fic: a lesson in manners
FANDOM: MERLIN
Title: A Lesson in Manners
Word Count: 3,019
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC
Rating: PG
Warnings: FLUFF AHOY!!
Summary: Eight-year-old Prince Arthur is not happy about being made to trail around after Sir Ector, especially when it throws him in the path of know-it-all blacksmith's daughters who don't seem to realise how important he is.
A/N - This is a story I started MONTHS ago, waaaay before Season Two aired, and though the main bulk of it is the same I did change a lot to do with the present day part of it, to make it canon. It's been languishing in my Merlin folder for about a year, and then tonight, for no apparent reason, the Muse descended and voila! Complete. This is very fluffy - you have been warned!
Also, in this story Gwen is three years younger than Arthur. No idea if that's true, but whatevs.
A Lesson In Manners
Arthur really didn’t like Sir Ector. He was really good at jousting, and no one could beat him in single combat, and he was really loyal and smart and chivalrous… but so annoying. He was always telling Arthur what to do, and he hated it.
Too bad for Arthur, outside of his tutors, Sir Ector was the person he spent the most time with. His father had finally said that Arthur could start weapons training, but he’d appointed Sir Ector to oversee it.
Ugh.
Arthur supposed he should be grateful - most boys didn’t start training until they were ten, so he was getting to start a whole two years early; plus he was getting private lessons. But it wasn’t at all what Arthur had expected.
For a start, Sir Ector wouldn’t let Arthur train with a proper sword. He had to use a wooden one. It wasn’t even a proper size. And when he’d caught Arthur in the armoury about to pick up a proper sword, he’d yelled at him and made him polish his armour. Arthur, the crown prince of Camelot, polishing armour! And Uther hadn’t cared - in fact, when Arthur had complained to his father, the king had told him to stop whinging.
So, Arthur had to train with a wooden sword. And to make it worse he had to do the same stupid moves over and over and over and over and over again. It was so stupid. Ector was so stupid.
Arthur had made the mistake of voicing this opinion aloud once, but to his surprise Ector had laughed and shaken his head. “You have been pampered for far too long, your highness,” he’d said, and he’d walked away before Arthur had been able to retort.
There were some days when Arthur was forced to spend following Sir Ector around Camelot while he was on his guard duties. At first Arthur had thought these would be pretty fun - he always wore the hooded cloak of a page, blending him in with the crowd, and he thought he might at least see some action. But no, it turned out Ector was completely boring on guard duty. He spent his entire time inspecting the guards and just talking to the people - no action at all. Which meant that Arthur had to trail around after him for the entire day, and if he didn’t pay close enough attention to what Ector was doing he’d get told off.
It was so unfair.
It was at the end of one of these days when Ector led Arthur into a blacksmith’s shop on the way back to the castle. Arthur had never been in a proper blacksmith’s before, and he was actually quite excited to see the smith at work, hammering out red-hot metal... but the fire was burning low in the hearth and the hammers were all hung up on the wall. Typical.
A man that Arthur assumed was the blacksmith came through a door and greeted Sir Ector, and the two of them started talking about weapons. The blacksmith went back through the door and Sir Ector went to follow him, but as Arthur made to go with them he rounded on him and sternly told him to stay where he was.
“Oh come on!” Arthur exclaimed. “Why can’t I -”
“Stay here,” Sir Ector repeated. “And don’t touch anything.”
Arthur scowled at him, but Ector completely ignored it and followed after the blacksmith, leaving Arthur alone in the forge. Arthur mumbled a string of curses about his stupid instructor, and kicked the leg of the table he was standing next to. It was solid, and didn’t so much as wobble.
This was just so typical of Sir Ector. First he makes Arthur follow him around all day like some sort of dog, only with less to do, then he takes him to the blacksmith’s which could actually be interesting, only Arthur’s not allowed to listen to the conversation about weapons. Who knew how long he’d just be left there, nothing to do and not allowed to just go home. He hadn’t even introduced him to the blacksmith, so that man had just ignored him too. It wasn’t fair - it wasn’t right. He was the crown prince.
