the answer to every question. Wasn't it anticlimactic, then, that Guinevere got to speak to her? To one who knew nothing?Yes, except that I am also the only one who remains now. Sheesh, competing with a corpse sure is stupid.

"I know what I would say, though," she added, her green eyes serious. "So, I'm going to say it. Ready? Guinevere, that isn't something you should be ashamed of. I don't have the right to know every single thought that hatches in your mind. Trust me, the conversational logistics of that would be a nightmare. Gods know that I most likely didn't tell you everything, either-- at least if I was anything like the person that I am now. If it helps, I... also think that doubts are normal. They protect you from disappointment." Sometimes, they also planted the very seed of failure, and wasn't Morgan oh so familiar with that? For some reason, she believed she was. (Gods, did seeing Guinevere this distraught hurt. The way her heart thumped in her chest, each spasm a thunder in her ears? Yeah, that was a better argument for the existence of their bond than everything else she'd seen so far. Funny, how something as volatile as feelings provided such a convincing proof! The Morgan from about an hour ago would have laughed at her thought processes now, but... well, apparently, there were many versions of her, existing in a constant flux. Why concern herself with that which was no longer true? Maybe living in the now and here was its own kind of wisdom.)

"That doesn't sound awfully healthy," the sorceress observed. "I mean, you cannot cut off your own flesh to meet those who are starving. Eventually, you just... run out of flesh. It's not exactly a renewable resource. Were you always such a heroine, Guinevere?" The sorceress laughed, not gently, but not sharply, either. If anything, it was... weirdly resigned? An emotion that you wouldn't typically associate with her, that was for sure. "No, don't answer that. I think I know the truth. Listen, there is a reason why all those knights in the shining armor - true knights, I stress - only appear in stories. Do you know why? Because you can't expect that sort of thing from a person. It would destroy them. Saving the world this, noble sacrifice that-- honestly, who can even pull that off? Who has the foresight? The fortitude? Someone who doesn't exist, I'd wager. The human brain can't even imagine how large a number a billion is, let alone the scope of everyone's salvation." Guinevere talked and talked and talked, though, and every word felt like a precious diamond. (She loved her? Her? That was something Morgan couldn't conceptualize, either, though she did enjoy the sound. That, and also knowing that she had grasped it once, despite everything. The metaphorical door being closed now didn't mean that it couldn't be opened again, right? )

Almost against her will, pink graced her cheeks. "I... I won't return it. The confession, that is. I don't want to say it before I know it's one hundred percent true, or... or at least ninety-five percent true. That's an acceptable margin of mistake, I think. Normally, I'd be fine with eighty percent, too, but this is a delicate matter, isn't it?" Yeah, because Guinevere totally wanted a lecture about statistics now. Ugh! "A-anyway," Morgan looked away, unable to withstand the intensity of those bright blue eyes. (How come they had just figured out how to heal the earth, how to cleanse the sins of their forefathers, and this still felt more significant? 'Hormones' was the obvious answer, but also one that felt woefully inaccurate.)

"It will be weird. There's no chance it won't be, but I suppose that I would like to be courted? If we're both such damned romantics, as you said earlier. We can take it slow, enjoy all those things that we couldn't do, and then we will see. That, uh, sounds nice to me. What do you think?"

***

When they woke up, the contraption Guinevere had been chained to was broken, and overgrown with weed. (They weren't necessarily flowers, though it still counted, didn't it? The smile it brought to Morgan's lips was just as real as if it had been roses, at least.)

Cleaning up all the mess was thankless work, however it had to be done-- no longer would the sorceress suffer traitors in their midst, nor would she tolerate backwards practices. All the remnants of their old life had to go! (Some of it, Morgan supposed, wasn't at all bad. She could tell that discovering Adrianne, drugged but alive, brought a great relief to everyone present, and seeing Guinevere reunite with her friends else felt emotional for reasons she couldn't pinpoint. That muscle memory thing, maybe? Either way, she was still yearning for a semblance of privacy! ...which did come, by the way, when she finally discovered her diary.)

"Oh, gods," Morgan put her hand over her mouth. "Those descriptions are pretty over the top. See? Apparently, I said you had 'sunlight in your hair.' This wasn't meant to be for public reading, I can tell." The notes were detailed, and all told the same story-- the story of her falling head over heels, like the absolute fool she was. Just, gods!

The more the sorceress read, of course, the more comments she offered. "We have a dog? I can't believe I forgot our dog!" and "Oh, so that is why Mia called me your wife. Cute." and much, much more than that. Except that, you see, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.

