Las Challenge 5 - Voting
#4. The Magic of Caring (R, 1979 words)
-----
The air crashed with the shouts of men and their drawn weapons, but Merlin could barely discern Camelot’s knights, their colors washed away with driving rain. Percival was easy, taller than the throng surrounding him, and there was Gwaine, howling in delight as he drove his blade into the belly of another man. But the one Merlin most wanted to find was nowhere to be seen.
“Arthur!”
His voice joined the cacophony, unable to be picked out from the rest even by his own ears. He shouted again, bounding over bodies that thankfully did not belong to Camelot, and scanned across the battleground in search of his king.
The crackle of magic afforded him a lead, but it was both a glimmer of hope and a bastion of doom. Rumors had suggested Morgana was responsible for the latest attacks, but Arthur dismissed them, asserting nobody had seen her since her last foiled attempt.
They should have been more wary.
Merlin chased it down, lashing out at everything that crossed his path. His heart thundered by the time he reached the knoll's rise, only to stop dead in its tracks when he saw the blade slice through the air, straight for Arthur's chest.
“No!”
The fiery bolt from his hands slammed into the marauder’s gut. As the man’s body flew through the air, the sword he wielded dragged a deadly path behind him, slicing through Arthur’s armor in a flurry of golden sparks.
Merlin reached Arthur in time to catch him as he crumpled, dragging him away from the fray. Blood seeped over the edges of the seared metal. Though Arthur struggled, another cut along his right arm hindered his movement, and he collapsed against Merlin, the rain pelting down so hard it bounced off his armor.
“Must…get back.”
Merlin eased Arthur to the ground, bracing his hands against Arthur’s shoulders to keep him still. “You're hurt.”
“I can still fight.”
“And then you'll die.”
Merlin’s heart twisted at the sight of his crooked grin. “You're always such a beacon of hope, aren’t you?”
“It's not your time. Camelot needs you alive.” He paused. “Gwen and your son need you, too.”
A dirty move, but it did the trick. The grin faded, and Arthur swept his gaze back over the fight. The rain washing down the sides of his chest plate created tiny red rivers in the mud.
“Then do what you must,” he finally said.
Merlin nodded. His healing spells were worthless against magic-inflicted wounds, but Arthur needed to be properly tended to anyway, someplace far from the battlegrounds, by someone who would do everything she could to see that Arthur lived.
Taking a deep breath, he began the incantation.
-----
Gwen’s bones ached. It was her own fault for volunteering for an extra shift in Casualty, but she hadn’t anticipated a four-car crash adding seven more hours to it. She’d been exhausted, but she could sleep after she was dead.
Which, if her screaming muscles had anything to say about it, would be sooner rather than later.
Bowing her head, she let the scalding spray wash over her. A moment later, the pipes behind the wall whined. The heat vanished, and Gwen yelped as the water turned to ice. Skittering as far away as she could get, she frantically tried to turn it off, only to shove at the stall door and stumble out when she couldn’t succeed fast enough.
“Great,” she muttered as she stood in the middle of the bathroom, shivering and dripping. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”
She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, intent on getting to the phone. This was the last straw. Mr. Penn was fixing the plumbing this time if she had to hire a solicitor to force his hand.
Something blocked the door. Before she could catch herself, Gwen fell over it, landing in a heap on its other side.
As she drew her bare legs back to see what had been in the way, her eyes widened. A man in chainmail rested on the floor. He turned his head in her direction, and the startling blue gaze that met hers froze her in place.
“Gwen…”
His voice was low and rough. Under other circumstances, she might have found it sexy. But she had no idea who he was, so the fact that he knew her name was more chilling than the shower had been.
“What do you want?”
The smile that had started to form faded, his brows pulling together into a frown. “I…” His lashes fluttering shut for a moment. When they opened again, he lifted his hand to reach for her, only to drop it back to the floor with a pained hiss.
She glanced down. Blood ran in the cracks of the floor, slowly trickling toward her.
“How did you get in here?” she demanded more forcefully.
A slow shake of his head. “Must've been magic.”
“Right. And I’m the bloody queen.”
“Well. Yes.” When he attempted to roll onto his side, his breastplate shifted to reveal a long, angry cut across his chest.
Instinct took over. “Lay back.” Her knee came to rest in a pool of blood, but she ignored it for a better view of his injuries. Whatever had hurt him had sliced through his armor like paper. Blood still flowed from the open wound. “I've got to get you out of these things.”
The smile returned, lopsided and surprisingly adorable. “Whatever my queen desires.”
The blood loss was going to his head. Now he was just babbling.
It took some deduction, but she finally figured out how to remove it, piece by piece. He tried to help, but the cut on his arm tore further, and she ordered him to be still. Through it all, his eyes never left her, tracking her movements when she fetched more towels to staunch the bleeding, following her again when she went in search of her first aid kit. By all rights, he should have passed out long ago, but every time she glanced at him, he was alert, his jaw strong, his gaze clear.
“I need to get you to Casualty.” She wouldn’t even try to figure out how he’d managed to break into her flat. Clearly, he knew she was a doctor, or he wouldn’t have come to her for tending.
He frowned. “Can't you stitch me up?”
“Well, yes, but-”
The hand on his uninjured arm lifted to rest on her forearm. Even through the blood that now coated both of them, his touch was warm and electrifying. “I trust you, Gwen. With my life.”
She sat, transfixed. Maybe she’d treated someone he knew. That would explain it all. It didn’t explain how she could look at him and believe he meant every word, though. But somewhere, beyond the point of rational thought, she did.
“All right. But the first sign of trouble, and I’m calling an ambulance, understand?”
His thumb stroked the side of her wrist, slow and soothing. “Absolutely, my lady.”
-----
Merlin’s horse pounded into the courtyard, breathing heavily from how hard he’d pushed her. Squires waited to help, but he slid off on his own and ran for the stairs, shouting for Gwen the whole way. She appeared from the dark corridors, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes dark with worry.
“How’s Arthur?” he panted before she could speak.
“Isn’t he with you?”
“What? No. I sent him to you.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since you left. The reports-Merlin!”
Her voice trailed after him as he ran past. Arthur must be in the castle somewhere.
An hour later, he had to admit defeat.
Gwen hovered in the background as he tore through his supplies, looking for the ingredients to reverse what he’d done. Without a word, she helped him set up, and though her eyes held no censure, the weight of his failure to protect Arthur bore him down. He could only hope that this spell would work better than the last.
The words fell from his lips, awkward and hot. Gwen sprinkled the potion he’d made along the bed between them, then sat back, watching, waiting, until the air began to thicken, the shadows taking form. Neither one of them breathed, not until they heard his first inhalation, and even then, Gwen’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Arthur?”
Slowly, his eyes opened, his head turning toward her. Merlin sighed in relief when he saw the familiar love shining there
“See?” Arthur said. “I told you everything would be all right.”