And he wasn’t about to be told what to do by anyone. Except maybe his father... maybe.
With that in mind, Arthur started to explore the forge. A large anvil stood in front of the fire, and there were drops of metal on the ground around it. There were all kinds of pieces of metal stacked in a corner a little ways away from the fire, and all the hammers and other tools were hanging on hooks on the wall. A particularly large hammer with a long oak handle caught Arthur’s eye, and he reached out to take it down.
“Sir Ec-e-tor said not to touch.”
Arthur jumped at the sound of the voice, hand snatching away from the hammer like it’d burned him. He looked around wildly, and quickly found the source - a girl, no more than five years old, sitting under the table on the other side of the room and watching him with big brown eyes.
Arthur’s cheeks flushed a bit at the thought of being scared by a little girl, and sneered at her to hide it. “Who are you?” He demanded.
The girl crawled out from under the table and stood up - she was barely taller than it when she was on her feet - and lifted her chin defiantly. “None your business,” she said haughtily.
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Don’t you know who I am?” He demanded as regally as he could.
The girl just glared. “You’re a rude little boy who’s touching what he’s not allowed to!” She answered.
That did it. Arthur had been ordered around by Sir Ector all day; he was not about to be ordered around by some stupid little peasant girl who didn’t know her place.
“I can touch whatever I like!” Arthur exclaimed. He held out his hand over the hammer, just a couple of centimetres away, and raised his eyebrows at the girl.
“Not allowed!” She said furiously.
Arthur brought down his hand and grasped the handle; he gave a slight tug, but it was far too heavy to lift. Didn’t matter though, he’d made his point.
“I’m telling Sir Ec-e-tor!” The little girl declared.
Arthur sneered again. “And I’ll say I didn’t,” he said. “Why would he believe you?”
“’Cause I saw you!” She said, stomping her foot. “And Gwenny saw it too!”
That threw Arthur. “Who’s Gwenny?” He asked.
The girl straightened her arms and held something up in front of Arthur’s face; it was a small rag doll, with string for hair and a smiling face painted on it’s pudgy face. “Gwenny!” The girl shouted.
Arthur started laughing, the sound echoing around the forge. “That’s Gwenny?” He chortled. “That pile of rags?”
The girl gasped, looking furious. “Don’t talk about Gwenny like that!” She shouted.
Arthur kept laughing. “What kind of stupid name is Gwenny anyway?”
“She’s my dolly and she’s named after me!” The little girl yelled.
Arthur managed to stop laughing a little, but was grinning widely as he looked down at the sour-faced little girl; Gwenny.
“Well, Gwenny is a stupid name,” he told her.
Her eyes got very wide, and for a moment Arthur thought she was going to start crying, but instead she just looked angrier than ever before. “It is not!” She exclaimed. “You mustn’t say things like that! ‘s bad manners!”
Arthur folded his arms and gave her his best condescending look. “I’m allowed to say what I want, Gwenny,” he told her haughtily.
Gwenny puffed out her chest angrily, her eyes flashing as she glared. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Gwenny!” She said.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Gwenny,” he said loudly. “Gwenny Gwenny Gwenny Gwenny - ”
He didn’t see it coming until it was too late to dodge it - Gwenny’s hand appeared out of nowhere, and slapped him across the cheek with all her might... it turned out she was pretty strong for a five-year-old.
Arthur staggered slightly, eyes wide with shock. His hand came up to cover his stinging cheek as Gwenny took a step towards him; he instinctively took a step back.
“That’s Guinevere to you!” She hissed.
Arthur stood frozen, gaping at the little terror in front of him. He was too shocked to move, but if he could he knew he wouldn’t be able to retaliate. She was a girl... he couldn’t hit a girl, even one that had just hit him.
She’d hit him.
