FIC: The Colour of Destiny (Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot, PG-13) 3/? Part I
***
I.
It’s the middle of the night and she’s wandering the castle corridors like a lost ghost striving for purpose.
The castle is empty, save for a few guards struggling not to fall asleep and who ignore her as she moves through the hallways. The candle she holds in her hand casts a haunting light in front of her, making the place seem like a different world entirely.
She moves through the castle, enjoying the solitude. Every so often she stops to stare outside windows and sees only darkness; she’ll look at portraits, tapestries and statues, wanders into deserted rooms and delights in everything she discovers in the late night hour.
Gwen climbs down the stairs to the ground floor. It’s colder here and she wishes that she’d worn more than just a thin shawl over her nightgown, but she’s far too immersed in her wanderings to turn back.
As she heads down a corridor, she sees a light coming from one of the rooms. Curious to its source, she heads toward it. The room at the end of the corridor has its door ajar and there’s a flicker of light from it. She wonders who else would be awake at this hour, but is hesitant to see what lies beyond the door. What if it’s something she’s not supposed to see?
She dawdles for a few moments, debating on whether to open the door, to knock or to leave.
But then the door opens itself and she lets out a scream.
“Guinevere!”
One hand over her frantically-beating heart and the other clutching her candle, she lets out a sigh of relief.
“Arthur.”
He looks at her in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to know who was here. You scared me,” she says, her voice almost accusatory. “I thought that perhaps you were a...”
“A...?”
“A ghost,” she answers, sheepishly.
“A ghost?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you were an intruder. Why are you up at this hour?”
“I’m always up at this hour. I can’t...sleep well.”
At this moment, Arthur removes his gaze from hers and looks her up and down. Beneath her shawl, she’s wearing only her long, white nightgown and his intense gaze on her seems intrusive.
His eyes meet hers again. “Nice nightgown,” he comments with a smirk, and she flushes. He of course, is still dressed respectively in his daywear.
“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I don’t want to interrupt you from whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Not at all. Come in, I could do with some company.”
Possibly against her better judgement, she steps into the room which appears to be a study. There’s a desk with a candelabra on and Arthur takes the seat that’s facing the door. At his motioning, she takes the one opposite him.
After casting a glance at her, he starts shuffling some papers that are in front of him, and she takes a moment to study him as he picks up his quill and starts writing. It’s been a month since he’d met her in the snow, and since then things between them had been amiable, although not perfect by any means.
She’s never seen him this composed and this regal before, and there’s something about this unseen side to him that she admires. The candle light casts a low glow over his face, making him look handsome in a humble sort of way and she admits to herself that it makes the view that bit better.
Arthur lifts his head and looks at her. “What are you smiling at?”
Her fingers fly to her lips; she hadn’t realised she’d been smiling. “Nothing,” she denies.
He snorts.
She shuffles on her seat. “Do you always study at this late hour?” she wonders.
There’s a flicker of a smile on his face. “No, not always. Only when there’s a lot of work to do.”
“A prince actually working? Heaven forbid!”
“Not everyone can live the luxurious life of a princess,” he retorts, pointing his quill at her.
“So luxurious.” She places her hands underneath her legs to warm them. “So what are you working on?”
Arthur lets out a small sigh. “I’m reading over our treaty with Mercia. Relations between our kingdoms aren’t very good at the moment.”
Even in the poor light, he watches as Gwen visibly blanches. “Mercia?”
The look on her face and her tone of voice causes Arthur to stop fidgeting with his papers.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head. “My kingdom is well acquainted with Mercia.”
Arthur waits for her to expand, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stares at the desk, her mind a million miles away. After a while, she lifts her head a little and extracts a hand and places it atop Arthur’s papers. “We used to have a treaty, much like you do. But they broke it. They were too greedy, too selfish in their demands, far too persistent... The biggest bullies I have ever come across. We went to war with them, did you know that?”
