LAS Challenge 5 Voting
LAS Challenge Five Voting
- Participants, remember to take part in the voting.
- NEW RULE: Each participant that does vote will be awarded one extra point in the final tally. For some, this might mean the difference between staying and elimination.
- Read each entry to vote.
- Vote for your three favourite pieces, and please be sure to include feedback for each one. The fic you vote for in the first spot should be the piece you felt was best in accordance to the voting guidelines below. Vote 2 & 3 and the reasoning for each is entirely up to your discretion.
- First place voting should be based around quality only: Was the prompt met? Does characterization ring true? How is the spelling, grammar and punctuation? Did the piece hold you attention?
- With a view to being able to give each participant some feedback, reviews of the other stories are very much encouraged. If you liked the story, or noticed room for improvement, please let the author know!
- Use the form in the textbox below to vote. In "general comments", include any feedback for the other stories by indicating the number, followed by your review. A sample vote form is in the comments.
- Participants: do not vote for your own fic, or tell others to vote for it.
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The prompt was: "wine and wisdom." Participants had to keep the focus on Gwen and Morgana's relationship.
Voting closes Wednesday, March 24 at 5:00 pm EST. Results and challenge four will be posted sometime on Wednesday.
#1. Seer, Rated G
They’re at it, again. Someone says something - Gwen has ceased to care who, inevitably her lady lays blame upon the prince’s feet, although sometimes even Gwen must admit this is not always the case - and Morgana and Arthur are off, carping and sniping and glaring, crimson-faced and eyes narrowed. It’s a familiar dance, one that Gwen’s grown tired of, especially since she can see their goblets are close to empty, and both of them have been well into their cups for half the night.
“By god, what an impudent, arrogant fool!” Morgana snits, when the raucousness of the feast starts to dwindle and taper to quiet talking and shifting, tired limbs. She leaves with a swirl of silken skirts, utterly unaware of Arthur’s bleary, red-eyed gaze behind her. But Gwen sees. She always sees these things.
“I don’t understand how he can walk without tripping over his own ego!” Morgana fumes, as Gwen starts to pull at the ties of her dress. One, two . . . three. Silk ribbons, smooth as water and warmed by her skin, slide through Gwen’s fingers, catches on her calluses and split nails.
“It is a wonder, my lady,” Gwen says, patiently.
“It makes me sick!”
Gwen pushes the dress down her shoulders and Morgana steps out of it, her chemise rustling. “I am sorry, my lady,” she says, shaking out the dress. Unwrinkled, so it will not have to be pressed - and fortunately, no wine stains. Unlike last time, when Arthur “accidentally” tipped his goblet into Morgana’s lap. She had toiled for hours, trying to get the marks out . . . and in the end, the dress was declared unfit, and donated.
Gwen drapes the dress over her arm. “Is there anything else?” she asks, stepping out from behind the screen and walking over to the wardrobe.
“None. Wait, yes. Another goblet of wine.”
Gwen pauses her folding. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she growls, slipping on her sleeping chemise.
She sighs, folds the dress properly, then shuts the wardrobe. She pours her lady another goblet and sets it down by the bedside table, before moving to turn over the covers for Morgana. Her mistress sits down on the vanity and begins to brush out her hair, humming already. The locks are already shining, shimmering ink cascades against the stark white backdrop of her sleeping shift.
Gwen takes up the goblet again, and gives it to Morgana. Her mistress smiles in the mirror’s reflection at her, her gaze soft with wry affection. “My thanks, Gwen,” she says, taking a sip. She gives Gwen’s fingers a tight, brief squeeze. “And my apologies, for being so cross.”
Gwen smiles, knowingly. “That’s perfectly fine. Have a good night.”
She knows her curtsey is unnecessary - Morgana does not stand on these airs. But she does it anyway. It’s good practice, for the future.
Her lady does not know it, but Morgana and Arthur - they’ll get married, and she will be a lovely queen. She’ll rule with the love and compassion that Gwen sees, innate but perhaps smoldered by her fiery temperament. And she’ll bear fat babies, wonderful little heirs that will toddle all over the place and leave Gwen flushed but giggling with conniptions, trying to pick up after them.
It’s just the way of these things. Morgana will see, someday. And when that happens, Gwen will be there, as ever, to help.
#2. she took my silver spurs
Gwen, comes a voice, floating and wheedling in her dreams. Gwen frowns and buries her face in her pillows, trying to cling to the last vestiges of undisturbed sleep.
Gweeenn. Guinevere. Come to me, Gwen.
"Fuck's sake," says Gwen, and sits up.
