SC6 Entry 9: Stolen Kisses And Live Savings
Title: Stolen Kisses and Life Savings
Themes and/or Prompt/s silk, annual
Rating: PG13
Word count: 3,492
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, OC / Arthur/Gwen
Spoilers/Warnings: just some blood/fighting, nothing graphic
Disclaimer: I disclaim. Merlin belongs to BBC/Shine.
Summary: She saves him and steals a kiss. Later he indulges also. The start of something surprisingly new, possibly on the horizon.
Author’s notes: This is an AU medieval adventure. Arthur and Gwen meet for the first time-and so on.
This had to be a sorcerer’s conjured fantasy.
He gaped at the woman before him through an abusively tied mouth. The manacles on his hands prevented him from reaching out.
Soon enough she was rapidly moving, tearing away the binding of his mouth.
“Ah!” He hissed with pain.
She pressed her hand against it. “Quiet. They will hear.”
Her palm, the skin was torn, with trails of bleeding. “What happened to you?”
“The rope didn’t obey.”
He looked beyond, eyes searching. “The knights, where are they?”
She bent to her knees. “Suppose back in Camelot.”
She unknotted the heavy ropes from his legs.
“Who came with you then?”
“No one.”
He frowned, feeling the circulation finally restored to his limbs, but his hands were still heavily manacled. He doubted she had any tool for such.
He doubted wrongly. Getting back to her feet, she brought out from a pocket within her cloak, a small ax-like garden instrument. Insignificant in size, the blade was sharply impressive. “Spread your hands. Far.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to bleed.”
He really had no time to prepare a rebuttal. Her movements were rapid. She lifted the garden tool with precise direction. It cut straight through.
She smiled minutely. “A mere servant’s duty, hacking at weeds. Comes in handy moments like these.”
“Indeed.” He marveled.
Freed, he held her arms, seeing scrapes, blood smears. “How did you even know? I rode out alone this morning. I told no one where I was going.”
“I saw you…in the Darkling woods. Saw them take you.”
He caught at one of her hands, astonished. “Guinevere?”
“I’ve told you. Guinevere is just some name my mother mistakenly gave me. I’m Gwen.”
His head was spinning where they hit him repeatedly, and his limbs were bruised and battered from their abuse. But his brain was still intact. He wonderingly fingered her cheek. “Guinevere, you really came alone?”
“Yes.” She whispered.
“Are you mad? Why didn’t you go back to Camelot? Why didn’t you find the knights? Why would you even think of coming to this wretched-
He was too noisy and they were losing time.
Years of resistance washed away.
She clasped the sides of his face, the roughness of her injured hands scraping upon his soft royal skin.
Too close. Too within reach.
Guinevere stole the mouth of the prince, sealed it to her own. Quieted his rants.
Then just as abruptly as she started it she ended it, dropping her hands away, whispering against his used lips. “Shut up.
My Lord.”
*Before*
“You’re crazy to go.”
Gwen finished getting her red cloak on over her orange-cream dress. “It is my job Merlin.” She lifted the cloak’s hood over her head. “While you work with your Uncle Gaius, delivering medicine, I work for the palace.”
“He’s a dollophead, Gwen, and the king is bullish, cruel. How can you stand it?”
“Bite your tongue, Merlin. You speak of our sovereign.” There was more to her defense.
For years now she had this inconvenient crush on the prince of Camelot, which was plain stupid because no way a servant girl like her, who hacked weeds in the dry afternoons, would ever get with royalty.
Merlin was right. He was a cocky bastard, and yet she had the feeling there was another side.
“He’s not as awful as you make him out to be. One day, you and everyone else will see him as a much better king than his father.”
“Gwen, you’re living in a fairytale. Your oh so gallant prince only has eyes for fair faced golden haired women. We’re seventeen now, Gwen. Do you know how many of my friends ask about you?”
“Two?”
He grabbed her hand, inquiring firmly, “Why do you do that?”
Gwen bit at her bottom lip. “Do what?”
“Put yourself down like that.”
She said nothing for a long while, her lips pursing, and then, “Well it probably is two.”
“Yeah it is, but that’s a grand start.”
Gwen laughed, squeezing her best friend’s hand. “Merlin, I’m too busy with work and all to care much about what young men say and how they look at me. I have to bring money home and help my mother. I don’t need to be beautiful. Or pretty. I just need to be good at my work.” She lifted it up in her hands. “And I am definitely that.”
