[FIC] Worlds Colliding (Arthur/Gwen; PG)
Author/Artist: rainbow_connec
Title: Worlds Colliding
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Gwen
Rating: PG
Summary: Gwen returns to Camelot after being kidnapped by Cenred.
Warnings (if any): None
Total word count: ~1,100
Original prompt number: 81 - Submitted by eurydice72
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's/artist's notes (if any): I really like the prompt and I hope this does some justice to it. Thank you for prompting and thanks to the Merlin Muses mods for running the challenge. Also, big squishy thanks to enabler and beta R and an especially big thank you to E for providing the fandom with a general awesomeness and the deleted scene that inspired the fic.
The title of the fic comes from Never Tear Us Apart by INXS (the real one)
Beta(s): The lovely and talented rubber_glue.
He hadn’t slept, but he scarcely felt the effects of hard training and restlessness.
Worry.
That sensation overrode all others, mostly.
Arthur squeezes his fingers, twisting them in attempts at tiny knots to release the tension living in them, sitting at the edge of his bed staring at the window. He’s half dressed, from waist to toes, and he watches for the sun to break over the horizon.
It would not be fitting for any man to pay a maid a late night visit. So he waits, impatiently, for the sunrise and the new day when he could, himself, set out to find Guinevere. Merlin hadn’t been able to skulk out where she had disappeared to.
After morning breakfast with his father and Morgana, he thought Gwen might have just gotten busy with something in town - probably some sort of charity; the thought made him smile. What a Queen she would make, he mused.
By the afternoon when he concocted a feeble motive to visit Morgana so he could check on Guinevere’s whereabouts, he considered that perhaps she’d fallen ill or worse, maybe she and another had run off together. Merlin put an end to those speculations when he brought the scrap of cloth (and a whole host of concerns along with it) from her home.
Dawn was near.
Soon, he tells himself. “Patience,” he whispers to the cold, empty room.
But in mere minutes, the heavy clomp of his boots could be heard pacing his bedchambers. His belly stings as wicked thought after wicked thought violate his sanity.
What if Guinevere was hurt? He’d never forgive himself. He’d never forgive anyone who’d bring any harm to her.
The morning, mercifully, comes. Arthur storms from his room. He’s headed down the long corridor, arrested and filled with a rage held on tenterhooks by the slimmest measure of hope. Heart racing, stomach trembling, he rushes to Morgana’s room to see if Guinevere had returned this morning.
A mindless step around a blind corner and thump; he crashes into someone, much smaller than himself.
“Guinevere,” he exclaims.
She drops to the ground to cease the strewn about items at her feet. He’d knocked them clean from her hands in his hurry. Now he notices that his heart is beating faster for a different reason. His shoulders relax.
“You’re here!”
“Yes, of course, where else would I be.”
She’s curt, but that might just be her honest reaction to being near trampled.
“Guinevere, are you all right?” he asks, helping her with the discarded wears.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She’s not herself. Ignoring this, he reaches for the same piece of fabric. “Where were you yesterday?” he asks, this time soft and capitulating.
“Oh, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That’s not true,” he says half smirking though he’s irritated now. “Merlin went to your house, Guinevere.”
Gwen pauses, frozen mid-movement. “I, uh,” she stutters. Her body works again and she stuffs another dress away. In a quick move, she flips her curls out of her way.
“What’s that? On your wrists?”
His tone is sharp, accusatory. He reaches for her right hand and then the other.
“Guinevere,” he whispers.
“It’s nothing,” she protests and then she breaks.
The bruises are as ugly as the anger now biting at his insides. Be measured, the better part of him says. It hurts to see them: purple, blue and roughed with ripe scratches that resemble the burns from tightly tied rope. It hurts a thousand times more, however to see her cry.
Blood, pumping speedily from his heart since even before he found her here, paints his flesh crimson, and tiny beads of hot sweat burst around his furrowed brows.
“Who did this?” he demands to know, but she continues to cry, quietly.
Here is where he curses their circumstances. He is a prince and she is a servant, less than him as his father would remind him and the entire kingdom.
Without another thought, he takes her hand (father’s wishes be damned). They abandon the laundry and make a beeline, back down the halls where he’d stomped just moments earlier. In a brief, hazy instance they were in his room, hidden from judgment, gossip and whatever else.
