Arthur’s boots feel as though they are lined with lead as he trudges down the corridor. His mind should be on his training that he needs to attend shortly, but his mind is distracted with thoughts of Morgana. afbeeldingen of her limp body on the stairs, her unresponsive form in Gaius’ chambers keep flashing through his mind, and his hart-, hart tears at each one.
The woman he has grown to love as a sister is dying. And he is helpless to stop it. There is no foe he can slay to avenge her. There is nothing he can do, no bloem he can pluck from the side of a cavern, no beast he can hunt for the healing power of its horn that will bring her back.
There is nothing Prince Arthur of Camelot hates meer than feeling helpless.
He makes a turn, taking him down the passageway containing Morgana’s rooms, not even realizing that his heavy feet have taken him on this route to his own rooms. He hears a wooden clatter coming from Morgana’s chamber, then silence. As he comes closer to the room, he hears the sound of soft sobs drifting forth.
He pushes the door silently, opening it fully, and sees his beautiful Guinevere on her knees volgende to Morgana’s wardrobe, a dress on the floor, its hanger protruding from the neckline. Gwen’s face is buried in her hands as she weeps quietly into them, her shoulders hunched and shaking slightly.
Gwen had been holding her emotions in check, keeping her grief at bay. I am Lady Morgana’s maidservant. She treats me well, and I think we are friends, but I cannot go around weeping for her as if I am her equal. It is not my place, she keeps reminding herself as she tries to go about her daily chores as best she can.
The laundry had some of Morgana’s gowns finished, so Gwen decided to put them away, looking for an excuse to be in her lady’s chambers. She’d brought some fresh flowers in earlier, against all reason, hoping that they would remain there for when Morgana awoke.
If Morgana awoke.
Hanging the last dress, her hand missed the bar and the dress clattered to the floor in a crumpled heap. Gwen stared at the dress and could only imagine Morgana in a similar crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairwell, lying unconscious until Merlin found her, and she could only collapse to the floor, a puddle of grief.
The volgende thing she knew there was a pair of large, warm hands covering hers, removing them from her face and pulling her to her feet.
Arthur says nothing, just wipes the tears from her face and pulls her into his arms, one hand around her back, the other in her hair, holding her close, heedless of the door standing wide open.
Her tears start anew, no longer held back, as she weeps freely against Arthur’s strong, warm chest. He holds her tightly but softly, her face tucked into his chest, his body relaxed against hers, comforting her door its mere presence.
Guinevere feels his breathing hitch and she presses her face into his chest for a moment before she looks up at him. She sees tears on his own cheeks and her hart-, hart lurches as she wipes his cheek now and throws her arms around him, returning his comfort with her own. They embrace tightly, finding solace only in each other’s arms.
Neither of them see the pair of familiar blue eyes that witness their mutual consolation, blue eyes filled with grief and guilt as he pauses a moment at the doorway before moving on to wait for his master in his chambers.
