The Ward 11/21
Title: The Ward 11/21
Author:tudor_rose445
Rating: Pg-13
Characters/Pairings:Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana, Uther, Igraine, Merlin, Gaius, Arthur/Guinevere, Igraine/Uther, Morgana/Merlin?.
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".
Summary: AU. The life of Guinevere, daughter to Sir Thomas of Camelot, has seemingly changed over night. After the death of her father and brother she is sent to the court of King Uther to become his ward. There she grows amongst the two royal children, Prince Arthur and Princess Morgana. Her time with the Pendragons will have a large influence on her life, and help to shape her into the queen of legend.
Chapter 10
The tournament provides surprising results, most importantly in the prince's maturation.
Author’s notes: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz .
Tournaments were without a doubt one of Arthur's favorite pastimes. Even as a child he had liked to showcase his skills and now, as full-fledged knight, he was able to display his prowess to the entire court. The prize often was of little matter; it was the glory that came with the title of victor that the warrior prince sought. He had always aimed to impress, especially his father. To have Uther acknowledge his heir’s achievements made him feel as if the sun was finally out of the clouds and shining on him and him alone.
Morgana was clearly upset throughout the entire week of the tournament, yet Arthur truly did not know what to do about the situation. He had tried speaking to his father on choosing another candidate but the older man had simply shut him out. There wasn't much else he could do to comfort his sister as the sentimental sphere of life was often neglected by men of his standing. He couldn't suddenly step into Gwen's role and serve as a shoulder to cry on.
Guinevere.
He had been terribly disappointed that she hadn't been able to witness the tournament. Merlin informed him that Gaius had been administering the medication for her illness, and that to have her up and about at such a stage would only make the sickness escalate. It still didn't stop the prince from worrying and hoping that she might get better before the end of the tournament.
And, miracle of miracles, she had.
He had fought harder than before during this tournament and put a true effort into ensuring that he would make it to the finals. He needed her to see him win. It was vital for her to behold him in all his glory doing what he does best. He wanted to see her stunned by his power, respect shining through her doe eyes.
Arthur waited impatiently in the great hall, trying to avoid making small talk with the other nobles. He wanted to be the first one to converse with her once the lady arrived.
His face visibly brightened as he saw her enter the hall. Her hair, which he wished to bury his hands in, was gathered over to the side of one of her shoulders, lively curls following the soft line of her neck and shoulder. His eyes feasted on the part of her neck revealed to the naked eye. So glad he was to see her that it took him a moment to realize that the recently recovered lady was already on the arm of another knight.
And not just any knight - Lancelot - the noble he was to face in the finals the following morning.
Arthur gritted his teeth before turning away so as to avoid witnessing the barely disguised look of adoration that was currently on Lancelot's face. He had seen men giving Gwen appreciative glances over the past few years, but had thought nothing of it till these past months, his focus straying to his father’s ward for quite some time now, he realized. Now every time another man’s eyes lingered just a moment too long on her delicate features, it made him want to throw down his gauntlet. Was he being dramatic? Probably. These sudden impulses were the result of recently discovered feelings he had never felt before, about anyone or anything.
He grabbed a goblet from a nearby servant's tray before taking a rather large swig from it.
“You're not a very pleasant drunk,” his manservant commented as he came to stand beside him. “So I don't think you being a jealous drunk will be any better.”
Arthur frowned before glancing over his shoulder at the boy. “Shut up, Merlin,” he answered, finding his eyes straying to the pair despite his earlier refusal to look at them. He made a mental note to cause some serious physical damage to this Sir Lancelot, within reason yet leaving a mark.
Guinevere felt self conscious under the gaze of the man beside her. He was, undoubtedly, handsome and it made her feel flustered that he was paying her so much attention. She saw one of the court ladies lean to whisper something to another courtier, their eyes trained on Gwen and her companion. No doubt the following morning rumors would be flying about the king's ward and the handsome newcomer. She felt a blush tint her cheeks.
