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Morgana shivered as Gwen’s fingers ran through her hair.
“Are you cold, my lady?” Gwen asked, concerned eyes reflected in the mirror before them.
Morgana shook her head, smiling tightly, “It’s nothing, Gwen. Keep going, I mustn't be late.”
Gwen nodded and dutifully returned to Morgana’s hair, lifting it in her gentle, calloused hands. She braided it quickly and expertly, eyes down and focused on her work. Morgana watched her in the mirror. She shivered again when Gwen’s fingers traced around her ear, gathering the fine hairs to pull into a braid. For a moment, Gwen glanced up and into the mirror, but quickly looked down again. There was a concerned crease between her brows. She pinned the braids atop Morgana’s head, a raven black, glossy crown. Then she nodded and stepped back.
Morgana admired her own reflection in the glass. Her beauty was her greatest weapon, her strongest shield. No one dismissed her and everyone underestimated her.
“The necklace?” She asked.
Gwen was already holding it in her hand, having retrieved it from Morgana’s jewelry box. The diamonds glittered in the candlelight. She held it out and there was light refracted onto her black skin, rainbows against a dark storm cloud.
“Put it on,” Morgana bowed her head, feeling the cool air on her exposed neck. She was warm, though, almost unbearably warm as she watched Gwen’s hands from the corners of her eyes, moving over her chest and around her neck. The diamonds were cold and almost felt relieving against her skin. She shivered again, Gwen’s fingers tickling the back of her neck.
“Are you sure you’re not cold in this gown, my lady?” Gwen asked again, concern mixed with humor this time. Morgana knew this teasing tone and treasured it. It was where the line between servant and friend began to blur.
“Are you saying it’s too scandalous for the feast, Gwen?”
“On anyone else, it would cause a riot.”
“But on me?”
“On you, it will simply double the offers of marriage and better the court gossip.”
Morgana laughed. Gwen grinned as she rested her hands on Morgana’s shoulders after fastening the diamond studded necklace.
“You look beautiful,” She said, simply. Their eyes met in the mirror.
Morgana also knew this tone, and loved it even more. The line between friend and something else began to blur.
“Thank you,” Morgana blushed and looked away, feeling both the warmth and the shivers now.
“Go on, mustn’t be late,” Gwen said, stepping back and gathering melted candles to replace and clothing to wash, “I’ll see you after.”
*
Morgana returned to her chambers feeling drained. Uther had been in fine form during the feast, holding court as the benevolent king and the narrow minded tyrant in equal measure. Morgana felt her control slipping as she sunk onto her bed. Her meticulously maintained mask of untouchable privilege, haughty beauty, and cold detachment from Uther’s reign of terror could only last so long, she knew. The other kind of control, the one that she desperately needed but barely understood, seemed to be weakening just as rapidly. It felt like the floor beneath her was shifting, the stone walls began to shudder, and a steady pulse was growing behind her eyes...It seemed to do that more often, especially whenever the king started to boast about how many hundreds and hundreds of sorcerers had died by the letter of his severe commandments…
She gripped the blanket on either side of her hips and breathed slowly. She didn’t look at any candle flames.
“My lady, welcome back,” Gwen said, entering from her own chamber just off of Morgana’s. She held a neatly folded pile of nightclothes which she placed next to Morgana on the bed, “How was the feast?”
Morgana chuckled darkly and did not look up, though she felt the floor begin to still and the room came back into focus. Her eyes cleared and she blinked. Gwen tended to have that effect on her and her strange affliction.
“I’m glad it’s done,” She replied, “Help me undress.”
She stood up and turned her back to Gwen. She felt the other woman’s fingers begin to tug gently at the laces and fastenings running down the back of her dress and ached with relief as her body was slowly unwound from its tight wrappings. The dark, shining cloth slid off her shoulders and rustled as it pooled on the ground. The slip underneath the dress was thin and white, a far cry from the dark and tempting vision she had aimed to display with at the feast. She folded her arms over her chest and turned as Gwen picked up the discarded dress.
“Stay tonight,” Morgana said and immediately regretted the command in her voice, “If - if you want, I mean, if it’s-”
“Alright,” Gwen said over Morgana’s stumbling words, straightening up. She kept her eyes on the cloth in her hands and smoothed out the wrinkles. Morgana stared down into Gwen’s black curls, heart skipping at the soft way she’d answered. She didn’t know that tone, but it sent a thrill through her. “Here,” Gwen said, taking the nightdress off of the bed and holding it out to Morgana, looking up now to meet her eyes. She was smiling softly, her brown eyes reflecting the candle light.
