OK.

I'm really not sure about this.

So, a couple of days ago I had the not-so-brilliant idea that Gwaine should fall for Mithian, because Mithian's a character I feel deserves more attention. Then, of course, I had to read up on her kingdom, and had a couple more not-so-brilliant ideas, and came up with this. I don't think anyone's ever done Gwaine/Mithian before, but hey.

Here's the first and most useless chapter. See what you think.

Morgana was riding hard and fast. She'd stolen a horse in Ealdor – she couldn't get far walking with those cursed injuries, and haste was needed if she could act before they expected it.

She was heading towards Essetir. Lot's kingdom.

She stood under the shadow of the doorway, not wanting to be seen. Despite Arthur's outward kindness, the rest of the court – especially the knights and most of all the king's manservant, Merlin – were chilly if not openly hostile. It had something to do with Guinevere, the almost-Queen. She'd guessed that Arthur was missing her, that he was still hurt by her betrayal.

And here was the evidence.

Arthur sat at the throne at the high table, his head resting on his hand as he stared into his wine. He looked miserable. Merlin was leaning on the wall, watching him. The knights were scattered around the rest of the table and the food that was left from the feast. Most of the other nobles had left already.

But these men weren't nobles… At least, most of them weren't. Her father had ranted for days about King Arthur's naiveté: 1. how he couldn't trust commoners, 2. how he had knighted commoners, 3. how some of those commoners had been banished from his country, 4. but he had done it, and 5. didn't anyone do background checks on their knights nowadays?

Of course, Guinevere's crimes had caused her another week of listening quietly to the ignorance of her future husband. Not to mention how her father had, of course, known all along that "something like this would happen."

She didn't see the problem. Her father's own nobility weren't people she could trust. Alone in her room in Nemeth, bathed in the shaft of sunlight shining through her window, she'd turned the dull news and angry lords into a romance worthy of a song. She had been sure that Guinevere was beautiful beyond compare, gentle, gracious. King Arthur was caught by her sweetness and acceptance of hard life. She'd envisioned a story for how the two must have met; how they were crowned King and Queen and lived happily ever after.

She was shocked when the girl of her imagination betrayed the King and was banished from her would-be kingdom, on pain of death.

And then…then, she'd had to marry Arthur.

She studied the melancholy king from where she stood on the threshold, just outside the lights of the feast. She had dreamed that Arthur would be a hero out of an old legend. She'd been excited to meet him, determined to take courage and be a Queen to him, to glide by any difficulties they had with the grace her noble blood had given her.

But there had always been that cold flower of regret for the girl who should have been standing in her place.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she whirled around. No one would dare to touch a princess like that.

It was a knight. She racked her brains to remember his name. She'd been introduced to everyone at the beginning of her stay, and had lists to study in Nemeth…but no, she'd forgotten. After all, lists didn't connect to faces.

Fortunately, she was spared when the man gave her a deep bow. "Evening, Princess. I'm Gwaine."

Unsure what to do, she nodded.

"Forgive me, I saw how lovely your hair was and wanted to see if your face would match."

Everyone at the court had seen her when she arrived. She raised her eyebrows. "And does it?"

Gwaine stopped, considering. "Almost."

She flushed and opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "Your hair is very beautiful."

Shaking her head, she watched the knight enter the hall.

"I miss dinner?"

"It wasn't much," said the dark-skinned, dark-eyed one – Elyan, Guinevere's brother. "Quiet." He shrugged. "Boring."

"Probably 'cause I wasn't there." Gwaine smirked as he dropped into a chair. "Come on, she's prettier than Gwen by a long shot."

Both Arthur and Leon raised their heads to shout "Gwaine!" while she blushed even more.

"Okay, princess. Relax." She turned before she heard the King's groan and realized that he was referring to Arthur. Oh. She heard her father's comments about decorum and knighthood in her head and smiled to herself. "So, I miss dinner?"

"There's still some ale left though," Elyan said, grinning.

