Once Upon a Camelot Curse - Chapter Three
That was far too close.
Morgana knew that her group of guards and courtiers would keep most of the people she knew at bay. No one that personally knew her had managed to get a seat of power during the faire, which was some thing of a blessing. She always had an entourage that kept both the visitors and anyone who might actually know her a safe distance away.
She couldn’t have anyone getting their memories jogged, that much was for sure.
And it wasn’t like she didn’t see them around the grounds. Gwen and Merlin had ended up running a booth together, after all. But her magic had at least managed to keep Arthur and his queen separated, which was a sweet reward for the trouble Morgana had gone through after her curse had gone a bit awry.
This wasn’t what she had planned. The curse was supposed to get rid of Arthur and his inner circle, plus the group of knights that were loyal to him and at his disposal. Anyone who would fight to keep Arthur Pendragon on the throne no matter if he had merely vanished or was killed had to be removed for her to be able to return to power.
It had worked.
For the most part.
The guard’s calls to make way for the queen drifted back to Morgana and she couldn’t help smiling at the sound. Of course, she wasn’t really queen. Not of Camelot, anyway, although forcing Arthur to become merely a knight with no memory of who he truly was would have been second best choice besides banishing him and his cohorts to places unknown. And she could pretend.
They all treated her like a queen as it was.
She probably could have gotten them to carry her in a pavilion, up on their shoulders or something like that. But Morgana wasn’t going to push it. This wasn’t exactly what she had planned when she had pulled the dagger across her arm. She had imagined walking into Camelot and seeing no guards and no Arthur. She’d be able to waltz right into the castle that was rightfully hers and take the throne with no problems. She’d appoint her own loyal knights and guards and rule Camelot the way she was originally supposed to.
This was a farce compared to what Morgana had promised herself. What the potion had promised her. And she had to fight the contempt that flickered on her lips each time she looked at her “subjects” that surrounded her. Sure, her doting party was all but real. They all assumed they were playing a role. And Morgana recognized some of the faces as the curse had rearranged some of the parts each villager had originally played in Camelot. It was a bit of a delight to see Gaius and Guinevere running menial game booths, dressed in clothing fit for the social status that Gwen had first started in and should have stayed in.
But it wasn’t like ruling Camelot in the slightest. And she still had no idea how she had gotten to the faire grounds in the first place, despite adapting quickly to her arrival.
“Are you nearly ready, my queen?” A young woman who was leaning into the tent questioned with a quiet voice. When there was no answer, she entered, allowing the fabric to close behind her, blocking out the harsh summer sun and the chattering of guests outside of the tent. She approached the woman she was addressing, reaching out and tapping on her shoulder.
Morgana started, holding back a shriek as she whirled around and focused on the young woman, who also jumped away, holding her hand to her chest as if Morgana had burned her. Instantly, Morgana was on guard, her hand reaching toward her belt for a dagger, but instead of a hilt, her fingers curled around luxurious fabric that bellowed out from her waist. It was nothing like the raggedy dress she had been wearing only moments before.
“Are you alright, your majesty?” The young woman, who Morgana noticed had calmed and was running a hand through her blond hair, attempting to regain her composure. It was no one that Morgana recognized from the castle, but she was also wondering why she was calling her queen and majesty.
At least until Morgana turned and caught sight of a glint of gold on top of her dark curls. Her green eyes instantly flicked up and saw, in a mirror that had been behind her, a crown balanced on her head. Slowly, she reached up and touched the metal, half expecting it to vanish like a newly realized dream. But it was solid when her fingertips connected with the gold and Morgana’s breath caught in her throat. Beneath the crown, her hair was smooth and soft like it had been when she had lived in the castle in Camelot. Her cheekbones were softened, unlike her sharp features after months of living on the run and off the land. Her body had filled out as well and was clad in one of the most extravagantly gorgeous emerald dresses she had ever seen.
“My queen…?” The woman started once more and Morgana had to tear her eyes away from herself in the mirror. What had happened with the potion? She could have easily blacked out from the explosion, but it surely would not have made her forget the rest of her plan. She should have still been in the forest in that forgotten keep. There was no way she could block out leaving and traveling to Camelot and taking the throne, if that was what she had done…
Maybe the curse had escalated her plans.
A slow smile slipped onto Morgana’s lips as she turned to her attendant. She could be queen, if it was that quick. Obviously she would have to make plans to change her small group like Arthur had, but that wouldn’t be an issue. She wouldn’t be queen if his allies were still anywhere close to being in the castle or in Camelot, so that wouldn’t matter.
“Of course, I am alright. Let us proceed with the day, shall we?” Morgana could be queen. She’d have to learn along the way, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know Camelot and how it was supposed to be ruled. And that’s what she thought as the blond woman led her out of the tent and into the sun.
As Morgana’s eyes adjusted to the bright light, that smile on her face flickered and died. People milled around her, and while the guard, dressed in green instead of Pendragon red, knelt and showed respect to her, Morgana barely recognized the subjects that had watched her emerge. Some were dressed peculiarly, with pants that barely reached their knees and shoes that did not cover their toes. Women were similarly dressed, which was even odder and every few people were pointing strange contraptions at her as they waved and smiled and cheered.
She looked at her surroundings, catching sight of the squat buildings around her. Large trees grew up through the dirt road that snaked between those buildings and shed shadows amongst the rays of sunlight. It was all so normal looking.
But it was not Camelot.
Morgana’s heart began to race but with all the people, strangely dressed or no, looking at her, she wasn’t sure what to do. Running away as fast as possible was an option or she could attempt a transportation spell. The words were familiar in her ears. "Bedyrne ús. Astýre ús þanonweard," she muttered under her breath, expecting a cloud of smoke to rise up and take her anywhere but here.
But she was stuck.
With no magic.
A feeling of powerlessness swept over her, despite the crowds watching. She needed to get out of here, before anyone realized who she truly was. She had to figure out where she was and make sure she could get back home. Before she could shove someone out of the way, however, the blonde that had led her out of the tent leaned over.
“Relax, Morgana. You’re freaking out the Normals. C’mon, you can do this. Not like you haven’t been doing this since the start of the season or anything. Get your act together,” she whispered hurriedly in Morgan’s ear before moving away. Morgana shot the woman a look and merely received an encouraging smile in return. The Normals? What did that mean?
Did it matter?
A slow look around at the group of people that surrounded her, and Morgana realized she was in a position of power. These people served her, at least from what she could tell. And so the smile slid back onto her lips as if nothing had even worried her.
“Let us proceed!” She called out, extending an arm to articulate the command and what seemed to be her personal guard rose and fell around her as she moved away from the tent and onto the grounds of what was apparently her new kingdom.
