Fic: Training Up
It was nice to cook for more than herself again, although the sentiment was slightly inaccurate for Gwen had often shared her meals with her neighbors. Indeed, it was more that she’d missed cooking for family...her family...that’d she’d prepared a feast fit for a king (if a king only had her wages at his disposal) the first night Elyan had returned. She’d even offered him the bed after they’d finished eating, but Elyan had laughed and reminded her they were much too big to share it now and the floor would be fine.
She hadn’t missed Elyan’s tendency to shift all night, however; she’d always had to fall asleep first in order to get a good night’s rest!
In the end, her brother had decided he would find his own home. Both had become used to living alone, and she also suspected he would want privacy while entertaining his lady friends without his sister underfoot. Elyan had simply given a noncommittal smile and arched an eyebrow in return.
She’d chosen to ignore that particular implication.
They continued to share meals together even though they lived separately, usually breakfast and dinner if they could. True to his promise, Elyan would wake her up just as dawn crested the horizon so they could train. At first, they’d used the open space in the forge and practiced with broom handles and dummy swords. It had taken about three weeks for her movements to get up to his satisfaction. She was proud of the progress she’d made but annoyed he would brush off her insistence for sling lessons.
“Why a sling when you can use a sword or a crossbow?” Elyan had asked, pouting the whole time Gwen watched him make a sturdier sling. She’d been so disappointed that his sling had been in such a state of disrepair that they couldn’t start training regardless.
“Slings are more portable and there is always something to throw. Load time is quicker too,” she said, tsking at the poor job he’d done and destroyed it. “Again.”
Elyan returned the favor, however.
Gwen could barely move after that first morning of full-out training, and Elyan had had to carry her back to the lower town on his back. He did grant her mercy and massage her sore muscles, understanding she still had a whole day’s worth of chores to accomplish.
“How about every other morning,” he suggested as he kneaded her back.
Gwen could only moan her assent.
The spot in the woods Elyan had chosen was farther from the castle than she’d liked, so they had to rise much earlier in the mornings to get in a decent session. Though her sword training was every other morning, they still woke up each day and went to their “training grounds” so Elyan could improve his sling shooting skills. It was at these times both felt the absence of their parents the most, and Gwen would apologize for not being as great of a teacher as their mother.
“You’re fine, Guinevere,” Elyan said, using her full name the way their mother always had. “I think yai* would be pleased.”
He then hit the knot on the tree she’d marked as their target with perfect precision, twenty paces away.
The more he practiced, the more proficient he became; and the more proficient he became, the more he practiced. It was funny how that worked, and Gwen wasn’t immune to the phenomenon, either. She caught herself turning brooms and mops into swords when she was alone and had almost been caught by others at various points.
The allure was even worse when she was in Arthur’s quarters.
She’d always given the weapons on his wall no more than a passing glance whenever she entered. This time, she went directly for them after she finished her chores in the rooms. She grunted as she lifted one of the swords. It was heavier than what she was used to; then again, she’d forged her own sword to specifications recommended by Elyan. Hers sliced the air and was light in her hand, suitable for defense and quick, debilitating strikes than for punishing deadly blows. Nevertheless, Gwen started practicing, mumbling the steps of her forms under her breath as she carefully wielded the sword about her body.
She completed fifteen before returning the sword to its rightful place and grasping her broom again. She then gave a little start when she spotted Arthur sitting at the table and regarding her with an amused, yet critical expression.
“You would get a lot more movement if you weren’t wearing those skirts,” he ultimately said.
Gwen arched an eyebrow. “Because chainmail is so much better?”
He grinned at that and stood. “Chainmail is for protection. I hardly think an apron will stop anything.”
She glared at him with indignation and didn’t bother to address him as she began to leave. He had the gall to laugh lightly and wrap his arms about her waist to stop her. She wiggled for freedom, but he simply held her closer.
“Your form is lovely,” he breathed in her ear.
Gwen’s lips quirked and soon her own laughter escaped. “Oh, Arthur!”
Laughing again, he spun her around and removed the broom from her hand. He let it drop aimlessly behind him and gathered her even closer. The mirth in his gaze transformed into something far more intense, and the way his hand smoothed from her neck to her collarbone made breathing far more difficult than it usually was for her. He started to move his hand even lower but she stilled it with her own.
Arthur curled his fingers around hers and kissed her knuckles. “Elyan is a good teacher.”
Gwen ducked her head and looked at him through her lashes. “He is, sire. I am sorry for using your weapons with impudence.”
“Everything I am, anything in my possession, is at your disposal,” he said, kissing her palm this time.
For a moment, breathing stopped altogether, his words making her lightheaded and weak-kneed. Unable to help herself, her hand slipped from his to cover the space over his heart, and he pressed it there with his own.
“Especially that, Guinevere,” he whispered.
