Fic: Freefall to Fate (3/?)
Title: Freefall to Fate - AU Camelot [3/?]
Show: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Arthur (Gwen/Lancelot, Arthur/Morgana, possible Merlin/Lady of the Lake, possible Morgana/OC, Uther, & OCs)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2428
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own, because if I did…let’s just say it wouldn’t be a “family” show
Warnings: some clichés/plot devices, angst, character death.
Summary: Sir Arthur is assigned as Princess Guinevere’s personal protection on the trip to meet her betrothed, Prince Lancelot. And thus began the freefall to fate.
A/Ns: First written for the “Challenge 04 - Alternate Universe” at merlin_rarepair (which accepted WIPs). This fic concept just soooo ran away with me.
I should perhaps clarify that this is *not* a ‘this is how the legend really happened’ fic, more of an AU/Legend fusion (mostly AU with snippets from legend when it so suited me… which became more and more as I progressed). I also claim only minimal knowledge of the Arthurian legend.
*** Sorry, sorry, sorry that the update is late once again. Things either get in the way or I just find myself unable to get into the mindset for writing in general/writing this particular fic. Hopefully updates every 3 months won't be a pattern?***
Ok, no more A/Ns, onto the story!
CHAPTERS: 1 ; 2
llllllllll
It was almost alarming how much of a change had happened between Arthur and the princess. Before this, they had barely ever spoken. In fact, if Guinevere were just another noblewoman instead of being the princess and adoptive sister of Morgana, he would probably barely know of her existence. He had always thought she was a wallflower. Pretty, but much too shy for his liking. Now he knew better, knew that underneath the quiet exterior, she was a warm presence, with plenty of unspoken thoughts hiding in her head.
Perhaps that was why Morgana seemed so fond of Guinevere. Arthur had always thought them an unlikely pairing, one woman famously bold and the other notably coy. He had assumed it was merely sisterhood that bonded them, but now he understood why Morgana would cherish Guinevere’s companionship so, for he was finding value in it as well.
The next day seemed much more comfortable between them after their discussion last night. They talked some while they traveled, like about how she and Morgana had begun learning how to swordfight and some of Arthur’s funnier stories about Merlin. Guinevere’s laughter would ripple through the forest and he wouldn’t be able to help returning her charming smile with a wide grin of his own.
The hours seemed to pass quickly until it was once again growing dark and they were less than a day’s journey from Benwick. Arthur knew he should be relieved to be so close to their destination, but he also couldn’t help some regret that it would soon be over. And he wondered if maybe she shared that sentiment.
---
“Might I ask what you are thinking about?” he asked, similar to how she had begun their conversation the previous night.
Guinevere looked up from the campfire, a little flustered by his sudden question.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.”
“No. I did my share of prying last night. It is only fair.”
“But there was nothing you asked that I was unwilling to give up.”
“I am not unwilling to tell you, Arthur.” Guinevere shook her head and swallowed, unsure why she felt awkward bringing subject up with him. “I was just thinking about Prince Lancelot.”
“I see,” he answered in a strained voice, lowering his gaze. “It is natural for a woman to think of her betrothed.”
A moment passed, during which she felt the need to express her thoughts on the matter to Arthur until the words finally bubbled up to the surface.
“I have never met him.”
Arthur looked back up at her, comprehension dawning on his face.
“I am marrying a man I have never met, and all I have to go off of is his reputation.”
He nodded. “A noble reputation, I hope.”
“I have heard nothing but good things, only of his kindness and gallantry,” she replied with a tilt of her head. “But no amount of words is enough when I do not know him. I doubt a cruel word would be said about him, no matter how true, merely because he is a prince. So I cannot trust that he will truly be the same man I have heard about.”
“I cannot promise that he will be everything you have heard. But tongues do wag, and if he had any serious faults, your father would know of it and not submit you to such a match,” he said in reassurance.
“It is what I hope. I just wish a husband could be more than someone you can put up with.” She sighed, “But marrying is one of my duties. We all have our duties, just like you have yours.”
“But there’s a difference. I asked for my duties. As does every knight. Princesses do not.”