“You hit me!” He said dumbly.
Gwenny - Guinevere - lifted her chin and glared at him. “You’re not a nice boy!” She exclaimed.
“Oh for... what did you do?”
Arthur looked up over Guinevere’s shoulder, to where Sir Ector had just reappeared through the door, just in time to hear the little girl’s announcement. Arthur raised his free hand to point at her, still in shock. “She - she -”
“He touched the hammer even though you said don’t touch and then when I told him he started making fun of Gwenny!” Guinevere exclaimed, turning round to face Ector.
Arthur’s jaw dropped. The little tattle-tell!
Sir Ector gritted his teeth and rounded the table. “Can I not leave you alone for five minutes, boy?” He demanded, before grabbing Arthur by the elbow and dragging him out of the forge.
“She hit me!” Arthur managed to tell him, rather belatedly.
“Good,” Sir Ector said. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Guinevere. “Well done, Gwenny.”
Arthur looked back at her too, in time to see her give Sir Ector a big smile, showing a gap where one of her front teeth should be. She saw Arthur looking, and she quickly scowled at him instead.
Arthur barely had time to scowl back before he was pulled out into the street.
“I can’t believe she hit me, and you’re letting her get away with it!” Arthur exclaimed as Sir Ector let go of him.
“She’s five years old, Arthur,” Sir Ector said. “You’re not going to get very far in life if you cry every time a little girl is mean to you.”
Arthur swelled in indignation. “I am not crying!” He exclaimed.
Sir Ector raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well, if you want my advice, you’ll stay away from little Gwenny - she’s far too smart for the likes of you.”
Arthur gaped at his insolence but Sir Ector strode away, leaving him no choice but to hurry along in his wake.
~*~ Fifteen years later. ~*~
Arthur paused before Gwen’s door and tried to look as casual as possible as he knocked on her door. It was the middle of the day, and so it was hardly unseemly for him to be there at her house - he was allowed to visit a friend, after all - but it never hurt to be careful. He waited a few moments, but she didn’t answer. He frowned; even through the closed door he could hear her moving around inside.
He knocked again, but there was still no answer. A little worried now, Arthur pushed the door open slowly, sticking his head through the gap. His eyes widened.
It was chaos. Chairs were stacked on top of the table, clothes were everywhere, strewn amongst pots and pans and books and sacks and all manner of things. Luckily, Arthur spotted Gwen before he had time to panic - she was on the other side of the room with her back to the door, kneeling on the floor amongst some wooden boxes.
Arthur stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Guinevere?” He called out.
Gwen jumped a little and looked over her shoulders, her eyes wide. They softened when she saw him, and she smiled. “Arthur... what are you doing here?”
Arthur shrugged. “I was just passing... what’s going on in here?”
“Oh, I’m just spring-cleaning,” Gwen explained, smiling brightly.
“Spring cleaning?”
“Yes... I’ve let things slide the last few years, I’ve been so busy, but now...” Her voice trailed off, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably - both of them knew why she now had the free time. “Well, I thought I might as well do a decent job of it.”
She stood up and brushed dust off of the white sheet she’d tied round her waist to protect her dress. She held a small sack in her hand, which she brought over to the table.
“Do you need any help?” Arthur asked, walking round the table towards her.
Gwen smiled at him and shook her head. “No - thank you - I’m actually almost finished.”
Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked pointedly around the room, and Gwen’s smile turned sheepish. “It looks worse than it is.”
“I certainly hope so,” Arthur quipped. Gwen rolled her eyes, and Arthur smiled, leaning back against the table and folding his arms. Gwen upturned the sack she held onto a spare part of table, and started sifting through the various things that had fallen out of it.
“You know, it really is quite incredible, the amount of useless things I’ve found in this house today,” she said. “I - oh my!”
Arthur looked round curiously to see what had made Gwen gasp like that, and saw her holding what, at first, he took to be a dirty rag. Then he noticed it was stuffed, and had string attached to the top of it and a very faded smile painted on...