"Why won't she understand?" her former self asked. "She only has to endure it for a little longer, and then our plans will come to fruition. Rome wasn't built over a day." And, yes, Morgan could see where she was coming from, but the guilt that washed over her was bitter, bitter, so, so bitter. Truly, how could she call herself better than all those men who had tried to control her? ...through self-awareness, maybe. If she got lucky enough.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere. I can see I didn't understand you half as well as I thought now, and hurt you in my ignorance. I should have tried to grasp your perspective instead of... whatever I did. Can you forgive me?"

 

[ellarose]

Guinevere, unable to stay still, pokes harmlessly around Morgan's bedroom as she pages through her diary. She provides the appropriate commentary as she hears the sorceress's accounts on their memories. Smiles, snorts, sympathetic nods, and occasional context. Their memories are all so precious, although the thought of them is often a stab to her heart. Being the only one to bear them and all their importance... it's still hard on her. She can't sugarcoat it and say it's not. She misses where they were at, the tender gazes, existing on the same page of their narrative. Most of their story is painful... and they grew through that together. Always together. Like the vow she made. Occasionally she sneaks glances at the sorceress, drinking in the sight of her, reminding herself to put matters in perspective. Not all is lost. They're still alive, they're moving forward, and have more than they've ever had before in their previous lives. Don't take it for granted. She steers her gaze before she can get caught staring. Morgan's the one trying to put the pieces back together. It's got to be unbelievably hard for her-- and she's trying even so. Attempting to get her mind off of the things she's powerless to change, she innocuously peers at the candles, the herbs and the books. The notes, evidence of hours upon hours of research. It's strange, really. They've been held tight by Camelot's restrictions since they met, only grasping those few precious moments of freedom when they ventured beyond the gates. And even then, those experiences were marked by battles, stale bread, and late nights in a tent. All this time and she hasn't ever had the opportunity to get a look at Morgan's bedroom like this. The place the sorceress spent a majority of her life as she grew up within these castle walls. The stages of the phases of her life are strewn all around it.

"You told me you'd get me a puppy when I was being a dumbass with magic. And you being you, you delivered. I was so surprised!" Guinevere breathes a laugh, running her fingers over a glass orb. "Although Toastington is practically Mia's dog at this point. We've been too busy to give him the love he deserves, poor guy." Then she snorts. "That child, I tell you. I have no idea where she gets it from!" Or, heh, maybe she does. Tamara tells her constantly that she gets it from Guinevere herself. Well... more accurately, the old version of her that unthinkingly used to blurt out every thought that came into her head. Now there's a whole lot of thinking. Probably too much. For better or for worse, Camelot does that to a person.

For a while, Guinevere thought that person she used to be was dead. Recently, though? She's been starting to find traces of her again. She won't ever be the same after everything... but it's a relief to know that she's not lost, either. Her friends laid into her over her stupidity when she returned, made it perfectly clear how royally pissed off they'd be if she went and offed herself for the 'greater good'. They've always told her they never wanted that, always treated her like a person. Like family. Someone irreplaceable. She was too busy trying to save them all that she didn't understand how they felt. Didn't realize how much she would've hurt them. And when the tearful reprimands were out of their systems, they embraced her tightly and the sense of home she thought she lost fell over her again. Now? There were dedicated efforts from all around to help her feel better. Strangely enough, even from the people in Camelot. (Yeah! Even after her outburst, which... yeah, they definitely had their pitchforks at the ready when she returned. But no one could truly argue with the results when they saw for themselves the grass filling out the earth they thought was doomed.) Might be a little excessive, though. Iphigenia even offered to massage her feet.

The earth is waking up. And it didn't require even one drop of her blood to do so. Although the journey to get there was truly a bloodbath.

"Hey!" Guinevere smiles fondly when she finds her bear sitting on a stack of books. Taking it into her hands, she's about to add something when Morgan speaks up again. Did she hit a sore memory somewhere? She must be getting to the end of her entries by now.

"Sorry for what?" Guinevere tilts her head, frowning, and then Morgan tells her. Hesitantly, she pads over and sits herself down on the foot of the bed. She's been reminding herself to keep a little space between them-- 'cause the last thing she'd want to do is scare the sorceress away with the overwhelming muchness of her own feelings. (Yes, Morgan has told her she loved that about her. But... the Morgan she knew had time to get used to that. She needs to give this more time, to ensure she's comfortable. She can't expect her to love her just because she loved her in the past. Without the battles, without the goals, who knew if they'd ever be the same again? They're still Guinevere and Morgan to be sure. But... who are they without all of that, really? She's willing to give it a chance, however. To figure it out. Only if Morgan does, too.) "Nah, don't be sorry. It's in the past." She tries a smile, though it's a bit strained. Forgotten. "Really, it's okay. We were under so much pressure. So much stress." She gestures to Morgan's room. "And I get this has been your whole life. Planning for the future. Making sure everything is prepared so it goes off without a hitch." And of course the sorceress was afraid of moving out of line, of making a mistake. The people of Camelot, the way they saw and treated her, it said everything.

