Merlin fic: Her Favour; Arthur/Gwen; 1/1
Title: Her Favour
Author: shootingstars88
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All characters/settings etc property of the BBC
Spoilers: None really, set between s2 and s3
Summary: A year after the events of 'The Once and Future Queen', Camelot is hosting a Tournament again.
A/N - This was inspired by some discussion at onceandfutures before the Melee episode about Arthur wearing a token. This fic was going to be a missing scene for Gwaine but then I realised that it looked as though the knights weren't wearing tokens, just their own colours on their arms, to distinguish from each other during the Melee. So this got transported to between s2 and s3, during the annual joust instead. A little more romantic than I intended to be honest, but harmless fluff is what you need on a Sunday afternoon, right? Unbetaed so apologies for any errors.
~
As the months dragged on without Morgana, Camelot became for a time a quieter kingdom, her King more distant, her Prince more serious. A strange sort of limbo settled over the lands and annual events were discreetly cancelled as the dangers beyond crept ever closer to the borders.
Despite the gloom over Camelot there were some traditions that even Uther, trapped in his guilt and grief, would not let slip.
And so almost a year to the day since the last tournament, Camelot came alive again as the kingdom hosted a joust.
Regrettably, Sir William of Deira would not be attending this year.
Instead Gwen watched from the crowd as Arthur progressed smoothly, arriving easily in the final rounds. She cheered with everyone else, trying to tell herself that the swell of pride at his victory was nothing more than a citizen should feel for her ruler.
After the penultimate morning of competition, The King hosted a banquet to honour the competitors and the finalists.
Gwen stood at the top table beside Merlin, behind the empty place set for Morgana. She had kept her place at court despite her mistress’ absence, thanks largely she suspected to Arthur’s intervention.
Snatches of conversation drifted over the general din, knights boasting of their past victories and giggling ladies promising to cheer for whoever had most recently complimented them. Even Uther seemed to forget his grief for a time, talking and eating with his guests. Only once or twice did his eyes drift sadly to the empty space on his left, set to honour his missing ward in her absence.
Gwen ignored the talk, uninterested in the court gossip, and let her mind wander. Despite her best efforts to focus on other things, she could not seem to think of anything but last year’s tournament. Arthur had barged into her quiet life, unwelcome and infuriating, and somehow ended up with a place in her heart. To this day, she didn’t quite understand how.
As her thoughts tended towards him, Gwen found her eyes sliding to where Arthur sat as well. She knew she was all but staring at him yet she could not train her eyes to see anything but him tonight. He was radiant, the golden heir amongst his people, his rich laugh ringing out over the room every few minutes.
He only saw her once, their eyes meeting as he returned to his seat from speaking to someone elsewhere in the hall. His smile seemed to widen to see her and she found herself biting back a smile in reply, aching to have some reason to approach him. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her, and Gwen felt herself flush at the strength of her own reaction to him.
The feast lasted into the early evening, wrapping up before dark to allow the finalists and many spectators the chance to relax and rest in their quarters before tomorrow. To Gwen, increasingly distracted, it seemed to have lasted for hours. She hurried away as soon as she could, retreating to her home where the ghost of Arthur’s presence had seemed to linger ever since the tournament began.
At home, she took out the dress she was so carefully making whenever she could snatch a moment of time to herself. It was methodical work, the simple stitches absorbing her attention and drawing her mind from Arthur to the comforting push and pull of the needle.
She was so intent on her work that the knock on her door caused her to cry out in shock and nearly drop the fabric. She set it aside and moved carefully towards her door. It was not so late that she feared something was wrong, but not so early that she didn’t feel a tiny prickle of apprehension.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Guinevere, it’s Arthur. May I come in?”
Despite all the thoughts of last year, Gwen hadn’t entertained the possibility of the Prince calling at her home again. He hadn’t been back here since the incident with Vivian, when she’d established the barrier that still stood between them at every turn.
After a moment of stunned silence, she realised she hadn’t moved to let him in.
“Of course,” she called back and hurried to release the door.
Arthur stepped in casually, smiling a little nervously. He seemed taller than usual, in her little house with it’s sloping ceiling, seeming to tower over her as he never did in the Castle.