Arthur let out a gasp of his own. “Ha! It’s Gwenny!”
“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed, tucking the doll into her chest. “I haven’t seen her since... wait a moment,” she frowned at Arthur. “How do you know she’s called Gwenny?”
Arthur’s eyes widened, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully, staring at Gwen. They’d never had this conversation, ever. Arthur had remembered Gwen from the very moment he’d met her again, when she’d been hired as Morgana’s maid five years ago. He’d never said anything though, and assumed that she didn’t remember - she had been very young, after all. He himself hadn’t thought about it in years.
“Well...” he began, smiling a little, when suddenly Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth, dropping Gwenny back onto the table.
“Oh my god - that was you!”
Arthur gaped at her. “You remember?”
Gwen’s cheeks had flushed a deep rose colour, and her hand lowered to rest on her throat. “I - well, yes, I remember what happened, I just never realised that it was you...” she said. “I... you were making fun of the name Gwenny, and I - oh my god, I hit you!”
Gwen’s hands flew to her mouth again, and Arthur couldn’t hold back a grin at her reaction.
“Well, aren’t you going to apologise?” He asked after a moment.
Gwen dropped her hands and folded her arms, pretending to think about it. “Hmm... no,” she said. “From what I remember, you deserved it.”
Arthur did his best to look outraged. “You should apologise,” he insisted, as seriously as he could. “That day scarred me for life.”
Gwen started to smile. “Oh really?”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “It’s hard to see, but there’s a scar, right here...” He turned his face away from her so she could see his left cheek, and pointed to a tiny scar he had on his cheekbone.
Gwen raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide her smile. “You got that in the jousting tournament three years ago,” she said.
Arthur shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But there were definitely emotional scars.”
Gwen shook her head wordlessly.
“Honestly!” Arthur insisted. “Why do you think I call you Guinevere instead of Gwen? It’s fear.”
Gwen laughed at that, and shook her head again. “Well that’s a lie,” she said.
Arthur grinned. “Oh yeah?” He reached out and grabbed her apron, pulling her towards him. She came willingly, stepping closer and resting her hands on his chest. “Then why do I call you Guinevere, Guinevere?” He whispered into her ear.
She shivered against him, and he grinned again.
“Three reasons. One, you like being the only one who does. Two, it’s longer, so you get to draw it out depending on your mood. And three... you know that I like it when you do.”
Arthur pulled back so he could look at Gwen, and her smile faded at the serious look he gave her. Then he smiled. “You really are too smart for me,” he said ruefully.
Gwen frowned. “What?”
Arthur just shook his head and leant forward to kiss her, smiling against her lips when she reached up and smoothed her hand over the cheek that she’d slapped so many years ago.
Arthur left her house not long afterwards, unable to keep the grin off his face as he made his way through the winding streets towards the castle. On a whim he turned down another street, taking him away from the castle and towards the fields beyond the East Wall, where several young boys were training. He well remembered the days he’d spent training there under the hot sun, Sir Ector not letting any of them stop for water or rest until they had mastered the moves he’d taught them.
It was not Sir Ector teaching the young squires in the fields today, but a solitary figure sat under the shade of the wall, watching the boys go through their sequences.
Arthur walked over to him. “Hello, Sir Ector,” he said, sitting down next to him without waiting for an invitation.
“Arthur,” said Ector dryly. If he was surprised to see him, his voice didn’t betray it. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was thinking about you today - thought I’d come and see how you are,” Arthur said truthfully.
“Thinking about me?” Ector replied curiously.
Arthur shrugged. “Specifically I was thinking about the way you used to let young girls attack me and go unpunished,” he said.
Sir Ector laughed, loudly. “I’d forgotten that!” He said through his chuckles. “Aw, Gwenny... best thing that could have happened to you, boy.”
Arthur grinned. “Couldn’t agree more.”
