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Morgana’s own magic was of a fierce, immediate, tempestuous nature, sometimes presenting itself in waves of power so wild even she struggled to stand against the force of them.
That wasn’t what Gwen’s was like. Gwen’s magic, much like Gwen herself, was warm; gentle where Morgana’s was intense, pliable and forgiving to Morgana’s rigid and convicting.
Morgana took a deep breath, attempted to hold it within her chest for longer than two seconds, and let it out in an anxious, whistling rush. To get this right, she knew, she needed to try her hardest to channel Gwen’s soft and steady way with magic, and she had to get it right.
More than right; it needed to be perfect.
Her eyes scanned the plethora of ingredients spread across the wooden top of the small kitchen island, tapping her fingernails against the solid surface as she stared around at it all. A sudden blur of white streaked into the edge of her vision like a comet as Aithusa silently hopped up, nudging into Morgana’s hand and purring, sending a lemon tumbling onto the hardwood floor as she did so.
“Hello, miss mischief,” Morgana greeted her, smiling in spite of herself as she ran her fingers through the kitten’s sleek coat. “You know you’re not supposed to be up here.”
Gathering her tiny body up against her chest, Morgana planted a kiss on top of Aithusa’s warm head as she carried her across the small apartment into the living room, setting her gently down beneath the Christmas tree. Following the near disaster the night they’d put it up, Gwen had moved the shiny, breakable ornaments to higher boughs, and hung all the small golden bells down low, where Aithusa could jingle them without pulling the whole thing down on top of them all.
Down on one knee, Morgana lightly shook the end of a bottom bough, jingling several of the bells, and Aithusa immediately flipped onto her back and began kicking and batting at them from below.
“Troublemaker,” Morgana intoned, giving her one more soft scratch between the ears before turning back toward the kitchen island, scooping up the fallen lemon as she went.
Setting the lemon back among the other ingredients, the edge of her hand brushed the side of her mobile. She stared at it, hesitated briefly, and then snatched it up, tapping at the screen until it proclaimed to be “calling.”
“Hello?” Merlin’s voice answered, annoyingly chipper.
“I can’t do this,” Morgana stated.
“Yes, you can,” he assured her, clearly unsurprised to be receiving her call. That was annoying, too.
“No, I can’t! I can’t bake normally as it is, let alone throw a spell into it! I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t do this. Why did you allow me to think I could do this?”
“Because you can,” Merlin repeated, shuffling noises in the background alerting Morgana to the fact that he was getting up and walking somewhere. “You’ve been watching me demonstrate for weeks, and you’re always such a quick study, I don’t know why you’re doubting yourself so much.”
“Where are you going?” Morgana demanded.
“What?”
“Where are you going? I can tell you’re moving around.”
“I’m... nowhere!”
“You’re nowhere.”
“That’s not what I—“
“You’re getting Arthur, aren’t you?”
“I — no!” Merlin assured her, badly feigning indignation.
Morgana heard a soft plunking sound, as if Merlin’s phone had been set down.
“Are you putting me on speaker phone?”
“No,” Merlin echoed back, in perfect time with Arthur’s loud, smug “Yes.”
“I’m hanging up,” Morgana stated.
“Wait,” she heard Arthur, suddenly serious, plead 3 inches from her ear. She pressed it back against the phone, but said nothing.
“Morgana. Have you ever considered just, I don’t know, telling Gwen how you feel?”
“I already know you think I can’t do this, Arthur, which is why I called your husband, not you. Just because I burned a cake once doesn’t mean—“
“You caught the oven on fire.”
“I was 12!”
“Maybe the first time...”
“And who are you to be advising me on the straightforward expression of emotions? It took you practically half a decade to admit you were in love with Merlin, and even then it only happened because you got too drunk to keep your mouth shut anymore. You really can’t hold your liquor, and it’s embarrassing.”
“Oof, that’s true,” Merlin agreed.
“Just walk me through it one more time, Merlin.”
“Morgana, you already know—“
“Please?”
There was a brief pause, Morgana keenly aware it was due to both men’s surprise at this rare display of vulnerability, which only served to both further irritate her and make her cheeks burn.
