Fic: The Gradual Instant
Title: The Gradual Instant
Fandom: Merlin (Alternative Universe)
Character/Pairing: Gwen; Merlin/Gwen
Rating: All
Summary: Sometimes, when the castle corridors are quiet, with only the wind for company, Gwen hears herself.
Word Count: 1470
Notes: Written for blackmamba_esq. I'm sorry it's late :(.
The Gradual Instant
Sometimes, when the castle corridors are quiet, with only the wind for company, Gwen hears herself. She hears herself laugh, unrestrained and carefree. She also hears herself weeping, almost choking on her sobs. Gwen knows it is her voice because by now she has memorized every part of herself.
Women at court, no matter their station, do not have the luxury of keeping themselves a secret. They had to know how their body moved in order to entice, to seduce, to prevent circumstances that would leave them disgraced and destitute. A woman had to know her voice. She had to know how to modify it to show proper deference, how to refuse the offer of a visiting noble without appearing insulting. (Eyes and head lowered, body seemingly ready to drop into a curtsey, speech a bit more rustic and therefore innocent).
It only happens when she is alone and her back is pressed against the stones, eyes closed. Gwen hears herself whispering secrets to Tabitha, a launderer. They giggle about the prince, speculating on who will become his wife. Gradually, the conversations about Arthur become serious; the matter of his future wife has become of some import to her. Afterwards, Gwen hears herself crying; her heart has been broken.
Sobs are soon replaced by laughter. This time not so carefree or unrestrained. Gwen is happy, having gained something she had not thought possible.
Her voice changes. The rough edges are sanded away. Wars, marriages and the comfort of her ladies in waiting become her concern. She is lonely. She sings to comfort herself, but mostly to appeal to the gods for a child. Gwen weeps when she is told Arthur will never have an heir.
She whispers Lancelot's name under her breath, hoping someone will hear her. She is reckless for the first time in years.
Abruptly, all is quiet; the wind the speech of absence.
Gwen opens her eyes, stepping away from the wall. If she does not hurry, it will begin again. She likens it to a bard repeating a tale. But there are never any differences, no change in tone, no embellishments here, a forgetting there.
Gwen hears a past that never was, a future that never will be.
)(
The king's ward is kept out of sight in a tower at the rear of the castle. "Like a fairy tale," Morgana says. "What's a fairytale?" Gwen asks. Morgana smiles but does not answer.
There are many stories to explain Morgana's absence at court. The servants talk of a bastard child fathered by King Uther or Prince Arthur. They are sure Morgana has been sent to a neighbouring kingdom for the duration of the pregnancy and the birth. They are sure she will return.
The members of court who often witnessed Morgana's erratic behaviour believe-correctly-she is shut up somewhere. They think her confinement is a just and brave act of discipline on Uther's part. A girl like that had to be made an example of. Who could forget when she'd shouted at the king, screaming that his latest campaign would fail and cause unnecessary bloodshed? It was not her place to question a power higher than hers. She had to be punished lest their own daughters foolishly followed in her footsteps.
And the death of the hundred knights, the unnecessary bloodshed Morgana had spoken of? It was an unfortunate occurrence that could not have been predicated.
But Morgana had predicted it, just as she had predicted the death of one of the kitchen servants. She'd known the truth of the encounter between Sir Ulwen and Lady Constance's maidservant and had made sure everyone knew it too. The girl would likely never marry, but she was no longer treated as a leper.
Gaius said Morgana was a seer, a powerful one who could not control herself. She'd long ago lost the ability to tell the difference between reality and her dreams.
"If I were ever to go blind I could still find my way around a room I had never been in," Morgana once told Gwen. "Physically, it would be my first time stepping into the room, but I would have already been there before. I would've always been there."
Morgana's periods of lucidness were becoming fewer as the days grew shorter. She spent her days in bed, staring at the walls, her eyes faraway.
"I'm seeing, listening," she tells Gwen. "At first I thought I could change the future, but what I was seeing were other places. They're so different, but it's all the same in the end. This is a story and we all have our parts to play." She pats Gwen's hand. "You'll never be queen, but you will suffer less." Gwen pulls her hand away, as if burned, infected.
)(
Merlin hides himself behind a peasant's smile and a vacant expression. It's easy to believe he is like the fabled countryfolk: steadfast, kind and loyal, but ultimately stupid. Merlin cultivates this persona, as it gets him extra portions in the kitchen. Camelot's children trust him and do small favours without question. The nobility smile at him and continue speaking, sure he does not understand them. Merlin keeps their secrets, most of the time.
Gwen knows the truth about Merlin. It is one only she and Gaius know, one that Arthur chooses to ignore. Merlin is no scholar, but has taught Gwen how to use the stars, how to prepare meals from scraggly looking plants she previously avoided. He's taken her outside the walls of Camelot and shown her Roman roads, handing her worthless bits of weather-beaten gold he's found along the way.
"Maybe if you get enough you can met it down and make into something," he says, flushing.
"Yes. Something," she replies, making she sure does not sound hopeful.
As they walk back to the castle, she takes his hand in hers.