THE END
Title: A Lesson in Manners
Word Count: 3,019
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC
Rating: PG
Warnings: FLUFF AHOY!!
Summary: Eight-year-old Prince Arthur is not happy about being made to trail around after Sir Ector, especially when it throws him in the path of know-it-all blacksmith's daughters who don't seem to realise how important he is.
A/N - This is a story I started MONTHS ago, waaaay before Season Two aired, and though the main bulk of it is the same I did change a lot to do with the present day part of it, to make it canon. It's been languishing in my Merlin folder for about a year, and then tonight, for no apparent reason, the Muse descended and voila! Complete. This is very fluffy - you have been warned!
Also, in this story Gwen is three years younger than Arthur. No idea if that's true, but whatevs.
A Lesson In Manners
Arthur really didn’t like Sir Ector. He was really good at jousting, and no one could beat him in single combat, and he was really loyal and smart and chivalrous… but so annoying. He was always telling Arthur what to do, and he hated it.
Too bad for Arthur, outside of his tutors, Sir Ector was the person he spent the most time with. His father had finally said that Arthur could start weapons training, but he’d appointed Sir Ector to oversee it.
Ugh.
Arthur supposed he should be grateful - most boys didn’t start training until they were ten, so he was getting to start a whole two years early; plus he was getting private lessons. But it wasn’t at all what Arthur had expected.
For a start, Sir Ector wouldn’t let Arthur train with a proper sword. He had to use a wooden one. It wasn’t even a proper size. And when he’d caught Arthur in the armoury about to pick up a proper sword, he’d yelled at him and made him polish his armour. Arthur, the crown prince of Camelot, polishing armour! And Uther hadn’t cared - in fact, when Arthur had complained to his father, the king had told him to stop whinging.
So, Arthur had to train with a wooden sword. And to make it worse he had to do the same stupid moves over and over and over and over and over again. It was so stupid. Ector was so stupid.
Arthur had made the mistake of voicing this opinion aloud once, but to his surprise Ector had laughed and shaken his head. “You have been pampered for far too long, your highness,” he’d said, and he’d walked away before Arthur had been able to retort.
There were some days when Arthur was forced to spend following Sir Ector around Camelot while he was on his guard duties. At first Arthur had thought these would be pretty fun - he always wore the hooded cloak of a page, blending him in with the crowd, and he thought he might at least see some action. But no, it turned out Ector was completely boring on guard duty. He spent his entire time inspecting the guards and just talking to the people - no action at all. Which meant that Arthur had to trail around after him for the entire day, and if he didn’t pay close enough attention to what Ector was doing he’d get told off.
It was so unfair.
It was at the end of one of these days when Ector led Arthur into a blacksmith’s shop on the way back to the castle. Arthur had never been in a proper blacksmith’s before, and he was actually quite excited to see the smith at work, hammering out red-hot metal... but the fire was burning low in the hearth and the hammers were all hung up on the wall. Typical.
A man that Arthur assumed was the blacksmith came through a door and greeted Sir Ector, and the two of them started talking about weapons. The blacksmith went back through the door and Sir Ector went to follow him, but as Arthur made to go with them he rounded on him and sternly told him to stay where he was.
“Oh come on!” Arthur exclaimed. “Why can’t I -”
“Stay here,” Sir Ector repeated. “And don’t touch anything.”
Arthur scowled at him, but Ector completely ignored it and followed after the blacksmith, leaving Arthur alone in the forge. Arthur mumbled a string of curses about his stupid instructor, and kicked the leg of the table he was standing next to. It was solid, and didn’t so much as wobble.
This was just so typical of Sir Ector. First he makes Arthur follow him around all day like some sort of dog, only with less to do, then he takes him to the blacksmith’s which could actually be interesting, only Arthur’s not allowed to listen to the conversation about weapons. Who knew how long he’d just be left there, nothing to do and not allowed to just go home. He hadn’t even introduced him to the blacksmith, so that man had just ignored him too. It wasn’t fair - it wasn’t right. He was the crown prince.
