Fic: of princes, pig boys and perfect maidservants
Characters: Arthur, Gwen and Morgana (I still love you Merlin!)
Rating: G.
Wordcount: 2416.
Summary: One take on how Gwen came to be Morgana’s maidservant.
A/N: Months ago Ven gave me a prompt - Scene: Camelot, 6ish years ago. Arthur encounters Gwen through dealings with the blacksmith and she insults him epically. He is somewhere between offended and amused at this, and draws a private comparison to Morgana's fierceness. Although obviously he wouldn't admit it, he's worried about Morgana (who has recently started to have her nightmares and has been looking ill and lonely), so he recommends Gwen as a good match for Morgana as her maidservant. He is smug and relieved to see Morgana looking happier in her company. Then he never, ever lets on that he was involved. And I wrote her this fic! And then forgot all about it... So now I am finally posting it up at my journal :)
Many thanks to Vensre, whose plotbunny this was in the first place, and who beta’d the finished product for me as well!
Arthur wasn't meant to be in the lower town at all. If he hadn't been hiding from Lady Emilia and her horrible daughter, he would never have had to dodge down the alley behind the little Shambles. And if Lady Emilia hadn't seen him disappearing down said alleyway, he would never have ended up in the Smith's forge surrounded by nails and bits of armour and covered in soot, while an assassin brandished a broom at him.
"Ow!" said Arthur, because the broom had hurt.
"I told you I would do it if I caught you here again!" said the assassin managing, to sound just a little apologetic - which was odd, when Arthur thought about it. "You oughtn't to go poking around in other-" the assassin broke off with a squeak as Arthur staggered to his feet and glared as regally as he was able. "Oh. Oh!" said the assassin, looking horrified, "You're not the pig boy!"
Arthur didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he settled for glaring a bit more (and wiping some of the soot off of his face).
"I thought you were the pig boy," said the assassin who, now that Arthur could actually see, looked rather less like an assassin and more like a teenage girl, shorter than him and wearing what looked suspiciously like a heavy smith's apron over her dress.
"Do I look like the pig boy?" said Arthur at last, through gritted teeth.
"Yes. No! I mean, no. Except you know-" she gestured, eyes wide, "with the hair and the... lurking. But the pig-boy's skinnier."
Arthur stared at her.
"Not that you're fat!" she blurted, "Because you're not. Fat, I mean. It's just the pig-boy would make anyone look fat." She winced. "Everyone except you, I mean. Obviously." She seemed to run out of things to say and spent quite a few seconds looking at the floor, the wall, the gauntlet that had toppled off the shelf and Arthur's right foot.
"Well," said Arthur, when he had recovered himself somewhat (and blinked some more soot out of his eyes), "If this pig boy is such a nuisance then I shall have him brought in by the guards and dealt with." He was using his best 'royal' voice, the one he heard his father use when he wished to convey just the right amount of condescension.
The girl however did not seem to notice. "Oh no!" she said at once, eyes flying back up to his face and looking even more horrified then when she had first recognised him (which Arthur thought rather insulting), "Please don't sire! He's harmless. Really, he is. He's just a bit simple and he likes to come in here, and I thought it was him. Making a mess, I mean, not you."
"I tripped," said Arthur with great dignity.
The girl quailed a little under his gaze and looked back at the floor. "I apologise sire. Only," she hesitated, the continued, eyes lowered and sounding nervous but strangely determined, "please don't take him in, it wouldn't be fair."
Arthur brushed some more dirt and soot off his cloak and considered the girl. She was staring at the floor still, one hand balled into a fist at her side and the other fidgeting with the tie of her apron, tension plain in every line of her body as she waited for his judgement. For a moment the pose looked painfully familiar and he wondered why. The girl risked a glance back up at him and then away, unsure, and he thought that she wanted to say more, but she didn't quite dare it.
He cleared his throat and spoke into the silence, suddenly uncomfortable. "On this occasion I think it is best forgotten. I only hope I never have the misfortune to meet this boy myself."
All the tension seemed to melt out of the girl at once and she beamed at him. "Thank you sire!"