She glanced over at Merlin, who shrugged. He had questions of his own.
“Arthur, where’s your armor?”
-----
Gwen stood in the doorway, staring at the empty bed. Not more than six hours ago, she’d finally finished stitching his wounds and helped him to her bedroom so he could rest. Then, she’d cleaned up the mess in the hall and promptly collapsed on the couch, fully intending to call Casualty as soon as she woke up.
Now, that was no longer necessary.
She might have believed the whole thing was a dream if it wasn’t for the pile of mangled armor in the corner of the room. Proof that someone had been here, but her guest had left as mysteriously as he’d arrived.
A knock at the front door finally pulled her away from all the questions whirling around inside her head. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she went out to answer it, casting one last glance down the length of the hall to check that all the blood was gone.
Her greeting died on her tongue at the sight of the man smiling at her from the hallway. He wore a threadbare T-shirt stretched over incredibly broad shoulders, and his faded jeans bore the same spattered damp spots his shirt did. In his left hand was a heavy canvas bag, open at the top to reveal a myriad of tools. If it weren’t for the scruffy moustache and beard, he could’ve been her guest’s doppelganger. Even the eyes were the same.
“I’m looking for Dr. DeVere.” Dear Lord, the voice was the same, too.
“That’s me.”
“Arthur Penn. My father sent me around to work on the plumbing. I need to check to make sure your shower is good again.”
She blinked. “How did you know it wasn’t working?”
His cheeks went pink. “I didn’t until I arrived actually. I was supposed to have it fixed before it broke for good. Sorry about that.” He nodded to the room behind her. “May I come in?”
Her body was on autopilot as she held the door open. The scent of his sweat and a musky aftershave filled her head as he walked past.
“I didn’t realize Mr. Penn’s son was a plumber,” she said.
“I’m not. My father’s a firm believer in learning the business from the ground up, my time at Cambridge be damned.”
He continued chattering as he let himself into the bathroom, leaving her to hover in the hall. It wasn’t the same person, of course. The hair was wrong, and the shirt thin enough to see there was absolutely nothing wrong with the man’s strong chest.
But the feeling that she still knew him prevailed. All the way back to the door when he was done.
“Listen…” At the sound of her voice, he paused on the threshold, waiting for her to finish. Gwen cleared her throat and met his steady gaze with her own. “If you’re done for the day, would you like to get something to eat? There’s a pub around the corner that’s got a great menu.”
His surprised smile took her breath away. “I’d love to. Thanks.”
She might never understand what had happened today, but she could recognize a good omen when she saw it.
As well as a good man.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
#5. You Can Take It With You (PG-13, 1999 words)
Arthur stared down at the army amassed in the valley, considering and dismissing a handful of battle plans in rapid succession.
"Sire, their advance position is too strong," Leon said reluctantly from just behind him. "We cannot possibly break it."
"No, we cannot," the king agreed. His eyes narrowed as he studied a group of the men below, and then a satisfied smile curved his lips. "That is why we are going to circumvent the advance. Look." Pointing to what he had noticed, he said, "Their right flank is weak. We hit them there, and it will upset the rest of their formation; focusing on that will distract them. While they face us there, the rest of our men will move in from the front, and we'll have them." And that bastard King Eadwig would understand that Camelot was no more open to defeat during Arthur's reign than it had been under his father.
Merlin shook his head nervously. "I can't transport us. That spell's still not very reliable."
"So, just how are we supposed to get over there?" Gwaine inquired.
Arthur's smile grew. "I trust that none of you object to crawling through a tunnel."
There was a brief silence behind him, and then Lancelot replied, "For the love of Camelot."
The answering "For the love of Camelot!" with which the rest of the knights chimed in ranged in degrees of excitement, but each one of them meant it. Arthur ignored Merlin's muttered, "I hate tunnels."
Turning his horse around, he moved back through his men, stopping to pass the orders along to his infantry commanders. Then, the knights followed his lead to a cave which only a handful of people even knew existed.
After a quarter of an hour spent wriggling through the passageway, Arthur emerged into the forest near Eadwig's right flank. Merlin popped out behind him, scowling but blessedly silent; and soon, the knights were all gathered nearby. Arthur gestured to indicate what the plan of attack was, and, weapons drawn, they moved.
Merlin went first, blasting several rows of men back into each other. As those who were not knocked down rushed toward him, the knights swept forward out of the trees, and the battle commenced. The presence of his allies limited Merlin's ability to use his skills in a widespread manner, but Arthur was pleased by how they had finally managed to work out a way for him to oversee things and direct a bit of magic as needed. And to think, not so very long ago, he distrusted the practice with every fiber of his being--
Ducking as a mace nearly caught him in the head, he wondered why Merlin had not seen to that particular attacker, bringing his sword up and across the man's torso. A glint at the corner of his vision alerted him to another attack just in time for him to block it, although the force of the blow nearly drove his own sword into his helmet. Trying to push the man away, Arthur finally brought a foot up and kicked him back, and then bashed the pommel of his sword into his opponent's nose guard when the idiot rushed at him again.
Two more soldiers replaced that one, and he easily turned their onslaughts against one another; then, there were three, and then five, and then--
"Arthur!" He heard Merlin's yell over the din of the battle, but was too busy trying to watch the eight men surrounding him to respond. Usually, a calm descended upon him during a fight, but right now, he was feeling panic start to nibble at the edges of his consciousness. If only they would do something, he would be too preoccupied to panic... but then again, that panic was surfacing for a reason. Once they did attack, he could not possibly fend them all off.
There was Merlin's voice again. "Arthur, brace yourself!" The king had no idea what he was supposed to be bracing himself for; clearly, Merlin was going to attempt something, but it would help to know what.
Suddenly, his view of the battle skewed. Blinked. He had a brief flash of-- it looked to be a room?-- and then he was clearly in the battle again.
And then, he was clearly in that room.
And, so was Guinevere.
And, whatever it was that she was wearing, it was amazing.
* * *
Gwen tossed back her third, very large glass of Chardonnay. While she was still something of a lightweight, the string of blind dates on which Morg had been setting her up the last few months was definitely upping her tolerance. The one tonight was the worst yet; he'd been hot and a good dancer, but assumed that meant she would automatically go to bed with him. The idea had occurred to her-- hence the new nightie which she was now wearing whilst reclining on her chaise longue-- but his expectant attitude quickly quashed it. Was it too much to ask from life to send one decent guy her way?
Due to the size of her wineglass and the fact that she'd already emptied it twice, it took her a minute to realize that there was a man standing near the doorway. A fairly big man. In... armor and clutching a sword?
Instantly jumping up and only vaguely aware of the wine sloshing onto her left foot, she demanded, "Who are you?"
"Gwen De Vere?" he asked, sounding both amazed and happy, and at least as drunk as she was (probably more so), the way he wove it into one word.