After that, it had been all about discovering what realm she had landed herself in and what was going on around her. She had quickly learned that the “Normals” that her attendant had talked about were tourists visiting the village. And the village was constantly hosting a faire that these tourists sometimes tried to blend in and dress as her subjects and some didn’t even bother, coming in what was apparently regular clothing. They were allowed to come and go as they pleased, paying a fee to enter the village and enjoy the festivities that went on around them.
Morgana and her subjects, however, were a different story when it came to leaving the grounds.
The day had proceeded as apparently each day had before it. Morgana stayed quiet and her subjects seemed to deem that as normal for her as the escorted her around the village. Each hut held a storefront filled with crafts and goods for sale, or they were a front for games of skill or even for food. It was not very large, Morgana noticed, the entire set of grounds probably cascading over about six or seven acres of land. Everyone seemed relatively happy and much to her pleasure, happy to see her.
Guards called out her approach and separated the crowds for her. And her subjects, both dressed oddly and familiarly, cheered as she passed by. It filled Morgana up with a feeling that she hadn’t experienced in quite some time.
Happiness.
So she smiled and waved and allowed herself to be paraded around the grounds that she apparently ruled over. Each step showed something new and it was revealed that this was all merely an act. It wasn’t obvious, at first, to Morgana as the costumes were like anything that she could have pulled from her closet in her room in the castle back home. And everyone acted just like those in Camelot, at least for the most part, although possibly a bit exaggerated compared to the real thing. But she caught sight of lines of “Normals” paying what looked to be money to enter the main gates, all holding strange machines that Morgana couldn’t imagine understanding.
The entire day was dedicated to her, however, and that was distraction enough from the creeping feeling of panic that threatened to engulf her. It had been far too long since Morgana had been able to interact with anyone, let alone people that wanted to adore and serve her.
So she let it happen.
Passing by a set of game booths, she instantly recognized three of the workers and her blood ran cold. Merlin, Gwen and Gaius were all running the games behind wooden counters. But none of them seemed to think that was out of the ordinary and were moving around in the displays as if they had been working them for years. There was no look of panic in their eyes as she and her group passed, but they merely looked at her as if they had seen her every day, for just as long as they had run those games.
“It is time for the first jousting tournament, my queen,” the blonde attendant whispered as the group began heading down towards what looked like a rather large arena. People were milling around the edges and Morgana was led to a great fixture with a fabric tent that hid her from the sun and allowed her a cushioned view of the entire sport.
Amazing.
As the knights who were to perform for her filed out from hidden barracks, all on horseback, Morgana recognized a familiar blond head and her heart began to pound. Arthur. Arthur, surrounded by the majority of his knights and they were all armed with poles and other tournament weapons. But as they paraded around the arena and finally came to a stop in front of her, none of the men, Arthur included, seemed wrathful as they bowed. The announcer hosting the entire thing, who she recognized later was Gwaine, introduced each knight and the loudest cheers were for Arthur, who gave that charming smile and waved to his fans. But none of them leaped over the barricades and attempted to drive their swords into her chest.
None of them knew about anything she had done.
And with that realization, Morgana had settled into her seat and proceeded to watch the games being held in her favor.
Soon after the last jousting tournament and the final fire eating performance, visitors began trickling out of the faire grounds and Morgana felt the absolute need to follow them. Her attendees had brought her back to her tent instead and then left her to her own devices. It was so odd… if this place was a tourist attraction, surely those that worked there left, right? But as she stuck her head out of her tent, no one but tourists were leaving the grounds and soon enough the large gates were slammed shut.
Interesting.
Morgana slipped back into her tent and began slowly pacing the dirt floor. If they could leave… she knew she had to get out of there. If she had managed to banish Arthur and his allies, she could just as easily continue with her plan, right? It would just be as simple as slipping out of the faire grounds and finding her way back to Camelot, leaving Arthur to continue playing knight to some other doting queen.
Singing crickets alerted Morgana to the fact that night had finally fallen and as she looked out of her tent, she saw the large doors were unattended. No one else seemed to be around and she had to wonder where everyone else had gone as she left her tent and sneaked through the dark shadows beneath the glowing moon. Morgana had filled her waiting hour by finding a simpler outfit in the trunk that was filled with costumes that fit her perfectly. A traveling cloak covered a very simple black dress. It was all she would need until she could find a way to get back to Camelot and hopefully get her magic back.
Gravel and dirt crunched beneath her shoes as she skittered across the grounds towards the large doors that guarded the entrance. She reached out and pulled at a large ring, nearly expecting the doors to be locked. But with a surprised yank, the door lurched open and it took quite a lot of effort not to let out a cry of glee. She would get out of this façade and find her true kingdom.
Morgana moved through the doorway and slammed face first into an invisible barrier, nearly knocking herself unconscious and most definitely on her rear end as she stumbled back and fell over. She had to stifle another cry, this time out of surprise and pain and glared through the door. Rocks skittered as she scrambled to her feet and, this time more carefully, reached out. Her fingers bumped up against the barrier once more and the whole thing gave a slightly angry buzz, like a hive filled with irritated hornets.
Magic.
How the tourists had left, Morgana had no idea, but this was surely not the way she was going to get off of the faire grounds. She gave a low curse before closing the large door and moving back into her tent for the night.
The following morning had not given much in the way of information, unfortunately, except for the fact that Morgana learned about her other prisoners. All those that worked in the faire were Camelot citizens, she knew that much after a few days of walking the grounds with her escorts. But none of them left after the gates were shut and it seemed that only she noticed the passing of time between the doors closing at night and opening the following morning. And it did not seem odd to anyone else either. No one knew what had happened to them, and seemed completely content with living their lives out in the façade that Morgana had created. None of them had the urge to get back home, nor did they even have a memory of a back home.
Morgana, on the other hand, knew she had to get back to Camelot.
She smiled sweetly at the passing subjects as they waved and cheered for her, imagining that it was all real. It wasn’t. But it was nice to pretend when her efforts to leave were all but destroyed. Every day she had to attend at least one jousting tournament, and this was today’s trip down to the arena. It was all thrown in her honor, of course, as was the entire faire and it was wonderful to be the center of attention, no matter how untrue it was.
But it was difficult getting back home when she didn’t have magic. She couldn’t figure out why and it had been weeks since she had bled into the cauldron. Morgan had tried desperately, but there was nothing magical in this world filled with strange machines that her visiting subjects talked into, supposed to someone else who had a similar machine. The visiting subjects were merely customers who came to the faire to be entertained and pretend that they were part of the world that Morgana had come from.
There was no magic in this world of technology and it irritated Morgana day after day. The only thing that put a true smile on her face was watching her enemies toil and entertain both her and the tourists that milled around them. Arthur and his beloved queen never spoke and he seemed to barely notice that she even existed, just as it had been before Merlin had made Morgana’s life hell. Even Merlin and Arthur were practical strangers and Morgana made sure that they all stayed separated from one another as much as possible.
