Chapter Text
[World 0. Before everything.]
The evening skies bleed. Smoke rises from the fires consuming the mangled corpses abandoned among the dry grass, thorny bushes, and dead trees. The ash makes Guinevere cough violently. The heat of the fire makes her sweat from her back and face. She advances through the flames and banners, running without caring that arrows fly past her ears.
She can feel one embedded in one of her arms, but it barely hurts.
Guinevere runs and runs without stopping across this bloody field. Praying to a God who has never heard her prayers that Arthuria will survive this war against Mordred. She begs every apostle she can think of that it is Mordred's corpse rotting on the ground. She prays that her stupidity and selfishness won't cost more innocent lives.
She laughs through her bitter tears that tear at her lungs with the ashes she breathes.
Gwen knows that this story was never meant to have a happy ending.
Her fault, her damn fault. The whore queen who brought about the downfall of an entire kingdom for a pretty face, for the pathetic need to feel loved by anyone in any way possible. Accepting every crumb of validation and acceptance she doesn't receive from someone who was once close and intimate. A queen who has disgraced herself and dragged everyone through the mud, creating an opportunity for a traitor she never expected among the knights.
At least not Mordred. Gwen thought it would be Agravain who would end up betraying them for Morgan.
Thousands of years would pass between summonses to Grail Wars and endless loops in different reincarnations before Guinevere turned back to face everything that had gone wrong. In retrospect, everyone in Camelot was in a fragile mental state, some evident in Tristan's perpetual sadness or in the silent rage simmering beneath Kay's skin. These conditions were there, but no one talked about them, mixed in with the silences of so many words left unsaid and the shadows of fear stalking each of them.
It was a disaster waiting to explode in their faces.
Accepting the basic fact that they were all perpetrators and victims among themselves, while continuing to hurt each other with the vomit of words that came out of their mouths. Those arguments that happen when anger clouds the truth of your feelings or bottling up the trauma to keep it at the back of the closet without wanting to talk about it. Guinevere was definitely one of the latter.
She has thought about it a lot, Guinevere has tossed and turned in bed when she wonders if her father conditioned or groomed her in any way by telling her all those stories about King Arthur and his noble knights. Stories of noble princesses who would make good wives for a great king. Creating that image of an idyllic prince with whom Leodegrance planned to marry her off.
That is her purpose. To produce an heir, that is the goal of marriage. Guinevere wants to believe that her father's intentions were to facilitate her inevitable union with Arthur, thinking that her husband was a real man and not a woman in disguise. That doubt will never be answered and will always torment her.
Was she a beloved daughter in her father's lap? Or was she one of the many European queens married in their tender years to be what was demanded of them in a foreign land?
Did her father love her or the princess who would ensure he was related to the Great King? Why not name her queen regent of Cameliard if he wanted to protect her so much? Did he not love her enough to revolutionize the laws of a kingdom he himself founded?
One of her masters showed her films based on other queens and asked her how similar her life as Queen was to what appeared on screen. Ashamed, Guinevere saw herself reflected in the sad eyes of Sissi of Bavaria. Her throat tightened with every word filled with the Queen's loneliness, her inflated expectations of love and marriage, and the tears left on her pillow at the announcement of an engagement that would end up unleashing years of mutual suffering.
How could Guinevere/Sissi reject the Great King of Britannia/Emperor of Austria?
(My love, I am doing this for us. Her father's eyes don't look at her when he tells her this.)
That part was so messed up, Guinevere thinks when she sees Arturia sleeping on cold nights, because they were both kids. She was fourteen when she got married, and Arturia was twenty when they contracted marriage for the sake of appearances.
A resentful part of Guinevere is angry at Arturia for not telling her the truth before the wedding.
Damn it! Guinevere had a right to know what she was getting herself into and to think about the implications that would have for the rest of her life. Whether she would be able to endure the stares of the ladies of the court, the criticism of the lack of a Pendragon heir, of being faithful to an image created for the kingdom. It didn't even give her a chance to escape because no one would want to get involved with the woman who asked the Great King for a divorce after only one day of marriage.
(There goes Guinevere, not even the Great King is worthy of her.)
Guinevere wants to ask if it was Arturia's idea not to tell her after the wedding or if it was Merlin's decision. All these years, knowing so many versions of the same wizard will never soften Guinevere's hatred for putting the idea of the “Inhuman King” into her wife's head.
It was somewhat obvious that the wedding night ended in silence, fueling rumors at court. Guinevere endured taunts and insults behind her back that reached her ears. Pet, barren bitch, the Great King's new toy, the Roman bastard, Cameliard's consolation prize—those were Gwen's favorite nicknames. She endured the cruelty of the court, the aggressive shoving and the venom of the ladies of the court who boasted of sharing the King's bed when she did not.
She even endured it from her own ladies-in-waiting, because again, no one asked her if she wanted new maids when she became queen. Guinevere can now confirm that she suffers from intense depressive and dissociative episodes due to the constant harassment and the consequences of all the unprocessed trauma from the beatings in the Church.
She still remembers Kay's fearful face when he found her on the edge of a balcony, just one step away from the void. Gwen doesn't remember standing on the edge, only that she scared her brother-in-law so much that he didn't leave her side for two months.
The beginning of their marriage calmed down after their wedding night. Sometimes they would look at each other silently, holding hands, without ever having experienced a relationship of that nature. Arturia would look into her eyes with a smile so gentle that it made Guinevere's eyes burn, because women were not supposed to be attracted to other women. That small, ever-present wound in Guinevere when, in the innocence of her childhood, she expressed a desire to kiss the stable keeper's daughter.
She still has the scar on her lower back from when her father sent her to the convent with those nuns who never showed mercy until they were convinced that those desires had been expelled when blood stained the first step of the altar.
But... Arturia made her feel safe. For a while, it was like that, drawing closer behind the security of the fact that in the eyes of others, they were man and woman. Guinevere spent nights whispering intimate secrets close to her heart in her ear. Thoughts she never expressed for fear of appearing a heretic in the eyes of Christians, debating between them how they would improve the kingdom. Guinevere gave herself fearfully, but she gave herself completely to Arturia Pendragon.
That's why it hurt when Arturia began to push her away.
It hurt when the warmth of her voice stopped coming from her lips when she said Gwen's name.
Her heart broke when she received no answer when she asked what they meant to each other.