"You should know; you're in my flat," she pointed out, earning what seemed to be an odd look from him, although it was hard to tell with that helmet on. "Who are you?" she repeated, frowning. The poker was in its holder beside the fireplace; she began edging over, afraid to take her eyes off of him, not liking being unarmed.
It helped that he sheathed his sword, and she paused halfway to the fireplace. He also removed his helmet, revealing quite a good-looking blond man with bright, blue eyes, and full lips which she wouldn't mind having on-- "It's me, Arthur." Momentarily frustrated that he had interrupted her musing about what that mouth could do, she decided it was just as well when he started toward her.
Without thinking, she ordered, "Stop right there."
Looking incredibly confused, he did as told. "Where are we? What is this place?"
Gwen eyed him suspiciously, not trusting the lost-puppy act. "As I've already said, this is my flat. But, since you know who I am, I think you knew that, too. Now, tell me what you're doing here, before I call security." She had no way of doing that from here, but hoped he wasn't aware of that.
"Of course, I know who you are," he exclaimed. "What I do not know is why you are acting this way, or what you're talking about, or..." He let out a frustrated breath, running a gloved hand into his hair. "I do not know what's going on."
He was gazing about in a lost fashion now, and she asked carefully, "How'd you get in here?" Between the locks on her door and the security system she'd had installed not too long ago, he shouldn't have been able to.
"Merlin," he answered, as he stared at the telly in something akin to shock. While she was impressed by the CG in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, too, she didn't think it was that amazing. It was just that pirate with the wooden eye, and yeah, it was the scene where the fork was stuck in it and moving around, but still: CG. Neat, but not worth pointing at the screen with one's jaw hanging open, as though he was seeing a ghost.
"Merlin?" What was the name of that guy who owned the weird shop next to her office? The one that sold all that New Age-y stuff... Morg called him "Merls," but that was clearly a nickname; it had to be him. "What's he got to do with anything?" He seemed nice enough, always said hello in passing, but that didn't explain an armored Arthur or whatever his name really was, standing in her living room.
Instead of answering her question, when Arthur looked back at her, his eyes suddenly traveled her from head to foot in far too familiar a fashion. Heat deepened their blue hue, and a smile that made her stomach flutter curved those lips. "What are you wearing?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he liked it.
It also made something else clear. Letting out an infuriated growl, Gwen exclaimed, "You men are all the same, aren't you?" Marching none too steadily into her bedroom, she ripped the damned nightie off and jumped into the old sweats she'd dumped in her closet, belatedly glad that he hadn't tried to follow her as she huffed back into the living room.
He was still exactly where she'd left him, however, and she flung the stupid lingerie at his feet (she meant to hit his chest, but close enough). His eyebrows rose, and he bent to pick it up, his armor making metallic scraping noises as he did.
"If you like it so much, you can have it, but you can't have me," she snarled, wishing all the consonants hadn't run together like that. "Now, get out!"
"Gwen--" Suddenly, he flashed. Like, there one second, gone the next, and back again-- flashed. Her eyes wide, she blinked... and then, he was completely gone.
Awhile later, she finally stopped staring in shock at where he'd been standing. Where she thought he'd been standing.
Oh hell, she'd imagined the whole thing. Or dreamed it, or hallucinated...
Putting away the bottle of Chardonnay, Gwen decided to find another vice.
* * *
He was just about to try to determine why Guinevere was acting so strangely, why she did not seem to know him, when Arthur suddenly found himself standing in their chambers back in Camelot. The transition had been quicker this time than when he had been sent to that odd place, which was actually more jarring than having a moment to adjust.
But, it was all improved when Guinevere exclaimed, "Arthur!" from across the room and came running, hurling herself against him. Relieved that she seemed back to normal, he merely held her close, closing his eyes as he nuzzled her hair. "How did you get here? They said you disappeared from the battlefield..." She leaned back, worry weaving through the happiness in her expression.
"Merlin," he said simply, and she let out a small, sympathetic laugh. He smiled in return, but sobered as he asked, "The battle-- what happened?"
"Eadwig was soundly beaten by King Arthur's knights, of course," she replied, as if he should not have expected any less. Running a hand sweetly down his cheek, she pulled him down for a long kiss. When it finally drew to an end, she murmured, "I will have a bath drawn." As she stepped back, she glanced at his hand. "What's that?"
Following the line of her gaze with his own, he found that he was still holding that little, lacy, silky... thing, whatever it was, which she had been wearing in the strange place. "This? Is yours," he said slowly, holding it out with a small smile.
Pleasure and curiosity on her face, she accepted it and held it up-- and her mouth dropped open. "Mine, you say?"
He nodded, and the grin she gave him was so full of promise, he began to think about skipping the bath.
"Well, I shall have to wear it, in that case. After your bath," she qualified, shooting him a mischievous wink over her shoulder as she went out the door.
Arthur chuckled to himself as he began to remove his armor. Perhaps, he should encourage Merlin to try unreliable spells more often.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
#6. Where Once Meets Future (PG-13, 1823 words)
Author’s Note: About halfway through conceptualizing this I realized that I might have gotten the idea very slightly from Kate & Leopold.
**
Gwen De Vere had been stalked before. You didn’t get to be an award winning director without aspiring actors doing anything and everything to be cast in your movie. This had included dressing up in ridiculous costumes and going full method acting with their characters.
It hadn’t always been like that. She’d started out doing documentaries which tended to fly completely under the radar except with history buffs. But then one of her films got recognized by some famous critic and suddenly she was the next rising star in directing historical dramas.
At the moment she was between projects and wanted to get back to her roots with pure documentaries rather than continue with all the bastardized historical melodramas she’d somehow been roped into doing lately. They made her feel like such a cheap sell out, considering that she’d originally studied history in university. What she needed, though, was the inspiration.
She did not expect to find it in a mad bloke in full armour who thought it was acceptable to break into her flat to score an audition.
Gwen froze at the sight of him in her living room, surveying her things like he disapproved of her decorating skills. Of course her initial reaction was almost to scream or yell at him to get the fuck out, but instead she slunk over to her front door and buzzed the building’s security.
The man turned around at the noise, his eyes wide. He was surprisingly attractive, she couldn’t help but think, and would look great on screen. Except that she was not rewarding a man with a lead role after a major overstepping of bounds, she didn’t care how well he may or may not be able to act.
“Gwen!” He stepped forward, making Gwen reach for the nearest thing resembling a weapon - an umbrella - and grip it readily at her side.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’m not sure. Merlin got me here.”
“Of course,” Gwen answered flatly, inwardly groaning. Method actors. “I suppose that makes you King Arthur.”
He looked at her like she was the crazy one. “Yes…”
“And let me guess. That there is Excalibur?” she asked, brandishing her umbrella toward his belt.
He looked at her ponderingly. “You act as if you don’t recognize it. Or me for that matter. Has Avalon changed you?”
