las final challenge - voting
LAS Challenge Eleven Voting
VOTING RULES:
Please READ carefully before voting, thank you.
- Participants are encouraged to vote, however you may NOT vote for your own submission or ask others to vote for yours.
- Please read each entry to vote.
- Vote for your first and second favourite piece, and please be sure to include feedback for each one. Please bear in mind the following point allocation while voting:
- a first place vote gets 3 pts;
- a second place vote gets 2 pts;
- That said, with a view to being able to give each participant some feedback, reviews of individual stories are very much encouraged. If you liked the story, or noticed room for improvement, please let the author know!
- Voting should be based around quality only: Was the prompt met? Did the author follow the Challenge-Specific Guidelines? How is the spelling, grammar and punctuation? Did the piece hold your attention?
*Guidelines from thefuturequeen's LAS Competition.
VOTING FORM
First pick: #
Feedback:
Second: #
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General comments:
The Challenge-Specific Guidelines were:
- Your story can ONLY be set in the same era as Merlin is.
- Other characters from Merlin may appear as support.
The Prompt: was: Arthur and Gwen get married. Then Gwen gets crowned as Queen of Camelot.
Voting closes Wednesday, June 1, 2011 @ 11:59 PM Eastern Standard Time (World Clock)
#1. In His Eyes (PG, 2,194 words)
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Slipping away from Camelot should not have been as easy as it was, but nobody stopped Gwen when she borrowed a horse from the stable, and nobody noticed the future queen leading the animal behind the citadel. When she reached the path beyond the walls, she mounted the steed, grateful her cloak masked her identity as well as the night did. The slight wind rustling through the trees helped, too. If she couldn’t hear the soft clip-clop of her horse’s gait, neither could the guards. And though the urge to kick her heels in and spur him as fast as possible to her destination surged through her, she didn’t indulge, no matter how tightly she held onto the reins. She couldn’t risk being stopped. With her marriage on the morrow, she had no time left to spare.
Her destination rested at the edge of the nearby forest, just inside the natural border it created for the neighboring fields. The darkness attempted to deceive her, casting shadows of trees to tempt her in other, incorrect directions, but Gwen knew the windings of the trail as well as she knew the corridors of the castle. It ended at Silver Brook, a popular spot for the residents in the lower town. As a child, she’d spent many hot days of summer splashing in its shallow depths. As she grew older, it became a respite of escape. Her memories of it were full of laughter and smiles, of joy and freedom.
That was why she’d chosen it for burying Tom’s ashes. After such a long, hard life, he deserved to spend eternity in beauty.
Tethering the horse to a nearby tree, she picked her way to the edge of the water, careful of the loose rock. A wrong step in the dark, and she’d be limping as she walked down the aisle. Tom was buried at the foot of an ancient alder. One of its roots jutted free from the earth, creating a natural back rest for anyone to lean again.
She settled into its nook and rested her hand on the broken soil at her side. “I’m sorry I’ve been so long,” she murmured, then stopped. She’d been about to promise not to take that long again, but was that a vow she could actually make? Once she was queen, she wouldn’t be able to travel as freely, and certainly not alone. This was not a place she was willing to share with anyone but Tom.
“I have a reason, though. I’ve been planning my wedding.” She smiled, imagining the look of surprise on Tom’s face. “You’re about to have a son-in-law.”
Though she had seen a few young men while Tom had been alive, most had escaped his notice. He was too busy, and she was too private, and with the exception of an occasional tease about a certain glow in her skin, Tom remained oblivious to his only daughter growing up. In this, however, he would’ve been thrilled, because in spite of the distance that sometimes fell between them, she knew all the way to her soul how much she meant to him.
He and Arthur had that in common.