)(
Morgana tells her without telling.
"Gwen, promise me you won't hate Merlin for what he is. He is no danger to Camelot, or to Arthur."
Gwen is taken aback. She stares at Morgana. Her guileless expression is only a facade.
"This is my last act of kindness," Morgana says. "Someone is coming for me."
Chilled, Gwen continues her duties. The castle corridors are eerily silent when she leaves the tower.
)(
When they eventually return to the castle the smell of burning flesh will seem to have permeated everything. Uther calls the burnings cleansings, but Gwen feels dirty and tainted after each one. Since her father's death she has been unable to watch executions.
She wants to ask Merlin why he allows Uther to live. He has killed so many of Merlin's kind, not to mention the innocents. Gwen does not ask because Merlin has likely asked himself the same question repeatedly. Morgana would've said it was not Uther's time.
Gwen feels a pang of sympathy for her friend. Knowing the future robs one of emotions. One does not act out of love or hatred, but because one is supposed to.
Gwen bends to pick a flower from the side of the road. It's a strange thing with large purple petals and a yellow center. It wasn't there the last time they walked here less than a fortnight ago. Gwen breaks the stem in half and tucks the flower behind her ear.
"Beautiful," Merlin says.
"The flower or me?"
He brushes a strand of her hair from her face. "Why, the flower, of course."
Gwen shoves him. "You'll make some woman a proper husband, Merlin. I imagine you'll praise the family dog more than you would your wife."
"Well, the dog would come when I called and would likely agree with whatever I said."
"It wouldn't keep you warm at night."
Merlin makes a low sound of assent. "Well, it is cold at night in these parts."
"Very cold," Gwen agrees, leaning in to kiss him.
She wants the moment to last forever, but it does not. The wind comes, bringing with it the smell of smoke. Merlin pulls away and looks to the castle. They can see her walls and turrets from here.
Gwen holds his hand, noting the play of emotions across Merlin's face. Anger, sadness, helplessness, and finally resignation.
"Come." Gwen tugs him forward. "Maybe we'll find more flowers."
"Maybe." There's a hint of mischievousness in his eyes.
Further down the road, Merlin dashes into the bushes. When he comes back his trousers are dirty and he's holding something the size of a pebble. Merlin dusts it off before handing it to Gwen. Another bit of gold.
"For your Something," he says.
Gwen slips it into her pocket. As they walk she touches it every now and again, rolling it between her fingers.
Morgana said she would suffer the least. Maybe Merlin will suffer less if she keeps him close.
end
Title from Anne Michael's Fugitive Pieces.
Fandom: Merlin (Alternative Universe)
Character/Pairing: Gwen; Merlin/Gwen
Rating: All
Summary: Sometimes, when the castle corridors are quiet, with only the wind for company, Gwen hears herself.
Word Count: 1470
Notes: Written for blackmamba_esq. I'm sorry it's late :(.
The Gradual Instant
Sometimes, when the castle corridors are quiet, with only the wind for company, Gwen hears herself. She hears herself laugh, unrestrained and carefree. She also hears herself weeping, almost choking on her sobs. Gwen knows it is her voice because by now she has memorized every part of herself.
Women at court, no matter their station, do not have the luxury of keeping themselves a secret. They had to know how their body moved in order to entice, to seduce, to prevent circumstances that would leave them disgraced and destitute. A woman had to know her voice. She had to know how to modify it to show proper deference, how to refuse the offer of a visiting noble without appearing insulting. (Eyes and head lowered, body seemingly ready to drop into a curtsey, speech a bit more rustic and therefore innocent).
It only happens when she is alone and her back is pressed against the stones, eyes closed. Gwen hears herself whispering secrets to Tabitha, a launderer. They giggle about the prince, speculating on who will become his wife. Gradually, the conversations about Arthur become serious; the matter of his future wife has become of some import to her. Afterwards, Gwen hears herself crying; her heart has been broken.
Sobs are soon replaced by laughter. This time not so carefree or unrestrained. Gwen is happy, having gained something she had not thought possible.
Her voice changes. The rough edges are sanded away. Wars, marriages and the comfort of her ladies in waiting become her concern. She is lonely. She sings to comfort herself, but mostly to appeal to the gods for a child. Gwen weeps when she is told Arthur will never have an heir.
She whispers Lancelot's name under her breath, hoping someone will hear her. She is reckless for the first time in years.
Abruptly, all is quiet; the wind the speech of absence.
Gwen opens her eyes, stepping away from the wall. If she does not hurry, it will begin again. She likens it to a bard repeating a tale. But there are never any differences, no change in tone, no embellishments here, a forgetting there.
Gwen hears a past that never was, a future that never will be.
)(
The king's ward is kept out of sight in a tower at the rear of the castle. "Like a fairy tale," Morgana says. "What's a fairytale?" Gwen asks. Morgana smiles but does not answer.
There are many stories to explain Morgana's absence at court. The servants talk of a bastard child fathered by King Uther or Prince Arthur. They are sure Morgana has been sent to a neighbouring kingdom for the duration of the pregnancy and the birth. They are sure she will return.
