Disclaimer: never ever will I own anything to do with the BBC or 'Merlin', I'm just borrowing them and make no profit at all
Note: a darker fic where what if after the death of her father, Gwen was dismissed from castle life and lost the house?
Out Of Reach
"Guinevere?" His voice is soft, hesitant as he questions whether or not he has made a mistake.
It's been four long years since he last saw her, when he had to tell her that she no longer had a place in the castle and she no longer had a home either. Four long years since she took the news in typical fashion – quietly and stoically. Melodrama had never been in her nature and she refused to show him any weakness in the face of the dramatic events which had left her father dead and his name tainted with the (false) accusations of magic and witchcraft.
It had also tainted her own name and she had become virtually unemployable overnight regardless of her skills and previous position.
The dark head of curls turns at the sound of the name and it is, indeed, Guinevere. His heart skips a beat at finding her again. There has been no news of her all this time, it has been as if she never existed since his father had banned all mention of her and her father's names.
"Sire." She dips a low curtsey but gives no indication that she knows him as anything other than the heir to Camelot. His blue eyes meet her brown ones and he is saddened that they do not light up at seeing him. Unlike before where they had been full of life and fun, the eyes he saw now were expressionless, he might even say hard or empty.
He can tell that times have been hard for her. Both her cloak and what he can see of the dress beneath are faded and threadbare in places although they look clean. She has lost none of her good hygiene habits despite what her lot might now be.
"How are you?" He asks. He has so many questions but knows he cannot give voice to them all.
"I am well." Her voice is as he remembers, gentle and clear but now there is no emotion and her tone is careful, her words deliberate.
"Where have you been? What have you been doing?" He wants to sit down with her, share stories of the castle with her, catch up on lost time but he cannot and her demeanour does not invite familiarity even if he could.
"I have been working." She offers no other answer. She deems those few words to be sufficient.
The four years that have passed have dramatically changed her fortunes and she barely remembers the sheltered girl who once saw beauty and light in everything around her. It has been nigh on impossible to find work with the reputation she was dismissed with and she is left with few options.
She does not want to reminisce with this man, she can hardly recollect her previous life which bears no resemblance to the one she has now. She sees what she recognises as happiness that he has met her but she has no desire to share. She makes to curtsey and leave but he speaks again.
"Morgana still misses you." He tries to spark some feeling from her but with no luck.
She nods in acknowledgement and replies only with, "I hope she is well."
He decides to play his trump card. "Merlin would be delighted to see you." He knows that they always had a special bond.
"I am sorry." There is no change of expression. "I hope he is well," she repeats the phrase.
He is at a loss with the woman who is now a stranger standing in front of him. She takes the opportunity to leave and bows low.
"Good day, my lord." She leaves him standing on the spot, staring after her in bewilderment.
When she is sure she is safely out of sight, she ducks into an alcove and lowers her head as she feels the hot prickle of tears forming. She curses and angrily brushes away the moisture which threaten to fall. There is no place for tears now. She takes a few deep breaths and steps back out to the street again and makes her way far out to the outskirts of the lower town.
She comes to a large-ish building which displays the symbol of a rearing stallion from a sign hanging over the doorway. It proclaims itself to be a traveller's inn.
She goes inside and the woman behind the counter informs her that there are guests to be waited upon.
Steeling herself, she takes off the cloak and smooths a hand over her hair before knocking on a door and entering.
Her brain blocks out any feelings she might have, makes her numb to the crippling terror she used to experience when she first started this job – it was the only place who would employ her after weeks of desperately trying to find a job. She was literally starving when she happened upon this place.
She fixes a smile on her face as she fights the desire to cringe away as a rough, calloused hand traces her jawline then down her neck and across her collarbone.
Her mind used to scream when similar hands would unlace her bodice and pull away her gown. Now, though, her mind is silent.
Now, she goes through the motions of expressing pleasure when all she feels is… nothing.
It is just another nameless, faceless man. Not the first and far from being the last.
I know this is quite a grim fic and a departure from my usual stories but I wanted to explore what might have become of Gwen if she had lost everything she had because of Uther's persecution of her father.
Sorry if it was a bit depressing but I would very much appreciate your reviews
xx