"Then I come into the picture with all the elegance of a wrecking ball." Guinevere huffs a laugh, "So yeah, we clashed some. But you also saved my ass countless times because you were so put together. There were so many times where I wondered how you could act so calm... but I know you were only trying to keep us safe. You had your plans and you were trying to stick with them. We're so different... it was bound to happen. But you know? I think that's part of the reason why we worked so well, too."

Worked. Past tense. Guinevere clutches the end of the bed, feeling another pang of loneliness. Ugh. She's got to get out of her head for a bit.

"You wanna go get some air? I know you're a bookworm, but I always get..." Guinevere scrunches her nose and waves her hand around, "Real headachy after I read too much. Haven't visited Josie in the stables for a while, either." She grins. They've been dealt with so much shit that there're still plenty of simple fun facts she has yet to learn about Morgan. "I really wanted to go horseback riding when we first met! You were super closed off back then, though, so I never really got any intel out of you." She squints playfully. "So tell me now! Do you like horses, Morgan?"

 

[Syntra]

Epilogue - Part 1

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Maleagant was discovered in the catacombs. It did make sense, Morgan supposed-- the large, sprawling complex made for a great hiding place, even though the rumors of hauntings would deter some. "You don't understand!" the man shrieked, struggling against the knights as they dragged him towards the light. "I only did what I had to do. The goddess shirked her duties, so what was I to do? Unlike her, I understood her responsibility. Someone had to teach her. I may have failed in that, but the consequences will be felt by you all!" Indeed, some things never changed. Did these fanatics all have to be so painfully, mind-numbingly boring? Replacing him with one of his brothers would have yielded the exact same speech, Morgan knew, and yet, yet it continued to amaze her. (It made sense, though. A lot of sense, actually. The death of thought was their greatest sin, so why expect anything else but tired phrases? Lines that were both pre-approved, and devoid of any actual content? They weren't even human! Via their own cowardice, they had turned themselves into puppets, and the sorceress found it hard to feel a shred of sympathy for them.)

"It is good to see, sir Maleagant, that you are still this faithful to your convictions," Morgan smiled. (No, it certainly wasn't the kind of smile that she reserved for Guinevere-- this one was sharp, and cut like a knife. Merciless.) "After all, it would have been undignified if you were to be sentenced to death for something you no longer believe in. So, continue holding that torch for me, will you? If you're lucky enough, you might even convince yourself that your sacrifice mattered."

"Insolent witch," he spat out. "You, at least, will never recover. Never again will you regain those memories! They're gone, like ashes in the wind."

"Maybe," she admitted, her expression guarded, "but I will make new ones. Something that you can't say about yourself."

***

It did sound nice on paper, the whole memory making thing, but in reality? Well, in reality, Morgan was quickly finding out that it wasn't nearly as glamorous. "The creature wants to kill me," the sorceress complained. "It really, really does. I can tell! Just look at the bloodlust in its eyes, Guinevere. Look at it, and tell me it isn't thinking of all the ways to murder me and frame it as an accident."

"It's a horse, Morgan," Sasha, one of Guinevere's girls, pointed out. "Are you pretending that they aren't herbivores now? Please, I thought you were supposed to the sensible one."

"I'll have you know that eating or not eating meat does not necessarily correlate with having the murderous intent! There were very few enemies I wanted to eat, and yet I disposed of them all the same. These things are complicated." Morgan was sitting atop the horse now, but it had taken an entire afternoon to bully her into it-- even so, she was holding onto the reins with so much strength that her knuckles were bloodless, and all the color had left her face. (No, it was safe to say that she did not like horses. Not one bit. They were too big, you see, way bigger than they had any right to be, and surely, surely she would fall and die! Oof. Who would have thought that a horse would succeed where Arthur and bloodthirsty cults had failed? Truly, what an anticlimactic ending. ...still, privately, Morgan did consider it an important milestone. Just-- trying new things, you know? Such as riding in a regular saddle, the kind that had been forbidden to her before for 'not being ladylike enough.' Indeed, the barriers Camelot had prided itself on were collapsing, and for the first time in her life, she saw... well, all the things beyond them. The whole wide world, now covered in baby grass.)

