Fic: Unusual Commemoration

[bana05]

Today had been an ordinary day, well, as ordinary a day could be for a rotating servant in the castle.  Today, Gwen had been tasked with removing cobwebs from just about every nook and cranny, which meant she’d been shivery with cameos of chattering teeth because the corridors were drafty and the windows could only do so much against winter’s chill.  At least the company had been lively; she’d learned much more about Camelot’s nobles now that she was in the general servant population.  Lady Morgana had spent much time alone these past few years, her sleeping difficulties having thrown her schedule off from the rest of the castle.

Gwen didn’t contribute much to the conversations, smiling when she should smile and frowning when she should frown.  At least with this group, there wasn’t the tense, sometimes even hostile silences she’d endured from other servant teams-mending especially.  Maybe the others currently with her pretended she wasn’t really there, an animated sculpture, perhaps.  She didn’t mind.

Her arms and back ached when her shift ended and torch light dappled the courtyard amid the inky outdoors.  Though her arms barely had sensation and her legs felt as sturdy as bed linen, she shuffled up to Gaius’s work room, knowing salve was necessary should she desire to be of use tomorrow.

She knocked quietly on the door.  It opened so abruptly she stood straighter and gained her muscles buckling in pain and protest.

“Gwen!-are you all right?”

She granted Gaius’s assistant a tight smile.  “Fine.  Good evening, Merlin.  Is Gaius available?”

Gaius was already peering over Merlin’s shoulder, his signature slouch growing more prominent as he peered at her.

“You do not look well, child.”

“I tried my best,” Gwen said lightly and shuffled inside.  Merlin closed the door then immediately came to Gwen’s side and assisted her.  “Thank you, Merlin.”

“You lied,” Merlin accused, helping her onto a stool by a work table.  “You said you were fine, but you aren’t fine.”

Gwen pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.  “I am not dying, is what I meant.”

Gaius arched an eyebrow at Merlin.  “Go and finish your supper while I attend Gwen.”

She immediately stood.  “I did not mean to-”

“Sit down, Gwen.”

She did as told, earning a knowing smirk from Merlin that brought a genuine amused twist to her lips.

For the next five minutes, Gaius asked her a series of questions.  Merlin paid more attention to their conversation than his meal but Gwen didn’t mind, especially when Gaius became immersed in the gigantic tome that had more remedies than Gwen could imagine ailments in all of creation.  Soon, Gaius put Merlin to work gathering ingredients and together they prepared her salve.

Gwen was anxious to get home.  The simple lentil soup Gaius and Merlin had reminded her she hadn’t eaten since her stale bread and water that morning and she had her own slow-cooked stew waiting for her on her stove.  She had a neighbor check on it and take some to her family, as she’d always prepare too much for her to eat by herself.

When the salve was prepared, Gwen stood gingerly and accepted the poultice gratefully.

“I shall bring your coins-”

“You shall keep your coins, Gwen,” Gaius said, closing her hand over the item with his own.  “Considering all you have done, and what today is.”

Her lips quirked in a facsimile of a smile.  “Thank you, Gaius.”

“And I have something else for you,” Gaius said.  “I’d intended to give it to you earlier; but it seemed every illness in creation decided to pop up among the nobles today.”

“Unfortunately not Arthur,” Merlin said wryly as he cleaned up the work space.  Both Gaius and Gwen frowned at his back, and then her growling stomach drew all the attention next.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, ducking her head.

“Very quickly, and I’ll let you go,” Gaius promised and went off.  She looked to Merlin, who shrugged, obviously not knowing what Gaius was on about.  When he returned, he held a potted plant with a delicately blooming white flower.

“Oh!” Gwen breathed.

“It is a Galanthus nivalis,” Gaius said.  “Not from here; the person I bought it from had just traveled through France and had a few bulbs.  I thought they would all bloom in spring but this one decided to appear early.  I immediately thought of you.”

Gwen took the pot reverently.  “This is very kind of you, Gaius, thank you.”

“Happy birthday, Gwen.”

“Birthday?!” Merlin yelped.

