Fic: Spring Fling Drabble - Brawling in the streets
Title: Brawling in the streets
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating: G
Word count: 1491 (or thereabouts)
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Guinevere
Spoilers: None. Coz it's an AU prequel.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Strange . . . I could have sworn I did.
Summary: Gwen and Arthur. A fight. Banter.
Prompt(s): Written for Part Three of camelot_love's Spring Fling, #36 Gwen is picked on by local boys and Arthur stands up for her. - wickedvampirate
Author's note: They're under 18 y.o somewhere and aware of each other, obviously. Unbeata'd tho MDT did give it a read through, because she's lovely and awesome . . . otherwise I was just going to hide this LOL. I'm so mature like that. (so blame her if it's bad).
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Standing arms crossed over her chest, waiting, in the middle of the crossroads of the marketplace, Gwen tries to ignore the three local lads posturing before her. From the age of ten she’s had little doubt that girls mature faster than boys . . . possibly as some cruel and obtuse joke by the universe.
And so she’s expecting it when they dally closer to her, because it’s not as if she’s ever blended into the background, it’s just not her nature.
The tallest smirks down at her, eyes lingering from her gleaming black boots (Gwen found a perverse delight in cleaning that at times had the capacity to make her feel fanatical), slowly up her grey cotton-lined legs. She watches his eyes go higher, her thighs, hips, to her belt where he pauses to admire it for a long moment.
It’s her favorite; her father had crafted the buckle - a dragon trying to eat its own tail - at the request of a nobleman, who had promptly changed his mind upon seeing it finished.
Some months later, Gwen had been completely delighted, and hugged her father hard, after she’d opened up the worn cloth of her birthday present to find the shining bronze piece.
For some reason her father allows her eccentricities, encourages them and she loves him dearly for it. Knows how lucky she is. That other fathers would demand a more common manner from her, cutting down any quirks with rules and lectures. But not her father.
He’s assured her, time and time again, that from the moment it was finished he’d known it’s true owner and would have given it to her regardless of whether the nobleman wanted it or not.
Gwen thinks it is possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever made.
The youth’s eyes continue up to her rosy burgundy vest, and the small black tunic she wears underneath, to the modest amount of skin exposed at her lacey collar and the simple three pearls that hang from a fine cord at her neck (a gift from a traveler), then higher, her jaw, cheekbones. His eyes graze her slightly flushed cheeks, before he finally meets her dark eyes.
Gwen smiles sweetly . . . and socks him in the face.
She’s dodging the long sweep of a broom handle, bending back gracefully, when someone grabs her from behind. As her capturer’s hands scramble around her, his hot putrid breath in her ear, she goes limp, letting him struggle to hold her up and forcing him to loosen his grasp in the process.
Which is what she’s counting on, and it makes slamming her head back into his face that much more satisfying. She stamps down hard on his instep, as she spins out of his arms, turning around to face the other two.
The tip of her boot catches youth two in the face, and he flies backwards, of course by this time she’s actually quite over it. The physicality of combat is a rush, but her opponents are hardly worthy of any exertion on her part . . . and she highly doubts this will teach them anything.
So, it’s all . . . utterly pointless.
And doubtful they’ll ever concede defeat to a girl.
Distracted by her inner monologue Gwen misses the glint of a knife from the remaining opponent standing as he removes it from his pocket, only noticing it when it comes whirling towards her face-
And bounces off a sword that suddenly appears before her, as a shield. Gwen turns to regard sharp blue eyes and raised eyebrows.
“Troublemaker,” the Prince mutters, before stepping past her and standing between her and the suddenly pale looking boy.
Arthur smiles humorlessly, showing his teeth. “Mind enlightening me on why you’d be attempting harm to the treasured companion of the King’s Ward?” he asks, scanning all three faces as he casually waves the tip of his sword at the stone beneath his feet. “It does seem fairly idiotic on your part . . . I mean that’s assuming you don’t want to end up in the stocks or the dungeon,” Arthur smirks. “Or on my bad side.”
“My lord,” the first boy says, scrambling to his feet and gesturing to his friends. “She was never in any danger. We were just play fighting, surely that was obvious?”
