The Harder Truth (ficlet)
Arthes!Arthur/Gwen, hint of Gwen/Morgana
CanonAU/the queerverseAU
13,022 words
Prompted by theblacksmithsdaughter: "Arthes/Gwen Arthes!Arthur confides his true feelings about his gender to Gwen angst/romance"
Warnings: Misgendering, some descriptions of social and physical gender dysphoria
a/n: if somehow you stumbled here without being aware of my tumblr, check out the merlin queerverse page on my tumblr before reading.
The queerverse and canon timelines are pretty different, but this takes place in the sort of equivalent of mid-season 2. In the queerverse timeline, Merlin has been in Camelot almost two years, and much of hir first year there Arthes is still questioning and coming to terms with herself and what it means for her position. Now Morgana has begun to do much the same for very different reasons, while Arthes is finally approaching the next step...
~///~
Sheets of rain were beating against the window panes, and with every swell and plink of drops against the glass came a rush of restless frustration. Arthes had far too much on her mind to be trapped inside today. Everything had begun to weigh upon her, and she truly meant everything. Every ‘he’, every ‘Arthur’, every ‘sire’ or ‘my lord’ since her coronation as ‘Prince’ had been a new stone upon her chest.
There’d been one in particular that had been haunting her for days since. The picture of Guinevere approaching her cautiously after the ceremony filled her thoughts, her dark eyes darting around to examine those present and determine what level of friendliness appropriate, before deciding on a polite bow. Her eyes betrayed her however, and perhaps it was that which truly was eating at Arthes. For a brief moment, Gwen showed a level of sincere pride and caring Arthes had thought unreciprocated, but then the words that accompanied this spilled out:
“You will be a great King one day, my lord.” She’d said simply, flushing as she smiled and turned away.
It should have been a happy day, and it had been a long time coming. The King had hesitated for some time longer than was customary, for according to him Arthes had had much more to prove given her past ‘indiscretions’. So perhaps when she finally did ‘prove’ her worth, it began to sink in that her so-called worth rested heavily upon the charade the King himself had taught her. Her crown represented her mastery of this, and nothing more.
When the circlet was placed and the ceremony spoken, it felt more than ever as if she was wearing a costume that sorely did not fit and yet was as irremovable as her very skin, for it was her skin after all. Her own flesh betrayed her. And just as that ill-fitted costume might, it pinched and pulled and hurt in places, rubbing her raw. All the while most everyone around her was blind to the person inside it, addressing this ill-fitted costume as if it described her entirely, praising her for it even.
All of that would have been more bearable if not for Guinevere being a part of it.
Arthes had brought it upon herself though, she knew. The costume was of her make after all wasn’t it? For the sake of Camelot, her father always said, she… he, had to be what his people needed.
Usually by the end of the day with these thoughts parroting in her head, after added insult to injury building upon it, she found herself wishing desperately to seek her only current solution; hacking at something with any manner of melee weapon she could find.
Instead she sat here, shifting through taxes and briefings of various sorts unseeing, recently added duties attained by her new station.
They were all addressed to her charade, naturally, and it did nothing for her mood.
By the time Merlin came in with her lunch that day she was already fit to burst, and had started pacing like a caged animal. The moment ze stepped in the door, both paused, meeting each other’s gaze for a swift second of wordless exchange. Just as if they had spoken words, Merlin nodded in understanding, and Arthes reciprocated the gesture though not entirely sure what this meant. Merlin must have understood something of it though, because somehow ze knew Arthes was far from her usual playful bickering mood, and set down her lunch with nothing more than a sympathetic smile. Arthes took her seat heavily, slumping down as Merlin shifted papers out of the way, attempting to look them over surreptitiously as ze did so.
“Being nosey does require some level of skill in stealth, Merlin.” She quipped halfheartedly, unable to resist.
Merlin merely raised an eyebrow, stacking the papers haphazardly on the corner of the table. It was a terrible place for them. Arthes could already see hir bumping the table and sending them all flying about the room.
“Will there be anything else, milady?”
She nearly missed it, and really that was what caught her attention as she went to remove the stack of papers from harm’s way.
Usually when people addressed her it was accompanied by a twinge of frustration, and she’d become so accustomed to it in the past few weeks of preparation, that she now expected it.
Merlin was smiling softly when she paused and looked up in pure relief at its absence.
Ze had been the first to find out from Arthes without accident, and accept it anyway, as ze had been the first person she had ever met that was ‘different’ in a similar way. Still given Uther’s sensitivity upon the slightest slipup, the times they could be open were few and far between, especially the past few weeks. Today however, was finally one of those rare times again, and she was more than grateful for the change, private as it was and would stay.