Gwen nodded but said nothing more about it.  She hadn’t expected anything, truly, especially not since Lady Morgana was no longer here, and even then the most she would get was early leave or, even more rarely, an old, outdated dress Gwen would strip to patch up her clothes or others who she knew could use the extra fabric.  She didn’t see Gaius enough in the past for him to express such wishes, but she supposed they had gotten closer these past few months.

“Now, hurry home.  I’d offer you a meal here, but I am sure you want to get as much rest as possible,” Gaius said.

Nodding again, Gwen curtsied and took her leave, wrapping her shawl-actually, her mother’s-as tight as it could go to ward off the cold as much as she could.

The ground was full of slushy snow that seeped into her thin, leather shoes.  She would need to stop by the stables to use stale hay to stuff them at some point.  Her head remained bowed against the wind and snow, a slow go that helped the winter chill seep into her very bones.

She felt like ice by the time she reached her hut.  She was glad she’d had the foresight to slow cook, for at least her home was warm.  There was a spoon with remnants of stew sitting next to the pot; her neighbor had already taken her pay.  Gwen set her gift and salve on her little table and grabbed a bowl from the shelf to have her own meal when a knock on the door startled her so much she yanked her hands down too fast and the bowl clattered and clanked against the stove on its way to the floor.

It’d been chipped.

“Gwen!”

She frowned and rushed to the door, already bowing even as she greeted her guest.

“My lord, is something the matter?”

Soft leather cupped her face.  She looked up, but hooded blue eyes were furrowed and sharp as they looked around the space behind her.

“I heard-”

“The bowl, sire. It fell.  Nothing is amiss,” she reassured him, easing her face out of his warm hands.  “Is something the matter?” she repeated.

Still frowning, he entered her home, for which she was irritated and appreciative because it was too cold for them to have a conversation at the door; but he could’ve asked to come inside.

Except, Arthur was a prince, even if disguised by his knotty blue cloak and Merlin’s clothes, and he didn’t have to ask anything of a lowly servant girl.

She was surprised he was here.  Ever since the dragon’s attacks, Gwen hadn’t seen much of the prince; there was too much to be done for anything more than slight acknowledging bows or fleeting smiles, usually from him.  Gwen had cursed her outward display in the courtyard since it’d happened, her relief over his and Merlin’s safe return dulling her adherence to protocol.  In truth, she hadn’t minded the distance between them; it helped remind her of her status, despite what Gaius had said or even what the prince wanted to believe.

Or herself, for that matter.

“Is there a task you wish of me, my lord?” Gwen asked, still hanging by the door despite the cold air curling through its cracks.

He nodded, going to her stove.  “Several, in fact.  The first is that you call me Arthur.”

Gwen frowned furiously, especially when he smirked at her.  “That is inappropriate.”

“Is it?  You’ve called me that before, several times-without my prodding, I may add.”

She felt her cheeks heat and glanced away briefly.  “Slips, sire.”

“Well, you can ‘slip’ again.”  He pulled a puppy-dog face.  “Please?”

A smile tugged her lips, but she nodded and smoothed down the apron of her dress, her head bowed.  “Very well, Arthur.”

“Excellent!  The second is you tell me why you didn’t tell me it was your birthday today.”  He arched an eyebrow with accusation.  “Merlin had to tell me.”

Gwen snapped up her head, her eyes wide.  “I-I-well, I didn’t think it was important.”

“If it has to do with you, it is important,” Arthur said gravely.

If Gwen weren’t so exhausted, she would’ve fidgeted from the quiet power of his statement.  Instead, she sighed heavily and shuffled back to the stove.  She never made it there, intercepted by Arthur.  He placed his hands on her upper arms and steered her to the table; something he’d done once before.

“Sit down, Guinevere,” he told her, trying to make her sink into the chair.

“I have to change.”

“You change by the stove?” he asked skeptically.

She tilted her chin.  “Actually, yes.  It is warmest there.”

He stepped back, seemingly chastened.  “Oh.”

Unthinkingly, Gwen put a placating hand on his cheek.  The coolness of it told her what she’d just done, but his hand held hers there before she could move it.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

“You shouldn’t,” Gwen breathed.  “I shouldn’t.”

“And yet, here we are,” he whispered, letting his forehead touch hers.  “I like being here.  With you.  Like this.”