*
Morgana's looking good for a murderous sorceress Gwen hasn't actually seen up close in a few years. She's still wearing that green cloak and clasp Gwen stitched up for her when they were young, and there are a few patterns inked on her skin that Gwen realise probably mark her out as a paid member (leader, really) of People Who Hated Uther, but the early dawn light is filtering through the forest leaves to provide attractive backlighting; she almost looks like the old Morgana Gwen used to follow around with stars in her eyes.
"Gwen," says Morgana, lifting her hood and smiling warmly.
"Morgana," says Gwen, one hand still on the reins of her horse - not exactly wary but sensible. Morgana seems to sense her concern, and she shakes her head.
"I'm alone," she says. "I swear. Trust me."
Against all reason, Gwen does.
"What is it?" she asks, coming forward. "Why aren't you letting me sleep? Camelot's up-in-arms over the coronation preparations, and they'll flip if they find me gone in the morning."
"You mean Arthur will flip." Morgana pulls a face, and studies Gwen for a few moments. "So, it's true."
Gwen pretends not to know what Morgana's talking about.
"You're going to be queen soon." There's no judgement in her tone, but Gwen still feels her cheek grow hot, despite the coolness of the March air about them.
"They call you queen of the fairies now," returns Gwen, detracting desperately. "Ruler of the magic underbelly. Not that it will be underbelly much longer, Arthur's first draft is to legalise magic again."
Morgana smiles faintly. "Knew he'd pull through. Pity we're not on talking terms at the moment."
"Mutual family slaying will do that, I understand," says Gwen, keeping her face impassive. "Uther and Morgause will be missed, both."
Morgana laugh is touched with irony. "Neither served you well; you hated both."
"I hate killing more," says Gwen, shrugging. "And I would never wish losing family on anyone. Why have you called me, Morgana?"
As if to clear her thoughts, Morgana shakes her head once, then clasps Gwen's hands. "I just thought - a commemoration, or toast - if you will. I don't know when we will meet again."
Gwen can only nod.
Morgana draws a pattern in the air and produces a goblet, cup-to-stalk forming elegantly between her fingers. There's something effortless in the way she does magic; Gwen has seen many perform it before her now, yet none can do it in that wordless combination of motion and thought. With a pang, she thinks she would have liked to have Morgana in her court: a right hand and counter to Merlin's ceaseless, cocksure magic. But Merlin and Morgana declared themselves enemies long before the battle lines were drawn - for reasons neither will divulge - and Morgana has been an enemy of Camelot too long now to remember even a desire to serve it.
Morgana offers the goblet forward, and their fingers brush as Gwen takes it. She doesn't drink immediately. "You are banished," she reminds Morgana. "And I will not forgive that."
"I wouldn't ask," replies Morgana, eyes clear. "And though I can find little love for the future king, I do promise that all in that took place before, my intent has never been to hurt you. And that is true of whatever the future may bring." She leans forward, and draws Gwen's hands up so she can take a sip from the goblet. Gwen watches the dark, bent head, and unfurrowed brow, and tries to find a trace of some emotion she'll recognise - the old anger, the conflicting opinions and chaos, the bitterness and lack of impulse control - all that once formed Morgana's make-up. It's gone, she realises, been sifted away to leave a stranger, wiser, lonelier woman; yet, all of a sudden, she misses the Morgana she knew.
"Do you ever wonder," says Gwen, running her fingers over the goblet's rim, "how things might have been different?"
"No," says Morgana simply. "My business has never been with the past."
Gwen frowns, then confesses her troubled mind - not as one queen to another from across battlefields, but as the girl who once felt love and friendship in the arms of another. "I think there were too many secrets in Camelot," she says. "I wish some had been spoken before; it proved our undoing. There are so many things I did not know or say, and I fear I will make the same mistakes as queen; that I will never be a good one."
Morgana smiles, and tilts the goblet to Gwen's lips. The wine is light and sweet, and it puts a stop to Gwen's words momentarily. "I think there is much you knew," Morgana says gently, and leans forward to kiss Gwen. "And I think you will be the queen I wish I'd had."
#3. Propriety, Rated PG
"Oh, I - I couldn't, milady." Gwen bit her lip and twisted her hands in her skirts.
Morgana arched an eyebrow and gestured again to the dressing table, where the remains of the wine the Ambassador had left stood, deep red temptation in the candlelight. When Gwen still hesitated, her lips twitched, and she put a hand on her hip. "Must I order you, my maidservant?"