"Yes, well," muttered Arthur.
"I'm sorry about the broom!" the girl said suddenly, looking awkward again.
"Well, I suppose if I had been a thief, or a pig boy - which I wasn't - that might have been an effective tactic."
The girl looked surprised. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," said Arthur graciously - as he had seen his father do many times when bestowing wisdom upon the populace, "Good bye then, er...?"
"Guinevere, your highness," the girl added a curtsy (about time too!) and looked suitably deferential.
"Very well, Guinevere. Good bye." And Arthur strode out of the building - before having to run down three more side alleys and sneak into the castle via the orchard so as not to alert Lady Emilia, who appeared to be lurking at the castle gates.
It was nearly two weeks later before he thought of the girl, Guinevere, again. He had been asked to sit with Morgana. Well, his father had suggested he sit with her and then glared at him until he did so, but the result was the same. They were sitting in the orchard, Arthur making a show of sharpening his favourite knife (what kind of knight spent their afternoons in an orchard anyway?) whilst Morgana fiddled listlessly with a piece of embroidery or ribbon or some such. He sneaked a little sideways glance at her, wondering if he was allowed to mention how awful she looked. He knew she wasn't sleeping, he had heard Gaius talking about it with his father when he thought Arthur couldn't hear them. And it wasn't as if Arthur cared. It was just... unusual. Three years ago he would have been ecstatic to have her so quiet. But now...
"You look awful," Arthur said, since it was the truth.
Morgana stopped fiddling with her embroidery and glared.
"Well, you do," said Arthur, "What's wrong with you?"
Morgana stopped glaring and looked away to the dense hedgerow that skirted the orchard, unseeing. Arthur frowned at her, trying not to notice the way her skin looked almost translucent in the sunlight, except for the dark shadows under her eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered if she would even answer him.
"I miss him," she said at last, so quiet that Arthur barely caught it. "I miss my father. He would always come home, at the end of the summer..." she broke off and bit her lip, her gaze still far away.
Arthur thought that perhaps he should say something about his mother, only it didn't feel right. He had never known his mother and if he missed anything, it was the idea of her, and not the reality. But Morgana had known her father for too long, and so it was not the same.
"Aren't you happy here?" he blurted out instead, then immediately felt foolish.
But for once Morgana didn't laugh at him. She looked at him and her gaze was older than he had ever seen it, and sadder. "I'm not unhappy," she said.
She picked up the embroidery and began winding the thread round and round her fingers - a nervous gesture, he had discovered. He put down his knife and cast around for something to distract her. Anything.
"Did I tell you I got hit with a broom last week?"
His words surprised a sudden laugh from Morgana - which, really, was only fair since he hadn't been meaning to tell her that story at all.
"A broom? You?" her eyes were still sad but there was a smile playing around her lips and her hands were still.
"Yes," said Arthur, indignantly, since it was too late to back out, "one of the townspeople accosted me and accused me of being a pig keeper!"
Morgana snorted, "I can't imagine how someone would think such a thing."
"I know!" said Arthur, warming to his theme, "I blame Lady Emilia of course."
"Oh really?" Morgana settled back in her chair and watched him, some of the tension leaving her body at last, "I think you are going to have to tell me the whole thing and let me judge that for myself."
So Arthur did, making sure to give the impression that his assailant was at least six feet tall and built like Owen, the master mason, because good deed or not, he was not about to tell anyone he had been beaten by a girl.
Arthur would later blame this conversation for his sudden and, in hindsight rather successful, foray into domestic affairs. He was sitting down to dinner with his father and Lord Morton, and paying as little attention as possible since Lord Morton rarely acknowledged him, unless it was to try and enlist his help in badgering Morgana into visiting his wife at their country estate and renewing her acquaintance with their horrible son Eustace.
"-was with her yesterday, weren't you Arthur?"
Arthur tuned back in. "I beg your pardon?"
His father gave him a disapproving look. "Lord Morton was just asking where Morgana was. How did she seem to you yesterday?"
