Again, probably not at all what you're looking for. I've had this idea in my head for a while though, and thought I'd try it out.
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It was a mistake.
She had been sitting in the courtyard staircase with Morgana. They’d chosen the spot carefully; close to the walls on the staircase side, so that they were hidden from this angle where he stood, with his father, and the few noblemen they were conversing with.
But Arthur knew they were there. And the moment all eyes were away from him, he sneaked away to see her.
He’d bent low so that he too would disappear under the short wall. He encircled his arms around her waist and buried his face in the soft curls that fell on her shoulder. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
There was always a sense of gentleness that took hold of him around Guinevere, he realized, from the moment they’d first kissed, the morning of the tournament. A tenderness that he could never predict in himself, as if time moved slower, allowing him to savour every movement they made around each other, every stolen minute they had together. It was almost…magical.
“Lower, Arthur, they might still be able to see your fat royal rear end sticking up.”
And the magic was gone.
“Thanks, Morgana.”
She smiled in reply, and continued to pleasantly look away. But he knew his reunion with Guinevere had to be, as always, cut short. He could already sense his father eyeing the courtyard for him. He sighed and pulled back slightly.
Guinevere was still very close, and smiling ever so softly. Her skin glowed under the sunlit sky, taking his breath away. Her beauty would be the death of him.
And in the sudden rush of affection, he cupped her face in his hands and pulled in for a kiss.
How long had it been since they’d last seen each other? Hidden away, in a deserted corridor, behind a pillar in Morgana’s chambers, the large statues, and the empty stairways, in the dark, in the quiet, sneaking, shaking, hiding, breathing, hurried, kissing, fearful, longing, pining, breaking.
Nothing was ever certain of their secret meetings it seemed, but for the unfailing time that came for them to break apart.
The sunlight snuck through his eyelids again, bright and unforgiving, and reminding him of where he was. Her smile now was tinged with knowing sadness, and he knew she was thinking the same.
He felt Morgana fist his tunic suddenly, pulling him lower, hissing about Uther looking their way. He had only seconds.
“Guinevere. I have nothing for you.”
“I’ve asked nothing from you.”
“I feel…guilty.”
“Why?”
Arthur didn’t really know why. He couldn’t explain that what he wanted to give her most was time. More time. Time that would take away the longing in her eyes, that would make their sneaking affair seem a more genuine courtship.
“I…bought you that cloak the last time. Flowers, the time before...”
Morgana cut in, “Ooh! Are you going to up your game every visit, Pendragon? How delightful for my dearest Gwen.”
But Arthur ignored her, his mind still buzzing from the kiss, the sun hot on his neck, and his hands, upon the woman he wished to never leave the company of, empty.
“My lord, you know I ask nothing of you but for your-”
“Where has he gone? …Arthur?”
And their time was up.
His eyes fixed on hers, his fingers fumbled a moment on top of Guinevere’s. Then, he fumbled with hers. He straightened up suddenly, briskly making his way back towards his father.
But it wasn’t until Arthur walked a short distance away that he realized what he’d done.
He, Arthur Pendragon, had had visions of elaborate design, of meticulous planning, and an excellent execution of an event to come.
This…was a token of affection, a reminder between two lovers, a knight’s gift to his lady.
His mother’s ring from his little finger that he'd hurriedly fitted on Guinevere’s thumb most certainly was not an impromptu proposal.
But as he reached his father, he could very faintly hear a pair of suppressed -and squeaky- giggling noises coming from what appeared to be an empty staircase.
There would still come a time for a grand formal betrothal with Guinevere.
In the meantime…Arthur decided this was a good mistake.
Urgh. I popped into this post because thefuturequeen is thinking of having a drabblefest/tag event, and got caught up reading everything again.
And realised I absolutely FAILED to comment on this the first time around. You've got Arthur's voice down so well, I almost felt like I was intruding into his brain. And the impromtu proposal was perfectly accidental and perfectly him. And this, This…was a token of affection, a reminder between two lovers, a knight’s gift to his lady. sajgklfdasjhkal if I use the word "perfect" again, will it be too much?
Also, Morgana D: the reminder of her and how she and Gwen used to be hurt. But in a good way, because it, too, was exactly them.