Guinevere cried a lot every night since they stopped sleeping together, as did the cruel gossip that only stopped when the King was around. She took refuge in the administrative work of the kingdom of Camelot, traveling on diplomatic missions to the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms and tribes to cooperate in defending their home, creating paths for better communication between the kingdoms, and enduring the inflated egos of the nobles in audiences with ridiculous requests. When Arturia and the Knights went off to fight the invaders, it was Guinevere who took the administrative reins and lost herself in the role of the Perfect Queen.
Gaheris and Kay became close to her, becoming what she needed most: a friend and a confidant.
The betrayal cut deep into Guinevere when Kay left the kingdom and, in turn, Gaheris withdrew into himself.
And...
And...
Lancelot was there. Kind, warm, like a balm for her wounds that continued to bleed. Someone to pretend that she was normal, that her chest didn't burn with inappropriate feelings for another woman. She was so tired that getting out of bed became unbearable, eating was a Herculean task, and sometimes, sometimes she thought something in particular when she saw the edge of the knives, the huge window frames, and looked down.
The idea was so tempting, fleeting.
Guinevere loved Lancelot's idea of love. Of being normal. Deep down, Gwen never stopped longing for small, calloused hands, long blond hair, and an androgynous face buried between Guinevere's breasts. That unconditional love, a love that would not wither like a flower in winter.
So desperate for love.
Any kind of love.
(Damn, damn, damn. What has she done? What the hell was she thinking? Every kiss on her bare shoulder from the knight's lips burned like bleach.)
Then the door opened at that moment. And terribly, Guinevere eagerly awaited her execution. She still does, if she's honest.
Everything burns with a single spark. It only took one to burn years of effort in seconds.
Red, red, all burned.
The corpse of Mordred, that traitorous bastard. Bedivere's miserable eyes with Arturia in his arms, devoid of the flame of life. Her golden hair dry and covered in dried blood with horrible wounds that make Arturia's body look like a doll with broken joints. All the dreams of Camelot reduced to ashes that rise into the sky as if they were leaving for the promised paradise.
She blinks. Blood runs down her legs and Guinevere screams until everything goes black.
She wishes she had died in her execution as she should have from the beginning. Everything is gone. The knights, the armies, her king, the little that was worthwhile has been consumed by fire and the touch of death.
Why them and not her? Why not die like the whore she has become in exchange for the innocent lives of her friend Gaheris and the kind Gareth? Of the only King of Knights?
Guinevere runs to Wessex where she has allies along with the surviving servants of the castle to at least ensure that these people have a chance of protection against the constant wave of violence that was unleashed on British soil. Gwen returned to the ruins of the cities to take away anyone she found alive. She offered her mind and body to fight the looters with a bow and arrow. She killed and killed and killed until blood covered her dark armor. She lives crying every night of her life, dedicating every minute to caring for others and with the solemn promise never to touch another man or woman with romantic intentions again.
Every feeling for Lancelot has been burned and buried. The ashes are there, still smoldering, and Guinevere would live with the doubt of whether what she felt for the knight was truly love.
She grows old, raises an orphaned Anglo-Saxon child with all the love she wishes had been given to her in the beginning, and continues to serve as an advisor to Wessex to dispel the chaos of war as best she can. She bids farewell to her child to go and fight the invaders one last time.
She dies in silence, begging forgiveness from King Arturia, Gaheris, and Gareth. Preparing to burn forever in the flames of hell.
She closes her eyes....
She awakens before the Throne of Heroes.
-------
[World 0. First Holy Grail War---Location unknown---]
Gwen doesn't know that she has seen the Throne of Heroes as worthy of being a Servant. Her only claim to fame is being the adulterous wife of King Arthur, lover of Sir Lancelot, and the reason for Camelot's downfall.
She has seen the television shows and movies telling the stories that portray her as a woman in love. Lucky to have been loved by the two most famous men in England. Guinevere frowns as she listens to the musical that romanticizes her infidelity because apparently the romance between a knight and a queen was still popular among modern women.
She has also read the writings with Kay perched on her shoulder about the details and interpretations of her life in Camelot. Guinevere laughed when Kay trampled on the book because he felt insulted that he was so ignored in the Arthurian legends. Guinevere thinks of Arturia and how she would react to the fact that her lie about her true gender has lasted a millennium.
It's... it's incredible how many works are dedicated to her memory. Some define her by her romance with Lancelot, which is quite insulting. Other works portray her as a devout Christian, which is funny because she was of Roman descent born in Wales. And dozens more that crown her as a warrior, protective sister, daughter, oracle, devoted wife, feminist icon, and legitimate princess of British soil.
It was insulting to see Don Quixote, Gaheris, and Chang'e rolling on the floor laughing when they heard the romantic musical that focuses on her love for Lancelot.
“Devoutly Christian? Delicate flower?” Gaheris gasped between laughs, trying to get up, falling on his backside with each attempt. “You hit the King with a rock when you met her, I saw the scar.”
Gwen felt a twitch in her eye from the pain. “She started it,” she justified, because how else would she react if a stranger started following her around.
“I need to hear that story, Archer,” Don Quixote exclaimed, rising with his arms open and his head toward the ceiling. “Please, you hardly ever say anything about your husband.”
Loki watched them floating in place, looking at the portraits based on Gwen on a tablet with disinterest. “They portray you as very red-haired,” he pointed out humorously, bringing Guinevere's mahogany locks to life so they moved like snakes attacking each other.
... She didn't believe her marriage was valid after... well, everything. Nor did she believe Arturia thought of them as a married couple. She was just Gwen, Princess of Cameliard, Archer-class Servant. And she would forever be the Whore Queen.
“You're jealous that my hair looks better, greasy hair,” Gwen replied, receiving an attempted murder with a pillow to the face.
“You conceited bitch!” Loki hissed, leaning his weight on her. Gwen put one foot on the Norse god's thigh to throw him against the wall. Loki floated a few inches from the wall with a broad smile, which faded when Gwen pounced on him in a skirmish that drew several screams from him. In the background, Chang'e watched them with a smile behind the sleeve of her red hanfu.
“They lasted only an hour without trying to fight. That's a new record.”
A pillow crashed into the Moon Goddess's face, leaving her with a sour expression. Gaheris let out a laugh that was drowned out by the thud of another flying pillow that sent him crashing into an enchanted Quixote. It soon turned into a mess of screams, feathers, and blows to the face. The cries of pain gave the impression that someone was being killed, but it was just Loki screaming because Gwen was pulling his hair.