“I vaguely recall...about ten years ago?”
“Fifteen, actually.” Gwen closes her eyes momentarily. “I was only a child when it happened, but I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday: the pain and the suffering, the damage and the destruction. Arthur, these men are merciless at war and they will stop at nothing to gain victory. I had...I had a cousin, he used to be my favourite and he was a revered knight.” Her eyes close again, but he sees the lone tear that escapes from them. “They sent him and his battalion back, dismembered. I wasn’t supposed to see- but I did and I knew it was him amongst the carnage. Then afterwards, Baynard’s men managed to get control of the outlying towns and raped and pillaged. It was awful. We usurped them in the end, but the cost was great... I still have nightmares about it.”
Subconsciously, his hand goes over hers. He hadn’t meant to upset her.
Her eyes fly open. “Whatever happens next, promise me you’ll do your best to avoid going to war with them. They’re not worth it.”
“Of course.” His voice is surprisingly gentle.
Neither says anything for a moment and he waits awhile for her to calm down.
“War is such a silly notion, anyway,” Gwen mutters after a while.
Arthur grins. “I’ll let my father know what you think. ‘Guinevere says that war is such a silly notion and thus we shouldn’t go.’”
“I’ll have you know your father quite likes me and will heed my opinion, I’m sure of it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He watches as Gwen smiles, her mood a little better, and then he watches as he yawns.
“Am I boring you, Guinevere?”
“I’m just a little tired now,” she admits.
He stands up. “Let me walk you to your chambers.”
She looks ready to argue this, but there’s a determined look in his eyes that causes her to relent this once.
II.
Merlin is surprised to come into her room the next day only to find Gwen wide-awake. Usually he will come to wake her mid-morning and she’ll still be sleeping. When he does manage to rouse her, the tell-tale signs of shadows are usually under her eyes and indicative of underlying troubles. But today she is already up, her bed is made and she’s sitting at her table, awaiting her breakfast.
“Hello Merlin,” she greets quite cheerfully.
His eyes widen a little at her welcome- he’s never seen her this happy- but his expression instantly turns into a grin.
“You’re certainly chipper today, mil- Gwen.”
Her smile broadens. “You know, I’m feeling rather good today.”
He goes to place her breakfast in front of her. “I’m glad to hear that.” He studies her for a few moments. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if the princess would ever truly settle in Camelot and ever since he was assigned to look after her he tried his best to make her feel welcome, but he wasn’t sure it was enough. She was set to marry a man she had shown no inclination of wanting to get to know, let alone marry and Arthur’s behaviour hadn’t helped the situation. Merlin suspected that the two would get on quite well with one another if they simply gave each other a chance and in doing so, Gwen would be able to adapt. Short of locking the two in the armoury, he wasn’t sure how a conciliation would ever occur. But seeing her like this, seeing her smile and showing signs of adjustment, made him wonder if the two were starting to get on, on their own accord.
“So,” he begins. “What are your plans for today, Gwen?” he casually asks.
Gwen looks up from her breakfast. “Oh,” she says, as if the thought of doing something hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m not sure.”
“Because you know, the knights are having a tourney today. It’s just a friendly joust, but a lot of people are thinking of going. You know, maybe you could go.”
He waits for her smile to drop and to decline his offer. But instead, her face grows thoughtful, she turns her head to the window (and sees that it is blustery and cold-looking, but satisfactory enough) and then looks at Merlin and says, “You know, Merlin, I think I will.”
Merlin beams.
III.
She’s wrapped up in her thickest cloak, her gloves reach up to her elbows and the stockings beneath her dress act as perfect insulation. The snow has long gone and melted but it’s still cold and incredibly windy outside. Loose strands of hair blow in every direction and fall into her face, into her eyes and act as a veil to what’s around her. Attempts to hold her hair back with her hand are in vain and moments when she does, she realises (to her horror) that people are staring at her. Unaccustomed to seeing the new princess, the townspeople eye her every move as she passes them by, most probably expecting her to be graceful and ladylike and not to look like she’s fighting a (losing) battle with the wind.