“Okay,” Merlin began, tone soothing and matter-of-fact. “All you need to remember is just to be mindful of your emotions as you’re going along.”
Morgana rolled her eyes in silence at his confidence, as if such a thing would be easy for her, especially as nervous as she was.
“Remember, you’re trying to infuse your spell into the bake each step of the way, with your intentions and your feelings. If you want Gwen to take one bite and feel a sense of the way that you feel about her, you need to make sure your energy never strays from that purpose all throughout your bake. Just hold on to that, and everything will go smooth as a French silk cake. Oh, and always stir clockwise!”
Morgana sighed, pinching her eyebrows together with her free hand.
“How do you make it sound so simple?”
“Because it is. It’s not easy, but it is simple. Your magic is just as strong as mine. I just have more practice at this particular form of it than you do. You haven’t been co-owner of a magical bake shop for the past 6 years.”
“Well, that’s unfair.”
“Once again,” Arthur chimed in. “There are other ways you could do this.”
“I—”
“Morgana, don’t listen to him,” Merlin broke in. “You can do this. You can do this, you will do this, Gwen will be swept off her feet by your perfectly orchestrated confectionary confession, and you’ll be kissing under the mistletoe by midnight. Alright?”
Morgana bit her lip. “You really think she feels the same way? I’m not ridiculous to hope we can just magically—no pun intended, shut up—go from best friends and roommates to... more? I’m not losing my mind and ruining our friendship? Because I honestly couldn’t bear—”
“She loves you, Morgana,” came Arthur’s voice over the line again. “No matter how you tell her how you feel, it’s not going to change the way she does.”
Morgana paused.
“I just want it to be special,” she professed. “And I want her to know that the things that are most important to her are important to me, too. I didn’t even know you could bake with magic until the day I walked into that shop, when I was having the worst day, and Gwen was there behind the counter, and she was... right away, just... so kind to me. I’d never met anyone as warm as her. It made perfect sense that she would own a bakery. And I just...”
Morgana trailed off, vividly recalling that morning, as bitingly cold as she had felt inside, and then... Gwen. Gwen who had listened, whose presence had instantly made Morgana feel safe, somehow; in the company of a trusted friend rather than a perfect stranger. And who, without Morgana having to say a word about it, seemed to sense exactly how she was feeling, and had suggested exactly what she needed: a hot cup of tea, and a slice of triple chocolate cake.
As she’d sat tucked away at a small table by herself, sipping her tea and nibbling her cake as she tried not to glance Gwen’s way too often, Morgana didn’t immediately notice her change in mood. It wasn’t obvious or abrupt; more like a soft, slow suggestion. Like whispered words of kindness in her ear, or a hug she didn’t know how badly she’d needed, enveloping her in comfort and warmth.
It was when she’d decided to read one of the shop’s little leaflets on its history as an excuse to linger a bit longer that she finally understood: Conjuring Cakes wasn’t just a cutesy name for a bakery in a superstitious town, it was a description of the mission of the place, where every item was lovingly prepared with magical intention, infusing every cupcake, sponge, and slice of bread with a unique spell to subtly conjure emotion for the customer. Mini lemon cakes that brought about a sense of inexplicable cheerfulness; a spice cake that inspired confidence; crème anglaise that stirred feelings of peace and calm.
Later, when Morgana had become a regular in the shop and she and Gwen had become fast friends, Gwen had explained that her deepest desire growing up had been to help other people, and that that was what she most wanted to do with her life; but that her own greatest joy came from baking. Eventually, she and her best friend, Merlin, had thought of a way to combine both. Gwen said she couldn’t imagine a better fit for her. Morgana couldn’t either.
“It will be special, Morgana,” Merlin said, breaking her train of thought. “You’re special to each other. That means no matter what, it can’t go wrong.”
“He’s right,” Arthur added. “You can do this.”
Morgana smiled. “Thanks, brother,” she replied before hanging up, willing herself to believe it was true.
________________________________
Alas, they were both wrong.
Three hours later, Aithusa was racing back and forth through the apartment to the soundtrack of the screeching smoke detector as Morgana pulled the blackened hazard she’d imagined to be an apple pie from the oven and dropped it on the counter.
