(no subject)
Title: Second Kiss
Author: Me, Rachel Marie!
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Spoilers: 2.04, includes speculation on 2.05 and the infamous "Brush Off."
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, and that's probably for the best.
Summary: "Their first kiss was wonderful, but the second kiss was even better." Gwen and Arthur work out their differences.
Author’s notes: Second attempt at Merlin fic, based on sophielou21's prompt found here at the drabble challenge. Unbetaed. I hope you all enjoy it!
Gwen closed the doors to Morgana’s chambers as softly as possible, silently willing her mistress a more restful night than it seemed she - or anyone - had been able to enjoy in Camelot of late.
Excluding the King, she reminded herself. Indeed, celebrations just a few days previous suggested at the very least Uther was likely enjoying a few peaceful nights now. At the banquet held in honor of the newly crowned Queen Catrina, Uther demonstrated a more affectionate nature than Gwen had ever imagined the king possessed. In the midst of the celebration - the toasts, the wine flowing freely, the hob-knobbing nobility - Uther seemed only to have eyes for Queen Catrina … indeed, he spent nearly the entire evening gazing deeply into her own.
She tried to tell herself it was sweet, tried to see the near excessive devotion Catrina seemed to inspire in the king as a sign of his warmth deep under the exterior Gwen long held cold, and at times quite callous. Though she was busy drifting in the background of the festivities - not serving food, but doing odd jobs as needed - she more than once caught Morgana’s eye and stifled a laugh at the faces she was making. Clearly the conversation Gwen was not, privy, but going on to her friend’s right, had her mistress rolling her eyes enough for the both of them. At least it gave Gwen enough cause not to let her eyes drift to the other end of the head table, where Arthur had enjoyed a great deal of success not looking at her. Even when beckoning Merlin, who was standing right beside her most of the night.
Yes, it had seemed like all would be well in Camelot with Queen Catrina inspiring new tenderness in the king. But then everything had turned to rot so quickly … Everything which Gwen had held dear for its stability in the face of her own personal troubles.
A heaviness settled upon the castle, resting on the backs of its courtiers and the servants, an invisible weight with no explanation. Gwen was deeply thankful for Morgana, who gave her an ear into the troubles of the court that she would not be privy to otherwise.
Naturally, everyone assumed that Uther would want a bit of time with his new bride, but then Gaius himself had been locked out of meetings between Uther, Queen Catrina and her servant Jonas and visitors to the court, where he never had before, trusted as a most loyal advisor to the king. Sir Leon, inexplicably, when he voiced rumor of a nameless danger having breeched Camelot’s borders to another knight, was placed unceremoniously in the dungeons.
Then, Arthur himself had been denied private audience with his father, who insisted Queen Catrina remain by his side at all times.
This, Gwen found out after she finally plucked up enough nerve to speak to him again. In the wake of her kidnapping, she had given him space - two weeks of space no less - tamping down her hurt at having been so completely judged by him, cast aside, and of little value. She prided herself on being a smart, and very reasonable, young woman. Two weeks was plenty time to cool her head, and there was no reason to continue the silent treatment.
So when he stormed past her after she greeted him quite amiably in the hall just yesterday without the slightest hint of acknowledgement, it was a hard slap in the face, worse than the worst-possible response she had anticipated.
Of course, what Morgana told her about the state of things between the king and Arthur made a swell of sympathy rise in her chest, but it didn’t do much to erase the memory of the brusque shoulder, his retreating back, or the cool look of his eye as he avoided her gaze.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs leading to her mistress’s bedroom and blew out the candles there, wary of the light that sometimes seeped in beneath Morgana’s door, before picking up the stack of garments she would drop of for laundering before retiring for the night.
The halls of the castle were particularly quiet this night. In the wake of Sir Leon’s imprisonment, no one dared cause too much of a stir but for the wrath of the king or queen. Who knew where they had ears in this castle. Only the soft rustling of the hem on her skirt made a sound as she descended another staircase and rounded a corner toward the servants’ stations.