Gwen gave in, sliding quickly into the high-backed chair Morgana used each morning. She poured a splash - just a splash, to satisfy the whims of her too-kind mistress - of the wine into the simple goblet there and sipped.
Morgana slipped up behind her, combing her long white hands through Gwen's hair, and Gwen stared herself in the eyes in the mirror. The whole night felt surreal, sideways, but not wrong, quite. The mirror was as perfect as any she'd ever seen but it still gave the room behind it a strange, dreamlike warp - tiny imperfections in the glass making that Gwen not quite this Gwen, that Morgana not quite...
She caught Morgana's wrist. "Milady..." She protested. "This isn't..."
Morgana pulled free of her, leaning down to pour more wine into the goblet on the desk. Her hair brushed Gwen's shoulder, spun darkness. "Why not?" She asked, eyes sparkling with something between amusement and cunning.
Gwen wrapped her hands around the goblet for lack of anything else to hold on to. "This is silly pretending," she objected, forgetting the milady or the mistress. "It's not right."
"Why not?" Morgana asked. "Why can't you be Lady and I be maid? What is it about the world that prevents it?"
"Propriety," Gwen said, weakly, but it was not much defense against the sweet wine in her throat and the gentle tug of Morgana's hands through her hair.
"Forget propriety." Morgana said, and Gwen thought, just for a moment, that it was the wisest thing she'd ever heard.
#4. Divergence, Rated PG
Before she set off Arthur had given her a dozen of his knights, Lancelot a blade and Merlin a warning; she left all three behind her on the shore and climbed into the empty boat waiting for her. Gwen wished it was as easy to leave her memories behind. The boat gilded out into the open water of its own accord. Even so, Gwen took up the oars. Since becoming queen she had learnt a little about symbolism.
Of course, symbols were something Morgana had always understood. There was no one to meet her when Gwen reached the shore. She was left to step out onto the Isle alone. Gwen started to walk. She could almost sense the ghost of a younger Gwen walking alongside her, eyes bright and mind busy with news of the world outside the castle that she would bringing to her mistress, to her friend. She had news of the outside world this time, too, but she was wise enough to realise that little of it would be new to Morgana and none would be welcome.
Gwen thought she’d hardened her heart against this moment but as soon as she saw Morgana it was as though she was breathing in blades. He chest ached with wanting -- wanting her friend back, wanting the people they used to be. Morgana gestured towards a seat and Gwen sat, watching Morgana poured wine into two goblets set on the stone table between them. The wine matched the colour reserved for the priestesses of the old religion. It was Morgana’s colour now. Gwen too was robed in red but hers was the lighter shade of the Pendragons. It was a colour Morgana had always resisted wearing.
“Are you going to ask me if it’s poisoned?” Morgana said, teeth flashing. Gwen lifted the cup to her lips.
Morgana reached out, her hand cool against Gwen's cheek. Gwen did not allow herself to react to the caress. “It’s all over. No matter what you do, Arthur is doomed. Don’t share his fate.”
“I already do. “
“Stay here. While you are here no harm will befall you.”
Gwen wouldn’t make a liar of herself by claiming that she wasn’t tempted. There were those she loved as an adult - Arthur, Merlin, even Lancelot, although that love had a bitterness to it. Of those she loved as a child, though, Morgana was the only survivor.
“If I stay, Arthur will come for me.” Morgana wouldn’t meet her eyes, confirming Gwen’s suspicion. “And if he fights you on the Isle, he will lose. How can you ask me to choose that?”
“Yet you can choose him.” There was a hot anger in Morgana’s voice but Gwen wasn’t scared. Morgana was only dangerous when she was cold.
“Come back with me, Morgana. There can still be a place for you in Camelot, all of us together again. Just think what we could do. With you and Merlin working together...”
“Never. All I want from the wizard is his death.” Morgana’s words froze Gwen’s plea.
“I don’t understand.” If anything, Gwen would have expected Morgana’s anger to be directed towards Arthur, or even at Gwen herself.
“No, Gwen, you don’t. And no matter what you think of me, I will not burden you with the explanation. None of us can go back.” Morgana rose and walked away from the table. Even though Gwen followed, she knew it wasn’t enough to close the distance between them.
“Do you remember, Gwen? Those evenings we spent in my chambers, full of wine and wisdom? No matter what happens next, believe that I’m glad we had the chance to do it one last time.”
“Morgana, please -” Gwen was willing to beg but she didn’t know what she should beg for. It might be easier if she could see Morgana’s face but the other woman had her back to Gwen.
“Time’s up Gwen. For all of us.” In case the dismissal was not obvious enough Morgana vanished in a cloud of black smoke, for all the world like a wicked witch from a children’s story.