Her eyes clamped by his, Gwen kissed the back of his hand, then placed that very hand upon her breast. No doubt he could feel its furious beating, and when he opened his hand so his palm could feel the full effect of her racing heart, Gwen moaned and leaned into him.
He swallowed the sound with his mouth, his tongue sweeping inside as if to taste each reverberation of the vocalization. He dropped his hand from her chest to lift her completely off the floor, and Gwen wrapped her legs about his waist. It was his turn to moan and he laid her gently upon the table. His gentle nibbling and quick licks made her giggle.
“That tickles!” she told him, trying to frame his face to get him to stop.
“And you are delicious,” he muttered, moving down the slope of her neck towards her cleavage. His kisses then became worshipful, and her nipples tightened the closer he came to her breasts. Arthur’s hands smoothed up and down her outer hips and he ground himself between her thighs, more as unconscious movement than anything else. He grazed his nose against the curve of her left breast then kissed her heartbeat.
“You are so very precious to me, Guinevere,” he breathed. “There can be no Camelot without you.”
It was then, with vulnerability cloaked around every fragile word he spoke, that Guinevere truly began to understand the severity of what was happening between them. She had been so concerned about him becoming a good and just king she had given little thought of what that would truly mean for her. She had been prepared to lose him; and if she were truly honest with herself, had been even started entertaining the notion of sharing him. What had not even remotely entered her mind was the prospect of genuinely having him...alone...exclusively.
For her to be his queen not merely in spirit and in shadow, but in fact and light.
Gwen lifted his face from her breast and brushed the fringe from his forehead. Arthur wrapped his arms about her waist and brought her flush against him while his lips teased hers. They shared breath and touches that were for once not the least bit rushed, but Gwen could rarely pass up an opportunity to voice reason.
“There can be a Camelot without me,” she felt compelled to remind him even as she tangled her fingers in his silky blond hair. “You are destined to be a great king, Arthur; I know it.”
“Yet I can never be the king Camelot deserves,” he insisted, breathing these words into her mouth. “Without you by my side.”
Gwen closed her eyes and felt the declaration seep into her heart. What he wanted was insane, impractical, and even foolish. But for the first time, Gwen allowed herself to believe it was also possible.
When she opened her eyes, Arthur was regarding her carefully. Gwen then grinned at him and tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth.
“And Merlin.”
He reared back, his eyes wide. “Merlin?!”
She shrugged and touched her thumb to the place on his lip she’d just nipped. “Just seems every time you get into a scrape, he is always there helping you get out of it.”
“Oh, bloody likely!” Arthur scoffed. “He’s usually the one who pushed me in!”
Her nose teased his. “Then it is a good thing I am becoming better with the sword, isn’t it? Seems like you both need me by your side and at your back!”
*yai - Mother in Wolof
She hadn’t missed Elyan’s tendency to shift all night, however; she’d always had to fall asleep first in order to get a good night’s rest!
In the end, her brother had decided he would find his own home. Both had become used to living alone, and she also suspected he would want privacy while entertaining his lady friends without his sister underfoot. Elyan had simply given a noncommittal smile and arched an eyebrow in return.
She’d chosen to ignore that particular implication.
They continued to share meals together even though they lived separately, usually breakfast and dinner if they could. True to his promise, Elyan would wake her up just as dawn crested the horizon so they could train. At first, they’d used the open space in the forge and practiced with broom handles and dummy swords. It had taken about three weeks for her movements to get up to his satisfaction. She was proud of the progress she’d made but annoyed he would brush off her insistence for sling lessons.
“Why a sling when you can use a sword or a crossbow?” Elyan had asked, pouting the whole time Gwen watched him make a sturdier sling. She’d been so disappointed that his sling had been in such a state of disrepair that they couldn’t start training regardless.
“Slings are more portable and there is always something to throw. Load time is quicker too,” she said, tsking at the poor job he’d done and destroyed it. “Again.”
Elyan returned the favor, however.
Gwen could barely move after that first morning of full-out training, and Elyan had had to carry her back to the lower town on his back. He did grant her mercy and massage her sore muscles, understanding she still had a whole day’s worth of chores to accomplish.
“How about every other morning,” he suggested as he kneaded her back.
Gwen could only moan her assent.
The spot in the woods Elyan had chosen was farther from the castle than she’d liked, so they had to rise much earlier in the mornings to get in a decent session. Though her sword training was every other morning, they still woke up each day and went to their “training grounds” so Elyan could improve his sling shooting skills. It was at these times both felt the absence of their parents the most, and Gwen would apologize for not being as great of a teacher as their mother.
“You’re fine, Guinevere,” Elyan said, using her full name the way their mother always had. “I think yai* would be pleased.”
He then hit the knot on the tree she’d marked as their target with perfect precision, twenty paces away.
The more he practiced, the more proficient he became; and the more proficient he became, the more he practiced. It was funny how that worked, and Gwen wasn’t immune to the phenomenon, either. She caught herself turning brooms and mops into swords when she was alone and had almost been caught by others at various points.