"Oh. Er, she seemed well." Arthur hazarded, since he had no wish to discuss Morgana's father in front of Lord Morton. "A little tired, perhaps."
"Young girls often suffer from such maladies," Lord Morton said dismissively, helping himself to another piece of chicken.
The King frowned but did not comment.
"Perhaps she would benefit from some time away from court," Lord Morton continued, right on cue, "A woman's guiding hand." He took a sip of wine as he pretended to think about it, and Arthur gritted his teeth before Lord Morton finished, all too casually, "I know my wife would be happy to-"
"No," Arthur broke in, too loudly.
Both Lord Morton and his father turned to stare at him.
"I just... I don't think she needs time away," Arthur continued, a little less certain in the face of his father's displeasure.
His father raised an eyebrow, "She is my ward, Arthur. It is for me to decide what is best, not her. And certainly not you." His tone was very final.
"Of course, father," said Arthur, dropping his gaze.
And that was when he knew who the girl in the blacksmith's forge had reminded him of. Morgana. Morgana when she had arrived at court, a too pale eleven year old who had had to learn when to argue and when to await the judgement of a man who had all the power in the world over her, whether she accepted it or no. It was only right that a King should have command of his subjects, Arthur knew that better than anyone, but the commands should be the right ones, they should be - he remembered the words of the girl in the forge - fair. He had seen Morgana too often with a fist balled at her side while others made decisions for her. He remembered the way she had laughed in the orchard when he had told her about his run in with the 'broom wielding maniac,' and he knew he didn't want her shut away with Lady Morton, learning how to accept her place without question.
His father and Lord Morton were eating in silence when Arthur, greatly daring, spoke again. "I think, father, that Morgana is lonely."
His father stopped eating and looked up at him, surprised. "Nonsense, Arthur. She is surrounded by people."
"No," he paused, searching for the right words. "I mean she is lonely for companionship."
His father looked confused. "What are you suggesting?"
Lord Morton was listening too now, so Arthur decided to get to the point. "Perhaps she needs a maidservant."
"She has a maidservant, a very efficient one," his father pointed out at once.
Yes, thought Arthur, a maidservant who is thirty-five if she's a day, and barely qualified to be called a 'maid' any longer. "I meant, someone nearer to her own age. You could not ask such service of a noblewoman, they have to attend their husbands and their daughters must attend them. But a servant is different."
His father didn't speak for a moment and Arthur realised that he was actually considering it. "It is not without merit, certainly. But who could be promoted to such a position? One of the higher chambermaids, perhaps?"
Arthur took a deep breath - because, quite frankly, he wouldn't envy any of the chambermaids a lifetime of serving Morgana. And anyway, Morgana needed a companion, not a servant, and Arthur had little doubt that attacking the heir to the throne with a broom, insulting him and very nearly starting an argument with him over a pig-boy would be a more than adequate qualification as far as Morgana was concerned. So he let the breath out and said, "Actually, I was thinking of someone else."
A week later Guinevere arrived at the castle, looking somewhat surprised by her good fortune and a little nervous whenever she glimpsed Arthur in the distance. Not that she glimpsed him very often. Arthur, after all, had had very little to do with the whole affair. He had only spoken to his father, who had spoken to the steward, who had sent for the smith's daughter and pronounced her healthy, well-mannered and a 'useful sort of person.' When Uther had wavered (because really, a smith's daughter?) Arthur had merely sent Morgana in the right direction at the right time and then it was too late. Morgana was happy, Guinevere had been suitably awestruck in the King's presence and Uther had graciously allowed a trial period before making a decision.
He did his best to avoid Guinevere, lest he be reminded of any embarrassing and unfortunate soot-related incidents, but he saw them often - walking in the gardens or sneaking off into the woods with practice swords (honestly, how stupid did they think he was?). He couldn't imagine such a thing for himself of course - he preferred his servants to be seen and not heard - but Morgana seemed to like it and as the weeks went by, the shadows on her face lightened, and no-one suggested any extended visits with Lady Morton.
And if Arthur 'forgot' to mention to the King when the trial period came to an end, well it had been a very busy time at court and these things happened.
