Story [Merlin] "catch with hungry hands", Gwen, Morgana - oneshot

?catch with hungry hands?

Genre: Friendship, Drama (and why do we not have a gal term for bromance? )
Rating: G
Time Frame: Season II, Post "The Once and Future Queen"
Characters: Gwen/Arthur, Morgana

Summary: ?And who else would teach you?? the lady's smile was painted bright, and her sleepless eyes reflect her mirth as she invites you closer.

Notes: A marathon of old Merlin episodes today made me nostalgic in the most nostalgic of ways. And so . . . the good ol' days. Here we are.

And Merlin, while you are a show that redefines bromance, it seems at times you have no idea what to do with your leading ladies (cough*Morgana*cough), this is me trying to fill in one little scene while indulging a little bit in heavy handed foreshadwowing and galmance (and the term shall stick, I do so declare!).


Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

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[blockquote][i]?catch with hungry hands?
by Mira-Jade[/i][/blockquote]

Guinevere has long held silk and jewels in her hands, but has never worn them upon her body.

She knows how they feel ? knows the formation of them, thread by thread. Her fingers are callused from needle and thimble and loom, and she has spent years enough patching up after the Lady Morgana to know them more than any damsel of the court knows her finery.

It has only been a handful of eves (feasts, skirmishes, valiant deeds) since the tourney that had decided all for her, and her mind was still full of morning sunlight (sunlight? Childhood imaginings having always been hushed shadows and candlelight), and careful, crooked grins. Wants and could-bes are bewitching things, and she finally had to try to push them away lest she have to redo the same tiny braid in Morgana's hair for the fourth time now.

The affection she holds within her is an impossible thing. She knows this; knows that she has hands for needle and thread rather than silk and lace. She has, and would always, know sweat upon her brow rather than the weight of a crown. Simple cotton and simple affections are what's left to her for as long as she will live.

And really, she has never wanted more ? she wears her contentment like iron under her skin, and it has never failed to warm her. Her family loves ([i]had[/i] loved, but she loses track of tenses at times), and she had always been secure in that. Rich in that.

Gwen frowned at her task, biting her lip. Would that Arthur were a simple lad in the stables, or one of the pages skittering through the castle halls like bees through a hive. How much simpler that would be. How much easier for her to think on sunlight and stolen kisses and -

She cut herself off. The remnant of the thought was a stabbing thing behind her eyes, and upon it, she pulled at a snarl in Morgana's hair with a little more force than she ought to have.

?Give me a name, and I shall take care of whoever has so inspired your ire tonight, Gwen,? Morgana's voice was colored with a smirk, wry over the weariness that clung to her like a shadow.

?There is no ire, milady.? Another tangle.

Morgana winced. ?I,? she declared imperiously, ?do not believe you.?

?My fingers are merely clumsy tonight, I am sorry,? Gwen said softly, stepping away from her lady's hair. The dark tresses were styled enough, and a few wayward curls had always helped Morgana anyway. Made her look like some elemental spirit rather than a woman of flesh and mortal bone.

She stepped around the seated lady, looking down at the vanity and seeing the cosmetics waiting there. Morgana's eyes followed her, waiting. Her eyes were set into her pale white face like bruises that evening, and Gwen bit her lip against the memory of Morgana waking that morning (technically morning, still late enough at night for it to be blacker than pitch out, the sky turbulent), trembling, something in her eyes possessed. Instead of asking about her dreams (again), Gwen took her paint out, and started to hide their evidence.

She was tire