Merlin Fanfic...Trinity
Title: Trinity
Spoilers: up to 2x04 (episode add-in as Merlin/Gwen/Arthur ride back to Camelot)
Rating: G
Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Gwen Lancelot/Gwen, Gwen/Morgana
Genre: Romance/Angst (slight)
Summary: Gwen’s thoughts as they ride back to Camelot at the end of 2x04. I explain the kiss shared between her and Lancelot and beyond.
Disclaimer/Author's note: I don’t own Merlin. If I did we would not have gotten Gwen/Arthur so early. I would never have left the relationships Gwen has with Merlin and Lancelot so open-ended. And I would have totally revamped the legend of King Arthur because it has been manipulated so many times over I would give my own twist which would be the redemption of both Morgana and Guinevere. Women were disgustingly mistreated and misrepresented in anything dealing with Arthur while the men came out looking like bloody heroes. Deplorable! This is my first step in bits of redemption and understanding of the characters as portrayed by the BBC version (which is doing a much better job than the previous writers). So…uh no…I don’t own it.
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Aside from my father, three men have left their mark on my life thus far. Three men play fundamental roles in shaping who I am and who I have yet to be. One, for all his antics, is perceptive, kind, and always manages to lift the spirit with his jovial air. Now he stands alongside the steed that carries me home from a perilous misadventure not of my doing or want. The second, fair haired, born of the noblest families and heart; sits stiffly a ride his own steed, ahead. I look towards him unsure of what I feel, even more, unsure of what to say. When I saw he had come to save me, any sense of fear or urgency went out of my mind and all I wanted to do was run to him and embrace him. However, the situation did not call for such sentiment; it did call for urgency and vigilance.
At that moment, as I sat awaiting my imminent death by an over-fed rodent of the worst kind known fearfully as the wilder beast. I had forgotten the man sitting behind me, back to back, our fingers entwined. This man, the third man, whom is the epitome of gallantry, honor, and simplicity; his person calls to my own as one in the same. I see a kindred spirit in him. Both of us are born of the same class, of poverty and raised in simplicity but aspire for more. He aspires to be a knight of Camelot. To be a knight for the greatest Kingdom there ever is and will be. As I aspire to live to love the man who will one day rule said Kingdom.
Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot; I fear they may be my tragic trinity but as of now they have been my salvation and sanctuary, some many times over. As a young girl I would never have dreamed that three such great men would ever enter my life. I had expected to work as handmaiden for the castle as my father worked as a blacksmith. I would, possibly marry the boulangerie’s son who had shown an interest in me for however long I can remember. Maybe then I would be forced out of the castle upon child-bearing or be forced into a position as a wet nurse for Prince Arthur and/or Morgana’s child. That is if I was lucky enough to survive childbirth. My mother was not fortunate and as life would have it no woman on my mother’s side has ever survived childbirth that I was aware of.
Some would feel distressed by this knowledge but I have had 21 years to become accustomed to my possible death that I am numb to the thought. My only worry is to the wellbeing of the child I risked my life for. However, this is a digression. Yet, I hope that digression gives insight into the banality of my existence. The day Merlin came to Camelot, my life seemed to shift; as of yet I’m unsure if it was for the better, but it is for the most exciting time I have ever experienced and also the most heartbreaking. Merlin with his dark hair and generous smile was the first to enter my heart. No, I dare say it was Prince Arthur. Yes, it had to be Arthur, but I saw him only as an unattainable crush.
The one I could never touch or would ever touch and his utter arrogance, bullying, and princeliness made him an utter prat. Dare I say, the Prince Sprog of a King Prat. I do realize it is terrible to think of your king in such a way, but the title does fit. Rightly so, my interest for Prince Arthur never went beyond an appreciation for his outward attractiveness and impressive physique. A passing fancy as every other young woman my age has had upon setting eyes on him. But Merlin was more ordinary. No, not ordinary in the normal sense. He is approachable and confident. His strength in persona is something to be admired, and how. For a servant, this confidence is rarely exhibited.
Before Merlin, I was never one to show any air of confidence. As a servant I knew my place. I was to serve, never to speak unless spoken too, never to lift my head unless given permission too. When I am dismissed I am to fade like a phantom. As a servant I have no thoughts of my own or feelings of my own. Yes, working for Lady Morgana has given me more freedom to express my thoughts. I pity many others who do not have the pleasure of serving her. She gives me a bit of humanity. But still, I make sure to know my place. Our relationship is not as close to sisters, but as close as one can be when titles and status are involved.