“What?”
“Avalon. Merlin sent me here and promised that I’d see you again.”
It’s then that she realized the tears welling up in his eyes. Okay, so he was a decent actor.
“Sorry. Merlin made a mistake. This is London, not Avalon.”
“Well even if he sent me to the wrong place, I would rather be here with you than there without you.” He smiled, one side of his mouth twitching as he surveyed her nightgown. “But what on earth are you wearing?”
Gwen shrunk back and raised her umbrella. “Don’t think that flirting with me is going to get you a role. You’ve already gone too far by breaking into my home so don’t go adding sexual harassment to the list.”
“What are you -? Guinevere, you’re my wife.”
Gwen scoffed. “Oh, I get it. So that’s why you chose to be King Arthur over, say… Julius Caesar. You thought you’d be clever because I happen to share my name with some infamous tart in history.”
“Guinevere, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
They were interrupted by a pounding at the door, at which Gwen opened it.
“Miss De Vere, is there a problem?”
“This man is trespassing in my apartment.”
Ted, the security guard, nodded, eyeing ‘Arthur’ curiously. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“No, Ted, I just want him out. If he comes back however,” she said, addressing the blond actor, “I most certainly will call the police.”
“Alright, sir, let’s go.”
Arthur turned to Gwen. “Gwen you’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous? You broke into my flat! I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He pressed his lips together. “It looks like Avalon has changed you,” he said solemnly as he let Ted escort him out. “I wish Merlin had never sent me here.”
*
Gwen was walking down the halls of a castle - a grand castle that she had surely never seen before in her studies, and yet her feet seemed to know where she was going.
She paused for a moment, rubbing the sore part of her middle back with both her hands and exhaling. This child was going to wear her out if she didn’t have it soon.
Guards lined the halls and straightened as she walked past and eventually into a grand hall with a long table.
“Guinevere!” Arthur said, putting down his spoon to stand and pull out her chair. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I need the exercise,” she answered as she sat.
“Guinevere -”
“You worry too much,” she said with a small smile, taking his hand. She knew he had every reason to.
Arthur’s forehead creased in earnest. “When it comes to you and my child there is no such thing.”
He leaned down, kissing her lightly on the lips and it felt all too familiar.
*
“So I’ve heard that downtown London certainly had a strange night last night.”
“And how’s that, Mitch?”
“Apparently… a man was arrested for public drunkenness.”
“Well that’s nothing new.”
“Ah, but it is when the man is dressed like a medieval knight, complete with full battle armour and a real sword, and claiming that he’s King Arthur.”
The man laughed. “Well I once told an entire holiday party that I was Father Christmas and tried to get the women to sit on my lap, so I suppose I can’t be one to judge.”
“Oh I remember that party. You were pretty smashed -”
Gwen hit the button on her radio alarm. She sat up, fingers pressed to her eyelids as she remembered her vividly real dream from last night. She then felt for her stomach, madly checking that there was no child there, even though she could almost feel the remaining twinge of achiness in her back from her dream.
It was mad, of course. Just her mind playing tricks on her. If a man broke into your apartment and told you that you were the queen to his king, it was not that crazy that you would have dreamt such a scenario merely because he put the idea in your head.
But the way he’d looked at her… not just in the dream but yesterday, too. She could have easily believed that he truly loved her. Except he was only acting. And a little too well for Gwen’s liking, because it was beginning to put mad ideas in her head.
“Oh come on, Joe. You’re telling me if you came across this guy -”
“I would not mess with him! Come on! You don’t mess with guys that have swords. Especially belligerently drunk ones.”
Gwen’s head snapped back to her alarm radio as it blared back up. She had barely even comprehended what they’d said when she first woke up but it was swimming back to her.
*
Gwen didn’t know what she was doing at the police station, bailing out a man that had previously broken into her flat. But she was, for some reason that she couldn’t explain.
“Listen, I’m Gwen De Vere, the director.”
“Oh you did that Bloody Mary movie, right?”
“Actually it was Mary, Queen of Scotts.”
“Same difference.”
“Hardly,” she whispered under her breath at the policeman manning the desk. “That man that was arrested last night is one of my actors.”
“Oh, so that’s why the costume.”
“Exactly.”
“He certainly takes his work seriously. We were beginning to wonder if he wasn’t drunk, but mad. We’d even started the paperwork -”
“He is nothing but the most professional of actors. Won’t break role from the time of casting to the last day of filming.”
“Sounds a bit mad in itself, there.”
“Actors,” she said with a shrug. “They’re all a bit mad.”
Gwen’s former trespasser was escorted out a few minutes later and she saw the relief in his eyes upon seeing her. “Act normal,” she whispered to him.
“And what’s normal for you people?”
“Here are his effects, ma’am,” the officer said, placing two boxes with armour and a sword on the desk. “The sword’s certainly seems real. One guy nearly cut his finger with it putting it away.”
“Sorry about that. But we do aim for historical accuracy in my films, right down to the props.”
“Erm, certainly. But maybe you shouldn’t have your actors walk off set with them? And especially not brandish them in public.”
“I’ll make sure of it. Thank you so much, officer.” Gwen pushed one box into Arthur’s arms. “Come on, now. Let’s get to work.”
*
Little more than twenty-four hours after Gwen threatened the man if he ever came back to her flat, he was sitting on her sofa drinking tea with her. He didn’t take his eyes off her and Gwen was not quite as unnerved by it as she should have been.
She no longer thought he was some crazed actor - no one took getting a role that seriously - but rather a man that was severely mentally-ill.
“So where were you before you came to my home yesterday?”
“At a lake outside of the citadel. Merlin took me there. He said I needed to go to Avalon so I could come back one day.”
“Well you certainly came back,” Gwen said. “But why did you have to go to Avalon?”
“I was dying and Merlin couldn’t save me otherwise. And then I made him promise that I’d see you again and he said he would make sure again.”
“Why? What happened to me?”
He swallowed and took a shaky breath. “You died.”
“How?”
“In childbirth. Someone put a curse on me - or you, maybe - to make me suffer the way my father suffered and to lose you.”
“Like your mother.”
“Yes.” He took a sip of tea before he suddenly spoke again. “Wait, how did you know that if you don’t remember?”
“I…” Gwen began, realizing she didn’t know the answer, “I guessed. And the baby?”
“I lost it, too.”
“You don’t know if it was a boy or girl?”
His eyes were tearing again, until some finally fell. “I didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Gwen’s hand drifted down to her stomach and she felt her heart ache at some unknown loss.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Even if he was mad, he didn’t deserve the suffering - imagined or not.
“When I saw you for the first time again… I thought I’d gotten you back. But I guess I don’t, not fully anyway.”
