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The sun was high and beating viciously down on Morgana’s dark hair as she walked through the finally bustling market in the lower town. It had been an unnaturally long and harsh winter, snow blanketing the castle grounds and beyond, long after the winter solstice had ended and the mulled wine was gone. It almost seemed worth it now though, as the slow-melting snow gave way to fresh flowers that seemed to arrive overnight in hoards. The sweet daffodils and primroses had been just the first arrival of a warm, bountiful spring, and the citizens of Camelot had welcomed them with open arms and hopes for a better year. The market had soon followed the flowers, filled with people ready not only to sell their berries and trinkets, but to enjoy the renewed feeling of warmth on their skin.
Morgana included herself in this group of people, she would be the first to complain about the heat being too much, but had willingly trekked from her cool quarters in the castle, down to the vibrant stalls lined up along the main street of the lower town. Of course, the humble bunch of flowers clutched carefully in her left hand had absolutely nothing to do with the trip. And to go along with this, she very much had not purposefully avoided her irritating brother’s workshop nearby the market stalls, lest he see her with the flowers. If she had been avoiding him, it was simply because she hadn’t the energy to deal with his insufferable questions on a day like this. Arthur knew the heat made her temper worse than usual, and he took every opportunity to use this information against her.
Naturally, as she was heading up the slope towards the main courtyard, the selection of bright lavender and chrysanthemums on full display against her plain grey tunic, and temperature just beyond what she would consider comfortable, Morgana spotted Arthur stumbling cheerily down the steps of the castle – hair askew and a glowing flush painted high on his cheeks.
‘Ah, Merlin.’ Morgana mused, her idiot brother’s recent success in his long term infatuation with the young Court Sorcerer was the talk of the town.
She shook her head at his dishevelled, yet still smug demeanour and asked herself once again, how a man so simple-minded had ever gained Merlin’s affections. Truly he must be mad. In fact, she was so caught up in the unsettling idea, it took her just a second too long to notice Arthur moving swiftly in her direction. All too aware of the consequences she would face if her brother managed to spot her, Morgana picked up her pace and raced along the side of the courtyard, swinging her body quickly through the gap in the solid stone wall into a small alcove most members of the court had never noticed – let alone her brother with his one-track mind.
The parting led into a small garden she had found entirely by accident the last time she was attempting to hide from her brother – a rather memorable moment during the winter where Morgana had taken much joy in pelting him with sloppily crafted snowballs, she had however, enjoyed it significantly less once he recovered from the shock of the ambush enough to retaliate. It wasn’t much, just a small thatch of blooming wildflowers. Daisies and dandelions weaving their way through long, tangled grass, but to Morgana it was a hidden sanctuary. Many times throughout the winter, she had found herself bundled up in an assortment of spare tunics and her thickest woollen cloak, standing in the middle of the garden, taking a silent moment to let the cool air relieve her senses. It had been the end of a long, tumultuous year and she had been truly glad to see the end of it.
The garden offered a safe place for Morgana, away from the true chaos of the Knight’s quarters and right now, away from her meddling brother. She stumbled backwards – aiming to move as far away from the entrance as physically possible, until her boots caught in the tangles of weeds and grass. Without the time to even let out a cry of surprise, Morgana was flat on her back, dazed and blinking up at the bright sun. A pained groan found its way out of the grimace her mouth had formed as she resigned to her fate and made no effort to move.
Until,
‘And here I was led to believe Camelot was home to the most agile knights from across all the five kingdoms.’
Morgana moved to sit upright so fast, her hair flew out of its loose bun at the back of her head and fell into place directly in front of her face. Here she was, sprawled awkwardly in a patch of – now rather flattened – daisies, right in front of The Lady Guinevere. It took her a moment to truly process what was happening, but once her mind had caught up to her eyes, Morgana promptly maneuvered herself into the best kneeling bow she could manage in her bewildered state.
‘My Lady! My apologies, I didn’t know anybody else was here.’ She could feel a hot flush rising in her cheeks, only amplified by the heat of the sun beating down on her face, as if it were trying to embarrass her further.
Lady Guinevere was standing mere feet away from her, nestled softly into the not so far corner of the garden. She was draped in a flowing lilac gown, glowing in the shine of the sun, with her hand raised to the honeysuckle growing freely up and over the coarse stone wall.