"You're such a drama queen, Morgan. Besides, don't you know that horses can sense it when you're afraid? You're just stressing it out, the poor dear." The woman slapped the horse on its ass playfully, and gods, the sorceress's heart almost jumped out of her chest!

"Gwen, make her leave. Do it, or I'll smite her where she stands! Has everyone around here forgotten that I can actually fry your brains inside your skulls?!" Because it certainly seemed that way to Morgan, and... ah. Gwen. She hadn't called her that way since the incident, had she? It did feel right, though, in the same way revisiting your favorite book might. "Um. Was that too familiar?" she asked, her cheeks tinged pink. "If not, however, I would like to continue using it. Now that I think of it, Guinevere might be a little too pompous for you."

***

Speaking of books, the library deserved Morgan's attention as well. Too many titles had been forbidden, and scrubbed from the public consciousness-- Arthur's attempts to rewrite the history had been relentless, leaving many scars on the greater narrative. So, it did make sense for her to rebuild it, didn't it? Or at least try to do so.

"I'm sorry for dragging you all the way here," she smiled in Gwen's general direction, over the pile of books she was carrying. "I know you aren't as enamored with literature as I am, but I had to take advantage of your strong arms." Strong arms that, if Morgan's hunch was correct, were also good at performing certain pleasant acts, and... oh, gods. Where had that thought come from, even? (Ugh, her brain had been doing everything it could to sabotage her lately, it seemed. Unprompted, it provided those images and ideas and scenarios, and the sorceress knew not what to do with it all.)

"If I were to move all the books on my own, I'm sure I would perish," she said quickly, trying to conceal her embarrassment. "A-anyway, I'm fairly sure this is actually my favorite place in the whole castle. And, once we replace the poison gathered here with actual knowledge? It will serve many people, just like it once served us. I mean, only thanks to a book, we were able to create that cipher of ours..." Wait. Wait, wait, wait. A cipher? That hadn't been mentioned in the diary, and yet, yet it had come to her mind! With a silent, shocked thud, the books fell from her hands.

"Did that actually happen, or am I making it up?" Morgan looked at Guinevere, a hopeful spark in her green eyes. "Because if it did, I may have remembered something."

 

[ellarose]

Guinevere beams at Morgan's praise, glowing like a spot of sunshine in the shade of the library. Strong arms! Hehe, damn right she has strong arms! For months, pretending to be such a delicate damsel prevented her from training on a regular basis. Really had a way of making her weak in spirit and body. Yes, they had plenty of solid reasons why they had to take that approach to work behind the scenes in a place like Camelot. Pretending to be a lady that the people would approve of, the weeks in captivity, dealing with the aftermath of a battle and healing only to get knocked down again? It was an endless, miserable cycle. While her life in Camelot ensured she never went hungry it didn't mean shit when her appetite had been non-existent from the stress. The aftermath left her sallow and flimsy in comparison to her gang. Working her way back up has been a struggle to be sure-- being so rusty and out of shape. Adrianne's knocked her on her ass more times than she can count now. But of course, Guinevere grinned every time it happened. Felt wonderful not to have anyone go easy on her! It made her all the more determined to pick herself up and try again. Weeks of sparring with Adrianne and Lancelot on a consistent schedule has definitely helped her tone her muscles. She's beginning to feel-- and see-- the results. Just the other day she landed a hit on Adrianne! The joy at seeing progress in herself even caused a couple of daisies to sprout!

Evidently, though, she's not the only one who's been making progress. Guinevere is jostled from her reverie by the thud of books-- surprised that she hadn't dropped her own stack to reach for her sword to slay whatever might have caused the sorceress such alarm. (The beasts still roam beyond the castle walls, but they grow into weak, pitiful shadows of themselves with each passing day. In fact, it's become far more common to come across their banged up metallic corpses out there than anything.) That sort of thing doesn't erase instinct, nor years of muscle memory. Anyways. It turns out this isn't a beast at all that needs to be slain. The cipher!? Could she be...

"Yeah. Yeah!" Guinevere exclaims, breathless. Calling her own memories to mind, she urgently reaches for Morgan's hand and guide her to the back of the library to precisely the place where they'd been standing that day. "It was the first time we saw each other for real after I married king douchebag. I told you I needed help with a word and took you back here. But I didn't need help with a word... I just wanted to show you a book of ciphers." She grins conspiratorially. "Uh huh! I can be clever too! Anyway. We were talking in code, so you told me about the word grandiloquence. Then you asked me if I wanted more help... but that was a code too, because that meant kissing and..." She scratches her cheek, blushing bright red. It was so dangerous... but all the more attractive for it. The sorceress embracing such a rebellious spark is always a sight to behold. "Um. Iphigenia caught us." That part was decidedly less fun. "But it was nice while it lasted! Any... any of that sound familiar?"