Clouds had obscured most of the stairs during the past few nights, but Gwen gratefully noted as she entered the courtyard that they seemed to be easing up this evening. She could even see the moon, a sliver though it may have been, and she allowed herself a small smile at this bit of generosity.
She continued on her way, eyes trained on the ground as she retraced a path she’d taken hundreds of times before, feeling a little lighter than she had in days past. With the threat of a storm passing, perhaps some of this tension would ease, she mused. If only everybody would take a look out and see the stars-
Suddenly, another pair of feet entered her vision, and she stopped short as she jerked her head up, just inches in front of a pair royal guards - perhaps Arthur’s men - standing with spears planted firmly at their sides.
“I’m so sorry!” she sputtered, jerking one, two steps back from them, Morgana’s garments cradled to her chest.
A gruff voice emerged from one of them - shadows cast on their faces, Gwen couldn’t quite tell which spoke to her. “This way’s closed off.”
She peeked just over his shoulder in the direction of the throne room, the most direct route to the laundry. “What’s happened?”
“None of your concern,” came a slightly deeper voice in firm response.
Gwen gave a slight nod, and turned slowly to her right, peeking by the men as she chose a new path. The one on the right wasn’t quite so close to the wall … nor as broad as the other. It hardly mattered. The corridor behind the two guards was just as silent and empty as the others, bathed in a bit of white light between posts.
Nothing was amiss, but Gwen knew better than to argue. With a soft sigh, she began the long way round.
The staircase under the throne room and up the other side was dark, and Gwen wished for a candle. With everyone on pins and needles, it shook her a little to descend into darkness without company.
Allowing herself just a moment to glance back over her shoulder at the other way through - and those two damned guards - she mustered a bit of courage and walked down the staircase. At the bottom and to her right, she knew, was another way to the dungeons. To her left, the way round, and thankfully someone had left a candelabra burning, a bit of light grazing her toes. She headed toward it, wondering half-heartedly who would’ve left it burning, but did not make to put it out. Instead, she hurried on her way.
She took the stairs up and out two at a time, glad for a peek at the sky on the other side of the closed corridor, but stopped short just steps from the top.
There were no other guards here - from where she stood, she could not see the ones she’d spoken to in the first place. In the interceding moments, the moon and stars lit the stone floor, and surrounding ledge and columns, no longer obscured.
But just resting at the edge of her path, sitting on the precipice between inside and outside on this exposed foyer, was a lone figure, head bowed.
She wished could say she didn’t know it was him. That she hadn’t studied that particular way broad shoulders sloped downward, that she didn’t know his profile - even in this dim light - so well, that she hadn’t looked with affection on the stubborn prince with his arms crossed just so.
There was no other way to go, she knew, and she briefly wondered if Morgana’s dresses could wait a night.
But as quickly as the thought came, it went, and Gwen lifted her chin just a little. She would not live her life in fear of this prince - this man - and for that reason she would not allow herself to turn back.
Swallowing, she came to the top of the staircase, then down the walk toward him.
Arthur was a well trained soldier - and Gwen inwardly smacked herself for thinking that it would just be a moment, that she’d be by him before he even really noticed her presence. So with each step, it felt as though someone placed another heavy stone on the back of her hem, for her to drag behind her, slowing her down. She tried not to look at him head on, but she was not so brave. She watched him tense, push himself up until he was standing from the position he’d been in, leaning tiredly against the ledge.
It was silent for a moment, and Gwen wondered if they were really going to do this … stare each other down and not speak, like feuding children.
Thankfully, they did not. “Guinevere,” Arthur managed by way of greeting, though she noted that he didn’t say it in the way she’d come to love … imploringly, tenderly, or even teasingly. He said it as though it took a lot of effort, and she felt a slight pang in her heart.
“Sire,” she replied, slowing as she approached him.
His face was masked in shadow for the most part, and where she stopped, she felt exposed in the moonlight. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”
Something bubbled in her that wasn’t pity, and she steeled herself. “Taking Lady Morgana’s laundry up,” she replied curtly. She didn’t hesitate before adding, “And you?”
And she immediately slapped herself. He need not have said anything, but she still anticipated the retort of the pompous prince. “I’m sorry,” she supplied almost immediately, “That was a ridiculous question, my lord.”