Merlin’s entrance into my life has, however allowed me a chance to “blossom,” dare I say. At this thought a grunt escapes me, unwarranted, which brings strange looks from my two guardians with the neigh of Merlin’s horse. He fearlessly expresses his thoughts and emotions and dares the world to rebuke him for it. This fearlessness is something I have craved and longed for and I immediately fell into ‘like’ with Merlin. The more I think on this I realize that it was not infatuated with Merlin, but I like the feelings he arose in me. I like the confidence I vicariously lived through him. This adoration I may have transferred into love, romantic love that is to say. Or I surely thought it must be love. When Lancelot first arrived, I felt a similar attraction but different; for different reasons.
And there is Lancelot. The attraction I felt for Lancelot was an appreciation for his determination and resilience. As I had said, we had a similar upbringing. However he carried himself as a Knight-which separates him from Merlin and me. Merlin is no gentleman and I am no Lady, especially if Lady Morgana is the model. However, unlike us both Lancelot is a gentleman. He is able to carry himself like a gentleman of the court without a worry, he is strong, he has presence, and he does everything to the best of his ability. He is a darker and more sensitive version of Arthur. I think for a scant moment I may have fallen in love with that one small difference---the sensitivity he exudes. I think many women are appreciative of any man who is so sincere in their caring and who care so much.
During our time captured by Hengis, although my heart yearned for Arthur it grew to love Lancelot. For a moment I was confused by my thoughts, by my feelings. I felt I was betraying Arthur by having feelings for Lancelot, but upon more thinking and when I saw Arthur come to my rescue my feelings became clear. Lancelot is nothing more than a kindred spirit and sadly for him, that will be all. I hope this does not make me appear arrogant. Although I’m sure it may touch on arrogance and egoism, I am aware that Lancelot is in love with me. I became aware of this when he asked of me if I had thought of him as much as he thought of me. Tragically, and I say this because I am aware it is safer for me to have feelings for him than I ever have for Arthur, but he did not enter my thoughts once. Not once did I shed a tear over his leaving, I felt saddened but not terribly so and I never thought of him. This was why I had avoided his question. How does one say, “Out of sight, out of mind,” politely?
Do not think I have forgotten about the kiss shared. Funnily enough I have kissed all three men. The kiss with Merlin was my happiness that he was alive. He had become like a dear brother to me at that point in time; the thought of forever losing him was disheartening. Seeing him breathe and make light of his death was a relief, I could not express with mere words, and it, demanded action. And the only action that came to me instinctively was to kiss him. There were no emotions of romantic love involved, just a meeting of lips and sheer glee. I believe if I wasn’t so shocked by my own actions, Gaius would have been on the receiving end of one as well. The kiss with Lancelot was a kiss goodbye. My only thought was that this would be the last time I may see him alive. I wanted to give him a measure of thanks. I wanted to express the feelings I have for him---I wanted to give him my kiss because embracing him was not enough.
I believed he would die for me; I, a mere servant. I had hoped this would make him happy. He would have a place in my heart as my hero but also he would leave this earth knowing that I will remember him and I thank him for his devotion. To some it may be a bit cold-blooded. But Lancelot makes me feel like a Lady, and as such I hope I responded as one to her knight. No, there was no love, not romantic in any case. He has a place in my heart as does Morgana, Merlin, my father, Gaius---but he does not have my heart as Prince Arthur does, and never would. This is unfortunately another sad comparison. While I feel like a Lady for Lancelot, I am but a woman, Guinevere, for Arthur. I am not a servant, I am not a Lady. I am only Guinevere. It is gratifying to play this role for my love, because while I am his Guinevere he is my Arthur.
We have come far from that time he wanted to prove himself to his father, to his court, and to himself. I had removed the title of ‘Sire’ and ‘Prince’ when we address each other. I am Guinevere, he has yet to call me ‘Gwen,” I do wonder why; and he is Arthur, a man, a boy, a friend, and the keeper of my heart. When we are together I have eyes only for him, it is very apparent in the moment our eyes met as I held onto Lancelot’s hand. To some, and I could see it in Merlin’s expression and Lancelot’s words resulting in my tears, I am lost between two men. How untrue that is, and how shameful would it be for a handmaiden to proclaim to the world she loves a Prince. To be laughed and scorned at. It is easier to love the would-be knight. It is definitely easier to love the man servant. I am not lost between two men, or three. I am lost in all that I am only for Arthur---Oh dear goddess, the cruelty of it all.
