LC4 Entry 4: Queen of Hearts (Part 1)
Title: Queen of Hearts (Part 1)
Themes and/or Prompt/s captured
Rating: PG-13 (to be on the safe side)
Word count: 3,420 (so far)
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Guinevere
Spoilers/Warnings: *Optional*
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: She is a new queen, he is a stranger in her kingdom.
Author’s notes: *Optional* All mistakes are mine.
Fic inspired by this artwork: http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j343/ag_fics/2012%20Challenge%20Banners/longchallenge4promptbanner1.png
She woke with the fingers of the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon, tiny whispers of gold and purple. Guinevere loved the morning, the quiet of the castle before the bustle of the day began.
Rising, she stretched, pushing back her covers and walking over to the window to watch the sun rise as she did most days. The peace of those early morning moments helped her tread through the rest of her day. Days that were now long and lonely since she’d lost her father and had seceded him in ruling the kingdom.
She had known from a young age that one day this would be her role, but she thought she’d be ruling beside her husband, many years from now.
Only 20 years of age and her life was consumed by council meetings, paperwork, and overseeing the training of the knights - something which she had insisted.
She smiled at that thought. It had taken her years of pleading and negotiating with her father to get him to allow her to learn how to fight, but eventually he gave in, and she began training. She was one of the better swordsmen of all the knights, and every once in awhile she would get Sir Leon to allow her to train with him. However, that was before she became Queen. Now, he only allowed her to watch the training. She had to practice separately from the others, if she even had time to do that.
Sighing, she went about preparing herself from the day, brushing her long wavy curls and slipping out of her nightgown and into a linen shift. Her handmaiden would be along soon, but Guinevere didn’t mind dressing herself as much as she could. In fact, she preferred it that way.
The golden hues of the sun lit up the kingdom of Camelot and she gazed at the village before her. How she longed to go for a walk through the lower town as she used to do when her father was still alive. She always had a guard of knights, usually Percival and Gwaine, if she had her choosing, but she loved to shop among the people, greeting the familiar faces and the children that played in the streets.
That, too, was something she wasn’t allowed to do anymore. Sir Leon regretfully told her it was too dangerous. She was the Queen and they couldn’t risk it so soon after her succession. “Maybe one day in the future, Gwen...” he’d whispered as he left, a hand on her shoulder. He’d been her friend long before he became Head Knight, and that familiarity was comforting for her, even though their stations in life had changed.
A knock at her door pulled her from her musings and she beckoned whoever it was inside.
“Merlin!” She exclaimed, happy to see her friend and, now, Advisor to the Queen.
He smiled at her, his hair sticking up at awkward angles as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and he nodded to her, “Your Majesty,” he greeted.
She scowled at him, “Merlin, how many times have I told you that when it’s just you and me, it’s Gwen...please. You are my dear friend and, sometimes, I just need to be Gwen.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes cast downward in apology, before glancing back up at her with a mischievous grin. “What about when I sneak you out into the town later today? What shall I call you then?”
“What on earth are you talking about, Merlin?” she looked at him, excitement in her eyes at the possibility of getting out of the castle.
Merlin shrugged, “I have to run an errand for Gauis later, and you have a carefully scheduled meeting with your advisor.”
Grinning, she shook her head at his scheming. “You far more brilliant than you are given credit for, Merlin.”
“I know,” he said simply, turning toward the fireplace and raising his hand. His eyes glowed a golden hue as he spoke a few words and flames began to lick the embers that had gone out during the night.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Guinevere nodded at her friend. Although her father had been opposed to magic, she’d learned her friend’s secret years ago and had a much more lenient stance on the issue. She could remember the moment she found out, and the absolute fear in Merlin’s eyes because all he’d known were people who hated magic and set out to destroy it, with the exception of his mother and Gaius. While not fearing Guinevere’s reaction, he feared what it meant for him to be in Camelot. Guinevere had simply shook her head in wonder, a slow smile appearing on her face as she watched him make figures out of the campfire. It was a secret she kept to this day, hoping one day, he wouldn’t have to hide anymore. She’d promised him, “One day” and she meant to keep that promise.