As soon as he shuts the door, he holds her close and stifles the rest of his emotions so he could ask her again who was responsible for mistreating her. She doesn’t respond right away.
“A man. A King, I think. Cenred.” Her tiny voice speaks eventually.
Guinevere’s warm tears soak his tunic, plastering the soft linen to his chest where her head rested, where his heart thundered inside his chest.
“No,” she utters shaking her hand against him. The murderous thought must have lept from his conscious and slipped past his lips. “No, Arthur. You cannot do that. You mustn’t.”
She raises her head and ensnares him in the dark brown pools of her eyes. “There’s something else, someone else to consider,” she says. Softly, deliberately she touches his cheek and the simple gesture soothes him despite the bitterness her words garner deep within.
Arthur tries to hide the jealousy. His mouth moves to speak his name, but then Guinevere says, “Elyan.” Her eyes fall away and he doesn’t know what to think. His brows knit together in confusion. “He’s my brother,” she explains and he feels ashamed for what he had been thinking - dreading.
She explains more and with the revelation he feels worse.
These men, Cenred’s men had broken into her home and stolen her, so that they could draw him into some wild trap. On top of that they took her brother to ensure that she had the right incentives to do her part in their scheme.
Whether or not she knew that he would do anything for her, she tries gently to dissuade him then and once again as she listened, when they were joined later on by Merlin, as he devised a rescue plan to infiltrate Cenred’s stronghold; which he’s convinced would be easier to accomplish than getting Merlin to leave them alone as they unpacked the horses.
“It’s what you do when you love someone.” Her words were as tender as her touch as her fingers caressed his hands. The flames shot up at once. “I’m a blacksmith’s daughter, remember.”
He would have savored the kiss - had it not been interrupted - but just having her back, safe and content, was enough for now. Those words she spoke in the forest stayed with him and when afforded the opportunity he tells her, recalling and speaking them back to her as she stood inside his chamber door and he fastened himself to his chair, resisting every urge to take to his feet and hold her in his arms again.
Soon, he tells himself. “Patience,” he whispers to the cold, empty room…with just the smallest of a satisfied smile parting his lips.
Title: Worlds Colliding
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Gwen
Rating: PG
Summary: Gwen returns to Camelot after being kidnapped by Cenred.
Warnings (if any): None
Total word count: ~1,100
Original prompt number: 81 - Submitted by eurydice72
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's/artist's notes (if any): I really like the prompt and I hope this does some justice to it. Thank you for prompting and thanks to the Merlin Muses mods for running the challenge. Also, big squishy thanks to enabler and beta R and an especially big thank you to E for providing the fandom with a general awesomeness and the deleted scene that inspired the fic.
The title of the fic comes from Never Tear Us Apart by INXS (the real one)
Beta(s): The lovely and talented rubber_glue.
He hadn’t slept, but he scarcely felt the effects of hard training and restlessness.
Worry.
That sensation overrode all others, mostly.
Arthur squeezes his fingers, twisting them in attempts at tiny knots to release the tension living in them, sitting at the edge of his bed staring at the window. He’s half dressed, from waist to toes, and he watches for the sun to break over the horizon.
It would not be fitting for any man to pay a maid a late night visit. So he waits, impatiently, for the sunrise and the new day when he could, himself, set out to find Guinevere. Merlin hadn’t been able to skulk out where she had disappeared to.
After morning breakfast with his father and Morgana, he thought Gwen might have just gotten busy with something in town - probably some sort of charity; the thought made him smile. What a Queen she would make, he mused.
By the afternoon when he concocted a feeble motive to visit Morgana so he could check on Guinevere’s whereabouts, he considered that perhaps she’d fallen ill or worse, maybe she and another had run off together. Merlin put an end to those speculations when he brought the scrap of cloth (and a whole host of concerns along with it) from her home.
Dawn was near.
Soon, he tells himself. “Patience,” he whispers to the cold, empty room.
But in mere minutes, the heavy clomp of his boots could be heard pacing his bedchambers. His belly stings as wicked thought after wicked thought violate his sanity.
What if Guinevere was hurt? He’d never forgive himself. He’d never forgive anyone who’d bring any harm to her.