Gwen reached for his hand, the touch of his skin against hers making her shiver. And a small voice, buried deep down in her mind answered maybe you do.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Go back and VOTE HERE
-----
The air crashed with the shouts of men and their drawn weapons, but Merlin could barely discern Camelot’s knights, their colors washed away with driving rain. Percival was easy, taller than the throng surrounding him, and there was Gwaine, howling in delight as he drove his blade into the belly of another man. But the one Merlin most wanted to find was nowhere to be seen.
“Arthur!”
His voice joined the cacophony, unable to be picked out from the rest even by his own ears. He shouted again, bounding over bodies that thankfully did not belong to Camelot, and scanned across the battleground in search of his king.
The crackle of magic afforded him a lead, but it was both a glimmer of hope and a bastion of doom. Rumors had suggested Morgana was responsible for the latest attacks, but Arthur dismissed them, asserting nobody had seen her since her last foiled attempt.
They should have been more wary.
Merlin chased it down, lashing out at everything that crossed his path. His heart thundered by the time he reached the knoll's rise, only to stop dead in its tracks when he saw the blade slice through the air, straight for Arthur's chest.
“No!”
The fiery bolt from his hands slammed into the marauder’s gut. As the man’s body flew through the air, the sword he wielded dragged a deadly path behind him, slicing through Arthur’s armor in a flurry of golden sparks.
Merlin reached Arthur in time to catch him as he crumpled, dragging him away from the fray. Blood seeped over the edges of the seared metal. Though Arthur struggled, another cut along his right arm hindered his movement, and he collapsed against Merlin, the rain pelting down so hard it bounced off his armor.
“Must…get back.”
Merlin eased Arthur to the ground, bracing his hands against Arthur’s shoulders to keep him still. “You're hurt.”
“I can still fight.”
“And then you'll die.”
Merlin’s heart twisted at the sight of his crooked grin. “You're always such a beacon of hope, aren’t you?”
“It's not your time. Camelot needs you alive.” He paused. “Gwen and your son need you, too.”
A dirty move, but it did the trick. The grin faded, and Arthur swept his gaze back over the fight. The rain washing down the sides of his chest plate created tiny red rivers in the mud.
“Then do what you must,” he finally said.
Merlin nodded. His healing spells were worthless against magic-inflicted wounds, but Arthur needed to be properly tended to anyway, someplace far from the battlegrounds, by someone who would do everything she could to see that Arthur lived.
Taking a deep breath, he began the incantation.
-----
Gwen’s bones ached. It was her own fault for volunteering for an extra shift in Casualty, but she hadn’t anticipated a four-car crash adding seven more hours to it. She’d been exhausted, but she could sleep after she was dead.
Which, if her screaming muscles had anything to say about it, would be sooner rather than later.
Bowing her head, she let the scalding spray wash over her. A moment later, the pipes behind the wall whined. The heat vanished, and Gwen yelped as the water turned to ice. Skittering as far away as she could get, she frantically tried to turn it off, only to shove at the stall door and stumble out when she couldn’t succeed fast enough.
“Great,” she muttered as she stood in the middle of the bathroom, shivering and dripping. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”
She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, intent on getting to the phone. This was the last straw. Mr. Penn was fixing the plumbing this time if she had to hire a solicitor to force his hand.
Something blocked the door. Before she could catch herself, Gwen fell over it, landing in a heap on its other side.
As she drew her bare legs back to see what had been in the way, her eyes widened. A man in chainmail rested on the floor. He turned his head in her direction, and the startling blue gaze that met hers froze her in place.
“Gwen…”
His voice was low and rough. Under other circumstances, she might have found it sexy. But she had no idea who he was, so the fact that he knew her name was more chilling than the shower had been.
“What do you want?”
The smile that had started to form faded, his brows pulling together into a frown. “I…” His lashes fluttering shut for a moment. When they opened again, he lifted his hand to reach for her, only to drop it back to the floor with a pained hiss.
She glanced down. Blood ran in the cracks of the floor, slowly trickling toward her.
“How did you get in here?” she demanded more forcefully.
A slow shake of his head. “Must've been magic.”
“Right. And I’m the bloody queen.”
“Well. Yes.” When he attempted to roll onto his side, his breastplate shifted to reveal a long, angry cut across his chest.
Instinct took over. “Lay back.” Her knee came to rest in a pool of blood, but she ignored it for a better view of his injuries. Whatever had hurt him had sliced through his armor like paper. Blood still flowed from the open wound. “I've got to get you out of these things.”
The smile returned, lopsided and surprisingly adorable. “Whatever my queen desires.”
The blood loss was going to his head. Now he was just babbling.
It took some deduction, but she finally figured out how to remove it, piece by piece. He tried to help, but the cut on his arm tore further, and she ordered him to be still. Through it all, his eyes never left her, tracking her movements when she fetched more towels to staunch the bleeding, following her again when she went in search of her first aid kit. By all rights, he should have passed out long ago, but every time she glanced at him, he was alert, his jaw strong, his gaze clear.
“I need to get you to Casualty.” She wouldn’t even try to figure out how he’d managed to break into her flat. Clearly, he knew she was a doctor, or he wouldn’t have come to her for tending.
He frowned. “Can't you stitch me up?”
“Well, yes, but-”
The hand on his uninjured arm lifted to rest on her forearm. Even through the blood that now coated both of them, his touch was warm and electrifying. “I trust you, Gwen. With my life.”
She sat, transfixed. Maybe she’d treated someone he knew. That would explain it all. It didn’t explain how she could look at him and believe he meant every word, though. But somewhere, beyond the point of rational thought, she did.
“All right. But the first sign of trouble, and I’m calling an ambulance, understand?”
His thumb stroked the side of her wrist, slow and soothing. “Absolutely, my lady.”
-----
Merlin’s horse pounded into the courtyard, breathing heavily from how hard he’d pushed her. Squires waited to help, but he slid off on his own and ran for the stairs, shouting for Gwen the whole way. She appeared from the dark corridors, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes dark with worry.
“How’s Arthur?” he panted before she could speak.
“Isn’t he with you?”
“What? No. I sent him to you.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since you left. The reports-Merlin!”
Her voice trailed after him as he ran past. Arthur must be in the castle somewhere.
An hour later, he had to admit defeat.
Gwen hovered in the background as he tore through his supplies, looking for the ingredients to reverse what he’d done. Without a word, she helped him set up, and though her eyes held no censure, the weight of his failure to protect Arthur bore him down. He could only hope that this spell would work better than the last.
The words fell from his lips, awkward and hot. Gwen sprinkled the potion he’d made along the bed between them, then sat back, watching, waiting, until the air began to thicken, the shadows taking form. Neither one of them breathed, not until they heard his first inhalation, and even then, Gwen’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Arthur?”
Slowly, his eyes opened, his head turning toward her. Merlin sighed in relief when he saw the familiar love shining there
“See?” Arthur said. “I told you everything would be all right.”