Guinevere beams, watching her Morgan's green eyes searchingly for a trace of recognition. It might not come rushing back with the snap of her fingers... but that's okay, right? It's a start! It's hope. She just reminds herself softly not to build them too high. Not yet.

***

With the lingering promise that Morgan's memories could return, Guinevere commits herself wholeheartedly into efforts to spark them. Alone, she pores over the pages of a book late into the evenings reading about the human brain. Yes, the bigger words are hard to understand sometimes. But frustration has no hold on her as she dedicatedly re-reads the passages until she gets it.

First Guinevere insists that they dance to the song they practiced time and time again, over a year ago now when Morgan helped her prepare for that hellish banquet. (Which is leagues more fun than it was back then now that her worries of Arthur's hands touching her where Morgan's are are far, far away from her mind. The only thing she needs to focus on is their closeness, on how it nice it feels to sway together.) One night she invites her to drink coffee together in their favorite spot in the gardens, attempting to recreate the scene as it had been-- even going as far as to wear the same dress she'd been wearing. Hell, she even has her girls help her fix up a big campout on a particularly nice summer evening. They built a large bonfire, pitched their tents, recreated the way their little life out in the wastes used to function. They'd cooked out, told stories under the stars and eventually slept over in the tent she used to call home with Morgan like they had all of those times before.

Each step of the way, Guinevere finds time to retell her own fond memories as she remembers them. They might not have been immortalized with the same certainty that could be found in Morgan's own handwriting... but when the sorceress looks at her, she gets the feeling that she trusts every word she speaks. These attempts may not have earned her the immediate results she had initially hoped for. But at least they weren't moving in reverse. And in spite of everything, they were making new memories along the way.

***

"Is this familiar?" Guinevere gestures grandly to the pot she just broke on purpose. Then she deflates a little. No, no, no. She knew it! This is a stupid idea! Before she can get too down on herself about it, however, she brightens again. 'Course she's got something else in her back pocket. "No? Well, maybe these will be!" She darts across the gardens to fetch a tray of chocolate banana cupcakes. Bashfully, she pushes the broken pieces of the pot aside with one hand and sets the tray on the table in front of Morgan with the other.

"I read some stuff about memories. Like that smell can bring them back and stuff!" Guinevere shuffles on her feet awkwardly. "So I thought... y'know, taste might, too?"

 

[Syntra]

Epilogue - Part 3

Infuriatingly enough, Morgan still didn't remember. The initial breakthrough seemed to be but an anomaly, like the remnants of a fading dream-- a small mercy of the gods, granted to her shortly before they cast her down into the eternal darkness. It doesn't matter, she told herself. Didn't I promise to make new memories? Besides, I already know what happened. There's no need for me to try and re-discover the very same facts I've read about repeatedly. And, technically, that much was certainly true. From the purely logical standpoint, wasting her energy on such a thing made absolutely no sense, now did it? (...yes, that might have worked as an argument had humans been logical creatures. Robots, programmed to follow their algorithms. Morgan's personal analysis of that: 'No, not how that worked!' Once, the sorceress may have come to the opposite conclusion, but... well, looking into her own heart provided a radically different viewpoint. Just, how many times had she looked at Guinevere, wishing to see her through the lens of her own self? How often had she wept at night, and mourned that which had been stolen from her? How earnestly had she begged the gods to end her suffering? 'Too much,' that was the answer to all of those questions. Far too much, indeed.)

Of course, that wasn't Morgan's only concern. What about Guinevere, after all? Guinevere, who now studied medical publications so diligently that dark circles had settled under her eyes? It was nice to know that someone cared to such an extent, the sorceress supposed, but with that knowledge, more questions arose. What if she never remembered, for example? How long would it take for Guinevere to get tired of that? Nobody wanted a broken shell for a partner-- nobody, not even the kindest of saints! I'm not broken, though, Morgan attempted to convince herself. None of us are. Isn't that the seed of doubt they wanted to plant into our heads? ...which, contrary to her wishes, didn't necessarily mean it was also untrue. Sigh.