The morning, mercifully, comes. Arthur storms from his room. He’s headed down the long corridor, arrested and filled with a rage held on tenterhooks by the slimmest measure of hope. Heart racing, stomach trembling, he rushes to Morgana’s room to see if Guinevere had returned this morning.
A mindless step around a blind corner and thump; he crashes into someone, much smaller than himself.
“Guinevere,” he exclaims.
She drops to the ground to cease the strewn about items at her feet. He’d knocked them clean from her hands in his hurry. Now he notices that his heart is beating faster for a different reason. His shoulders relax.
“You’re here!”
“Yes, of course, where else would I be.”
She’s curt, but that might just be her honest reaction to being near trampled.
“Guinevere, are you all right?” he asks, helping her with the discarded wears.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She’s not herself. Ignoring this, he reaches for the same piece of fabric. “Where were you yesterday?” he asks, this time soft and capitulating.
“Oh, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That’s not true,” he says half smirking though he’s irritated now. “Merlin went to your house, Guinevere.”
Gwen pauses, frozen mid-movement. “I, uh,” she stutters. Her body works again and she stuffs another dress away. In a quick move, she flips her curls out of her way.
“What’s that? On your wrists?”
His tone is sharp, accusatory. He reaches for her right hand and then the other.
“Guinevere,” he whispers.
“It’s nothing,” she protests and then she breaks.
The bruises are as ugly as the anger now biting at his insides. Be measured, the better part of him says. It hurts to see them: purple, blue and roughed with ripe scratches that resemble the burns from tightly tied rope. It hurts a thousand times more, however to see her cry.
Blood, pumping speedily from his heart since even before he found her here, paints his flesh crimson, and tiny beads of hot sweat burst around his furrowed brows.
“Who did this?” he demands to know, but she continues to cry, quietly.
Here is where he curses their circumstances. He is a prince and she is a servant, less than him as his father would remind him and the entire kingdom.
Without another thought, he takes her hand (father’s wishes be damned). They abandon the laundry and make a beeline, back down the halls where he’d stomped just moments earlier. In a brief, hazy instance they were in his room, hidden from judgment, gossip and whatever else.
As soon as he shuts the door, he holds her close and stifles the rest of his emotions so he could ask her again who was responsible for mistreating her. She doesn’t respond right away.
“A man. A King, I think. Cenred.” Her tiny voice speaks eventually.
Guinevere’s warm tears soak his tunic, plastering the soft linen to his chest where her head rested, where his heart thundered inside his chest.
“No,” she utters shaking her hand against him. The murderous thought must have lept from his conscious and slipped past his lips. “No, Arthur. You cannot do that. You mustn’t.”
She raises her head and ensnares him in the dark brown pools of her eyes. “There’s something else, someone else to consider,” she says. Softly, deliberately she touches his cheek and the simple gesture soothes him despite the bitterness her words garner deep within.
Arthur tries to hide the jealousy. His mouth moves to speak his name, but then Guinevere says, “Elyan.” Her eyes fall away and he doesn’t know what to think. His brows knit together in confusion. “He’s my brother,” she explains and he feels ashamed for what he had been thinking - dreading.
She explains more and with the revelation he feels worse.
These men, Cenred’s men had broken into her home and stolen her, so that they could draw him into some wild trap. On top of that they took her brother to ensure that she had the right incentives to do her part in their scheme.
Whether or not she knew that he would do anything for her, she tries gently to dissuade him then and once again as she listened, when they were joined later on by Merlin, as he devised a rescue plan to infiltrate Cenred’s stronghold; which he’s convinced would be easier to accomplish than getting Merlin to leave them alone as they unpacked the horses.
“It’s what you do when you love someone.” Her words were as tender as her touch as her fingers caressed his hands. The flames shot up at once. “I’m a blacksmith’s daughter, remember.”
He would have savored the kiss - had it not been interrupted - but just having her back, safe and content, was enough for now. Those words she spoke in the forest stayed with him and when afforded the opportunity he tells her, recalling and speaking them back to her as she stood inside his chamber door and he fastened himself to his chair, resisting every urge to take to his feet and hold her in his arms again.
Soon, he tells himself. “Patience,” he whispers to the cold, empty room…with just the smallest of a satisfied smile parting his lips.