He stepped forward, and Gwen averted her gaze just briefly before willing herself - come on, Guinevere! - to meet his eyes. “Yes, it was,” he offered, but it had none of the bite she was expecting.
They stood there for a moment in silence - and Gwen reasoned that, bad as this was, perhaps it was a first step, a healing step. Necessarily painful, but … necessary.
So she forced a smile, did a little curtsey and prepared to be off.
Shockingly, as she stepped round him, he spoke again. “No one is meant to come this way, the king’s orders.”
She paused, “How’m I supposed to get this off, then?”
“You can do it in the morning, I suppose.”
Gwen pressed her lips in a firm line, “It’ll only take a moment-”
Arthur placed his hands on his hips, much in the way that he had when he almost defied her to speak her mind in her own home. Gwen felt a similar kind of ire creep up her neck.
“The … Queen …” he seemed to struggle with the word, “She won’t have it.” He looked up at her coolly.
Gwen bit her lip. “These are for Morgana, Arthur,” she snapped, “She’ll have nothing appropriate for tomorrow if these aren’t taken care of. Surely you care for her well being, if nothing else.”
She felt instantly bad drawing her closest friend’s name into such a defense, but found she couldn’t help it. After all, hadn’t that been what he used against her in the first place?
“’If nothing else?’” Arthur repeated, dangerously softly.
Gwen had the sudden sensation of being in over her head, but it seemed that there was little to do about it now. Her heart was racing, she noticed dimly, though she couldn’t imagine why. And she wondered how Arthur had come closer, glaring down at her. And despite herself, in this dim light she marveled at how handsome he was, and how it broke her heart a little to find an expression of thinly veiled anger on his face.
His voice was low when he spoke again. “I came for you,” he snapped. “To rescue you.”
“Yes, at Morgana’s orders,” she hissed back.
He hesitated, staring into her eyes, before dropping his gaze. “What does that matter?” he challenged, defensive.
Gwen shook her head and turned to leave. “Then you have no cause to be angry with me, you did as she wished,” she muttered.
She made it not a half step before she felt Arthur move behind her. “Lancelot-”
Her hands were shaking. In fact, she felt she was shaking all over, all those things that she had swallowed up then and now bubbling to the surface. She dropped Morgana’s dresses and whirled around to face him, her eyes wet though she dared any tears to fall. “You said we could never be together!” she hissed, looking up at him. “You said your father would never understand. You could have whatever - whoever - you want, Arthur, but I am not given to fairy tales.” She paused, took a deep breath and cast her gaze down. It shamed her to admit, but it seemed he would never understand.
“You think I don’t care for you?” It came out as a murmur.
Gwen dared to look up. He had stolen the words from under her, and her mouth fell open at the sight of him looking as he did at that moment. Lovely and sad.
Her chin dropped, but she didn’t nod. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he took a step closer - a dangerous step. He was so close now, and his hand came up toward her face, his thumb settling delicately under her lips, his fingertips dancing along her jaw.
He sighed her name. “Guinevere.”
An apology, a declaration. He was chastising and coaxing and caressing, and not a moment later his mouth was on hers, hot and heavy and there. Breath escaped her as she allowed herself to be encompassed by him, his other hand pulling her into him at her hip, burning through the fabric of her dress.
And in that moment, she, too, gave in. A salty tear spilled down her cheek to the place where their mouths met, and in that haze she forced thought and fear about who might come around that corner out of her head. She molded her body to his, hands planted firmly on his chest as she pressed her mouth upward, moved her lips over his. And she was pliant as his tongue tasted her, carefully at first and then knowingly, and Gwen let out a little whimper of need.
He pulled back just enough to take a deep breath after a few moments like this, the bridge of his nose still grazing hers. Her hands slid up over his shoulders until they rested on either side of his neck, and when she let her thumb fall over exposed skin, he shivered and pulled her closer to him, catching her lips - however briefly - once more.
And as he held her to him, not nearly as long as she would have liked, but with the promise that there would be much more, she allowed the fluttering thought that if their first kiss was good, and this second was even better, she eagerly awaited their third …
Author: Me, Rachel Marie!