Merlin snickered at the bladed object in her grip, before he corrected her, his finger grazing against her cheek gently. “Gwen, you’re more than pretty. So much more than any of those women you’re going to be serving tonight.”
He gave a heavy sigh, grasping her arm, walking to the door of the little house, adamant that she not go alone.
“You’re a fine friend Merlin.” She rubbed his arm.
“Yeah yeah. What time do you think you’ll be done? I’ll meet you outside the palace…”
Indeed Merlin did, after the most peculiar night. It was the first one Gwen actually spoke a word to her crush, the prince. And he talked to her too.
The banquet was still busily under way for the King of Isgard, his Queen and their princess daughter, who were guests of Camelot.
The kitchens were boiling hot; Gwen needed a whiff of fresh air. She headed to the balcony. Unexpectedly there she spied the prince of Camelot in lip-lock with Princess Amelia.
She deemed it best to just hide behind a statue and let them depart first. But then, while holding the statue’s sword, which was loose from the stone, she lost her balance and fell. The sword went down too with a heavy clang.
On her hand and knees, replica sword under her fingers, she met the astonished eyes of the prince and princess.
“My Lord.”
Her cheeks quickly flooded with crimson embarrassment.
“Arthur, who is this?” The princess asked, turning to Gwen. “Were you spying on us?”
“No, my Lord. My Lady. I was…”
A break from work during the busiest hours wasn’t granted so she fibbed. “I lost my way to the kitchens. Just a minute ago, no more. I saw nothing of you two locking lips.”
Oh dear, she was nervous. Too much information.
The prince’s look was one of mild amusement while the princess glared indignantly.
Arthur gave Princess Amelia a kiss on the cheek, telling her he’d meet her inside. Then he turned to the servant woman, noticing a mess of calescent curls barely in a bun on her head, one stubbornly falling down over her brow, and dark shaded skin.
“You plan on getting up?” He asked dryly.
The woman wasn’t what he would call pretty, but then most servants didn’t have the money to pretty up their faces, like Amelia. Their skin was rough and callused.
Gwen stumbled to get up. She nearly fell when a hand firmly caught her wrist, noble-rich, it was soft almost.
“You’re quite clumsy.”
It was rude to say, but after what just happened, she smartly kept her mouth shut. His hand’s grip inadvertently moved her sleeve back, revealing it.
“Guinevere.”
“I am Gwen.”
He frowned, brows crinkling, eyes shining with skepticism. “The odd bracelet you wear says Guinevere”
“So it does. They’re tiny stones, some so shiny they’re like beads. It was a gift from my mother. She’s a fine craftswoman, just quite ill now. And so I wear it all the time. But she’s wrong. Guinevere is a name of stronger status. I’m just Gwen.”
Why did she tell him all that?
She could tell he was itching to get back inside with the princess.
Arthur thought how the servant woman was queer in many ways. “What about your father?”
“He died years ago. He was sw-
Arthur eyebrows piqued.
Gwen shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry my Lord. I was not trying to spy.”
“Definitely not lost either. I’ve seen you around. You know the way to those kitchens probably like the back of your hand. You’re always rushing with purpose from one room to another. So why the lie?”
Her stray curl of hair kept falling over her left eye. Letting out a whoosh of air, Gwen grasped at it to pull it back, but of course it simply fell down again after a few seconds, irritating her eye. “The kitchens are hot. I wanted a whiff of fresh air.”
She was tiny, but held herself up as high as she could, her posture firm. And she was wearing a plain muslin dress, but it seemed to work with her darker complexion at least.
He needed to get back within. Obviously she wasn’t up to any nefarious ways, just wanting to get a breather. Couldn’t totally blame her for that. Servants probably didn’t have the easiest of lives. “So are you done getting it?”
She nodded her head profusely. “Yes, my Lord.”
Her curl of hair fell down into her eyes again. He could see her brow wrinkling with anger at it. Arthur spontaneously moved forward.
She inhaled hard as his fingers ever so gently reached out and pushed back the stray curl. Somehow it didn’t fall this time. A prince’s magic? Oh silly. She looked up, catching his eyes, intently on her.
“If my father finds you out here you’ll be in trouble for sure. I’d advise you get back to your work as soon as possible.”
She nodded, moving past him with a flurry of activity, but then she looked back, saw it still on the ground. “Oh the sword.”
Arthur looked down, seeing it too. Blasted thing actually fell with her. He should make her pick it up. Rightful thing his father would say. Servants were nothing more than useful cattle it seemed to the king. If one perished, no matter. Replace them. Arthur didn’t quite agree.