He led her up to the dais, relinquishing her hand. She smiled softly. “Thank you,” she said, as he bowed before her and retired to his own seat. She kept her gaze turned downward as she took her seat next to Morgana - the princess was visibly amused perhaps for the first time since her father had announced her betrothal.
“It seems that the newest addition to Camelot’s finest has taken a shine to you,” she teased her friend as the young woman placed her linen napkin in her lap.
“He was just accompanying me to the feast,” the girl insisted, raising her gaze. “I nearly knocked him over hurrying here; it was nice of him to even talk to me after that.”
Morgana gave her a knowing smile as she quickly brushed aside the girl's excuse. Her attention flew from Gwen to the dark haired boy passing by the dais, who was giving the princess a thinly disguised look of longing.
Guinevere glanced back and forth between the two before nudging her Morgana to break her reverie. “You had best watch yourself,” she murmured, before standing as the king entered the hall. After Uther had taken his seat and gestured for the rest of the company to do the same the lady leaned over to the princess once more. “Your father might not punish you for it, but I don't think he would have any qualms about punishing Merlin.”
Morgana seemed to ignore her words, although she did resist looking over at the young man when he attended a nobleman close to their table.
They spoke of nothing of importance throughout the meal in order to avoid mentioning their limited time together. Instead, Morgana regaled the events of the past week to her friend as the feast went on around them. Gwen ate sparingly, unable to stomach the thought of a full meal after nearly a week of sipping broth. The very sight of the quail being paraded toward the dais sent her stomach in somersaults.
Yet despite her reluctance to eat, she was nearly itching to begin dancing once more. After being cooped up in bed for so long she wished to stretch her limbs with the kicks and turns of the dances. As soon as the musicians began to strike up a song she felt excitement well up in her chest. She was too focused on letting loose some of her pent up energy that she didn't notice the gaze of the brown haired noble she had met earlier. It only took Arthur holding out his hand to her to break her from her fog.
Despite herself she felt her brow furrow in confusion.
Normally the prince opened any feast with a dance with Morgana. It was something of a tradition and, as Morgana was first lady of the court, it was her privilege. However this night Uther had already led the princess over to some guests mingling before the musicians playing their tune. She wordlessly took his hand, mentally taking note that his gaze upon her seemed more intense than usual this night. They joined the other dancers, bowing and curtseying respectively before joining the dance. As the pair took a step in toward each other, palms forward, he whispered.
“When were you introduced to Sir Lancelot?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she took a step back, completing a turn with the rest of the ladies in line before returning to connect their palms together once again.
“What does it matter?” she asked, standing still as he completed his own circle as dictated by the dance. He tried to appear indifferent as he shrugged beneath his tunic.
“I've heard things regarding his character,” he commented before they parted once more. Once they were reunited he continued. “He's a bit of a rogue. I want you to stay away from him.”
Annoyance reared up in her chest. Who was he to tell her what to do?
“I think that you may have forgotten, Arthur, that you are not yet king,” she chastised, trying to keep from frowning. The curious eyes watching the prince and the king's ward would certainly draw wrong conclusions from any obvious emotion she exhibited. “If The King has reason to believe that my association with this man should cease, then I will refrain from speaking to him.”
She fell into a graceful curtsey, one ingrained within her since childhood, as the song ended.
“But until your coronation is upon us, my lord, your words are simply advice and not orders.”
She ducked away from him before he had a chance to pull her into another dance. Instead she melted into the crowd to search for a quiet place to slow the thudding in her chest.
How dare he? She could understand that Arthur was concerned about her; she considered him a brother and expected such protective behavior from him. But to go as far as to degrade the man's character in front of her? The jealousy that he had for his competitor fairly disgusted her. Did he expect to act the same way once becoming king?
She drifted through the crowd before feeling a gentle hand on her elbow.
“Milady.”
