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If one were to be asked about Camelot's gardens, they shall be answered with how stupid the idea of recreational gardens were for a castle. But so were the art rooms, the library or the astronomy tower. If anything, the Queen's Gardens had begun as more of a happy accident, with different kinds of plants and flowers invading a half-built space. The queen had put some nice carpets and curtains, benches and even a swing on it. During the morning, the more immediate circle of ladies under her patronage would exchange, write, read and even illustrate different stories. In the evening, the queen would close the thick velvet curtains for privacy, prepare mattresses and cushions, and rejoice in such. At night, the gardens were expected to be completely empty, and even the very plants seemed aware of it, closing their petals in the darkness.
That is, except for the fateful night three figures met there. The first one was tall, and had been expressly forbidden to go there in fear he might either burn or freeze the plants with his magic... or, more likely, sour the mood with his attitude. The second figure was preceded by the flowers suddenly blossoming in the presence of the fairy, or half-fairy in her case. Although not exactly forbidden from the Queen's Gardens, having been forbidden from being near the queen due to the several attempts on her life, more or less left her exclusion of this space implicit. None of them should be there, yet both had received an invitation in that location; and judging by the looks they gave to each other, they certainly weren't expecting either of their transgressions.
"What brings you here so soon, witch?" Spoke sir Kay the Seneschal first, as usual, "I didn't have any spectacular and ridiculous defeat planned in my schedule."
"If I may offer you a suggestion, you should expect it," Morgan LeFay replied with mockingly false politeness, "For I'm sure some youth you've insulted will arrive any second now and break your neck again!"
"Youth might be the key word here, and I'm afraid you're older than me," he replied imitating her tone, "My question thus remains: what are you doing here now, witch?"
The question went apparently unanswered. Both of them heard the rumor of the curtains moving, and prepared themselves. Obviously, someone must have laid a trap on them, but whom? Arthur, as the High King, had many enemies that couldn't target him personally, but without impediments against an outlaw stepsister and an unpopular foster brother. And Morgause, somehow, had even more enemies that preferred to avoid her and her army of sons if they appreciated their life; but that would appreciate a ransom for her full sister and her stepbrother's dog. For all they both knew, it could be anyone sent by Guinevere or the Ban dynasty for "knowing too much", as if she had asked to have half of her castle covered with pictures of her most immediate enemy! Or as if he had wanted to find out Lancelot sounded like a wounded goat in heat during the labor of love in the first place!
And yet, both lowered the sword and spells as soon as they recognized the third and last figure. A short man with a worn-down green girdle, and with a cross in his neck besides another necklace with a symbol resembling a pentagram, which his mother must have insisted was merely and totally decorative, no ancient dark magic involved. Usually, sir Gawain the Lady's Knight was known for his affability and kindness. In fact, he was renowned for those qualities so much, neither Morgan nor Kay took him for an actual threat; less so without the sun to power him up or with Excalibur—how easy was it to forget he was the heir for the moment—in his belt. Yet, Gawain was trying very hard to look serious, no, angry at them. He closed the curtains and, still trying to contain himself, explained the situation:
"You might be asking yourselves why I have summoned you here..."
"It was you?" Kay interrupted, holding the letter in his hands and double-checking it, "Good news, you can imitate Bedevere's handwriting quite well. Bad news, it might be quite worrying since he only has a hand."
"I wasn't..."
"I thought it was Bedevere's handwriting too, nephew! I must admit I found it strange that he might invite me to steal King Mark's pigs, but it seems to be a local tradition around this lands after all."
"Gawain, I think whoever you asked to deliver these letters is horrible at their job. I didn't understand either why Bedevere would want to show me a cursed artifact from Cipango, but since Arthur has been very interested in that place I thought I could give it a try."
"The letters are not..." Gawain tried once again to cut that conversation and go to the point.
"It was Beaumains, wasn't it? Even for the post is he useless..."
"Is none of you both going to ask me why did I tell you to come here in the middle of the night?!"
Despite his best known attributes, Gawain had a bit of a problem: whenever he lost his patience he fell in the biggest rage possible. And unlike Lancelot or Sagremor, he didn't lose track of his thoughts or sight, so he knew exactly who to attack with all his might. If that scream that made some birds fly away in the middle of the night indicated something, it was how close he was to lose his temper. At day that might be worrying, but at night there could be an advantage against Gawain... If it weren't because his mother wouldn't be too happy to know somebody had hurt any of her boys, even in self defense. And Morgause certainly didn't know or care if they were family, friends or her worst enemy...
"Calm down, Gawain. Good Lord," Kay rolled his eyes, completely unimpressed by what he had dismissed a sudden childlike tantrum.
Not really expecting that, Gawain did indeed calm down. After all, being angry often led to nowhere, that he knew. So, Gawain took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly let the air go. He reminded himself why he had summoned precisely those two people in that place at such an hour. With a clear mind, he finally explained the situation:
"I'd like you to explain yourselves: aunt Morgan, why did you actually send the Green Knight?"