“Good evening,” he said awkwardly, stopping a little way inside the door and shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Good evening Sire,” Gwen replied. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No no, nothing like that,” Arthur assured her, endearingly awkward. “I was just ... in the neighbourhood and I thought perhaps I’d call.”
“You were in the neighbourhood?” Gwen repeated, hearing the disbelief colour her tone.
“Well not exactly,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “I just wanted to ... see you, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Gwen cringed inwardly at her stunned response but he was smiling, apparently pleased to take her by surprise.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you?” He glanced at to the fabric spread over her table.
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I was just doing some sewing. New dress,” she added by way of explanation.
Arthur picked up a swatch of the pale fabric and smiled. He looked up to see her watching him and seemed to think she was waiting for his opinion. “it’s ... it’s pretty,” he ventured.
“You think so?” Gwen asked, amused.
“I have no idea,” he admitted with a laugh, “but as you picked it, I’m sure it must be.”
There was a long moment of silence in which Arthur’s words seemed to hang in the air between them. Arthur flushed scarlet, looking like he’d quite like to take them back.
Gwen looked up at him, fighting a sudden urge to laugh at his attempted flattery. She bit her lip but was unable to prevent a giggle escaping.
“I thought that was quite good,” Arthur protested, feigning a wounded look that only amused Gwen more.
“Oh it was, no it was,” Gwen agreed, laughing harder.
“Now you’re mocking me, that’s nice,” he said, laughing along with her.
The sound of their mingled laughter filled the tiny room and for a few moments, the whole house seemed a lot brighter and warmer than it had felt in a long time.
As her laughter began to fade, Gwen realised with a guilty start that she had moved closer to Arthur without realising it, even gripping his arm with her hand. She released him, suddenly very aware of his proximity and stepped back to a more appropriate distance for a servant and her Prince. A flash of disappointment crossed Arthur’s face that he did little to hide.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Gwen asked, seizing on anything to say to change the subject.
“Not really,” Arthur shrugged, “It should be fun.” His mouth twitched, hiding a sudden smile. “My father was telling me tonight how very sorry he was that Sir William of Deira couldn’t defend his title.”
Gwen laughed lightly. “He is missed.”
“Indeed. I missed him today, he could have been sat there at the feast instead of me.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself well enough,” Gwen reminded him.
“I was,” Arthur agreed. He hesitated before ducking his head to catch her eye and saying in the tone he seemed to reserve only for her, the rich timbre that dragged a trail of goosebumps along her neck, “but I spent all afternoon talking to everyone in the room except the one person I really wanted to talk to.”
Gwen blinked in surprise. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Arthur might have been thinking of her too as they stood so close and yet so distant in the Great Hall. She sighed, fearing a rehash of a conversation that always followed the same argument and reached the same conclusion. “My lord -”
Arthur studied her face for a moment, seeing the reluctance there. She saw a flicker of hesitance in his eyes before he relaxed into a smile. “I mean it. You’re far more interesting. If I have to hear about Sir Roderick’s new wife or Sir Henry’s new horse one more time-”
Gwen laughed at his long-suffering tone, relieved he had chosen not to be too serious.
“And last year was fun, don’t you agree?” he asked, grinning impishly at her, their shared secrets sparkling behind his eyes.
Gwen grinned, following his light mood. “I seem to remember I scolded you quite a lot.”
“I deserved it.”
“And there was the assassin,” she pointed out, amused.
“Yes that was the low point,” Arthur agreed. “But there are always assassins Guinevere, that’s life.”
“Your life perhaps.”
“Admit it, you enjoyed having me around.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “It was tolerable.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ll live.”
She laughed at the tragic expression on his face and he brightened immediately, his face lighting up as hers did.
It was so easy, too easy, to laugh like this with him. It was getting more frequent as well, as the mood in Camelot darkened they could not help but seek each other out, drawn to the warmth they created together. When his responsibilities were getting too heavy, he would seek her out on some pretence of a message and they would somehow lose an hour together, laughing and talking. When she was missing Morgana, she would offer to take his food up instead of Merlin and he’d brighten her mood with stories of Morgana as a child, before Gwen became her maid.
And every now and again, Arthur would step just a little too close and Gwen would forget to step back. Quite suddenly she would be certain that he was going to kiss her.