She smiled shyly as she discovered it to be Lancelot.
Really, Arthur was overreacting. Lancelot was simply being polite to her. He must know how mortified she was to have nearly knocked him over.
“Would you care to join me for this dance?” his eyes locked with hers.
Her earlier stance faltered for a moment. Was he flirting with her, after all?
She had been in the court for long enough to notice it. But to think that this nice young man was playing the age old game of flirtation with her was almost difficult to believe. She turned her head slightly, feeling someone's eyes boring a hole into her back. It was clear from her obscure angle that Arthur was staring at them.
“I would love to,” she said, carefully placing her hand in his.
Guinevere refused to look back at the prince, reveling in the chance to flaunt the lack of authority that he had over her. She knew it was spiteful, but she wasn't Arthur’s responsibility. It was time for him to be reminded of that.
0o0o0
Uther barely withheled a chuckle at the sight of his eldest child openly glaring at the young knight. At first when he had noticed his son's behavior at the start of the feast he had guessed that the boy's ire had been because Lancelot was his opponent. But the young man didn't seem to be just his opponent on the tournament grounds, but in matters of the heart as well.
The king had noticed for some time now that Arthur’s interest in his young ward grew and graduated rather than declined. Yet she, as far as Uther could tell, had not yet interpreted his actions and intent looks. Perhaps she thought him a little overbearing, but the king doubted that his innocent ward knew exactly what Arthur desired.
The ruler of Camelot sipped from his goblet amused. Arthur had always been popular among the court ladies, yet it seemed that he had encountered a problem with this particular maiden; she didn't seem to be the least bit interested. He thought idly as he watched the two. Arthur's gaze was glued to Guinevere as she was led to the floor by the new nobleman. What had his name been? Lancelot.
With Morgana's marriage looming he knew he would then have to turn his attention to making matches for his son and ward.
Would it be possible to simply pair the two together?
It wasn’t the first time that this thought had crossed his mind. He and Igraine had considered it once or twice but nothing had been decided and then his queen died.
Such a match would be extremely convenient. Not only did he not have to relinquish Guinevere's lands for such a marriage, but he would also not have to worry about heirs by the look of his son's clenched jaw every time their hands had touched while dancing. She might not be as well bred as perhaps a princess from a foreign land, but she had after all been educated and approved of by the late queen. There were times when Uther thought that his adopted daughter acted more like his wife than his actual child.
His attention turned to the young man leading her through the myriad of turns and twists with the rest of the guests. Now that Guinevere was getting older such men had to be closely watched and she needed to be protected. The king made eye contact with an elderly man, prompting Geoffrey of Monmouth to approach him.
“Sire?” he asked, his voice slightly grave from age.
“I wish for you to find out all that you can about this Sir Lancelot,” he ordered, nodding toward the man currently bowing to Guinevere.
“My ward is an innocent girl, Geoffrey.”
He set down his empty goblet, a slight frown on his face.
“Any male attention toward her needs to be investigated.”
0o0o0
It wasn't long before sunrise that Arthur found his feet leading him to the wing of his old chambers rather than to the tournament grounds. By all rights he should be getting in a few practice blows before the last match of the day, yet his head nor his heart were up for it. Guinevere's open defiance had plagued him long into the night and, despite his irritation toward her refusal of his request, he found himself craving for her forgiveness. (And if he was entirely honest with himself, it also aroused his other desires.)
What had she told him once?
His behavior was not befitting for the future king.
That had been it.
But he had an ulterior motive to this sudden apology. He had hoped that perhaps she would be impressed with his humble behavior, and allow him to wear her favors for luck in the tournament. He could only imagine Lancelot's stunned expression when the nobleman saw the prince wearing a scrap of cloth matching the attire of the king's ward.
As he neared the young woman's chambers his pace slowed. The door to her receiving rooms was open on a glint, most likely left like that by an errant servant. He raised his fist to knock despite the door being open, not wanting to seem even more a brute by barging in.
