To be Queen Guinevere was to be 100% content with life, whether you truly were or not. Because what you felt was irrelevant and what the people perceived you to feel was everything. The people of Camelot could not see their Queen, their sovereign and leader breaking down in a flood of tears half-way through a council meeting or whilst walking through the courtyard. It just was not proper. Which was why Guinevere had hid herself away in Merlin’s bedroom, where no one would find her -and not because they did not know where to look but because no one dared enter the domain of their deceased friend. Perhaps Guinevere was a freak for finding comfort in Merlin’s things, she did not know or care, all she knew at that moment was that she found a strange happiness in the feel of Merlin’s itchy blanket beneath her fingers.

Tears began to fall from her eyes again but in truth Guinevere had cried so often these last couple of weeks that she barely noticed such tears anymore. She let her head fall against Merlin’s pillow and curled herself into a mildly awkward ball on the blankets her departed friend had slept on a thousand times before. They were comforting Guinevere knew, but nowhere near the solace of getting the real Merlin back.

“Oh Merlin.” she whispered, hoping that some part of Merlin’s soul was still capable of hearing her sadness. “I miss you so much. come back to me …please…” she drifted off into incoherent verses and pleas mingled with the sound of her aching sobs.