Tired, achy, and bone-chilled, Gwen stepped closer.  “Me too.”

His arms wrapped around her.  She moved her hand from his face to wrap her arms around his neck.  He was so warm, so solid.  His palms pressed into her back so she was flush against him, and his full lips brushed her temple.  He began kneading her shoulders and she moaned.

“You should have a soak.”

“In what tub, my lord?”

“If I said mine, in my chambers, what would you say?”

Gwen laughed lightly into his neck.  It vibrated against her lips with Arthur’s own chuckle.

“You weight little more than a sack of feathers, Guinevere.  I could carry you.”

“Because that would be inconspicuous,” she said wryly, pulling away from his neck, but Arthur didn’t let her go far.

“Well, you did throw yourself at me that one time.  No one would pay us any mind now.”

At the reminder of her public expression of relief, Gwen stepped out of his arms completely and walked around him.  “It is best I stay here.”  No need to give the servants more reasons to ostracize her.

“I figured you’d say that,” Arthur sighed, his bottom lip poked out.  Gwen grinned and so did he.  “Well, then, anything you need while you go change?”

She shook her head.  As if she were sending the crown prince of Camelot on an errand for her!

Arthur arched an eyebrow but didn’t challenge her.  “I shall return.”

“Yes, sire,” she said with a curtsey.  If he were anyone else, he would’ve told him he didn’t have to leave, that she could change behind the divider.  But that was not the kind of invitation she could make to Arthur.  It was too much of a temptation, even though she’d done so before when he’d stayed with her earlier that year.  Then, he was just Arthur, a commoner with something to prove.  Now, he was something entirely different, out of her reach.

Or, rather, he was supposed to be.

She stepped behind the divider anyway though she’d heard the hut’s door open and close behind her.  Her movements were slow, favoring muscles that really could use a good soak but weren’t going to get it; and as much as she appreciated Arthur’s company, she hoped he wouldn’t stay long because she had to put on the salve.

And eat, she thought to herself upon her stomach’s growl.

Gwen put on an old shirt of her father’s, something that hung too largely on her frame, and cinched the garment at her waist with a leather tie.  She slid on a pair of leggings to keep warm and went to the stove.  She paused, her hand hovering over the pot of stew.  Should she pull down another bowl?  Surely the prince had already eaten, but it was rude to eat when someone had nothing.  Though her stomach growled again, Gwen decided to wait just in case Arthur would return.  Or maybe she should eat.  There was no guarantee he’d return-

Gwen grinned at the knock on her door.  She opened the door and was surprised by both Arthur and Merlin holding a tub with three buckets of water.

“It’s-it’s a little heavy-”

“And cold!” Merlin interrupted.  The men glared at each other, poor Merlin shivering from the cold and probably from the heaviness of his burden.

Nodding, Gwen went to them, arms outstretched.  “Can I-?”

“No!”

She stepped back as if the rebuke had physically pushed her.  Cocking her head and shaking it, she moved aside and held open the door from them to enter, closing it quickly against the wind and snow that had picked up.  They found an empty spot near her bed and set the tub and buckets there.

“Thank you, Merlin; you may go,” Arthur said, putting the buckets on her meager stove.

“Hey!  Well, I like that, huh, Gwen?”

She smiled, placing her hands before her.  “You don’t have to-”

“Yes, he does.  Gaius needs him-and that’s after he polishes my armor and mends my socks!”

Merlin glared at Arthur, but then snapped his eyes to her when her stomach growled.  “You still haven’t eaten?”

“Working on it,” Gwen said, still smiling although there was a slight edge to her voice.

Merlin grinned and bowed lowly.  “Pleasant dreams and happy birthday, Gwen.  I’ll give you a gift tomorrow.”

“You don’t have-”

“Guinevere,” he said, wagging a finger at her.  She laughed, grabbing said finger and pulling on it.  Merlin kissed her cheek and ignored Arthur warningly muttering his name as he left.  Gwen stared at the door, feeling those blue eyes at her back.

“You really should eat, Guinevere.”

“I will,” she responded.  “Would you like something?”

“No, I’ll just make sure your water is warm enough for your bath.”

She faced him then.  Arthur grinned a little as his eyes slowly roamed her form.  It was all she could do not to cross her arms before her.