“It’s not exactly a simple affair,” she said. “The wedding, I mean. You wouldn’t believe how much work has gone into it. And I know I don’t have to do it all on my own, but…it’s so important. Everyone is watching, and if even one thing goes wrong…”
Arthur’s status as king was young and as of yet untested. He might have earned the respect on the battlefield from his fellow nobles, but Morgana’s constant threats were noticed by all, and he still needed to constantly prove himself in other ways. Like his respect for the law. Changing the marriage decrees so he and Gwen could be legally wed remained a bone of contention amongst the more old-fashioned nobles. The last thing Gwen was willing to do was worsen an already tenuous situation.
“I know what you’re going to say, but no, I’m not overreacting. This isn’t just a simple wedding.” She took a deep breath, steadying nerves that were suddenly jumping at the prospect of telling Tom. “I’m marrying Arthur. He’s king now, though he hasn’t been for long. And he’s not the boy you remember, either. He’s kind, and generous, and the bravest man I’ve ever known. He’s funny, too, though not in the way he thinks he is, and…I love him. More than I probably should. More than is probably good for Camelot.” She chuckled and shook her head. “So much so that I’m even doing the completely mad thing and letting him crown me queen when we both know he deserves so much more than me.”
Behind her, something snapped in the darkness. Gwen whipped around, rising to her knees, her hand reaching for the small dagger she wore for protection. Hadn’t she been careful enough? Who could’ve found her? If it was a brigand, nobody even knew where she was. Her blood thundered beneath her skin, and her gaze swept over the murk, finally settling on a bulky shadow that separated from one of the trees. Tightening her fingers around the hilt, she remained perfectly still, waiting for the figure to get close enough for her to determine whether or not she had to use it. She would, too. She had too much to live for now.
“Well, I can’t argue that it’s mad to marry me.” Arthur’s amused tone cut through the night, automatically relaxing the tension in her muscles. “You can certainly do much better.”
Sheathing the knife, she pushed to her feet, watching his outline sharpen as he neared. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure my bride isn’t trying to run away before I finally get to have everything I’ve always wanted.” He stepped around the tree root and pushed the hood of her cloak away from her face. “Are you all right? I saw you leaving, so I followed to make sure.”
“I’m fine. I just…” She glanced back at the tree, a slight turn of her head strengthening the touch against her cheek.
Arthur followed her line of sight. “What is this place?”
Nobody knew about her connection to Silver Brook, but perhaps it was time to change all that. Catching his hand, she guided him back to the ground, back to the patch of earth marking the grave. Their fingers remained intertwined, his larger palm blanketing hers completely, and the fresh sense of peace it gave dissolved any trepidation about sharing something so private.
“Father, may I introduce my betrothed.” She spoke almost formally, as if he was there in body as well as spirit. “Arthur, King of Camelot.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur hesitate for a moment, then bow his head. “The honor is mine, sir.”
Her heart swelled, her love for this man choking in her throat. Leaning her cheek against Arthur’s shoulder, she confessed, “I come here to talk to him. Sometimes I miss him so much.”
Tom’s death was a blot on their past neither ever discussed. Arthur still wore the guilt from those events heavily. She’d seen it when arranging with Elyan to walk her down the aisle.
“He would’ve been proud of you.”
Gwen sighed. “I know. I only wish…”
“What?”
“After everything he did for me, he deserved to see me happy. He would’ve been the first to toast to us tomorrow. I know it.”
They fell silent, then, each lost to their own thoughts. Talking to Tom was more awkward with Arthur present, but she was glad it was no longer a secret between them. Arthur understood what his death had done to her. It would be easier to get away to see him, too, now that Arthur was no longer in the dark.
Abruptly, Arthur let her go and took a seat opposite. “Just because he can’t be at the wedding tomorrow doesn’t mean he can’t be a part of it anyway.”
She frowned at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
With a crooked smile, he held his hand out to her, palm up. “Marry me now. With your father as our witness.”
The silliness of his suggestion made her laugh, which she was sure was his intention. “It would hardly count.”
“Perhaps not to the court, but I don’t need their recognition to swear my devotion. And then your father can see for himself just how much I love you.”