“I don’t understand,” Morgana lamented. “I did everything exactly like the book said!”
Aithusa mewled in commiseration.
Morgana waved a hand sharply in the general direction of the smoke detector without looking at it. The sudden silence left her ears ringing.
She leaned back against the island, arms crossed, staring at the smoking mass atop the stove across from her.
She glanced at the clock; a few more hours until Gwen would be home, but not nearly enough time to try again from scratch. She had enough of the ingredients, but she’d made the dough in advance, and that alone had taken quite some time. She’d never make it, even if it went perfectly... which it wouldn’t.
She sighed, defeated. Defeated by pie.
After disposing of the evidence and pushing open a window, letting some fresh, freezing air in to clear the smoke from the apartment, she returned to the kitchen and looked around at the remaining ingredients dejectedly. She looked to Aithusa for support, but with the frost-covered window pane out of the way, she was now entirely preoccupied with trying to catch the swirling snowflakes through the barrier of the screen.
“At least one of us is having a nice evening,” Morgana told her. I hope Gwen is, too, she thought, imagining her moving gracefully around the shop, smiling and chatting warmly with customers, laughter dancing in her bright brown eyes...
“Nope,” Morgana chastised herself aloud, butterflies fluttering madly in her middle at the mere thought of Gwen. “Pathetically distracting. Focus.”
Surveying the heap of apples remaining in their basket, she couldn’t help but smile in spite of herself as she reflected on the memory of Gwen and her picking them together days before. Morgana hadn’t known you still could pick apples so late in the year, but Gwen had informed her that this was the best time of all since most people shared that same mistaken sentiment, often leaving the whole orchard to Gwen alone.
She was right, of course. It had been perfect.
Well, Morgana thought, I may have failed magical baking, but I refuse to fail Gwen. After a 12 hour day on her feet at the bakery, she wanted Gwen to have something nice and cozy to come home to; humiliating confessions of love could wait.
Teeth now chattering from the cold, Morgana crossed back to shut the window now that most of the remaining smoke had cleared out, much to Aithusa’s dismay. “Did it get even colder out there in the last two minutes?”
Morgana stopped in her tracks.
Suddenly, she knew exactly what to make: a nice big batch of mulled cider. When it came down to it, she knew Gwen would likely enjoy a hot drink to come home to much more than a pie anyway; after all, it was her job to sample sweets all day long.
“Duh, Morgana,” she scolded herself, and began slicing the first apples — sideways, so she could see the little stars in the middle, like her mother used to do when she had taught her this recipe so long ago.
________________________________
Morgana heard the familiar sound of Gwen’s footsteps on the stairs up to the apartment, and jumped up from where she and Aithusa had been curled up reading on the sofa. She was ready.
The sound of the keys jingling in the lock met her ears just as she finished precisely ladeling a few of the floating orange slices, cloves, and one cinnamon stick each from out of the pot and into both their mugs of steaming cider. She grabbed both by the almost-too-warm handles and crossed the few steps to the door just as Gwen was coming through it.
“Welcome home!” she greeted her, holding Gwen’s mug out to her excitedly. Realizing she sounded like the giddy idiot she felt, she cleared her throat and tried to look more serious.
“Oh!” Gwen jumped, clutching her keys to her chest. “Hi, you scared me!”
“Sorry,” Morgana lamented breathlessly, feeling her cheeks rapidly heating up.
“It’s alright,” Gwen laughed, dropping her keys, bag, and mail onto their little entry table and accepting the mug. “Let me just get these shoes off and hang my coat. My feet are killing me.”
Morgana watched, impressed, as Gwen managed to do all of this one-handed, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Yes, please, come sit down and put your feet up!”
Morgana sat back down on the sofa, now on the chilly side so Gwen could have the one she and Aithusa had warmed up. Gwen joined her, leaning up straight against the arm of the sofa and draping her legs over Morgana’s lap. Morgana’s stomach did a flip.
“Hi, baby,” Gwen cooed as Aithusa hopped back up to join them. The butterflies in Morgana’s stomach fluttered madly, even though she knew the endearment wasn't for her.