‘Ah, I’m not sure if that eases my mind. Surely a knight such as yourself should have better instincts? After all, it might have been somebody far more dangerous than myself hiding away in all this grass.’
Morgana mentally chided herself, she wasn’t wrong. Yet when she raised her head toward Lady Guinevere to apologise further, she saw the slightest hint of a grin stretched across her warm, freckled face. It was shameful, just how quickly this relaxed her. Before she could even begin to fight it off, a hesitant smile set itself upon Morgana’s own features and she made to stand.
‘I assure you, my instincts are impeccable My Lady. Perhaps it is just that they knew you to be of no threat?’
Morgana quickly wiped the mud off her knees as best as she could and pulled her hair back into its place at the back of her head. As she raised her arms, she felt the pull of her tunic as it followed the movement, shifting up slightly to adjust to the angle. Her lips parted to apologise for such an event occurring in front of an important member of the court, but as she attempted to lock eyes with Lady Guinevere, the harsh overhead light produced by the sun made it seem as if her eyes were focused somewhere about a foot below Morgana’s face. Any trick of the light was soon disproven as Morgana blinked and saw the Lady Guinevere’s gaze was fixed firmly on her own.
‘Ser Morgana, are you suggesting that I am not a threat? I’m sure even you are aware of just how well a woman is able to defend herself when the situation calls for it.’ Lady Guinevere’s eyes narrowed, and Morgana recognised the shift of the material of her lilac dress as her legs moved apart a little and her hips angled themselves as if she had a sword in hand. It was more than just an egotistical display of power, she had seen plenty of those before, growing up with a brother like Arthur – it was a show of capability. Morgana was immediately made aware just how well this woman in front of her was able to use a weapon. If it were possible, just a little more sweat gathered itself under the collar of her tunic.
‘Oh believe me My Lady, I am the first to acknowledge your profound abilities with a sword,’ She lowered her gaze the Lady Guinevere’s silk-covered hips, and then raised it to once again meet honeyed brown eyes, ‘I just also happen to believe you could never be an unwanted threat to me.’
Morgana’s heart thundered in her chest as she came to realise what situation she had placed herself in. Not only had she gawked at the sister of the King himself, she had flirted with her as if she herself were exempt from the consequences of doing so. The Lady Guinevere was still staring at her as though she were trying to see past the physical barriers of her skull and right into the mechanism of the matter beneath. Then, so quickly it startled Morgana, she let a loud cackle out into the breeze. It was as if she were possessed, a Lady doubled over and laughing so intensely it turned her freckled brown cheeks an impressive shade of burgundy.
Morgana wasn’t sure whether to be mildly offended by the prospect of her flirtations being laughed off as a joke, or relieved they hadn’t ended with her strapped firmly to a pyre for reasons of treason. As Lady Guinevere righted herself and brushed off the creases in her dress, blush still high on her cheeks and eyes still glowing with amusement, she settled on inexplicably fond.
‘It seems there is more to you than I had initially estimated, Ser Morgana.’ Lady Guinevere gazed upon the knight’s face with an expression that was far too regal for somebody who had just snorted with laughter. ‘I had high expectations for your swordsmanship and professionalism, I was less sure of your character. I must say, I’m glad you have proven me wrong.’ Her face settled on a kind smile, and she walked as gracefully as anybody could through the weeds towards the exit of the garden.
‘Wait!’ Morgana’s attention to the Lady’s intriguing words was quickly brushed away as she remembered exactly why she had been forced into the alcove in the first place.
She crouched back down and gathered the now slightly battered bouquet of flowers into her left hand, using her right to give her best attempt at fixing the wonky blue ribbon holding the bunch together. A little awkwardly, she then inched towards Lady Guinevere bowing slightly as she held out the flowers for her to take.
‘The first blooms of the season for the most beautiful of them all, may the new season be as kind and forgiving as you, My Lady.’
