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[ Gwen is sewing.

There is so much time to fill these days that she takes these projects, uses them to pass her hours and keep her mind occupied with simple things rather than her worries and lord knows she has plenty.

In her lap, a dress is laid, more of a gown of silks in shades of royal blue and lighter blue. It is an impressive piece, one she is working on for many weeks on from the look of her fingers, she had poked herself with the needle more than once.

Still she works, sewing what looks like a golden embodiment on the edges.

Beside her is a cup of tea and actually, it's not the gown she wants to talk about. ]

It's rather brilliant.

[ she takes the cup, sips her tea. ]

Are they really tea-leaves? I have never heard of any leaves that can make something so wonderful. In Camelot we only have water and if you're fortunate you have milk.

[ and ale and mead and wine, but Gwen never tried those. ]

N-not that I mind the milk and the water. Or Camelot, really, I miss it quite often but -

[ she's doing it again isn't she? the babbling. She stops, smiles. ]

It is rather brilliant. Where can one find those...tea leaves? Where do they grow?

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[ Are you suggesting your once and future queen is doing drugs? ]

The marketplace, t is a very common drink, my Lord.

[YOU CAN'T TRUST PEOPLE HERE dear future queen they might have slipped you something]

I can't imagine it would taste all that good. More like a weak stew, with everything good left out of it. And bitter, too.

You add honey and sugar to it, Arthur. And lemon, I heard.

[ she really can't call him 'my Lord' when he is being so sulky and cute. ]

[this is suspicion. this is not cute, this is concerned for her health. this is also not sulking.

maybe... sulking a little. but only a little.]

Why bother with something that you have to add things to in order for it to be edible? If I wanted to go through all of that, I'd just ask Merlin to make me some stew.

[ whatever it is, Arthur Pendragon, it is also all sorts of adorable. ]

I believe it is to be drunk after the stew, like warm milk.

[ or wait, in his case. ]

Warm wine, I mean. Not that I'm saying you don't enjoy warm milk, I am certain you do I was just thinking that you probably enjoy warm wine...better.

[ oh God. ]

[er... right.]

Both. I certainly prefer wine, of course, but I wouldn't demand it. [a lie, nearly, which Merlin could definitely attest to.] Not unless it was offered to me. And if someone else were to be having milk, I wouldn't insist on anything else.

[which is nearly like thinking of having dinner with Gwen. which is... a good thought. not one he's going to say aloud, but still a good thought, and--

er.]

What are you sewing? [he says it a bit louder than might actually be necessary, and he clears his throat.] Out of-- curiosity.

I - see.

[ ladies and gentleman, the future king and queen of Camelot discussing milk. ]

A dress.

[ and then she bites her lip, might as well admit to the truth. ]

...She's been wearing the most hideous black gown since she arrived. It is so terribly worn out and heavy and it is getting warmer. I know -

[ that Morgana dislikes her, wants nothing to do with her, that this is silly, that she's being overly devoted. ]

But I cannot watch her march about the city in that dreadful thing any longer.

Edited 2013-04-06 20:26 (UTC)

I see.

[any awkwardness or talk of milk get pushed aside when Gwen says she. of course it's for Morgana. Gwen would never be so selfish as to stitch a gown for herself--though there is no selfishness in it, not truly. but she would see it that way, no matter if she deserves a new gown.

really, it's sort of sweet, in a sad way. and dangerous, too--no matter how kind the offer, Gwen should still take care, and he nearly warns her before he remembers that he's told her to do as she will. carefully, and she'd agreed, yes, carefully--but he no longer knows what to do with Morgana. (or with Gwen, not when it comes down to it. but it's a different sort of helplessness, one that he likes no better.)

in any case. he's quiet, for a moment.]

How will you get it to her?

[surely she won't wear it. even if the dress she wears now is rather ugly. befitting, in its way, though he thinks it somewhat bleakly.]

[ She bites her lips, hopes he will not be angry with her. It's the one thing they disagree upon here, the matter of Morgana. A sensitive subject to the both of them but Gwen knows that if she can reach Morgana, there would be solving it.

There must be a way. ]

I shall leave it at her door with a letter, I think.

[He nods, absently. And there is no anger, not properly. It's more--absent in feeling, too, as if there should be something there, but there isn't. It makes him quieter than he might be--certainly quieter than he was at the beginning of all of this.]

Do you know where she keeps her house?

I do. I left her flowers once, she took them.

[ or perhaps, Gwen thinks she did. Had she threw away the vase and the flowers, she thinks she would also rub it in. Morgana doesn't do things without a reason and without making sure they achieve the purpose. She has been trying to push her away for weeks now. If she hadn't mentioned the flowers, then she took them. ]

Good.

[it's a word more to buy himself a second of extra time before what he next says--as if he will take it back if he does not have that second--]

Then I will escort you there.

Oh.

[ and then, the babbling. ]

Oh no, you don't have to. Arthur - my Lord! You truly don't have to, really, I am not sure if she's still there, it's been quite a while since I've been there and she could have changed her residence since then and I'd hate to bother you -

[ stop her at any time. ]

[patiently, he lets her get through some of that, just in case there's a real protest in there somewhere--which, there is, perhaps, but nonetheless, he interrupts after just a few seconds of it.]

You'd be going unescorted if she changed her residence or not. I won't have it, Guinevere. I will go with you. [and then, more kindly (and sincerely):] Trust me, it wouldn't be a bother. I would not see you go alone.

--- Alright.

[ she inclines her head, tries to fight off a smile. ]

Will we be taking Merlin then, my Lord?

[this is a very serious, very thoughtful and pensive face. her question deserves a great deal of consideration, after all.]

I suppose we might. Someone will need to carry the dress, after all.

[ this face. ]

I can do that, Arthur. I carried more than one gown for Morgana over the years.

Yes, but we must give Merlin something to do. You don't want to know the sort of things he gets into when he's not kept occupied.

I admit I didn't often see Merlin unoccupied.

[ she grins, it's a joke; you make Merlin work so hard, Arthur. ]

[he shakes his head, very solemnly.]

It's for his own good, Gwen, truly. Otherwise he ends up in the tavern. We can't allow him to make a fool of himself.

[a beat.]

Not anymore than he already does on his own.

He can come with us. But he is not carrying Morgana's gown -

[ gosh, Arthur. She has to hold herself from laughing at poor Merlin. ]

I suppose your caution is wise--he might well drop it in a mudpuddle. It will be as you wish, Guinevere. Merlin will not carry the dress.

Besides, he might be tempted to put it on if we let him hold it for too long.

[ it's beyond her control, she laughs and it's bright and vibrant and she struggles to control it but merlin in a dress and arthur's face -- ]

You know it's not true.

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