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Spoilers: 2.04, includes speculation on 2.05 and the infamous "Brush Off."
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, and that's probably for the best.
Summary: "Their first kiss was wonderful, but the second kiss was even better." Gwen and Arthur work out their differences.
Author’s notes: Second attempt at Merlin fic, based on sophielou21's prompt found here at the drabble challenge. Unbetaed. I hope you all enjoy it!
Gwen closed the doors to Morgana’s chambers as softly as possible, silently willing her mistress a more restful night than it seemed she - or anyone - had been able to enjoy in Camelot of late.
Excluding the King, she reminded herself. Indeed, celebrations just a few days previous suggested at the very least Uther was likely enjoying a few peaceful nights now. At the banquet held in honor of the newly crowned Queen Catrina, Uther demonstrated a more affectionate nature than Gwen had ever imagined the king possessed. In the midst of the celebration - the toasts, the wine flowing freely, the hob-knobbing nobility - Uther seemed only to have eyes for Queen Catrina … indeed, he spent nearly the entire evening gazing deeply into her own.
She tried to tell herself it was sweet, tried to see the near excessive devotion Catrina seemed to inspire in the king as a sign of his warmth deep under the exterior Gwen long held cold, and at times quite callous. Though she was busy drifting in the background of the festivities - not serving food, but doing odd jobs as needed - she more than once caught Morgana’s eye and stifled a laugh at the faces she was making. Clearly the conversation Gwen was not, privy, but going on to her friend’s right, had her mistress rolling her eyes enough for the both of them. At least it gave Gwen enough cause not to let her eyes drift to the other end of the head table, where Arthur had enjoyed a great deal of success not looking at her. Even when beckoning Merlin, who was standing right beside her most of the night.
Yes, it had seemed like all would be well in Camelot with Queen Catrina inspiring new tenderness in the king. But then everything had turned to rot so quickly … Everything which Gwen had held dear for its stability in the face of her own personal troubles.
A heaviness settled upon the castle, resting on the backs of its courtiers and the servants, an invisible weight with no explanation. Gwen was deeply thankful for Morgana, who gave her an ear into the troubles of the court that she would not be privy to otherwise.
Naturally, everyone assumed that Uther would want a bit of time with his new bride, but then Gaius himself had been locked out of meetings between Uther, Queen Catrina and her servant Jonas and visitors to the court, where he never had before, trusted as a most loyal advisor to the king. Sir Leon, inexplicably, when he voiced rumor of a nameless danger having breeched Camelot’s borders to another knight, was placed unceremoniously in the dungeons.
Then, Arthur himself had been denied private audience with his father, who insisted Queen Catrina remain by his side at all times.
This, Gwen found out after she finally plucked up enough nerve to speak to him again. In the wake of her kidnapping, she had given him space - two weeks of space no less - tamping down her hurt at having been so completely judged by him, cast aside, and of little value. She prided herself on being a smart, and very reasonable, young woman. Two weeks was plenty time to cool her head, and there was no reason to continue the silent treatment.
So when he stormed past her after she greeted him quite amiably in the hall just yesterday without the slightest hint of acknowledgement, it was a hard slap in the face, worse than the worst-possible response she had anticipated.
Of course, what Morgana told her about the state of things between the king and Arthur made a swell of sympathy rise in her chest, but it didn’t do much to erase the memory of the brusque shoulder, his retreating back, or the cool look of his eye as he avoided her gaze.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs leading to her mistress’s bedroom and blew out the candles there, wary of the light that sometimes seeped in beneath Morgana’s door, before picking up the stack of garments she would drop of for laundering before retiring for the night.
The halls of the castle were particularly quiet this night. In the wake of Sir Leon’s imprisonment, no one dared cause too much of a stir but for the wrath of the king or queen. Who knew where they had ears in this castle. Only the soft rustling of the hem on her skirt made a sound as she descended another staircase and rounded a corner toward the servants’ stations.
Clouds had obscured most of the stairs during the past few nights, but Gwen gratefully noted as she entered the courtyard that they seemed to be easing up this evening. She could even see the moon, a sliver though it may have been, and she allowed herself a small smile at this bit of generosity.
