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Gwen wasn’t looking at him. They’d been in this cell for hours, and Gwen wasn’t looking at him.
Elyan sighed conspicuously, but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she looked down at the edge of the fur hide she was wearing. He could see her fingers tightening around each other as she resisted the urge to reach up and fidget with it somehow, smooth out the fibres or reposition it. She’d always been that way, she liked fixing things, improving them.
‘You still sew?’ He asked, his voice cracking from the preceding silence.
She nodded, clearing her own throat before proceeding. ‘A little more these days. The castle pays me well enough, and Morgana gives me a lot of time to myself.’
‘That’s kind of her.’ He replied, trying to sound as open as he could.
‘She’s kind.’
Elyan nodded, and only belatedly realised it would mean nothing to Gwen, who still wasn’t looking at him, but the silence had lasted just too long for him to feel safe trying to fill it.
‘Your voice is better than it was.’ She said eventually, letting her hands reach up to stroke at the soft fur.
Elyan smiled, though it was a small and bitter thing. ‘It’s still too high.’
‘Some men have high voices.’
‘That’s true. I’ve met men with voices far stranger than mine, that’s for sure.’ He let his head fall back against the wall behind him to punctuate the sentence, then looked back up for her reaction. She almost looked like she might have smiled, but resisted at the last moment.
‘You’ve had a long few years then?’
‘The good kind of long, for the most part, though I’ve missed you.’
Gwen hummed noncommittally, then a few moments later, ‘You’re running a forge?’
Elyan scoffed. ‘Was, until this. They must’ve wrecked half my wares in the scuffle.’
Gwen laughed. ‘So, nothing’s changed with you then?’
‘Not really.’ He smiled.
Elyan shuffled his feet, dragging shapes through the dust on the ground. ‘People see me for who I am now. It’s been a long time since any man treated me like I wasn’t one of theirs.' He closed a triangle with the toe of his boot, then scuffed it over to start anew. 'I’m not sure I’d even turn to Elaine anymore.’
Her voice was softer when she replied, gentler than it had been. ‘I’m really glad to hear that.’
When Elyan looked up, Gwen was looking at him, a quiet twinkle in her eye in place of a smile. She was scrutinising him, the make of his clothes and the fill of his face and arms.
‘You have been doing well, haven’t you?’
Elyan nodded, then sat, deftly crossing his legs to be at eye level. She scooted closer along the wall and reached her hand out for him to take. The silence stretched between them; Gwen still wasn’t smiling back.
‘You could have written.’ She said eventually, voice thin and tight with restraint.
‘I know, Gwen, I’m sorry.’
‘Are you? Four years, Elyan, and not a word! You could’ve been dead for all I knew!’
Elyan bowed his head. ‘I wanted to, but it just never seemed like the right moment.’
‘So, when our father died, wasn't that the right moment either?’
‘I didn’t know if he’d want me back.’ He said, his voice only seeming to grow quieter as hers raised in anger and accusation.
‘He loved you Elyan, he would have loved to see you again, see you happy. And I needed you.’
Gwen's hand was trembling where it still sat cradled in his.
‘I’m sorry.’ He tried.
‘You should have been there.’ She spat, turning her face from him.
‘How could I know I was welcome?’
‘You’re always welcome with me.’
‘Not just you Gwen, everyone! They saw what I was like before, it's not like I was a quiet kid. They'd remember the ridiculous little girl tripping over everything, following you around and making trouble. They’d see right through me, there’s no way they’d take me as I am.’
‘I’d protect you!’
‘That’s just the thing! You can’t keep protecting me from everything. You’re my big sister, you’ve got to have your own life. I have to be able to manage on my own. I’d not be much of a man if I didn’t.’
Her shoulders were shaking now, and still she didn’t look at him.
‘It’s not like that. It doesn’t– you don’t have to–’
‘I do.’
They sat for a while, waiting as her gasping breaths slowed back to a more regular pace. Her hand grew sweaty in his, even despite the cold, but she didn’t remove it.
‘You know who you are, Elyan, you don’t have to prove it to anyone.’
‘I’ve been run out of towns for less.’
They sat quietly for some time. She wasn’t shaking with her tears anymore, but her arm was, simply from being outstretched for so long. He gripped slightly tighter, then scooted over to her side, placing their joined hands on his knee.
‘What did you tell the prince when you came back here?’
‘That my foolish, idiot brother had been kidnapped.’
He smiled at her taunt, the insult only an insincere veil over the now-wounded love she gave so willingly, that he’d so carelessly cast aside.
‘He won’t remember,’ she continued, ‘we weren’t in Camelot long before you left the first time, and I didn’t really know him then. Even if he does, he… he’s kind. You matter to me, he won’t be a problem.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
She nodded.
‘He must be very good to you for you to be so certain.’
‘He’s like that.’ She said, avoiding his eyes now for altogether different reasons. ‘His servant Merlin is here as well,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘He’s been in Camelot a few years now, he’s a good friend.’
‘He took his servant on a rescue mission?’
She scoffed. ‘More like Merlin took him. He accompanies Arthur everywhere, and I’m half-certain it’s against the prince’s wishes.’
Elyan shucked out a laugh. ‘Anyone else? Someone useful? A small army perhaps?’
‘Just the Lady Morgana.’
‘How’d she get roped into this!?’
‘I’m her only maid, these days. Have been since just after you left.’
‘And she came all this way for you?’
‘She’s been there for me.’
He squeezed her hand again. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t.’
She let her head thunk down to rest on his shoulder, and the two of them watched the lazy motes drift through the tiny beams of sunlight coming in through the sparse cracks in the wall. She was warm at his side, and despite the chill of the cold stone cell, it was the warmest Elyan had felt all year.
He was used to heat, found it in his mother’s hugs, in Gwen’s larger hands raising him up to watch the cooking in their little house, the fire dancing on their stove. He’d loved candles, and the first he’d ever burnt himself was by leaning too close to one, entranced by the dancing of the flame until it’d scorched his young forehead. He’d known the heat of the forge; his father’s, then his own, sparks flying off metal, the great hiss as steam arose above his basin, the light rising off the cooling forms. In between the two, his way was warmed by the heat of campfires along his long and lonesome road. The oddness, the otherness, the wrongness of his appearance as a man had hindered the attraction of many others to him for so long, and by the time women began to glance his way in bars, he’d established himself too well in their little town to go ripping his shirt off and undoing all his work.
For too long, the forge had been all the heat he had.
Now, Gwen was beside him again, and he found he couldn’t imagine being so far from her again.
‘Will you come back with us?’ She whispered, so quiet it was more a change in her breath than a string of words.
‘Of course I will. There’s nothing left back there for me anyway.’
He finally felt her smile against him.
‘And after all, I’ve got someone to come back for.’ Elyan elbowed his sister lightly.
‘Damn right you do.’