I cried for Lancelot for two reasons. I cried for his life as a nomad. He is a lost soul living the life of a ruffian, a life as a knight without a kingdom to protect. That in essence is a tragedy of its own. The second reason I cried was because I could not return his affections. I could hear the love and sincerity of his words as they were repeated to me from Merlin, and yet for the life of me I could not muster up the same feelings of love. This is a man, who would die for me a 100 times over; who would sell his soul for my safety and my happiness, and I could not return an ounce of his affections. Although I do not want to admit this, I cried because I was grateful. I was grateful that his presence would not call on his feelings to be returned. I could not bear to add any more weight to his burden. To want to be a knight of Camelot and serve its Prince, and not be allowed because of his lineage, to love me and to have those feelings not only unreturned, but solely the property of said Prince.
As I have said, I love my Prince. Not only as a servant who must love their master but as a woman loves a man. I know that beneath his flippancy, his conceit, his crassness, and insensitivity he is a good man, a strong man, and a loving one. In that moment when he stated that he only came for me in order to make Morgana happy, it was like a slap in the face. In essence, he had relegated me as nothing but a play thing for Morgana. As though Morgana had lost her doll and she wanted him to go and fetch for her. He denigrated me below servitude to a scant object. This galled me. I could have smacked him and I did not want anything to do with him. He showed that whatever we felt before, the kiss we shared in my home, and the moments he’d shown of humility and kindness were passing fancies. They were meaningless to anything that Morgana desired. At that point, I was not important to him. I had felt, I fooled myself to believe that he cared. In reality, Morgana was more important and, for that moment, whatever secret wishes I had hoped for, died.
It is not until now that I realize his words and his reasoning. It’s not until now as we go to see Morgana, having reached the inner walls of Camelot, of home, has the fog now lifted. I was blinded by the self-sacrificing nature of Lancelot, I was blinded by the way his heart is on his sleeve and for a split second, in my anger---I had forgotten who Arthur is, was, and always will be. Yes, he is among friends, but he had told me once, “I have much to learn. There are some things I am terrible at…, but also knowing what to say to someone, I care about.” He and Merlin had risked their lives for me, he would not do something like that for an object. He spat on the will of his father in order to come to save me. Not to save Lancelot or Morgana, but me. Prince Arthur is no Lancelot, and Lancelot will never be a Prince Arthur. What I feel for Lancelot does not measure in the all consuming emotion that I have for Prince Arthur. Yes, Lancelot saved my life and yes I feel connected to him. But Prince Arthur is my soul mate. He is my other half.
Where I am weak, Prince Arthur is strong and where he is weak I am strong. Where he is royalty, I am a commoner-therefore where he is lacking in understanding, I hope to provide that clarity. While Merlin may be his guardian angel who shadows his steps, I hope to be the guide to hold his hand and be by his side as he walks his path to destiny and infamy. As I look at him now, the sadness and relief in his eyes as I hold Morgana in a tight embrace, I hope he sees my apology in my eyes. I hope he sees my gratitude and appreciation of his love and fortitude for my well-being. I hope he sees that my heart is his and his alone-that no man or god can tear asunder. I hope my eyes show my understanding even if I cannot speak the words. Because as I hold Morgana so tightly in my embrace, as I stroke her hair and caress her back, I wish with all my being that it was him in my arms at that moment.
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*Boulangerie: A bakery in French.
~ This is an additional note. Some may be wondering why I included a bit of French. In more of my fics, I will add a lot more French and possibly a bit of Gaelic/Welsh. I have a bit of background on the Arthurian legend (I read The Once and Future King by T. one too many times and saw films like Excalibur and did some research on them for school-I was big into fantasy and sci-fi as a kid). Camelot was rumored to be in Wales. Originally what is now considered Wales was what some can say the "original" England and inhabited by Anglo-Saxons, although Arthur himself was a Romano-British soldier fighting the Saxons. During that time there was also said to be a lot of connection with the Gauls or the French (of course French wasn't the original language...but I'll include it as though it was). And of course the main language of Wales now is Welsh, although a bit of Gaelic was there (thanks to the Druids and others).