The worst part was that there was no magic here, except for the invisible barrier that surrounded the grounds. The tourists seemed to have no problem coming and going once they paid the original entrance fee. And all of the Camelot citizens seemed content on staying trapped behind the high wooden walls. Morgana appeared to be the only one who yearned to leave, or even notice the magical wall beyond the gates.
She also seemed to be the only one to notice the passing of night and day.
The thought hadn’t occurred to her until a few days had passed in her new world. Her blonde attendant had originally been a girl who was the daughter of one of Camelot’s millers. Morgana barely remembered her from Camelot, but that wasn’t surprising considering how little time she had spent in the surrounding village when she had lived peacefully in the castle. The miller’s daughter was named Juliana and while she was attentive to Morgana’s every need, she wasn’t all that bright, tending to merely nod and smile when Morgana tried to strike up a conversation. And despite it all being a farce, Juliana seemed nearly intimidated by Morgana, and Morgana wasn’t sure if it was an act or if Juliana truly was scared of her.
Most of the personal guards that surrounded her at all times in public were not Arthur’s men from Camelot (they were all mere hedge knights who seemed to only want to joust during the day), but strong men Morgana dimly recognized from the village that surrounded the castle. The fact that none of them knew her actual identity was refreshing. Her name wasn’t spoken with malice, disgust or even fear, but respect and an even slightly friendly air.
There was, however, one special guard she kept by her side at all times. He had briefly frightened her during his first appearance in her escort party. She had stared at him, wondering if he knew exactly who she was. But Lancelot merely stared at her with an innocent smile, waiting on her orders.
On the third day after Morgana’s arrival, she had already quickly learned how the curse worked, at least to a point. Everyone had been given a new life. They played their roles as actors to entertain the crowds that paid money to be taken back to an era that was foreign to them. The citizens of Camelot didn’t blink an eyelid at the machines the tourists brought out, or if they did, it was in jest and they joked about the tourist being a time traveler or magician. Morgana had to wonder if they subconsciously believed that, knowing that the contraptions the tourists brought in were nothing short of amazing and nothing like anything they had back home. No one else but her seemed to remember their lives in Camelot, or their previous relationships. Arthur and Gwen didn’t even speak to one another as far as Morgana could tell.
But there was something that she had overlooked in her attempted to circumvent the magical barrier. The tourists were seen leaving each night, but none of the citizens of the faire left through the same gates. And if they were restrained like Morgana was, how was it that none of them seemed to panic?
“Juliana,” Morgana murmured, leaning over to her pretty attendant as they started off on the first stroll of the day through the faire. The blonde blinked and looked at Morgana, as if she were surprised that her queen was speaking directly to her.
“Yes, my queen?” She whispered back, almost hesitant to answer.
“What is it that you do after you leave my company each day?” The look of surprised turned to confusion, as if Morgana had asked her to calculate the distance from Earth to the nearest star.
“My Queen, I am yours from the moment you wake to the minute your head finds home on your pillow. There is nothing outside of those hours,” she replied, her vapid look almost sincere enough that Morgana nearly believed her. Was it possible that this was all a dream? Had Morgana created her own illusion? Were all these people merely figments of her imagination conjured up by the curse, and only existed when she was supposedly awake? Did she only rule this fake kingdom in her head and was still actually lying on the cold stone floor of that abandoned keep? Or was this some sort of afterlife, heaven or possibly even hell?
If her mind had come up with this world, Morgana hoped that it would have at least tried to give her a real kingdom to rule, not just a six-acre tourist attraction. The paranoia and panic vanished and Morgana attempted to switch tactics. Adapting to this world hadn’t been difficult so far since they all pretended to be from a time era similar to Camelot. But if Morgana was going to get any sort of information out of Juliana, she would have to force herself to adapt to their world.
Of course the idiot insisted on acting out her persona for the public, playing dumb and presenting her character as someone completely committed to her queen. So Morgana lowered her voice and gestured for Juliana to lean in, as if Morgana was going to reveal some court gossip or something equally shallow.
“No, no, my dear. What do you really do after hours? Once…” She waved a gloved hand at the passing ‘Normals’ who gawked at the passing display of royalty. “Once they all pass through the gates and go home? Surely you go home as well? Visit your own beloved or family, right?”
And then it was like the clouds had parted and the sun had come out. Juliana’s face brightened with understanding that Morgana wasn’t acting like the queen, but as a genuinely interested… well… friend. But it was only for a moment as Juliana’s face clouded over, as if she couldn’t quite remember what she was attempting to say.
“Oh of course,” Juliana replied after a moment. “I do see my friends and family after being finished here.” She smiled brightly, as if it was the best conversation she had ever had, and it was the most helpful answer ever. Juliana’s words had come out as if she had been reciting a memorized poem or script. Morgana desperately wanted to reach over, grab the idiot by the back of the neck and shove her into the path of the nearest passing horse.
Her answer was odd, not only in the recitation feel that it had given off. It was almost like the curse had forced her to give Morgana a real answer as opposed to being confused in the realization that she didn’t actually leave the faire grounds. So Morgana had allowed Juliana to go about her daily duties as if they were truly in Camelot and Morgana was truly her queen. It was the only way to keep her from dropping to her knees in the middle of the dirt path and giving up entirely on the whole thing.
Morgana had yet to see any of her fellow “employees” disappear beyond the gates, which meant they were just as trapped as she was.
The arena grew closer and Morgana allowed her green-eyed gaze to scan over the crowds that had begun to gather for the festivities. The populace had grown nearly anonymous to Morgana over the course of the few weeks she had ruled this place. The few she recognized from Camelot’s castle had struck her, and of course she had kept her eyes open for familiar faces of those who were her sworn enemies. Every so often, someone who would address her as their queen would strike a memory in her mind like a hot coal and their face from Camelot would surge forth in her head. Then, after the interaction was over, they’d fade back into the black. Not many of these people mattered, just as they hadn’t truly mattered in Camelot. Most of them were merely fodder for the war and cattle that she would someday herd to her liking as she ruled over them.
That was one of the few things that had stayed the same as she had traveled from one world to the next.
A trumpeting of horns announced her presence and the crowds she had been so carefully watching lurched to their feet and cheered her arrival. Morgana smiled, lifting a hand to slowly wave to her subjects. It was quite easy to pretend this was all real, and on the days that there seemed to be no hope of returning to Camelot, Morgana did just that. Today was different, however. Seeing Merlin as she had passed on her way down to the arena had shaken the veil she liked to hide behind. There was no pretending that this was real when she spotted Merlin, Arthur, Gwen or even Gaius. Even Arthur’s pet dogs that used to be so gallant in their sweeping red cloaks sent flashes of memories reeling through Morgana’s mind and she was reminded of where she was exactly and how desperately she wanted to get back to Camelot without them all.
