Forget This Love

Chapter 1

Morgana was in one of those moods. The kind where she just couldn't stay cooped up in the castle all day probably attending court with the head guard Sir Leon, her brother Arthur and the king or sat rigidly in her chambers brushing her hair and running her long pale fingers through her countless pieces of jewellery.

Striding gracefully past stalls filled with fresh bread, produce and crops or lined with sheets of linen and panels of weavings and tapestries, Morgana allowed herself some time to look around at the commoners beside her going about there daily business carrying baskets, babies, spades, tools and wares. A young woman standing fairly close to her was rocking an infant in her arms as she attempted keeping an eye on several playful youngsters dressed sparsely and making huts out of the harvested straw piled up against the city walls. An elderly man with tufts of grey hair encircling his bald egghead was painfully dragging a cartload of vegetables towards an empty stall whilst his broad strong son pushed it forward from the back, a shovel and pickaxe swaying from his back as they lumbered along.

Stopping at a stall richly strung with silks and cloths of many colours, she couldn't help but chuckle at how her lupin purple dress was exactly the same shade as the thickest warmest costliest velvet on display. Glancing around again, she realised the stall holder, a fat little lady was looking at her with sparkling intent.

"May I be of any service, my lady?"

Morgana opened her mouth to speak but the small plump woman immediately launched into a very detailed explanation of every single material on her stall throwing in prices and deals. It occurred to Morgana that the word 'wonderful' popped up a little more times than necessary.

Politely dismissing herself, she wandered with her woven basket along a few more aisles before reaching the centre of the Market square where children skipped and played, pigeons and doves flapped wildly and the melee of people and animals swirled about like an endless wave. Needing desperately to reach the other side of the centre square to return to the castle, Morgana found herself whisked off with the crowd until she was battered and bumped into like bee in a swarm. Suddenly she felt the back of her dress catch on something (perhaps someone had trodden accidentally upon it) and with little dignity, she fell forward, her basket was cast aside and she was sure she would be crushed by the oncoming mass of people. Just as she was about to collapse to the floor, she felt strong arms catch her waist and bring her firmly back up to stand on her feet. Turning, she saw a man with dark eyes and waves of glossy mahogany hair standing before her. She would have been certain he was a dashing foreign prince from the lands beyond Camelot or a wandering knight if it weren't for his clothes and belongings. He had no billowing crimson cloak with a golden emblem adorning his broad shoulders or a glistening suit of armour and chain mail flashing in the light.

Instead, the dark stranger wore an old grey blue cotton shirt cross gartered at the chest up to the collar bone, a buff quilted jacket and sleeveless leather coat. His black trousers and brown leather boots were worn and the only valuable things he seemed to have were a gold pendant and a sword thrust in it's sheath at his side.

Not knowing what to do, Morgana bent to retrieve her fallen basket and as she stood back upright she turned to thank the handsome stranger. But he was gone. She could see his leather sling bag and the back of his head slowly moving off into the distance amongst the other commoners in the square. She couldn't understand why she had such an urge to call desperately after him.

Had she seen him before. Maybe he was a traveller. A nomad.

As Morgana entered her chamber, Gwen, her friend and maid scurried forward to take her cloak.

"You've left this inside it, my lady." said Gwen, pulling out something small and white from the waist pocket of the violet cloak.

Morgana couldn't remember ever leaving something inside her cloak. Taking the object from Gwen, she saw that it was a white and yellow daisy, the stem still on it. Staring at it, she wandered how it had got there. She tucked it carefully under her pillow, puzzled but slightly excited by this small mystery.

Gwaine stooped under an eave and swung his pack and sword off and leant them against the wall. Pulling a bundle of straw from the piles where the children had played, he patted it down on himself as he sat hunched beside his few belongings. He was well hidden by the empty stalls, carts, crates and boxes; no Camelot knight would expect to find him and wouldn't think of looking here. The long nights of winter were cold but Gwaine's life had always been cold since the moment his father had died. A fine knight with a wife and son. Now he was dead, his wife gone soon after him, Gwaine was forced to fight his way through a life of harsh winters, baking summers, hard travelling, no home and no one who loved him. He'd gotten used to his nomadic life.

As he settled as comfortably as he could against a wall with a straw covering for warmth, he thought about his day. That girl. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He decided stubbornly that he would go to the market square again.

Staring out of the window at the full moon, Morgana felt restless. As she turned her pillow over, she saw the little daisy illuminated by the ghostly moonlight and she pondered over where the traveller was. Perhaps it was he who had slipped the daisy in her pocket, though she couldn't imagine how anyone could do that without her noticing. Maybe if she went to the square again, she'd see him.