Morgana nodded and tore her eyes away, feeling flushed again. After a moment's hesitation, a rush of boldness filled her and she stayed facing Gwen as pulled off her slip. It felt like the last piece of armor falling away, or the last mask. Only her black crown, made of piled braids of Gwen’s making, remained. She braved another glance at Gwen and for a moment they stood looking at one another. The moment lengthened, the silence stretched and took on too many meanings for Morgana to understand. Finally, she took the offered nightdress from Gwen and slid it over her head and down her back. She reached her hands up to her hair when Gwen stopped her.
“Let me,” She said. She began pulling pins out of Morgana’s braids. They loosened, slowly, and it felt like melting. A sweet, almost painful pleasure slipped over Morgana’s scalp as the tension was released. Her hair fell in curving waves, molded by the braids into wild, loose curls. Gwen smoothed it out with her fingers, watching with a relaxed, warm expression.
“Thank you,” Morgana whispered, and she heard the same new tone in her own voice. It was soft, deep and warm. A low burning fire, somewhere between her chest and her throat, seemed to create it.
Gwen nodded, took Morgana’s hand and turned her toward the bed.
“Get in then,” She nudged her with a shoulder playfully, then reached over to pull the bedcover down, “I’ll get changed.”
Morgana climbed into her bed and slid under the blanket. She felt both exhausted and wired, sensing something different in this simple, even typical exchange with her maidservant. This wouldn’t be the first time Gwen had stayed in Morgana’s bed. She’d often stayed nearby or even stayed awake to watch over her when the nightmares became too much and Gaius’ sleeping draughts were outmatched. But this time wasn’t about nightmares or duty.
Gwen came back, drew the window shades and blew out the candles, leaving only one. She hesitated before it.
“You can leave it,” Morgana said softly.
“Are you sure?” The light moved in Gwen’s brown eyes and danced across her face. Morgana felt her heart clench from the beauty of this woman, her caring heart. She could only nod in response.
“Come to bed. Now it really is cold.”
Gwen laughed, moving out of the candlelight and into the darkness. Morgana felt the blanket shift over her and the mattress dip beside her. Gwen rested her head on the pillow next to Morgana’s and sighed.
“Like it?” Morgana asked, teasingly.
She could almost see Gwen rolling her eyes, “Not a bit.” Then she laughed again.
Impulsively, Morgana reached her hand into the space between them and found Gwen’s arm. “Thank you,” she said.
“What for?”
“For staying tonight.”
“Are you afraid you’ll have a nightmare?” Gwen turned toward Morgana until she lay on her side facing the other. Morgana’s hand slid around her elbow and was tucked into a warm space between Gwen’s ribs and arm. She focused on it as she answered.
“No. No, I don’t think I’ll have a nightmare tonight. I just…” She hesitated. There were so many words crowding behind her lips, rushing to be said, confessed and witnessed. But instead she finished, “I just thought it’d be nice to have some company.”
Gwen made a sleepy, affirmative sound, then said, “But I’ll be here, you know. If you have one,” she moved a hand to rest on Morgana’s arm, still tucked slightly into Gwen’s side, “I’ll make sure you’re alright.”
Morgana felt a rush of gratitude and affection, pooling around a lump in her throat. She said, in a slightly mocking way that was purely a defensive maneuver against these feelings, “Fight them off, will you?”
“Every last one of them. I’m a blacksmith's daughter-”
Gwen stopped abruptly. Morgana gently squeezed her arm, wanting to pull her close but keeping still.
“I know,” Morgana whispered.
*
Years later, standing in the moonlit woods outside of Camelot, the memory of that night would arise. Morgana would see it clearly, as she could so many invisible events, past and future. The memory of Gwen’s warm body beside her, their hands resting easily on one another, falling asleep amidst everything left unsaid. These moments would crowd their way into Morgana’s mind and briefly overwhelm the constant rage, dread, pain and hatred. She would feel the long buried yearnings, coupled with bitter irony. Now, Morgana herself was the nightmare Gwen would have to fight.
She would fight, Morgana knew. Driven by her love for Arthur and her love for Camelot, Gwen would never give up and they would never again be what they once were. All for Camelot as it is, Morgana would think darkly, not for the Camelot that she knew could be. A place where everyone, including a witch, could be free.
Gwen was the only good thing she’d had in Camelot. It would do nothing to change the course of her destiny. But she would still cry silent tears in the darkness, waiting for her sister.