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It was a mistake.
She had been sitting in the courtyard staircase with Morgana. They’d chosen the spot carefully; close to the walls on the staircase side, so that they were hidden from this angle where he stood, with his father, and the few noblemen they were conversing with.
But Arthur knew they were there. And the moment all eyes were away from him, he sneaked away to see her.
He’d bent low so that he too would disappear under the short wall. He encircled his arms around her waist and buried his face in the soft curls that fell on her shoulder. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
There was always a sense of gentleness that took hold of him around Guinevere, he realized, from the moment they’d first kissed, the morning of the tournament. A tenderness that he could never predict in himself, as if time moved slower, allowing him to savour every movement they made around each other, every stolen minute they had together. It was almost…magical.
“Lower, Arthur, they might still be able to see your fat royal rear end sticking up.”
And the magic was gone.
“Thanks, Morgana.”
She smiled in reply, and continued to pleasantly look away. But he knew his reunion with Guinevere had to be, as always, cut short. He could already sense his father eyeing the courtyard for him. He sighed and pulled back slightly.
Guinevere was still very close, and smiling ever so softly. Her skin glowed under the sunlit sky, taking his breath away. Her beauty would be the death of him.
And in the sudden rush of affection, he cupped her face in his hands and pulled in for a kiss.
How long had it been since they’d last seen each other? Hidden away, in a deserted corridor, behind a pillar in Morgana’s chambers, the large statues, and the empty stairways, in the dark, in the quiet, sneaking, shaking, hiding, breathing, hurried, kissing, fearful, longing, pining, breaking.
Nothing was ever certain of their secret meetings it seemed, but for the unfailing time that came for them to break apart.
The sunlight snuck through his eyelids again, bright and unforgiving, and reminding him of where he was. Her smile now was tinged with knowing sadness, and he knew she was thinking the same.
He felt Morgana fist his tunic suddenly, pulling him lower, hissing about Uther looking their way. He had only seconds.
“Guinevere. I have nothing for you.”
“I’ve asked nothing from you.”
“I feel…guilty.”
“Why?”
Arthur didn’t really know why. He couldn’t explain that what he wanted to give her most was time. More time. Time that would take away the longing in her eyes, that would make their sneaking affair seem a more genuine courtship.
“I…bought you that cloak the last time. Flowers, the time before...”
Morgana cut in, “Ooh! Are you going to up your game every visit, Pendragon? How delightful for my dearest Gwen.”
But Arthur ignored her, his mind still buzzing from the kiss, the sun hot on his neck, and his hands, upon the woman he wished to never leave the company of, empty.
“My lord, you know I ask nothing of you but for your-”
“Where has he gone? …Arthur?”
And their time was up.
His eyes fixed on hers, his fingers fumbled a moment on top of Guinevere’s. Then, he fumbled with hers. He straightened up suddenly, briskly making his way back towards his father.
But it wasn’t until Arthur walked a short distance away that he realized what he’d done.
He, Arthur Pendragon, had had visions of elaborate design, of meticulous planning, and an excellent execution of an event to come.
This…was a token of affection, a reminder between two lovers, a knight’s gift to his lady.
His mother’s ring from his little finger that he'd hurriedly fitted on Guinevere’s thumb most certainly was not an impromptu proposal.
But as he reached his father, he could very faintly hear a pair of suppressed -and squeaky- giggling noises coming from what appeared to be an empty staircase.
There would still come a time for a grand formal betrothal with Guinevere.
In the meantime…Arthur decided this was a good mistake.
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And realised I absolutely FAILED to comment on this the first time around. You've got Arthur's voice down so well, I almost felt like I was intruding into his brain. And the impromtu proposal was perfectly accidental and perfectly him. And this, This…was a token of affection, a reminder between two lovers, a knight’s gift to his lady. sajgklfdasjhkal if I use the word "perfect" again, will it be too much?
Also, Morgana D: the reminder of her and how she and Gwen used to be hurt. But in a good way, because it, too, was exactly them.
Reply
Arthur is so much fun to write!...but I can't believe this was back in the day when I had no clue that Morgana/Gwen would become D:
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