Although it was easy to forget about it all when you were being worshipped as queen, Morgana couldn’t deny that.
Juliana and the rest of the escorts led Morgana down a well trodden path and up the worn wooden steps to their seats beneath a covered pavilion. The fabric above their heads rippled green and black as it was rocked back and forth in the summer winds that blew through the small valley they were sitting in.
The chair waiting for her was much more ornate than anything else she had sat in, including the throne that awaited her in Camelot. Morgana had always found the chair at the head of the table where Uther had perched and rained down his judgments had always been a bit plain for someone of his standing. But even this giant oak monstrosity was a bit too theatrical and ornate for Morgana’s tastes. It was one large piece, supposedly carved from a single ancient tree. Whoever had constructed it had sanded and polished it until the wood shined and the grains that ran through the arms and backing were large, dark scars that complimented the lighter wood that surrounded them. Knots and ropes scaled the arms of the chair, allowing for something to hold onto at the ends of each armrest and the back of the chair flowered into a large tangle of branches above her head.
It was a rather astounding piece, Morgana couldn’t deny that, not matter how outlandish it was for royalty. And she settled happily onto the green velvet cushion that had been placed in the throne’s seat just for her. Just as she perched, leaning back into the wooden enclosure of the chair that almost seemed to wrap around her, the trumpets sang their last trills before going quiet. Morgana crossed one leg over the other, allowing for a bit of the breeze to run up her legs. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lancelot settle in his spot, standing just to the side of her throne, keeping her company while also looking out for danger. It was nice to have a familiar man like Lancelot be her puppet once more.
The crowds roared around them as a man strode out to the middle of the arena, shaking a bit of tomato out of his hair. Morgana rolled her eyes, although when she had first seen Gwaine shackled up by wrist and neck and having tomatoes thrown at his face, she hadn’t been surprised. And the surprise hadn’t increased when she realized he was the one who would lead the ceremonies for the daily jousting tournaments.
He certainly was charismatic, loud and cocky enough for both roles in the faire.
A wide smile crossed his face and settled as he spun and took in the energy from the crowds that looked all too pleased to see him.
Of course it would be him. Morgana hadn’t met anyone nearly as outlandish as Gwaine. And while he was certainly no public speaker or leader, the crowds -the women especially-seemed to take to him and his wickedly charming smile. The people in the stands crowed and screamed at his presence. He spun slowly, arms outstretched as he strode towards the barriers that separated the two lanes that the horses would rocket down in a few moments.
Morgana had to admit that he had a certain spark.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the day’s jousting tournament!” His voice was loud and jovial, as if this was what he had been waiting for all day to perform. And perhaps he had. Morgana had found him appropriate for throwing tomatoes at and trading insults with those that paid for the rotten vegetables, but Gwaine thrived at being able to feed off of the energy that the crowd gave him. The Gwaine back in Camelot had thrived in local taverns, creating a stir sometimes when things got boring, and this was surely the closest thing to that adrenaline rush that fighting allowed.
He sure did shine in the afternoon sun.
The tourist roared and Gwaine gleamed at the response to his greeting. He spun slowly, taking in all sides of the arena and the hundreds of screaming mouths that wanted him to keep talking. His rotation, however, finally settled on Morgana and her royal court in their shaded pavilion. Her green eyes met his brown ones and for a moment Morgana feared he recognized her. With a personality like Gwaine’s he could shatter everything. But instead of shouting out her true identity and ruining everything, he merely bowed low from the waist, showing respect to his queen and her subjects. At the act, the people he had so easily worked up into a frenzy quieted to hear his speech. Morgana knew what was to come. It was the same script every day. However, with Gwaine’s energy and spark, he never repeated it as if he had merely memorized words on a page. It was always as if he was living his part for real, as if they were back in Camelot.
He would have made a wonderful captain of my guard in Camelot, Morgana thought, remembering their past encounters and how strong of a soldier he truly had been. And there had been brief moments where she thought she had been able to bring him to her side instead of Arthur’s… but unfortunately, Morgana knew he would always be one of Arthur’s men, at least in Camelot.
“My queen! This tournament of strength and will is in your honor!” His voice boomed over the quiet that had engulfed the jousting area. “Please allow me to present the knights that compete to become your champion!”
Morgana bowed a head, giving him fake permission. The parade of knights and horses and pages would have continued with or without her participation in the charade. But she liked to indulge it every once in a while. It was easy to lose herself in the games that these people played in this world and become the queen, and the jousting tournament was one of the times when it was nearly impossible not to participate.
Gwaine bowed his own head in reply and turned to face the patient tourists. “Lords and ladies, I present the competing champions!” When he raised his arms, the cheers began and the volume lifted, sending a wave of sound and energy across Morgana that made a smile flicker onto her lips. It was soft, and anyone who knew her as queen knew she didn’t smile often, but it was there nonetheless.
If she could not have adoring subjects in Camelot, she could not deny that this was the next best thing, even if it was all a farce.
Her leader of the tournament turned and pointed to the large gates that led to the horse stables. Men astride large steeds trotted out, their banners flying high on the poles that were toted by doting pages and stable boys. Each flag was a different color, supposed to be representing their respective country or piece of land that existed outside of the faire.
At her first jousting, Morgana had watched carefully, wanting to know who was to become her champion. Many of the men on the horses were familiar only by face, having been members of the king’s guard in Camelot but no one she personally had interacted with and no one of notice. And then the final knight trotted out and the crowds had exploded into a chaos that Morgana had only heard when Arthur had entered a combat ring, ready to fight for his kingdom.
How ironic it was when he was the one astride the large white stallion that had come trotting out of the gates that day. Surrounding him were most of his so called inner circle, although Lancelot as well as Gwaine were missing, as Gwaine obviously was the court jester of sorts in this world. Merlin, Arthur’s lap dog of a servant, and Guinevere were also not present, but Morgana had found them later in the day.
Arthur had apparently won the love of the tourists and was the crowd favorite to win each tournament. Over the days and numerous jousts, their love and shouting never waned and he glowed in their admiration.
It grated on Morgana’s nerves.
She wished for Arthur to lose each tournament, and while he was a strong favorite, he did sometimes topple from his horse without striking his opponent or gaining any points, much to Morgana’s pleasure. He was good, but not good enough to be an undefeated champion.
Today, the crowds were just as adoring and she didn’t bother watching the knights as closely as she used to while they paraded into the arena, circling the outside boundaries and passing in front of her pavilion. Each of the faces was now familiar to her as they replayed their parts over and over each day. But as Arthur and his entourage passed in front of her, a bolt of shock struck Morgana, ricocheting down her spine and forcing her to sit up straighter and for her heart to pound in her chest. One of the faces, albeit not a happy one, was beside Arthur, carrying the pole that had a golden lion rippling and roaring on scarlet fabric atop it.