“Do it again,” she’d begged that night, urging him to continue. They’d stayed up until dawn talking, and she’d made a promise to herself to look at everything through new eyes.
“I love that I can be myself around you,” he murmured bringing her out of her thoughts, as he walked over and looked out the window.
She nodded and continued to brush her hair, as a familiar comfortable silence descended on the two old friends.
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Unfortunately, the council meeting ran very late, and into her appointed time to meet with Merlin. She rubbed her temples with her fingers as two of the lords at the table fought over how much land to give to the people who had lost their’s due to a fire in the northeast section of the kingdom.
“Enough,” she finally stated, her tone quiet yet firm. She leveled her gaze at the bickering men and took a deep breath. “We will give them the amount of land that they lost. They need the land to survive and two acres of your hundreds will not be a burden. These are people of Camelot. We have to take care of them.”
With that she stood, ready to dismiss the meeting for the day when Sir Leon walked into the meeting hall without an announcement.
“Your majesty,” he bowed, realizing his sudden appearance had drawn the attention of the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt but we found an intruder along the west border during our patrol this morning. He says he is from the neighboring kingdom, and means no harm, but was heavily armed. He’s also injured. I’ve taken him to the dungeon...”
“The dungeon?” Guinevere interrupted, confused as to why someone who was injured and possibly just wandered over the border had been placed in the dungeon.
“Yes,” Sir Leon responded, “It is simply procedure, your highness.”
“I see,” she replied, picking up her skirts and walking to the door, “Our meeting is adjourned for the day, gentlemen. I must see to this matter. Good day.”
With a polite smile to the council, she turned and followed Sir Leon out the door. Once they were out of sight of the council, she tucked her arm into his elbow and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she mumbled in relief. “I thought that meeting would never end.”
Leon simply chuckled and patted her hand. “You’re doing wonderful, Gwen.”
She smiled in thanks. “So tell me more about this man you found,” she said, straightening her posture and becoming the regal queen of Camelot once more.
By the time they reached the dungeon, Guinevere knew that the man stated he was from the neighboring kingdom of Lamor; he had a bad wound on his leg from landing on a tree branch and possibly a dislocated shoulder. He insisted that he had simply gotten lost along the border and meant no harm or ill will toward Camelot.
“He sounds harmless, Leon,” Guinevere commented just outside the door to the cells.
“Yes, and that might be,” Leon answered, “But that is the Queen’s call to make.”
“Very well,” she replied, and stepped through the door, shoulders straight and head held high, every inch the Queen of Camelot.
The young man looked up as she approached the cell, the purple satin of her dress a stark contrast to the dull colors of the dungeon.
She took in his appearance carefully. He wore brown trousers and a red linen shirt, leather boots that were of better quality than most commoners. His blonde hair was streaked with dirt and a few stray leaves. He was sitting with one leg drawn up, an arm resting upon his knee.
When he heard her approaching, he raised his face, meeting her gaze, and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the penetrating look in his cerulean blue eyes. A few cuts were red and angry along his cheeks, and a bruise along his jaw told her he’d been in a fight. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d fought her knights when they’d come upon him.
He did not try to stand, but he did lower his gaze and bow his head acknowledging her presence.
“What is your name?” She finally questioned, breaking the silence of the dank chambers.
“Arthur,” he stated, his voice smooth as it carried through the room. His tone was soft, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw.
“Arthur what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his obvious omission.
“Arthur William,” he replied, looking up at her with a slight smile, and she knew that might not be his real name.
“Well, Arthur William, what are you doing in Camelot?” she asked, hands clasped behind her back.
She watched as he tried to shift his weight, grimacing as he moved his left leg, “I mean no harm, Your Majesty,” he stated solemnly, “I simply lost my way as I was hunting and my horse got spooked, throwing me to ground and injuring my leg.”