As their laughter died away, tonight began to feel like one of those times.
Arthur was looking steadily at her, his face shadowed in the flickering candlelight. He was breathing deeply, as though steeling himself to act.
Gwen felt the familiar tug in her heart, willing her to step forwards towards him. It would be so easy she knew, to walk that one tiny step between them and lift her face to his. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, willing herself not to.
If she let him, he would lean down to press his lips to hers and she wouldn’t have the will to stop him. If she let him, he would make her forget everything that stood between them for one wonderful moment. And then he would have to leave and her home would seem a little smaller, her life a little emptier than before.
When she did not move, Arthur stepped forward, dropping his gaze to her lips and letting his head fall slightly, so close to hers.
They stood there like that, lips almost touching, for one suspended moment of silence. Arthur simply waited, searching her face for a hint of what she wanted. He looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him, desperate to find something in her eyes that told him she felt as he did. She felt sure he must be able to see it there, the longing she felt in him reflected back in her eyes. But he did not move without her tacit permission and she could not make herself take that final step, not knowing what it would cost her later.
With effort, Gwen stepped back, her heart pounding. “It’s getting late, you should get back to the castle.”
Arthur let out a long sigh as though he’d been holding his breath. Disappointment evident, he raised his head and nodded. “Yes you’re probably right.”
He stepped back from her and turned away to the door.
Gwen felt the loss of him immediately, tugging at her her heart as he moved further away. She hated this, always being the sensible one who worried of the consequences. Her eyes fell on the fabric spread across the table and she seized a scrap, suddenly determined to do something to show him that she didn’t want to be this way, always taking a step back.
“I gave you a token for luck last year, do you remember?” she asked him as he reached the door.
“I remember,” he said quietly, stopping with his hand on the handle.
“Here,” she said simply, offering a piece of the pale fabric of her new dress.
He turned to accept it, a tiny smile blossoming on his face.
“I still have your favour then?” he asked, a genuine question in his voice.
Gwen’s stomach dropped as she realised what her actions had seemed to him, how he must have interpreted her reluctance. She felt her eyes suddenly swell with tears. “You will always have that Arthur.”
He stepped back towards her, walking slowly to where she stood offering the swatch of fabric.
“You can’t wear it of course because I know you promised the King you would wear no lady’s favour since Morgana is not here to give you hers,” Gwen said, aware that she was talking rather fast. “but I thought you could keep it hidden -”
The rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp as Arthur pressed a sudden kiss to her lips, gathering her up into his arms in one sweeping motion. Gwen did not respond immediately, too shocked to do anything but let the slip of fabric fall from her hand to the floor. Sensing her reaction, Arthur began to pull away but the moment the gentle pressure of his lips began to ease all thoughts of letting him go fled from Gwen’s mind. She leaned back towards him, closing the distance between them again and winding her arms around him. His strong arms enveloped her in warmth, one hand nestling in her hair and one at her back, trying to pull her even closer to him.
For a long moment they stood together in an embrace, neither willing to break the kiss. Finally, they pulled apart and Arthur rested his head against Gwen’s forehead. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him smiling.
“One day I will wear this so all of Camelot can see it,” he promised, before pressing one last kiss to her forehead and pulling away.
Gwen opened her eyes as he was leaving and saw the fabric she had dropped now clutched tightly in his hand. As the door closed, he flashed her one last grin before disappearing into the night.
Gwen saw down at her table and stared around her house, waiting for the cold to settle over her. It did not. Instead the warmth of him seemed to linger around her like she was still in his arms. She didn’t understand. It was supposed to hurt now. For one brief moment she’d let him into her heart and regret was sure to follow, the impossibility of it all weighing down on her.
But Arthur’s promise was still whispering in her mind, over and over and Gwen found herself believing it, if only for a while.
She smiled. Later she would be sensible. Tonight she would let herself hope.
~
The next day Arthur Pendragon won the tournament with ease, a slip of peach fabric tied around his arm and hidden under his armour. As his lifted his visor to the cheering spectators, his eyes found Gwen’s among the crowd, holding her gaze for one long moment.
Blind to the cheering masses around her, Gwen saw only him. Something passed between them in that moment, a knowledge that no rules or traditions could take from them. No matter what, there would always be this - her favour, entirely his.