There, encapsulated perfectly, was why she held no more fears about spending the rest of her life bound to this man. Nodding, she rested her hand on his, waiting for him to start.
He cleared his throat. “Guinevere, tonight in the presence of this witness, I give myself to you in marriage. I know our path hasn’t been an easy one, and I can’t claim that marrying me will make it any easier. But I do know, no one has ever believed in me the way you do, even when I haven’t earned that trust. No one has ever forced me to question who I am or what I must do the way that you have. With you, I’m the man I always hoped I could be. Without you, the world is a dimmer place, devoid of the life you bring to it.” He engulfed their joined hands with his left, his eyes dark with emotion. “I promise to fight for you, to try for you, to love you always. Because you are the reason the path is worth it, no matter how difficult it might be.”
Her eyes burned from unshed tears. If this was a precursor to what would come tomorrow, she was the luckiest woman in the world.
She had to clear her throat, too, hoping her words were even half as eloquent. “Arthur, tonight in the presence of this witness, I give myself to you in marriage. I do so gladly, freely, the impossible made real all because of you. To be honest, I never believed this could happen. I was just a maid, and you would be noble even without your birthright. But I have never been so glad to be wrong. You are the truest man I have ever known. The bravest. I know nobody else who loves the way you do, with all of his heart, all of his soul, with everything you are. My love seems pale in comparison, but it’s no less real. I feel it every minute of the day, and I will shout it to the world from this moment on. No more hiding. No more pretending. I love you, Arthur, and I will do everything in my power to show that to you, come what may.”
He was moving before she’d finished speaking, closing the distance between them until his lips sealed to hers. Though her balance became precarious, it was as much from the giddiness spinning inside her head as it was the way she had to lean forward to meet him. They parted with laughter and smiles. She felt so light, she was sure she would float away.
“I think Tom would approve,” Arthur said.
“Oh, definitely.”
“Now for the next part.”
Mild alarm shot through her. Surely he didn’t mean to consummate their pretend marriage here? “What next part?”
He let her go and rose. “Your coronation, of course. Who wouldn’t want to see their daughter crowned Queen of Camelot?”
After looking around for a moment, he stepped closer to the brook and began foraging in the undergrowth, rustling through the sleeping flowers and bushes. A twig snapped. When he straightened, he held a single wildflower, its broad head bent and half-closed.
“What on earth are you doing?” she said through her laughter.
“Every queen needs a crown.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a scrap of pale fabric. He held it between his teeth as he curved the flower’s stem into a circlet, then used the material to bind the two ends together.
It was only when he returned to stand in front of her that she realized it was the token she’d given him for the jousting tournament. He’d kept it all this time.
“Guinevere.” In the space of those seconds, he’d become the king again, his voice strong, his chin proud. “Camelot is fortunate today. For today, she gains a new queen, one as magnificent and beautiful as she is.” He placed the makeshift coronet atop her head. “From henceforth, you shall be known as Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.”
She came to her feet as they’d rehearsed and turned to face Tom together. This was the part of the next day’s proceedings she’d been dreading the most, but now, wearing the crown of Arthur’s making, with Arthur standing tall and powerful at her side, she knew she would face it with grace and dignity, befitting any queen. For in the eyes of the men who mattered most to her, they were already married, already ruling together.
Nobility was in the heart, not the title. Strength came from the self, not the sword.
And love would bind them both for eternity.
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#2. The Crownless Queen (PG, 2,496 words)
When he sees the thatched rooftops of the little village come into view, Arthur laughs and kicks his heels into the side of his horse, spurring the beast on. On his own horse, Merlin laughs as well and follows suit, whooping. Arthur shakes the hair out of his eyes and grins. Finally. Two years of a three-front war, with himself, his sister, and his own father against each other, and now he can finally lay down his sword and shield and bring Guinevere back to Camelot. He had hated the idea of stowing her away in some remote village, but it was unavoidable. His father was still convinced Gwen was a sorceress who had induced his only son to turn against him - Morgana wanted her dead because she knew what Gwen meant to him. His anger and guilt at the situation had only been tempered by the fact that Gwen was safe, in the care of Hunith and the villagers of Ealdor, who also had to run due to Morgana's longstanding vendetta against Merlin. They also managed to write, once in a while, and he was reasonably comforted knowing that she and Hunith were well.