The allure was even worse when she was in Arthur’s quarters.
She’d always given the weapons on his wall no more than a passing glance whenever she entered. This time, she went directly for them after she finished her chores in the rooms. She grunted as she lifted one of the swords. It was heavier than what she was used to; then again, she’d forged her own sword to specifications recommended by Elyan. Hers sliced the air and was light in her hand, suitable for defense and quick, debilitating strikes than for punishing deadly blows. Nevertheless, Gwen started practicing, mumbling the steps of her forms under her breath as she carefully wielded the sword about her body.
She completed fifteen before returning the sword to its rightful place and grasping her broom again. She then gave a little start when she spotted Arthur sitting at the table and regarding her with an amused, yet critical expression.
“You would get a lot more movement if you weren’t wearing those skirts,” he ultimately said.
Gwen arched an eyebrow. “Because chainmail is so much better?”
He grinned at that and stood. “Chainmail is for protection. I hardly think an apron will stop anything.”
She glared at him with indignation and didn’t bother to address him as she began to leave. He had the gall to laugh lightly and wrap his arms about her waist to stop her. She wiggled for freedom, but he simply held her closer.
“Your form is lovely,” he breathed in her ear.
Gwen’s lips quirked and soon her own laughter escaped. “Oh, Arthur!”
Laughing again, he spun her around and removed the broom from her hand. He let it drop aimlessly behind him and gathered her even closer. The mirth in his gaze transformed into something far more intense, and the way his hand smoothed from her neck to her collarbone made breathing far more difficult than it usually was for her. He started to move his hand even lower but she stilled it with her own.
Arthur curled his fingers around hers and kissed her knuckles. “Elyan is a good teacher.”
Gwen ducked her head and looked at him through her lashes. “He is, sire. I am sorry for using your weapons with impudence.”
“Everything I am, anything in my possession, is at your disposal,” he said, kissing her palm this time.
For a moment, breathing stopped altogether, his words making her lightheaded and weak-kneed. Unable to help herself, her hand slipped from his to cover the space over his heart, and he pressed it there with his own.
“Especially that, Guinevere,” he whispered.
Her eyes clamped by his, Gwen kissed the back of his hand, then placed that very hand upon her breast. No doubt he could feel its furious beating, and when he opened his hand so his palm could feel the full effect of her racing heart, Gwen moaned and leaned into him.
He swallowed the sound with his mouth, his tongue sweeping inside as if to taste each reverberation of the vocalization. He dropped his hand from her chest to lift her completely off the floor, and Gwen wrapped her legs about his waist. It was his turn to moan and he laid her gently upon the table. His gentle nibbling and quick licks made her giggle.
“That tickles!” she told him, trying to frame his face to get him to stop.
“And you are delicious,” he muttered, moving down the slope of her neck towards her cleavage. His kisses then became worshipful, and her nipples tightened the closer he came to her breasts. Arthur’s hands smoothed up and down her outer hips and he ground himself between her thighs, more as unconscious movement than anything else. He grazed his nose against the curve of her left breast then kissed her heartbeat.
“You are so very precious to me, Guinevere,” he breathed. “There can be no Camelot without you.”
It was then, with vulnerability cloaked around every fragile word he spoke, that Guinevere truly began to understand the severity of what was happening between them. She had been so concerned about him becoming a good and just king she had given little thought of what that would truly mean for her. She had been prepared to lose him; and if she were truly honest with herself, had been even started entertaining the notion of sharing him. What had not even remotely entered her mind was the prospect of genuinely having him...alone...exclusively.
For her to be his queen not merely in spirit and in shadow, but in fact and light.
Gwen lifted his face from her breast and brushed the fringe from his forehead. Arthur wrapped his arms about her waist and brought her flush against him while his lips teased hers. They shared breath and touches that were for once not the least bit rushed, but Gwen could rarely pass up an opportunity to voice reason.
“There can be a Camelot without me,” she felt compelled to remind him even as she tangled her fingers in his silky blond hair. “You are destined to be a great king, Arthur; I know it.”
“Yet I can never be the king Camelot deserves,” he insisted, breathing these words into her mouth. “Without you by my side.”
Gwen closed her eyes and felt the declaration seep into her heart. What he wanted was insane, impractical, and even foolish. But for the first time, Gwen allowed herself to believe it was also possible.
When she opened her eyes, Arthur was regarding her carefully. Gwen then grinned at him and tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth.
“And Merlin.”
He reared back, his eyes wide. “Merlin?!”
She shrugged and touched her thumb to the place on his lip she’d just nipped. “Just seems every time you get into a scrape, he is always there helping you get out of it.”
“Oh, bloody likely!” Arthur scoffed. “He’s usually the one who pushed me in!”
Her nose teased his. “Then it is a good thing I am becoming better with the sword, isn’t it? Seems like you both need me by your side and at your back!”
*yai - Mother in Wolof