And he wasn’t about to be told what to do by anyone. Except maybe his father... maybe.
With that in mind, Arthur started to explore the forge. A large anvil stood in front of the fire, and there were drops of metal on the ground around it. There were all kinds of pieces of metal stacked in a corner a little ways away from the fire, and all the hammers and other tools were hanging on hooks on the wall. A particularly large hammer with a long oak handle caught Arthur’s eye, and he reached out to take it down.
“Sir Ec-e-tor said not to touch.”
Arthur jumped at the sound of the voice, hand snatching away from the hammer like it’d burned him. He looked around wildly, and quickly found the source - a girl, no more than five years old, sitting under the table on the other side of the room and watching him with big brown eyes.
Arthur’s cheeks flushed a bit at the thought of being scared by a little girl, and sneered at her to hide it. “Who are you?” He demanded.
The girl crawled out from under the table and stood up - she was barely taller than it when she was on her feet - and lifted her chin defiantly. “None your business,” she said haughtily.
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Don’t you know who I am?” He demanded as regally as he could.
The girl just glared. “You’re a rude little boy who’s touching what he’s not allowed to!” She answered.
That did it. Arthur had been ordered around by Sir Ector all day; he was not about to be ordered around by some stupid little peasant girl who didn’t know her place.
“I can touch whatever I like!” Arthur exclaimed. He held out his hand over the hammer, just a couple of centimetres away, and raised his eyebrows at the girl.
“Not allowed!” She said furiously.
Arthur brought down his hand and grasped the handle; he gave a slight tug, but it was far too heavy to lift. Didn’t matter though, he’d made his point.
“I’m telling Sir Ec-e-tor!” The little girl declared.
Arthur sneered again. “And I’ll say I didn’t,” he said. “Why would he believe you?”
“’Cause I saw you!” She said, stomping her foot. “And Gwenny saw it too!”
That threw Arthur. “Who’s Gwenny?” He asked.
The girl straightened her arms and held something up in front of Arthur’s face; it was a small rag doll, with string for hair and a smiling face painted on it’s pudgy face. “Gwenny!” The girl shouted.
Arthur started laughing, the sound echoing around the forge. “That’s Gwenny?” He chortled. “That pile of rags?”
The girl gasped, looking furious. “Don’t talk about Gwenny like that!” She shouted.
Arthur kept laughing. “What kind of stupid name is Gwenny anyway?”
“She’s my dolly and she’s named after me!” The little girl yelled.
Arthur managed to stop laughing a little, but was grinning widely as he looked down at the sour-faced little girl; Gwenny.
“Well, Gwenny is a stupid name,” he told her.
Her eyes got very wide, and for a moment Arthur thought she was going to start crying, but instead she just looked angrier than ever before. “It is not!” She exclaimed. “You mustn’t say things like that! ‘s bad manners!”
Arthur folded his arms and gave her his best condescending look. “I’m allowed to say what I want, Gwenny,” he told her haughtily.
Gwenny puffed out her chest angrily, her eyes flashing as she glared. “Only my friends are allowed to call me Gwenny!” She said.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Gwenny,” he said loudly. “Gwenny Gwenny Gwenny Gwenny - ”
He didn’t see it coming until it was too late to dodge it - Gwenny’s hand appeared out of nowhere, and slapped him across the cheek with all her might... it turned out she was pretty strong for a five-year-old.
Arthur staggered slightly, eyes wide with shock. His hand came up to cover his stinging cheek as Gwenny took a step towards him; he instinctively took a step back.
“That’s Guinevere to you!” She hissed.
Arthur stood frozen, gaping at the little terror in front of him. He was too shocked to move, but if he could he knew he wouldn’t be able to retaliate. She was a girl... he couldn’t hit a girl, even one that had just hit him.
She’d hit him.
