On the first page of our story...
Characters: The sister, the queen consort, and the knight
Time: A very long time ago
Location: An antechamber
Content: There is more than one kind of traitor.
Warnings: None
The two woman who sat at the small wooden table couldn’t have been more different in both appearance and mannerisms. One was small and radiantly fair with dark doe eyes and a hint of a dimple set in her kind, heart-shaped face. Today, however, there was not even the slightest trace of a smile on her face as she frowned uncertainly at the ivory-skinned brunette sitting just across from her. The dark woman was absently swirling her mulled wine, a distant look in her eyes, and the more she continued this, the more the other woman - really hardly more than a girl - looked disconcerted.
Finally, the blonde said, “I wish you would stop with these games, Morgana. You may be the king’s sister-”
“Oh?” One dark brow lifted. “I was unaware.”
“-but you cannot possibly continue with this,” the other continued as if she had never been interrupted, flushing angrily. “What sort of black magic are you bringing into this court? Arthur will not stand for it.”
The dark woman was quiet, bringing the cup to her lips. Before drinking, she simply murmured in girlish tones, “I doubt he shall stand for your dalliances with his most trusted knight either.” She peered over the edge of the cup to see the other woman press her lips into a bloodless line and smiled before the spiced wine touched her own lips. Placing the cup back onto the table, she folded her hands on her lap and tilted her head to the side curiously. “Surely you must know that it is hardly proper for the queen to bed someone other than her husband.”
“It’s certainly not like that-”
“Truly told?” Morgana laughed quietly. “I wonder what my poor brother would say to that claim.”
“It’s none of your business!” cried Guinevere, rushing to her feet. “Why make these accusations that you know nothing about? You know nothing of what my husband would say nor do you have any right to slander Lancelot’s name.”
“So quick to his defense.” Morgana raised bright green eyes to smile condescendingly at Camelot’s queen. “Honestly, with the lies and deception in this court, I think that my ambitions are the least of your concerns.”
Guinevere’s eyes narrowed. “I heard Merlin say you’re dabbling with those banished to the Outer Gates during the Oblivion Wa-”
“Don’t you dare speak his name!” The change in demeanor was abrupt - an angered flush of color appeared on Morgana’s otherwise pale face, her fists clenching at her sides as her stance became more rigid. Fury sparked brightly in overly bright eyes, and it felt as if the temperature in the antechamber had fallen several degrees. From the dark shadows that suddenly lurked in the far corners of the room, Guinevere wasn’t at all curious as to the source of the cold.
She lifted her chin proudly against Morgana’s rage, clasping the back of her chair in a firm grip. “There is pride before a fall, Morgana. Speak ill of me to Arthur, and it is only your own vindictiveness at play. Do you truly wish to see this kingdom fall just so your own ambition can be satisfied? This has become less about politics and more about you.” She scoffed. “And you call me the traitor.”
Green fire sparked from the sorceress’s fingertips, already fueled by the anger from Guinevere’s mention of Merlin. “Hypocritical little whore-”
“Milady?”
A knock interrupted her words and two heads - one dark and one fair - turned towards the massive door leading into the antechamber. Both of them had recognized the voice and Guinevere’s hold on the chair tightened to a white-knuckled grip as both relief and trepidation as a handsome dark-haired man opened the door. He took one look at Guinevere and Morgana, his expression carefully schooled not to show surprise, and he bowed his head respectfully. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”
Morgana smiled, all traces of anger gone. “I was just leaving. I’m sure you and the queen have much to discuss.” The curtsy she dropped into was half-hearted, the smile she sent to the knight knowing. In a rustle of silk and velvet, she had swept past both the flustered Guinevere and the man, the dark shadows vanishing along with her.
Guinevere barely noticed his presence by her side the moment the door had shut. “She threatens us. More than us, she threatens everything. That dark magic...” She shuddered and he placed a warm, calloused hand on her suddenly chilled ones.
“Merlin wouldn’t allow it.”
“What do we know of Merlin’s doings?” she replied in an exhausted tone. “As far as we know, he and she are only engaging in a strategic battle of wits to see who can outdo the other and pity the poor souls who stand in their way, Arthur included.” She looked up at him, her face pale. “There are stories, Lancelot...dark creatures who threaten us all. If she seeks power badly enough, she will-”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “We will let Arthur know if it comes to that, I swear it.” He nodded at the closed door. “What does she think she knows?”
“Everything,” Guinevere replied dryly. “But to suggest about that our affair is not quite as it seems...the mage seemed to be right about that, at least.”
Lancelot chuckled. “Indeed.” He grasped her hand and then led her to a tapestry that concealed the hidden door just beyond. “Now come. The White Council is in session and we dare not deny them their most illustrious member.”