Gwen didn’t look back as she walked towards the boat. This time she did not take up the oars as the boat propelled itself towards the opposite shore, her eyes were too blurred by tears for her to be able to steer. By the time she reached the shore she would be dry eyed, the Queen of Albion returned from negotiations with one of Albion’s rival powers. Now, though, in this narrow stretch of water between lands, she could allow herself to be a woman grieving the loss of her oldest friend.
#5. Young And . . . , Rated PG
Gwen grimaces a little as she swallows the first mouthful of wine. “You just have to get used to it,” Morgana says, noticing her expression. “It gets better.”
“I know,” Gwen replies. “I’ve had wine before,” she mutters under her breath. And she has, sometimes with dinner or when she steals sips from the cups her father drinks on special occasions. Of course, Morgana’s had a lot more. Every time there’s a feast or a dinner or anything, really, Morgana sits next to Arthur and gets her own cup of wine, regularly refilled by attentive servants.
“What?” Morgana asks, taking a sip out of her own cup. Gwen pretends she doesn’t notice the little grimace that curls Morgana’s lips as she swallows.
“Nothing.” Gwen takes another small sip of her wine. “How did you - did you just ask for this? And they gave it to you?” Gwen’s still a little envious of the freedom Morgana has; her father still treats her like she’s five.
“No!” Morgana laughs, that commanding laugh that makes Gwen cower a little. “Uther would never - I swear, he’s worse than my father was.” Her voice gets softer at the end, like it always does when she talks about her parents. But she shakes it off, just like always, and takes another big gulp of the wine. “I snuck it out of the kitchens under my dress.”
“You stole it?” Gwen exclaims, alarmed.
“No one’s going to notice.” Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“You’re so . . .” Gwen begins, but then she gets scared. She’s still not sure how much leeway she has with Morgana and she’s terrified of stepping out of line.
“What?” Morgana prompts, sounding curious and a little intimidating.
“Confident,” Gwen finishes, looking into her wine. “I wish I could be like that.”
“Why can’t you?” Morgana asks and she sounds genuinely curious.
“I just . . . I’m not . . .”
“Not what?”
“Not as . . .” strong, beautiful. There are so many things Gwen could put there.
Morgana waits; finally, she realizes Gwen’s not going to say anything. She shakes her head, her hair brushing across her face and shoulders. “Well, you can be anything you want to be,” she says, dismissive and imposing. “Would you like some more wine?”
#6. In Wine Truth, Rated Teen
Gwen's father always said that great wisdom could be found by watching people deep into their drink. Serving at an uncountable number of feasts, Gwen had decide her father had been right. People often used drunkenness as an excuse to do what they would normally not be willing to do when sober. A drunk's courage, her father called it.
Gwen knew what Morgana was like with each drink: when she'd had too much, when she could drink more without damage, and when she needed to be convinced to go to sleep. Yet, she would never have guessed even Morgana would sometimes rely on the same drunk courage.
Gwen rarely drank. Tonight, however, was different. Morgana insisted she drink, even just a little, and Morgana herself had drank three glasses of wine. Gwen mentally did the math, it was enough for Morgana to be more than a little tipsy herself, but generally still good-hearted and without threat of a hangover the next morning.
When it was proper to leave the feast but well before she would normally leave, Morgana turned to Gwen and said, "I would like to return to my chambers." Morgana made her way around the room, saying her good-byes to the King, and Arthur and all the important nobles before she left the banquet. When they made it outside of the banquet room doors Morgana pulled a full wine bottle from the folds of her gown. Gwen widened her eyes in surprise and Morgana said, "I thought we could have more fun in my chambers" before she promptly flushed and turned so quickly she almost lost her balance.
In her chambers Morgana puttered around, forcing Gwen to sit on the bed, while Morgana poured them both a glass of wine. "Morgana, I don't really need more to drink."
"Nonsense. It's just us." She said and handed her a full glass of wine. Gwen took a deep sip while Morgana sat down next to her on the bed. She leaned her whole side against Gwen and Gwen sank into Morgana's warmth too tipsy herself to keep the proper distance. Morgana took a sip and then sighed, resting her head on Gwen's shoulder.
They stayed like that for a while, silently sipping on their wine.
"I like you Gwen." Morgana said sitting up and only wavering a little bit, while Gwen tried to do her math again. With what glass exactly did Morgana get cuddly and warm? By this point Gwen couldn't remember how many glasses either of them had drank. "I think you like me too." Morgana continued unaware at Gwen's mental arithmetic.