“No,” Arthur replies coolly. “No, that was not obvious-”
“We were just asking a few friendly questions-” youth two cuts in, rubbing the side of his face where a boot-tip shaped mark has formed.
“And look at how she dresses, she’s no lady’s maid. She was acting snobbish and it hurt our feelings.” The final member spreads his hands to Arthur, appealingly.
Gwen’s at Arthur’s side in an instant, remembering the last time he’d caught someone willing her harm. Getting stared down by her father and his, while Gaius tends to Arthur’s arm and she holds a compress to her eye, is an experience she doesn’t need ever again.
Her hand brushes his arm, because she obviously can’t take it and pull . . . not in public.
“Sire, I think the time for this disagreement has passed,” her eyes drift curiously over to the boys, “and I think we can all agree violence in a perfectly horrid way to try and solve a dispute.”
Arthur scratches his chin, “Hmmm,” he looks down at her, “and you’re not hurt?” he asks, almost sounding disappointed.
His blue eyes begin an examination of her from head to foot.
“I’m fine,” she answers restlessly. “You were just in time . . . bizarrely,” she whispers the last word and Arthur’s bottom lip gives a wild jump. Amusement flashing in his eyes.
But he holds firm.
“That may be so, but had I NOT interfered . . .”
“But you did,” Youth one interjects, “and your girl’s fine.”
Gwen and Arthur both raise their eyebrows, turning as one.
“Oh I’m not-”
“She’s not-”
Gwen makes a wide gesture as if to wipe away the insinuation. “We’re just . . .”
“People who know each other,” Arthur supplies, not very smoothly and grimaces. “Look, just GO,” he waves a hand. “I see you again, you’ll regret it.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
He waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking, “I let you out of sight for all of five minutes and you start a brawl-”
Gwen smirks. “You taught me some of those moves.”
Arthur sighs. “And THIS is how you repay me?”
“I think I did rather well-”
“Endangering yourse-”
Still less than you, Gwen thinks to herself.
“Arthur, I’m beginning to suspect there’s a bell somewhere, that rings whenever I’m in trouble,” she muses, softly, not looking at him as they walk.
Arthur turns to her, without pause. “More like a series of well lined up mirrors where I can see all of Camelot-”
“Invasion of privacy.”
“Guinevere, as a servant I’m afraid you haven’t much say-”
“Privacy is a right, Arthur,” Gwen snorts.
He bumps her shoulder with his, “It’s too late. I’ve taken it. You going to cry about it, like a girl?”
Arthur knows very well, that she hasn’t cried since he carelessly cut off the tip of her finger in a demonstration of how wonderful he was.
(He’d spent the next year apologizing every time he saw her, until she’d proposed that if he let her cut off the tip of his finger they’d be even.
And he’d agreed. She’d then quickly been forced to assure him, placing the knife back on the table, that she had been JOKING and had no desire whatsoever to mutilate him. Or anybody else.
He’d actually been the one to suggest she act as Morgana’s companion, which she assumed was him STILL trying to make it up to her.
Boys, why couldn’t they let things go?)
Instead of bring up the past, she chuckles and punches his shoulder.
“You know, usually it’s out of sight out of mind with you-”
“Well,” Arthur makes a face of great concentration, “when it gets quiet I find myself thinking; ‘I wonder what dilemma Guinevere’s getting herself into now?’”
“Really? I often think the same thing about you-”
Arthur grins cheekily. “You think about me rather alot, do you?”
She shakes her head at him, but laughs. “Only when something goes wrong.”
A second passes.
“That’s alot.”
“ . . .Yeah.”
_ _ _ _ __
Arthur kicks a rock. “Are we friends? Despite . . .” he waves his hands to indicate everything.
Gwen focuses on the sky to avoid his probing glance, because she wants to say yes.
“If you don’t know, how should I know?”
Beside her, Arthur tilts his head. “I think a friend would be nicer to me.”
Gwen scoffs. “I think you’re confusing adoration with respect.”
“And you . . . respect me?” Arthur asks slowly, as between them, his fingers gently brush hers.
Gwen turns to regard him, her clever eyes giving absolutely nothing away and giggles.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I wasn't completely happy with this, so I made another . . . He started it! . . . which is just an amalgamation of all my other musings of fights and Gwen (not being a damsel in distress and instead kicking butt).
