Arthur/Gwen: Curious
Title: Curious
Author: sue
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Pre-series. Arthur/Gwen-ish
Spoilers: None
Word count: 1900+
Disclaimer: Arthur belongs to me. None of the characters are mine. Oh, woe me.
Summary: Arthur made the young Gwen patch him up.
A/N: Gah! Arthur practically invaded my mind and refused to let go until I wrote something. I have to do this before I go back to my other WIPs. So yeah, I’m still trying to find a beta for this particular fandom so all mistakes are mine. Anyway, if anyone is interested to help me out, let me know :)
Curious
The early morning sun filtered in through the high window, the streaks of light were peppered with small flecks of dusts as they floated lightly around, giving the place a whimsy air. The door to the shed creaked, a slash of sound against the cold silence as a small skinny girl pushed the door apart with her shoulder, breathing heavily, her arms were piled high with cured leather. The girl took a few straggled steps forward, sweat were beading all over her caramel skin, heaving with each pace.
When she got to a corner, she dumped her load out of her arms, wheezing beside the haphazard stack. Gwen ran her small hand over her heated face, pushing her wavy black hair out of her eyes. She was just heading out when she heard something, a small thud at the end of the shed. The young girl frowned, her curiosity pique. Not even her father’s stern words that she head straight back to his workshop deter her as she made her way back slowly.
At the end of the shed, a tall stack of hay obscure her view and she tiptoed slowly, becoming wary at the muffled scrape that she heard. She stopped to pick up a stick, not much larger than her arm but she gripped it tight, brandishing it forward like it was a sword.
Gwen inhale deeply, somewhat terrified to face whatever that was behind the stack but she gathered her fleeting nerves and stormed forward.
‘Stop!’ she screeched to a halt, her dusty green hem swirling around her ankles. Her brown eyes were locked against bright blue and the boy jumped to his feet. ‘Don’t move. My father is a blacksmith and he has trained me well. I can take you down with this, stranger.’
‘You’re planning to beat me with a stick?’
His amusement grated on her. ‘This or a sword, it makes no difference.’
‘What do you think you’re doing, girl?’
‘What do you think you’re doing, skulking like a thief? And beware, I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.’ She pointed her makeshift sword at him for emphasis. Growing up in a village full of big burly boys, a small girl like Gwen had learnt to adapt and improvise. And the value of a good bluff.
‘I am not skulking,’ his chin lifted up in retaliation and she could see his jaw hardened. The sun hovered over his head, turning his hair gold. ‘How can I skulk in my own property?’
The young girl stood her ground and with a stubborn tilt of head, she took a step forward. ‘This is not yours, stranger. This shed belongs to Farmer Alden.’
‘All land belongs to the King,’ the boy said dismissively as he leaned his shoulder against a stack of hay. Gwen lowered her weapon down an inch when she spied a trickle of red coming from his torn sleeve. ‘And all this will be mine someday.’
‘You’re.. you’re the Prince,’ she said in a strangled voice, torn between fleeing or curtsying. Then she remembered she didn’t know how to curtsy. The wood cluttered out of her numb fingers. Gwen didn’t know what the Prince would do to anyone who promised to do him bodily harm with a stick but she didn’t want to wait to find out. If the Prince didn’t have her head (or any other part of her body), her father will when he learns about this, her overly imaginative mind cried out.
Arthur turned to study the thin girl in front of him and the first thing he noticed was the big chocolate eyes set in her small face. His gaze dropped down to the flimsy stick she had waved in his face, somewhat bemused to think this undersized girl thought she could take him with that brittle branch.
At twelve, a few months shy of thirteen, he was tall for his age and hours that he had spent training and horse riding had rid him of any baby fat. Also, at the rebellious age of almost thirteen, he was at the phase where he felt the need to defy his father. When Uther had drawn the line of him going hunting alone, he had waited for the right time to sneak into the forest by himself, unattended. He had thought he had the boar down but when he went in to collect his kill, the animal used his last breath to lunge at his hunter.
Arthur would have been dead if it wasn’t for his rapid fire reflex and his youthful agility. He had used both to jump out of the snapping jaw’s way and instead of sinking them into his jugular, the boar’s fang only grazed his arm. He had staggered to his horse, breathless and shaken before creeping into this deserted shed, trying to think of his next move, one preferably that can evade the King’s wrath. And after all that excitement, he needed someone to close the wound for him. Gaius was out of the question, obviously. He was still contemplating his next move when his eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘I can use you, girl. Come closer.’
Gwen stiffened in shock; her eyes darted nervously between him and the door.
‘I gave you an order. Come here.’
The unmistaken hint of authority nailed her foot to the dusty ground of the shed. She bit her lips anxiously as she took one hesitant step. ‘What are you going to do with me? Are you going to have my head?’
