Chapter Text
Eira moved through the halls of Camelot quickly, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure she was not being watched, or worse: followed. The castle was eerily quiet tonight, but Eira was not one to fear silence or darkness. Besides, she thought, holding herself a little firmer. The Lady Morgana has promised me a kingdom for betraying Gwaine.
Ah, Sir Gwaine. Extremely handsome, extra charming, a superb fighter, and yet not much going on in the brains department. It had been easy for Eira to have him wrapped around her finger. Of course, it had been pure luck that he should be the one to save her, but guaranteed that he would fall for her.
Even since Eira was a child, heads in the street would turn to behold her beauty. Women admired her: she would often receive compliments about how they wished they were as pretty as her, hopeful questions asking for her “secret to looking like that” and invitations to tea so they could tell everyone that they were friends with “the most beautiful woman in town”.
Men, on the other hand, were hers to command. Even in her early teens did Eira know that nearly any man was willing to give her anything in return for some loving.
Gwaine was a lot more honourable than most though, she had to give him that. Nearly every man had at least kissed her on the first night, and they were almost always sharing a bed by the third. And yet, Sir Gwaine hadn’t so much as kissed Eira’s hand, which was something she hadn’t expected. Despite his reputation, he had been more respectful of her wishes and space than any other man had in years, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling at least a little bit guilty about betraying him.
But Eira knew not to pass off an opportunity. As soon as she had seen the longing and sympathy flare in Gwaine’s eyes when she’d asked him if she could stay with him, she’d sent word to Morgana.
Eira had met Morgana in a tavern over a year ago. Morgana had just broken free of the Sarrum’s captivity and the last man Eira had encountered was a very drunk, violent fellow at least twenty years Eira’s senior. He had beaten her badly, chained her up at least twice so she couldn’t run and she had barely escaped him with her life. Both were tired and angry, and had decided in the desperate way of humans that the solution was to drink.
Both had arrived in a small town, a little west of a village named Ealdor (no one remarkable at all was born there, I can assure you). The swinging sign of the inn came as a relief to both women, as they approached from opposite directions and entered together unintentionally.
The tavern’s rooms were crowded at the time, due to a tournament happening in the town a few miles to the south, and so they were told that their stay would be half the price, if they agreed to share a room. The two women, barely able to afford the standard price, had agreed.
Eira had thought Morgana beautiful from the moment she laid eyes upon her, though she was pale and malnourished. Neither had been up for small talk, their greetings only a curt nod and a small smile.
It was during that week that the two found themselves seated at the very same table in the corner of the tavern, downing round after round of beer and ale. The night went by in a blur. Morgana shared her tales of Aithusa and being stuck in that pit for so long, and of her half-brother Arthur and sister Morgause and how she’d once held Camelot in the palm of her hand. Eira in turn told her of her childhood and how her parents had left her to smuggle goods, and of the men she had been involved with in the past.
At around one in the morning, both decided to turn in for the night. Neither woman had nightclothes so there was little to do before sleeping. But they didn’t want to.
Both Morgana and Eira had a newfound fascination for the other. The two sat side by side on Eira’s bed exchanging stories of late-night escapades and the illusive Emrys until early in the morning. And then…
Eira hadn’t meant for it to happen. Not really.
Morgana had been laughing at a remark Eira had made about the bartender downstairs. She looked so beautiful, so happy, so free.
And before Eira knew what she was doing, she had leant forward and her lips were on Morgana’s. Her taste was sweet but the good kind, the faint lingering of alcohol on her breath making her more enticing.
Once they had begun, they couldn’t seem to stop. One movement led to the next and each was perfect and precise. Eira had never felt this elated with any of the other men she’d ever been with and she began to wonder where on Earth this beautiful, beautiful woman had been all her life.
It was sometime before Morgana and Eira woke up in Eira’s bed, entwined around each other and entangled in the bedclothes. Almost instantly, they jumped apart and hastily began to redress.