Merlin.
Morgana knew that her group of guards and courtiers would keep most of the people she knew at bay. No one that personally knew her had managed to get a seat of power during the faire, which was some thing of a blessing. She always had an entourage that kept both the visitors and anyone who might actually know her a safe distance away.
She couldn’t have anyone getting their memories jogged, that much was for sure.
And it wasn’t like she didn’t see them around the grounds. Gwen and Merlin had ended up running a booth together, after all. But her magic had at least managed to keep Arthur and his queen separated, which was a sweet reward for the trouble Morgana had gone through after her curse had gone a bit awry.
This wasn’t what she had planned. The curse was supposed to get rid of Arthur and his inner circle, plus the group of knights that were loyal to him and at his disposal. Anyone who would fight to keep Arthur Pendragon on the throne no matter if he had merely vanished or was killed had to be removed for her to be able to return to power.
It had worked.
For the most part.
The guard’s calls to make way for the queen drifted back to Morgana and she couldn’t help smiling at the sound. Of course, she wasn’t really queen. Not of Camelot, anyway, although forcing Arthur to become merely a knight with no memory of who he truly was would have been second best choice besides banishing him and his cohorts to places unknown. And she could pretend.
They all treated her like a queen as it was.
She probably could have gotten them to carry her in a pavilion, up on their shoulders or something like that. But Morgana wasn’t going to push it. This wasn’t exactly what she had planned when she had pulled the dagger across her arm. She had imagined walking into Camelot and seeing no guards and no Arthur. She’d be able to waltz right into the castle that was rightfully hers and take the throne with no problems. She’d appoint her own loyal knights and guards and rule Camelot the way she was originally supposed to.
This was a farce compared to what Morgana had promised herself. What the potion had promised her. And she had to fight the contempt that flickered on her lips each time she looked at her “subjects” that surrounded her. Sure, her doting party was all but real. They all assumed they were playing a role. And Morgana recognized some of the faces as the curse had rearranged some of the parts each villager had originally played in Camelot. It was a bit of a delight to see Gaius and Guinevere running menial game booths, dressed in clothing fit for the social status that Gwen had first started in and should have stayed in.
But it wasn’t like ruling Camelot in the slightest. And she still had no idea how she had gotten to the faire grounds in the first place, despite adapting quickly to her arrival.
“Are you nearly ready, my queen?” A young woman who was leaning into the tent questioned with a quiet voice. When there was no answer, she entered, allowing the fabric to close behind her, blocking out the harsh summer sun and the chattering of guests outside of the tent. She approached the woman she was addressing, reaching out and tapping on her shoulder.
Morgana started, holding back a shriek as she whirled around and focused on the young woman, who also jumped away, holding her hand to her chest as if Morgana had burned her. Instantly, Morgana was on guard, her hand reaching toward her belt for a dagger, but instead of a hilt, her fingers curled around luxurious fabric that bellowed out from her waist. It was nothing like the raggedy dress she had been wearing only moments before.
“Are you alright, your majesty?” The young woman, who Morgana noticed had calmed and was running a hand through her blond hair, attempting to regain her composure. It was no one that Morgana recognized from the castle, but she was also wondering why she was calling her queen and majesty.
At least until Morgana turned and caught sight of a glint of gold on top of her dark curls. Her green eyes instantly flicked up and saw, in a mirror that had been behind her, a crown balanced on her head. Slowly, she reached up and touched the metal, half expecting it to vanish like a newly realized dream. But it was solid when her fingertips connected with the gold and Morgana’s breath caught in her throat. Beneath the crown, her hair was smooth and soft like it had been when she had lived in the castle in Camelot. Her cheekbones were softened, unlike her sharp features after months of living on the run and off the land. Her body had filled out as well and was clad in one of the most extravagantly gorgeous emerald dresses she had ever seen.
“My queen…?” The woman started once more and Morgana had to tear her eyes away from herself in the mirror. What had happened with the potion? She could have easily blacked out from the explosion, but it surely would not have made her forget the rest of her plan. She should have still been in the forest in that forgotten keep. There was no way she could block out leaving and traveling to Camelot and taking the throne, if that was what she had done…
Maybe the curse had escalated her plans.
A slow smile slipped onto Morgana’s lips as she turned to her attendant. She could be queen, if it was that quick. Obviously she would have to make plans to change her small group like Arthur had, but that wouldn’t be an issue. She wouldn’t be queen if his allies were still anywhere close to being in the castle or in Camelot, so that wouldn’t matter.
“Of course, I am alright. Let us proceed with the day, shall we?” Morgana could be queen. She’d have to learn along the way, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t know Camelot and how it was supposed to be ruled. And that’s what she thought as the blond woman led her out of the tent and into the sun.
As Morgana’s eyes adjusted to the bright light, that smile on her face flickered and died. People milled around her, and while the guard, dressed in green instead of Pendragon red, knelt and showed respect to her, Morgana barely recognized the subjects that had watched her emerge. Some were dressed peculiarly, with pants that barely reached their knees and shoes that did not cover their toes. Women were similarly dressed, which was even odder and every few people were pointing strange contraptions at her as they waved and smiled and cheered.
She looked at her surroundings, catching sight of the squat buildings around her. Large trees grew up through the dirt road that snaked between those buildings and shed shadows amongst the rays of sunlight. It was all so normal looking.
But it was not Camelot.
Morgana’s heart began to race but with all the people, strangely dressed or no, looking at her, she wasn’t sure what to do. Running away as fast as possible was an option or she could attempt a transportation spell. The words were familiar in her ears. "Bedyrne ús. Astýre ús þanonweard," she muttered under her breath, expecting a cloud of smoke to rise up and take her anywhere but here.
But she was stuck.
With no magic.
A feeling of powerlessness swept over her, despite the crowds watching. She needed to get out of here, before anyone realized who she truly was. She had to figure out where she was and make sure she could get back home. Before she could shove someone out of the way, however, the blonde that had led her out of the tent leaned over.
“Relax, Morgana. You’re freaking out the Normals. C’mon, you can do this. Not like you haven’t been doing this since the start of the season or anything. Get your act together,” she whispered hurriedly in Morgan’s ear before moving away. Morgana shot the woman a look and merely received an encouraging smile in return. The Normals? What did that mean?
Did it matter?
A slow look around at the group of people that surrounded her, and Morgana realized she was in a position of power. These people served her, at least from what she could tell. And so the smile slid back onto her lips as if nothing had even worried her.
“Let us proceed!” She called out, extending an arm to articulate the command and what seemed to be her personal guard rose and fell around her as she moved away from the tent and onto the grounds of what was apparently her new kingdom.
