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In the space between then and now Gwen forgets what it's like being born with another name and the foreign taste of someone she'll never really know. (She hated a Sophia once and every bone in her body refuses to respond, still.)
-
You're a bit difficult, Soph, her dad tells her when she's sixteen and she wishes he were a little less unfamiliar; wishes the planes of her face and the crinkles at the corners of her eyes were less like hers.
-
At college she throws herself into her schoolwork because she hasn't found any of the people she loves yet and she can count on two fingers the number of times she's been allowed an education at all.
Gwen is told that everyone is very impressed with her A-levels and something like accomplishment washes over her for the first time in this life. She feels liberated, almost.
-
She decides on Nottingham because it's nothing like the London she's meant to call home; the streets whisper of Mercia and Gwen feels an old discomfort give way to something not unlike conversancy.
She traces the walls of buildings with calloused fingertips and tries to recall what she used to hear about warfare.
-
She meets a girl with a brilliant smile and fuchsia headband two weeks into her first term. 'Taylor,' she says, reaching across the pub counter, all American easiness.
Exchange student, Gwen thinks and almost misses propriety. 'Where are you from?'
Taylor laughs. 'New Mexico by way of Yale University.' She smiles. 'You?'
'Oh,' Gwen mutters, where from indeed. 'I, er – Hounslow. London.'
When Taylor nods her lips set in a determined line and for a second Gwen recognises it as a little bit powerful; she gulps down her beer before she can say something about herculean features.
She doesn't even realise she's introduced herself as Guinevere until later; does not know when she became reliant on habit.
-
Lancelot finds her on a Sunday. His eyes are knowing and as kind as ever; Gwen doesn't even bother to ask how or when.
She snorts when he passes her a business card like it's a promise and reminds him that making promises is always a mistake; Lancelot responds by pressing a kiss to her cheek.
'You're in my way,' she sighs, but her mouth twitches.
She does not tell him that it is not time yet; another few years, Gwen thinks, just for her.
-
Taylor wants to be President of the United States. When Gwen is told, she interrupts Taylor with hands underneath waistbands and a hot breath on her earlobe.
'You'd make a good politician,' she says, later, with Taylor's fingers at her ribs.
Taylor looks a little smug and a lot brilliant. 'You think?'
'Yeah. You remind me of someone, sometimes.'
'Good politician?' Taylor asks, rolling them over.
Gwen nips at her collarbone. 'He learnt how to be.'
-
Sometimes Gwen misses proper ale.
-
Four years after leaving university she visits Wales for the first time, this time; searches for history in places she's not even sure are the right ones. Gwen takes deep breaths, tries to find something recognisable in the winds, but there is no familiarity in Caerleon, Cardigan or St David's.
She never travels to Carlisle or Stonehenge. She is afraid of the memories but terrified of forgetting; Cornwall lies untouched and Gwen dares not mention Tintagel even to herself.
She starts to look for Morgana.
-
Gwen's body aches for open fields.
She does not leave London for fifteen months.
-
When her dad – her dad – dies she arranges the funeral with an almost procedural severity. Gwen cries more than she expected; the church is light and the vicar speaks so softly that she feels a bit guilty about the relief of having very little family, this time.
A month later she apologises to his gravestone; covers it almost completely with daisies and knows, somehow, that he would appreciate her not-quite release.
-
She changes her name by deed poll.
It makes things easier; Arthur rings after sixteen weeks. 'Guinevere, you clever minx,' he says and everything is almost like it's supposed to be. 'Morgana lives next door.'
'She always does,' Gwen murmurs. 'Lancelot found me at uni.'
Arthur's voice is a little like hope. 'I'm glad. Merlin?'
'No. I've – I only started looking properly last year.' Disappointment, Gwen has learnt, never becomes easy.
I wanted to stop time, Arthur tells her, afterwards. (Yes, she thinks, yes; this exactly.)
-
Sometimes she can hear echoes of what if we don't remember, the next time? in everything they don't say.
Gwen holds on tighter and thinks of five pairs of hands joined instead.
-
Arthur kisses her and it's soft but a little disappointing. Gwen wonders if she should be used to it by now; has an intense catalogue of lifetimes and first kisses and she knows that this is a mistake, maybe.
She files it in her head; shelves it under perhaps, next to Lancelot.
-
Gwen looks for meaning in the curves of Morgana's body; in the slope of her neck and the edges of her shoulder blades. She etches a map of each of their pasts on Morgana's skin, like a draughtboard of memories that never quite make sense.
Maybe some lifetimes are just for this, Lancelot will tell her, later, when the space between realities unfolds too quickly.
-
She finds Merlin online. Facebook is the most embarrassing thing about this time, he writes and Gwen thinks it's ridiculous, but when he's at her door she hugs him tightly, ruffles his hair.
'Took you long enough,' Arthur says and his entire body relaxes.
Gwen wonders if this is what complete means.
-
Some things always stay the same. The feel of Morgana's thighs underneath Gwen's fingers; Merlin's fierce loyalty; Arthur and Lancelot, constantly teetering somewhere along the border of brotherhood and resentment.
Then again, some things are only Gwen's to keep as memories so vague she sometimes mistakes them for dreams.
-
They go to Glastonbury Tor; Morgana presses against Gwen's back and Lancelot brushes hair out of her eyes in rhythm with the thunder above. It feels a little like home.
Merlin tangles his fingers with Arthur's. 'Lead the way, Wise One.'
This time, Gwen thinks, this time I will.
The dry grass is rough under her feet.