(A few times, she considered lying to her. Where would the harm in that be, hmm? Gwen would be happy, Morgan could pretend that she was happy, and nobody would ever know. Their castle would stand on feet of clay, though at least it would exist! ...but then the sorceress looked in Guinevere's eyes, so full of genuine hope, and all thoughts of deception went up in flames. No, they couldn't cheat their way to the happy ending. Always, always had she valued the truth, so why eschew it now? Why be content with less? Lies were poison, all of them, and even the slow acting ones killed their target eventually. Did she want to sentence their relationship to that? No. No, no amount of narrative-twisting made that remotely acceptable. If she leaves me, she leaves me, the sorceress concluded one night. As long as we're both here, however? I'll enjoy her presence.)

Needless to say, Morgan did go along with every single plan of Gwen's. They did sound reasonable, if nothing else-- the brain was a muscle, and stretching it surely had to lead to results. "What, that you're a menace to pottery?" she chuckled gently. "Gwen, I don't think you've ever allowed me to forget that. You're lucky that I have no sentimental attachment to these things."

(The night was cool and pleasant, with the stars shining above their heads, and Morgan couldn't help but feel good. The set-up just struck her as... familiar, you know? In that safe, warm manner, like the emotional equivalent of drinking a cup of hot cocoa. Like something she couldn't quite put her finger on, to speak frankly.)

"Hmm? You've gone this far for me? Why, I am not going to spit on your efforts. Even if I don't remember, we can always turn this into a nice date. I... I have always wanted those, I think? It does feel that way for some reason. I suppose that, with my unhinged brother in tow, we weren't exactly allowed to indulge those desires." Not that this was any time to be talking about Arthur, by the way. Morgan grabbed one of the cupcakes, and examined it closely-- as far as she could tell, it was but an ordinary treat, sweet-smelling and so full of calories it would make certain people faint. Would this really help...? Carefully, so as not to stain her dress, she took a bite.

The taste exploded in her mouth, like a surge of chocolate. Something in her brain must have connected, too, because Morgan saw things, so many things, and-- ah, were those tears streaming down her face? They had to be, but for once, the sorceress let them fall freely. (Guinevere. Her sweet, sweet Guinevere, who had tried so hard for the mere chance of her returning... How lonely did that have to be?)

"Gwen, I... if I remember correctly, we kissed afterwards," she managed to say, through the sobs. "Can we do that again? I've missed it. Missed... missed you."

 

[ellarose]

"Morgan...?" Guinevere asks worriedly, her heart on the edge of shattering when the tears start streaming down her love's face. (Oh, that's not what she expected. Should she be hopeful about these tears or concerned about them? Has she been pushing her too hard to remember something she simply won't? Oh shit. She didn't think this through nearly enough, did she? Barreling forward with all of these plans-- had she not been considering Morgan's feelings? She's about to apologize if she's been putting pressure on her, to promise she'll take this slower, that she'll still be there for her regardless if she remembers two days or eleven years from now and--) Reliable as always, however, the sorceress is quick to quell her doubts with the answer. If I remember correctly. If I remember correctly! She remembers! "Morgan!"

On record, no one in their history has ever moved as fast as Guinevere did in that moment to close the distance between them. (And this is what she will insist every time she tells the story around the campfire, from two days to eleven years from now.) She practically topples the tray of cupcakes as she takes Morgan into her arms, lifting her love into the air as she twirls them around in circles. Blushing fiercely at this entirely too boisterous display of excitement, she's exceedingly gentle about making sure her love's feet make it firmly onto solid ground again. Guinevere's finally reclaimed her body for herself, all right? Now she doesn't even realize her own strength half the time. She grins like a dork, using her thumbs to swipe away the tears on the Morgan's beautiful face. The effort itself seems kind of silly after a moment, though, considering tears are streaming freely down her own face at this point. She laughs through a sob of her own and kisses her. Then she breaks it to laugh a little more, pressing their foreheads together. "I've missed it too!" Not like she even has to say it, though. There are other ways she can show her, so she kisses her again. And again! "I missed you."

Guinevere's too taken with the woman in her arms to realize that all around them, the garden is blooming with new life. Budding flowers unfurl their soft petals and open themselves up to the world, filling out the path all around them. The world is so colorful, practically aglitter with the magic pure fairytales are made of under the silver glow of moonlight.

Eventually they move into the grass with the cupcakes (which thankfully remained intact through all of this, unlike the shattered pot.) lying together, talking for hours into the night under the stars. When they start to get teary again, Guinevere taps a dollop of frosting on the tip of Morgan's nose to lighten the mood. At her love's unimpressed look, she giggles and kisses it off. "I love you!" But then she notices a mischievous gleam in those green eyes. Uh oh. All this time, she's been such a bad influence! "Heh. Wait, Morgan--!"