She continued on her way, eyes trained on the ground as she retraced a path she’d taken hundreds of times before, feeling a little lighter than she had in days past. With the threat of a storm passing, perhaps some of this tension would ease, she mused. If only everybody would take a look out and see the stars-
Suddenly, another pair of feet entered her vision, and she stopped short as she jerked her head up, just inches in front of a pair royal guards - perhaps Arthur’s men - standing with spears planted firmly at their sides.
“I’m so sorry!” she sputtered, jerking one, two steps back from them, Morgana’s garments cradled to her chest.
A gruff voice emerged from one of them - shadows cast on their faces, Gwen couldn’t quite tell which spoke to her. “This way’s closed off.”
She peeked just over his shoulder in the direction of the throne room, the most direct route to the laundry. “What’s happened?”
“None of your concern,” came a slightly deeper voice in firm response.
Gwen gave a slight nod, and turned slowly to her right, peeking by the men as she chose a new path. The one on the right wasn’t quite so close to the wall … nor as broad as the other. It hardly mattered. The corridor behind the two guards was just as silent and empty as the others, bathed in a bit of white light between posts.
Nothing was amiss, but Gwen knew better than to argue. With a soft sigh, she began the long way round.
The staircase under the throne room and up the other side was dark, and Gwen wished for a candle. With everyone on pins and needles, it shook her a little to descend into darkness without company.
Allowing herself just a moment to glance back over her shoulder at the other way through - and those two damned guards - she mustered a bit of courage and walked down the staircase. At the bottom and to her right, she knew, was another way to the dungeons. To her left, the way round, and thankfully someone had left a candelabra burning, a bit of light grazing her toes. She headed toward it, wondering half-heartedly who would’ve left it burning, but did not make to put it out. Instead, she hurried on her way.
She took the stairs up and out two at a time, glad for a peek at the sky on the other side of the closed corridor, but stopped short just steps from the top.
There were no other guards here - from where she stood, she could not see the ones she’d spoken to in the first place. In the interceding moments, the moon and stars lit the stone floor, and surrounding ledge and columns, no longer obscured.
But just resting at the edge of her path, sitting on the precipice between inside and outside on this exposed foyer, was a lone figure, head bowed.
She wished could say she didn’t know it was him. That she hadn’t studied that particular way broad shoulders sloped downward, that she didn’t know his profile - even in this dim light - so well, that she hadn’t looked with affection on the stubborn prince with his arms crossed just so.
There was no other way to go, she knew, and she briefly wondered if Morgana’s dresses could wait a night.
But as quickly as the thought came, it went, and Gwen lifted her chin just a little. She would not live her life in fear of this prince - this man - and for that reason she would not allow herself to turn back.
Swallowing, she came to the top of the staircase, then down the walk toward him.
Arthur was a well trained soldier - and Gwen inwardly smacked herself for thinking that it would just be a moment, that she’d be by him before he even really noticed her presence. So with each step, it felt as though someone placed another heavy stone on the back of her hem, for her to drag behind her, slowing her down. She tried not to look at him head on, but she was not so brave. She watched him tense, push himself up until he was standing from the position he’d been in, leaning tiredly against the ledge.
It was silent for a moment, and Gwen wondered if they were really going to do this … stare each other down and not speak, like feuding children.
Thankfully, they did not. “Guinevere,” Arthur managed by way of greeting, though she noted that he didn’t say it in the way she’d come to love … imploringly, tenderly, or even teasingly. He said it as though it took a lot of effort, and she felt a slight pang in her heart.
“Sire,” she replied, slowing as she approached him.
His face was masked in shadow for the most part, and where she stopped, she felt exposed in the moonlight. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”
Something bubbled in her that wasn’t pity, and she steeled herself. “Taking Lady Morgana’s laundry up,” she replied curtly. She didn’t hesitate before adding, “And you?”
And she immediately slapped herself. He need not have said anything, but she still anticipated the retort of the pompous prince. “I’m sorry,” she supplied almost immediately, “That was a ridiculous question, my lord.”