She looked worried, her eyes going back and forth from the sword to the banquet. With good reason. If anyone found out she was still neglecting her duty, she’d be kneeling at his father’s throne tonight, having to explain herself.
He gave a shrug, stating firmly. “It’s alright. Go in. I’ll get it.”
“But Prince Arthur-
“I said I’d get it Guinevere. Go on.”
She did, stubbornly letting out before she got to the double doors, “I told you, it’s just Gwen.”
And it was just Gwen even though her mother insisted that it was more, again just this morning before she left their humble home.
“Off to work now?”
Gwen turned around, gently scolding as she lifted the blanket away from her shoulders. Placing it over her mother’s bonier ones, she told her, “Oh Mama, you shouldn’t be up. It’s too cold. Go back to bed.”
Her mother, even in her ill state, managed to fist one hand at her hips similar to how her daughter did. “Guinevere, I am still your mother. I don’t like you rushing off so early, when it’s still practically dark outside.”
Gwen sighed. “Mama, I’ve told you before that I’m just Gwen to everyone. No one calls me Guinevere.”
“Well they should.” Her mother fingered at it. “That’s why I put that bracelet upon your wrist last annual Yuletide. It will mean something very soon. Just wait and see. I have, in my dreams.”
They were lovely words, but so impractical. Gwen was fine with who she really was.
She finally got to the river, and made her way to the western side where the herb grew. She picked some and pocketed it into her cloak, setting to leave when some jarring noise resounded in her ears.
She looked forward, seeing seven men with leather vests on horseback and another person who she didn’t know the gender of yet, because they were shrouded in a dark cloak. Gwen gasped as the men started to quarrel with the person in the dark cloak. Then the cloak was shrugged off and the person under it was raising their sword.
“Prince Arthur!” Gwen whispered in shock, hiding behind the tall brush.
He was an able sword fighter certainly, but also horribly outnumbered. Wearing nondescript clothing, he was taken over. They threw him to the ground, hitting him repeatedly.
She held her hand to her heart in horror. They might kill him. She had to do something. But then it seemed they were done, assessing the damage. The prince was bruised, but they declared that he was still alive. None of them mentioned his name so they thankfully didn’t seem to know his identity. Still, one of them lifted him onto his horse, and they all began to ride away.
When they were to the other side of the river, Gwen noticed that they left the prince’s horse. She could ride back to Camelot.
With no idea where they took him?
Not good enough.
Gwen mounted the prince’s horse. It made some stirrings of disapproval at first, but her gentle ways coaxed it to move ahead, especially when she spoke Arthur’s name. It seemed just as determined as her and she was able to gallop it to the other side of the river. Once there she slowed the horse down some, keeping at a distant and slow enough pace from the bandit men.
It was a long ride through some treacherous territory, but then they came to it, a dark fortress, surrounded by water. They were able to enter using a drawbridge that rose up, not passable after they crossed.
Gwen got off the horse. No way could she ride it through, not knowing how deep the water was; it would be too noisy anyway. She had to cross, which made her shiver violently.
Maybe now she should return to Camelot. But what if in the interim they killed him? Already they hurt him badly. They were ruthless men, whether they knew he was a prince or not.
She had to enter now.
There was a heavy log on one side of the water. Gathering her wits, kissing the bracelet her mom made her with that name she said was meaningful, Gwen crossed, telling herself not to look down.
Oh.
She made it without falling into the water, being devoured by whatever might be inside, or simply drowning.
Past that obstacle, she noticed that the walls of the fortress were steep and there was no way in, but the glassless windows.
She used the rope she took from the prince’s horse. Already her hands and arms were callused and scraped from crawling over the log. Now they began to bleed from the rope’s blistering texture. She ignored it though, getting herself into the fortress.
Maybe it was luck that it was only down one flight of steps to where the prince was and that he wasn’t even guarded. Those bandit men were probably not expecting any daring servant woman to attempt a rescue.
After using the key, which they stupidly left on the table, she used her weeding tool to cut away the prince’s binds. Then when he wouldn’t be quiet, asking her all those surmounting questions, she stole a kiss from his lips.
----
“Shut up.” She whispered now one more time, touching his chin.
Arthur reached for her hand, grimacing at the rawness. “We need to fix this.”
“Later, when you tell me why they wanted you in the first place. Can you walk?”