“No,” she said, voice wavering slightly as she recovered her composure.
Merlin fixed her with a concerned gaze, brows furrowed.
“Do you need me to stay, Arthes?”
“You may go,” she replied, and Merlin hesitated still for a brief moment before ze turned to leave, “…and thank you.”
Ze paused to glance back at that, flashing a small kindly smile before closing the door behind hir.
Much of the next few hours were spent pacing again, but with a restlessness of a different sort. That singular change of phrase had set her thoughts aflame. For a moment through it she saw what could be, and nothing had ever felt more right. Why couldn’t it be after all? What about her pretending to be all the things Uther wanted meant she would be a great ruler? Her thoughts turned back to that painful moment with Guinevere, but something had dawned on her that changed it, transformed it into a question rather than a jab.
Though she’d been sure the level of admiration she held for Gwen was hardly reciprocated, there had been times recently… moments in which she remembered why she often distanced herself from Gwen, and why it was so very difficult to do so. It was then the drive to right this hit her.
In a spur of the moment decision, she strode out of her room with swift and nervous determination.
~///~
When Guinevere stepped out of Morgana’s chambers that night, she was already mystified for multiple reasons, the source of one of them in the room she left behind. As she began to wonder at the slight tingle still left on her lips from a kiss that wasn’t, and why she’d chosen as such, a rapid echo of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She was more than a little surprised to see Arthur striding swiftly toward her down the corridor, and immediately moved to smooth the creases in her worn lavender dress. The past few weeks she’d been given the distinct impression that she was being ignored, so the fact he was striding toward her was certainly worth more mystification, though it shouldn’t have surprised her.
For several months, they had gained some ground in becoming friends again, as much as their stations allowed… maybe even something more, though every time she thought of it she merely felt conflicted. It was a fondness that had been found and lost once before in the years they’d known each other.
So as Arthur approached, Gwen fell back on her position defensively, feeling little remorse when he winced at her coldly polite bow.
“Sire,” she said as she rose, “my Lady is about to sup with the King, as I suspect-“
“Guinevere,” Arthur interrupted softly, drawing her dark gaze once more as his voice softened, “I’ve been avoiding you.”
She blinked in mild surprise at the direct admission, but said nothing, wary of another false bout of sincerity.
“I’m sorry.”
At this she furrowed her brows, staring at him with her mouth silently agape for a few moments, before offering another guarded response.
“You need not feel obligated to speak to maids sire.”
The confusion that swept across Arthur’s face made little sense to her, surely he knew what he was doing. And yet a moment later it disappeared behind sudden realization.
“Oh, you thought… right… of course you did…”
She furrowed her brows with a tick of annoyance, frowning as she peered at the ground in an attempt to mask her irritation. Arthur immediately waved a hand at her response, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“No, no I’m-it’s not at all what I meant, I truly am sorry.”
When she chewed her lip and bit her tongue still, the Prince ran a hand through his long blond hair with a heavy exhale.
“Will you walk with me for a moment? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
She was about to grit her teeth and mention the fact she could hardly say no, when Arthur quickly added, “Please don’t feel obligated to. I know I haven’t really earned your good graces in the past… nor recently.”
This was the rare glimpse she’d been given the past few months, of an Arthur beneath the surface, something more.
Before she even knew it she was nodding her agreement, too heart wrenchingly enamored by the sight to give up another chance at coaxing it out.
As they walked in silence Guinevere worried at her bottom lip nervously, instantly wondering if she’d made a mistake as the quiet continued far longer than seemed necessary. When she turned to attempt to ask Arthur about this however, she gave pause at the look on his face. Much of the color had drained from his cheeks, brows furrowed severely.
“Are you alright?” she asked quickly, just as Arthur stopped and gestured for her to enter an empty antechamber.
“Fine,” he said breathlessly as he opened the heavy wooden door with a creak, holding it there as she walked inside the heated interior. She stopped before the prelit hearth and turned on her heel as the door clanked closed.
“Arthur what is this ab-“
“Guinevere I’m-“
“Sorry-“
“No I am.”
They both paused, waiting for the other to speak, before a few seconds of mutual silence made them laugh nervously. When they stopped the quiet returned, and she cleared her throat as heat rose in her cheeks. Thankfully, Arthur finally spoke.
“It never was about that you know.”
Gwen couldn’t help but sober with a sigh, “Please don’t lie to me. Avoid me if you must, but don’t lie.”
Arthur took a few steps closer, hands raised in sincerity as he met her gaze with a look of vulnerability she’d never seen on him.
“I can assure you I’m not. That’s what this is all about really.”
