LC2: Entry 1: Fate’s Weave
Title: Fate’s Weave
Theme word/s: Portrait/Shadow
Author: elegantpaws
Rating: G
Word count: 2,119
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Eventually Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: You might actually laugh.
Disclaimer: Own nothing but the pleasure of it.
Summary: Sometimes Fate requires a helping hand.
There really were three great smells of a morning to greet you, when lucky.
Fresh coffee brewed to perfection. The tantalizing odour of well crisped bacon, and the subtle waft to the nostrils of baked bread, even if of the store bought, stick it in the oven variety.
A sleepy half smiled played about soft, full lips as she inhaled the promising odours and her stomach gurgled in want. She hadn’t eaten since a little after six last night.
Stretching languidly beneath the sheets, refusing to open her eyes, Gwen uttered a lazy groan, savouring the promise of a full tummy and the joys of a meal she had not cooked.
If memory served it was Saturday though no sunbeam threatened her somnolent state at present, just the dull, comforting tap, tap, tap of noncommittal rain against the panes of her bedroom window.
Simply perfect, this current state, just before full wakefulness. She rarely got to enjoy it these days, what with work schedules being what they were. The odd attendance at a rave did not help the body clock, but it had been worth it, giving her that final bit to finish her article.
Now to write it in a timely fashion, Gwen bit her lower lip, brows furrowing. Just a few more minutes, just like this was all she needed, she continued to reassure herself, allowing vague ruby shadows to dance closer beneath the corners of her heavy lids.
Sunlight was breaking through the cloud cover she did not wish to see. Responsibilities beckoned in the form of the dull, socked thud of rapidly moving footfalls towards her bedroom door.
Any minute now, she sighed. Next would come the requisite humming before Merlin’s usually soft tread became more pronounced and frenetic before the tentative knock heralding realities encroachment on a near perfect moment.
She stretched again and borrowed time.
The alarm never beat him. She often wondered at that. Gwen frowned. How in hell did he do it? He didn’t own a watch. There were no other clocks in the house and heaven forbid he actually acquire a mobile or some other useless modern device. Still he was always on time.
Absently fingering a coil of dark hair behind her ear, her mind continued to wonder on the enigma that was her friend just as the oven door slamming jarred her upright, dark eyes wide.
A muffled curse, he hadn’t meant to do that. She could tell by the palpable silence that followed as the floor boards creaked beneath his socked feet, coming to an abrupt halt outside her bedroom door listening intently before tiptoeing away.
“Get up, lazy-bones. I have a favour to ask.”
He really was a darling.
“Coming,” she scratched the base of her skull and yawned, looking about the room at the flung jeans and wandering vaguely where was the white shirt she had worn last night, it was not amongst the other discarded items on the floor. Oh wait, she looked down. Right, she was still wearing it.
“Get up. We have company this morning for breakfast. Couldn’t be helped. Hope you don’t mind.”
Gwen’s brows knitted, probably one of his de-facto pupils in his current gig as teaching assistant.
“Which one?” she asked groggily, levering her legs out of bed and padding to the ensuite.
His deep register echoed down the hall. “Does it actually matter?”
“Not really. They’ll have to take me as they find me this morning.”
Must be the whey-faced young woman, who was besotted with Merlin, though he remained clueless of her tentative and rather charming advances, Gwen sniggered around the toothbrush. What was with her and obsessing with swords anyway?
“Fine. Just get a move on. Schedule to keep and all that, you do remember you have an article to write, or did that slip your mind?” he nagged in that distinctive way of his. She could see his facial expression, all vaguely pinched and worried. Sometimes, just for the briefest of moments, he seemed older than his years.
Gwen grimaced. “Thank you, Merlin! I am perfectly aware.”
Francis? No. Why couldn’t she remember considering how often Merlin had chided her, even attempting word association....water logged-tart. Monty Python, their mutual guilty secret.
“FREYA!”
No effort would be required, rumpled oversized shirt to mid-thigh did not matter under the circumstances, or unruly curls down her back, this was her own home after all. Merlin had seen her in worse and Freya was a good enough sport.
“Yeah. What about her?” Merlin asked, with a hint of trepidation in his voice as he spied the petite image cloaked in the wrinkled white shirt, propping up her open bedroom door with a radiant smile.
“When’s she bringing back the blasted sword? It only needed polishing.”
“Ahhh Gwen, you might consider changing.”
“Why?” She looked down. Nothing was showing, just a length of leg or two nothing not seen in shorts.
Merlin scratched the back of his head and sighed, beginning to fidget. This wasn’t good.
“Okay... Coffee?”
“Yes please.”