Spoilers: up to 2x04 (episode add-in as Merlin/Gwen/Arthur ride back to Camelot)
Rating: G
Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Gwen Lancelot/Gwen, Gwen/Morgana
Genre: Romance/Angst (slight)
Summary: Gwen’s thoughts as they ride back to Camelot at the end of 2x04. I explain the kiss shared between her and Lancelot and beyond.
Disclaimer/Author's note: I don’t own Merlin. If I did we would not have gotten Gwen/Arthur so early. I would never have left the relationships Gwen has with Merlin and Lancelot so open-ended. And I would have totally revamped the legend of King Arthur because it has been manipulated so many times over I would give my own twist which would be the redemption of both Morgana and Guinevere. Women were disgustingly mistreated and misrepresented in anything dealing with Arthur while the men came out looking like bloody heroes. Deplorable! This is my first step in bits of redemption and understanding of the characters as portrayed by the BBC version (which is doing a much better job than the previous writers). So…uh no…I don’t own it.
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Aside from my father, three men have left their mark on my life thus far. Three men play fundamental roles in shaping who I am and who I have yet to be. One, for all his antics, is perceptive, kind, and always manages to lift the spirit with his jovial air. Now he stands alongside the steed that carries me home from a perilous misadventure not of my doing or want. The second, fair haired, born of the noblest families and heart; sits stiffly a ride his own steed, ahead. I look towards him unsure of what I feel, even more, unsure of what to say. When I saw he had come to save me, any sense of fear or urgency went out of my mind and all I wanted to do was run to him and embrace him. However, the situation did not call for such sentiment; it did call for urgency and vigilance.
At that moment, as I sat awaiting my imminent death by an over-fed rodent of the worst kind known fearfully as the wilder beast. I had forgotten the man sitting behind me, back to back, our fingers entwined. This man, the third man, whom is the epitome of gallantry, honor, and simplicity; his person calls to my own as one in the same. I see a kindred spirit in him. Both of us are born of the same class, of poverty and raised in simplicity but aspire for more. He aspires to be a knight of Camelot. To be a knight for the greatest Kingdom there ever is and will be. As I aspire to live to love the man who will one day rule said Kingdom.
Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot; I fear they may be my tragic trinity but as of now they have been my salvation and sanctuary, some many times over. As a young girl I would never have dreamed that three such great men would ever enter my life. I had expected to work as handmaiden for the castle as my father worked as a blacksmith. I would, possibly marry the boulangerie’s son who had shown an interest in me for however long I can remember. Maybe then I would be forced out of the castle upon child-bearing or be forced into a position as a wet nurse for Prince Arthur and/or Morgana’s child. That is if I was lucky enough to survive childbirth. My mother was not fortunate and as life would have it no woman on my mother’s side has ever survived childbirth that I was aware of.
Some would feel distressed by this knowledge but I have had 21 years to become accustomed to my possible death that I am numb to the thought. My only worry is to the wellbeing of the child I risked my life for. However, this is a digression. Yet, I hope that digression gives insight into the banality of my existence. The day Merlin came to Camelot, my life seemed to shift; as of yet I’m unsure if it was for the better, but it is for the most exciting time I have ever experienced and also the most heartbreaking. Merlin with his dark hair and generous smile was the first to enter my heart. No, I dare say it was Prince Arthur. Yes, it had to be Arthur, but I saw him only as an unattainable crush.
The one I could never touch or would ever touch and his utter arrogance, bullying, and princeliness made him an utter prat. Dare I say, the Prince Sprog of a King Prat. I do realize it is terrible to think of your king in such a way, but the title does fit. Rightly so, my interest for Prince Arthur never went beyond an appreciation for his outward attractiveness and impressive physique. A passing fancy as every other young woman my age has had upon setting eyes on him. But Merlin was more ordinary. No, not ordinary in the normal sense. He is approachable and confident. His strength in persona is something to be admired, and how. For a servant, this confidence is rarely exhibited.
Before Merlin, I was never one to show any air of confidence. As a servant I knew my place. I was to serve, never to speak unless spoken too, never to lift my head unless given permission too. When I am dismissed I am to fade like a phantom. As a servant I have no thoughts of my own or feelings of my own. Yes, working for Lady Morgana has given me more freedom to express my thoughts. I pity many others who do not have the pleasure of serving her. She gives me a bit of humanity. But still, I make sure to know my place. Our relationship is not as close to sisters, but as close as one can be when titles and status are involved.
