Euphonium
Title: Euphonium
Characters/Pairing: Gwen, hints at Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Word count: 528
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Summery: Her name and the effect it has on her and others
Note: Drabble. First time writing for this fandom :x
She had the most beautiful name, it blew through the lips at first dove soft but comes to a close sharply, strongly like a blade edge.
Guinevere.
It seemed to imply a duplicity, gentle but then veering off into something altogether the opposite. But her mother loved the name, it was special and only that would she bestow upon her first born. She died with then name on her lips. Not bearing to hear it in full again her father, Tom, shortened it into a diminutive form of Gwen.
As Gwen grew older and learned of this she was exceedingly pleased and flattered that her mother would christian her such a thing. She would have asked her father to start calling her by her full, rightfully given name but held back for the pain that flared up in his eyes at the sound of it, because it was the sound of her mother's final passing.
I don't mind really, she would tell herself. It was a namesake belonging to a woman grand like the beautiful courtiers she sees sometimes in their finery. They are light and seemingly insubstantial as clouds in a watery sky and she feels markedly different. In a world composed in forest greens and summer blues Gwen stands out red blood bold against the white-grey stone of Camelot. She is warm and they are icy. They smile tightly in thanks at her sometimes as she stands aside to let them pass, head bowed, like it would break them to show their teeth and stretch their skin. When she smiles it's unrestrained and freely given in her angled face. Even as a child you could see the woman she would grow up to be, one of those people that never really change. Her body, her hands, hint at toil and craft and fight. At maternity.
"It's very la-di-da." It would make her face burn, she didn't want others to think she was something she was not. So no one called her it...Almost no one.
Arthur. He uttered it like he was the only one entitled to, would caress the syllables and Gwen would stop breathing for a moment, overwhelmed. On the surface it was very formal, polite but she couldn't help thinking there was....something running underneath the words and his eyes that hadn't been there before. Nonsense, she would scold herself, acting like one of the scullery maids that about faint away if he glances at them.
Only one other person utters Guinevere, but he foolishly, sweetly, calls her 'My Lady' before it. She wonders what Arthur would think of that...
But now all thoughts of them are far and she stands contemplative, head tilted and eyes closed as she runs his voice through her mind.
"Gweny love?"
She smiles and shakes her head sadly, experiences a pang that no one will lovingly call her that anymore because her father was the only one that did. And he'll never speak again. She draws her red clock around her tightly and steps back on the springy turf, alone. She looks towards Camelot and a pit of content unfurls alive inside and she moves towards home.
Characters/Pairing: Gwen, hints at Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Word count: 528
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Summery: Her name and the effect it has on her and others
Note: Drabble. First time writing for this fandom :x
She had the most beautiful name, it blew through the lips at first dove soft but comes to a close sharply, strongly like a blade edge.
Guinevere.
It seemed to imply a duplicity, gentle but then veering off into something altogether the opposite. But her mother loved the name, it was special and only that would she bestow upon her first born. She died with then name on her lips. Not bearing to hear it in full again her father, Tom, shortened it into a diminutive form of Gwen.
As Gwen grew older and learned of this she was exceedingly pleased and flattered that her mother would christian her such a thing. She would have asked her father to start calling her by her full, rightfully given name but held back for the pain that flared up in his eyes at the sound of it, because it was the sound of her mother's final passing.
I don't mind really, she would tell herself. It was a namesake belonging to a woman grand like the beautiful courtiers she sees sometimes in their finery. They are light and seemingly insubstantial as clouds in a watery sky and she feels markedly different. In a world composed in forest greens and summer blues Gwen stands out red blood bold against the white-grey stone of Camelot. She is warm and they are icy. They smile tightly in thanks at her sometimes as she stands aside to let them pass, head bowed, like it would break them to show their teeth and stretch their skin. When she smiles it's unrestrained and freely given in her angled face. Even as a child you could see the woman she would grow up to be, one of those people that never really change. Her body, her hands, hint at toil and craft and fight. At maternity.
"It's very la-di-da." It would make her face burn, she didn't want others to think she was something she was not. So no one called her it...Almost no one.
Arthur. He uttered it like he was the only one entitled to, would caress the syllables and Gwen would stop breathing for a moment, overwhelmed. On the surface it was very formal, polite but she couldn't help thinking there was....something running underneath the words and his eyes that hadn't been there before. Nonsense, she would scold herself, acting like one of the scullery maids that about faint away if he glances at them.
Only one other person utters Guinevere, but he foolishly, sweetly, calls her 'My Lady' before it. She wonders what Arthur would think of that...
But now all thoughts of them are far and she stands contemplative, head tilted and eyes closed as she runs his voice through her mind.
"Gweny love?"
She smiles and shakes her head sadly, experiences a pang that no one will lovingly call her that anymore because her father was the only one that did. And he'll never speak again. She draws her red clock around her tightly and steps back on the springy turf, alone. She looks towards Camelot and a pit of content unfurls alive inside and she moves towards home.