“ Kids,”
Everyone froze when they heard Saber's voice. Simon Bolívar called them from the doorway, standing next to his Master, who was recording them with his phone. The five servants were tangled up with each other. Gaheris was clinging to Gwen's waist, whose hair was tangled in Quixote's armor. Loki lay on top of Chang'e with his face covered in white feathers, and the goddess's leg was being pulled by Quixote. “You're grounded.”
They pointed at each other, “It's his/her fault!”
It was moments like these that made Gwen glad she had been chosen as a Servant. In a way, she could act like the girl she was before she had to grow up too quickly to rule. She could see Gaheris again alongside Kay and get to know them as brothers in arms, healing the wounds of their shared past. She could find inspiration in the fatherly figure of Simon, the leader she would follow to the ends of the world. Quixote, who reminded her of the beauty of the world in the flowers growing on the sidewalk and of living with hope in her eyes. Chang'e was the first friend she allowed into her heart to share so many joys and sorrows with her. Although her relationship with Loki was complicated on the best of days, she did not regret calling him a friend.
It's not so bad, Gwen thinks, having swallowed a feather in the rush.
-----
The air smelled of familiar ozone, the blood running down her face making it difficult for Gwen to even breathe. And screams—there were so many screams—echoing in her eardrums. She tried to move from where she lay, but her legs were unable to follow her commands. She feels fingers tangled around her neck as thunder rumbles across the sky, a muffled plea for her life.
Gwen closes her eyes against the glare before, for some reason she cannot see, the Grail emits a white light that envelops them.
And she opens her eyes.
-----
[World 2. Deviation from canon 1]
She wakes up in her childhood bed in Cameliard.
With screams and cries, she wakes up every inhabitant of the castle. Guinevere has her maids trying to hold her down on the bed, with soothing words for her ears and cries for a healer. The sun burns her retinas. Her world collapses around her, its debris falling on her shoulders, crushing her under the weight of her failures, her sins. Her flesh is intact, her hands and body those of a child.
She is alive, alive when others deserve to be. She cries, screams, and laughs in despair to the point where her father bursts into her room with the grace of a horse in a frenzy. Gwen sees her reflection in one of the dressing table mirrors, her red hair fluttering behind her head. She has lost her sanity.
She is not a redhead, she is brown-haired. Her dark hair from her youth, streaked with thick gray as she aged, has been replaced with this cruel parody of the blood spilled by her people, her friends, and her wife.
Guinevere just kicks, screams, and calls for Arturia, Kay, Gawain, Percival, Tristan, Gaheris, Lamorak, even Mordred.
Because a lifetime of pain couldn't have been a figment of her imagination, or maybe it was, maybe at some point she went mad with guilt. Lost in the safety of her mind with the recreation of her birthplace that has been lost to invasions.
And she laughs, she laughs because she is not only the whore queen, she is also a mad queen.
In a week, she is declared insane and sent to a convent that burns in flames when Camelot falls into Morgana's clutches.
-----
[World 8. Deviation from Canon 3]
Guinevere plans ahead based on the first loops. It was like a video game with different paths to take in order to get the full picture, with details that you miss at first glance but later become important. The disgraced queen discovers that this is one of the points she must pay attention to.
Born with a bow in her hand, Guinevere followed all her father's lessons with fervor. She later passes on her knowledge to her younger brother Lucano in the hope of fighting against the Saxons and Romans. In this loop, her father survives the assault.
Her nerves gnaw at her insides as she watches the Romans abandon the lands of her ancestors and leave them to their fate in the face of the imminent invasion by the Saxons. She moves among the women to share their warmth in this harsh winter, hoping to visualize Artorius Castus riding in the company of Dagonet, Bors, Lancelot, Galahad, Tristan, and Gawain. Artorius, a British and Roman man who opposed Mario to rescue Guinevere with her people.
This particular one is the Arthur of the legends that people of the future would write about. Strong, brave, kind, and in Guinevere's opinion, the most stubborn. It was exasperating that when he made a decision, it might as well be carved in stone. She sees his eyes tormented by war, but with that kindness that continues to persevere above all else.
A man born to be king.
Guinevere follows in his footsteps with bow and arrow in hand. Trying between each ambush, each trick and trap to ensure Dagonet's survival on the frozen lake without trading the life of another of her friends.
Dagonet survives by the skin of his teeth.
In the battle against the Saxons, Guinevere pushes Lancelot away at the last second to save his life.
Her eyes see the sky of her ancestral home as she dies, the knight's face begging her to hold on. Guinevere smiles calmly at the man she now knows she loves as a friend.
She closes her eyes with a wet cough.
She wakes up.
------
[World 20. Deviation from canon 23]
This time she manages to prevent Galahad from being taken by the Grail.
(Damn overrated cup.)
Gwen holds Lancelot's son's face in her hands, his young, naive face that retained an innate ironclad faith in humanity. She remembers how much she cried for the knight because he was one of the few people who saw her as a human being. She remembers other loops in which she held Galahad in her arms, as a child and as an adult. Gwen healing him with clean cloths and water because that's all they have in the Middle Ages.
All the times Galahad swore to her that he was fine with cuts on his face, blood clotting between the mesh of his armor. Every word from Galahad's lips burned into her mind: I am fine, my Queen.
“What—what are you doing here, my Queen?” stammered the boy, looking her up and down for injuries. Galahad was like that. Pious, brave, kind, and selfless. Until the end, he thought of the good of others, never complained, and carried on.
A child. Sometimes Gwen forgets that. Galahad was just a child carrying the weight of the world on his young shoulders. Galahad was there. Alive and breathing. A complete human being, not carrying the scent of death that Servants carry with them.
Alive, alive, and he's going to grow up. Gwen wants to see him grow up.
Gwen laughs with a broken voice and desperately combs Galahad's white hair to reveal his little face beneath his quiff. The boy's golden eyes narrow from confusion to concern as the blood drains from his arms. “You did well,” she whispers tenderly, sending a shiver down the boy's spine.
"He's wounded. He shouldn't be here. The king must be worried, and everyone in Camelot—" Galahad begins, grabbing his queen by the shoulders with the delicacy with which one handles a piece of porcelain.