Merlin’s entrance into my life has, however allowed me a chance to “blossom,” dare I say. At this thought a grunt escapes me, unwarranted, which brings strange looks from my two guardians with the neigh of Merlin’s horse. He fearlessly expresses his thoughts and emotions and dares the world to rebuke him for it. This fearlessness is something I have craved and longed for and I immediately fell into ‘like’ with Merlin. The more I think on this I realize that it was not infatuated with Merlin, but I like the feelings he arose in me. I like the confidence I vicariously lived through him. This adoration I may have transferred into love, romantic love that is to say. Or I surely thought it must be love. When Lancelot first arrived, I felt a similar attraction but different; for different reasons.
And there is Lancelot. The attraction I felt for Lancelot was an appreciation for his determination and resilience. As I had said, we had a similar upbringing. However he carried himself as a Knight-which separates him from Merlin and me. Merlin is no gentleman and I am no Lady, especially if Lady Morgana is the model. However, unlike us both Lancelot is a gentleman. He is able to carry himself like a gentleman of the court without a worry, he is strong, he has presence, and he does everything to the best of his ability. He is a darker and more sensitive version of Arthur. I think for a scant moment I may have fallen in love with that one small difference---the sensitivity he exudes. I think many women are appreciative of any man who is so sincere in their caring and who care so much.
During our time captured by Hengis, although my heart yearned for Arthur it grew to love Lancelot. For a moment I was confused by my thoughts, by my feelings. I felt I was betraying Arthur by having feelings for Lancelot, but upon more thinking and when I saw Arthur come to my rescue my feelings became clear. Lancelot is nothing more than a kindred spirit and sadly for him, that will be all. I hope this does not make me appear arrogant. Although I’m sure it may touch on arrogance and egoism, I am aware that Lancelot is in love with me. I became aware of this when he asked of me if I had thought of him as much as he thought of me. Tragically, and I say this because I am aware it is safer for me to have feelings for him than I ever have for Arthur, but he did not enter my thoughts once. Not once did I shed a tear over his leaving, I felt saddened but not terribly so and I never thought of him. This was why I had avoided his question. How does one say, “Out of sight, out of mind,” politely?
Do not think I have forgotten about the kiss shared. Funnily enough I have kissed all three men. The kiss with Merlin was my happiness that he was alive. He had become like a dear brother to me at that point in time; the thought of forever losing him was disheartening. Seeing him breathe and make light of his death was a relief, I could not express with mere words, and it, demanded action. And the only action that came to me instinctively was to kiss him. There were no emotions of romantic love involved, just a meeting of lips and sheer glee. I believe if I wasn’t so shocked by my own actions, Gaius would have been on the receiving end of one as well. The kiss with Lancelot was a kiss goodbye. My only thought was that this would be the last time I may see him alive. I wanted to give him a measure of thanks. I wanted to express the feelings I have for him---I wanted to give him my kiss because embracing him was not enough.
I believed he would die for me; I, a mere servant. I had hoped this would make him happy. He would have a place in my heart as my hero but also he would leave this earth knowing that I will remember him and I thank him for his devotion. To some it may be a bit cold-blooded. But Lancelot makes me feel like a Lady, and as such I hope I responded as one to her knight. No, there was no love, not romantic in any case. He has a place in my heart as does Morgana, Merlin, my father, Gaius---but he does not have my heart as Prince Arthur does, and never would. This is unfortunately another sad comparison. While I feel like a Lady for Lancelot, I am but a woman, Guinevere, for Arthur. I am not a servant, I am not a Lady. I am only Guinevere. It is gratifying to play this role for my love, because while I am his Guinevere he is my Arthur.
We have come far from that time he wanted to prove himself to his father, to his court, and to himself. I had removed the title of ‘Sire’ and ‘Prince’ when we address each other. I am Guinevere, he has yet to call me ‘Gwen,” I do wonder why; and he is Arthur, a man, a boy, a friend, and the keeper of my heart. When we are together I have eyes only for him, it is very apparent in the moment our eyes met as I held onto Lancelot’s hand. To some, and I could see it in Merlin’s expression and Lancelot’s words resulting in my tears, I am lost between two men. How untrue that is, and how shameful would it be for a handmaiden to proclaim to the world she loves a Prince. To be laughed and scorned at. It is easier to love the would-be knight. It is definitely easier to love the man servant. I am not lost between two men, or three. I am lost in all that I am only for Arthur---Oh dear goddess, the cruelty of it all.