‘Oh, God I am so sorry, my lady,’ Eira said groggily, trying to tie the laces of her bra and failing miserably.
‘There is no need to apologise, Eira,’ replied Morgana, who was already pulling on her underdress. ‘I didn’t ask you to stop. If I’m perfectly honest, I… I didn’t even want you to stop. Here, let me help you with that.’
Her fingers brushed the skin on Eira’s back as she skilfully tied the laces. They were silky and smooth and the sensation sent shivers of passion up her spine.
‘There,’ said Morgana once it was done. ‘Eira I… about last night… ‘
‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘What is done is done m’lady. Nothing more shall become of it.’
‘Oh, but I want it to!’ Morgana insisted, cupping Eira’s face in her soft fingers.
‘As do I,’ Eira assured her, resting her hands at Morgana’s waist and looking into her beautiful dark eyes. ‘But we both know that anyone other than ourselves should forbid it.’
‘They don’t have to know,’ said Morgana, pressing her lips deep into Eira’s.
‘Someone would find out,’ Eira murmured against her. ‘We’d never be able to hide it forever.’
She broke away.
‘Morgana, I have never loved anyone this way before and I would give anything to hold you every day for the rest of my life, but we both know that in this world, in this life, there is no right between us.’
Morgana looked at her pleadingly. It was the look of a woman who has lost every and then found something fantastic, only to have it snatched away from her in a cruel twist of fate.
‘Please, Eira.’
‘Morgana, they’d have us hanged or burnt. I could not live in this world, or the next knowing I had caused your death.’
Unable to resist, she kissed her one last time, this time as lingering and perfect as she could muster. When they pulled apart, Morgana had tears in her eyes.
‘Eira, I…’
‘I know. I do too.’
Morgana picked her tattered dress up from the floor and rummaged in the pocket.
‘Here,’ she said, taking out a black feather quill. ‘If ever you should need me again for any reason, write to me using this quill and tie it to a raven’s ankle. It will find me and I shall find you.’
‘Thank you,’ Eira replied. ‘I shall treasure it always.’
And she had. By day, it lived in the pocket of her pinafore, and it was always beside her bed while she slept.
As soon as Gwaine gave her a moment alone, she had written to Morgana with the good news.
I have infiltrated Camelot due to the sexual desires of Sir Gwaine. Will send word when I have information.
E x
Morgana had written back almost immediately.
What luck! How naïve of Sir Gwaine to trust a woman so crafty as you - Guinivere will never suspect. Be sure to keep away from the prying eyes of Gaius. That man has been a thorn in my side for too long. I shall await your letter.
Always, M x
Eira had met her in the woods a few nights back at Morgana’s request. She had snuck out of Camelot early in the morning before Gwaine or Arthur or anyone in their right mind had gotten up and was making her way towards the meeting point when a sword came into contact with her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she made out the form of a person with pale skin and short dark hair who was wearing chainmail, not dissimilar to what Gwaine and the other knights wore, apart from the obvious lack of a scarlet cloak.
‘Gently, Mordred,’ warned a familiar voice. ‘She can’t speak with her throat cut out now, can she?’
The armour-clad figure called Mordred had lowered the sword and Eira had turned towards it. Mordred was only a boy, at least five years younger than herself. His expression was deadly grave, but his vibrant blue eyes had a sparkle to them of an almost supernatural quality.
As he sheathed his sword, Eira caught another figure to her left. One she knew well.
‘Well, Eira,’ Morgana crooned. ‘I trust Sir Gwaine had found your company to his satisfaction?’
Eira’s heart throbbed at the sight of her. She was even more beautiful than she remembered, especially since she was much more sober and less bedraggled and starved since she had last seen her. The hollows under her eyes had faded a bit and her dress was a new one, no longer torn or in tatters. But there was a new, wild desperate look in her eyes.
‘I like to think so,’ replied Eira coolly.
‘Has he been forthcoming about Arthur’s plans?’
‘He’s kept no secrets from me.’
‘Well?’ asked Morgana. ‘Does the king intend to ride out and meet us?’