“I like this outfit.”

Gwen chuckled.  “Arthur-”

“Eat, eat!  I’ll set up your bath as you do so.”

He went to work, even preparing her bowl of stew for her.  Gwen smiled warmly and thanked him, her eyes watching him perform his tasks.  He also moved the divider from near the far window to right between the table and the tub.  Brushing his hands on his trousers, he went back to the stove and unwrapped something.

“It’s bread pudding,” he said, placing it on her plate.  “Something sweet, I thought you should have.”

Gwen blinked very hard, her hands coming up to her cheeks.  She tried to look away when Arthur came around, alarmed, but he refused to let her, taking her hands in his.

“Is that not to your liking?”

Her smile was tight, trying to stave off tears.  “My mother used to make us bread pudding for our birthdays.  I…”  She shook her head and dropped their hands into her lap.  “Thank you, Arthur.”

He squeezed her hands.  “You deserve so much more than this, Guinevere.”

She did not respond to that, and he seemed unsurprised, for he squeezed her hands again and went to the other side of the table.  They shared her bread pudding, their eyes holding the conversations of their hearts.  When done, Arthur cleaned up the space and went to the stove to check the water.

“It will not be steaming, as it should be, but Gaius gave Merlin some salts to help keep the heat.”

“That was nice of him,” Gwen murmured, standing awkwardly at her table.  Was he going to stay while she bathed?  Why did she hope he did?

“Gwen-”

She went to the stove to grab a bucket, but he placed his body in front of her, back to her front, and grabbed it instead.

“Allow me.”

He disappeared behind the divider and she heard the tub fill.  He did this two more times until all three buckets were empty.  When he came back out the last time, she went behind the divider, not giving him a chance to speak.  She undressed quickly and stepped into the tub, groaning as she sank down.

“I hope that is good?”

Gwen laughed.  “Very.  Thank you so much, Arthur.”

“Merlin said you were sore, but you’d already started for home so…”

They talked while she soaked, Arthur discussing the repairs of the kingdom and the recuperation of his knights.  Sir Leon made a few gingerly steps without much wincing, it turned out, and that heartened Gwen.  Though they were not tight by any stretch, he was always courteous to her though he didn’t have to be, and he was one of the best knights she’d ever seen.  Meanwhile, the salts in the bath were working wonders, her muscles loosening despite the lukewarm temperature, and she silently thanked Arthur more for his kindness.

“Uh, Guinevere, do you have a towel?”

“Yes, there should be some on the shelf above the stove.”  When he snickered, Gwen frowned.  “What?”

“I mean for you.”

Though he couldn’t see her, Gwen sank deeper into the tub.  How could she say she used those small towels for her?  She didn’t normally have baths like this, after all.

A thud above her head made her jump.  Hanging over the divider was a large, white sheet.  She knew those were towels from the castle, and she grinned, stepping out of the tub to grab the towel.

“Thank you.”

“The towel was Merlin’s consideration,” he admitted, and without the usual derision he usually had when giving his manservant his just due.

“He is more thoughtful than you give him credit for being, Arthur,” she said, drying herself as quickly as she could and changing back into her clothes.  She was folding the towel when she stepped from behind the divider.  Arthur grinned and she returned it.

“This was all very sweet,” she told him, placing the folded towel on the table before him.  “You didn’t have to stay.”

Arthur shrugged.  “Someone needed to dump out the bath water.”

“You will let me help you this time?”

He smiled and shook his head.  “No.  You go lie down.”

She didn’t argue with him.  There was no point; he’d already made up his mind to do this for her and she would allow it.  It was nice not having to do everything for once.  Though she did move the divider back to where it should be, and he did glare at her, but appreciating help didn’t mean she still couldn’t do things for herself.

“Face down, Guinevere,” Arthur said when she finally climbed into bed.

“Why?”

“You need the salve still.”

She sat up quickly, so quickly she hissed and fell completely back onto the bed.

“That’s why,” Arthur said.

She did as told but faced away from him.  “There really is no reason for me to be this sore.”

“But you are, and I’m going to make you feel better; like you always seem to do for me.”

Gwen smiled at the wall.  “You are the future king; you must be well.”

