For the first time in a long time, I have committed fic! Le Gasp!
Title: Doing the Dishes.
Rating: G.
Pairing: Gwen/Arthur.
Spoilers: Absolutely nothing.
Genre: Fluff. A lot of fluff. Best get out your trusty toothbrush, folks.
Summary: Gwen knew that marrying into royalty meant great change; but there were some things about herself that she was determined to keep the same.
Author's Note: This is my first Merlin fic, so I'm a little nervous. Arthur lends himself to fic easily, but Gwen is much more elusive. Any constructive criticism is most welcome. Also - there is a LOT of Gwen love, in this. *g*
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked curiously, as he watched his wife lean over their bed and gather up one of the quilts into her arms. “What exactly are you doing?”
A touch embarrassed, Gwen straightened, clutching the material to her chest. She both grinned and shyly bit her lip, an expression that Arthur believed only she could pull off so well, if the feeling at the bottom of his stomach was anything to go by. “Oh, you know, this and that.”
To his great surprise, she suddenly flicked the quilt out in a flurry, sending dust and fluff into the air. Arthur watched as specs flew this way and that, illuminated by the morning sun that was streaming through the windows.
She did this several times, until she seemed satisfied that the quilt was sufficiently aired out, before draping it over the bed, and expertly adjusting it. She smoothed her hands over the wool until she was happy, fluffed the pillows and with a hum, placed them at the head of the bed.
Turning her gaze to her husband, she laughed at his expression. “It's called making the bed, Arthur.”
“I know that,” Arthur protested indignantly - indignation that Gwen knew was utterly fake, given the way he rolled his eyes at her. “The question is, what on earth are you making it for?”
Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but found she didn’t quite know what to say. All her life, she had neatened her bed in the morning; and as a handmaiden, she had neatened many others, too. It was just the done thing. But this was her first day as Crown Princess of Camelot. Her first morning waking up next to Arthur.
Her transition into royalty was something that she and Arthur had discussed at length. Obviously, she would have responsibilities surpassing her old position, and whilst these responsibilities made her nervous, she felt that she could rise to the occasion given practice. It was obvious to both of them that she would never bear any resemblance to some of the kings and queens that had visited Camelot over the years. She wasn’t the sort to be demanding or arrogant, or, as Merlin had called it whilst looking at Arthur, ‘prattish,’ It was neither in her personality, nor were such traits conducive to keeping work as a handmaiden, no matter how close she and her lady might have been.
She had needed to learn, too, to be comfortable around luxury. Beautiful dresses, large rooms, food always on hand. She had been housed in the castle in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and had slowly grown used to accepting what had formerly been extravagances.
The little day to day tasks, however, had never really been discussed. And in such a new world, they were something that she wanted to keep.
“Well…” Gwen trailed off. “I suppose…there’s no real reason why I can’t, is there?”
;
Over the months, Arthur found himself increasingly enchanted by the little things that Gwen did - the small ways in which she remained herself, whilst preparing to one day be queen.
The way she never left clothes on the floor to be picked up by someone else; she always put them away herself, with great care.
The way he sometimes walked in on her, sat in the beloved chair that had belonged to her father, determinedly mending the cuff of one of his shirts, even though it was no bother for him to simply get a new one.
The way she automatically hunted down a broom, when something broke, and tried to sweep his feet up when he teased her.
The way she sometimes snuck back to the great hall after a feast, to help the servants clear the dishes. He knew she had an old apron tucked into one of the drawers.
The way she preferred him to do up the clasps on her dress, in the morning, as opposed to a handmaiden, when he had the time. Though he preferred the way she let him undo the clasps at night.
The way he sometimes had to hunt for her all day, only to discover her down in the castle laundry, chattering away to Ellen and the ladies who washed the sheets.
Some of these things had troubled Uther at first, who felt it was improper for the Crown Princess to fraternize so much with people now well below her station. But even he could not deny that when the situation called for it, Guinevere performed flawlessly as royalty.
;
Both bored and sleepy, Arthur stirred his spoon into the plate of stew that was his dinner. He’d been reading a report on potatoes, and it was beginning to take its toll on his mental health. Flipping ahead, to discover that there were still several pages to go, he stood up with a huff and pushed the papers to the edge of the desk.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he grumbled to himself, absently picking up his plate. Leaving the paperwork behind, he stormed out the room and made a beeline for the kitchen.
He was so caught up in his internal tirade about potato reports, that he failed to notice the way the kitchen staff all stopped and stared at him in surprise, as he marched into their domain. Nor did he notice the silence that descended, when he emptied the leftover stew into the bin, and dunked the plate into a bucket of water.
It wasn’t until he began drying the plate off with a kitchen rag that he noticed that something was amiss - he was being watched. Turning slowly, he faced a sea of amused and surprised faces, the most amused and surprised of all belonging to his wife.
“What have we here?” she asked, barely concealing a smirk. A little girl, who Arthur had seen scurrying around the castle and was presumably the daughter of one of the staff, was hugging Gwen’s leg tightly. For a moment, Arthur focussed on the child, lost in the future, before he realized that he had been asked a question. By the time he'd glanced up again, Gwen had moved closer to him. She impishly offered him a goblet to dry.
Exasperated, Arthur took it from her and began to dry the stem. “I am the future king of Camelot,” he protested, “I do have some skills, oh wife of mine.”
Gwen merely laughed, and to Arthur’s surprise, the kitchen staff began to laugh with her. He glared in their general direction, but it was obvious to even the little girl that he wasn’t really cross. Gwen’s warm hands found their way to his shoulders, and before he knew what was happening, she was turning him back around to face the bucket. “Here,” she took the rag off him, “you wash, I’ll dry.”
