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Lady Vivienne dies of broken heart mere months after Gorlois' greatest joy sees the light of the world for the first time. It is simply too much; the child in the bassinet too much like the one she's lost, the memories haunting her in her sleep, fears of the future following her in her wake.
Gorlois is helpless. He didn't mind the child, although she wasn't his. When she passed, he only felt a slight bit of sadness, and when he learned of his Lady being with child he presumed new life would mend the broken heart.
Clearly, this has been wishful thinking.
He sits by his wife's bedside in the early morning hours. Vivienne looks more dead than alive, eyelids fluttering ever so often as she lies asleep wide awake with dreadful dreams. Absent-mindedly, he takes her hand, lifts it to his lips. She's cold.
He knows. Of course he does. It's impossible to keep a thing such as this from your maid, let alone your husband. He loved her, though. And in the light of loving her, knowing meant nothing.
He's known for years and yet, he's never told her. It wasn't his place. He believed she would tell him, in her own time. They'd have lots of it: days, months, years. Never once did he fear that he'd never hear the truth from her own lips.
But now.
Now Vivienne is dying.
*
Gorlois cannot know for sure. He didn't know for sure with his wife and somehow, in a hopeful moment still clad in mourning he made himself believe that he would never have to know for sure with his daughter.
There is just something about his child of merely two summers waking up screaming in the dead of night, images no child her age should ever see on her mind, words too big to fit on her tiny tongue to describe her visions spluttering from her lips, that makes Gorlois stop and wonder.
It also makes Morgana's nurse quit. Then another. And another.
When they quit they give him a look that speaks of nothing but hatred. He can hardly blame them. A child her age shouldn't know these things and of course, her episodes will reflect negatively on him. He's happier for it. They're none the wiser and his little girl is safe.
*
She is four when he decides it's not worth it. If no nurse is willing to comfort his daughter in her time of need, he'll just have to do it himself.
He takes her riding first. Gets her a small archery set. The blacksmith raises his brow at the request of chain mail and sword light enough to fit the little Lady, but nevertheless delivers it to the castle a fortnight hence.
The rumours increase, of course. But when he watches her play in the courtyard, dress in disarray and scrapes on her knees; when her melodic laughter drifts up to the window; when she throws her arms around him with a giggle after helping him put on his armour he knows it's well worth it.
By the time they celebrate her ninth nameday the nightmares have ceased almost entirely.
*
“When will you be back?”
“Soon,” Gorlois says. He doesn't know, really. It might be longer, but she needn't know. She never sleeps particularly well when he leaves for things such as this.
Morgana lifts the sword and checks the polishing by catching her own reflection on the shaft.
“You will need to tell Leon to pay more attention to the bottom of the blade,” she muses, “Dried blood will do no good for its purposes.”
“I will,” he promises as he carefully lifts the blade from her grip and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Though I don't believe anybody will ever do it justice like you, my love.”
Morgana beams.
*
As he lies dying Gorlois' thoughts are with his daughter. It's cruel to leave her like this, never telling her the truth about her dreams. He wonders whether she saw it coming. There's no time to dwell. He can only hope his king will do right by her. Hope, somebody, someday will have the courage to open her eyes in the dark of the night.