Morgana maintained her stance of bent knees and bowed head until the free flowing breeze assured her the Lady Guinevere had left. She released a small huff of relief as she realised she was no longer grasping the flowers, Guinevere had accepted her offering. A wide smile soon stretched itself across her face. Guinevere had accepted her gift! Morgana felt renewed with energy despite the overwhelming warmth surrounding her and jumped up and down and around the garden, overcome with glee. She stayed a little longer in the sanctuary, sitting amongst the daisies once her newfound energy had run its course. As she stood and made her way out of the garden, unable to escape her duties even on the warmest of spring days, she saw a lace-hemmed handkerchief laying delicately on top of the cobbled stone floor, with its little embroidered ‘G’ in plain sight. Poking her head out of the alcove to check for any overseers, she bent down to snatch the handkerchief up and tucked it carefully into the sleeve of her tunic.
If she were any more sure of herself, Morgana might have believed she too had received an offering of her own that day.
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A few days later, Morgana found herself wandering through one of the more out of the way corridors the castle had to offer. It was late evening, training was long over and most of her fellow knights were dining in the hall, making the most of a warm meal after a hard day’s work. Despite the chill in the air, and the all too present absence of her cloak – Morgana had no desires to join them. Thankfully the intense heat brought upon the kingdom with the initial arrival of spring had petered out, transforming into a mellow warmth during the days and some slightly too chilly evenings to even it all out.
Naturally, the long, winding halls of the castle took the brunt of the chill, with too few fireplaces and wide open windows to welcome any air through, whether the temperature was agreeable or not. Tonight though, Morgana didn’t find herself minding all that much. She had been wandering down the halls aimlessly for about an hour, trying to work through the day’s stresses in her mind – and there had been a fair few of those. Since her hesitant acceptance into knight’s ranks the year before, it had been a difficult task in itself to encourage the other knights to recognise her as one of their own. Not that Morgana believed them all to be inherently bad people, she understood their concerns of hurting her to be a sign of their chivalry – after all, they had taken a vow to protect all citizens of Camelot and this focused primarily on women and children. It was just that she didn’t want them to protect her, Morgana needed them to respect her.
It had been a dream of Morgana’s to join the Knights of Camelot ever since childhood. She had fond memories of duelling Arthur with handmade wooden swords provided by their mother, stretching back as far as she could remember. Tucked away with them, sat plenty of even fonder memories in which she had Arthur pinned to the ground at the mercy of her (thankfully blunt) sword point – she had almost always bested him in their little battles. The nostalgia brought a smile back to her face. In the end, she knew all the hard work and effort would be worth it. After all, she had managed to become a knight in the first place, and for quite some time she had believed that itself to be an impossible feat.
Still, she continued through the winding halls, finding an unexpected level of comfort surrounded by the strong walls on either side of her. The castle was a fortress, protected not only by stone and mortar, but by the countless numbers of knights and citizens alike who would risk their lives to protect the precious nature of all that was inside. It was this knowledge that brought Morgana the most comfort, she may have her struggles with the boundaries and traditions of such an environment, but she knew deep within the confines of her chest that Camelot was her home.
With a lighter heart and a less tangled mind than when she left her rooms, Morgana swept through the corridors, now with plans of heading back towards the knight’s chambers. The intense physical and mental work such as that she had encountered earlier in the day was enough to make the strongest knight grow weary. So much so, she didn’t even notice another presence alongside her in the passageway until she bumped straight into another body, with such force she nearly knocked them both to the floor. Morgana only had her muscle memory to thank as she gained her footing and clutched the waist of her companion just in time to prevent any injury.
‘Ser Morgana, we simply cannot keep meeting like this, what will the people say?’
Said knight had only just registered the soft touch of the silky dress clasped in her hand as she heard the smooth voice whispering in her ear. She looked up and found herself once again face to face with Lady Guinevere. The low light of the halls did nothing to dim the sparkle of her humour in her eyes, in fact, the flickering candle light only seemed to make their shine all the more intense. A truly mortifying amount of time passed before Morgana’s mind caught up with her body and she realised she had been standing in an empty hallway with her arm wrapped around the Lady Guinevere, staring unmoving into her eyes.
‘My Lady!’ She soon came back to herself, unwinding her arm from the unfortunately comfortable spot in which it had made itself at home, and she leapt backwards – putting an acceptable amount of distance between them. ‘I must apologise, again, it seems I have become a little too relaxed inside the castle’s walls.’
Morgana made to bow before the Lady in front of her, only, as she tried to tilt her head downwards, a soft hand found its way to the curve of her jaw and carefully pulled her face upward.