"I do like you, Morgana." Gwen said absentmindedly.
"I see you looking at me sometimes. I think it's how I look at you. You know?" She said.
"Er, no?" Gwen said, a little frightened and a little excited as to where this conversation might be going.
"You look at me." Morgana started and then huffed. She tumbled off of the bed, putting her cup and bottle down and taking Gwen's from her. Standing in front of Gwen while she sat on the bed Morgana began again. "I see you and sometimes you look at me like this." Morgana leaned forward and looked right into Gwen's eyes. She wanted too look away, lean away from the heat of Morgana's gaze and the warmth of her body, but she couldn't. Instead, she leaned forward until their foreheads touched and as Morgana sighed, closing her eyes, Gwen kissed her. Morgana leaned forward more until she fell on top of Gwen and they rolled onto the bed. They kissed, Gwen licking Morgana's lower lip while Morgana's hands stroked down her sides.
Morgana sighed into the kisses and Gwen wrapped her arms around Morgana. "If I had known that I could seduce you with wine, I would have gotten you drunk earlier." Morgana said as she bit kisses down Gwen's jaw.
"You didn't have to get me drunk." Gwen said, but then she looked at Morgana she saw that her mistress had passed out on the bed.
Gwen kissed Morgana's soft, swollen lips one more time before she tried to get out of the bed, hoping she could undress a passed out Morgana before the dress wrinkled. But Morgana kept her hold on her and mumbled into her pillow, "stay." And Gwen knew she could not leave now.
#7. Untitled
Gwen's deep into the Darkling Woods when she feels an arm lock around her waist and a hand clamp over her mouth, dragging her backward. She goes rigid, but doesn't panic. Surely no bandit has such soft palms. No raider she has run across ever smelled like freesia. Though she does wonder how it is Morgana still bathes with the same oils Gwen used to add to her bathwater all that time ago.
"Let me go, Morgana." Her voice is muffled against smooth skin.
"Is anyone following you?" Morgana's hiss is low in her ear.
"Let me go." Gwen wrests out of Morgana's grip, turns and shoves, surprising Morgana enough so that she is pressed against the trunk of a tree, eyes wide and staring.
"Gwen, please -- did anyone come after you?" Morgana stresses.
For a moment all Gwen can do is look at her, alive and in front of her. Her hands itch to touch her hair, her shoulders, to draw her close and be sure that she's real. Instead she carefully releases Morgana's cloak and drops her hands to her sides.
"I don't know," Gwen says honestly. "I expect if anyone comes looking for me, it will not be for a while longer. I haven't been gone long."
Morgana releases a breath and glances at the fire. "What are you doing out here, Gwen?"
Gwen stares at her, half-disbelieving. "Looking for you; what do you think?"
"If you were wiser, you wouldn't have come."
"Then you were as much a fool for sending me that letter. If you did not think I would look for you --"
"I told you not to!"
Instead of answering, Gwen deals her a glare before she takes up a stick and pokes at the fire. "Are you so close to Camelot that we should run into each other like this?" That Morgana didn't want to be found wasn't something Gwen had let herself think about too much, but it stings to think of it now.
"No, I came to intercept you. I saw you coming."
Gwen looks up. "How?"
Morgana avoids her gaze. "That doesn't matter."
Gwen narrows her eyes. "Still, Morgana? Even now you don't see fit to tell me?"
"You don't want to know."
Wanting to scream, Gwen spins away. "Don't tell me what I want to know, Morgana. I don't work for you any longer, and I -- I'm sick of you -- of everyone --" she stops to catch her breath. "That's my choice, Morgana."
"I only ever wanted you safe, Gwen," she says quietly. "You know what he's like. If he suspected you knew anything ... I only wanted to protect you."
Gwen softens and lowers to sit on a fallen tree trunk. After a moment Morgana joins her and for a while, everything's quiet. Gwen takes a skin of wine from her bag, drinking from it before handing it to Morgana. Morgana takes it, but doesn't drink.
"You have to go back, Gwen." Morgana's voice is quiet as she stares at the sack in her hands. "I needed to write to you, needed you to know that I ... that it isn't you. It was never you. But you need to go home."
"Come with me." Gwen's voice is insistent even though she already knows it's useless.
Morgana's smile is brittle. "It isn't my home anymore. It'll always be yours but I can never go back."
Gwen nods and stares at her hands. "Stay awhile, then?" she asks, quietly.
Morgana lifts the wine to her lips and nods again. "I think I will," she says. "There's a lot I need to tell you."
Skips exercised: felix-aeternus, fly_to_dawn