“You hit me!” He said dumbly.
Gwenny - Guinevere - lifted her chin and glared at him. “You’re not a nice boy!” She exclaimed.
“Oh for... what did you do?”
Arthur looked up over Guinevere’s shoulder, to where Sir Ector had just reappeared through the door, just in time to hear the little girl’s announcement. Arthur raised his free hand to point at her, still in shock. “She - she -”
“He touched the hammer even though you said don’t touch and then when I told him he started making fun of Gwenny!” Guinevere exclaimed, turning round to face Ector.
Arthur’s jaw dropped. The little tattle-tell!
Sir Ector gritted his teeth and rounded the table. “Can I not leave you alone for five minutes, boy?” He demanded, before grabbing Arthur by the elbow and dragging him out of the forge.
“She hit me!” Arthur managed to tell him, rather belatedly.
“Good,” Sir Ector said. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Guinevere. “Well done, Gwenny.”
Arthur looked back at her too, in time to see her give Sir Ector a big smile, showing a gap where one of her front teeth should be. She saw Arthur looking, and she quickly scowled at him instead.
Arthur barely had time to scowl back before he was pulled out into the street.
“I can’t believe she hit me, and you’re letting her get away with it!” Arthur exclaimed as Sir Ector let go of him.
“She’s five years old, Arthur,” Sir Ector said. “You’re not going to get very far in life if you cry every time a little girl is mean to you.”
Arthur swelled in indignation. “I am not crying!” He exclaimed.
Sir Ector raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well, if you want my advice, you’ll stay away from little Gwenny - she’s far too smart for the likes of you.”
Arthur gaped at his insolence but Sir Ector strode away, leaving him no choice but to hurry along in his wake.
~*~ Fifteen years later. ~*~
Arthur paused before Gwen’s door and tried to look as casual as possible as he knocked on her door. It was the middle of the day, and so it was hardly unseemly for him to be there at her house - he was allowed to visit a friend, after all - but it never hurt to be careful. He waited a few moments, but she didn’t answer. He frowned; even through the closed door he could hear her moving around inside.
He knocked again, but there was still no answer. A little worried now, Arthur pushed the door open slowly, sticking his head through the gap. His eyes widened.
It was chaos. Chairs were stacked on top of the table, clothes were everywhere, strewn amongst pots and pans and books and sacks and all manner of things. Luckily, Arthur spotted Gwen before he had time to panic - she was on the other side of the room with her back to the door, kneeling on the floor amongst some wooden boxes.
Arthur stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Guinevere?” He called out.
Gwen jumped a little and looked over her shoulders, her eyes wide. They softened when she saw him, and she smiled. “Arthur... what are you doing here?”
Arthur shrugged. “I was just passing... what’s going on in here?”
“Oh, I’m just spring-cleaning,” Gwen explained, smiling brightly.
“Spring cleaning?”
“Yes... I’ve let things slide the last few years, I’ve been so busy, but now...” Her voice trailed off, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably - both of them knew why she now had the free time. “Well, I thought I might as well do a decent job of it.”
She stood up and brushed dust off of the white sheet she’d tied round her waist to protect her dress. She held a small sack in her hand, which she brought over to the table.
“Do you need any help?” Arthur asked, walking round the table towards her.
Gwen smiled at him and shook her head. “No - thank you - I’m actually almost finished.”
Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked pointedly around the room, and Gwen’s smile turned sheepish. “It looks worse than it is.”
“I certainly hope so,” Arthur quipped. Gwen rolled her eyes, and Arthur smiled, leaning back against the table and folding his arms. Gwen upturned the sack she held onto a spare part of table, and started sifting through the various things that had fallen out of it.
“You know, it really is quite incredible, the amount of useless things I’ve found in this house today,” she said. “I - oh my!”
Arthur looked round curiously to see what had made Gwen gasp like that, and saw her holding what, at first, he took to be a dirty rag. Then he noticed it was stuffed, and had string attached to the top of it and a very faded smile painted on...