Such an angel in human form sometimes, Gwen continued to beam as she padded behind him towards the kitchen like a puppy, just as the doorbell chimed stilling her progress. However had she landed him as a housemate?
“I’ll get that.” Merlin abruptly turned about to head for the door. There was that nervous look again. What was he up to?
A pre-emptive strike was in order.
“No. I will.” Gwen wrinkled her freckled nose and smiled wickedly up at the now bugged eyed, and obviously nervous, Merlin.
Perhaps it was some other unsuspecting female. About damn time too, she had begun to wonder. Not that she could talk. Things had been lean for quite a bit in the love department, what with Lancie-Boy going off to save the damn third world, again, and leaving a pithy note about undying love and picking up the pieces.
Right.
He would be in pieces, if she ever laid eyes on him again. The weekly cards of greeting became monthly then fell off without an answering volley of her own, a girl had pride you know. As for the letters, a happy little bonfire they had made too amidst tears and heartfelt regret that dampened surprising broad shoulders and gently spoken words of kindness amidst the protracted silences shared that evening.
Ahh the co-incidence of a stupid ad placed on campus seeking a temporary housemate; preferably female, gainfully employed, or secured and a non-smoker. What an ironic sense of humour the Fates had that rainy night. The candidate had not been due for another hour.
She had built that fire up rather nicely in the hearth with one goal in mind, to cleanse the memory, to begin again, willing the contents of the box’s blackened ashes to the ether and then the unexpected knock had come, willing her something entirely different.
Emrys had been early. She even liked the name. It felt familiar, even if she could not fathom why.
There he stood, quite drenched, a chap with sparkling eyes, whose tall, wraith-like frame, upon first inspection, verged on emaciation. It was the warmth of the ready smile that spoke of secrets as yet untold and the quiet empathy within his handsome, fine boned expression that put her at immediate ease. Well that and the dean having vouched for him not being a psychopath, and equally excellent references. It would only be for two terms. She did need the cash and their hours would rarely coincide.
The soft smile of memory was still playing about Guinevere’s lips as she flung open the door to greet warmly Freya or whoever she was with a dazzling welcome of friendship.
Possibly, it was the cold blast of autumn air assailing half naked limbs that had froze perfectly white teeth in place, but then again, it could have equally been the frigid glare of exceptionally blue eyes, housed in a ridiculously handsome face which was currently taking inventory in a cold and calculating way.
Yes, that was it entirely.
“Good Morning?”
She despised him on sight.
Gwen fidgeted beneath the glare, the urge to flee strong as she raised her chin defiantly, subconsciously biting her lower lip with embarrassment. That had better not be the glimmer of amusement quirking those, dear god...full and perfectly kissable lips.
“Ahhh Merlin, your...ahh, guest has arrived.” Gwen turned, almost spilling the proffered coffee, Merlin held up in lieu of apology, his pleading eyes verging on yet another I told you so.
“Just the way you like it four sugars and copious cream.”
“Blaaaaaaaaaaah, four sugars? Your dentist must love you,” the as of yet unnamed guest retorted inclining his head with a smirk, easily stepping past the indignant owner of the home without formal introduction. “Let’s eat.”
Oooooooooh yes, she hated him, whomever he was. “I beg your pardon?”
Not even the fragrant waft of freshly ground beans and the liquid warmth she held in the mug could stave off the imminent tantrum, Merlin saw.
“Gwen, Arthur.” Merlin hurriedly interjected.
An echoing silence followed the slamming of the front door.
“Arthur, this is Guinevere or Gwen for short.”
“Emphasis on short, no doubt,” Arthur murmured, his eyes finally purchasing on the empty scabbard above the key table with marked interest.
To no one in particular, other than the milling throng of two, standing behind him in the hall, the pompous ass offered a less than helpful bit of information. “Use to fence, you know. Trick elbow.”
Gwen snorted.
Clearly a blow-hard and not too astute at that. “Yes, and the sharp pointy object used in that lady-like form of combat, if you can call it that is called a foil, for future reference.”
Merlin really didn’t quite care for the cut of Gwen’s jaw at the moment or the steely dark glower being levelled at the back of a blonde head with intent. Come to think of it he felt an equally sudden foreboding towards the loosened grip he saw in a delicately boned hand about the mug. No the vague momentum building in the subtle swinging motion of her wrist boded ill.
Clapping his hands rather more loudly than was strictly necessary, Merlin beamed from one to the other with a sinking feeling. He was too old for this.
Gwen flinched; Arthur turned irritated eyes to the source of the echoing noise, both finally unified in their pique with the affable half wit in their midst.