I still like the other one better . . . .
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating: G
Word count: 1491 (or thereabouts)
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Guinevere
Spoilers: None. Coz it's an AU prequel.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Strange . . . I could have sworn I did.
Summary: Gwen and Arthur. A fight. Banter.
Prompt(s): Written for Part Three of camelot_love's Spring Fling, #36 Gwen is picked on by local boys and Arthur stands up for her. - wickedvampirate
Author's note: They're under 18 y.o somewhere and aware of each other, obviously. Unbeata'd tho MDT did give it a read through, because she's lovely and awesome . . . otherwise I was just going to hide this LOL. I'm so mature like that. (so blame her if it's bad).
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Standing arms crossed over her chest, waiting, in the middle of the crossroads of the marketplace, Gwen tries to ignore the three local lads posturing before her. From the age of ten she’s had little doubt that girls mature faster than boys . . . possibly as some cruel and obtuse joke by the universe.
And so she’s expecting it when they dally closer to her, because it’s not as if she’s ever blended into the background, it’s just not her nature.
The tallest smirks down at her, eyes lingering from her gleaming black boots (Gwen found a perverse delight in cleaning that at times had the capacity to make her feel fanatical), slowly up her grey cotton-lined legs. She watches his eyes go higher, her thighs, hips, to her belt where he pauses to admire it for a long moment.
It’s her favorite; her father had crafted the buckle - a dragon trying to eat its own tail - at the request of a nobleman, who had promptly changed his mind upon seeing it finished.
Some months later, Gwen had been completely delighted, and hugged her father hard, after she’d opened up the worn cloth of her birthday present to find the shining bronze piece.
For some reason her father allows her eccentricities, encourages them and she loves him dearly for it. Knows how lucky she is. That other fathers would demand a more common manner from her, cutting down any quirks with rules and lectures. But not her father.
He’s assured her, time and time again, that from the moment it was finished he’d known it’s true owner and would have given it to her regardless of whether the nobleman wanted it or not.
Gwen thinks it is possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever made.
The youth’s eyes continue up to her rosy burgundy vest, and the small black tunic she wears underneath, to the modest amount of skin exposed at her lacey collar and the simple three pearls that hang from a fine cord at her neck (a gift from a traveler), then higher, her jaw, cheekbones. His eyes graze her slightly flushed cheeks, before he finally meets her dark eyes.
Gwen smiles sweetly . . . and socks him in the face.
She’s dodging the long sweep of a broom handle, bending back gracefully, when someone grabs her from behind. As her capturer’s hands scramble around her, his hot putrid breath in her ear, she goes limp, letting him struggle to hold her up and forcing him to loosen his grasp in the process.
Which is what she’s counting on, and it makes slamming her head back into his face that much more satisfying. She stamps down hard on his instep, as she spins out of his arms, turning around to face the other two.
The tip of her boot catches youth two in the face, and he flies backwards, of course by this time she’s actually quite over it. The physicality of combat is a rush, but her opponents are hardly worthy of any exertion on her part . . . and she highly doubts this will teach them anything.
So, it’s all . . . utterly pointless.
And doubtful they’ll ever concede defeat to a girl.
Distracted by her inner monologue Gwen misses the glint of a knife from the remaining opponent standing as he removes it from his pocket, only noticing it when it comes whirling towards her face-
And bounces off a sword that suddenly appears before her, as a shield. Gwen turns to regard sharp blue eyes and raised eyebrows.
“Troublemaker,” the Prince mutters, before stepping past her and standing between her and the suddenly pale looking boy.
Arthur smiles humorlessly, showing his teeth. “Mind enlightening me on why you’d be attempting harm to the treasured companion of the King’s Ward?” he asks, scanning all three faces as he casually waves the tip of his sword at the stone beneath his feet. “It does seem fairly idiotic on your part . . . I mean that’s assuming you don’t want to end up in the stocks or the dungeon,” Arthur smirks. “Or on my bad side.”
“My lord,” the first boy says, scrambling to his feet and gesturing to his friends. “She was never in any danger. We were just play fighting, surely that was obvious?”
“No,” Arthur replies coolly. “No, that was not obvious-”
“We were just asking a few friendly questions-” youth two cuts in, rubbing the side of his face where a boot-tip shaped mark has formed.