She musters a smile, takes a deep breath and stumbles in a direction in hope that it -or the wind- will lead her safely to the tourney, without her tripping and making a fool of herself in front of these people who are just waiting to judge her. Really, she should have just stayed in the safe confines of the castle.
She hears someone call her name.
She blindly turns in the direction of the voice and through flying tresses she catches sight of chainmail and dark hair.
“Lancelot?”
A figure approaches her and flashes a smile. He takes her free hand and places a kiss there.
“Princess Guinevere! How are you on this fine day?”
She positions herself so she’s facing away from the wind and he moves likewise. She hasn’t seen him since the night of his instatement, but that friendliness is all too-familiar.
She smiles up at him. “A little bit flustered, I must admit. But other than that I am fine. How about yourself?”
“I am good, milady, but I will be better once I’ve won the tourney,” he says with a wink. “Are you coming to watch?”
“If I can find my way there, then yes.”
“I could show you the way?”
She nods and he begins to walk.
“Are you a fan of jousting, Princess?”
“Oh no, not usually. I usually shy away because of the violence.”
He laughs. “It’s not too bad when you’re actually out there, fighting.”
“I wouldn’t know!” she struggles to keep up with his long strides. “Have you been in many jousting tournaments?”
“This will be my first tournament, so naturally I am determined to beat everyone.”
“Even Arthur?”
“Especially the prince!”
She laughs and the two arrive at the jousting arena.
The arena is not too dissimilar to one back home: the colours are slightly different, but there’s the same layout, the same array of flags and the same gathering, excited crowd.
They walk toward the other knights who are readying themselves. Gwen notes with mild amusement that none of them seem perturbed by the raging winds and if she knew better, she’d think that they were glad for it.
“Here it is, milady, the jousting arena. Don’t get too excited.”
“But I can hardly contain myself!” she exclaims and then turns to him. “Thank you for walking me here, Lancelot.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “And should you wish to support me through the tourney, I will gladly appreciate it in the form of cheering,” he says with another wink.
She laughs again and is about to respond when a voice interrupts them.
“Lancelot.”
They both turn to see a man adorned head-to-toe in armour head towards them. Arthur’s face is just about visible in the confines of his helmet and he carries another one in his hands.
“Stop chatting up the princess and get ready to fight,” he drawls, plonking the spare helmet atop Lancelot’s head.
The knight winces before arranging the helmet properly and lifting the fallen visor.
Arthur looks at Gwen. “Hello, Guinevere. Have you come to watch Lancelot lose today?”
She bites her lip in mirth. “Oh, I don’t know about losing, Arthur, I saw him fight you the other day. He beat you rather royally.”
Arthur doesn’t seem fazed by this. “Different day, different game.”
“I will beat you,” Lancelot informs the prince.
Arthur turns to the knight. “Oh, really?”
The two eye each other with a mock seriousness, and then, to Gwen’s surprise, both whack each other on their helmets. Arthur’s visor falls down and Lancelot’s stays intact.
“Ha!” the knight exclaims, before heading off. “I will see you later, milady,” he calls over his shoulder.
Gwen is left alone with Arthur. Bubbling with laughter, she lifts his visor, only to see him looking rather unamused.
“It is like watching children,” she muses.
“Yes, well, Lancelot can be rather childish.”
She smiles and goes to retrieve something from her pocket. It’s a piece of delicate red fabric. When he sees it, his eyes widen a little.
When Merlin suggested she go to the tourney, she had dithered for a while on whether to bring a token or not. Back home, it was traditional for her to give one to someone. Usually, she’d give it to the knight who was the favourite to win, so she felt out of place not giving one today. As her betrothed, Arthur was the logical choice and she suspected it was the kind of gesture the public would be watching out for. Besides, it didn’t have to be a token of affection. It could just be a token.