"Because I wanted Guinevere to die of a fright, I told you that."
"No, that's not the reason. You cursed a girl to be inside a tub of boiling water eternally just because you thought she was prettier than you, and do you really expect me to think that was your master plan for regicide?"
"Well, Bertilak and his wife are very loyal underlings..."
"Oh, please, aunt! You once sent a cloak that could burn whoever wore it, and had we not put it on your dearest friend it would have actually murdered Guinevere. You've tried countless times to poison Uriens' food or set up a "hunting accident" to the point not even your children want to speak to you once they caught you about to stab him in his sleep. Had it not been because Arthur is a very skilled fighter and because of the Lady of the Lake's miraculous intervention, your coup attempt with Accolon would have been successful. You even made your pet cat giant and murderous so it could attack the village of your ex lover after he dumped you!"
"Thank you for reminding me all of that, nephew," she spat with the same cold and serious voice others had learned to fear. Probably that was why Gawain focused on the other guest:
"And you, sir Seneschal," Gawain turned to Kay, who raised an eyebrow ready for whatever unintentional emotional bullying was about to be thrown at him, "How do you explain that churl in the bridge?"
"There are many churls in many bridges. They tend to move across time and space, and bridges are ultimately designed as safe ways to cross water bodies. Unbelievable anybody would make use of them, I know. I'm afraid you'd have to be more specific."
"You know exactly which one I'm talking about! The one asking to make a beheading game that you rejected, and I had to accept instead so as to retreat a lady's bridle."
"... No, still doesn't ring a bell," for a moment it might have passed as true, if not for his smile showing he knew exactly what Gawain was talking about, "Oh, you mean that one! Yes, I remember him, and how stupid all the situation seemed to me. Has that man found another bridge to ask strangers to behead him? And does that woman even still use the same piece of leather for her horse's face? I guess we'll never know."
"You paid the man to make a beheading game with me instead of retrieving the bridle, didn't you? There's no other way a family's sustenance would risk his life like that."
"You sure did risk your life like that without any bribery on my behalf, if I remember correctly."
"... Well, yes... But I couldn't reject that woman's pleas for help..."
"Nephew, did you really almost get beheaded over a bridle?" Morgan intervened, partially surprised and partially amused, "Why didn't you just buy her another one?"
"Let's forget about the bridle from now on! After all, he's also sent enchanted mercenary knights against me during different quests, many of which also asked for beheading games. Like when he was expelled of Camelot... Until we had to ask him to come back because no one else knew how to run the castle..."
"I didn't give them any particular instructions other than getting rid of you," Kay replied nonchalantly, as if being accused of attempting against the heir's life was just routine for him, "I guess they wanted to bring me some definitive proof of your demise. They're also their families' sustenance, after all."
Gawain had to inhale and exhale deeply once again. He told himself to think of beautiful things he really liked, like Ragnell, the green pastures in Lothian, the blue sea in the Orkneys, and Gringolet. So that was why people preferred to duel the Seneschal with lances and horses rather than dialectically, he told himself. But this time, Gawain had a proof for his claims, and decided to go for the strongest one to end this particular fight:
"And yet you were apparently depressed when you thought you had it in your hands. That I know. I also know you keep the heads of your enemies, sir Seneschal, and not only of those you killed in battle: treacherous nobles that were mysteriously poisoned, potential rivals to Arthur's claim to the throne that suffered some "accidents" while questing... Which you carefully collect, mummify and then expose in your bureau."
"I'm well aware of what I do, Gawain, no need to remind me all of that."
"Is it because of an ancient fixation with decapitated victims of sacrifices to earn the different favors of gods whose names are long forgotten?" Morgan asked, cutting Gawain from revealing what was going on.
"No," answered Kay with the same normalcy as before, "I just like to collect things."
"It sure is another reason to take into account," thus more or less did the witch confirm what she potentially used the heads of her victims. Or maybe she was just inspired after reading accounts of ancient Greek and Romans about the Gauls. Kay simply mused about how he also liked to collect keys, and complained how "the little prince here" didn't find his impressive amount just as amazing.
Could that be the reason Gawain was looking for? Judging by how he was pinching his nose, it was unlikely. He was actually thinking of how adorable Ragnell looked when she passionately shared those Renard stories she enjoyed so much. Otherwise, he would have already lost his temper quite a while ago. He couldn't miss the perfect opportunity given this new turn of events, however. So, even if it cost him his sanity, he decided to deliver the final blow:
"Exactly. That's what I mean. If you both had actually wanted my head for... quite some sick, crazy, and honestly rather worrying reasons... You would have beheaded me long ago. Instead, both of you, and I'm sure you're together in this whole ordeal, have decided to bother me with beheading games that end up with a mock execution. Why? Why waste time and resources, and my patience, like that?"