“Did you two have fun today?” Gwen asked Aithusa, scratching either side of her chin with long, graceful fingers and glancing up at Morgana as she did so.
“Oh... yes,” Morgana replied, not at all convincingly.
Gwen smirked. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you try to cook again?”
“Maybe.”
“I thought I could smell smoke.”
Morgana groaned and dropped her head back.
“I’m joking!” Gwen assured her. “It smells like heaven in here. Is this my favorite cider? What did I do to deserve such a treat?”
“You had a very long day! Besides, I had the whole day off without you here to entertain me, what else was I supposed to do?”
Gwen’s brow furrowed, her face suddenly all gentle concern. “I know this time of year is always hard for you. I should be taking care of you; doing something nice to cheer you up.”
“You cheer me up,” Morgana replied sincerely.
Gwen smiled at her; Morgana’s heart melted.
“Is that why you chose this recipe?” she asked gently. “Because you were missing your mum?”
“Actually no, I...” Morgana momentarily trailed off, suddenly realizing the truth of what she was about to say. “I just wanted to find the perfect use for the apples, and I wanted to make something comforting for you to come home to... at least, that’s how it always makes me feel. And... how you always make me feel.”
Shit.
“And anyway, I know you really like the recipe,” she added hastily, trying to cover her mortification at the slip-up.
Morgana cast her eyes down toward a whorl she’d never noticed in the wood of the floor and determinedly stared at it, but she could feel Gwen’s gaze on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gwen lift the mug to her lips, judging it just cool enough now for the first sip.
Morgana forced herself to look back up at her again, and saw a puzzled expression on Gwen’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Morgana asked, horrified at the thought that she may have messed up even this.
“Nothing, it’s wonderful! Just... did you do something different?”
“No... no, I don’t think so. I made it the same as I always have.”
Gwen looked back down into the mug, brow still furrowed. “Hmm.” She took another sip.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up with understanding.
“Morgana... did you spell this?”
“What? No, I — I mean... definitely not. I... tried to do some baking magic earlier, actually, and failed miserably. I didn’t try anything with the cider.”
Gwen continued her alternation between sipping from her mug and gazing down into it. Then she smiled.
“Morgana,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “I think you did spell this. On accident. What were you thinking about when you made it?”
Morgana thought back. You, of course, she didn’t want to say.
But she took a deep breath and said it anyway.
“You.”
Gwen just stared back at her, a strange expression on her face.
“I... I was thinking about how, for the longest time, I couldn’t even make this, because it made me too sad. And then, when I did start making it again, so I could make it for you, it was difficult... but it got easier. Once it became something I did with you in mind, not just my mother... it started becoming something I looked forward to, rather than dreaded. It gives me an opportunity to feel close to her... and to feel close to you, too.”
She cleared her throat self-consciously.
“So I guess I was just thinking about that... and how... happy I am to have you in my life. To have found you.”
Gwen smiled shyly at her, and then down into her mug. Morgana’s heart ached at the sight.
After a moment that felt like forever, Morgana’s heartbeat pounding in her ears, Gwen stretched to set the mug down on the floor, sat all the way up, and curled her legs beneath herself. Morgana felt a sharp pang at the loss of her casual, familiar touch.
But only for a moment, because suddenly, Gwen was reaching out to take her hand.
“Morgana,” she said softly. “I felt all of that. You did it.”
Morgana stared down at their entwined hands in shocked wonder, and then back up into Gwen’s eyes.
“I did? Really?”
“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed, bending forward until she was just inches from Morgana, pausing, and then closing the space between them with a kiss.
Gwen's lips were even softer than Morgana had imagined any of the countless times she'd dared allow herself to dream of this. Mouth pressed gentle and warm against her own, Morgana forgot to breathe. The taste of apples and cinnamon, the feel of their fingers entwined, the scent of vanilla and lemon and freshly baked bread — of Gwen — flooded all of her senses, and she never wanted anything else ever again.
“I love you, too,” Gwen whispered against Morgana’s lips, pulling back just enough to say so, and then smiling into another kiss.