Gwen takes a deep breath. “Give up this nonsense,” she pleads, barely able to breathe. “This quest for the Grail is stupid. You don't need that cup. You're needed by us. We need you.”
Galahad is speechless, his jaw dropping in confusion and indignation. The boy's throat makes a faint sound, “Let's go back, my queen.”
-----
[World 5. Canon]
She's not going to lie, Guinevere could say that this version of Camelot is one of her favorites.
The reason is quite simple.
For some reason in this life, she is a red squirrel.
It's just a few loops that repeat with Guinevere as a squirrel, a break from all the predestined tragedy she tries to change by throwing stones at random and praying that the butterfly effect will work its magic in her favor for once. It's a breath of fresh air, it's a shame it has to be at the expense of her comfort because sleeping on a bed of leaves inside a log is horrible for her furry body.
And it's... it's priceless to see a young Arthur who dreams of being a squire. A boy with big ideals and a soft heart for those around him. This Merlin acts with the kindness of a grandfather carrying his lively grandson, not hiding his wisdom or paternal feelings toward the blond boy whom Merlin turns into a squirrel to teach him a lesson. Guinevere makes sure that the boy nicknamed “Wart” is not eaten by that coyote who seems obsessed with him.
Every time she says goodbye, she knows that this boy will be named King of England. But her greatest comfort returns on a random day in spring, when a teenager with a gentle smile greets her and speaks to her as if the years had not passed for Arthur's optimistic soul. She agrees to leave the forest with him, because the kind heart of the King of England cannot leave any creature he has made sad. Even if it was not on purpose.
(Her decision to move has nothing to do with the fact that Gwen can bite Kay every time he acts like a jerk without getting scolded because squirrels are cute.)
Strangely, this is the only Merlin who feels that she is not normal.
Although again. Smart squirrel.
“For someone who can't speak, you have a lot of opinions,” says the old man's soft, melodic voice. Guinevere lets out a squeak, making her whiskers tremble. Her eyes scan the laugh lines around Merlin's mouth, his dark eyes shining with complicity as well as compassion. “I have read every book within my reach in the sands of time, my dear. I fear the answers you seek lie on another plane."
Merlin sounds defeated at not finding the answer to her pain. A man of magic who never forgot that he was still flesh, blood, and feeling. She has seen him take “Wart” by the hand with the love that only a father can profess, guiding him to hold his head high and walk among the great kings. Now he has been deprived of walking by weak legs of old age, just minutes from death.
In her animal form, she can only comfort him by jumping into the old man's lap and saying with her eyes, “I know, thank you for always trying, my friend.” The king of England bursts into the tower with only minutes to say goodbye to his lifelong mentor. Little Arthur is no longer a child, but in Guinevere's heart she will always love the boy who was almost eaten by a coyote.
When Merlin's chest stops moving, the two cry until dawn. Guinevere mourns with a force she hasn't felt since the fall of her native Camelot. Wart's hands cradle her gently, sharing her mourning for Merlin.
Guinevere accompanies Arthur, little Wart, in his reign, living in the castle until the day she dies.
And she does so gladly every time she wakes up like a squirrel.
--------
[World 23. Deviation from canon ???]
This father's version is cruel. He hates it when Guinevere speaks out of turn, looks him directly in the eye, wears brightly colored dresses, and does not hesitate to lock her in her room, denying her food and water for days.
Sometimes the beatings are brutal. Gwen refuses to cry, scream, or beg. She remains silent with every blow, pull, scratch, and cut like a lamb on the altar of a pagan ritual for a bloodthirsty god.
She breathes her own blood.
Gwen closes her eyes, letting it fill her lungs.
And she wakes up with Arthur's lips on her on their wedding day.
------
[World 9. Deviation from canon 90]
She runs away.
This time it is a French princess who is to be handed over to Arthur for a peace treaty between countries. Perhaps this time she can save the kingdom if she never becomes part of the tale of the Knight King and his Round Table. There will never be a division for Mordred to take up arms against Arthur. Even if war breaks out between France and England, Camelot may somehow be saved.
Yes, she was desperate. Gwen never said her plan to flee was brilliant.
She has lived through so many versions of the same story that the boundaries have begun to blur in her memory. Each cycle becomes repetitive, distressing, cumbersome.
Is this how Sisyphus must have felt every day since he was condemned to push that rock up the hill in vain?
How does she save Camelot from its fate?
HOW?
She loots a house on the outskirts of a large village with the stealth practiced as Archer. Hiding like a sewer rat in the shadows of the houses, Gwen feels out of place in a village devoid of streetlights, billboards, and cars on paved roads. Technically, she should be feeling at home because this was the era she was born in.
Now, Gwen longed to sit and watch television with her beloved friends.
She jumps from town to town, listening to rumors of an imminent war between neighboring countries over the princess's disappearance. Gwen wanders around seedy bars to steal a few coins without really having a plan, sometimes jumping without looking back, and that has come back to bite her. Some people eye her suspiciously because of her occasional slips into words that don't yet exist in medieval English. Gwen keeps running before they can identify her.
Tears threaten to spill from her eyes. She was so tired of this cycle, of having to face a different version of Artoria and her knights. Unlike in her original world, she had no comfort from Gaheris, Kay, Lamorak, or even Dagonet. She tries to save Tristan from his fate with Isolde, to burn every bridge connecting King Lot's lands to stop Morgana, and she fails.
She fails.
She tries and fails.
The only thing Guinevere Pendragon is good for is destroying Camelot in every way possible. There is a primal need in her blood to run to green fields. Gwen needs to feel alive. She had forgotten how miserable she was as Queen of Camelot, not because of Arthur. At least not with this one.
It was that weariness that had grown over decades and had accompanied her since she was a child, like the monster under her bed waiting for her to let her guard down so it could consume her again. She wants to collapse into bed and never wake up again.
It is cowardly to run away. It is an insult to your dear friends and only prolongs the inevitable.
-----
In this loop, Gwen slit her throat from side to side with a piece of steel the night before her execution. She couldn't bear to hear the sound of her nephews' bodies hitting the floor in a disgusting wet splash and the sound of Lancelot's boots walking towards her cell again. Gareth and Gaheris needed to be saved. God please, she would offer her life for theirs, take her life.
She doesn't want to do this anymore.
-------
[World 17. Deviation from canon 2]
The king is a man. Like a real man.