‘You say that as if it is something to be ashamed of,’ Guinevere let her hand drift from its place on the knight’s jaw, fingers grazing softly down the side of her neck. Morgana’s skin burned at each point of touch, unsure how to respond. ‘It would be a true tragedy if those as precious to the kingdom as yourself felt uneasy here. I fear I would have to send myself to burn at the pyre for such a crime against you.’
Guinevere’s hand fell away from her neck, but her gaze remained firmly upon the woman in front of her. Morgana’s mouth felt dry as she fumbled for the right words to say, senses overwhelmed by the lingering scent of lavender. The most powerful woman in Camelot, the King’s sister for goddess’ sake, had just called her ‘precious’. The word itself seemed to dance through the air in front of her, glowing the same gold as Guinevere’s eyes in the dark of the night. Morgana opened her mouth. Closed it again. Then she seemed to make up her mind.
‘If a noble such as yourself holds the residents of Camelot to such a standard as to consider us all ‘precious’, then I have complete faith that I chose the right monarch to devote myself to.’ Morgana returned Guinevere’s gaze with unwavering certainty.
It felt once again as though her heart was trying to pound its way through the restraint of her ribcage, but this was a feeling she had become used to any time she was in Guinevere’s presence. Even before their last meeting in the garden, Morgana had believed the Lady to be somebody special. When Guinevere and her brother Elyan had come to Camelot to take over the throne after the previous king had passed away with no true heir to inherit, Morgana had become besotted by the beautiful young woman with the soft, curly hair and kindly eyes. As each day had passed, and the new sovereigns settled into their rule, she had been made all too aware of how this youthful infatuation had grown to something akin to worship as she saw how The Lady Guinevere became one with the people, making it her priority to focus on Camelot’s community as her brother acquainted himself with all the logistics of leadership. If Morgana were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that Guinevere’s strong willed presence in Camelot had been what spurred her on to put herself forward for knighthood.
The old king had been set in his ways, he believed only men of a wealthy, noble background should be considered for knighthood. Falsely believing wealth and power to be strong motivators for loyalty and honour. However, when King Elyan began his reign, these traditions were soon uprooted for far more inclusive requirements. All men of a variety of backgrounds were now encouraged to attempt the gruelling induction process and many of the older, less competent knights were soon sent back to their own land, replaced by individuals who embodied what it was to be a protector rather than a persecutor. This in itself was an incredible change for Camelot, one that had thankfully been well received once people became used to the shift in society. Yet, it was not this alone that had managed to convince Morgana to go ahead with her dreams.
As King Elyan and Lady Guinevere settled into their new home, it became no secret to the public that the Lady was rather proficient with a sword. The siblings openly spoke of how they had been raised so both could handle a sword to protect themselves and others, with no thought toward their own gender. Frequently, the Lady Guinevere had been spotted out on the training field in britches and a beautifully embroidered tunic, thwarting a straw dummy and even on occasion, her brother. It was this openness which had finally convinced Morgana to go ahead with it all. If the King took no issue with having common folk become knights, and was openly supportive of his sister’s ability to fight, then what issue could he possibly find with her?
It had been a mildly humiliating, incredibly gruelling process in the beginning. When she had stepped forward, offering herself up for testing on the training field that day, many people had laughed in her face and nobody had taken her seriously. Still, she had bowed to her King and faced him head on, only vaguely taking in the concern in his eyes as they flicked up and down her clearly feminine body. Thankfully, he had quickly silenced the laughter with a simple raise of his hand, and had asked Morgana if she was entirely sure she wanted to commit herself to such thing. There had been a few more snickers from the crowd at his words, many clearly doubting both her strength and her determination, but just as her resolve began to wither, a calm voice had cut through the air. In front of the entire army, and a healthy number of spectators, Lady Guinevere had vouched for Morgana’s capability and her right to be able to join the knights if that is what she wished.
It was all a little bit of a blur in Morgana’s memory after that, just flashes of swords clanging against each other, tough hazing rituals and plenty of mud. What was clearer than ever in her mind though, was the bright, almost proud look upon Lady Guinevere’s face as Morgana knelt on the floor of the grand hall as she was finally bestowed her knighthood. It was far too similar to the expression lighting up her face as they stood here in the corridor.
‘My brother is lucky to have such a viciously faithful knight in his collection.’ Morgana noticed Guinevere’s throat bob as she took in her words.