Her laughter rang in the room even after they had vanished.
Time: A very long time ago
Location: An antechamber
Content: There is more than one kind of traitor.
Warnings: None
The two woman who sat at the small wooden table couldn’t have been more different in both appearance and mannerisms. One was small and radiantly fair with dark doe eyes and a hint of a dimple set in her kind, heart-shaped face. Today, however, there was not even the slightest trace of a smile on her face as she frowned uncertainly at the ivory-skinned brunette sitting just across from her. The dark woman was absently swirling her mulled wine, a distant look in her eyes, and the more she continued this, the more the other woman - really hardly more than a girl - looked disconcerted.
Finally, the blonde said, “I wish you would stop with these games, Morgana. You may be the king’s sister-”
“Oh?” One dark brow lifted. “I was unaware.”
“-but you cannot possibly continue with this,” the other continued as if she had never been interrupted, flushing angrily. “What sort of black magic are you bringing into this court? Arthur will not stand for it.”
The dark woman was quiet, bringing the cup to her lips. Before drinking, she simply murmured in girlish tones, “I doubt he shall stand for your dalliances with his most trusted knight either.” She peered over the edge of the cup to see the other woman press her lips into a bloodless line and smiled before the spiced wine touched her own lips. Placing the cup back onto the table, she folded her hands on her lap and tilted her head to the side curiously. “Surely you must know that it is hardly proper for the queen to bed someone other than her husband.”
“It’s certainly not like that-”
“Truly told?” Morgana laughed quietly. “I wonder what my poor brother would say to that claim.”
“It’s none of your business!” cried Guinevere, rushing to her feet. “Why make these accusations that you know nothing about? You know nothing of what my husband would say nor do you have any right to slander Lancelot’s name.”
“So quick to his defense.” Morgana raised bright green eyes to smile condescendingly at Camelot’s queen. “Honestly, with the lies and deception in this court, I think that my ambitions are the least of your concerns.”
Guinevere’s eyes narrowed. “I heard Merlin say you’re dabbling with those banished to the Outer Gates during the Oblivion Wa-”
“Don’t you dare speak his name!” The change in demeanor was abrupt - an angered flush of color appeared on Morgana’s otherwise pale face, her fists clenching at her sides as her stance became more rigid. Fury sparked brightly in overly bright eyes, and it felt as if the temperature in the antechamber had fallen several degrees. From the dark shadows that suddenly lurked in the far corners of the room, Guinevere wasn’t at all curious as to the source of the cold.
She lifted her chin proudly against Morgana’s rage, clasping the back of her chair in a firm grip. “There is pride before a fall, Morgana. Speak ill of me to Arthur, and it is only your own vindictiveness at play. Do you truly wish to see this kingdom fall just so your own ambition can be satisfied? This has become less about politics and more about you.” She scoffed. “And you call me the traitor.”
Green fire sparked from the sorceress’s fingertips, already fueled by the anger from Guinevere’s mention of Merlin. “Hypocritical little whore-”
“Milady?”
A knock interrupted her words and two heads - one dark and one fair - turned towards the massive door leading into the antechamber. Both of them had recognized the voice and Guinevere’s hold on the chair tightened to a white-knuckled grip as both relief and trepidation as a handsome dark-haired man opened the door. He took one look at Guinevere and Morgana, his expression carefully schooled not to show surprise, and he bowed his head respectfully. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”
Morgana smiled, all traces of anger gone. “I was just leaving. I’m sure you and the queen have much to discuss.” The curtsy she dropped into was half-hearted, the smile she sent to the knight knowing. In a rustle of silk and velvet, she had swept past both the flustered Guinevere and the man, the dark shadows vanishing along with her.
Guinevere barely noticed his presence by her side the moment the door had shut. “She threatens us. More than us, she threatens everything. That dark magic...” She shuddered and he placed a warm, calloused hand on her suddenly chilled ones.
“Merlin wouldn’t allow it.”
“What do we know of Merlin’s doings?” she replied in an exhausted tone. “As far as we know, he and she are only engaging in a strategic battle of wits to see who can outdo the other and pity the poor souls who stand in their way, Arthur included.” She looked up at him, her face pale. “There are stories, Lancelot...dark creatures who threaten us all. If she seeks power badly enough, she will-”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “We will let Arthur know if it comes to that, I swear it.” He nodded at the closed door. “What does she think she knows?”
“Everything,” Guinevere replied dryly. “But to suggest about that our affair is not quite as it seems...the mage seemed to be right about that, at least.”
Lancelot chuckled. “Indeed.” He grasped her hand and then led her to a tapestry that concealed the hidden door just beyond. “Now come. The White Council is in session and we dare not deny them their most illustrious member.”
Her laughter rang in the room even after they had vanished.