~
Comments are love :)
Author: shootingstars88
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All characters/settings etc property of the BBC
Spoilers: None really, set between s2 and s3
Summary: A year after the events of 'The Once and Future Queen', Camelot is hosting a Tournament again.
A/N - This was inspired by some discussion at onceandfutures before the Melee episode about Arthur wearing a token. This fic was going to be a missing scene for Gwaine but then I realised that it looked as though the knights weren't wearing tokens, just their own colours on their arms, to distinguish from each other during the Melee. So this got transported to between s2 and s3, during the annual joust instead. A little more romantic than I intended to be honest, but harmless fluff is what you need on a Sunday afternoon, right? Unbetaed so apologies for any errors.
~
As the months dragged on without Morgana, Camelot became for a time a quieter kingdom, her King more distant, her Prince more serious. A strange sort of limbo settled over the lands and annual events were discreetly cancelled as the dangers beyond crept ever closer to the borders.
Despite the gloom over Camelot there were some traditions that even Uther, trapped in his guilt and grief, would not let slip.
And so almost a year to the day since the last tournament, Camelot came alive again as the kingdom hosted a joust.
Regrettably, Sir William of Deira would not be attending this year.
Instead Gwen watched from the crowd as Arthur progressed smoothly, arriving easily in the final rounds. She cheered with everyone else, trying to tell herself that the swell of pride at his victory was nothing more than a citizen should feel for her ruler.
After the penultimate morning of competition, The King hosted a banquet to honour the competitors and the finalists.
Gwen stood at the top table beside Merlin, behind the empty place set for Morgana. She had kept her place at court despite her mistress’ absence, thanks largely she suspected to Arthur’s intervention.
Snatches of conversation drifted over the general din, knights boasting of their past victories and giggling ladies promising to cheer for whoever had most recently complimented them. Even Uther seemed to forget his grief for a time, talking and eating with his guests. Only once or twice did his eyes drift sadly to the empty space on his left, set to honour his missing ward in her absence.
Gwen ignored the talk, uninterested in the court gossip, and let her mind wander. Despite her best efforts to focus on other things, she could not seem to think of anything but last year’s tournament. Arthur had barged into her quiet life, unwelcome and infuriating, and somehow ended up with a place in her heart. To this day, she didn’t quite understand how.
As her thoughts tended towards him, Gwen found her eyes sliding to where Arthur sat as well. She knew she was all but staring at him yet she could not train her eyes to see anything but him tonight. He was radiant, the golden heir amongst his people, his rich laugh ringing out over the room every few minutes.
He only saw her once, their eyes meeting as he returned to his seat from speaking to someone elsewhere in the hall. His smile seemed to widen to see her and she found herself biting back a smile in reply, aching to have some reason to approach him. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her, and Gwen felt herself flush at the strength of her own reaction to him.
The feast lasted into the early evening, wrapping up before dark to allow the finalists and many spectators the chance to relax and rest in their quarters before tomorrow. To Gwen, increasingly distracted, it seemed to have lasted for hours. She hurried away as soon as she could, retreating to her home where the ghost of Arthur’s presence had seemed to linger ever since the tournament began.
At home, she took out the dress she was so carefully making whenever she could snatch a moment of time to herself. It was methodical work, the simple stitches absorbing her attention and drawing her mind from Arthur to the comforting push and pull of the needle.
She was so intent on her work that the knock on her door caused her to cry out in shock and nearly drop the fabric. She set it aside and moved carefully towards her door. It was not so late that she feared something was wrong, but not so early that she didn’t feel a tiny prickle of apprehension.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Guinevere, it’s Arthur. May I come in?”
Despite all the thoughts of last year, Gwen hadn’t entertained the possibility of the Prince calling at her home again. He hadn’t been back here since the incident with Vivian, when she’d established the barrier that still stood between them at every turn.
After a moment of stunned silence, she realised she hadn’t moved to let him in.
“Of course,” she called back and hurried to release the door.
Arthur stepped in casually, smiling a little nervously. He seemed taller than usual, in her little house with it’s sloping ceiling, seeming to tower over her as he never did in the Castle.