She studied him, considering his words for a moment. He did not seem like a threat, but she knew from her short time on the throne that looks can be deceiving. However, there was something about this man that made her want to trust him. Making up her mind, she finally nodded, using the key in her hands to unlock the door.
“We have no ill will to the land of Lamor. They have been good neighbors to my father. I will have our physician, Gaius, come look at your leg. For now, you will be a guest in the castle. Please don’t let my trust be for nothing,” Guinevere entered the cell, offering the young man a hand which he stared at in confusion.
“Do people not offer other’s help in your kingdom?” Guinevere asked, slightly annoyed.
He chuckled, finally placing his hand in hers, “No, they do, but I’ve never met a Queen that would offer her hand to a stranger, or a commoner.”
Guinevere smiled, “I may be Queen, but that does not mean I do not care or can not help others.”
Arthur returned her smile, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you.”
“Sir Leon,” she called, and continued when she saw him standing in the doorway, “Please show our new guest to a room and call Gaius to look at his injuries.”
Leon glanced back and forth between his queen and the stranger, and she could read the concern in his gaze. She gave him a stern look, and he nodded hastily. “Yes, My Lady.”
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Merlin found her as she was returning to her chambers. Once inside, he turned to her, his normal grin on his face.
“How were your meetings?” he asked jovially.
She scowled at him, pulling at some of the pins that twined her hair into the neat twists and curls upon her head. “Long. How was your trip into town?”
He shrugged, “It would have been better with company.”
Guinevere sighed and sank down into the chair at the head of the table. “I miss being...outside.”
“I know,” he said, patting her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll work on another escape plan.”
She giggled softly. “You’re too good to me, Merlin.”
“Anything for you, Your Majesty,” he stated with an exaggerated bow.
“Oh, stop it.” She chastised.
“Merlin, would you do something for me?” She suddenly asked, rising from her seat.
At his nod, she continued, “We have a guest...”
“Yes, I heard Gwaine talking of him when I returned to the castle. Who is he?” Merlin questioned, brows knitted together.
“Arthur William, or so he says,” replied Guinevere. “I want you to tend to him.”
Merlin grumbled softly, but she ignored him and pressed on, “I trust your judgement, and I need an eye kept on him. There is something about him...I don’t think he’s a threat, but I just don’t know...”
“I’ll watch him, Gwen,” he assured her as the knock of her handmaiden sounded at her door. “But if he turns out to be a clotpole...”
“Thank you, Merlin,” she told him quietly, a warm smile upon her face. She was so thankful to continue to have his trusted friendship.
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Merlin walked up to the room in which Arthur had been taken, knocking before opening the door.
A young man sat in the bed, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat. Gaius stood at his bedside, staring at a bottle in his hand.
“Gaius?” Merlin questioned softly.
“His leg has become infected, but it’s not too serious. He has a slight fever but with time and the right remedy, he should be fine,” the old physician assured him.
“The queen wanted me to check in on him,” Merlin told him, walking over to stand beside the bed.
Gaius simply nodded, “He’ll be sleeping for awhile. I will check on him again in the morning.
After following Gaius out the door, Merlin reported the news back to a troubled Guinevere and then went to bed.
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A week passed before Arthur’s fever broke. Merlin had come to open the curtains in the room and check on him, when he felt eyes watching him. Turning, he saw the young man awake staring at him in confusion.
“You’re alive. That’s good,” Merlin replied, grinning. “The Queen will be glad to know you are awake.”
“Where am I?” Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose as he smelled the poultice that was resting on his forehead. “And what is this?”
“Something to help keep your fever down,” Merlin replied, taking the rag from his hands before continuing, “And you’re in Camelot, in the castle, as a guest of the Queen. You said you got lost, fell off your horse, and lost your way.”
Arthur scoffed, “I did not fall off my horse...it got spooked, and I do not lose my way.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow, shrugging, “Okay, well, how did you end up inside Camelot’s border than? Were you planning to come here?”
Frowning, Arthur looked at Merlin in confusion. “What? No.”
