Title: Solstice
Category: Het (Canon AU)
Characters/Pairings: Lancelot/Guinevere
Rating/Warnings: T
Summary: Sir Lancelot and his beautiful lady discover more than one way to keep warm on a cold winter's night.

Author's Note: Wish fulfillment for Narasconegia, as part of our 2012 Gift Exchange at The Heart of Camelot. This one is shamelessly fluffy, just the way you wanted it. Happy Holidays!

Solstice

Lancelot tossed the reins to the waiting stable boy with a ghost of a smile before trudging wearily up the palace steps.

The other knights were uncharacteristically silent as they trailed after him through the corridors, their usual light banter replaced by the sound of heavy, plodding footsteps that echoed through the cavernous halls. Even Gwaine was quiet, walking with his head down and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he shivered in the aftermath of the biting cold winds they'd recently left behind.

Their mission had been successful, an impromptu quest to carry supplies to one of the poorest outlying villages who'd lost their meager stores in an unfortunate fire just a few days before. The villagers had invited them to stay the night, expressing their gratitude with offers of hot meals and warm pallets beside their hearths, but the knights had graciously declined before heading back out into the chilly afternoon and pointing their mounts toward home.

On any other night, they might have accepted the offer of hospitality... but tomorrow was a special day, and every man among them was determined to spend every minute of it with his loved ones. And so they rode steadily onward, shivering in their saddles when the sun dipped below the horizon and a heavy snowfall obscured their already limited visibility. They traveled slowly after that, painstakingly navigating the icy roads, but they never faltered, nor was there a single suggestion that it might be best to seek shelter until morning.

It was nearly midnight when they finally rode through the gates of Camelot, down the snowy, deserted streets and into the empty courtyard. But it was with an exhausted feeling of triumph that they bid one another goodnight, then turned away to seek their separate quarters.

Only Lancelot lingered in the hallway when the others had departed, casting away the thought of his comfortable bed as he headed back outside into the frigid night air.

The snow was coming down so hard that he was unable to see more than a few steps in front of his weary feet. But they carried him to his destination nonetheless, for it was a journey he'd made a hundred times or more, one that was as familiar to him as drawing his next breath.

When he finally reached her house, his fingers closed around the door handle by instinct alone – he could no longer see anything in what was swiftly turning into a raging blizzard, blinding white flurries swirling violently around his head as the latch gave way and he quietly slipped inside.

The first thing his senses registered was warmth, wrapping around his frigid skin like a blanket as he stepped into the cozy little room. But that was nothing compared with the flood of gentle heat that seemed to melt away any memory of his bitterly cold journey as his eyes fell upon Gwen seated at the rough wooden table.

She was fast asleep with her head resting on one arm, a cascade of tousled curls spread out over the table. Her beautiful features were soft and peaceful, lips parting to release a barely audible sigh as if she were lost in some pleasant dream.

It was only after he'd gazed at her for several long moments that he noticed the two plates in front of her, along with twin sets of silverware, and a pair of chipped mugs.

She'd been waiting for him, somehow knowing he would come.

As quietly as possible, Lancelot unfastened the clasp at his throat, then hung his cloak on a peg beside the door. He removed his mail, glad to be rid of the cold, heavy metal that weighed him down, then pulled off his gloves and loosened the ties of his padded undershirt, easing it off his shoulders.

His boots came next, followed by several pairs of damp socks and then finally, he was clad in only a comfortable cotton shirt and trousers… not entirely dry, but lighter and far more comfortable now that he'd discarded the sodden layers of outerwear that lay in a pile in the corner.

He crept across the room on silent feet, wondering to himself what might be the best way to wake Gwen from her slumber. He smiled when he reached her, leaning over to press the lightest of kisses to her soft cheek, barely a whisper of a touch, yet somehow knowing it would be enough.

She moaned softly and lifted her head, blinking in confusion before her drowsy eyes fell upon him. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sleepy smile. "You're late."

"I know," he said quietly, reaching up to smooth away the tangle of curls that had fallen across her forehead. "I'm sorry, it couldn't be helped."

"Kiss me, and I'll forgive you," she responded, the huskiness of sleep still evident in her voice even as her eyes brightened with a mischievous twinkle.

Just as the tinkling of bells echoed through the city, his lips met hers. His kiss was slow and tender, drawn out in time with the melodious chimes that sounded from the tower of the Citadel in the distance. One... two... three... it was only when the twelfth and final peal had faded into silence that he pulled back just a little.

"Happy Solstice," he whispered against her mouth, pulling her closer as one hand slid beneath her dressing gown to caress her bare back.

"Lancelot!" Gwen shrieked, pulling out of his arms so abruptly that the chair behind her toppled over with a crash. She teetered precariously for an instant before he caught her around the waist, just in time to keep her from falling.

The alarm on his face changed to bewilderment as she broke into peals of merry laughter.

"Your hands are like ice!"