Arthur let out a gasp of his own. “Ha! It’s Gwenny!”
“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed, tucking the doll into her chest. “I haven’t seen her since... wait a moment,” she frowned at Arthur. “How do you know she’s called Gwenny?”
Arthur’s eyes widened, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully, staring at Gwen. They’d never had this conversation, ever. Arthur had remembered Gwen from the very moment he’d met her again, when she’d been hired as Morgana’s maid five years ago. He’d never said anything though, and assumed that she didn’t remember - she had been very young, after all. He himself hadn’t thought about it in years.
“Well...” he began, smiling a little, when suddenly Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth, dropping Gwenny back onto the table.
“Oh my god - that was you!”
Arthur gaped at her. “You remember?”
Gwen’s cheeks had flushed a deep rose colour, and her hand lowered to rest on her throat. “I - well, yes, I remember what happened, I just never realised that it was you...” she said. “I... you were making fun of the name Gwenny, and I - oh my god, I hit you!”
Gwen’s hands flew to her mouth again, and Arthur couldn’t hold back a grin at her reaction.
“Well, aren’t you going to apologise?” He asked after a moment.
Gwen dropped her hands and folded her arms, pretending to think about it. “Hmm... no,” she said. “From what I remember, you deserved it.”
Arthur did his best to look outraged. “You should apologise,” he insisted, as seriously as he could. “That day scarred me for life.”
Gwen started to smile. “Oh really?”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “It’s hard to see, but there’s a scar, right here...” He turned his face away from her so she could see his left cheek, and pointed to a tiny scar he had on his cheekbone.
Gwen raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide her smile. “You got that in the jousting tournament three years ago,” she said.
Arthur shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But there were definitely emotional scars.”
Gwen shook her head wordlessly.
“Honestly!” Arthur insisted. “Why do you think I call you Guinevere instead of Gwen? It’s fear.”
Gwen laughed at that, and shook her head again. “Well that’s a lie,” she said.
Arthur grinned. “Oh yeah?” He reached out and grabbed her apron, pulling her towards him. She came willingly, stepping closer and resting her hands on his chest. “Then why do I call you Guinevere, Guinevere?” He whispered into her ear.
She shivered against him, and he grinned again.
“Three reasons. One, you like being the only one who does. Two, it’s longer, so you get to draw it out depending on your mood. And three... you know that I like it when you do.”
Arthur pulled back so he could look at Gwen, and her smile faded at the serious look he gave her. Then he smiled. “You really are too smart for me,” he said ruefully.
Gwen frowned. “What?”
Arthur just shook his head and leant forward to kiss her, smiling against her lips when she reached up and smoothed her hand over the cheek that she’d slapped so many years ago.
Arthur left her house not long afterwards, unable to keep the grin off his face as he made his way through the winding streets towards the castle. On a whim he turned down another street, taking him away from the castle and towards the fields beyond the East Wall, where several young boys were training. He well remembered the days he’d spent training there under the hot sun, Sir Ector not letting any of them stop for water or rest until they had mastered the moves he’d taught them.
It was not Sir Ector teaching the young squires in the fields today, but a solitary figure sat under the shade of the wall, watching the boys go through their sequences.
Arthur walked over to him. “Hello, Sir Ector,” he said, sitting down next to him without waiting for an invitation.
“Arthur,” said Ector dryly. If he was surprised to see him, his voice didn’t betray it. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was thinking about you today - thought I’d come and see how you are,” Arthur said truthfully.
“Thinking about me?” Ector replied curiously.
Arthur shrugged. “Specifically I was thinking about the way you used to let young girls attack me and go unpunished,” he said.
Sir Ector laughed, loudly. “I’d forgotten that!” He said through his chuckles. “Aw, Gwenny... best thing that could have happened to you, boy.”
Arthur grinned. “Couldn’t agree more.”
THE END