Payback involved a mess and lots of kisses. And after countless restless nights of stress and preparing for the end of the world, they played like the silly kids they never got to be.

***

That isn't the only tearful reunion in store for Guinevere as it turns out. Weeks after that night under the stars, Jennifer approaches the castle gates with an old man in toe. An old man who, upon looking at him closer, might as well have been banished long ago into the 'ghosts from the past' section of Guinevere's heart and mind. Her father.

Surprisingly enough, Guinevere's gang vouched for Jennifer's authenticity when she received the news. Apparently her twin sister had shown her face several weeks before, intent on making things right, and was given the terms that if she helped in the efforts to search and destroy any remnants of the blood cult that then only then will she prove that she was sincere enough to have the opportunity to meet with her. Even then, they insisted it might not happen. Because it was Guinevere's choice whether they actually met face to face again. And Jennifer? She took them up on the offer. So a group comprised of her gang, a handful of decent fighters and knights from Camelot's past (and Jen apparently) traveled far and wide to put an end to any remnants of the cult. 'You've done so much for us, Gwen.' Adrianne had said the night before they left. 'Let us do this for you.' They knew her well enough to know that she didn't have the desire to spend her newfound energy on revenge, nor on thoughts of the unspeakable trauma they put her through. Especially not with everything that Morgan was going through at the time. After a bit of verbal sparring, Guinevere relented and allowed them to go on her behalf. In the process, they helped countless people escape. Including their father, who as it turns out was held captive for years in one of the farthest reaching villages.

When Adrianne of all people said she thought that Jen was being real for once, Guinevere agreed to see her. Needless to say, she didn't bargain to be getting a whole family reunion out of it. Everyone mostly left them to their own devices to catch each other up to speed on what their separate lives in the wastelands looked like since their small family got torn apart. At first it was sufficiently awkward... but gradually their dynamic started to melt into something a little more cozy, the way she knew it as a kid.

Then came the long-awaited answers to some of Guinevere's questions about her roots. Like that the father she always knew was not in fact her biological father. (Not that it even mattered at this point. What does blood have to do with anything, anyway?) Apparently her mother understood the curse of their bloodline, evaded capture from the cult and left her twin daughters with someone she knew would protect them for as long as he was able. Rather than stick around to help raise them, she ran in the opposite direction to throw the cultists off their trail. 'Stupidly heroic' her father said gruffly, gazing fondly at Guinevere. 'Just like you.'

When the sentiments are all out of the way and a few days pass them by, they find themselves comfortably settled into something that resembles their old dynamic. This of course translated to rowdy.

"Oh? You challenging me to a fight, girl?" Her father puts his fists up, the gesture nothing but playful.

"You know I am, old man!" Guinevere smirks, stepping up dauntlessly. Even after all this time, her old man still towers over her. Yeah... they are definitely about to start roughhousing. "I can take you!"

"Ugh. You two seriously need to stop before Morgan gets here." Jen sighs. She's lounging in a far corner of the room, filing her nails, giving an unimpressed eye roll. Except when she ducks down, there is a clear trace of a smile forming on her face. Guinevere's not sure at what point her sister decided mountains of pretty dresses wouldn't be enough to keep her happy forever... but she's thankful for it. She considers teasing her when her sister speaks up again. "Speaking of which..."

Jennifer gestures bluntly with her thumb, guiding Guinevere's gaze to the doorway where her love is pokes in hesitantly. She beams immediately to make her feel welcome, throwing her arms out in a gesture both clumsy and grand to the room she designated for her father's first introduction to the legendary (and exceedingly beautiful) Morgan le Fey. (The woman she never shuts up about wanting to spend the rest of her days with. Her father may have suggested she just 'ask the woman to marry you already'... and she may have had trouble getting the notion out of her head ever since.)

"Morgan, you're here! Come meet the fam!"

 

[Syntra]

Epilogue - Part 5

Family. To the sorceress, there had always been a bitter undercurrent to the word-- this vague sense of discomfort, just pronounced enough to be noticed. You could compare it to a demon lurking in the corner, come to think of it. It wasn't always hungry, so there were times when you weren't necessarily aware of its presence, but could you go as far as to forget about it? Could you not remember the claws tearing into your flesh? No, of course not. The scars would always be there to remind you if everything else failed. The fact that nobody else could see them mattered very little, you know? Not when Morgan could feel them sprawling across her neural pathways, twisting her thoughts into dizzying shapes. (What if he hated her? Guinevere's father, that was. To her own family, she'd been nothing but an evil witch-- the root of all misfortune, and a convenient sacrificial lamb. A symbol of everything that was wrong with this rotten, cursed world. Why would anyone else feel differently? Supposedly, blood was thicker than water, and not even that had protected her back then. Why set herself up for a disappointment, then? Why, why, why? Wasn't that a sign of madness? The patterns had never lied to her, never, and-- and-- They have, though. They almost made me give up on Gwen.)