The members of court who often witnessed Morgana's erratic behaviour believe-correctly-she is shut up somewhere. They think her confinement is a just and brave act of discipline on Uther's part. A girl like that had to be made an example of. Who could forget when she'd shouted at the king, screaming that his latest campaign would fail and cause unnecessary bloodshed? It was not her place to question a power higher than hers. She had to be punished lest their own daughters foolishly followed in her footsteps.
And the death of the hundred knights, the unnecessary bloodshed Morgana had spoken of? It was an unfortunate occurrence that could not have been predicated.
But Morgana had predicted it, just as she had predicted the death of one of the kitchen servants. She'd known the truth of the encounter between Sir Ulwen and Lady Constance's maidservant and had made sure everyone knew it too. The girl would likely never marry, but she was no longer treated as a leper.
Gaius said Morgana was a seer, a powerful one who could not control herself. She'd long ago lost the ability to tell the difference between reality and her dreams.
"If I were ever to go blind I could still find my way around a room I had never been in," Morgana once told Gwen. "Physically, it would be my first time stepping into the room, but I would have already been there before. I would've always been there."
Morgana's periods of lucidness were becoming fewer as the days grew shorter. She spent her days in bed, staring at the walls, her eyes faraway.
"I'm seeing, listening," she tells Gwen. "At first I thought I could change the future, but what I was seeing were other places. They're so different, but it's all the same in the end. This is a story and we all have our parts to play." She pats Gwen's hand. "You'll never be queen, but you will suffer less." Gwen pulls her hand away, as if burned, infected.
)(
Merlin hides himself behind a peasant's smile and a vacant expression. It's easy to believe he is like the fabled countryfolk: steadfast, kind and loyal, but ultimately stupid. Merlin cultivates this persona, as it gets him extra portions in the kitchen. Camelot's children trust him and do small favours without question. The nobility smile at him and continue speaking, sure he does not understand them. Merlin keeps their secrets, most of the time.
Gwen knows the truth about Merlin. It is one only she and Gaius know, one that Arthur chooses to ignore. Merlin is no scholar, but has taught Gwen how to use the stars, how to prepare meals from scraggly looking plants she previously avoided. He's taken her outside the walls of Camelot and shown her Roman roads, handing her worthless bits of weather-beaten gold he's found along the way.
"Maybe if you get enough you can met it down and make into something," he says, flushing.
"Yes. Something," she replies, making she sure does not sound hopeful.
As they walk back to the castle, she takes his hand in hers.
)(
Morgana tells her without telling.
"Gwen, promise me you won't hate Merlin for what he is. He is no danger to Camelot, or to Arthur."
Gwen is taken aback. She stares at Morgana. Her guileless expression is only a facade.
"This is my last act of kindness," Morgana says. "Someone is coming for me."
Chilled, Gwen continues her duties. The castle corridors are eerily silent when she leaves the tower.
)(
When they eventually return to the castle the smell of burning flesh will seem to have permeated everything. Uther calls the burnings cleansings, but Gwen feels dirty and tainted after each one. Since her father's death she has been unable to watch executions.
She wants to ask Merlin why he allows Uther to live. He has killed so many of Merlin's kind, not to mention the innocents. Gwen does not ask because Merlin has likely asked himself the same question repeatedly. Morgana would've said it was not Uther's time.
Gwen feels a pang of sympathy for her friend. Knowing the future robs one of emotions. One does not act out of love or hatred, but because one is supposed to.
Gwen bends to pick a flower from the side of the road. It's a strange thing with large purple petals and a yellow center. It wasn't there the last time they walked here less than a fortnight ago. Gwen breaks the stem in half and tucks the flower behind her ear.
"Beautiful," Merlin says.
"The flower or me?"
He brushes a strand of her hair from her face. "Why, the flower, of course."
Gwen shoves him. "You'll make some woman a proper husband, Merlin. I imagine you'll praise the family dog more than you would your wife."
"Well, the dog would come when I called and would likely agree with whatever I said."
"It wouldn't keep you warm at night."
Merlin makes a low sound of assent. "Well, it is cold at night in these parts."
"Very cold," Gwen agrees, leaning in to kiss him.
She wants the moment to last forever, but it does not. The wind comes, bringing with it the smell of smoke. Merlin pulls away and looks to the castle. They can see her walls and turrets from here.
Gwen holds his hand, noting the play of emotions across Merlin's face. Anger, sadness, helplessness, and finally resignation.
"Come." Gwen tugs him forward. "Maybe we'll find more flowers."
"Maybe." There's a hint of mischievousness in his eyes.
Further down the road, Merlin dashes into the bushes. When he comes back his trousers are dirty and he's holding something the size of a pebble. Merlin dusts it off before handing it to Gwen. Another bit of gold.
"For your Something," he says.
Gwen slips it into her pocket. As they walk she touches it every now and again, rolling it between her fingers.
Morgana said she would suffer the least. Maybe Merlin will suffer less if she keeps him close.
end
Title from Anne Michael's Fugitive Pieces.