He hadn't done anything, really.
The End
Rating: G.
Wordcount: 2416.
Summary: One take on how Gwen came to be Morgana’s maidservant.
A/N: Months ago Ven gave me a prompt - Scene: Camelot, 6ish years ago. Arthur encounters Gwen through dealings with the blacksmith and she insults him epically. He is somewhere between offended and amused at this, and draws a private comparison to Morgana's fierceness. Although obviously he wouldn't admit it, he's worried about Morgana (who has recently started to have her nightmares and has been looking ill and lonely), so he recommends Gwen as a good match for Morgana as her maidservant. He is smug and relieved to see Morgana looking happier in her company. Then he never, ever lets on that he was involved. And I wrote her this fic! And then forgot all about it... So now I am finally posting it up at my journal :)
Many thanks to Vensre, whose plotbunny this was in the first place, and who beta’d the finished product for me as well!
Arthur wasn't meant to be in the lower town at all. If he hadn't been hiding from Lady Emilia and her horrible daughter, he would never have had to dodge down the alley behind the little Shambles. And if Lady Emilia hadn't seen him disappearing down said alleyway, he would never have ended up in the Smith's forge surrounded by nails and bits of armour and covered in soot, while an assassin brandished a broom at him.
"Ow!" said Arthur, because the broom had hurt.
"I told you I would do it if I caught you here again!" said the assassin managing, to sound just a little apologetic - which was odd, when Arthur thought about it. "You oughtn't to go poking around in other-" the assassin broke off with a squeak as Arthur staggered to his feet and glared as regally as he was able. "Oh. Oh!" said the assassin, looking horrified, "You're not the pig boy!"
Arthur didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he settled for glaring a bit more (and wiping some of the soot off of his face).
"I thought you were the pig boy," said the assassin who, now that Arthur could actually see, looked rather less like an assassin and more like a teenage girl, shorter than him and wearing what looked suspiciously like a heavy smith's apron over her dress.
"Do I look like the pig boy?" said Arthur at last, through gritted teeth.
"Yes. No! I mean, no. Except you know-" she gestured, eyes wide, "with the hair and the... lurking. But the pig-boy's skinnier."
Arthur stared at her.
"Not that you're fat!" she blurted, "Because you're not. Fat, I mean. It's just the pig-boy would make anyone look fat." She winced. "Everyone except you, I mean. Obviously." She seemed to run out of things to say and spent quite a few seconds looking at the floor, the wall, the gauntlet that had toppled off the shelf and Arthur's right foot.
"Well," said Arthur, when he had recovered himself somewhat (and blinked some more soot out of his eyes), "If this pig boy is such a nuisance then I shall have him brought in by the guards and dealt with." He was using his best 'royal' voice, the one he heard his father use when he wished to convey just the right amount of condescension.
The girl however did not seem to notice. "Oh no!" she said at once, eyes flying back up to his face and looking even more horrified then when she had first recognised him (which Arthur thought rather insulting), "Please don't sire! He's harmless. Really, he is. He's just a bit simple and he likes to come in here, and I thought it was him. Making a mess, I mean, not you."
"I tripped," said Arthur with great dignity.
The girl quailed a little under his gaze and looked back at the floor. "I apologise sire. Only," she hesitated, the continued, eyes lowered and sounding nervous but strangely determined, "please don't take him in, it wouldn't be fair."
Arthur brushed some more dirt and soot off his cloak and considered the girl. She was staring at the floor still, one hand balled into a fist at her side and the other fidgeting with the tie of her apron, tension plain in every line of her body as she waited for his judgement. For a moment the pose looked painfully familiar and he wondered why. The girl risked a glance back up at him and then away, unsure, and he thought that she wanted to say more, but she didn't quite dare it.
He cleared his throat and spoke into the silence, suddenly uncomfortable. "On this occasion I think it is best forgotten. I only hope I never have the misfortune to meet this boy myself."
All the tension seemed to melt out of the girl at once and she beamed at him. "Thank you sire!"
"Yes, well," muttered Arthur.