He can't wait to see her. The smile on her face, knowing that the war was over - the way she'd laugh when he'd ask her again to marry him. He'd wanted to marry her the day he left her there, but everything was happening too quickly. Her very presence will blot out the trauma of his father's murder by Morgana, and the fact that after the last battle his sister still can't be found.
The horses trample through the rudimentary village, so different from the campsite that it used to be two years ago. People stop and point. Arthur ignores them as he dismounts and heads for the little cottage. He can see Hunith working in the garden, bent over a row of cabbage.
“Mother!” Merlin calls. Hunith turns and gasps. Mother and son hug fiercely. “It's over.”
“Oh, thank god you're all right,” she murmurs, separating to touch his face and get a proper look at him.
“I'll leave you to it,” Arthur says. “Is Guinevere in?”
“The forge,” Hunith says, almost unthinkingly, as she wipes her tears. Arthur turns and heads back to the center of the village at a breakneck pace. “But, wait my lord - ” He doesn't hear the rest of her words, too excited to care.
He finds the forge easily and bursts through the door without knocking. Gwen, hammering away at a red-hot horseshoe, looks up and drops her tools in a clatter. “Arthur!”
Suddenly a bit nervous, and not knowing entirely what to do now that the moment has arrived, Arthur just manages a somewhat shy, “Hello.”
Gwen wipes the sweat from her brow. She's shaking, He grins to himself. “H-hello. I can't believe you're here. Did - is everything over?”
“Yes.” He crosses the small work space quickly, folds her into his arms tightly. Gwen murmurs something high-pitched, but he says, “I'm so glad -”
“W-wait, Arthur - don't -”
“Mummy?”
Arthur stops, peers over Gwen's shoulder. Sitting up from a pallet in the corner, from underneath a blanket, is a small boy.
Gwen immediately tears herself from Arthur's grasp. “It's all right. Wake up from your nap early, didn't you?”
The boys yawns. Arthur stares, feeling like he's scrabbling at dirt over the edge of a cliff. The way his tiny face crinkled when he did so . . .
Gwen picks the child up - he couldn't be more than two, perhaps younger - sets him against her hip, and walks over to Arthur. She bites her lip as she looks up at him and smoothes the boy's curly brown hair down. “Amhar, love, this is your father.”
*
“I've angered him,” Gwen says, mournfully, as she tucks the blanket underneath a now slumbering Amhar's chin.
“No. You've shocked him.” Merlin settles back into his chair beside the bed Gwen shares with her son. The two of them watch as Hunith tries to engage Arthur in conversation. He's moodily staring out the window, not even responding. “Well, maybe you've angered him just a little.” Merlin sighs, then says, “Gwen, you should've told him. Why didn't you tell anybody -”
“You know why.” Gwen rubs her eyes. “What good would it have done? He would've been distracted. Elyan would've killed him. There was still this war to fight, his crown to win. Knowing that I was here, alone, was a big enough worry. To know that I carried our child, unmarried . . .”
Merlin stills, realization sweeping over him as Gwen shifts uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. “No one will believe Amhar's his, now,” he murmurs, horrified. “And you two - you can't become - ”
“It's all right, Merlin,” she says, sadly. “It was always too much to hope for.” Amhar stirs in his sleep, kicks his feet underneath the blankets. She leans over and presses a tender kiss on his brow. “And I'm always reminded of the blessings I do have.”