“And you…mean a great deal to me,” Arthur whispered as he pulled down the collar of her shirt.  She raised her body to aid him, unable to ignore the way her heart beat rapidly or other physical reactions to his nearness.  His lips brushed the space between her shoulder blades and she trembled.  “You must know as little pain as possible.”

Neither spoke as he rubbed the salve into her body.  Gwen was too busy trying to be as unaffected as possible, but his sword-callused fingers and the tenderness of his ministrations created sensations that were uncomfortably thrilling.  At some point, his hands moved down to her waist, and he began rolling her over to his back.  As soon as her face met his, he swooped in for a kiss that Gwen had no thought of rejecting.  Eventually, she made it fully onto her back that was already feeling much better, but maybe that had something to do with the hot blood coursing through her veins with each brush of his full lips against hers, each gentle caress of his fingers against her hair line; each meaningful squeeze of his arm about her waist.

“Arthur,” she gasped when his mouth drifted from her mouth to her cheek, her jaw line, the underside of her chin.  His hands slid up and down her torso, each pass near her breasts making her nipples harden.  She arched into him, and his hands finally settled at her hips to still her.

“I’m sorry, Guinevere,” he rasped against her collarbone.  She felt him drag his nose against her skin and she quaked, her fingers sliding through his hair.  “I-”

“Shh, Arthur, shh,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

He sat up, his face so close to hers as he hovered above her.  She let her index and middle fingers travel the planes of his face, grazing his eyelashes, teasing the bridge of his nose, caressing his beautiful lips.  He bent forward and lightly met her mouth with his, making Gwen move her fingers to his cheeks.

“You are not a dalliance, Guinevere,” he insisted against her mouth.

“I know, Arthur,” she whispered, kissing him again.  He gathered her close and let his tongue get involved in the kiss.  She’d never experienced such a thing before, and it did nothing to lessen her desire.  She started to sink into the bedding, and she squirmed with the need to get comfortable and keep him to her at the same time.

“Oh, Gwen,” he breathed when he broke the kiss.  He let his fingers tangle around a curl.  “I wish…”

“And I hope,” she returned, kissing the point of his nose.  “I have much hope.”

He gave a half smile.  “This is much progress.”

She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to give voice to an emotion that didn’t really need it in the first place.  Arthur nodded with understanding and kissed her forehead.

“Dinner in my chambers tomorrow.”

“Sire-”

“It is an extension of your birthday celebration, Guinevere,” Arthur insisted over her impending protest, standing up quickly.  “And the tub is yours.”

Thrown off, she asked, “Where shall I put it?”

Arthur surveyed the room, then moved items around until there was space by the stove where she could place the tub and buckets.  Gwen stood as well, retying her belt at her waist.  They stared at each other for a moment, then Arthur grabbed his cloak.  She approached to help him into it, though Arthur complicated matters by attaching his lips to the column of her neck.

“If I come to your chambers; the other servants will talk.”

“They’re already talking,” Arthur said with a rumble of anger.  “If I hear it I’ll-”

“Do nothing, Arthur.  I can handle it,” Gwen said.  “I have been-”

“By avoiding me,” Arthur accused.

She frowned at him.  “We have our duties, our stations in life-”

“And yours is right by my side.”

His eyes took on a blue fire of determination.  Gwen fisted her hands in his cloak and shook her head.

“As your queen, or as your mistress?”

“You’ll always be my queen,” he answered.

Gwen nodded, appreciating the sweet sentiment.  “You’ll always be my lord.”

It was Arthur’s turn to press his lips against declarations he wasn’t quite capable to make.  Gwen took pity on him, standing on her tiptoes to brush her nose against his jaw.

“I’ll dine with you, my lord.  Thank you for the invitation.”

He turned his head to capture her lips with his.  “I’ll make sure we’ll get to the place where I do not have to invite you at all.”  He kissed her cheek.  “That I can prepare a bath for you freely.”  His lips reached her ear.  “That I can join you in it.”

Her mouth agape, he was at the door before her mind could free itself from that image.  She was still gaping when she met his eyes.  He smirked at her and inclined his head, then left with a silent flourish.  Gwen’s own lips eventually curved as well, her arms coming around her as her eyes fell upon the tub once more.