“And look at how she dresses, she’s no lady’s maid. She was acting snobbish and it hurt our feelings.” The final member spreads his hands to Arthur, appealingly.
Gwen’s at Arthur’s side in an instant, remembering the last time he’d caught someone willing her harm. Getting stared down by her father and his, while Gaius tends to Arthur’s arm and she holds a compress to her eye, is an experience she doesn’t need ever again.
Her hand brushes his arm, because she obviously can’t take it and pull . . . not in public.
“Sire, I think the time for this disagreement has passed,” her eyes drift curiously over to the boys, “and I think we can all agree violence in a perfectly horrid way to try and solve a dispute.”
Arthur scratches his chin, “Hmmm,” he looks down at her, “and you’re not hurt?” he asks, almost sounding disappointed.
His blue eyes begin an examination of her from head to foot.
“I’m fine,” she answers restlessly. “You were just in time . . . bizarrely,” she whispers the last word and Arthur’s bottom lip gives a wild jump. Amusement flashing in his eyes.
But he holds firm.
“That may be so, but had I NOT interfered . . .”
“But you did,” Youth one interjects, “and your girl’s fine.”
Gwen and Arthur both raise their eyebrows, turning as one.
“Oh I’m not-”
“She’s not-”
Gwen makes a wide gesture as if to wipe away the insinuation. “We’re just . . .”
“People who know each other,” Arthur supplies, not very smoothly and grimaces. “Look, just GO,” he waves a hand. “I see you again, you’ll regret it.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
He waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking, “I let you out of sight for all of five minutes and you start a brawl-”
Gwen smirks. “You taught me some of those moves.”
Arthur sighs. “And THIS is how you repay me?”
“I think I did rather well-”
“Endangering yourse-”
Still less than you, Gwen thinks to herself.
“Arthur, I’m beginning to suspect there’s a bell somewhere, that rings whenever I’m in trouble,” she muses, softly, not looking at him as they walk.
Arthur turns to her, without pause. “More like a series of well lined up mirrors where I can see all of Camelot-”
“Invasion of privacy.”
“Guinevere, as a servant I’m afraid you haven’t much say-”
“Privacy is a right, Arthur,” Gwen snorts.
He bumps her shoulder with his, “It’s too late. I’ve taken it. You going to cry about it, like a girl?”
Arthur knows very well, that she hasn’t cried since he carelessly cut off the tip of her finger in a demonstration of how wonderful he was.
(He’d spent the next year apologizing every time he saw her, until she’d proposed that if he let her cut off the tip of his finger they’d be even.
And he’d agreed. She’d then quickly been forced to assure him, placing the knife back on the table, that she had been JOKING and had no desire whatsoever to mutilate him. Or anybody else.
He’d actually been the one to suggest she act as Morgana’s companion, which she assumed was him STILL trying to make it up to her.
Boys, why couldn’t they let things go?)
Instead of bring up the past, she chuckles and punches his shoulder.
“You know, usually it’s out of sight out of mind with you-”
“Well,” Arthur makes a face of great concentration, “when it gets quiet I find myself thinking; ‘I wonder what dilemma Guinevere’s getting herself into now?’”
“Really? I often think the same thing about you-”
Arthur grins cheekily. “You think about me rather alot, do you?”
She shakes her head at him, but laughs. “Only when something goes wrong.”
A second passes.
“That’s alot.”
“ . . .Yeah.”
_ _ _ _ __
Arthur kicks a rock. “Are we friends? Despite . . .” he waves his hands to indicate everything.
Gwen focuses on the sky to avoid his probing glance, because she wants to say yes.
“If you don’t know, how should I know?”
Beside her, Arthur tilts his head. “I think a friend would be nicer to me.”
Gwen scoffs. “I think you’re confusing adoration with respect.”
“And you . . . respect me?” Arthur asks slowly, as between them, his fingers gently brush hers.
Gwen turns to regard him, her clever eyes giving absolutely nothing away and giggles.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I wasn't completely happy with this, so I made another . . . He started it! . . . which is just an amalgamation of all my other musings of fights and Gwen (not being a damsel in distress and instead kicking butt).
I still like the other one better . . . .