*
Gwen wakes up to find Amhar's side of the bed empty. Not terribly panicked - he's been doing that lately, getting up himself to toddle about the cottage on his own - she sits up anyway to forestall any of his usual morning chaos-wreaking. Only he's not in the cottage at all, and a quick scan of her surroundings proves that Arthur isn't, either.
She finds them both outside, walking along the narrow path from the house to the garden. Amhar keeps stopping to squat down, delicately pick up a pebble using only his thumb and forefinger, and place it with utmost concentration in Arthur's palm. “Thank you. That's very nice of you,” Arthur says, with exaggerated solemnity, and Amhar grins, utters a delighted, “Hee!” and toddles onward a few steps to find another gift. So procured, Arthur again says, “Why, thanks,” and Amhar again squeals, claps, and searches.
Arthur turns. “Morning.”
“Hello.” Gwen checks over his shoulder - Amhar has become preoccupied with a snail - and then nods at the pebbles Arthur's now rolling about between his fingers. “He likes to do that for people.”
Arthur looks up, and says quietly, “You mean for complete strangers, like me.”
Gwen glances away, sighs. “Arthur. I wish I could've told you.”
“I know.” He sighs himself, then says, quietly, “What I think it must've been like for you, all alone -”
She bites her lip. She cannot lie. “I had Hunith. She's understood the most of all. And I had Amhar, once he was born.” She brightens immediately. “He's been such a -” She stops, words failing her.
His smile is soft. “I gathered,” he says, as the boy, realizing his mother has arrived, comes running over. Gwen obligingly scoops him up and nuzzles her nose against his. Arthur reaches over tentative, his hand hovering over Amhar's head - Gwen nods, encouraging, and he pats the baby's soft brown curls. Amhar smiles and stuffs his index finger into his mouth. “And I suppose once we get back to Camelot, I'll learn first hand.”
Gwen backs away. “Arthur . . .”
*
His entire heart freezes, drops in an agonizing chill straight into his stomach. It's not unlike one day ago, when he first spotted the little boy with Gwen's face and his smile. “You can't be serious.”
“No one will ever believe -”
“I'll decree it,” he says, stubbornly. “I can do that, you know now that I'm king I can choose whomever I want to be my heir. The succession isn't ruined.”
Her eyelids flutter closed. “Would you put your son through this?” She looks up at him, pleading. “I don't care what they'd call me. I can live with that.” He forces himself to stop from wincing - they would call her names. They would think ill of her. And Amhar . . . “But him? Arthur . . .” Her voice cracks, and sensing her distress, the baby whinges. “Oh, sorry, my love. Shh. It's all right. It's all right. Shh.”
He licks his lips, which have suddenly gone dry. He just can't let her do this - he's spent the past two years, fighting, not only for his kingdom, for his rightful place at the head of it, but for her. For them. And unwittingly, for the three of them.
“I know I'm asking so much from the both of you - and I've already taken too many things,” he says. “And I know it won't be easy, far from it. But Gwen, can you really deny our son his birthright? Can you -” He pauses, wondering if he should dare say it.
Gwen's expression crumples, and she buries her face in Amhar's hair. Her entire body trembles and, unthinkingly, Arthur wraps his arms around Gwen and their son. Amhar squirms a bit but doesn't protest, and neither does Gwen. “I have to go today,” he says, softly, after her shaking stops. “We thought you'd want to come straight back, but . . . And there's still much to do back ho - back home. If you come, I'll be waiting. Guinevere, if you decide not to - ” He stops, unwilling to imagine that horrible, but very real possibility. She's always been the practical one, when it comes to them. She could be hopeful, and wish against all reason, for grand things for other people, because it would be right and just and true. But for herself? To fight a bit selfishly for her own well-being? No.
And that's when he knows what he has to say. It's the only chance he has left.
“Remember what happened with Morgana.”
She goes as still as the winds on the Albion plains before a storm, the air around them thick with possibility and portent. She never answers him, and it's not until the cottage door creaks open and Merlin pokes his head out nervously, that they separate, Amhar chattering around wanting some “foo'.”