“Good evening,” he said awkwardly, stopping a little way inside the door and shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Good evening Sire,” Gwen replied. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No no, nothing like that,” Arthur assured her, endearingly awkward. “I was just ... in the neighbourhood and I thought perhaps I’d call.”
“You were in the neighbourhood?” Gwen repeated, hearing the disbelief colour her tone.
“Well not exactly,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “I just wanted to ... see you, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Gwen cringed inwardly at her stunned response but he was smiling, apparently pleased to take her by surprise.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you?” He glanced at to the fabric spread over her table.
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I was just doing some sewing. New dress,” she added by way of explanation.
Arthur picked up a swatch of the pale fabric and smiled. He looked up to see her watching him and seemed to think she was waiting for his opinion. “it’s ... it’s pretty,” he ventured.
“You think so?” Gwen asked, amused.
“I have no idea,” he admitted with a laugh, “but as you picked it, I’m sure it must be.”
There was a long moment of silence in which Arthur’s words seemed to hang in the air between them. Arthur flushed scarlet, looking like he’d quite like to take them back.
Gwen looked up at him, fighting a sudden urge to laugh at his attempted flattery. She bit her lip but was unable to prevent a giggle escaping.
“I thought that was quite good,” Arthur protested, feigning a wounded look that only amused Gwen more.
“Oh it was, no it was,” Gwen agreed, laughing harder.
“Now you’re mocking me, that’s nice,” he said, laughing along with her.
The sound of their mingled laughter filled the tiny room and for a few moments, the whole house seemed a lot brighter and warmer than it had felt in a long time.
As her laughter began to fade, Gwen realised with a guilty start that she had moved closer to Arthur without realising it, even gripping his arm with her hand. She released him, suddenly very aware of his proximity and stepped back to a more appropriate distance for a servant and her Prince. A flash of disappointment crossed Arthur’s face that he did little to hide.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Gwen asked, seizing on anything to say to change the subject.
“Not really,” Arthur shrugged, “It should be fun.” His mouth twitched, hiding a sudden smile. “My father was telling me tonight how very sorry he was that Sir William of Deira couldn’t defend his title.”
Gwen laughed lightly. “He is missed.”
“Indeed. I missed him today, he could have been sat there at the feast instead of me.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself well enough,” Gwen reminded him.
“I was,” Arthur agreed. He hesitated before ducking his head to catch her eye and saying in the tone he seemed to reserve only for her, the rich timbre that dragged a trail of goosebumps along her neck, “but I spent all afternoon talking to everyone in the room except the one person I really wanted to talk to.”
Gwen blinked in surprise. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Arthur might have been thinking of her too as they stood so close and yet so distant in the Great Hall. She sighed, fearing a rehash of a conversation that always followed the same argument and reached the same conclusion. “My lord -”
Arthur studied her face for a moment, seeing the reluctance there. She saw a flicker of hesitance in his eyes before he relaxed into a smile. “I mean it. You’re far more interesting. If I have to hear about Sir Roderick’s new wife or Sir Henry’s new horse one more time-”
Gwen laughed at his long-suffering tone, relieved he had chosen not to be too serious.
“And last year was fun, don’t you agree?” he asked, grinning impishly at her, their shared secrets sparkling behind his eyes.
Gwen grinned, following his light mood. “I seem to remember I scolded you quite a lot.”
“I deserved it.”
“And there was the assassin,” she pointed out, amused.
“Yes that was the low point,” Arthur agreed. “But there are always assassins Guinevere, that’s life.”
“Your life perhaps.”
“Admit it, you enjoyed having me around.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “It was tolerable.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ll live.”
She laughed at the tragic expression on his face and he brightened immediately, his face lighting up as hers did.
It was so easy, too easy, to laugh like this with him. It was getting more frequent as well, as the mood in Camelot darkened they could not help but seek each other out, drawn to the warmth they created together. When his responsibilities were getting too heavy, he would seek her out on some pretence of a message and they would somehow lose an hour together, laughing and talking. When she was missing Morgana, she would offer to take his food up instead of Merlin and he’d brighten her mood with stories of Morgana as a child, before Gwen became her maid.
And every now and again, Arthur would step just a little too close and Gwen would forget to step back. Quite suddenly she would be certain that he was going to kiss her.
As their laughter died away, tonight began to feel like one of those times.