Guinevere shrugged. “I usually do not mind it. Sometimes I even wish I had been born male, because then I would be able to rule my people.” She then sighed again. ‘You must think me foolish.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that. I imagine you would be a good ruler. You are wise, just, compassionate…” He smiled gently, perhaps a little embarrassed.
“You don’t think I would lack the command and force of a warrior king?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Peace is more important than war. You would be good at maintaining it. And if war were inevitable, you would be more concerned with the kingdom’s well-being than your own foolish pride. Besides…” a roguish grin tugged at his lips, “I have seen you with a sword.”
She blushed at his words and teasing eyes.
But Guinevere was soon reminded of her betrothal. What if she did not get along with her husband this easily? What if she did not like him? Or perhaps worse…
Arthur noticed her sudden change in expression. “What's wrong? Have I offended you?” She could hear the lump in his throat.
Guinevere quickly shook her head. “No, it’s… I just realized that I am not the only one awaiting an unknown spouse. Here I am worried he will disappoint me when perhaps I should worry that I will disappoint him.”
Arthur shifted from the log he sat on to hers, placing his hand over her own, which rested on her knee.
“I assure you, Guinevere, he will not be disappointed. He will have a beautiful wife, which is all many men ask for. And if he has any sense, he will know he is blessed with a brave, kind, and intelligent woman such as yourself.”
Guinevere’s cheeks felt warm at his words and shook her head. Unable to look him in the eye, she focused on how his fingers curled over the back of her hand and tucked between her thumb and palm.
“I am not so beautiful. Morgana -”
“Morgana attracts male attention, will hold the attention, and can even manipulate it. You, however, shy away from it. It does not make you less beautiful, only more modest.” Guinevere could almost hear him swallow, before he said more lowly, “That is one man’s opinion, anyway.”
Still incapable of lifting her gaze from their hands, she moved her thumb over his fingers. His hand gripped hers a bit tighter in response.
“I wish you did not have to do this,” he added lowly.
Her eyes finally found his face, surprised at how close he seemed. But it was not unwelcome. “I wish I did not have to do this, either,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for several moments, staring at each other. She studied his expression, his eyes, his mouth. He leaned forward. She closed her eyes.
A second more passed than Guinevere thought right, before she felt his lips press against her cheek.
“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice strange.
And she realized that tone in his voice was restraint.
---
Arthur had come much too close to kissing her last night. If his brain had not kicked in last second, he surely would have. And that would have been a mistake - despite how good he was sure it would have been.
Good, but wrong.
He rose early the next morning, despite only being able to fall asleep a few hours ago. Wanting to let the princess sleep a bit more, he went to river he had spotted last night while deciding where to camp.
The river was not very wide, but looked rather deep and the current slow. Arthur crouched down to splash some water on his face, trying to push the inappropriate thoughts out of his head and wishing the water were colder. He cupped water to his mouth for a few satisfying gulps before mopping the back of his neck and exhaling.
A twig snapped behind him, causing Arthur to sharply turn, hand on sword.
“It’s just me,” Guinevere said quickly, her hands up in a mock surrender. “I’d simply wondered where you’d gone. You weren’t there when I woke up.”
He nodded, relaxing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You did not venture far,” she said in understanding.
She crouched beside him, drinking her own fill of water before wetting her face.
“Do we have far left to go?”
Arthur realized how intently he was watching her and shifted his gaze. “We would probably arrive before the afternoon.”
“Then perhaps I could bathe before being received in Benwick. If it would not delay us too much.”
He swallowed. “No, we have time enough. I will give you some privacy.”
“But that would be leaving me alone,” she pointed out as he took a few steps. “Besides, it would not be a bad idea if you bathed as well,” she said with a gentle laugh. “You’ve been in that armor for a few days.”
Arthur frowned, hoping that he didn’t smell too horrendous. “I suppose…”
“If you could just turn your back while I undress.”
“Of course,” he said quickly and faced away from her.
For the second time in three days Arthur found himself trying not to imagine her naked body while she undressed not far away. But purposely trying not to think about it only made the thought occur to him even more, aided by every sound of rough cloth sliding against her skin and the smooth silk of her bindings whispering off her breasts.