“Right! Scrambled all around, then?”
~~~Scene Two~~~
Utensils clacking against pearly whites as he inhaled, there really was no other word for it and of course, the sound of the occasional gulp for variety, while reaching for another bit of toast. This wanton display of utterly atrocious table manners pleased her bruised ego immensely.
Definitely a piggy and she would say so. That is the minute he came up for air; Rude, self-important twit.
“Gwen?” Merlin inquired nervously, eyeing her fork as it danced around the plate, mounding the eggs methodically into little peaks and valleys, two rashers running through them like rivers.
“Yeeeeeeeeees, Merlin?” Gwen chimed sweetly carefully placing her fork on the still unused napkin, while dark eyes swivelling accusingly towards the oblivious male, intent on eating the design off the porcelain.
It was a wonder he didn’t stab himself with the damn fork at the rate he was shovelling. Amazing hand eye coordination probably had much to do with that, she sighed looking at Merlin’s pleading expression before reaching for the last bit of toast. She wouldn’t spoil it for him. Money wasn’t easy to come by, and if this troll from hell, a rather attractive troll from hell was his current charge, so be it. Not as if she would ever see him again, she mused. Since when was the toast that warm?
Too late, the bottomless pit had reached too.
Merlin’s eyes narrowed speculatively as both recoiled from the brief contact and froze, Arthur choking mid swallow, and Gwen blinking like a little forest animal caught in the light.
He had been right.
“All yours,” Gwen added hurriedly recovering herself a faint blush marring her cheeks as she nervously smiled across the table at Merlin’s guest, helpfully pointing out a spot of egg that had escaped his notice. “Waste not, want not. Welcome to mine in fact.”
“No, no. I insist. That was rude of me.” Arthur offered magnanimously, dabbing tentatively at the spec with a sheepish expression.
Merlin’s dark brows lifted, stifling a smirk. He’d seen this all before, in fact, an exacting portrait of sudden recognition. Okay so sometimes fate took thousands of years to weave the proper threads, with a little help. He sincerely hoped Lancelot had found his calling in the jungles of South America. That had been a bit tricky but then timing was everything.
The two idiots currently making cow eyes across the table at one another had been worth the effort.
Maybe this time they would get it right.
______________________
BACK TO MASTERLIST | E2 | E3 | E4 | E5 | E6 | E7 | E8 | E9A
Theme word/s: Portrait/Shadow
Author: elegantpaws
Rating: G
Word count: 2,119
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Eventually Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: You might actually laugh.
Disclaimer: Own nothing but the pleasure of it.
Summary: Sometimes Fate requires a helping hand.
There really were three great smells of a morning to greet you, when lucky.
Fresh coffee brewed to perfection. The tantalizing odour of well crisped bacon, and the subtle waft to the nostrils of baked bread, even if of the store bought, stick it in the oven variety.
A sleepy half smiled played about soft, full lips as she inhaled the promising odours and her stomach gurgled in want. She hadn’t eaten since a little after six last night.
Stretching languidly beneath the sheets, refusing to open her eyes, Gwen uttered a lazy groan, savouring the promise of a full tummy and the joys of a meal she had not cooked.
If memory served it was Saturday though no sunbeam threatened her somnolent state at present, just the dull, comforting tap, tap, tap of noncommittal rain against the panes of her bedroom window.
Simply perfect, this current state, just before full wakefulness. She rarely got to enjoy it these days, what with work schedules being what they were. The odd attendance at a rave did not help the body clock, but it had been worth it, giving her that final bit to finish her article.
Now to write it in a timely fashion, Gwen bit her lower lip, brows furrowing. Just a few more minutes, just like this was all she needed, she continued to reassure herself, allowing vague ruby shadows to dance closer beneath the corners of her heavy lids.
Sunlight was breaking through the cloud cover she did not wish to see. Responsibilities beckoned in the form of the dull, socked thud of rapidly moving footfalls towards her bedroom door.
Any minute now, she sighed. Next would come the requisite humming before Merlin’s usually soft tread became more pronounced and frenetic before the tentative knock heralding realities encroachment on a near perfect moment.
She stretched again and borrowed time.
The alarm never beat him. She often wondered at that. Gwen frowned. How in hell did he do it? He didn’t own a watch. There were no other clocks in the house and heaven forbid he actually acquire a mobile or some other useless modern device. Still he was always on time.
Absently fingering a coil of dark hair behind her ear, her mind continued to wonder on the enigma that was her friend just as the oven door slamming jarred her upright, dark eyes wide.