She glanced over at Merlin, who shrugged. He had questions of his own.
“Arthur, where’s your armor?”
-----
Gwen stood in the doorway, staring at the empty bed. Not more than six hours ago, she’d finally finished stitching his wounds and helped him to her bedroom so he could rest. Then, she’d cleaned up the mess in the hall and promptly collapsed on the couch, fully intending to call Casualty as soon as she woke up.
Now, that was no longer necessary.
She might have believed the whole thing was a dream if it wasn’t for the pile of mangled armor in the corner of the room. Proof that someone had been here, but her guest had left as mysteriously as he’d arrived.
A knock at the front door finally pulled her away from all the questions whirling around inside her head. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she went out to answer it, casting one last glance down the length of the hall to check that all the blood was gone.
Her greeting died on her tongue at the sight of the man smiling at her from the hallway. He wore a threadbare T-shirt stretched over incredibly broad shoulders, and his faded jeans bore the same spattered damp spots his shirt did. In his left hand was a heavy canvas bag, open at the top to reveal a myriad of tools. If it weren’t for the scruffy moustache and beard, he could’ve been her guest’s doppelganger. Even the eyes were the same.
“I’m looking for Dr. DeVere.” Dear Lord, the voice was the same, too.
“That’s me.”
“Arthur Penn. My father sent me around to work on the plumbing. I need to check to make sure your shower is good again.”
She blinked. “How did you know it wasn’t working?”
His cheeks went pink. “I didn’t until I arrived actually. I was supposed to have it fixed before it broke for good. Sorry about that.” He nodded to the room behind her. “May I come in?”
Her body was on autopilot as she held the door open. The scent of his sweat and a musky aftershave filled her head as he walked past.
“I didn’t realize Mr. Penn’s son was a plumber,” she said.
“I’m not. My father’s a firm believer in learning the business from the ground up, my time at Cambridge be damned.”
He continued chattering as he let himself into the bathroom, leaving her to hover in the hall. It wasn’t the same person, of course. The hair was wrong, and the shirt thin enough to see there was absolutely nothing wrong with the man’s strong chest.
But the feeling that she still knew him prevailed. All the way back to the door when he was done.
“Listen…” At the sound of her voice, he paused on the threshold, waiting for her to finish. Gwen cleared her throat and met his steady gaze with her own. “If you’re done for the day, would you like to get something to eat? There’s a pub around the corner that’s got a great menu.”
His surprised smile took her breath away. “I’d love to. Thanks.”
She might never understand what had happened today, but she could recognize a good omen when she saw it.
As well as a good man.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
#5. You Can Take It With You (PG-13, 1999 words)
Arthur stared down at the army amassed in the valley, considering and dismissing a handful of battle plans in rapid succession.
"Sire, their advance position is too strong," Leon said reluctantly from just behind him. "We cannot possibly break it."
"No, we cannot," the king agreed. His eyes narrowed as he studied a group of the men below, and then a satisfied smile curved his lips. "That is why we are going to circumvent the advance. Look." Pointing to what he had noticed, he said, "Their right flank is weak. We hit them there, and it will upset the rest of their formation; focusing on that will distract them. While they face us there, the rest of our men will move in from the front, and we'll have them." And that bastard King Eadwig would understand that Camelot was no more open to defeat during Arthur's reign than it had been under his father.
Merlin shook his head nervously. "I can't transport us. That spell's still not very reliable."
"So, just how are we supposed to get over there?" Gwaine inquired.
Arthur's smile grew. "I trust that none of you object to crawling through a tunnel."
There was a brief silence behind him, and then Lancelot replied, "For the love of Camelot."
The answering "For the love of Camelot!" with which the rest of the knights chimed in ranged in degrees of excitement, but each one of them meant it. Arthur ignored Merlin's muttered, "I hate tunnels."
Turning his horse around, he moved back through his men, stopping to pass the orders along to his infantry commanders. Then, the knights followed his lead to a cave which only a handful of people even knew existed.
After a quarter of an hour spent wriggling through the passageway, Arthur emerged into the forest near Eadwig's right flank. Merlin popped out behind him, scowling but blessedly silent; and soon, the knights were all gathered nearby. Arthur gestured to indicate what the plan of attack was, and, weapons drawn, they moved.
Merlin went first, blasting several rows of men back into each other. As those who were not knocked down rushed toward him, the knights swept forward out of the trees, and the battle commenced. The presence of his allies limited Merlin's ability to use his skills in a widespread manner, but Arthur was pleased by how they had finally managed to work out a way for him to oversee things and direct a bit of magic as needed. And to think, not so very long ago, he distrusted the practice with every fiber of his being--
Ducking as a mace nearly caught him in the head, he wondered why Merlin had not seen to that particular attacker, bringing his sword up and across the man's torso. A glint at the corner of his vision alerted him to another attack just in time for him to block it, although the force of the blow nearly drove his own sword into his helmet. Trying to push the man away, Arthur finally brought a foot up and kicked him back, and then bashed the pommel of his sword into his opponent's nose guard when the idiot rushed at him again.
Two more soldiers replaced that one, and he easily turned their onslaughts against one another; then, there were three, and then five, and then--
"Arthur!" He heard Merlin's yell over the din of the battle, but was too busy trying to watch the eight men surrounding him to respond. Usually, a calm descended upon him during a fight, but right now, he was feeling panic start to nibble at the edges of his consciousness. If only they would do something, he would be too preoccupied to panic... but then again, that panic was surfacing for a reason. Once they did attack, he could not possibly fend them all off.
There was Merlin's voice again. "Arthur, brace yourself!" The king had no idea what he was supposed to be bracing himself for; clearly, Merlin was going to attempt something, but it would help to know what.
Suddenly, his view of the battle skewed. Blinked. He had a brief flash of-- it looked to be a room?-- and then he was clearly in the battle again.
And then, he was clearly in that room.
And, so was Guinevere.
And, whatever it was that she was wearing, it was amazing.
* * *
Gwen tossed back her third, very large glass of Chardonnay. While she was still something of a lightweight, the string of blind dates on which Morg had been setting her up the last few months was definitely upping her tolerance. The one tonight was the worst yet; he'd been hot and a good dancer, but assumed that meant she would automatically go to bed with him. The idea had occurred to her-- hence the new nightie which she was now wearing whilst reclining on her chaise longue-- but his expectant attitude quickly quashed it. Was it too much to ask from life to send one decent guy her way?
Due to the size of her wineglass and the fact that she'd already emptied it twice, it took her a minute to realize that there was a man standing near the doorway. A fairly big man. In... armor and clutching a sword?
Instantly jumping up and only vaguely aware of the wine sloshing onto her left foot, she demanded, "Who are you?"
"Gwen De Vere?" he asked, sounding both amazed and happy, and at least as drunk as she was (probably more so), the way he wove it into one word.