He stepped forward, and Gwen averted her gaze just briefly before willing herself - come on, Guinevere! - to meet his eyes. “Yes, it was,” he offered, but it had none of the bite she was expecting.
They stood there for a moment in silence - and Gwen reasoned that, bad as this was, perhaps it was a first step, a healing step. Necessarily painful, but … necessary.
So she forced a smile, did a little curtsey and prepared to be off.
Shockingly, as she stepped round him, he spoke again. “No one is meant to come this way, the king’s orders.”
She paused, “How’m I supposed to get this off, then?”
“You can do it in the morning, I suppose.”
Gwen pressed her lips in a firm line, “It’ll only take a moment-”
Arthur placed his hands on his hips, much in the way that he had when he almost defied her to speak her mind in her own home. Gwen felt a similar kind of ire creep up her neck.
“The … Queen …” he seemed to struggle with the word, “She won’t have it.” He looked up at her coolly.
Gwen bit her lip. “These are for Morgana, Arthur,” she snapped, “She’ll have nothing appropriate for tomorrow if these aren’t taken care of. Surely you care for her well being, if nothing else.”
She felt instantly bad drawing her closest friend’s name into such a defense, but found she couldn’t help it. After all, hadn’t that been what he used against her in the first place?
“’If nothing else?’” Arthur repeated, dangerously softly.
Gwen had the sudden sensation of being in over her head, but it seemed that there was little to do about it now. Her heart was racing, she noticed dimly, though she couldn’t imagine why. And she wondered how Arthur had come closer, glaring down at her. And despite herself, in this dim light she marveled at how handsome he was, and how it broke her heart a little to find an expression of thinly veiled anger on his face.
His voice was low when he spoke again. “I came for you,” he snapped. “To rescue you.”
“Yes, at Morgana’s orders,” she hissed back.
He hesitated, staring into her eyes, before dropping his gaze. “What does that matter?” he challenged, defensive.
Gwen shook her head and turned to leave. “Then you have no cause to be angry with me, you did as she wished,” she muttered.
She made it not a half step before she felt Arthur move behind her. “Lancelot-”
Her hands were shaking. In fact, she felt she was shaking all over, all those things that she had swallowed up then and now bubbling to the surface. She dropped Morgana’s dresses and whirled around to face him, her eyes wet though she dared any tears to fall. “You said we could never be together!” she hissed, looking up at him. “You said your father would never understand. You could have whatever - whoever - you want, Arthur, but I am not given to fairy tales.” She paused, took a deep breath and cast her gaze down. It shamed her to admit, but it seemed he would never understand.
“You think I don’t care for you?” It came out as a murmur.
Gwen dared to look up. He had stolen the words from under her, and her mouth fell open at the sight of him looking as he did at that moment. Lovely and sad.
Her chin dropped, but she didn’t nod. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he took a step closer - a dangerous step. He was so close now, and his hand came up toward her face, his thumb settling delicately under her lips, his fingertips dancing along her jaw.
He sighed her name. “Guinevere.”
An apology, a declaration. He was chastising and coaxing and caressing, and not a moment later his mouth was on hers, hot and heavy and there. Breath escaped her as she allowed herself to be encompassed by him, his other hand pulling her into him at her hip, burning through the fabric of her dress.
And in that moment, she, too, gave in. A salty tear spilled down her cheek to the place where their mouths met, and in that haze she forced thought and fear about who might come around that corner out of her head. She molded her body to his, hands planted firmly on his chest as she pressed her mouth upward, moved her lips over his. And she was pliant as his tongue tasted her, carefully at first and then knowingly, and Gwen let out a little whimper of need.
He pulled back just enough to take a deep breath after a few moments like this, the bridge of his nose still grazing hers. Her hands slid up over his shoulders until they rested on either side of his neck, and when she let her thumb fall over exposed skin, he shivered and pulled her closer to him, catching her lips - however briefly - once more.
And as he held her to him, not nearly as long as she would have liked, but with the promise that there would be much more, she allowed the fluttering thought that if their first kiss was good, and this second was even better, she eagerly awaited their third …