After that, it had been all about discovering what realm she had landed herself in and what was going on around her. She had quickly learned that the “Normals” that her attendant had talked about were tourists visiting the village. And the village was constantly hosting a faire that these tourists sometimes tried to blend in and dress as her subjects and some didn’t even bother, coming in what was apparently regular clothing. They were allowed to come and go as they pleased, paying a fee to enter the village and enjoy the festivities that went on around them.
Morgana and her subjects, however, were a different story when it came to leaving the grounds.
The day had proceeded as apparently each day had before it. Morgana stayed quiet and her subjects seemed to deem that as normal for her as the escorted her around the village. Each hut held a storefront filled with crafts and goods for sale, or they were a front for games of skill or even for food. It was not very large, Morgana noticed, the entire set of grounds probably cascading over about six or seven acres of land. Everyone seemed relatively happy and much to her pleasure, happy to see her.
Guards called out her approach and separated the crowds for her. And her subjects, both dressed oddly and familiarly, cheered as she passed by. It filled Morgana up with a feeling that she hadn’t experienced in quite some time.
Happiness.
So she smiled and waved and allowed herself to be paraded around the grounds that she apparently ruled over. Each step showed something new and it was revealed that this was all merely an act. It wasn’t obvious, at first, to Morgana as the costumes were like anything that she could have pulled from her closet in her room in the castle back home. And everyone acted just like those in Camelot, at least for the most part, although possibly a bit exaggerated compared to the real thing. But she caught sight of lines of “Normals” paying what looked to be money to enter the main gates, all holding strange machines that Morgana couldn’t imagine understanding.
The entire day was dedicated to her, however, and that was distraction enough from the creeping feeling of panic that threatened to engulf her. It had been far too long since Morgana had been able to interact with anyone, let alone people that wanted to adore and serve her.
So she let it happen.
Passing by a set of game booths, she instantly recognized three of the workers and her blood ran cold. Merlin, Gwen and Gaius were all running the games behind wooden counters. But none of them seemed to think that was out of the ordinary and were moving around in the displays as if they had been working them for years. There was no look of panic in their eyes as she and her group passed, but they merely looked at her as if they had seen her every day, for just as long as they had run those games.
“It is time for the first jousting tournament, my queen,” the blonde attendant whispered as the group began heading down towards what looked like a rather large arena. People were milling around the edges and Morgana was led to a great fixture with a fabric tent that hid her from the sun and allowed her a cushioned view of the entire sport.
Amazing.
As the knights who were to perform for her filed out from hidden barracks, all on horseback, Morgana recognized a familiar blond head and her heart began to pound. Arthur. Arthur, surrounded by the majority of his knights and they were all armed with poles and other tournament weapons. But as they paraded around the arena and finally came to a stop in front of her, none of the men, Arthur included, seemed wrathful as they bowed. The announcer hosting the entire thing, who she recognized later was Gwaine, introduced each knight and the loudest cheers were for Arthur, who gave that charming smile and waved to his fans. But none of them leaped over the barricades and attempted to drive their swords into her chest.
None of them knew about anything she had done.
And with that realization, Morgana had settled into her seat and proceeded to watch the games being held in her favor.
Soon after the last jousting tournament and the final fire eating performance, visitors began trickling out of the faire grounds and Morgana felt the absolute need to follow them. Her attendees had brought her back to her tent instead and then left her to her own devices. It was so odd… if this place was a tourist attraction, surely those that worked there left, right? But as she stuck her head out of her tent, no one but tourists were leaving the grounds and soon enough the large gates were slammed shut.
Interesting.
Morgana slipped back into her tent and began slowly pacing the dirt floor. If they could leave… she knew she had to get out of there. If she had managed to banish Arthur and his allies, she could just as easily continue with her plan, right? It would just be as simple as slipping out of the faire grounds and finding her way back to Camelot, leaving Arthur to continue playing knight to some other doting queen.
Singing crickets alerted Morgana to the fact that night had finally fallen and as she looked out of her tent, she saw the large doors were unattended. No one else seemed to be around and she had to wonder where everyone else had gone as she left her tent and sneaked through the dark shadows beneath the glowing moon. Morgana had filled her waiting hour by finding a simpler outfit in the trunk that was filled with costumes that fit her perfectly. A traveling cloak covered a very simple black dress. It was all she would need until she could find a way to get back to Camelot and hopefully get her magic back.
Gravel and dirt crunched beneath her shoes as she skittered across the grounds towards the large doors that guarded the entrance. She reached out and pulled at a large ring, nearly expecting the doors to be locked. But with a surprised yank, the door lurched open and it took quite a lot of effort not to let out a cry of glee. She would get out of this façade and find her true kingdom.
Morgana moved through the doorway and slammed face first into an invisible barrier, nearly knocking herself unconscious and most definitely on her rear end as she stumbled back and fell over. She had to stifle another cry, this time out of surprise and pain and glared through the door. Rocks skittered as she scrambled to her feet and, this time more carefully, reached out. Her fingers bumped up against the barrier once more and the whole thing gave a slightly angry buzz, like a hive filled with irritated hornets.
Magic.
How the tourists had left, Morgana had no idea, but this was surely not the way she was going to get off of the faire grounds. She gave a low curse before closing the large door and moving back into her tent for the night.
The following morning had not given much in the way of information, unfortunately, except for the fact that Morgana learned about her other prisoners. All those that worked in the faire were Camelot citizens, she knew that much after a few days of walking the grounds with her escorts. But none of them left after the gates were shut and it seemed that only she noticed the passing of time between the doors closing at night and opening the following morning. And it did not seem odd to anyone else either. No one knew what had happened to them, and seemed completely content with living their lives out in the façade that Morgana had created. None of them had the urge to get back home, nor did they even have a memory of a back home.
Morgana, on the other hand, knew she had to get back to Camelot.
She smiled sweetly at the passing subjects as they waved and cheered for her, imagining that it was all real. It wasn’t. But it was nice to pretend when her efforts to leave were all but destroyed. Every day she had to attend at least one jousting tournament, and this was today’s trip down to the arena. It was all thrown in her honor, of course, as was the entire faire and it was wonderful to be the center of attention, no matter how untrue it was.
But it was difficult getting back home when she didn’t have magic. She couldn’t figure out why and it had been weeks since she had bled into the cauldron. Morgan had tried desperately, but there was nothing magical in this world filled with strange machines that her visiting subjects talked into, supposed to someone else who had a similar machine. The visiting subjects were merely customers who came to the faire to be entertained and pretend that they were part of the world that Morgana had come from.
There was no magic in this world of technology and it irritated Morgana day after day. The only thing that put a true smile on her face was watching her enemies toil and entertain both her and the tourists that milled around them. Arthur and his beloved queen never spoke and he seemed to barely notice that she even existed, just as it had been before Merlin had made Morgana’s life hell. Even Merlin and Arthur were practical strangers and Morgana made sure that they all stayed separated from one another as much as possible.