‘He does, m’lady,’ Eira indulged. ‘The king and his men depart from Camelot as we speak.’
This wasn’t strictly true, however Eira had known for a fact that they were scheduled to be gone within the hour.
‘Then it is as we anticipated,’ Morgana said to Mordred, who had not yet spoken a word. ‘Thank you, Eira. You’ve been most informative.’
Morgana held out a small pouch of gold coins. Eira took them and started away, feeling slightly disappointed. She had hoped for something more of a physical reward. Perhaps if she disclosed more… ah yes!
She turned back.
‘Something else,’ she said remembering the words of Gwaine that morning. ‘The knight said he was taking Merlin somewhere. The Valley of the Fallen Kings, I think.’
Then Morgana’s collected expression had changed into something of panic and all at once, Eira knew that she would not get what she wanted. She turned and left.
Later, she had opened the pouch as an attempt to console herself. Among the gold coins was a slip of parchment, bearing a note written in green ink.
Eira,
I couldn’t say anything in front of Mordred, but I would much like to meet with you after the battle. I promise you, once Camelot is mine and I alone sit on its throne, you shall be my queen. My victory shall be claimed in your name.
Morgana x
Eira had practically burst into song, or would’ve if Gwaine hadn’t been in the room with her.
‘What’s got you so happy?’ he had asked.
‘Nothing much,’ Eira had replied, smiling at him. ‘Just a letter from an old friend.’
Now though, the battle was over and the throne of Camelot not yet Morgana’s. Eira liked the idea of ruling the great kingdom in which she resided in, and even more so doing so at Morgana’s side. She did not wish for the opportunity to pass her by.
And so, as one last desperate attempt to aid Morgana’s rise to power, Eira was sending her the most crucial piece of information she knew of: the destination of the travelling and presumed missing King Arthur of Camelot.
At last, she reached the room she had intended to arrive at. Eira had known the window would be open, as she had left it earlier. She set the basket in her hands down on the table, peeled back the cover and reached inside to retrieve the raven. Eira launched it upwards, out of the window, squawking as it flew off.
‘Eira.’
The voice was cold and breathy; unlike the warm hearty way she had heard it speak earlier. She turned to face Gwaine.
‘I was just-’
‘Sending word to Morgana?’ Gwaine finished for her.
‘No!’
Eira recoiled as Queen Guinevere herself emerged from the shadows.
‘M’lady! I wouldn’t do that - I wouldn’t betray you or the king,’ she blathered.
‘And you didn't, you can go to your death safe in that knowledge,’ said Guinevere calmly. ‘Your note will send your mistress riding for Brineved and all the while the king will be travelling in the opposite direction. Guards!’
‘Gwaine!’ Eira pleaded, as a guard seized her forearm and began to lead her away. ‘Gwaine, please!’
Gwaine stood stony faced as Eira was led away. He had liked her - truly, he had. But now he knew more than ever that there was only one for him. One he could never have.
A few hours later, Gwaine watched as Eira was led to the gallows in the square from the very same window from which Eira had released the raven.
He felt a tall, welcoming presence emerge from the corridor behind him. Percival’s large hand rested firmly onto his shoulder.
Gwaine was more than grateful for his company. Under other circumstances, he would have foolishly have attempted one of the pickup lines he would rehearse late into the night, to which Percival would respond with a raise of the eyebrows and that small smile he adored so much.
But now, he was just happy to feel the soft warmth of his hand. It was all that he felt was anchoring him to the world of the living.
He watched as Eira placed her head in the noose, trying not to flinch as the trapdoor opened beneath her feet and swallowed her whole.
‘You know what you said you'd do if you ever found Morgana?’ asked Gwaine, eyes transfixed on the ivory hair still visible from the swinging rope. He felt Percival’s eyes swivel towards him.
He turned his own gaze to the soft, perfect lines that made up Percival’s face. God, was it a sight for sore eyes.
‘Well, we've got a good idea where she'll be heading.’