“Hello,” a booming voice said from the doorway. “Dad?” Arthur asked, peering over Gwen’s shoulder. “Come in, Mr. Pendragon. Morgana,” Gwen said meekly, inwardly cursing herself for choosing to wear her ratty, paint splattered sweatpants to bed. “What are you doing here?” Arthur questioned, just as confused as Gwen. “Well, Merlin may have called me and informed me of some things,” Morgana said, taking off her wool pea coat and cashmere scarf. “These are for you, Gwen,” Uther said slightly distractedly, handing her a vase full of flowers. His eyes were scanning Gwen’s apartment from top to bottom. “Oh my, they’re absolutely beautiful. Thank you,” Gwen whispered, in complete and utter shock. “Merlin told me all the trouble you’ve been going through the past week in preparing dinner for us. Thank you,” Morgana said earnestly, putting her hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s a bit small in here, isn’t it?” Uther said, settling himself on the couch. “Dad!” Arthur chided. “It’s cozy, I mean,” Uther blurted. “Why does it smell like burnt pancakes in here?” Morgana said with her nose scrunched up. “Oh, shit! The stove! The pancakes! ” Arthur cried as he ran into the kitchen. Gwen smiled. They were trying. The Pendragons were attempting to be nice to her. And that meant the world to her.
___________________
“That wasn’t a disaster,” Arthur said, stroking Gwen’s back. They were lying in Gwen’s bed, Christmas duties finally over. They both were on their sides facing one another, their faces outlined by the Christmas lights around the windows. “You were fantastic, Arthur. Thank you,” Gwen smiled, kissing him on the tip of his nose. He slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her closer to him. “You too. But you’re always fantastic.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I guess we have Merlin to thank for today’s events. We owe him. Big time,” she replied, nuzzling his neck. “Yeah. We’ll give him a fruitcake,” he laughed, kissing her forehead. He snaked his warm hands up her torso. “Merry Christmas, Arthur,” she whispered into his ear. “Merry Christmas, Guinevere,” he whispered against her lips.
“Hello,” a booming voice said from the doorway.
“Dad?” Arthur asked, peering over Gwen’s shoulder.
“Come in, Mr. Pendragon. Morgana,” Gwen said meekly, inwardly cursing herself for choosing to wear her ratty, paint splattered sweatpants to bed.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur questioned, just as confused as Gwen.
“Well, Merlin may have called me and informed me of some things,” Morgana said, taking off her wool pea coat and cashmere scarf.
“These are for you, Gwen,” Uther said slightly distractedly, handing her a vase full of flowers. His eyes were scanning Gwen’s apartment from top to bottom.
“Oh my, they’re absolutely beautiful. Thank you,” Gwen whispered, in complete and utter shock.
“Merlin told me all the trouble you’ve been going through the past week in preparing dinner for us. Thank you,” Morgana said earnestly, putting her hand on Gwen’s shoulder.
“It’s a bit small in here, isn’t it?” Uther said, settling himself on the couch.
“Dad!” Arthur chided.
“It’s cozy, I mean,” Uther blurted.
“Why does it smell like burnt pancakes in here?” Morgana said with her nose scrunched up.
“Oh, shit! The stove! The pancakes! ” Arthur cried as he ran into the kitchen.
Gwen smiled. They were trying. The Pendragons were attempting to be nice to her. And that meant the world to her.
___________________
“That wasn’t a disaster,” Arthur said, stroking Gwen’s back.
They were lying in Gwen’s bed, Christmas duties finally over. They both were on their sides facing one another, their faces outlined by the Christmas lights around the windows.
“You were fantastic, Arthur. Thank you,” Gwen smiled, kissing him on the tip of his nose.
He slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her closer to him.
“You too. But you’re always fantastic.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
“I guess we have Merlin to thank for today’s events. We owe him. Big time,” she replied, nuzzling his neck.
“Yeah. We’ll give him a fruitcake,” he laughed, kissing her forehead. He snaked his warm hands up her torso.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur,” she whispered into his ear.
“Merry Christmas, Guinevere,” he whispered against her lips.
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