Gwen is baffled that Arthur Pendragon is a real man and not a woman playing Mulan.
It is practically the same as her home world, when Camelot prospered in the peace established by Uther's chosen son. Even the details of the story of how Arthur pulled the sword from the stone were the same. Gwen didn't know whether to laugh or cry because, although the differences were limited to the gender and age of this Arthur, the ending would be the same.
Gwen's hands tremble at her sides as this boy with short blond hair and vibrant green eyes (it's not Arturia, it's not Arturia. He's gentle, less serious, the same but different in ways that hurt) kneels to ask for her hand in marriage. She also feels the imaginary expectant gaze of her father and Merlin inside her head. Like a disgusting fungus that has made itself at home in her brain.
(He's the High King. You can't say no to the High King, Genny. If he says it's you, it must be you.)
Arthur has a wound on the side of his head from the blow Gwen dealt him with a rock. In her defense, she was expecting Arturia with her small stature, not a blond teenager who was almost two heads taller than her following her through the forest with the suspicion that Gwen had stolen from a stuffy old man. Gwen sighs somewhat amused because it seems she is destined to meet Arthur by hitting him on the head in many realities.
This will be the first time she refuses to marry Arthur directly to his face. Gwen was tired of running or lying to any version of her wife.
“I'm sorry, but I refuse,” Gwen whispers in a thin voice. Arthur opens his eyes in surprise and tilts his head slightly to the right. “I won't be a good queen for you.”
Arthur's face is calm, he smiles gently, “May I ask why you think that, princess?” His voice is so kind that Guinevere feels bad for rejecting him.
“I hit you with a rock, I think that gives you an idea of my character,” Gwen smiles with a hint of irony. Arthur's green eyes sparkle with amusement as he stands up, still holding her hand.
“Maybe that's just what my kingdom needs,” Arthur scratches his cheek without losing his smile.
Gwen lets out a laugh, “Blows to the head?”
The young man laughs, because he still has that childlike soul, “A little bit of that,” Arthur admits humorously, “Come with me. Let's talk about this while we sit down.”
They walked together along the hedges until they reached a stone bench. Arthur, with the naturalness of a young man closer to a soldier than a king, sat down first, leaving a space beside him. She watched him for a few seconds before joining him, but kept a slight distance.
“You're not usually so reluctant, Lady Guinevere,” Arthur began, glancing at her sideways, “Anyone in your place would be flattered by the proposal.”
She smiled ironically, “And anyone in your place would be offended by my rejection.”
Arthur leaned forward slightly, “I never said I wasn't offended, at least a little,” he joked.
Gwen took a deep breath with a faint smile. It was so strange to be around this masculine, adult version of Arturia. A man who would never age, his skin would never bear the painful marks of the passage of time or gray hairs streaking through that sea of golden hair. Gwen, in her first life, her real life, had been left one-eyed when she faced the invaders, her face haggard with guilt and her hair silver with only hints of brown at the roots.
(Why didn't Arturia divorce Gwen when it was clear she was unable to bear her children? Why did she want to keep Gwen close when with each passing year her youth and beauty faded?)
“I'm sorry, King of Knights,” says Gwen, without regret whatsoever.
Arthur lets out a breath that was a surprised laugh. “It's a presumptuous title,” he points out, his eyes looking at her. “I respect your refusal, princess. I'm afraid I can't find a lady who offers me such wit in her words as you do.”
“I am not the kind of lady you want at your court,” Gwen insists, raising an eyebrow. “I go out riding in pants, I practice falconry, I hunt with a bow and arrow, I paint in the afternoons, getting my clothes dirty, and, in short, I am not one to remain silent.”
The King smiled gently at her, “To my ears, these are anecdotes of an interesting life, Princess. I wish we had time to share experiences, but I fear it would be inappropriate, you being an unmarried woman.”
Even if she were married, it would seem inappropriate, thought Guinevere resentfully, given the century in which she was born. It would be another millennium before women ceased to be property and exercised equal rights in England. She wanted to continue talking to this version of her King.
Suddenly, Gwen has a crazy idea. Something she did to redeem herself, in her attempt to atone for her sin against Arturia. Becoming a soldier to defend British lands from the chaos of Camelot's fall, years of combat and sacrifice to ultimately be executed on the battlefield. She was going to pull out a card from Arturia and play this game of the disguised knight.
“I have the perfect solution for both of us,” Gwen suggests.
Arthur tilted his head, trying to catch her gaze. “Then tell me, what do you propose, if not marrying me?”
Guinevere removes a leaf from the king's hair. She kneels, pushing aside the layers of her dress and holding Arthur's hand. “I will become your worthy knight, my king. You will have my bow and my counsel as you request, without the need for marriage between us. I swear my loyalty and my sword to the Great King.”
Arthur Pendragon's face was a complete poem, and Guinevere was careful to remain kneeling to avoid laughing.
----
Arthur finally agrees. The idea was absurd, but at the same time, why not?
The round table was meant to be different: no distinction of blood, no privileges of lineage. A table where everyone was equal. Why not break one more tradition?
Guinevere traded silk and jewels for chain mail that was too big for her size. This time, in this timeline, she stands beside Arthur not as his queen. Sir Guinevere serves him as a knight and advisor with her princess education. She gave up everything to serve the Red Dragon.
She witnessed the coronation of Elaine, her cousin, and her wedding to Arthur at Beltaine. But she notices the young king's persistent gaze on her and Lancelot with a look of happiness. Gwen smiled back discreetly before turning to Gaheris with a cup of mead in her hand to return to the celebrations.
Gwen raises an eyebrow when she greets Arthur in the mornings before sunrise, resting his face on her shoulder. Gwen pretends her shoulder doesn't get wet as she comforts the grieving king over each loss of an heir. She watches in real time as the marriage crumbles into bitterness and resentment on Elaine's part.
... Arthur spends many nights with her working on cumbersome paperwork. On one memorable occasion, he kisses her before apologizing and never mentioning the subject again.
Kay stays by his adoptive brother's side for Gwen, who locked him up with the King until they could talk.
It didn't work with Tristan. She doesn't see him again until the battle at Camlann.
Everyone dies in a powerful explosion that ends everything in a second.
Gwen wakes up.