Gawain hadn't expected any sort of sentimental excuses from either of them. He had expected some offended shouts, and some veiled threats of watching his neck from then on. Both Morgan and Kay would leave after maybe throwing him some insults. He had prepared himself for that scenario, and knew neither of them would actually risk to actually kill him neither at that moment nor in the future. They hadn't done so already, and wouldn't do later. It wouldn't be practic or useful or whatever they had planned.
He didn't expect for both of them to change their gesture and posture to a more relaxed, defeated even, one. Kay sighed and took seat in the swing, while Morgan actually got closer to the man she wasn't long ago insulting. In fact, she put her hands over his shoulders, and if one could interpret how Kay leaned into her, it would have been described as full of trust. Of fondness. Of affection even. That was something Gawain wasn't expecting at all. Ever. No one would even think of such a possibility: the bitter yet loyal to a fault seneschal, and the mischievous faerie witch with turn-coat tendencies. His mouth was probably open already without realizing, yet both decided he deserved an explanation... and one about the beheading games as well:
"I don't think it makes sense to keep you in the dark anymore," started Morgan, "Kay and I have been... seeing each other for some months by now. It's nothing formal yet, we haven't told anyone else for the moment."
"Not even our children."
"I'm very happy for you both... I guess," actually, Gawain wasn't sure those were good news for anyone other than themselves, "But what does that have to do with constantly throwing me in particular in ridiculous beheading games?"
"Well, nephew, as you have pointed out before, I already have some prior experience with relationships that don't work out."
"And so do I," Kay moved one of his hands to squeeze Morgan's in support, and maybe to stop her from cursing Gawain. More likely the first option, "So, if we want this to work, communication is key. We've talked about things we like in our partners, about things we don't like..."
"That's a very healthy and mature thing to do, but I still don't..."
"... And we've also talked about things we both really enjoy. If you catch my meaning."
Gawain, did, indeed catch that meaning. If anything, that meaning had landed on Gawain like an actual ax on his neck. In fact, Gawain was now wishing any strange person or supernatural being would suddenly appear and actually behead him. He would even accept if both of them decided to ditch any intermediaries, and do the deed themselves! Anything other than finding out such a thing in such a way while being in the same time and space as both the people that had send all those beheading games for... Sweet suffering Jesus in Heaven, and in the sacred hidden names of the Forgotten Ones. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to fight, he wanted to flee, he wanted the ground to split and shallow him whole.
He finally was able to blabber something. It didn't matter if it was meaningless sounds or full words without a proper grammatical construction, or something somewhat related to the context. The least he thought about the context, the better, actually. Mechanically, and without fully realizing, Gawain left the gardens. He really did try to focus on the beautiful images his mind generated whether they made sense or not: a ground as green and fertile as Lothian's, with a sea as blue and wide as Orkney's in the background; Gringolet resting on the grass peacefully, while Ragnell read a story featuring dragons to the horse—Gringolet's favorites, actually—. Yup, that was a happy place, he told himself to mentally remain in that happy place, and forget everything that had just happened.
Morgan was the one keeping an eye on her nephew. Before entering the castle, he stopped and howled in horror like a madman. A flock of birds flew away again in fear and a bunch of dogs barked in response. Hopefully, no Lady of the Lake with druidess-like ambitions nor any pseudo-Roman augur would misinterpret that disruptance. After that, Gawain went inside, and Morgan hid behind the opaque curtain again. Kay was waiting for her, smiling playfully and trying very hard to not erupt in laughter. For once, their roles were reversed, with Morgan standing with a serious frown and her hands in her hips, while Kay faked innocence by kicking his legs in the air, moving the swing just a bit.
"Did you have to put it that way?" she asked trying to sound angry, but both of them knew she was just about to laugh as he was.
"Like what? With some bits of sexual undertones?" Kay asked, still putting up his little act, "Wouldn't it be the actually worrying thing that the first thing he could come up with was a kink rather than realizing I was joking?"
"I doubt anyone at all could guess it given the intensity you carried out that joke."
"Never have I ever thought I'd hear you complain about my sexual undertones, innuendos and word games, my witch. Although I guess with your love for the scientific method, you prefer experimentation over words..."
Kay laughed loudly at last, clearly proud and content with his own self and humor. Morgan crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but couldn't help to smile as Kay held her from her waist and pulled her closer, until she was sitting in the swing with him. In a moment of romanticism, he grabbed one of the flowers hanging from the swing's rope, softly moved one of her locks from her ear, and put the flower there as some sort of ornament. He sighed dreamily as she finally smiled and laughed with him. None of them were concerned with anything as simple as whether the swing could stand their weight shifting closer to each other.
Which didn't. It fell with a loud thud, and both with it. There were some seconds of nervousness, checking if the other was hurt. Then came relief when they both turned out to be alright. Some more smiles and giggles followed, and lastly Kay embraced his witch and pulled her over him. She held her face, joking that the swing was younger than him, but sealing any complaints on his behalf with a kiss, which was soon returned. And another. And many others more.
Good thing for the opaque curtains.