Naturally, Morgana felt the need to clarify.
‘Your brother is not the one I was referring to, My Lady.’
The words sat in the air for a while. Surrounded by the gentle moonlight slipping in through the passage windows to mingle with the light of the candles. The two women stood, staring at each other in the silence, neither knowing quite how to go forward. Finally, Guinevere released a small huff of laughter and spoke,
‘I believe you have just committed treason, Ser Morgana.’ Her tone denoted the humour behind the words, but her calm façade was betrayed by the deep flush sitting high on her cheeks and moving swiftly down the smooth curve of her throat.
Morgana smiled, pleased she had been able to cause Guinevere to experience an ounce of the weightlessness she herself frequently fell victim to in the other woman’s presence.
‘Ah, but I am merely dedicated to protecting the crown, and that includes you I am sure of it?’ The air around them became a little easier to breathe in as the tone of their conversation shifted to something more playful.
Guinevere shifted, the skirt of her dress brushing past Morgana’s britches as she moved to continue her path down the hall. Morgana herself turned in place to follow, two paces behind the Lady in front of her.
‘You forget, my head is not the one which bears the crown.’ Guinevere turned her head to the side, her pace slowing as she faced exposed wall instead of the knight she was addressing.
She raised her hand and flicked her wrist, beckoning her to walk beside her. Morgana managed to only hesitate for a second before obeying the silent command. In fact, it was the slight acceptance of their unusual dynamic, that reminded her of something she had been meaning to return.
‘Oh!’ Morgana reached into the leather pouch attached to her hip, on the opposite side of where her sword was sat, and pulled out the slightly crumpled form that was Guinevere’s handkerchief.
She had held onto it ever since that encounter in the garden, keeping it on her person at all times, whether she was training or eating or sharpening her sword – the handkerchief had become something of a personal comfort to her in the past days. Morgana was slightly unwilling to give it up, but as it had steadily lost it’s warm lavender scent, she knew it needed to be returned to its true owner sooner rather than later. So, she attempted to shake the wrinkles out of the handkerchief and held it out towards Guinevere.
‘I believe this belongs to you, I rescued it from the garden a few days ago, just before it became overly friendly with the weeds.’
Guinevere looked at the handkerchief, then her eyes settled back upon Morgana with an expression that mirrored an individual trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. She made no attempt to take back the small square of fabric, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she found herself being interrupted.
‘I thought it should be reunited with its owner, lest it be missed.’ Morgana looked to the stone floor, once again overcome with embarrassment as she felt the heat flooding her cheeks. ‘Especially with the tournament coming up, I wanted to be sure you had it available, just in case you were wanting to gift a knight a token this year.’
Morgana could feel Guinevere’s gaze burning through the side of her skull, even as her words trailed off into a whisper. Yet, just as she began to question her own behaviour, equally soft words were spoken into the cool air.
‘I must thank you, Ser Morgana. You see, there is one knight in particular I was hoping to provide my support for at the tournee, and I couldn’t have possibly managed it without my only handkerchief.’ Guinevere reached out and curled her long fingers around the fabric, soft skin meeting the callouses on Morgana’s palm – who in turn looked back up at her companion.
They both smiled, as if each were keeping a secret from the rest of the world, and they silently continued their journey down the hallway. As they reached the adjourning corridor, their serene bliss gave way to the bustle of a busy evening in the castle. Servants hustled past carrying baskets of laundry, and a gaggle of knights emerged from the hall, evidently basking in the kind of dozy post-dinner camaraderie that came naturally to them.
Morgana slowly parted from the Lady Guinevere, joining her fellow knights, with one last bow as she supressed a slightly giddy smile. Guinevere herself sent the gaggle of knights off with well wishes for the night ahead and turned to make her way back to her chambers, stroking the crumpled material of her handkerchief in between her fingers. It seemed, if she were to ensure Ser Morgana would take her gift, next time she had to be far more obvious with her intentions.
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The sky was the colour of fresh ash and the soil beneath Morgana’s feet was firm but not too dry. Unsheathing her sword and twisting her wrist around a few times in an attempt to let the movement sooth her nerves, Morgana cocked her head to the left and considered the day – it was perfect for a tournee. All around her were the sounds of metal on metal and the loud buzz of all the townsfolk gathered in the arena. Many of the knights themselves were huddled away in their little tents, either recovering from their time in the ring, or anxiously preparing for what was to come. Morgana herself found more comfort outside her own tent, she considered the deep red material more suffocating than protecting.