“For luck,” she says. “Although apparently you don’t need it.”
He smiles and allows her to tie it around his arm.
“Thank you, Guinevere,” he replies, looking at her.
She looks up at him and gives him a wry smile back.
+
Arthur rides out onto the arena and her token on his arm radiates like a beacon.
She takes a seat next to the king and feels rather than sees a hundred or so pair of eyes lock onto her, staring at her as if she’s the latest dress the town’s dressmaker has come up with.
Uncomfortable with the attention, she fidgets with her hands and tries her best to smile. Morgana sits a few seats down and when Gwen’s gaze goes over to hers, she sees the lady icily observing her.
It’s just a token, she thinks. But the hundred or so pair of eyes begs to differ.
She sighs, hating the scrutinising that comes with being the prince’s betrothed, because for all the expectations and prejudices they surely hold of them...of her, she’s sure she meets none of them.
+
Gwen raptly watches the fights.
Despite the fact that the other knights do not seem to be giving the game their all when up against the prince (and thus ensuring that he has the advantage), watching the tourneys is rather nail-biting. She finds herself gasping after each strike, much to the king’s amusement. There was a reason, after all, that she didn’t attend jousts often.
Lastly, Lancelot and Arthur are up. Both have won all their matches and this is the final, determining game.
They both face one another on opposite ends of the arena, looking quite like madmen. She can’t see their faces, but she suspects that both are grinning like lunatics, and the crowd grows silent as if knowing that this will be a dramatic match.
Lancelot seems to treat Arthur with indifference to his title. Whether they’re talking to one another or they’re sparring, the knight never holds back like any other person might. No, Lancelot demands Arthur give as good as he gets. For anyone else, it might land them in trouble, but she suspects Arthur revels in their equal status.
Uther announces the match and just like that the two men are off, charging at one another. This is different to the other games: before, those playing against Arthur charged at him at a slower pace, but here Lancelot charges as if riding at a hundred miles per hour. The crowd is enraptured and Gwen is holding her breath as the two men get set to collide, lances drawn and pointed at one another. At the moment of impact, Gwen closes her eyes, unable to watch, but she hears wood clashing against wood; wood impacting on metal.
When she opens her eyes again, it’s all over.
The crowd erupt into applause, and instantly she sees Arthur has emerged the victor. His helmet off, he sits proudly atop his horse, grinning madly and his arms raised up high. Not far from him, Lancelot climbs down from his horse and she sees disappointment emanating from him.
His eyes scan the crowd and fall on hers.
“Next time,” she mouths, and he manages a smile.
Her eyes land on Arthur again and he sees her looking at her, his smile turned into a smirk and distantly she wonders who really the childish one in all of this is.
+
Lancelot comes up to him. “Congratulations,” he says, rather begrudgingly. “You... sort of deserve it.”
“Your attempts at a compliment are, as always, exceptional,” Arthur drawls.
The younger man extends his hand and Arthur shakes it. He does feel elated at winning, as if this is his first time rather than one of many.
Automatically, his eyes scan the crowd again, landing on Guinevere. She is sitting next to his father and conversing with him, and Arthur watches as the wind blows through her hair as she laughs, as she smiles and she talks, and finds he can’t take his eyes off of her.
Lancelot emits a sound akin to a gloat.
He turns to Lancelot. “What?”
“You’re growing rather fond of the princess,” he states.
Arthur continues watching Guinevere, and mentally concedes that the knight is probably right. Through their brief dalliances he’s seen a lot of her: he’s seen her happy, he’s seen her sad, he’s seen her contemplative and strange and enthralled and withdrawn...he’s seen so much more to her than he ever let himself see and she’s not repugnant, she’s not baffling and she’s not abhorrent. She’s a woman with a mind, a princess with emotion and a person with a heart that’s asking to be opened.
Lancelot doesn’t walk away from the joust without victory after all.
***
Part II