Arthur was looking steadily at her, his face shadowed in the flickering candlelight. He was breathing deeply, as though steeling himself to act.
Gwen felt the familiar tug in her heart, willing her to step forwards towards him. It would be so easy she knew, to walk that one tiny step between them and lift her face to his. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, willing herself not to.
If she let him, he would lean down to press his lips to hers and she wouldn’t have the will to stop him. If she let him, he would make her forget everything that stood between them for one wonderful moment. And then he would have to leave and her home would seem a little smaller, her life a little emptier than before.
When she did not move, Arthur stepped forward, dropping his gaze to her lips and letting his head fall slightly, so close to hers.
They stood there like that, lips almost touching, for one suspended moment of silence. Arthur simply waited, searching her face for a hint of what she wanted. He looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him, desperate to find something in her eyes that told him she felt as he did. She felt sure he must be able to see it there, the longing she felt in him reflected back in her eyes. But he did not move without her tacit permission and she could not make herself take that final step, not knowing what it would cost her later.
With effort, Gwen stepped back, her heart pounding. “It’s getting late, you should get back to the castle.”
Arthur let out a long sigh as though he’d been holding his breath. Disappointment evident, he raised his head and nodded. “Yes you’re probably right.”
He stepped back from her and turned away to the door.
Gwen felt the loss of him immediately, tugging at her her heart as he moved further away. She hated this, always being the sensible one who worried of the consequences. Her eyes fell on the fabric spread across the table and she seized a scrap, suddenly determined to do something to show him that she didn’t want to be this way, always taking a step back.
“I gave you a token for luck last year, do you remember?” she asked him as he reached the door.
“I remember,” he said quietly, stopping with his hand on the handle.
“Here,” she said simply, offering a piece of the pale fabric of her new dress.
He turned to accept it, a tiny smile blossoming on his face.
“I still have your favour then?” he asked, a genuine question in his voice.
Gwen’s stomach dropped as she realised what her actions had seemed to him, how he must have interpreted her reluctance. She felt her eyes suddenly swell with tears. “You will always have that Arthur.”
He stepped back towards her, walking slowly to where she stood offering the swatch of fabric.
“You can’t wear it of course because I know you promised the King you would wear no lady’s favour since Morgana is not here to give you hers,” Gwen said, aware that she was talking rather fast. “but I thought you could keep it hidden -”
The rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp as Arthur pressed a sudden kiss to her lips, gathering her up into his arms in one sweeping motion. Gwen did not respond immediately, too shocked to do anything but let the slip of fabric fall from her hand to the floor. Sensing her reaction, Arthur began to pull away but the moment the gentle pressure of his lips began to ease all thoughts of letting him go fled from Gwen’s mind. She leaned back towards him, closing the distance between them again and winding her arms around him. His strong arms enveloped her in warmth, one hand nestling in her hair and one at her back, trying to pull her even closer to him.
For a long moment they stood together in an embrace, neither willing to break the kiss. Finally, they pulled apart and Arthur rested his head against Gwen’s forehead. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him smiling.
“One day I will wear this so all of Camelot can see it,” he promised, before pressing one last kiss to her forehead and pulling away.
Gwen opened her eyes as he was leaving and saw the fabric she had dropped now clutched tightly in his hand. As the door closed, he flashed her one last grin before disappearing into the night.
Gwen saw down at her table and stared around her house, waiting for the cold to settle over her. It did not. Instead the warmth of him seemed to linger around her like she was still in his arms. She didn’t understand. It was supposed to hurt now. For one brief moment she’d let him into her heart and regret was sure to follow, the impossibility of it all weighing down on her.
But Arthur’s promise was still whispering in her mind, over and over and Gwen found herself believing it, if only for a while.
She smiled. Later she would be sensible. Tonight she would let herself hope.
~
The next day Arthur Pendragon won the tournament with ease, a slip of peach fabric tied around his arm and hidden under his armour. As his lifted his visor to the cheering spectators, his eyes found Gwen’s among the crowd, holding her gaze for one long moment.
Blind to the cheering masses around her, Gwen saw only him. Something passed between them in that moment, a knowledge that no rules or traditions could take from them. No matter what, there would always be this - her favour, entirely his.
~
Comments are love :)