*
That night, after Amhar gives tentative kisses on Arthur's and Merlin's faces and the two wave goodbye, Gwen lies down next to her son and sings him a lullaby. Hunith putters about the cottage and Gwen half-wonders what she's up to, but her head is muddled, cottoned with so many thoughts, that she's too tired to ask properly.
She slips into the dream easily. It's golden underneath the canopy of trees, everything awash in the glimmering yellows and greens of the forest, as she steps up to Arthur. Someone intones solemn vows and the crown of flowers upon her head is light and fragrant. All she can see is Arthur's peaceful, calm face - his soft smile. All she can feel is his hand in hers, and Amhar's tiny palm in the other. He giggles. Merlin and Elyan are behind her, she's sure of it.
Now she's walking up to a set of thrones. Her dress is fine and swishes crisply around her legs. The crown on her head is a very different one this time.
People are staring. Their faces are blank, soulless, but their eyes glitter hard, their voices are hisses. Beside her, Amhar squeaks and trembles, a frightened bird clutching at her skirts.
Gwen stops. She barely see him, he seems to be so far away from her, scared and crying. She finds his little hand and lifts his chin up, and though the shade is different, something in her son's eyes reminds her of his aunt, brittle and unsure.
I'm sorry that you'll have to go through this. We did this to you, and it isn't fair. We'll try our best. That's all I can promise you.
When she wakes, she's reserved, and calm, and utterly unsurprised to find that Hunith has packed their belongings and there are two horses waiting for them.
*
They've caused quite a clamor.
Gwen throws her leg over her horse, holds on tight to Amhar's waist and slides down. People have crowded around her and Hunith in the courtyard, definitely staring.
She looks down at her sweet boy's face, fears what she might see there. He just blats happily at her, pulls at a loose strand of hair and giggles.
Arthur pushes his way through, followed quickly by Elyan and Merlin, who hugs his mother. Elyan comes forward first, grasps both her shoulders firmly, but gently. “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.
Gwen nods reassuringly - she can see he's had a rough time of it, wonders what things were said between her brother and the new king. “Yes. I am now.”
Arthur coughs, Elyan backs away. “You came,” he says, wonderingly.
She licks her lips - swallows, as she looks round her. There are some whispers, some scornful faces. She shifts on her feet and lifts her chin, and she thinks of steel and iron forged in her father's hearth. “I had to.”
Arthur nods, seeming to understand her, and leans over and kisses his son's forehead. Amhar blinks up at him, confused for a moment, but then grins. The resemblance between them is so strong Gwen feels the pinpricks of tears in her eyes.
“Come,” he says, holding on to her hand. “There's much to do, before you -”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Get Geoffrey now. We'll do it out here.”
He lifts his eyebrows at her, puzzled. “You'll need a crown.”
“No, I don't,” she says, simply.
He grins in sudden recognition, and waves his hand at a servant, who starts to run up the stairs, bellowing for Geoffrey.
*
It's quick, simple, brief. Completely devoid of tradition. But then again, they've never been very traditional, have they?
Geoffrey sputters some vows. They kiss quickly and chastely - because Amhar shrieks at the dire injustice of someone else kissing his mother. Arthur just laughs and ruffles his hair, which stifles him into awed silence. He's in too good a mood to care, and figures that very soon, they will work on this distance between them, for the better.
Geoffrey has Gwen kneel on the cobblestones. Arthur says, loud enough for the entire gawping courtyard to hear, “I pronounce you Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.”
Elyan and Merlin exchange grins as Arthur extends his hand to her. Then Gwen rises to face the crowd, and he's not too astonished to find that she was exactly correct - for her curls seem awash in a golden haloed glow, in the fading sunlight.
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* Thank you SO MUCH to our last two participants for submitting their entries.
* I hope I didn't mess up any of your fonts ie. italic fonts. I tried my best to keep your fonts. :D
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