She raised her brows in question, expression still slightly reserved as Arthur turned away with his arms crossed, though it looked more defeated than defensive.
“Maybe I thought it was at one time, but the truth is you scare me, Guinevere.”
“Scare you?” she asked incredulously, completely unsure how to take this.
“Yes,” he confirmed quietly, turning back halfway and chancing a glance at her, “please don’t announce it to the kingdom…”
Before she could protest this bravado he waved it off, wincing at his own response and continued in a rush, “no no I’m sorry-in the sense that you bring out something in me that is supposed to be buried, something that is not acceptable and I could lose everything over. I thought if I just stayed away it would… go away.”
Arthur took a moment to breathe as Gwen absorbed this with little surprise, anger seeping away as the words sunk in. It had been clear to her even in their brief encounters as children, though what exactly it was underneath she had yet to place her finger on. When Arthur peered up at her again tentatively, something in her expression must have assured him of this long founded understanding, for he turned to face her, newly bolstered.
“I’m not a man, Guinevere.”
The words took a moment to reach her, as they also seemed to for Arthur. His features became seemingly weighed down by the truth as it washed over, as if he hadn’t quite said it before and it was just as much a revelation as a confession. For her however, it was the overwhelming sound of a million answers slowly clicking into place and ringing in her ears.
“In my head I’m… I have a different name, I call myself a woman, I refer to myself as she and-it can never be but it’s what I am.”
A ghostly expression washed over Arthur’s face then, words fading into silence as Gwen pondered them.
She had always been drawn to those momentary glimpses of the true Arthur she remembered, and the ones she saw coming out again recently, because she sensed their difference. Through them she saw hi-no her, her greatness and her potential, and a weary but unshakably gentle strength that was indescribably, and downright femininely beautiful. They were even some shadows of what she saw in the Lady Morgana before she began to change. Suddenly many things seemed to make sense.
“I know.” She replied with an oddly shocked and wavering smile, stunned at the truth of it herself.
She had known after all, for some time, in many ways. It just never quite clicked until now.
Those two simple words seem to melt whatever remained of the shield around Arthur, and the drained look fell away to reveal a childlike desperation. Gwen felt a sudden and near unbearable ache in her chest to soothe that expression away.
“You knew? You… I thought-“
She stepped forward, intending to reach for Arthur’s hand, but she conceded to wring her own instead.
“No, not-not like that. It just, well everything fits. It makes sense that’s all.”
For a few moments they were both silent, and Guinevere waited patiently while the shock drained from Arthur’s face.
“Does it? I wish it made sense to me…” she exhaled, leaning against the wall arms crossed, “I wish it made sense to my father.”
Gwen smiled softly when their gazes met, offering a sympathetic look as Arthur continued.
“You’re so calm… I’m a little surprised.”
“Did you think I’d be angry?” she asked, moving closer once more.
“I suppose I think everyone will be. Shocked and confused, and angry.”
“For a long time I’ve know there was something beneath all that… bravado.” Arthur offered a strained laugh as she continued, “I saw it in glimpses, little moments here and there. I don’t think I’m the only one. Those little moments are what make sense to me now.”
Their eyes met once more, and Gwen held it for a long while, though the boldness of it made her sweat. Friends or not, they were still separated by station, as she tried to remind herself. Now however, she wanted to make sure her acceptance came across strong and steady, especially when Arthur bore such a wavering expression.
“When you said you thought I’d make a great King-”
“The truth isn’t always easy,” she began sincerely, “that’s what makes an honorable person a good one, isn’t it?”
She smiled solemnly at the question in Arthur’s expression, “The harder the truth the more courage it takes, and the greater the person who lives it.”
Her heart skipped a beat in the silence that followed, as Arthur watched her with a bright and calculating expression, almost daring to hope.
“You think I should be true about this.”
“I think, those moments I saw of the real you, were also glimpses of greatness.”
The words seemed to fill the small room as pause followed, and in the silence Arthur brought up a hand to hesitantly ghost over Gwen’s cheek, eyes glazed. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, like a connection that had always been there, merely forgotten. Gwen had been fairly conflicted about her feelings, and she’d been struggling with them silently to resist what logically made little sense to her. Now however, things had come to light, things that made everything fit.
For just a moment difficult truths fell away as they stood in sober silence. Gwen forgot then their stations, forgot she was staring into the bright blue eyes of the crowned ‘Prince’. Then Arthur leaned forward tentatively, like a question, and Gwen reciprocated the gesture in confirmation as a ball of nervous and excited butterflies exploded in her chest. Stretching the borrowed time for all it was worth, she met Arthur’s lips with her own. And for a little while, even if just for now, the conflictions fell away.