His fist froze mid air.
She was facing away from him, toward her window that overlooked the courtyard. The sun, which had just risen from its dwelling behind the cliffs far away, illuminated her face and hair as she stood before the glass. One slender hand rested on the casings of the window, as if she would rather be outside bathing in the sun's rays than watching them veiled behind the glass.
His attention only then drifted from the way her hair looked in the light to her attire.
Her nightdress looked to be a lightweight fabric, adorned with a lace pattern. He had truly never believed something could look so desirable and delicate at the same time.
As he had pondered when hearing her in the bath, again he thought of how it would feel to run his hands along her bare skin. She looked so soft, so gentle, so ... Gwen.
A movement from within the room woke him from his stupor. Quickly he ducked away from the room in order to avoid detection by either the object of his affection or her nurse.
As he hurried to the training grounds he felt determination well up inside of him.
Now he had more of an incentive than ever to win.
0o0o0
Guinevere carefully adjusted her skirt after taking her seat in the Royal Box at the head of the tournament arena. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a moment before resting upon the entrance gate. She had yet to see how this Lancelot fought, although logic told her that he must be rather good if he had managed to get to the finals with Arthur.
The winner's bounty rested on a cloth covered table beside the king's throne: a rather expansive bag of gold coins. Really, it could be either Arthur or Lancelot who walked away with the prize that morning. Morgana appeared beside her a moment later, rather quiet as she stared blankly out at the crowd.
Gwen knew better to comment. As this was the last day of the festival, the princess' departure would be on the morrow.
A clanking of metal armor signaled the entrance of the two competitors. Both carried their helmets under their arms, their swords in hand as they surveyed the crowd. Guinevere clapped politely for the two young men as she felt apprehension well up inside of her. For some reason Arthur had something against Lancelot. She sincerely hoped that he fought to win that day, and not for revenge.
Both knights approached the royal box, waiting for the king's speech. Yet Uther remained absent.
The young lady Guinevere hid a frown as a quiet murmur spread through the tribunes. The king never missed a tournament, especially a battle in which his son participated. She quietly observed the pair as they stood before the empty throne. Arthur stood with the stance of a soldier, confident, seemingly unyielding. Gwen had seen his fighting skills progress throughout the years and she did not doubt that he would serve Camelot well as a mighty warrior king with his vast army. The young nobleman next to him also seemed stoic, but she detected a bit of nervousness in him as his eyes scanned the view before him.
The crowd stood as Uther appeared at the head of the arena, yet he made no move to enter it. Instead he gestured with his right hand, sending a small troop of guards into the arena. The dueling pair turned to bow to the king but halted at the sight of the armed men.
The king's voice boomed over the arena.
“The punishment for impersonating a member of the nobility is imprisonment,” he announced, causing the crowd to resurrect their murmur. Gwen felt the blood drain from her face. He couldn't be talking about Lancelot? Her eyes flickered over to the knight who was still standing erect, his expression unreadable. The king approached the boy as two guards grabbed his forearms.
Arthur stepped forward, a frown of confusion painted across his features.
“Father, what is the meaning of this?” he inquired, shifting his helmet in his grasp. “He had his papers of no-”
Uther shook his head, cutting his son off.
“I had Geoffrey check his 'papers',” he sounded disgusted, as if he was speaking to a squished bug underfoot. “There is no such son named 'Lancelot' of Northumbria.”
The crowd quieted instantly at this knowledge, hundreds of eyes turning to the pretender.
Despite this utter embarrassment, Lancelot seemed to be holding himself well.
“I am deeply sorry if I have offended you, sire,” he began, his voice clear sounding despite the situation. Gwen knew that if it had been her she would be quaking in fear of Uther's punishment. The king had already shown how cruel he could be.