He flinched some. He’d been hit in the jaw quite a few times, also in the stomach and he felt like he might have some bruised ribs, but he’d manage. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Come on. There’s a window past the steps.” She led him upward. They climbed out and made their way down the rope, with some painstaking effort, their injuries smarting. Once at the bottom, Gwen gestured to it.
“The log.”
Arthur nodded his head. They were halfway across, when, tired and hurt, she lost her balance and fell into the water. Actually nothing was floating in it, but there was another issue. As Arthur put his hand out for her, she gasped through quaking lips, hands splashing with fear.
“I can’t swim.”
“Merciful Heaven.” He jumped into the water, stunned she would cross in the first place with no ability to float. Reaching her, he grasped her shoulders and wrapped his hand around the front of her body, ignoring the pain of his injuries. She was still panicking so he told her firmly. “I got you Guinevere. It’s okay now.”
He floated with her to the end of the water. And everything was okay really.
Until they got out and they were met by the bandit men.
He let her go, standing in front defensively as he saw their hungry leers. Then he raised his fists.
The fight was uneven at first, but Gwen was soon using the rope, swinging it at men’s legs, making them fall.
Finally with enough advantage, Arthur got his sword back which was hanging from one of the men’s belts. He stabbed one with it, while Gwen kept swinging the rope and brought out her weeding tool too.
Another man cried out as she drove it into his side, cutting his skin.
It took a while, but they managed to down all the men enough to make an escape. Keeping the sword in one hand, Arthur grabbed Gwen’s wrist with his other, telling her they needed to run fast to the wood.
They did and found his horse. Arthur climbed up front, Gwen in the back, holding on tightly to his waist. They got away. Hurt, but alive.
The night snuck up on them. Arthur stopped the horse, feeling all their dampness as she was pressed against his back. He helped her get down and together they made a fire. When it was solidly burning, he sat down on the ground with her, touching her cheek, and asking, “Why did you cross? Knowing you couldn’t swim? Why would you take that chance?”
“Because they might have killed you.”
He stared at her in the fire’s glow, thinking it didn’t matter that she wore cheap muslin and not fine silk. That her hair...
He brought it out of some of its binds, watching those parts fall forward, and smiled. “You should always wear it this way.”
“Too messy.”
“No. Too tempting.”
She blushed and he lifted her chin, stating soberly, “Thank you.”
“What were you doing in the wood, disguised?”
He told her that sometimes he liked escaping Camelot incognito. But this time he rode farther than usual, into a bad part of the wood. The bandits never found out who he really was. They just wanted gold and when they found none on him, grew angry. So they decided to hold him until they could sell him.
“They wanted to auction you off?” Gwen asked with bewilderment.
“Yeah.”
“You’re the prince of Camelot.”
“Which to my advantage, they didn’t know. Better to make them think I was someone of purposeless identity.”
“Like me.”
He caught her chin. “Not like you.”
“Well then not like anyone.” She stated firmly. “Because everyone’s identity matters.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You took an awful chance.”
“So did you. Next time get the knights.”
Gwen shivered, her clothing still wet. With a sigh, Arthur got up, his the same. He gathered from his horse’s saddle two blankets. “It will sound forward of me. But we’ll catch our death like this. Might as well disrobe and wrap ourselves in these blankets. You go first. I’ll look away.”
He did. And after she was wrapped up in the blanket, he removed his own clothes and wrapped himself up in his. Then he turned around.
Her hair was completely loose now, falling over her shoulders, where the blanket had slipped slightly, revealing the cream of her dark skin. He stared at it with wonder, then back up to her face. The fire glowed in her eyes. Arthur took a step forward, lifting the blanket back up where it fell off her shoulder, surrounding her with it.
“Need to stay warm.” He whispered, and then spontaneously moved forward more, catching her lips, stealing his own kiss.
Gwen hummed with pleasure, reaching out and clasping his cheeks in her fingers, but then she pressed too hard, and her injuries hissed out.
He tended to her hands and arms, she to his chest, after shyly asking him to lower the blanket some.
Then, “I’ll keep watch. Rest. Guinevere”
His eyes were soft, his hand tender against one of her fallen curls. “I’ll help.” She answered, but made no correction of her name.
He smiled, gesturing, “Right. I can use my sword. You can use your weed hacker.”
“Don’t knock it. Got you out of there.”
“Certainly did. And I wasn’t knocking it. Or you.”
His eyes said many things, making her blush before settling against his shoulder. It was a little like a sorcerer’s conjured fantasy, one of possible real potential. Precious stolen kisses. Lives saved.
Lives shockingly, excitingly finding something new.
___
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