The worst part was that there was no magic here, except for the invisible barrier that surrounded the grounds. The tourists seemed to have no problem coming and going once they paid the original entrance fee. And all of the Camelot citizens seemed content on staying trapped behind the high wooden walls. Morgana appeared to be the only one who yearned to leave, or even notice the magical wall beyond the gates.
She also seemed to be the only one to notice the passing of night and day.
The thought hadn’t occurred to her until a few days had passed in her new world. Her blonde attendant had originally been a girl who was the daughter of one of Camelot’s millers. Morgana barely remembered her from Camelot, but that wasn’t surprising considering how little time she had spent in the surrounding village when she had lived peacefully in the castle. The miller’s daughter was named Juliana and while she was attentive to Morgana’s every need, she wasn’t all that bright, tending to merely nod and smile when Morgana tried to strike up a conversation. And despite it all being a farce, Juliana seemed nearly intimidated by Morgana, and Morgana wasn’t sure if it was an act or if Juliana truly was scared of her.
Most of the personal guards that surrounded her at all times in public were not Arthur’s men from Camelot (they were all mere hedge knights who seemed to only want to joust during the day), but strong men Morgana dimly recognized from the village that surrounded the castle. The fact that none of them knew her actual identity was refreshing. Her name wasn’t spoken with malice, disgust or even fear, but respect and an even slightly friendly air.
There was, however, one special guard she kept by her side at all times. He had briefly frightened her during his first appearance in her escort party. She had stared at him, wondering if he knew exactly who she was. But Lancelot merely stared at her with an innocent smile, waiting on her orders.
On the third day after Morgana’s arrival, she had already quickly learned how the curse worked, at least to a point. Everyone had been given a new life. They played their roles as actors to entertain the crowds that paid money to be taken back to an era that was foreign to them. The citizens of Camelot didn’t blink an eyelid at the machines the tourists brought out, or if they did, it was in jest and they joked about the tourist being a time traveler or magician. Morgana had to wonder if they subconsciously believed that, knowing that the contraptions the tourists brought in were nothing short of amazing and nothing like anything they had back home. No one else but her seemed to remember their lives in Camelot, or their previous relationships. Arthur and Gwen didn’t even speak to one another as far as Morgana could tell.
But there was something that she had overlooked in her attempted to circumvent the magical barrier. The tourists were seen leaving each night, but none of the citizens of the faire left through the same gates. And if they were restrained like Morgana was, how was it that none of them seemed to panic?
“Juliana,” Morgana murmured, leaning over to her pretty attendant as they started off on the first stroll of the day through the faire. The blonde blinked and looked at Morgana, as if she were surprised that her queen was speaking directly to her.
“Yes, my queen?” She whispered back, almost hesitant to answer.
“What is it that you do after you leave my company each day?” The look of surprised turned to confusion, as if Morgana had asked her to calculate the distance from Earth to the nearest star.
“My Queen, I am yours from the moment you wake to the minute your head finds home on your pillow. There is nothing outside of those hours,” she replied, her vapid look almost sincere enough that Morgana nearly believed her. Was it possible that this was all a dream? Had Morgana created her own illusion? Were all these people merely figments of her imagination conjured up by the curse, and only existed when she was supposedly awake? Did she only rule this fake kingdom in her head and was still actually lying on the cold stone floor of that abandoned keep? Or was this some sort of afterlife, heaven or possibly even hell?
If her mind had come up with this world, Morgana hoped that it would have at least tried to give her a real kingdom to rule, not just a six-acre tourist attraction. The paranoia and panic vanished and Morgana attempted to switch tactics. Adapting to this world hadn’t been difficult so far since they all pretended to be from a time era similar to Camelot. But if Morgana was going to get any sort of information out of Juliana, she would have to force herself to adapt to their world.
Of course the idiot insisted on acting out her persona for the public, playing dumb and presenting her character as someone completely committed to her queen. So Morgana lowered her voice and gestured for Juliana to lean in, as if Morgana was going to reveal some court gossip or something equally shallow.
“No, no, my dear. What do you really do after hours? Once…” She waved a gloved hand at the passing ‘Normals’ who gawked at the passing display of royalty. “Once they all pass through the gates and go home? Surely you go home as well? Visit your own beloved or family, right?”
And then it was like the clouds had parted and the sun had come out. Juliana’s face brightened with understanding that Morgana wasn’t acting like the queen, but as a genuinely interested… well… friend. But it was only for a moment as Juliana’s face clouded over, as if she couldn’t quite remember what she was attempting to say.
“Oh of course,” Juliana replied after a moment. “I do see my friends and family after being finished here.” She smiled brightly, as if it was the best conversation she had ever had, and it was the most helpful answer ever. Juliana’s words had come out as if she had been reciting a memorized poem or script. Morgana desperately wanted to reach over, grab the idiot by the back of the neck and shove her into the path of the nearest passing horse.
Her answer was odd, not only in the recitation feel that it had given off. It was almost like the curse had forced her to give Morgana a real answer as opposed to being confused in the realization that she didn’t actually leave the faire grounds. So Morgana had allowed Juliana to go about her daily duties as if they were truly in Camelot and Morgana was truly her queen. It was the only way to keep her from dropping to her knees in the middle of the dirt path and giving up entirely on the whole thing.
Morgana had yet to see any of her fellow “employees” disappear beyond the gates, which meant they were just as trapped as she was.
The arena grew closer and Morgana allowed her green-eyed gaze to scan over the crowds that had begun to gather for the festivities. The populace had grown nearly anonymous to Morgana over the course of the few weeks she had ruled this place. The few she recognized from Camelot’s castle had struck her, and of course she had kept her eyes open for familiar faces of those who were her sworn enemies. Every so often, someone who would address her as their queen would strike a memory in her mind like a hot coal and their face from Camelot would surge forth in her head. Then, after the interaction was over, they’d fade back into the black. Not many of these people mattered, just as they hadn’t truly mattered in Camelot. Most of them were merely fodder for the war and cattle that she would someday herd to her liking as she ruled over them.
That was one of the few things that had stayed the same as she had traveled from one world to the next.
A trumpeting of horns announced her presence and the crowds she had been so carefully watching lurched to their feet and cheered her arrival. Morgana smiled, lifting a hand to slowly wave to her subjects. It was quite easy to pretend this was all real, and on the days that there seemed to be no hope of returning to Camelot, Morgana did just that. Today was different, however. Seeing Merlin as she had passed on her way down to the arena had shaken the veil she liked to hide behind. There was no pretending that this was real when she spotted Merlin, Arthur, Gwen or even Gaius. Even Arthur’s pet dogs that used to be so gallant in their sweeping red cloaks sent flashes of memories reeling through Morgana’s mind and she was reminded of where she was exactly and how desperately she wanted to get back to Camelot without them all.