“But I knew that I could win this competition, despite having not been raised a noble and trained as such.” His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find those to support his cause. “I have seen many a man who would make a fine knight, despite his lack of noble birth.” Understanding shone in a handful of spectators' eyes, but those who sympathized with the new prisoner didn't dare risk voicing their thoughts.
Gwen felt her hands grasp at the arm rests of her chair, as if willing Uther to forgive the brave man by holding on even tighter.
Yet it was not to be so.
Uther sneered down upon the boy.
“Take him away,” he barked to the guards, causing the two men to escort their cooperative prisoner from the arena.
Uther turned to face the crowd, a trace of his displeasure still upon his features.
“As the finalist was found to be a traitor to the court, our second finalist will be announced the winner of this tournament.” A smile finally slipped onto the king’s face, as if the whole incident had never happened. “Arthur Pendragon!”
The crowd clapped tentatively for the winner before finishing with gusto after the anxiety of the situation had worn off.
Arthur, for his part, seemed to be holding up well against this sudden change in the competition. But to Guinevere's surprise he did not look pleased by this, but puzzled. But now was not the time to question his reasons.
Slowly he warmed up to the decision before raising his sword in the air to salute the gathered crowd. Uther clapped him on the back, jostling the unsuspecting young man slightly as they left the arena.
0o0o0
As the final feast of the festival was not to be held until that evening, the members of the royal family had retired to their own devices for the rest of the afternoon, as did the residing courtiers. Knowing that now was the time to catch Arthur before he went off to drill the knights, Guinevere broke away from Batilda to follow the prince.
It was not Arthur, but Merlin who noticed the noblewoman trailing them.
“Milady,” he acknowledged her with a bow, prompting Arthur to turn around to see her.
Something unreadable flashed in his eyes for a moment. Was it excitement? She didn't bother to decipher it as she launched into her tirade.
“You must get your father to change his decision,” she ordered, watching as his expression morphed into one of amusement.
“And why would I do that?” the prince questioned as he shouldered open the door to his chambers. Both the servant and ward followed him inside, watching as he threw his discarded gauntlets upon the table.
She crossed her arms, trying to not appear childlike in her clear disapproval.
He watched her silently as Merlin quickly undid the straps of his armor. The boy seemed absorbed in the buckles of the armor, but both the prince and noblewoman knew that he was listening intently.
“Because it is the right thing to do. From what I've heard, he is an excellent fighter.” She lifted her chin a bit higher. “I've heard talk that he is perhaps even better than you.”
Arthur's eyes narrowed for a moment. “Then you must have heard wrong,” he corrected her, shrugging the chain mail off before handing it to Merlin, who's arms were already filled with the discarded armor. “If we had fought I would have defeated him.”
Merlin placed the armor in order on the table's surface, not looking up at the two as he spoke. “I don't know about that. Lancelot... he was really good.” The prince gave him a glare, which didn't seem to bother the boy at all. “Just stating the facts is all,” he added, grabbing a cloth before beginning to polish the metal.
Gwen sighed and took a step closer to him, stopping right before the prince to look up at him. There was a considerable height difference between them, yet this didn't make her feel daunted in the slightest.
“So there was a legitimate chance that Lancelot might have defeated you. It's a shame that you didn't stand up to your father.”
She hadn't, in her anger, noticed how close she was. But naturally Arthur did. His head nearly dipped lower for a moment before he caught himself.
“It is a shame that we will never find out,” he retorted, throwing her own words back at her. “And what do you mean, 'stand up' to my father? Lancelot clearly broke the rules; imprisonment was to be expected.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized how close she was to him at that moment. She could nearly feel the heat emitted from his skin, ensconced beneath his tunic and breeches. His scent was so … so Arthur.
But her anger at this latest injustice was enough to keep her mind from focusing on the aspects of her childhood friend that shouted 'full grown gorgeous man'.
“Yet he was perhaps more noble in his behavior than quite a few barons of the court,” she explained, noticing Merlin pausing in his polishing out of the corner of her eye. She suspected that Morgana would know of this argument within the hour. “I thought you, of all people, would hold chivalry to the highest of standards.”
