Guinevere - Arthur/Gwen
Written for the Gwen Battle over at thefuturequeen, based on the prompt "Gwen/Arthur, how she feels when he calls her Guinevere". Thank you for the beta by sequinedfairy!
Title: Guinevere
Rating: G
Pairing: slight one-sided Arthur/Gwen
Wordcount: 625
Warning: spoiler for 1.10, "The Moment of Truth"
Summary: I never thought of myself as Guinevere, until you said my name. Gwen's POV.
I can hardly remember the last time someone called me by my full name.
My mother always called me Guinevere, I can remember that. She hated it when my father called me Gwen. Said that I had a wonderful name. Said that Gwen was a nobody, a peasant. But Guinevere?
She always told me that the queen, your great-grandmother, had been called Guinevere. My mother told me that when she was a little girl, the queen would walk around the town. She must’ve been at least eighty at the time, but she still cared about her people. Mother told me that she hoped that I would be as graceful and as selfless as the queen was.
My mother was beautiful. She had long dark hair, light brown skin. A smile that could light up the room. But she was unhappy. Her perfect hands had been marred by lye, her long fingers coated in calluses, her nails brittle. She’d been a minor noble, before she married my father. She was bitter. After all, her life had been reduced to washing floors for the people she had once socialized with. Her and my father were always fighting. Sometimes it was about money, sometimes about me, once or twice about love-making (although only when they thought I was asleep.)
She left when I was seven.
I was unhappy at first, of course, but honestly? I was relieved. My father was never the same after a fight. His temper would get shorter, and he always looked unhappy. There was no living in that house, when they fought. I think that’s why I could never be truly angry with my mother for leaving. Not only am I sure that she’s happier somewhere else, I know that we are.
Guinevere.
I grew up. I went through an unfortunate gangly phase, and then an unfortunate phase when I realized that I wasn’t going to become a beauty. Whenever I caught a glance of myself in a mirror or in water, I never saw anything graceful or beautiful about myself. I wasn’t a queen. Not even close.
And kind? Well, perhaps. But kindness is a strange type of virtue - I always had too much. I can’t bear to disappoint or hurt anyone, and somewhere along the way I started to lose myself.
No wonder I preferred Gwen. No one expected anything from a Gwen. I could be sweet, dependable Gwen, the handmaid who cared nothing of herself, serving her lady and her father. Of course, both Morgana and my father could take care of themselves.
Maybe that’s why I transferred my emotions to Merlin. I guess I was so desperate to start over - become someone else, someone more like a Guinevere - that I latched onto him. Not that I don’t like Merlin. We’re friends, and I don’t think that’ll change any time soon. But I didn’t love him.
And he never called me Guinevere.
But you?
That first time you called me Guinevere, after I... scolded you for wasting food. That sent a shiver down my spine. Because I hadn’t been kind and caring and graceful, but you still noticed me.
Every time you call me Guinevere, I feel proud of my name. I feel like that, maybe, I could be someone graceful and elegant and noble. Maybe I could be someone who can stand up for herself. Maybe I could be someone who takes care of herself, instead of running after everyone, making sure that they’re all right. Someone with a spine. Someone worth being.
Who knows? Maybe I could even be a queen.
So, thank you, Arthur. Thank you for giving me my name back. More importantly, thank you for giving me hope. Hope in me. And hope in you.
Title: Guinevere
Rating: G
Pairing: slight one-sided Arthur/Gwen
Wordcount: 625
Warning: spoiler for 1.10, "The Moment of Truth"
Summary: I never thought of myself as Guinevere, until you said my name. Gwen's POV.
I can hardly remember the last time someone called me by my full name.
My mother always called me Guinevere, I can remember that. She hated it when my father called me Gwen. Said that I had a wonderful name. Said that Gwen was a nobody, a peasant. But Guinevere?
She always told me that the queen, your great-grandmother, had been called Guinevere. My mother told me that when she was a little girl, the queen would walk around the town. She must’ve been at least eighty at the time, but she still cared about her people. Mother told me that she hoped that I would be as graceful and as selfless as the queen was.
My mother was beautiful. She had long dark hair, light brown skin. A smile that could light up the room. But she was unhappy. Her perfect hands had been marred by lye, her long fingers coated in calluses, her nails brittle. She’d been a minor noble, before she married my father. She was bitter. After all, her life had been reduced to washing floors for the people she had once socialized with. Her and my father were always fighting. Sometimes it was about money, sometimes about me, once or twice about love-making (although only when they thought I was asleep.)
She left when I was seven.
I was unhappy at first, of course, but honestly? I was relieved. My father was never the same after a fight. His temper would get shorter, and he always looked unhappy. There was no living in that house, when they fought. I think that’s why I could never be truly angry with my mother for leaving. Not only am I sure that she’s happier somewhere else, I know that we are.
Guinevere.
I grew up. I went through an unfortunate gangly phase, and then an unfortunate phase when I realized that I wasn’t going to become a beauty. Whenever I caught a glance of myself in a mirror or in water, I never saw anything graceful or beautiful about myself. I wasn’t a queen. Not even close.
And kind? Well, perhaps. But kindness is a strange type of virtue - I always had too much. I can’t bear to disappoint or hurt anyone, and somewhere along the way I started to lose myself.
No wonder I preferred Gwen. No one expected anything from a Gwen. I could be sweet, dependable Gwen, the handmaid who cared nothing of herself, serving her lady and her father. Of course, both Morgana and my father could take care of themselves.
Maybe that’s why I transferred my emotions to Merlin. I guess I was so desperate to start over - become someone else, someone more like a Guinevere - that I latched onto him. Not that I don’t like Merlin. We’re friends, and I don’t think that’ll change any time soon. But I didn’t love him.
And he never called me Guinevere.
But you?
That first time you called me Guinevere, after I... scolded you for wasting food. That sent a shiver down my spine. Because I hadn’t been kind and caring and graceful, but you still noticed me.
Every time you call me Guinevere, I feel proud of my name. I feel like that, maybe, I could be someone graceful and elegant and noble. Maybe I could be someone who can stand up for herself. Maybe I could be someone who takes care of herself, instead of running after everyone, making sure that they’re all right. Someone with a spine. Someone worth being.
Who knows? Maybe I could even be a queen.
So, thank you, Arthur. Thank you for giving me my name back. More importantly, thank you for giving me hope. Hope in me. And hope in you.