Although it was easy to forget about it all when you were being worshipped as queen, Morgana couldn’t deny that.
Juliana and the rest of the escorts led Morgana down a well trodden path and up the worn wooden steps to their seats beneath a covered pavilion. The fabric above their heads rippled green and black as it was rocked back and forth in the summer winds that blew through the small valley they were sitting in.
The chair waiting for her was much more ornate than anything else she had sat in, including the throne that awaited her in Camelot. Morgana had always found the chair at the head of the table where Uther had perched and rained down his judgments had always been a bit plain for someone of his standing. But even this giant oak monstrosity was a bit too theatrical and ornate for Morgana’s tastes. It was one large piece, supposedly carved from a single ancient tree. Whoever had constructed it had sanded and polished it until the wood shined and the grains that ran through the arms and backing were large, dark scars that complimented the lighter wood that surrounded them. Knots and ropes scaled the arms of the chair, allowing for something to hold onto at the ends of each armrest and the back of the chair flowered into a large tangle of branches above her head.
It was a rather astounding piece, Morgana couldn’t deny that, not matter how outlandish it was for royalty. And she settled happily onto the green velvet cushion that had been placed in the throne’s seat just for her. Just as she perched, leaning back into the wooden enclosure of the chair that almost seemed to wrap around her, the trumpets sang their last trills before going quiet. Morgana crossed one leg over the other, allowing for a bit of the breeze to run up her legs. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lancelot settle in his spot, standing just to the side of her throne, keeping her company while also looking out for danger. It was nice to have a familiar man like Lancelot be her puppet once more.
The crowds roared around them as a man strode out to the middle of the arena, shaking a bit of tomato out of his hair. Morgana rolled her eyes, although when she had first seen Gwaine shackled up by wrist and neck and having tomatoes thrown at his face, she hadn’t been surprised. And the surprise hadn’t increased when she realized he was the one who would lead the ceremonies for the daily jousting tournaments.
He certainly was charismatic, loud and cocky enough for both roles in the faire.
A wide smile crossed his face and settled as he spun and took in the energy from the crowds that looked all too pleased to see him.
Of course it would be him. Morgana hadn’t met anyone nearly as outlandish as Gwaine. And while he was certainly no public speaker or leader, the crowds -the women especially-seemed to take to him and his wickedly charming smile. The people in the stands crowed and screamed at his presence. He spun slowly, arms outstretched as he strode towards the barriers that separated the two lanes that the horses would rocket down in a few moments.
Morgana had to admit that he had a certain spark.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the day’s jousting tournament!” His voice was loud and jovial, as if this was what he had been waiting for all day to perform. And perhaps he had. Morgana had found him appropriate for throwing tomatoes at and trading insults with those that paid for the rotten vegetables, but Gwaine thrived at being able to feed off of the energy that the crowd gave him. The Gwaine back in Camelot had thrived in local taverns, creating a stir sometimes when things got boring, and this was surely the closest thing to that adrenaline rush that fighting allowed.
He sure did shine in the afternoon sun.
The tourist roared and Gwaine gleamed at the response to his greeting. He spun slowly, taking in all sides of the arena and the hundreds of screaming mouths that wanted him to keep talking. His rotation, however, finally settled on Morgana and her royal court in their shaded pavilion. Her green eyes met his brown ones and for a moment Morgana feared he recognized her. With a personality like Gwaine’s he could shatter everything. But instead of shouting out her true identity and ruining everything, he merely bowed low from the waist, showing respect to his queen and her subjects. At the act, the people he had so easily worked up into a frenzy quieted to hear his speech. Morgana knew what was to come. It was the same script every day. However, with Gwaine’s energy and spark, he never repeated it as if he had merely memorized words on a page. It was always as if he was living his part for real, as if they were back in Camelot.
He would have made a wonderful captain of my guard in Camelot, Morgana thought, remembering their past encounters and how strong of a soldier he truly had been. And there had been brief moments where she thought she had been able to bring him to her side instead of Arthur’s… but unfortunately, Morgana knew he would always be one of Arthur’s men, at least in Camelot.
“My queen! This tournament of strength and will is in your honor!” His voice boomed over the quiet that had engulfed the jousting area. “Please allow me to present the knights that compete to become your champion!”
Morgana bowed a head, giving him fake permission. The parade of knights and horses and pages would have continued with or without her participation in the charade. But she liked to indulge it every once in a while. It was easy to lose herself in the games that these people played in this world and become the queen, and the jousting tournament was one of the times when it was nearly impossible not to participate.
Gwaine bowed his own head in reply and turned to face the patient tourists. “Lords and ladies, I present the competing champions!” When he raised his arms, the cheers began and the volume lifted, sending a wave of sound and energy across Morgana that made a smile flicker onto her lips. It was soft, and anyone who knew her as queen knew she didn’t smile often, but it was there nonetheless.
If she could not have adoring subjects in Camelot, she could not deny that this was the next best thing, even if it was all a farce.
Her leader of the tournament turned and pointed to the large gates that led to the horse stables. Men astride large steeds trotted out, their banners flying high on the poles that were toted by doting pages and stable boys. Each flag was a different color, supposed to be representing their respective country or piece of land that existed outside of the faire.
At her first jousting, Morgana had watched carefully, wanting to know who was to become her champion. Many of the men on the horses were familiar only by face, having been members of the king’s guard in Camelot but no one she personally had interacted with and no one of notice. And then the final knight trotted out and the crowds had exploded into a chaos that Morgana had only heard when Arthur had entered a combat ring, ready to fight for his kingdom.
How ironic it was when he was the one astride the large white stallion that had come trotting out of the gates that day. Surrounding him were most of his so called inner circle, although Lancelot as well as Gwaine were missing, as Gwaine obviously was the court jester of sorts in this world. Merlin, Arthur’s lap dog of a servant, and Guinevere were also not present, but Morgana had found them later in the day.
Arthur had apparently won the love of the tourists and was the crowd favorite to win each tournament. Over the days and numerous jousts, their love and shouting never waned and he glowed in their admiration.
It grated on Morgana’s nerves.
She wished for Arthur to lose each tournament, and while he was a strong favorite, he did sometimes topple from his horse without striking his opponent or gaining any points, much to Morgana’s pleasure. He was good, but not good enough to be an undefeated champion.
Today, the crowds were just as adoring and she didn’t bother watching the knights as closely as she used to while they paraded into the arena, circling the outside boundaries and passing in front of her pavilion. Each of the faces was now familiar to her as they replayed their parts over and over each day. But as Arthur and his entourage passed in front of her, a bolt of shock struck Morgana, ricocheting down her spine and forcing her to sit up straighter and for her heart to pound in her chest. One of the faces, albeit not a happy one, was beside Arthur, carrying the pole that had a golden lion rippling and roaring on scarlet fabric atop it.
Merlin.