So, she had managed to tuck herself away in a small secluded corner behind her tent, and after some awkward stretching (which was always a more complicated task when wrapped in solid metal armour and draped in chainmail) Morgana was simply taking some time to assess and appreciate the day. Her sword was gripped firmly in her left hand, the notches and grooves of the solid hilt more familiar to her than anything else she owned. It had been a gift from her brother long ago, far before she had even genuinely becoming a knight. It had been one of Arthur’s first creations inside his own forge, certainly not his first because it was all too true that metal work was a difficult skill to master, even when you had been raised alongside a proficient blacksmith as they had been. Still, it was the first of his creations without the help of their uncle, that Arthur had deemed worthy enough to leave him, and naturally it ended up with Morgana. She had never owned her own sword before, instead spending time honing her skills with the commissioned productions of their uncle’s forge once she had aged past the wooden weapons of her youth.
Now, as she carefully slid the sword back in to the scabbard attached securely to her hip, she found herself unfortunately glad to have Arthur as her brother. Not that she could ever admit such a thing to him. The man’s ego had already inflated his head so much he struggled to make his way through many of the doorways in Camelot. He never seemed to have an issue making his way through the door of Merlin’s chambers though, she often mused. Just the thought of her brother alone in a room with Merlin was enough to turn her stomach, she had seen the way Arthur looked at the Court Sorcerer in a room full of people and that was nauseating enough thank you.
Although she was rather focused on making any thoughts of her brother and Merlin evaporate from her mind, Morgana was not so lost in the task that she did not realise when she had company. This time, she could hear the rustling sound of fabric as somebody edged slowly towards her tent. Before she even looked around to see who was approaching her, her suspicions were confirmed as the light smell of lavender and honeysuckle caught in the breeze reached her nose. Immediately, Morgana swivelled towards her visitor, back straightening and one hand brushing a lock of hair that had managed to escape the confines of her tight bun away from her face.
‘My Lady.’ As well as she could manage whilst weighed down with armour, Morgana bowed as Guinevere came to stand in front of her.
‘Ser Morgana.’ Guinevere nodded her head toward the knight in turn and Morgana stood up straight again.
She was draped in finery specifically for the occasion, a velvety deep red gown adorned with an beautifully embroidered gold bodice and sleeves. Morgana felt all the air in her lungs escape her as she took in the glorious sight. Her eyes swept up and down, unable to construct even the most simple of sentences to ask Guinevere what she was doing at her tent, rather than watching the current show.
Eventually, she managed to break her gaze long enough to focus back on the face of the woman in front of her, only to find Guinevere similarly distracted, looking upon Morgana’s armour-clad form. The somewhat clunky nature of her chainmail and breastplate had at first been awkward and uncomfortable to move in, but after over a year of learning to adjust each swing and lunge to adapt to the extra weight, it had become like a second skin to her. All the knights of Camelot were expected to wear full armour for tournaments, mostly for their own safety but also to add to the sheer spectacle that was to be provided for the audience. Morgana had grown used to wearing it on duty, where it was a necessity rather than a display, but the prospect of Guinevere enjoying the view was entirely something she could become accustomed to.
Morgana smiled, and cleared her throat. This seemed to break Guinevere out of her reverie, and she watched as the Lady before her came to realise that she had been staring, and the hue of her star-speckled cheeks became the product of more than just the warmth of the day.
‘My Lady, it might be impertinent of me to ask but, what are you doing away from the show?’
A shy smile set itself upon Guinevere’s face as she gathered the skirt of her dress into her hand and walked a little closer to Morgana.
‘Ah, I’m sure Sirs Galahad and Mackay are far too caught up in bashing each other with their swords to have even noticed my absence.’ She stopped about a foot away from where Morgana was standing, her right hand releasing her skirts, moving instead to her left sleeve. ‘Even so, I had an important task to attend to.’ An all too familiar piece of fabric was pulled from the sleeve, and she shifted the handkerchief between her fingers.