A muffled curse, he hadn’t meant to do that. She could tell by the palpable silence that followed as the floor boards creaked beneath his socked feet, coming to an abrupt halt outside her bedroom door listening intently before tiptoeing away.
“Get up, lazy-bones. I have a favour to ask.”
He really was a darling.
“Coming,” she scratched the base of her skull and yawned, looking about the room at the flung jeans and wandering vaguely where was the white shirt she had worn last night, it was not amongst the other discarded items on the floor. Oh wait, she looked down. Right, she was still wearing it.
“Get up. We have company this morning for breakfast. Couldn’t be helped. Hope you don’t mind.”
Gwen’s brows knitted, probably one of his de-facto pupils in his current gig as teaching assistant.
“Which one?” she asked groggily, levering her legs out of bed and padding to the ensuite.
His deep register echoed down the hall. “Does it actually matter?”
“Not really. They’ll have to take me as they find me this morning.”
Must be the whey-faced young woman, who was besotted with Merlin, though he remained clueless of her tentative and rather charming advances, Gwen sniggered around the toothbrush. What was with her and obsessing with swords anyway?
“Fine. Just get a move on. Schedule to keep and all that, you do remember you have an article to write, or did that slip your mind?” he nagged in that distinctive way of his. She could see his facial expression, all vaguely pinched and worried. Sometimes, just for the briefest of moments, he seemed older than his years.
Gwen grimaced. “Thank you, Merlin! I am perfectly aware.”
Francis? No. Why couldn’t she remember considering how often Merlin had chided her, even attempting word association....water logged-tart. Monty Python, their mutual guilty secret.
“FREYA!”
No effort would be required, rumpled oversized shirt to mid-thigh did not matter under the circumstances, or unruly curls down her back, this was her own home after all. Merlin had seen her in worse and Freya was a good enough sport.
“Yeah. What about her?” Merlin asked, with a hint of trepidation in his voice as he spied the petite image cloaked in the wrinkled white shirt, propping up her open bedroom door with a radiant smile.
“When’s she bringing back the blasted sword? It only needed polishing.”
“Ahhh Gwen, you might consider changing.”
“Why?” She looked down. Nothing was showing, just a length of leg or two nothing not seen in shorts.
Merlin scratched the back of his head and sighed, beginning to fidget. This wasn’t good.
“Okay... Coffee?”
“Yes please.”
Such an angel in human form sometimes, Gwen continued to beam as she padded behind him towards the kitchen like a puppy, just as the doorbell chimed stilling her progress. However had she landed him as a housemate?
“I’ll get that.” Merlin abruptly turned about to head for the door. There was that nervous look again. What was he up to?
A pre-emptive strike was in order.
“No. I will.” Gwen wrinkled her freckled nose and smiled wickedly up at the now bugged eyed, and obviously nervous, Merlin.
Perhaps it was some other unsuspecting female. About damn time too, she had begun to wonder. Not that she could talk. Things had been lean for quite a bit in the love department, what with Lancie-Boy going off to save the damn third world, again, and leaving a pithy note about undying love and picking up the pieces.
Right.
He would be in pieces, if she ever laid eyes on him again. The weekly cards of greeting became monthly then fell off without an answering volley of her own, a girl had pride you know. As for the letters, a happy little bonfire they had made too amidst tears and heartfelt regret that dampened surprising broad shoulders and gently spoken words of kindness amidst the protracted silences shared that evening.
Ahh the co-incidence of a stupid ad placed on campus seeking a temporary housemate; preferably female, gainfully employed, or secured and a non-smoker. What an ironic sense of humour the Fates had that rainy night. The candidate had not been due for another hour.
She had built that fire up rather nicely in the hearth with one goal in mind, to cleanse the memory, to begin again, willing the contents of the box’s blackened ashes to the ether and then the unexpected knock had come, willing her something entirely different.
Emrys had been early. She even liked the name. It felt familiar, even if she could not fathom why.
There he stood, quite drenched, a chap with sparkling eyes, whose tall, wraith-like frame, upon first inspection, verged on emaciation. It was the warmth of the ready smile that spoke of secrets as yet untold and the quiet empathy within his handsome, fine boned expression that put her at immediate ease. Well that and the dean having vouched for him not being a psychopath, and equally excellent references. It would only be for two terms. She did need the cash and their hours would rarely coincide.
The soft smile of memory was still playing about Guinevere’s lips as she flung open the door to greet warmly Freya or whoever she was with a dazzling welcome of friendship.
Possibly, it was the cold blast of autumn air assailing half naked limbs that had froze perfectly white teeth in place, but then again, it could have equally been the frigid glare of exceptionally blue eyes, housed in a ridiculously handsome face which was currently taking inventory in a cold and calculating way.