"I'm sorry about the broom!" the girl said suddenly, looking awkward again.
"Well, I suppose if I had been a thief, or a pig boy - which I wasn't - that might have been an effective tactic."
The girl looked surprised. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," said Arthur graciously - as he had seen his father do many times when bestowing wisdom upon the populace, "Good bye then, er...?"
"Guinevere, your highness," the girl added a curtsy (about time too!) and looked suitably deferential.
"Very well, Guinevere. Good bye." And Arthur strode out of the building - before having to run down three more side alleys and sneak into the castle via the orchard so as not to alert Lady Emilia, who appeared to be lurking at the castle gates.
It was nearly two weeks later before he thought of the girl, Guinevere, again. He had been asked to sit with Morgana. Well, his father had suggested he sit with her and then glared at him until he did so, but the result was the same. They were sitting in the orchard, Arthur making a show of sharpening his favourite knife (what kind of knight spent their afternoons in an orchard anyway?) whilst Morgana fiddled listlessly with a piece of embroidery or ribbon or some such. He sneaked a little sideways glance at her, wondering if he was allowed to mention how awful she looked. He knew she wasn't sleeping, he had heard Gaius talking about it with his father when he thought Arthur couldn't hear them. And it wasn't as if Arthur cared. It was just... unusual. Three years ago he would have been ecstatic to have her so quiet. But now...
"You look awful," Arthur said, since it was the truth.
Morgana stopped fiddling with her embroidery and glared.
"Well, you do," said Arthur, "What's wrong with you?"
Morgana stopped glaring and looked away to the dense hedgerow that skirted the orchard, unseeing. Arthur frowned at her, trying not to notice the way her skin looked almost translucent in the sunlight, except for the dark shadows under her eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered if she would even answer him.
"I miss him," she said at last, so quiet that Arthur barely caught it. "I miss my father. He would always come home, at the end of the summer..." she broke off and bit her lip, her gaze still far away.
Arthur thought that perhaps he should say something about his mother, only it didn't feel right. He had never known his mother and if he missed anything, it was the idea of her, and not the reality. But Morgana had known her father for too long, and so it was not the same.
"Aren't you happy here?" he blurted out instead, then immediately felt foolish.
But for once Morgana didn't laugh at him. She looked at him and her gaze was older than he had ever seen it, and sadder. "I'm not unhappy," she said.
She picked up the embroidery and began winding the thread round and round her fingers - a nervous gesture, he had discovered. He put down his knife and cast around for something to distract her. Anything.
"Did I tell you I got hit with a broom last week?"
His words surprised a sudden laugh from Morgana - which, really, was only fair since he hadn't been meaning to tell her that story at all.
"A broom? You?" her eyes were still sad but there was a smile playing around her lips and her hands were still.
"Yes," said Arthur, indignantly, since it was too late to back out, "one of the townspeople accosted me and accused me of being a pig keeper!"
Morgana snorted, "I can't imagine how someone would think such a thing."
"I know!" said Arthur, warming to his theme, "I blame Lady Emilia of course."
"Oh really?" Morgana settled back in her chair and watched him, some of the tension leaving her body at last, "I think you are going to have to tell me the whole thing and let me judge that for myself."
So Arthur did, making sure to give the impression that his assailant was at least six feet tall and built like Owen, the master mason, because good deed or not, he was not about to tell anyone he had been beaten by a girl.
Arthur would later blame this conversation for his sudden and, in hindsight rather successful, foray into domestic affairs. He was sitting down to dinner with his father and Lord Morton, and paying as little attention as possible since Lord Morton rarely acknowledged him, unless it was to try and enlist his help in badgering Morgana into visiting his wife at their country estate and renewing her acquaintance with their horrible son Eustace.
"-was with her yesterday, weren't you Arthur?"
Arthur tuned back in. "I beg your pardon?"
His father gave him a disapproving look. "Lord Morton was just asking where Morgana was. How did she seem to you yesterday?"
"Oh. Er, she seemed well." Arthur hazarded, since he had no wish to discuss Morgana's father in front of Lord Morton. "A little tired, perhaps."