He really hoped the river water was colder once he was submerged in it.
Finally he heard the splash of her entering the water. “I’m in now,” she called.
He began to work on his armor, struggling a bit with a few of the harder-to-reach buckles. Then came his chainmail, padding, undershirt, boots, and trousers. He wondered if it was only his imagination that he felt her eyes on him. But when he finished and turned, Guinevere’s back was to him.
Her wet and gleaming naked back.
Arthur faced away from her as soon as he got in the river. The water itself was pleasantly warm from the summer sun shining on it, although today he would have preferred something frigid. He tried to keep his distance from her, but that was impossible in the narrowness of the stream without going shallow enough to expose himself.
It was silent between them, save for the sound of water shifting while they bathed. He tried to forget the fact that she was so close he could reach behind him and touch her, and that they were both very naked, with no barrier between them whatsoever. Except it was very, very hard to forget.
It was why he jumped when he felt the cool touch in the center of his back. He sharply turned, instantly wishing that he hadn’t, to face her. His eyes couldn’t help but flicker over her exposed torso, but quickly snapped to her face.
And then she reached up and kissed him.
Arthur’s eyebrows were knit together as she broke apart, his expression one of confusion. And before he could collect himself to voice a proper question, she kissed him again.
To Arthur’s credit, he remained still for several moments, passively letting her kiss him, parting his lips for her access. Then something inside him seemed to snap, and he was kissing her back, bringing one hand to her neck as he tilted her head back, his mouth firm but gentle.
Her hands went to his shoulders, pulling herself up so that her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples hard and grazing enticingly against him. Then one of her hands was traveling back down between their torsos, his body knowing her destination even if his mind hadn’t yet registered it, his muscles contracting under her touch.
He grunted when her fingers finally brushed his cock. Right then, he knew he’d let it go much too far, that he should pull away. But then her hand splayed over him, her palm and fingers stroking him experimentally, unsurely, and all coherent thought left him.
His lips slowed on hers, their kisses becoming simpler, as everything seemed to melt away and his mind blurred. It felt good - so damn good. But it wasn’t what he needed. So he reached down, knowing he should be dragging her hand away from him, but instead guiding her hand so that it was wrapped firmly around him and showing her how to move. She took his wordless instruction, pausing when his hand left hers, only to squeeze him a little and continue.
He groaned, long and low, as her hand pumped on him. Her pace was unhurried, but that didn’t matter since it seemed that time itself had paused, only feeling her small and surprisingly sure hand and her soft, sweet mouth.
Every once and awhile her lips would leave his, he could only assume to draw back enough to see him, to gauge his reactions. But he didn’t dare open his eyes to look at her, afraid her face might remind him of exactly who she was and why he should not let this be happening. Even if that meant not seeing her brown eyes, so deep and dark he could easily fall right into them. And her full lips, so tantalizing in whichever expression she wore on them. And her freckles, that he somehow had never, ever noticed before and spent much of last night memorizing each one in the firelight.
But of course as he reminded himself of all the things he was missing, he couldn’t help finally opening his eyes when she drew back yet again. And even if that meant facing the guilt, it was worth it. Worth seeing the water droplets on her eyelashes, the damp curls framing her face and the flush in her cheeks; worth it to see how she looked back at him.
“Guinevere,” he moaned raggedly, wanting to tell her… he didn’t know what. But wanting to say something.
His other hand trailed up her back and she shivered. But she did not shy away. Her brown eyes just locked on his as she moved closer, making the intensity inside him build under her gaze. She pressed a brief kiss to his lips, whispered his name, and - whether she meant to or not - sent him over the edge.
Reality slowly bled into his bliss, returning him to rational thought.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked, his voice still rough.
Guinevere stared back, her own breathing a bit labored, and licked her lips. “Because I wanted to.”
Before Arthur could say or do anything more, Guinevere moved past him and lifted herself out of the water towards the pile of her clothes.
llllllllll
This is when I shamelessly lie to you that more comments = faster updates. Well, kind of a lie. It might motivate me more (or at least guilts me more), but doesn't necessarily give me the time. I will love them, regardless.