The tension was becoming too much even for Guinevere’s innocent self. And so she retreated to the door, feeling that she could breathe once more.
“Do you fancy him? Is that it?”
His question stilled her hand upon the door. She pivoted to face him once more.
Did she? Lancelot was pleasant, polite, obviously brave … but …
“No,” she replied, feeling quite confident with her answer. “I do not. He is a pleasant man, but....” She shook her head.
“Then why are you so concerned?” he inquired, something akin to relief flashing across his features for a second.
She pondered this for a moment. Why did she care?
Honestly, this man had nothing to do with her. Yet knowing that he was so kind and brave… He shouldn't be punished for attending a competition that he clearly had the skill to go through with, despite his low birth.
“Because it is the right thing to do,” she answered, realizing that she didn't sound like herself.
She sounded older, serious.
She unconsciously held herself up a bit straighter, exhibiting some of the traits she had admired in the long past queen.
“I thought that you, the future king, would desire the same thing.” She opened the door. “But it seems I was wrong.”
She left the silent prince, who, caught up in her words, didn't notice the curious stare his manservant gave him.
0o0o0
Lancelot found his eyes drawn once more to the scattering of hay that lined the floor of his cell. Was he to count them again?
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
He knew entering the competition would be foolish, but it had been too good to pass up. He had sincerely hoped that once the king had seen his skill his family's standing wouldn't be of consequence. He kicked the pile of straw in a fit of annoyance. Obviously he had had his head up in the clouds.
The clanging of keys in the lock of his cell caught his attention immediately. The door swung open, revealing the prince standing before the exit with a satchel in his hands. The two men, competitors only hours earlier, locked gazes for a beat.
Finally the prince spoke. “If you leave now, you might be able to reach the border by nightfall.”
Without warning Arthur tossed a bag towards Lancelot, who caught it swiftly. Metal clanged inside, the sound of coins. The winnings of the tournament’s victor.
Lancelot furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the other man. “What-”
“I've spoken to my father,” he continued, remaining at the exit of the cell. He seemed a bit like a child that was told to apologize. “He has decided to reduce your sentence to exile. If I were you, I would leave before he changes his mind.”
The other man stared at him, dumfounded.
“Why would you do this? I mean, I'm grateful, but it is a surprise.”
Arthur shrugged, jiggling the key-ring in his hand. “Let's just say there is a maiden within these castle walls that is too kind for her own good.” He gave the other man something of a half smile before leaving the still shocked young man in the open cell.
Lancelot forced his limbs to work through his shock as he pawed through the contents of the satchel. Along with a cloak and a bit of food and water was a velvet pouch. The weight of it, along with the noise, alerted the noble-pretender that it held coins. A wistful smile appeared on his lips before he darted from the cell.
0o0o0
The blazing summer was relentless against his metal covered skin that next afternoon. His armor felt heavier than ever as he trudged over to the fence outlining the training grounds where he knew Merlin would be waiting with a jug of water. He tugged his helmet off of his head; his sweat drenched locks sticking to his forehead.
Yet it wasn't his rather large-eared servant that met him but Guinevere. Her gown, a peach creation, along with the flowers woven into her hair made her almost look ethereal. Perhaps it was the sun, but she did look like something that didn't quite belong in this world.
The lady held out a goblet of water to him, which he took gratefully. She watched him silently as he downed it nearly in one sip before handing him a cloth to wipe at his face.
“Thank you.”
She didn't elaborate, and she had no need to; he understood.
She stood outside for the rest of that afternoon's drills, watching with something akin to pride in her eyes.
Arthur felt as if he could float; he felt invincible. The bruises he earned that day from his carelessness wouldn't matter; her appraising looks were more than enough for a consolation. Her shining eyes would be what he saw in his dreams that night.