I cried for Lancelot for two reasons. I cried for his life as a nomad. He is a lost soul living the life of a ruffian, a life as a knight without a kingdom to protect. That in essence is a tragedy of its own. The second reason I cried was because I could not return his affections. I could hear the love and sincerity of his words as they were repeated to me from Merlin, and yet for the life of me I could not muster up the same feelings of love. This is a man, who would die for me a 100 times over; who would sell his soul for my safety and my happiness, and I could not return an ounce of his affections. Although I do not want to admit this, I cried because I was grateful. I was grateful that his presence would not call on his feelings to be returned. I could not bear to add any more weight to his burden. To want to be a knight of Camelot and serve its Prince, and not be allowed because of his lineage, to love me and to have those feelings not only unreturned, but solely the property of said Prince.
As I have said, I love my Prince. Not only as a servant who must love their master but as a woman loves a man. I know that beneath his flippancy, his conceit, his crassness, and insensitivity he is a good man, a strong man, and a loving one. In that moment when he stated that he only came for me in order to make Morgana happy, it was like a slap in the face. In essence, he had relegated me as nothing but a play thing for Morgana. As though Morgana had lost her doll and she wanted him to go and fetch for her. He denigrated me below servitude to a scant object. This galled me. I could have smacked him and I did not want anything to do with him. He showed that whatever we felt before, the kiss we shared in my home, and the moments he’d shown of humility and kindness were passing fancies. They were meaningless to anything that Morgana desired. At that point, I was not important to him. I had felt, I fooled myself to believe that he cared. In reality, Morgana was more important and, for that moment, whatever secret wishes I had hoped for, died.
It is not until now that I realize his words and his reasoning. It’s not until now as we go to see Morgana, having reached the inner walls of Camelot, of home, has the fog now lifted. I was blinded by the self-sacrificing nature of Lancelot, I was blinded by the way his heart is on his sleeve and for a split second, in my anger---I had forgotten who Arthur is, was, and always will be. Yes, he is among friends, but he had told me once, “I have much to learn. There are some things I am terrible at…, but also knowing what to say to someone, I care about.” He and Merlin had risked their lives for me, he would not do something like that for an object. He spat on the will of his father in order to come to save me. Not to save Lancelot or Morgana, but me. Prince Arthur is no Lancelot, and Lancelot will never be a Prince Arthur. What I feel for Lancelot does not measure in the all consuming emotion that I have for Prince Arthur. Yes, Lancelot saved my life and yes I feel connected to him. But Prince Arthur is my soul mate. He is my other half.
Where I am weak, Prince Arthur is strong and where he is weak I am strong. Where he is royalty, I am a commoner-therefore where he is lacking in understanding, I hope to provide that clarity. While Merlin may be his guardian angel who shadows his steps, I hope to be the guide to hold his hand and be by his side as he walks his path to destiny and infamy. As I look at him now, the sadness and relief in his eyes as I hold Morgana in a tight embrace, I hope he sees my apology in my eyes. I hope he sees my gratitude and appreciation of his love and fortitude for my well-being. I hope he sees that my heart is his and his alone-that no man or god can tear asunder. I hope my eyes show my understanding even if I cannot speak the words. Because as I hold Morgana so tightly in my embrace, as I stroke her hair and caress her back, I wish with all my being that it was him in my arms at that moment.
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*Boulangerie: A bakery in French.
~ This is an additional note. Some may be wondering why I included a bit of French. In more of my fics, I will add a lot more French and possibly a bit of Gaelic/Welsh. I have a bit of background on the Arthurian legend (I read The Once and Future King by T. one too many times and saw films like Excalibur and did some research on them for school-I was big into fantasy and sci-fi as a kid). Camelot was rumored to be in Wales. Originally what is now considered Wales was what some can say the "original" England and inhabited by Anglo-Saxons, although Arthur himself was a Romano-British soldier fighting the Saxons. During that time there was also said to be a lot of connection with the Gauls or the French (of course French wasn't the original language...but I'll include it as though it was). And of course the main language of Wales now is Welsh, although a bit of Gaelic was there (thanks to the Druids and others).