CHAPTER 4 HERE
Show: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Arthur (Gwen/Lancelot, Arthur/Morgana, possible Merlin/Lady of the Lake, possible Morgana/OC, Uther, & OCs)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2428
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own, because if I did…let’s just say it wouldn’t be a “family” show
Warnings: some clichés/plot devices, angst, character death.
Summary: Sir Arthur is assigned as Princess Guinevere’s personal protection on the trip to meet her betrothed, Prince Lancelot. And thus began the freefall to fate.
A/Ns: First written for the “Challenge 04 - Alternate Universe” at merlin_rarepair (which accepted WIPs). This fic concept just soooo ran away with me.
I should perhaps clarify that this is *not* a ‘this is how the legend really happened’ fic, more of an AU/Legend fusion (mostly AU with snippets from legend when it so suited me… which became more and more as I progressed). I also claim only minimal knowledge of the Arthurian legend.
*** Sorry, sorry, sorry that the update is late once again. Things either get in the way or I just find myself unable to get into the mindset for writing in general/writing this particular fic. Hopefully updates every 3 months won't be a pattern?***
Ok, no more A/Ns, onto the story!
CHAPTERS: 1 ; 2
llllllllll
It was almost alarming how much of a change had happened between Arthur and the princess. Before this, they had barely ever spoken. In fact, if Guinevere were just another noblewoman instead of being the princess and adoptive sister of Morgana, he would probably barely know of her existence. He had always thought she was a wallflower. Pretty, but much too shy for his liking. Now he knew better, knew that underneath the quiet exterior, she was a warm presence, with plenty of unspoken thoughts hiding in her head.
Perhaps that was why Morgana seemed so fond of Guinevere. Arthur had always thought them an unlikely pairing, one woman famously bold and the other notably coy. He had assumed it was merely sisterhood that bonded them, but now he understood why Morgana would cherish Guinevere’s companionship so, for he was finding value in it as well.
The next day seemed much more comfortable between them after their discussion last night. They talked some while they traveled, like about how she and Morgana had begun learning how to swordfight and some of Arthur’s funnier stories about Merlin. Guinevere’s laughter would ripple through the forest and he wouldn’t be able to help returning her charming smile with a wide grin of his own.
The hours seemed to pass quickly until it was once again growing dark and they were less than a day’s journey from Benwick. Arthur knew he should be relieved to be so close to their destination, but he also couldn’t help some regret that it would soon be over. And he wondered if maybe she shared that sentiment.
---
“Might I ask what you are thinking about?” he asked, similar to how she had begun their conversation the previous night.
Guinevere looked up from the campfire, a little flustered by his sudden question.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.”
“No. I did my share of prying last night. It is only fair.”
“But there was nothing you asked that I was unwilling to give up.”
“I am not unwilling to tell you, Arthur.” Guinevere shook her head and swallowed, unsure why she felt awkward bringing subject up with him. “I was just thinking about Prince Lancelot.”
“I see,” he answered in a strained voice, lowering his gaze. “It is natural for a woman to think of her betrothed.”
A moment passed, during which she felt the need to express her thoughts on the matter to Arthur until the words finally bubbled up to the surface.
“I have never met him.”
Arthur looked back up at her, comprehension dawning on his face.
“I am marrying a man I have never met, and all I have to go off of is his reputation.”
He nodded. “A noble reputation, I hope.”
“I have heard nothing but good things, only of his kindness and gallantry,” she replied with a tilt of her head. “But no amount of words is enough when I do not know him. I doubt a cruel word would be said about him, no matter how true, merely because he is a prince. So I cannot trust that he will truly be the same man I have heard about.”
“I cannot promise that he will be everything you have heard. But tongues do wag, and if he had any serious faults, your father would know of it and not submit you to such a match,” he said in reassurance.
“It is what I hope. I just wish a husband could be more than someone you can put up with.” She sighed, “But marrying is one of my duties. We all have our duties, just like you have yours.”
“But there’s a difference. I asked for my duties. As does every knight. Princesses do not.”