Morgana’s chest clutched in anticipation, their close proximity allowed the sweet scent she had grown to associate with the Lady Guinevere to fill her nose, leaving her feeling a little lightheaded. Only her wildest daydreams had allowed her to consider the possibility of such an honour.
Before she could find the words to address the situation, Guinevere spoke again, a little more hesitantly. Her tone was more intimate than Morgana could’ve expected, this woman had commanded the masses of an entire kingdom, and yet here she was in front of a mere knight, almost timid.
‘You see, about a year ago, a knight joined my brother’s ranks and took everybody off-guard with her sheer willpower and ability.’ She looked down at the ground, took a deep breath and lifted her head to look straight into Morgana’s eyes. ‘All the other knights seemed to underestimate her, doubting her skill due to her being a woman, but even on that first day, standing in the training field, I knew her to be more than capable. Admittedly, I was a little biased – but I had also seen exactly what this knight could do with a sword in her hands. For weeks, I’d had the pleasure of watching her practice, out in the field at night when she believed there to be nobody else around; and I saw exactly how swiftly she moved and how precise her blows could be. I found myself enraptured more and more with each secret session I witnessed.’
Morgana’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, she had in fact been training through the night before she had officially put herself through the ordeal of becoming a knight, wanting to be sure she was competent enough to keep up with whatever was thrown at her. She had been blind to any spectators, too caught up in what she was doing to pay attention to anything other than the weight of her sword in her hand.
‘And so when the day came that this woman was finally accepted into the knight’s ranks, I found myself elated as all of her hard work came to fruition,’ Guinevere’s voice somehow grew even quieter as she whispered her next words, ‘I also found myself more than a little infatuated with her. I was proud, as the King’s sister, to know that a fellow woman could make it as a knight in the kingdom I have the honour of nurturing, but I was also overcome with an inordinate amount of admiration for somebody I hardly knew.’
She held the handkerchief out, extending it to Morgana.
‘Now, I’d like to offer this knight a token, not only for luck in the tournament, but also as a proposal to overcome this distance between us, if she would do me the honour of accepting it.’
Morgana couldn’t believe what was happening. The world around her spun dizzily and the ground beneath her feet felt a little like it was slipping away from her, the only stable force was the woman standing in front of her, whose eyes gleamed with determination and chest heaved with apprehension.
‘Guinevere.’ She gasped. Her eyes moved to the handkerchief in front of her, and with a shaking hand, she leaned forward to grasp it.
The fabric was soft and floral sweet as she brought it up to her face, brushing it delicately against her cheek, inhaling the scent. The thoughts racing around her mind immediately stilled as she let the square fall from her hand and reached out into the small space between them to wrap her arm around Guinevere’s waist and pulled her forward until their lips met in a charged kiss. Hindered slightly by the boundaries of their equally awkward clothing, they pushed firmly against each other and quickly the noise of the day melted around them as all Morgana became aware of was the warm, honeyed taste of Guinevere on her tongue.
All too soon, the loud sound of a trumpet announcing the end of the ongoing match blasted in the distance behind them and broke the bubble they had created as they slowly pulled away from each other. Morgana found herself giggling a little hysterically as she dropped her head onto Guinevere’s shoulder, nose pressed into her neck and shoulders shaking with the force of their combined laughs.
Unwillingly, she pulled herself away from the woman in front of her, bending down to pick up the handkerchief from where it had fallen on the dusty floor beneath them. She righted herself and shook the cloth off gently tucking it into the small space under her breastplate.
‘I graciously accept your token, My Lady.’
Guinevere broke out into a beaming grin, brushing down her now rumpled skirt as she attempted to feign annoyance, ‘I’m not so sure about it now, I can’t believe you dropped my token onto the dirty ground!’
Morgana laughed, armour squeaking some with the movement.
A voice in the distance began calling her name, and they both realised the intimate suggestion of their proximity. Guinevere leaned forward a little, placing a quick kiss on Morgana’s cheek before reaching to pick up the knight’s helmet and handing it over to her.
‘Good luck in the tournament, Ser Morgana, I’ll be cheering for you.’ She winked, and once again swept her skirt up to twirl away, and Morgana watched as her form strolled back toward the arena.
As she readied herself for her turn in the ring, Morgana couldn’t shake her wide smile. Delicate material pressed warm against her chest, as she walked away from her tent and toward the enthusiastic crowd. This knight had a tournament to win, after all.