"Young girls often suffer from such maladies," Lord Morton said dismissively, helping himself to another piece of chicken.
The King frowned but did not comment.
"Perhaps she would benefit from some time away from court," Lord Morton continued, right on cue, "A woman's guiding hand." He took a sip of wine as he pretended to think about it, and Arthur gritted his teeth before Lord Morton finished, all too casually, "I know my wife would be happy to-"
"No," Arthur broke in, too loudly.
Both Lord Morton and his father turned to stare at him.
"I just... I don't think she needs time away," Arthur continued, a little less certain in the face of his father's displeasure.
His father raised an eyebrow, "She is my ward, Arthur. It is for me to decide what is best, not her. And certainly not you." His tone was very final.
"Of course, father," said Arthur, dropping his gaze.
And that was when he knew who the girl in the blacksmith's forge had reminded him of. Morgana. Morgana when she had arrived at court, a too pale eleven year old who had had to learn when to argue and when to await the judgement of a man who had all the power in the world over her, whether she accepted it or no. It was only right that a King should have command of his subjects, Arthur knew that better than anyone, but the commands should be the right ones, they should be - he remembered the words of the girl in the forge - fair. He had seen Morgana too often with a fist balled at her side while others made decisions for her. He remembered the way she had laughed in the orchard when he had told her about his run in with the 'broom wielding maniac,' and he knew he didn't want her shut away with Lady Morton, learning how to accept her place without question.
His father and Lord Morton were eating in silence when Arthur, greatly daring, spoke again. "I think, father, that Morgana is lonely."
His father stopped eating and looked up at him, surprised. "Nonsense, Arthur. She is surrounded by people."
"No," he paused, searching for the right words. "I mean she is lonely for companionship."
His father looked confused. "What are you suggesting?"
Lord Morton was listening too now, so Arthur decided to get to the point. "Perhaps she needs a maidservant."
"She has a maidservant, a very efficient one," his father pointed out at once.
Yes, thought Arthur, a maidservant who is thirty-five if she's a day, and barely qualified to be called a 'maid' any longer. "I meant, someone nearer to her own age. You could not ask such service of a noblewoman, they have to attend their husbands and their daughters must attend them. But a servant is different."
His father didn't speak for a moment and Arthur realised that he was actually considering it. "It is not without merit, certainly. But who could be promoted to such a position? One of the higher chambermaids, perhaps?"
Arthur took a deep breath - because, quite frankly, he wouldn't envy any of the chambermaids a lifetime of serving Morgana. And anyway, Morgana needed a companion, not a servant, and Arthur had little doubt that attacking the heir to the throne with a broom, insulting him and very nearly starting an argument with him over a pig-boy would be a more than adequate qualification as far as Morgana was concerned. So he let the breath out and said, "Actually, I was thinking of someone else."
A week later Guinevere arrived at the castle, looking somewhat surprised by her good fortune and a little nervous whenever she glimpsed Arthur in the distance. Not that she glimpsed him very often. Arthur, after all, had had very little to do with the whole affair. He had only spoken to his father, who had spoken to the steward, who had sent for the smith's daughter and pronounced her healthy, well-mannered and a 'useful sort of person.' When Uther had wavered (because really, a smith's daughter?) Arthur had merely sent Morgana in the right direction at the right time and then it was too late. Morgana was happy, Guinevere had been suitably awestruck in the King's presence and Uther had graciously allowed a trial period before making a decision.
He did his best to avoid Guinevere, lest he be reminded of any embarrassing and unfortunate soot-related incidents, but he saw them often - walking in the gardens or sneaking off into the woods with practice swords (honestly, how stupid did they think he was?). He couldn't imagine such a thing for himself of course - he preferred his servants to be seen and not heard - but Morgana seemed to like it and as the weeks went by, the shadows on her face lightened, and no-one suggested any extended visits with Lady Morton.
And if Arthur 'forgot' to mention to the King when the trial period came to an end, well it had been a very busy time at court and these things happened.
He hadn't done anything, really.
The End