Yes, that was it entirely.
“Good Morning?”
She despised him on sight.
Gwen fidgeted beneath the glare, the urge to flee strong as she raised her chin defiantly, subconsciously biting her lower lip with embarrassment. That had better not be the glimmer of amusement quirking those, dear god...full and perfectly kissable lips.
“Ahhh Merlin, your...ahh, guest has arrived.” Gwen turned, almost spilling the proffered coffee, Merlin held up in lieu of apology, his pleading eyes verging on yet another I told you so.
“Just the way you like it four sugars and copious cream.”
“Blaaaaaaaaaaah, four sugars? Your dentist must love you,” the as of yet unnamed guest retorted inclining his head with a smirk, easily stepping past the indignant owner of the home without formal introduction. “Let’s eat.”
Oooooooooh yes, she hated him, whomever he was. “I beg your pardon?”
Not even the fragrant waft of freshly ground beans and the liquid warmth she held in the mug could stave off the imminent tantrum, Merlin saw.
“Gwen, Arthur.” Merlin hurriedly interjected.
An echoing silence followed the slamming of the front door.
“Arthur, this is Guinevere or Gwen for short.”
“Emphasis on short, no doubt,” Arthur murmured, his eyes finally purchasing on the empty scabbard above the key table with marked interest.
To no one in particular, other than the milling throng of two, standing behind him in the hall, the pompous ass offered a less than helpful bit of information. “Use to fence, you know. Trick elbow.”
Gwen snorted.
Clearly a blow-hard and not too astute at that. “Yes, and the sharp pointy object used in that lady-like form of combat, if you can call it that is called a foil, for future reference.”
Merlin really didn’t quite care for the cut of Gwen’s jaw at the moment or the steely dark glower being levelled at the back of a blonde head with intent. Come to think of it he felt an equally sudden foreboding towards the loosened grip he saw in a delicately boned hand about the mug. No the vague momentum building in the subtle swinging motion of her wrist boded ill.
Clapping his hands rather more loudly than was strictly necessary, Merlin beamed from one to the other with a sinking feeling. He was too old for this.
Gwen flinched; Arthur turned irritated eyes to the source of the echoing noise, both finally unified in their pique with the affable half wit in their midst.
“Right! Scrambled all around, then?”
~~~Scene Two~~~
Utensils clacking against pearly whites as he inhaled, there really was no other word for it and of course, the sound of the occasional gulp for variety, while reaching for another bit of toast. This wanton display of utterly atrocious table manners pleased her bruised ego immensely.
Definitely a piggy and she would say so. That is the minute he came up for air; Rude, self-important twit.
“Gwen?” Merlin inquired nervously, eyeing her fork as it danced around the plate, mounding the eggs methodically into little peaks and valleys, two rashers running through them like rivers.
“Yeeeeeeeeees, Merlin?” Gwen chimed sweetly carefully placing her fork on the still unused napkin, while dark eyes swivelling accusingly towards the oblivious male, intent on eating the design off the porcelain.
It was a wonder he didn’t stab himself with the damn fork at the rate he was shovelling. Amazing hand eye coordination probably had much to do with that, she sighed looking at Merlin’s pleading expression before reaching for the last bit of toast. She wouldn’t spoil it for him. Money wasn’t easy to come by, and if this troll from hell, a rather attractive troll from hell was his current charge, so be it. Not as if she would ever see him again, she mused. Since when was the toast that warm?
Too late, the bottomless pit had reached too.
Merlin’s eyes narrowed speculatively as both recoiled from the brief contact and froze, Arthur choking mid swallow, and Gwen blinking like a little forest animal caught in the light.
He had been right.
“All yours,” Gwen added hurriedly recovering herself a faint blush marring her cheeks as she nervously smiled across the table at Merlin’s guest, helpfully pointing out a spot of egg that had escaped his notice. “Waste not, want not. Welcome to mine in fact.”
“No, no. I insist. That was rude of me.” Arthur offered magnanimously, dabbing tentatively at the spec with a sheepish expression.
Merlin’s dark brows lifted, stifling a smirk. He’d seen this all before, in fact, an exacting portrait of sudden recognition. Okay so sometimes fate took thousands of years to weave the proper threads, with a little help. He sincerely hoped Lancelot had found his calling in the jungles of South America. That had been a bit tricky but then timing was everything.
The two idiots currently making cow eyes across the table at one another had been worth the effort.
Maybe this time they would get it right.
______________________
BACK TO MASTERLIST | E2 | E3 | E4 | E5 | E6 | E7 | E8 | E9A