Guinevere shrugged. “I usually do not mind it. Sometimes I even wish I had been born male, because then I would be able to rule my people.” She then sighed again. ‘You must think me foolish.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that. I imagine you would be a good ruler. You are wise, just, compassionate…” He smiled gently, perhaps a little embarrassed.
“You don’t think I would lack the command and force of a warrior king?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Peace is more important than war. You would be good at maintaining it. And if war were inevitable, you would be more concerned with the kingdom’s well-being than your own foolish pride. Besides…” a roguish grin tugged at his lips, “I have seen you with a sword.”
She blushed at his words and teasing eyes.
But Guinevere was soon reminded of her betrothal. What if she did not get along with her husband this easily? What if she did not like him? Or perhaps worse…
Arthur noticed her sudden change in expression. “What's wrong? Have I offended you?” She could hear the lump in his throat.
Guinevere quickly shook her head. “No, it’s… I just realized that I am not the only one awaiting an unknown spouse. Here I am worried he will disappoint me when perhaps I should worry that I will disappoint him.”
Arthur shifted from the log he sat on to hers, placing his hand over her own, which rested on her knee.
“I assure you, Guinevere, he will not be disappointed. He will have a beautiful wife, which is all many men ask for. And if he has any sense, he will know he is blessed with a brave, kind, and intelligent woman such as yourself.”
Guinevere’s cheeks felt warm at his words and shook her head. Unable to look him in the eye, she focused on how his fingers curled over the back of her hand and tucked between her thumb and palm.
“I am not so beautiful. Morgana -”
“Morgana attracts male attention, will hold the attention, and can even manipulate it. You, however, shy away from it. It does not make you less beautiful, only more modest.” Guinevere could almost hear him swallow, before he said more lowly, “That is one man’s opinion, anyway.”
Still incapable of lifting her gaze from their hands, she moved her thumb over his fingers. His hand gripped hers a bit tighter in response.
“I wish you did not have to do this,” he added lowly.
Her eyes finally found his face, surprised at how close he seemed. But it was not unwelcome. “I wish I did not have to do this, either,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for several moments, staring at each other. She studied his expression, his eyes, his mouth. He leaned forward. She closed her eyes.
A second more passed than Guinevere thought right, before she felt his lips press against her cheek.
“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice strange.
And she realized that tone in his voice was restraint.
---
Arthur had come much too close to kissing her last night. If his brain had not kicked in last second, he surely would have. And that would have been a mistake - despite how good he was sure it would have been.
Good, but wrong.
He rose early the next morning, despite only being able to fall asleep a few hours ago. Wanting to let the princess sleep a bit more, he went to river he had spotted last night while deciding where to camp.
The river was not very wide, but looked rather deep and the current slow. Arthur crouched down to splash some water on his face, trying to push the inappropriate thoughts out of his head and wishing the water were colder. He cupped water to his mouth for a few satisfying gulps before mopping the back of his neck and exhaling.
A twig snapped behind him, causing Arthur to sharply turn, hand on sword.
“It’s just me,” Guinevere said quickly, her hands up in a mock surrender. “I’d simply wondered where you’d gone. You weren’t there when I woke up.”
He nodded, relaxing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You did not venture far,” she said in understanding.
She crouched beside him, drinking her own fill of water before wetting her face.
“Do we have far left to go?”
Arthur realized how intently he was watching her and shifted his gaze. “We would probably arrive before the afternoon.”
“Then perhaps I could bathe before being received in Benwick. If it would not delay us too much.”
He swallowed. “No, we have time enough. I will give you some privacy.”
“But that would be leaving me alone,” she pointed out as he took a few steps. “Besides, it would not be a bad idea if you bathed as well,” she said with a gentle laugh. “You’ve been in that armor for a few days.”
Arthur frowned, hoping that he didn’t smell too horrendous. “I suppose…”
“If you could just turn your back while I undress.”
“Of course,” he said quickly and faced away from her.
For the second time in three days Arthur found himself trying not to imagine her naked body while she undressed not far away. But purposely trying not to think about it only made the thought occur to him even more, aided by every sound of rough cloth sliding against her skin and the smooth silk of her bindings whispering off her breasts.