"You should know; you're in my flat," she pointed out, earning what seemed to be an odd look from him, although it was hard to tell with that helmet on. "Who are you?" she repeated, frowning. The poker was in its holder beside the fireplace; she began edging over, afraid to take her eyes off of him, not liking being unarmed.
It helped that he sheathed his sword, and she paused halfway to the fireplace. He also removed his helmet, revealing quite a good-looking blond man with bright, blue eyes, and full lips which she wouldn't mind having on-- "It's me, Arthur." Momentarily frustrated that he had interrupted her musing about what that mouth could do, she decided it was just as well when he started toward her.
Without thinking, she ordered, "Stop right there."
Looking incredibly confused, he did as told. "Where are we? What is this place?"
Gwen eyed him suspiciously, not trusting the lost-puppy act. "As I've already said, this is my flat. But, since you know who I am, I think you knew that, too. Now, tell me what you're doing here, before I call security." She had no way of doing that from here, but hoped he wasn't aware of that.
"Of course, I know who you are," he exclaimed. "What I do not know is why you are acting this way, or what you're talking about, or..." He let out a frustrated breath, running a gloved hand into his hair. "I do not know what's going on."
He was gazing about in a lost fashion now, and she asked carefully, "How'd you get in here?" Between the locks on her door and the security system she'd had installed not too long ago, he shouldn't have been able to.
"Merlin," he answered, as he stared at the telly in something akin to shock. While she was impressed by the CG in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, too, she didn't think it was that amazing. It was just that pirate with the wooden eye, and yeah, it was the scene where the fork was stuck in it and moving around, but still: CG. Neat, but not worth pointing at the screen with one's jaw hanging open, as though he was seeing a ghost.
"Merlin?" What was the name of that guy who owned the weird shop next to her office? The one that sold all that New Age-y stuff... Morg called him "Merls," but that was clearly a nickname; it had to be him. "What's he got to do with anything?" He seemed nice enough, always said hello in passing, but that didn't explain an armored Arthur or whatever his name really was, standing in her living room.
Instead of answering her question, when Arthur looked back at her, his eyes suddenly traveled her from head to foot in far too familiar a fashion. Heat deepened their blue hue, and a smile that made her stomach flutter curved those lips. "What are you wearing?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he liked it.
It also made something else clear. Letting out an infuriated growl, Gwen exclaimed, "You men are all the same, aren't you?" Marching none too steadily into her bedroom, she ripped the damned nightie off and jumped into the old sweats she'd dumped in her closet, belatedly glad that he hadn't tried to follow her as she huffed back into the living room.
He was still exactly where she'd left him, however, and she flung the stupid lingerie at his feet (she meant to hit his chest, but close enough). His eyebrows rose, and he bent to pick it up, his armor making metallic scraping noises as he did.
"If you like it so much, you can have it, but you can't have me," she snarled, wishing all the consonants hadn't run together like that. "Now, get out!"
"Gwen--" Suddenly, he flashed. Like, there one second, gone the next, and back again-- flashed. Her eyes wide, she blinked... and then, he was completely gone.
Awhile later, she finally stopped staring in shock at where he'd been standing. Where she thought he'd been standing.
Oh hell, she'd imagined the whole thing. Or dreamed it, or hallucinated...
Putting away the bottle of Chardonnay, Gwen decided to find another vice.
* * *
He was just about to try to determine why Guinevere was acting so strangely, why she did not seem to know him, when Arthur suddenly found himself standing in their chambers back in Camelot. The transition had been quicker this time than when he had been sent to that odd place, which was actually more jarring than having a moment to adjust.
But, it was all improved when Guinevere exclaimed, "Arthur!" from across the room and came running, hurling herself against him. Relieved that she seemed back to normal, he merely held her close, closing his eyes as he nuzzled her hair. "How did you get here? They said you disappeared from the battlefield..." She leaned back, worry weaving through the happiness in her expression.
"Merlin," he said simply, and she let out a small, sympathetic laugh. He smiled in return, but sobered as he asked, "The battle-- what happened?"
"Eadwig was soundly beaten by King Arthur's knights, of course," she replied, as if he should not have expected any less. Running a hand sweetly down his cheek, she pulled him down for a long kiss. When it finally drew to an end, she murmured, "I will have a bath drawn." As she stepped back, she glanced at his hand. "What's that?"
Following the line of her gaze with his own, he found that he was still holding that little, lacy, silky... thing, whatever it was, which she had been wearing in the strange place. "This? Is yours," he said slowly, holding it out with a small smile.
Pleasure and curiosity on her face, she accepted it and held it up-- and her mouth dropped open. "Mine, you say?"
He nodded, and the grin she gave him was so full of promise, he began to think about skipping the bath.
"Well, I shall have to wear it, in that case. After your bath," she qualified, shooting him a mischievous wink over her shoulder as she went out the door.
Arthur chuckled to himself as he began to remove his armor. Perhaps, he should encourage Merlin to try unreliable spells more often.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
#6. Where Once Meets Future (PG-13, 1823 words)
Author’s Note: About halfway through conceptualizing this I realized that I might have gotten the idea very slightly from Kate & Leopold.
**
Gwen De Vere had been stalked before. You didn’t get to be an award winning director without aspiring actors doing anything and everything to be cast in your movie. This had included dressing up in ridiculous costumes and going full method acting with their characters.
It hadn’t always been like that. She’d started out doing documentaries which tended to fly completely under the radar except with history buffs. But then one of her films got recognized by some famous critic and suddenly she was the next rising star in directing historical dramas.
At the moment she was between projects and wanted to get back to her roots with pure documentaries rather than continue with all the bastardized historical melodramas she’d somehow been roped into doing lately. They made her feel like such a cheap sell out, considering that she’d originally studied history in university. What she needed, though, was the inspiration.
She did not expect to find it in a mad bloke in full armour who thought it was acceptable to break into her flat to score an audition.
Gwen froze at the sight of him in her living room, surveying her things like he disapproved of her decorating skills. Of course her initial reaction was almost to scream or yell at him to get the fuck out, but instead she slunk over to her front door and buzzed the building’s security.
The man turned around at the noise, his eyes wide. He was surprisingly attractive, she couldn’t help but think, and would look great on screen. Except that she was not rewarding a man with a lead role after a major overstepping of bounds, she didn’t care how well he may or may not be able to act.
“Gwen!” He stepped forward, making Gwen reach for the nearest thing resembling a weapon - an umbrella - and grip it readily at her side.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’m not sure. Merlin got me here.”
“Of course,” Gwen answered flatly, inwardly groaning. Method actors. “I suppose that makes you King Arthur.”
He looked at her like she was the crazy one. “Yes…”
“And let me guess. That there is Excalibur?” she asked, brandishing her umbrella toward his belt.
He looked at her ponderingly. “You act as if you don’t recognize it. Or me for that matter. Has Avalon changed you?”