--------
[World 15. Deviation from Canon 1509]
This time, Camelot isn't so bad. Ignoring the fact that Uther Pendragon is a jerk who hates magic and executes anyone suspected of being a wizard or witch without trial. Her father is a humble blacksmith named Tom, and she grows up with an older brother who adores her. She lives humbly as a cook for the castle, although in this loop she prefers not to serve Morgan again for the sake of her mental health.
(She couldn't bear to see Morgan fall into madness again.)
Gwen spends years baking desserts for the Pendragons. She intervenes to the point that Uther doesn't die, and that has horrible consequences that Gwen didn't foresee. She is accused of witchcraft because she is forty years old and Arthur has followed in his father's footsteps when it comes to magic.
Gwen hadn't noticed that her aging wasn't reflected in her physical body, which remained in its mid-twenties. Although it was understandable, in each loop she has died young or at an age where such differences are not noticeable. Guinevere suspects that it is due to the Throne of Heroes. She knows that Servants are copies of the souls and bodies of the originals. She has been in this loop between different versions of Camelot since her last participation in the First Holy Grail War. The princess of Cameliard has been wondering if something went wrong with the Grail or if someone has been tampering with the Throne of Heroes.
Knowing her luck among heroic spirits, she wouldn't be surprised if it was a mixture of all of the above.
She is executed in the main square. ....
Gwen wakes up.
----
[World 12. Deviation from canon 109]
“Not this again,” thought Guinevere (no, here she has that stupid name Gwenhwyfar) listening through a crack in the oak door to the arrangements for her engagement to Arthur Pendragon. The young man chosen by God to rule the vast lands of the islands, the young man to bring Christianity to his kingdom.
Laughter wants to slip from her throat because her beloved Arthur has been fornicating with his half-sister Morgana since the boy reached puberty in a pagan ritual that Gwen witnessed in a loop when she ran away from home days earlier to Avalon in the hope of finding information on how to end the time loops. She savors the familiar taste of bile between her teeth, which intensifies when she remembers lectures by a cultured Belgian Master about the dangers of incest, health problems, and the natural human instinct to feel disgust for behaviors that threaten one's offspring.
Gwen partly believes it is a sin, even though she has distanced herself from all forms of worship of any god, considering that she has met several in person and has faced the uncomfortable truth that they were as imperfect as the humans who worship them. Another part of her has grown and matured alongside other Servants in a modern world based on tangible facts, developing a moral code and judgment of behaviors that were considered normal in medieval times. Women in particular had a hard time simply because of their existence, the puritanical ideas of marriage, the normalized incest in the monarchy that led to the deaths of many infants, and many other customs that Gwen admits with informed judgment were idiotic, killing each other and marrying cousins in the process.
The worst part of this whole situation? Arthur genuinely loved them both.
But as always, he loved Guinevere, yet the deepest love appeared in the eyes of the King of Camelot when Morgana entered the court. With him holding her hand, the cold wedding ring against Guinevere's skin sent a shiver down her spine and sometimes a tear caressed the skin of her cheek with all the insults that could not come out of her lips.
Guinevere went into autopilot the minute she began her journey to her promised wedding with this Arthur. That version of golden locks and serene gray eyes wasn't a bad man, but the disgust never left the pit of Guinevere's stomach when she knew that he was possibly the only Arthur who harbored those feelings for Morgana, knowing full well that she was his sister. She hated touching him, haunted by the constant thought that Morgana's fluids could be on his fingers or in his mouth.
It had been many loops since her heart had hardened toward this version of her husband. She was fed up with the doubt, with the punishment of sterility in this body whiter than milk; this bodily prison was blonder than coral, and she had little power as queen of this version of Camelot. Arthur could be kind and genuinely love her, but Guinevere was the other woman and always would be.
It was irrational, so hypocritical. Guinevere had no right to any of those feelings when she was the first to consciously betray those vows for something as banal as feeling lonely. And she hated, hated knowing that if it hadn't been Lancelot, it would have been someone else because her fucked-up mind doesn't know how to be alone.
And damn it, why Morgana? Anyone but the woman who caused so much pain to so many of her knights, who left a trail of death in pursuit of a throne that would ultimately belong to the Saxons. Guinevere rationally knows that it is not fair to burden one person with the sins of another, but her anger disagrees and does not distinguish between faces.
Guinevere replied politely in her short answers to Igraine, who she knew was judging her in the privacy of her mind. She remained calm on the way to her long execution disguised as a wedding. Lancelet's eyes fixed on the back of her neck, with that puppy dog face and those big eyes begging her to give him a shred of affection, and she ignores him without any shame during her journey to Caerleon with Igraine. She bites the inside of her mouth until it bleeds, imitating a soft smile that is tense at the corners of her mouth.
The first encounter with this Arthur is met with a cold shoulder from Guinevere, who looks him in the eye without shyness. The discomfort soon arises from Guinevere's lack of interest in the King of Camelot at the level that would be expected of a wife at that era. It is painful and embarrassing to see the persevering hope in Arthur's eyes that in due course he will be able to win Guinevere's affection and devotion.
(Did she hate him? No, she didn't believe that. She was just... so resigned. She had been through so many loops in this particular world that she had memorized everything like any chapter in the Bible. She had tried to learn the pattern, but every time she did, she was thrown into a different Camelot. And everything falls apart in the end, even if she remains faithful to Arthur. Everything restarts, she plays again on a new board or a familiar one to change things. And she still tries to save this Atlantis....)
She presses her lips together on the way to the altar, each step heavy with resignation reflected on her face under the thick veil she insisted on wearing, with the ghostly feeling of the executioner's axe blade curling the skin on her neck. She recognizes Morgana's presence in the ceremony hall, knowing that Arthur is looking at his sister with that improper longing. A few loops ago, she began to cry in the middle of the wedding because of the anger and humiliation that tormented her, unable to stop herself. It was an occasion that ended with a forced “I do.” In the present, Guinevere stands completely still as the ceremony progresses, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the priest, refusing to acknowledge when Arthur's fingers remove the veil from her face.
“...do you take Arthur Pendragon to be your lawful husband and promise to be faithful to him in good times and bad, in wealth and poverty, in sickness and health, to love and honor him every day of your life until death do you part?” The priest's voice echoes in Guinevere's ears as it has hundreds of times before. She knows the vows inside out, from a God who may never have existed.
Magic exists; she has experienced it as a Servant in the War for the Grail. Science would completely surpass faith; she has longed for this since she lived in New York. And religions come and go with the fragility of human faith.