He really hoped the river water was colder once he was submerged in it.
Finally he heard the splash of her entering the water. “I’m in now,” she called.
He began to work on his armor, struggling a bit with a few of the harder-to-reach buckles. Then came his chainmail, padding, undershirt, boots, and trousers. He wondered if it was only his imagination that he felt her eyes on him. But when he finished and turned, Guinevere’s back was to him.
Her wet and gleaming naked back.
Arthur faced away from her as soon as he got in the river. The water itself was pleasantly warm from the summer sun shining on it, although today he would have preferred something frigid. He tried to keep his distance from her, but that was impossible in the narrowness of the stream without going shallow enough to expose himself.
It was silent between them, save for the sound of water shifting while they bathed. He tried to forget the fact that she was so close he could reach behind him and touch her, and that they were both very naked, with no barrier between them whatsoever. Except it was very, very hard to forget.
It was why he jumped when he felt the cool touch in the center of his back. He sharply turned, instantly wishing that he hadn’t, to face her. His eyes couldn’t help but flicker over her exposed torso, but quickly snapped to her face.
And then she reached up and kissed him.
Arthur’s eyebrows were knit together as she broke apart, his expression one of confusion. And before he could collect himself to voice a proper question, she kissed him again.
To Arthur’s credit, he remained still for several moments, passively letting her kiss him, parting his lips for her access. Then something inside him seemed to snap, and he was kissing her back, bringing one hand to her neck as he tilted her head back, his mouth firm but gentle.
Her hands went to his shoulders, pulling herself up so that her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples hard and grazing enticingly against him. Then one of her hands was traveling back down between their torsos, his body knowing her destination even if his mind hadn’t yet registered it, his muscles contracting under her touch.
He grunted when her fingers finally brushed his cock. Right then, he knew he’d let it go much too far, that he should pull away. But then her hand splayed over him, her palm and fingers stroking him experimentally, unsurely, and all coherent thought left him.
His lips slowed on hers, their kisses becoming simpler, as everything seemed to melt away and his mind blurred. It felt good - so damn good. But it wasn’t what he needed. So he reached down, knowing he should be dragging her hand away from him, but instead guiding her hand so that it was wrapped firmly around him and showing her how to move. She took his wordless instruction, pausing when his hand left hers, only to squeeze him a little and continue.
He groaned, long and low, as her hand pumped on him. Her pace was unhurried, but that didn’t matter since it seemed that time itself had paused, only feeling her small and surprisingly sure hand and her soft, sweet mouth.
Every once and awhile her lips would leave his, he could only assume to draw back enough to see him, to gauge his reactions. But he didn’t dare open his eyes to look at her, afraid her face might remind him of exactly who she was and why he should not let this be happening. Even if that meant not seeing her brown eyes, so deep and dark he could easily fall right into them. And her full lips, so tantalizing in whichever expression she wore on them. And her freckles, that he somehow had never, ever noticed before and spent much of last night memorizing each one in the firelight.
But of course as he reminded himself of all the things he was missing, he couldn’t help finally opening his eyes when she drew back yet again. And even if that meant facing the guilt, it was worth it. Worth seeing the water droplets on her eyelashes, the damp curls framing her face and the flush in her cheeks; worth it to see how she looked back at him.
“Guinevere,” he moaned raggedly, wanting to tell her… he didn’t know what. But wanting to say something.
His other hand trailed up her back and she shivered. But she did not shy away. Her brown eyes just locked on his as she moved closer, making the intensity inside him build under her gaze. She pressed a brief kiss to his lips, whispered his name, and - whether she meant to or not - sent him over the edge.
Reality slowly bled into his bliss, returning him to rational thought.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked, his voice still rough.
Guinevere stared back, her own breathing a bit labored, and licked her lips. “Because I wanted to.”
Before Arthur could say or do anything more, Guinevere moved past him and lifted herself out of the water towards the pile of her clothes.
llllllllll
This is when I shamelessly lie to you that more comments = faster updates. Well, kind of a lie. It might motivate me more (or at least guilts me more), but doesn't necessarily give me the time. I will love them, regardless.
CHAPTER 4 HERE