“What?”
“Avalon. Merlin sent me here and promised that I’d see you again.”
It’s then that she realized the tears welling up in his eyes. Okay, so he was a decent actor.
“Sorry. Merlin made a mistake. This is London, not Avalon.”
“Well even if he sent me to the wrong place, I would rather be here with you than there without you.” He smiled, one side of his mouth twitching as he surveyed her nightgown. “But what on earth are you wearing?”
Gwen shrunk back and raised her umbrella. “Don’t think that flirting with me is going to get you a role. You’ve already gone too far by breaking into my home so don’t go adding sexual harassment to the list.”
“What are you -? Guinevere, you’re my wife.”
Gwen scoffed. “Oh, I get it. So that’s why you chose to be King Arthur over, say… Julius Caesar. You thought you’d be clever because I happen to share my name with some infamous tart in history.”
“Guinevere, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
They were interrupted by a pounding at the door, at which Gwen opened it.
“Miss De Vere, is there a problem?”
“This man is trespassing in my apartment.”
Ted, the security guard, nodded, eyeing ‘Arthur’ curiously. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“No, Ted, I just want him out. If he comes back however,” she said, addressing the blond actor, “I most certainly will call the police.”
“Alright, sir, let’s go.”
Arthur turned to Gwen. “Gwen you’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous? You broke into my flat! I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He pressed his lips together. “It looks like Avalon has changed you,” he said solemnly as he let Ted escort him out. “I wish Merlin had never sent me here.”
*
Gwen was walking down the halls of a castle - a grand castle that she had surely never seen before in her studies, and yet her feet seemed to know where she was going.
She paused for a moment, rubbing the sore part of her middle back with both her hands and exhaling. This child was going to wear her out if she didn’t have it soon.
Guards lined the halls and straightened as she walked past and eventually into a grand hall with a long table.
“Guinevere!” Arthur said, putting down his spoon to stand and pull out her chair. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I need the exercise,” she answered as she sat.
“Guinevere -”
“You worry too much,” she said with a small smile, taking his hand. She knew he had every reason to.
Arthur’s forehead creased in earnest. “When it comes to you and my child there is no such thing.”
He leaned down, kissing her lightly on the lips and it felt all too familiar.
*
“So I’ve heard that downtown London certainly had a strange night last night.”
“And how’s that, Mitch?”
“Apparently… a man was arrested for public drunkenness.”
“Well that’s nothing new.”
“Ah, but it is when the man is dressed like a medieval knight, complete with full battle armour and a real sword, and claiming that he’s King Arthur.”
The man laughed. “Well I once told an entire holiday party that I was Father Christmas and tried to get the women to sit on my lap, so I suppose I can’t be one to judge.”
“Oh I remember that party. You were pretty smashed -”
Gwen hit the button on her radio alarm. She sat up, fingers pressed to her eyelids as she remembered her vividly real dream from last night. She then felt for her stomach, madly checking that there was no child there, even though she could almost feel the remaining twinge of achiness in her back from her dream.
It was mad, of course. Just her mind playing tricks on her. If a man broke into your apartment and told you that you were the queen to his king, it was not that crazy that you would have dreamt such a scenario merely because he put the idea in your head.
But the way he’d looked at her… not just in the dream but yesterday, too. She could have easily believed that he truly loved her. Except he was only acting. And a little too well for Gwen’s liking, because it was beginning to put mad ideas in her head.
“Oh come on, Joe. You’re telling me if you came across this guy -”
“I would not mess with him! Come on! You don’t mess with guys that have swords. Especially belligerently drunk ones.”
Gwen’s head snapped back to her alarm radio as it blared back up. She had barely even comprehended what they’d said when she first woke up but it was swimming back to her.
*
Gwen didn’t know what she was doing at the police station, bailing out a man that had previously broken into her flat. But she was, for some reason that she couldn’t explain.
“Listen, I’m Gwen De Vere, the director.”
“Oh you did that Bloody Mary movie, right?”
“Actually it was Mary, Queen of Scotts.”
“Same difference.”
“Hardly,” she whispered under her breath at the policeman manning the desk. “That man that was arrested last night is one of my actors.”
“Oh, so that’s why the costume.”
“Exactly.”
“He certainly takes his work seriously. We were beginning to wonder if he wasn’t drunk, but mad. We’d even started the paperwork -”
“He is nothing but the most professional of actors. Won’t break role from the time of casting to the last day of filming.”
“Sounds a bit mad in itself, there.”
“Actors,” she said with a shrug. “They’re all a bit mad.”
Gwen’s former trespasser was escorted out a few minutes later and she saw the relief in his eyes upon seeing her. “Act normal,” she whispered to him.
“And what’s normal for you people?”
“Here are his effects, ma’am,” the officer said, placing two boxes with armour and a sword on the desk. “The sword’s certainly seems real. One guy nearly cut his finger with it putting it away.”
“Sorry about that. But we do aim for historical accuracy in my films, right down to the props.”
“Erm, certainly. But maybe you shouldn’t have your actors walk off set with them? And especially not brandish them in public.”
“I’ll make sure of it. Thank you so much, officer.” Gwen pushed one box into Arthur’s arms. “Come on, now. Let’s get to work.”
*
Little more than twenty-four hours after Gwen threatened the man if he ever came back to her flat, he was sitting on her sofa drinking tea with her. He didn’t take his eyes off her and Gwen was not quite as unnerved by it as she should have been.
She no longer thought he was some crazed actor - no one took getting a role that seriously - but rather a man that was severely mentally-ill.
“So where were you before you came to my home yesterday?”
“At a lake outside of the citadel. Merlin took me there. He said I needed to go to Avalon so I could come back one day.”
“Well you certainly came back,” Gwen said. “But why did you have to go to Avalon?”
“I was dying and Merlin couldn’t save me otherwise. And then I made him promise that I’d see you again and he said he would make sure again.”
“Why? What happened to me?”
He swallowed and took a shaky breath. “You died.”
“How?”
“In childbirth. Someone put a curse on me - or you, maybe - to make me suffer the way my father suffered and to lose you.”
“Like your mother.”
“Yes.” He took a sip of tea before he suddenly spoke again. “Wait, how did you know that if you don’t remember?”
“I…” Gwen began, realizing she didn’t know the answer, “I guessed. And the baby?”
“I lost it, too.”
“You don’t know if it was a boy or girl?”
His eyes were tearing again, until some finally fell. “I didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Gwen’s hand drifted down to her stomach and she felt her heart ache at some unknown loss.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Even if he was mad, he didn’t deserve the suffering - imagined or not.
“When I saw you for the first time again… I thought I’d gotten you back. But I guess I don’t, not fully anyway.”
Gwen reached for his hand, the touch of his skin against hers making her shiver. And a small voice, buried deep down in her mind answered maybe you do.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Go back and VOTE HERE