“You’re asking far too many questions for so early in the morning, Merlin,” Arthur complained, falling back into the bed.
“Prat,” Merlin mumbled under his breath.
“What did you call me?” Arthur called, raising up on his forearms to stare at Merlin.
“Nothing.” Merlin cleared his throat, “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” Arthur replied, frowning once more, “By the way, who are you?”
Merlin grinned, “My name is Merlin. I’m an advisor to the Queen.”
“You don’t look like an advisor,” drawled Arthur, raising his eyebrows.
Merlin turned, rolling his eyes, “Clotpole.”
“I’m not deaf you know,” Arthur stated, and Merlin just shrugged, and turned to him, “I’ll go get you some food.” Before Arthur could say another word, Merlin slipped out of the door.
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Guinevere sighed as she listened to the list of things Merlin didn’t like about the stranger.
“He’s a clotpole,” Merlin finished, a determined look on his face. “I don’t trust him.”
Rising to her feet, Guinevere placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, “It sounds like he figured out how to get under your skin, Merlin. I’ll have lunch with him today and see for myself what he is like.”
“Good luck,” Merlin grumbled, as he lead her out of her chambers and towards the council hall.
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Lunch was served in the dining hall. Guinevere sent Merlin to invite their guest and waited patiently for him to appear.
He cleared his throat as he came to the door and she stood, nodding for him to enter and dismissing her handmaiden who was waiting with her. “Thank you, Moira. Go have lunch, yourself.”
The young lady thanked her and left, leaving only the few servants that were serving food with them in the room.
“Please, sit,” she motioned toward the table setting to the left side of her own, “You must be hungry. I know I am.”
He smiled, a lip quirked up as he looked at her with gratitude. “You are very kind, My Lady, to invite me to dine with you.”
She watched him as he moved slowly to the table, a noticeable limp in his step. “I hope your leg is healing well,” Guinevere moved toward him, concerned by the slight grimace that graced his features when he was only halfway across the room.
“It’s...fine,” he grunted softly, shaking his head as he paused, almost to the chair, but she knew moving to help him would be frowned upon as well as hurt his own pride. Still, every part of her wanted to go to his side.
When he finally made it to his seat, she smiled at him, motioned for him to sit as she did.
Their meal was served with haste and she found herself quickly laughing at many of the stories Arthur told. He regaled her with tales of hunting in the woods when he was younger and trying to learn to handle a sword for the first time.
“So you consider yourself a fine swordsman?” she asked, interest piqued at the visible pride when he talked of his training.
He glanced at her, eyebrow crooked as he smiled, “I consider myself a worthy opponent in a fight, yes.”
Her competitive nature rose within her, and she wanted to challenge him, but knew it would not be proper. Instead, she found a way to see his skills, “When you are better, you are welcome to train with my knights. They are the best in the land, and I’m sure Sir Leon would love another worthy opponent,” she threw his own words back at him.
Surprise registered on his face, and he set down the goblet that he’d begun to drink from. “I’ve heard of your knights’ ability. I would be honored to be able to watch and train with them.”
“Then you shall,” she stated, giving him a warm smile.
He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers, and she began to feel her face heat under his intense gaze.
“You are unlike any queen I’ve ever met,” he murmured softly, the warm timbre of his voice making Guinevere’s stomach flutter.
Hiding the effect he was having on her, she quirked her lips, “And you’ve met many queens, have you?” she wondered aloud.
He chuckled, stumbling over his words for a moment before replying. “No, it’s just that you are not what I expected, Your Majesty.”
Guinevere smiled with pride. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She paused for a moment and then leaned over, whispering conspiratorially, “And I prefer Guinevere when I am in the company of friends.”
Arthur took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it softly as he stood, “Then, I thank you, Queen Guinevere,” he whispered, bowing slightly.
She stood as well, accepting his address, while trying to hide the slight blush that she felt rushing to her cheeks.
Noticing Merlin standing in the doorway, a frown upon his face, she took her leave, promising that when he was better, she would set up a time when he could join the knight’s training.
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