For the first time during the ceremony, Gwen's eyes fix on Arthur's face. Calm, but with sadness reflected in his irises. Whether it is for himself or for Gwen, only the bearer of Excalibur knows. She feels the frown of Arthur's mother, Igraine. And Morgan...
Damn Morgan Le Fey. Morgause. Nimue. Whatever stupid name she presents to the mortal world, that witch is standing there staring at them with projected thoughts that make Guinevere bite her lip with the force of jealousy and judgment of this woman who has been the main culprit of the misfortune of the people of Britain in so many other worlds similar to this one. She feels Arthur's hands squeezing hers, calling her attention to answer.
Gwen blinks, “I—” she whispers with the solemnity of a criminal before the executioner who has condemned her countless times. No two Arthurs are alike, each has different features, different hair colors, and even their personalities are a roller coaster ride. Her throat tightens because she loves Arturia with her small but strong hands, and with a second of courage burning in her chest, she makes a decision.
At least for this version of Camelot.
“I'd rather die than marry someone who has a child with his own sister,” she shouts, joy exploding in her chest as she sees the expressions on Arthur and Morgan's faces.
She tears the dress off in one swift movement and makes her escape as those present stare in astonishment.
-----
Lancelet ends up catching up to her with his long legs and instant reaction several meters away from the chaos of the ceremony, which has turned into a festival of hysterical screams and accusations from the priests. She can't help but notice his messy black hair, dirty with mud, and the sweat stains that smell like metal on his clothes. Guinevere breathes heavily, looking at him with that feeling in her chest that she thought was dead, that heart being a traitor that filtered the thought that there is no man more beautiful on earth.
It is a fleeting thought that she rejects, making her realize that some things, like her feelings, are not so easy to ignore.
That particular loop was the beginning of Guinevere no longer caring about fixing something that was broken from the start.
-------
Everything is burning.
The castle, the pride of Camelot, burns to the ground.
Gwen stabs Mordred's corpse again and again in front of Morgause's horrified eyes.
-------
[World 30. Deviation from the Canon ???]
She sets herself on fire.
[World 67. Deviation from Canon ??????]
She hangs herself.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot falls.
But Gwen pierces Morgan's heart with Clarent before she has a chance to abuse Arthur. No more, never again.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
She stabs herself in the neck at a banquet with the horrified screams of the nobles ringing in her ears.
Gwen...
Gwen...
She wakes up.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
Sometimes Kay gives her a hug full of understanding.
His kindness breaks Gwen, and she cries over the man who has failed her so many times by not saving Arturia. For not being able to stop his suffering and misfortune of being forced to serve a brother who becomes someone Kay is unable to recognize.
He always dies. Sometimes Morgan uses his body as a vessel for Add. Sometimes he is killed at Camlann. Other times, his body cannot be found.
Gwen keeps fighting until her death restarts the loop.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
She keeps trying.
Camelot continues to fall.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot keeps falling.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot falls.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot falls.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot falls.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Camelot falls. Gwen buries the bodies of Arthur and Bedivere.
She continues to become a wandering killer.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
Camelot is broken from the start.
Arthur manipulated her with a spell, making Gwen his submissive wife.
He banished her when she broke free from the spell.
In the next loop, she will bury Excalibur in his chest before he has a chance to hurt anyone else.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
She kills Mordred in his cradle. She is careful and quick to break his neck.
Gwen keeps telling herself that it is necessary.
Maybe someday she'll repeat it so often that she'll believe it's true.
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
Why are there so many evil versions of Arturia?
[World ???. Deviation from Canon ???]
...
Sara Lance? Ray Palmer?
Gwen stood still to watch the blonde, female version of Merlin that the outsiders called Stargirl with only one thought:
LIKE IN THE SUPERHERO COMICS?!
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
Gwen thinks about Ray Palmer's words for a long time. She thinks about Merlin in his blue robe with his heart in his hand, traveling to distant places in time. She remembers the inhabitants of Storybrooke, especially Regina, who said to her: “From one queen to another, from one dissatisfied woman to another. Make every life count. Run and don't look back, Guinevere.”
She follows that advice.
She runs to Portugal, which is not really called that, in a stolen boat. She runs through sunny fields full of flowers, lies down looking at a clear blue sky full of possibilities. She talks to strangers with a smile that hurts her cheeks, reliving the pleasure of meeting new people. She takes off her shoes to feel the mud on her feet without the pressure of being the perfect Queen.
Gwen lives in a small village that welcomed her with a false story of a husband who died in the wars, and she learned the art of spinning with other women who became her friends. Each strand of sheep's wool slides over her fingers with that peculiar smell. Gwen makes her own cheese and milk with a little goat she named “Loki” because he is just as annoying and beloved. She cultivates a small garden that Gwen kills with many mistakes and celebrates when she has her first sprouts that grow to bear fruit.
In another loop, Gwen becomes a blacksmith in Viking territory, proving her worth on the battlefield. The heat of the forge burns her eyebrows and she loses a few fingers in the process of learning, but Gwen is stubborn. She continues to perfect every tool, weapon, and any other request from her customers until she achieves perfection. She adopts a pack of hunting dogs as her family.
In another life, she travels to China. Her feet sink into the vast rice fields, and she is hunted as a witch, forcing her to flee to different places whose names she cannot pronounce properly. She counts the stars in the sky while lying in a tree, and Gwen laughs until tears stream from her eyes, making her sniffle.
Naive, free, and young.
She allows herself to cry, scream, and complain until her throat burns. She spits out the venom she has been keeping in her heart because Gwen didn't have time to process her feelings. But now she can let it all out, cry like the little girl she was and for the injustice she has suffered because she is a woman. Fed up with the current expectation that a woman is only good for love and motherhood. Hating having to replace parts of her personality to fit the mold of the perfect English queen.
She cries for each of her miscarriages, for each of her children whose womb was unable to carry to term. She cries for being used as a bargaining chip for horses and soldiers for Camelot. She cries for her doomed marriage. She cries for her loneliness in a court that hated her.
Gwen wants to laugh again until her stomach hurts, make wishes on shooting stars, eat ice cream of every flavor, learn about other cultures, and do crazy things that will get her accused of witchcraft. She wants to live.
She wants to be Gwen again. Not Guinevere Pendragon, not Princess Guinevere of Cameliard, not King Arthur's wife or Sir Lancelot's lover.