"I'm surprised." As Gwaine turned to nick Arthur's wine, the jug of ale in his other hand, he noticed her still standing there. He waved the jug at her. "There's ale. You should be in here with us."

"Gwaine," Arthur moaned, finally roused from his lethargy. "You stopped by the tavern after your patrol, didn't you?"

"Why else would I be late for dinner? I'm the model of punctuality."

"You know the only reason you got the night patrol was because you skipped that training session for the tavern…"

She felt like she needed to give a reason for being there, as if she'd been caught in the act of spying on them when all she really had was a rising sense of despair. "I couldn't sleep," she muttered. "I was looking for the physician's apartments to get a sleeping draft."

Arthur pushed himself up. "It's alright, Mithian. I'll show you."

Mithian managed a shaky smile before falling into step behind him, leaving the hearth and the candlelit table where the knights still sat, watching them go.

And now she was coming back.

Mithian glanced up at Camelot's guards, who bowed their heads to let her and the ten soldiers accompanying her through the gates. Last time she entered these walls, she remembered, she was wearing wedding riches: furs, a lace veil, a long gown of pristine white. Now, she was wearing only a simple red traveling dress and – her father's gift – a soft mahogany-colored cloak lined with creamy satin.

After seeing Arthur slip out from under the bonds of life as a noble in the pursuit of his love, she'd started making herself freer. She took more of Nemeth's affairs into her own hands, rejected her suitors and was able to look her father in the eye afterwards. And now, he had wanted her – no, he had asked her – to go to Camelot as the official representative of Nemeth at Guinevere's coronation.

The city had changed since she last saw it. She noticed the print of black smoke clouding the walls and the dark trampled pennants in the dirt. But there were flowers there too, and garlands of leaves. People lined the streets wearing their best clothing and bells were ringing somewhere in the castle. She could feel the joy in the air. Queen Guinevere was much beloved.

Mithian swung off her horse and stepped into a deep curtsy. Looking up, she saw Arthur, crowned and red-caped. He looked much the same as he had before, except that he was radiating excitement instead of reluctance. The king could barely keep the boyish smile off his face long enough to welcome her to Camelot. She bowed her head demurely while he escorted her in as he had the other guests, then took her seat and waited.

There were representatives from Queen Annis of Caerleon, Lot's Kingdom, and even Bayard – though she noticed many eyeing the last two with obvious suspicion. Apparently no one would miss the Queen's coronation. Mithian turned her dark-eyed gaze to the people she remembered from her time in the castle.

Merlin was near the front, beaming. Her lips twisted wryly: of course, this was what he had wanted. The knights were near Arthur: Percival talking to Leon; Elyan grinning at Merlin even though he looked as if he hadn't slept in ages; Gwaine sprawled in his chair with his hair covering his face, his skin unusually pale.

Gaius, the physician Arthur had introduced her to, stood nearby, smiling at the King and raising his eyebrows at Merlin. From time to time Mithian caught him shooting glances at the Knights, which was odd, but perhaps they had been wounded in the battle…Yes, that would be it.

Her eyes aimlessly wandered the ranks of nobles – the court Arthur had inherited from his father. In true Uther allegiance, some looked disapproving; others, angry. Only a few whimsical ladies seemed to approve of the new Queen.

Finally, the trumpets sounded and the doors were flung open. Everyone stood as Guinevere walked up the long carpet to the dais.

She was not what Mithian had expected, this blacksmith's daughter. For starters, she wasn't blonde. But as she saw Arthur take her hands and lift her up to stand beside him, glowing with happiness, she realized that this Guinevere was more beautiful than anything she could have imagined. She was real, and her laughter when Arthur leaned over to whisper in her ear was pure and sweet as honey.

The crown looked well on her.

Later, in the high four-poster bed of her guest room, Mithian pulled the coverlets up around her and smiled hard enough her face hurt. The fairy tale story she'd invented for Arthur and his Queen had ended just as it was meant to in the very beginning.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Or not.