............
I hope you liked it!
Rating: G.
Pairing: Gwen/Arthur.
Spoilers: Absolutely nothing.
Genre: Fluff. A lot of fluff. Best get out your trusty toothbrush, folks.
Summary: Gwen knew that marrying into royalty meant great change; but there were some things about herself that she was determined to keep the same.
Author's Note: This is my first Merlin fic, so I'm a little nervous. Arthur lends himself to fic easily, but Gwen is much more elusive. Any constructive criticism is most welcome. Also - there is a LOT of Gwen love, in this. *g*
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked curiously, as he watched his wife lean over their bed and gather up one of the quilts into her arms. “What exactly are you doing?”
A touch embarrassed, Gwen straightened, clutching the material to her chest. She both grinned and shyly bit her lip, an expression that Arthur believed only she could pull off so well, if the feeling at the bottom of his stomach was anything to go by. “Oh, you know, this and that.”
To his great surprise, she suddenly flicked the quilt out in a flurry, sending dust and fluff into the air. Arthur watched as specs flew this way and that, illuminated by the morning sun that was streaming through the windows.
She did this several times, until she seemed satisfied that the quilt was sufficiently aired out, before draping it over the bed, and expertly adjusting it. She smoothed her hands over the wool until she was happy, fluffed the pillows and with a hum, placed them at the head of the bed.
Turning her gaze to her husband, she laughed at his expression. “It's called making the bed, Arthur.”
“I know that,” Arthur protested indignantly - indignation that Gwen knew was utterly fake, given the way he rolled his eyes at her. “The question is, what on earth are you making it for?”
Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but found she didn’t quite know what to say. All her life, she had neatened her bed in the morning; and as a handmaiden, she had neatened many others, too. It was just the done thing. But this was her first day as Crown Princess of Camelot. Her first morning waking up next to Arthur.
Her transition into royalty was something that she and Arthur had discussed at length. Obviously, she would have responsibilities surpassing her old position, and whilst these responsibilities made her nervous, she felt that she could rise to the occasion given practice. It was obvious to both of them that she would never bear any resemblance to some of the kings and queens that had visited Camelot over the years. She wasn’t the sort to be demanding or arrogant, or, as Merlin had called it whilst looking at Arthur, ‘prattish,’ It was neither in her personality, nor were such traits conducive to keeping work as a handmaiden, no matter how close she and her lady might have been.
She had needed to learn, too, to be comfortable around luxury. Beautiful dresses, large rooms, food always on hand. She had been housed in the castle in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and had slowly grown used to accepting what had formerly been extravagances.
The little day to day tasks, however, had never really been discussed. And in such a new world, they were something that she wanted to keep.
“Well…” Gwen trailed off. “I suppose…there’s no real reason why I can’t, is there?”
;
Over the months, Arthur found himself increasingly enchanted by the little things that Gwen did - the small ways in which she remained herself, whilst preparing to one day be queen.
The way she never left clothes on the floor to be picked up by someone else; she always put them away herself, with great care.
The way he sometimes walked in on her, sat in the beloved chair that had belonged to her father, determinedly mending the cuff of one of his shirts, even though it was no bother for him to simply get a new one.
The way she automatically hunted down a broom, when something broke, and tried to sweep his feet up when he teased her.
The way she sometimes snuck back to the great hall after a feast, to help the servants clear the dishes. He knew she had an old apron tucked into one of the drawers.
The way she preferred him to do up the clasps on her dress, in the morning, as opposed to a handmaiden, when he had the time. Though he preferred the way she let him undo the clasps at night.
The way he sometimes had to hunt for her all day, only to discover her down in the castle laundry, chattering away to Ellen and the ladies who washed the sheets.
Some of these things had troubled Uther at first, who felt it was improper for the Crown Princess to fraternize so much with people now well below her station. But even he could not deny that when the situation called for it, Guinevere performed flawlessly as royalty.
;
Both bored and sleepy, Arthur stirred his spoon into the plate of stew that was his dinner. He’d been reading a report on potatoes, and it was beginning to take its toll on his mental health. Flipping ahead, to discover that there were still several pages to go, he stood up with a huff and pushed the papers to the edge of the desk.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he grumbled to himself, absently picking up his plate. Leaving the paperwork behind, he stormed out the room and made a beeline for the kitchen.
He was so caught up in his internal tirade about potato reports, that he failed to notice the way the kitchen staff all stopped and stared at him in surprise, as he marched into their domain. Nor did he notice the silence that descended, when he emptied the leftover stew into the bin, and dunked the plate into a bucket of water.
It wasn’t until he began drying the plate off with a kitchen rag that he noticed that something was amiss - he was being watched. Turning slowly, he faced a sea of amused and surprised faces, the most amused and surprised of all belonging to his wife.
“What have we here?” she asked, barely concealing a smirk. A little girl, who Arthur had seen scurrying around the castle and was presumably the daughter of one of the staff, was hugging Gwen’s leg tightly. For a moment, Arthur focussed on the child, lost in the future, before he realized that he had been asked a question. By the time he'd glanced up again, Gwen had moved closer to him. She impishly offered him a goblet to dry.
Exasperated, Arthur took it from her and began to dry the stem. “I am the future king of Camelot,” he protested, “I do have some skills, oh wife of mine.”
Gwen merely laughed, and to Arthur’s surprise, the kitchen staff began to laugh with her. He glared in their general direction, but it was obvious to even the little girl that he wasn’t really cross. Gwen’s warm hands found their way to his shoulders, and before he knew what was happening, she was turning him back around to face the bucket. “Here,” she took the rag off him, “you wash, I’ll dry.”
............
I hope you liked it!