She is Gwen.
“I am Gwen,” whispers the former queen to the stars that twinkle to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
No way is she going to spend another ten years imprisoned in a tower by the evil Lancelot in his ridiculous white fetish suit.
Gwen takes another ship to America with her maids, who prefer to rebuild their lives in Iceland. She is happy for them, but...
She won't leave without seeing a polar bear in person.
On the other side of the world, Camelot continues to burn, ruled by the tyrant of the moment. As the kingdom falls, Gwen continues to rise.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???] [ERROR ERROR]
[ERROR ERROR] [World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???] [ERROR ERROR]
Learn Spanish, how to prepare medieval French food, how to raise pigs. Gwen travels to Germanic territories, to the Ottoman Empire; she has been to every existing country at least once.
She learns to dance the polka, curl her hair, and navigate using the stars. Gwen continues to be reckless in her travels, which gets her into trouble and lands her in jail a few more times.
She has dined with Lucius Tiberius, played ball with the future sultan, and danced with handsome samurai and beautiful geisha.
[World ???. Deviation from the Canon ???]
“I love you,” Gwen says to her wife, when a loop allows her to meet face to face with the only woman she has ever loved and is now able to say it out loud. Arturia's bewildered face, speechless for the first time on her wedding night.
“I am... I am a woman like you,” Arturia points out uselessly.
Gwen laughs, “I know. In fact, I like you better as a woman than as a man,” she confesses aloud that part of herself for the first time.
The King of England tilts his head to one side, unsure how to proceed in this unexpected situation. Not expecting such words, laden with simple love, from the woman she took as a wife for the sake of appearances. Arturia was raised as a Christian, under the tutelage of someone incapable of understanding how he was hurting the heart of a girl with ideals and dreams for her kingdom. She should never have been forced to endure a demented, whorish wife who slept with one of her best friends.
Arturia was a victim of her fate. Gwen accepted that she was too.
And yet, despite everything, Gwen loved Arturia so much.
"I know you're not the type to share how you feel. And I understand.“ Gwen whispered with a sad smile, moving close enough to caress Arturia's cheek. ”I'm sorry for everything, for not understanding you, for not putting effort into our marriage, for destroying what we built. I love you, but we should never have married."
This time...
This time...
This time Gwen was able to tell her.
[Loop broken. Chaldea. Present Time. World 0]
Then there was light. A surge of pure white energy emerged in spheres that began to spin until they became rings of rainbow flashes that formed a dazzling circle of invocation below. Ancient texts and dead languages were heard from all directions. Everything was abruptly interrupted and began to spin clockwise until it formed a tower of light.
A human figure formed in the center of the summoning circle. The light broke into small fragments that surrounded her straight, brown hair like a halo. Black, red, and green colors slid over the Servant's statuesque body in a cascade of fabric.
Seconds later, the light faded completely, revealing the Servant in full. The summoned woman stood still until she opened her eyes. Deep sea blue eyes blinked to look at those present behind the safety glass. She instantly detected her master at the base of the summoning structure.
A magician who carefully displayed the red symbol on the back of his wrist. The Servant moved slightly before bowing with a big smile.
“I am the Servant Archer,” she proclaimed solemnly, preparing herself for any conflict she might have to fight on behalf of her new master, “Are you my Master?”
It never hurt to ask. In the background, she heard some people viewing her information with concern or confusion.
The boy smiled back at her enthusiasm, “I am your Master. I am Ritsuka Fujimaru, it's a pleasure to meet you, Archer.”
Gwen sighed deeply, “I have a feeling this isn't a normal summoning, considering all the scientists present,” she said, looking with fascination at the technology surrounding her.
“Not at all,” Fujimaru agreed, gesturing with an outstretched hand for her to come down. “Chaldea is a place for Servants to unite and cooperate against Singularities.”
The former Queen slowly climbed down from the reinforced glass structure. “I suppose I'll be meeting many Servants,”
“You are not allowed to attack them, no matter who they are,” Fujimaru clarified, nervously placing one arm behind his head.
Gwen nodded, standing in front of her Master. “Understood, Master,” she bowed slightly due to the difference in height between them. "Between you and me, I've had a bad week. I'd love a drink if alcohol is allowed around here," she smiles cheekily.
-----
There is an alcohol limit rule in Chaldea, which is disappointing. Gwen has drunk several cocktails served by the white-haired, tanned man who hasn't stopped looking at her out of the corner of his eye since she arrived. Gwen simply returns his gaze until half an hour passes, still feeling the man's intense stare.
“Hello, my name is Gwen, class Archer, I like sweets,” she introduces herself with a hint of mockery and offers him her hand, “May I know the name of my stalker?”
The white-haired man raises an eyebrow before shaking her hand, “Emiya,” he replies in a deep voice that Gwen did not expect.
“Emiya,” she repeated, rolling the name around on her tongue, “Nice to meet you.”
“You haven't told me your name.”
The answer makes Gwen blink three times exactly. “Yes... yes, I did,” she says slowly.
Emiya collects the empty glasses with a grace that she envies, and at the same time, somehow, serves her a glass filled with a red liquid that doesn't smell like alcohol. “You gave me a nickname, that's not a name.”
The woman narrows her eyes before snorting amusedly, “Fine. Touché,” she straightens up in her seat, “My full name is Guinevere. Yes, that Guinevere Pendragon. And you gave me cranberry juice, pal.” Gwen points out, seeing the man's pale face when she told him her most well-known name.
At that very moment, there was a commotion of voices arguing among themselves, and Gwen recognized her Master's voice amid the cacophony. A small but broad-shouldered girl burst through the bar entrance. Gwen recognized her. Gareth looked exactly as she wanted to remember her.
“Aunt Gwen!” Gareth shouted, throwing herself at Gwen, who almost knocked her off the chair.
Gwen stared at Gareth, still holding the glass of cranberry juice in her right hand. Her free hand stroked her niece's brown hair, her eyes meeting those of Gawain, who watched the embrace with apprehension. Behind the man stood a nervous Mordred with a young woman with pink hair who was looking around.
Her throat tightened into a ball of nerves when she saw Arturia frozen in front of her, like a servant in the middle of the road. Gwen... Gwen needed...
“You know what?” she said to the white-haired man at the bar, “I think you can make an exception to that rule and give me more alcohol. Preferably the whole bottle.”