That argument was convincing enough, and also carried enough sense of urgency in it that the sorceress could ignore it no longer. Only cowards run away from their fears, she reminded herself. Have we not faced ancient beasts? Monsters born from grief, vaster than the universe itself? A-and we wiped out a blood cult, too. A cycle as old as the concept of time didn't stand a chance, either. Logically speaking, the prospect of meeting her love's father wasn't even supposed to register on her fear radar! It, uh, should have been about as scary as putting on her shoes. Right. (...it wasn't. By the gods, it wasn't, wasn't, wasn't! Standing in front of that door, Morgan genuinely felt like throwing up. Would it be too suspicious if she claimed a sudden illness had claimed her? Of course, this wouldn't be her running away from anything-- it would be a mere strategic retreat, during which she could formulate a better plan. She could, uh... compile a list of acceptable topics for them to discuss? Yes, yes! It wasn't her fault that she had no idea how to converse with a man whose daughter she loved, for crying outloud. Why didn't they release manuals for these things?! Because, somehow, she had a feeling that 'gods, Gwen's smile is too distracting' just wouldn't cut it.)

What if I come across as stupid? What if I stutter? What if I accidentally tell him that her strong arms make me feel feelings? Aargh! A million of scenarios was running through her head all at once, and Morgan couldn't decide which one was the worst. This could only end in catastrophe, the sorceress was sure of that! ...but then, then Jennifer called her over, and it was too late for any escape plans. Gods, help me.

"I, uh. Greetings. I am Morgan le Fey. Could you maybe stop trying to kill each other for a few seconds? I would at least like to shake your hand."

***

Shockingly enough, it was... alright. A little awkward, perhaps, but Morgan could tell that the nervousness was mutual. In a way, that made it slightly better? (She totally had let it slip that she thought Guinevere was too amazing for words, but given the reception, the sorceress refused to feel bad about that. All her life, she had played a performance for various audiences, you see? So it felt nice for her natural reactions to generate so much unfiltered, unbridled joy.)

"I mean to do right by your daughter," she said to the man once, encouraged by a cup of (perhaps a little too strong) wine. "I will make her happy."

And, his answer? "Oh, I can tell that she is exactly that."

So, all in all, aside from that misguided attempt to make up a nickname for her, Morgan considered it a success. (A side note: the next person to call her 'Morgs' would be fed to hungry lions. No, seriously.)

***

It was Morgan's idea, contrary to everyone's expectations. Did it not make sense, though? No longer was Camelot a cage, and when the door finally opened... well, she understood just how much of herself had been shaped by it. The extent to which they'd twisted her spine, really. Truthfully, that it hadn't shattered was a miracle! (The castle itself had started to recover, though that didn't matter. Not really. The sorceress was happy that the system crumbled under the weight of reality, but to stay there? To isolate herself within the walls that had been her prison, and caused her so much pain? Just like flowers needed the sun to bloom, Morgan needed more than that to authentically thrive. More of... everything, in truth.)

"Let's travel together," she suggested one day, when they brought them boiled eggs for breakfast. "I've grown tired of this place, and I am sure you have as well. It's not like Camelot needs a queen anymore, is it?" Since the gardens all over the world had come to life, many people had left, and more of them had initiated changes. Only those who truly felt some sort of attachment to Camelot had stayed-- watching its evolution might have been fascinating, the sorceress supposed, though it also wasn't her calling. It most likely wasn't Gwen's, either.

"I just... the world has so much to offer," she said, placing a small kiss on her love's knuckles. (How refreshing to be able to do that publicly, too! Some people disapproved, most likely, but they could go straight to hell. No longer was Morgan le Fey willing to hide aspects of herself, regardless of how they were perceived! Never again.) "It's safer now, too. Don't you yearn to see all the things we've read about? I wish to explore the ruins of the old civilizations, see what can be unearthed, and learn all there is to learn. And I want to do it all with you, Gwen. That, and everything else that strikes our fancy. What do you say, my love?"

To tell you the truth, the answer to was a foregone conclusion. The world was waiting, and how could they turn their backs to it? It was large and boundless and incomprehensible, and perhaps for the first time in her life, Morgan le Fey's heart was swelling with hope.