[Merlin] Chambers (Gwen+Merlin, gen)
Summary: Only by convention does a wedding mark the end of a story. Gwen and Merlin's friendship, after. (Background Gwen/Arthur and Merlin/Arthur with past unrequited Gwen/Merlin.) Future!fic.
AN: Thanks to the most marvelous beta a girl could ask for, bewarethesmirk, for all her help.
Chambers
(a beginning)
The Queen's chambers have not been used for over thirty years. The fabrics are mildewed, some of the furniture no longer sound.
Everything is covered with layers of dust. It catches on the hem of her dress, dirtying the beautiful embroidered material. Her maid will have painstaking hours of work simply because her mistress felt like walking around in a dusty room. That is how the world works.
Gwen looks down at herself--the pale yellow silk, worked over with lighter and darker shades, the glint of threads made from gold--and thinks, this is not how the world works.
Sunlight pours in the open windows. The stone floor is clean, strewn with fresh rushes and fragrant wildflowers.
There's a light knock at the door. Gwen squares her shoulders, brushes down the front of her dress and says, "Enter."
She smiles, relaxing, when Merlin ducks in and he catches her naked reaction. They've been a little careful around each other.
He looks about with enough specific attention that she realises a great many of these small kindnesses must come from him.
Gwen feels an old familiar ache. She takes his hands and says, "You are always welcome here. Remember that."
*
Every now and then Merlin still forgets to knock, just barging in. There are whispers at court that he is her lover.
He tosses himself down on the deep window-seat with a groan. Merlin has always liked large gestures.
"I miss being able to woolgather during these horrible councils. I get to sit but it's so not worth it."
Arthur has started knighting commoners and the court is unhappy. Gwen has not had many visitors lately, but the neglect never rises to the level of open insult.
Merlin has been coming by more and more, though it feeds the rumours.
*
Gwen could ask her servants to shift the heavy furniture but Merlin can do it sprawled in the great carved chair.
"You know, when I said you could ask me for anything..." But he's just complaining. The chest of drawers glides to a stop.
Gwen looks at him, remembering promises he made her through dungeon bars when they were servants; how she met him hung in the stocks where he'd smiled up at her as though despite everything the world couldn't possibly be a bad place.
She draws him into a brief fierce hug, here, where no one is watching.
*
She's beginning to think of the window-seat as Merlin's. He leans back on his elbows, sunlit, looking suddenly thoughtful.
"There are some people I'd mind sharing him with." His glance carries the but not you. He smiles up at her, teasing. "Even if you never tell me anything."
Merlin has always had a strange curiosity about these things. She sits down on the same deep widow-seat, just far enough away that he is out of reach.
"Well, you never tell me either."
He frowns, looking down. His eyelashes are a rich dark sweep. "I didn't think you'd want to know."
*
Merlin keeps playing idly with the fire, making the flame's colour shift. He's still weak, injured and overtaxed, but tired of Arthur's worry. Sometimes this is where he comes to hide.
Merlin stares at the hearth and says, "You've been one of the best friends I've ever had. You are, I mean." He makes a rolling hand-motion. Will continue to be.
She smiles, tying off the new binding on his shoulder. "You sound like me."
"Like you used to sound." He taps the back of her hand. "You've changed."
Guinevere shrugs and doesn't trace his many scars. "We all have."
(an end)
Merlin's head tilts against the dark furs she wrapped around him.
There's a less familiar knock. "Guinevere, have you seen--"
She nods towards Merlin and watches Arthur stand over him. He leans down unconsciously but stops, sending her an apologetic glance.
"Arthur." She holds out her hand, surprised to hear the thread of command in her voice. She kisses his cheek. "Now, go kiss your lover." Gwen lets go.
"He's not my lover."
Guinevere laughs. "Oh I think he is." Arthur casts her a skeptical, amused look before turning serious.
"You're my wife."
"Yes," she says simply. "I am."
AN: Thanks to the most marvelous beta a girl could ask for, bewarethesmirk, for all her help.
Chambers
(a beginning)
The Queen's chambers have not been used for over thirty years. The fabrics are mildewed, some of the furniture no longer sound.
Everything is covered with layers of dust. It catches on the hem of her dress, dirtying the beautiful embroidered material. Her maid will have painstaking hours of work simply because her mistress felt like walking around in a dusty room. That is how the world works.
Gwen looks down at herself--the pale yellow silk, worked over with lighter and darker shades, the glint of threads made from gold--and thinks, this is not how the world works.
Sunlight pours in the open windows. The stone floor is clean, strewn with fresh rushes and fragrant wildflowers.
There's a light knock at the door. Gwen squares her shoulders, brushes down the front of her dress and says, "Enter."
She smiles, relaxing, when Merlin ducks in and he catches her naked reaction. They've been a little careful around each other.
He looks about with enough specific attention that she realises a great many of these small kindnesses must come from him.
Gwen feels an old familiar ache. She takes his hands and says, "You are always welcome here. Remember that."
*
Every now and then Merlin still forgets to knock, just barging in. There are whispers at court that he is her lover.
He tosses himself down on the deep window-seat with a groan. Merlin has always liked large gestures.
"I miss being able to woolgather during these horrible councils. I get to sit but it's so not worth it."
Arthur has started knighting commoners and the court is unhappy. Gwen has not had many visitors lately, but the neglect never rises to the level of open insult.
Merlin has been coming by more and more, though it feeds the rumours.
*
Gwen could ask her servants to shift the heavy furniture but Merlin can do it sprawled in the great carved chair.
"You know, when I said you could ask me for anything..." But he's just complaining. The chest of drawers glides to a stop.
Gwen looks at him, remembering promises he made her through dungeon bars when they were servants; how she met him hung in the stocks where he'd smiled up at her as though despite everything the world couldn't possibly be a bad place.
She draws him into a brief fierce hug, here, where no one is watching.
*
She's beginning to think of the window-seat as Merlin's. He leans back on his elbows, sunlit, looking suddenly thoughtful.
"There are some people I'd mind sharing him with." His glance carries the but not you. He smiles up at her, teasing. "Even if you never tell me anything."
Merlin has always had a strange curiosity about these things. She sits down on the same deep widow-seat, just far enough away that he is out of reach.
"Well, you never tell me either."
He frowns, looking down. His eyelashes are a rich dark sweep. "I didn't think you'd want to know."
*
Merlin keeps playing idly with the fire, making the flame's colour shift. He's still weak, injured and overtaxed, but tired of Arthur's worry. Sometimes this is where he comes to hide.
Merlin stares at the hearth and says, "You've been one of the best friends I've ever had. You are, I mean." He makes a rolling hand-motion. Will continue to be.
She smiles, tying off the new binding on his shoulder. "You sound like me."
"Like you used to sound." He taps the back of her hand. "You've changed."
Guinevere shrugs and doesn't trace his many scars. "We all have."
(an end)
Merlin's head tilts against the dark furs she wrapped around him.
There's a less familiar knock. "Guinevere, have you seen--"
She nods towards Merlin and watches Arthur stand over him. He leans down unconsciously but stops, sending her an apologetic glance.
"Arthur." She holds out her hand, surprised to hear the thread of command in her voice. She kisses his cheek. "Now, go kiss your lover." Gwen lets go.
"He's not my lover."
Guinevere laughs. "Oh I think he is." Arthur casts her a skeptical, amused look before turning serious.
"You're my wife."
"Yes," she says simply. "I am."