‘I need your hand.’
‘My hand?’ her eyes were wide as she wrung the said limbs in distress.
‘Yes, can you sew?’
‘If you need me to sew you something, is it more logical if you let me keep my hands? I mean, there’s no need to cut them off.’ Gwen muttered, wishing she had fled instead. Her father had lectured her many times that curiosity killed the cat but he never said anything about cats losing their paws. So how could she have foreseen this situation?
‘Who wants to cut..’ Arthur closed his mouth with a snap before he added irritably. ‘Can you sew, girl?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her hands were knotted around the front of her dress.
‘Good, go and get your kit and come back here. And you’re not to tell anyone I’m here.’
She nodded numbly. Arthur frowned when she still stared at him dazedly. ‘Now!’
The girl ran and Arthur sighed as he tried to roll his sleeve upwards, hissing when his torn sleeve snagged on the wound. He pursed his lips slightly as he studied his left arm. He could tell that it wasn’t a deep cut but he still need someone to clean it and maybe put in a stitch or two.
The door creaked again and a second later, the small girl stood in front of him, clutching a small box in front of her.
‘What are you waiting for, girl? Come here.’
‘Why do you keep calling me girl? I have a name.’ She blinked at him, for a moment there forgetting that he was going to have her hands on his gold plated tray soon.
‘Hmph.’ His eyes were a slit of disbelief at her little outburst. ‘So what is your name, girl?’
She frowned at the last word. ‘My name is Gwen.’ The way he staring at her make her fluster. ‘For Guinevere.’
‘Well, little Guinevere, have you use your needle to close a cut before?’
Her frown deepened at the word little and by how he was using her full name. But then, the last part of his speech sinks through. ‘Yes, I sometime have to tend to my father when he’s wounded.’
‘Can you start before I bleed to death?’
She rolled her eyes at the snobbish hint of his tone but sat next to him nonetheless, placing her kit next to her hip. Gwen picked up a damp cloth and gingerly wiped his blood off.
‘You’re awfully small to be trusted with a needle,’ he said when she picked up her threaded needle, ‘But I can be fair, I’ll give you a chance today.’
‘I’m almost eleven,’ she retorted, angry to being called small. ‘And my father trusted me with his swords, so there.’
‘Can you even lift one up?’ he sniggered and hissed when she pricked him.
‘Of course I can,’ she huffed, her lips were set in a thin line as she concentrated on the task at hand. ‘And I bet I can sharpen a sword better than you can, sire. I mean.. I wasn’t implying you can’t sharpen your own sword. You have people for that.’ Her eyes lowered to his cut as her words trailed to a startled halt.
Arthur’s choked laughter broke the hazy veil of pain. ‘The thought that I will be getting my first challenge from a young girl had never crossed my mind. A little one at that.’
Gwen tied the last knot and glowered down at him, her prior worry was forgotten in the face of his grossly false assumption. ‘I am not a little girl,’ she saw the wheat coloured brow disappeared under his hair and she added reluctantly, ‘Sire.’
‘But you look so small and scrawny.’
‘Not everyone lives in a castle with a lot of food to eat.’ Her reply was without rancor, her hair was hiding her face from his view as she bent down, rummaging through her kit box. She drew out a small container and his senses were bombarded with a strong pungent smell when she lifted the lid.
‘What is that?’ He drew back in horror.
‘Tis a salve, my father’s secret recipe. Wait, this does not look like a nick from a sword.’ She suddenly peered closely at his arm.
‘No, it is not.’
‘Courtesy of an animal? A wild one?’ Her hand hovered over her kit as she waited for his answer.
Arthur was taken aback. ‘Uh.. yes. Yes, it is.’
‘Then this one won’t do,’ she shoved the container back into her kit and took out a smaller one.
He scrunched his nose in distaste. ‘But it sure smells the same.’
‘The village physician used this on my father when he was bitten by a wild boar. He said there was something in the salve that helps to cut off the poison. We have some angry boars around here.’
‘I couldn’t disagree on that.’
She didn’t wait for his approval when she dumped a big dollop of it on his newly stitched cut.
‘Now I’m going to walk around smelling like a goat.’ He growled.
Gwen ignored his glare, ‘You’ll be good as new come morning.’ She smoothed the cool salve over his skin and turned back to her kit.
Arthur drew his sleeve down carefully and when he lifted his head, the small girl was gone. The door to the shed was flapping slowly in the wake of her hasty retreat. He shook his head at the funny girl. After he collected his sword and bow, he went to get his waiting horse and then slowly, they made their way back towards the Castle.
Uther never did find out about his son’s misadventure and Arthur forgets about the feisty skinny girl as time pass by. But Gwen spent a horrifying week worrying about the soldiers that were coming for her, for daring to point a pointy object at the Prince of Camelot.