He grinned back at her, wondering how any part of him could still be cold with the way she was smiling up at him, all rosy cheeks and sweet, loving eyes.

"Forgive me," he said, reaching up to caress her face without realizing what he was doing. "I should have..."

Gwen let out another squawk of protest, prompting a slightly embarrassed chuckle. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You can't keep your hands off me," she finished for him, the underlying pleasure in her voice contradicting the sternness in her eyes. "Time enough for that later. Go change out of these damp clothes and warm yourself by the fire. I'll prepare some food for you."

Reluctant to leave her side, yet always happy to do as she commanded, Lancelot strode across the room and began to undress. He kept his eyes on her back as she busied herself at the stove, smiling to himself as she peeked over one shoulder and allowed her gaze to linger on his bare chest, before realizing he was watching and turning away with an audible sniff.

"Hang those things up so they can dry properly. Don't just leave them on the floor."

"Of course," he responded solicitiously, slipping into a pair of loose woolen trousers that felt soft and warm against his chilly skin.

He hung up the clothing he'd just removed, then crept silently to the corner with a guilty expression on his face as he untangled the sodden ball of outerwear and spread his cloak over a chair to dry. There was something that sounded a lot like a muffled giggle, but by the time he looked up, Gwen's attention was focused on the stew she was spooning into a pair of wooden bowls.

"Come eat, Lancelot," she said gently, setting the food on the table. "You must be famished."

As the fragrance of cooked meat and warmed bread filled the room, he was overwhelmed by a wave of hunger that left him feeling faint. It had been easy to ignore practical needs in his eagerness to be with Gwen, but suddenly, all he could think about was filling his empty belly. Eagerly devouring the hot stew, he didn't even notice the slightly burned meat or singed vegetables until she spoke again.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, staring down into her own bowl with an expression of disappointment. "I was trying to keep it warm for you, but... I can make you something else if you like. I don't mind."

"No," he mumbled around a mouthful of dry, flavorless bread. "This is perfect. Delicious. Thank you."

She rolled her eyes, just before the corners of her mouth quivered in amusement. "Well, if you're enjoying it so much, please... have mine too."

A few minutes later, Lancelot leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile, warm and content in the aftermath of the much-needed meal. Practical as always, Gwen immediately rose to clear away the empty bowls, but he stopped her with a firm, yet gentle hand on her wrist.

"Leave it until morning," he whispered.

She offered no protest as he pulled her down to sit in his lap, winding her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair. It was impossible to resist the temptation of her mouth, soft and sweet, tangy with the flavor of spiced cider as her lips parted beneath his seeking tongue. She hummed in approval as he deepened the kiss, moaning softly when he slipped his hand inside her dressing gown, dragging his thumb across nipples that were already taut with arousal.

"Mmmmm..."

"Still want me to keep my hands to myself?" he whispered huskily, the words low and intimate as he paused to let his warm breath tickle her ear.

Gwen shivered in response, a deep blush coloring her cheeks as she shook her head much more vigorously than she'd probably meant to. "I want…"

"I know."

He lifted her in his arms without further hesitation, carrying her across the room to the bed. Setting her on her feet, he undressed her slowly, then watched in rapt fascination as she sank down onto the mattress and stretched out naked before him. Slipping out of his trousers, he marveled over her exquisite beauty as he devoured the vision of her lush curves, the silky curls that spilled across the pillow, the unmistakable longing in her velvety dark eyes as she reached out a hand and beckoned him to join her...

Much later, after Lancelot had made love to her with a slow, yet fierce intensity that had left them both a little stunned, they lay face to face, exchanging soft, drowsy kisses as they basked in the afterglow of their passion.

"Marry me, Gwen," he murmured against her lips, feeling her steal the breath from his mouth as she gasped in surprise.

Good lord… he hadn't meant to just blurt it out. No, he'd had a careful plan, from the heartfelt vows he'd rewritten a hundred times, to the secluded garden where he'd meant to take her on the morrow. He'd planned to kneel at her feet amidst the bloom of winter roses, and ask... no, beg her to do him the honor of becoming his wife, promising her a lifetime of devotion as he slipped the delicately jeweled band on her finger.

But after he'd said it, as simple and natural as the love he felt for her, it felt right somehow. It made sense to do it here, where there were no fancy trappings, no unnecessary pretenses or any other formalities. Here, where the world outside ceased to exist and they were simply Lancelot and Gwen, with no barriers between the two bodies, two hearts, two souls, that lay entwined beneath the slightly worn blankets.

Tears shimmered in Gwen's eyes as she stared back at him – he understood her well enough to interpret the mingled joy and hesitation in their depths. He took her hand as he waited patiently for her response, anticipating the need to put her lingering reservations to rest.

"Nothing would make me happier," she whispered a little unsteadily, burying her face against his chest. "But..."

"Arthur," he finished, unsurprised when he felt her nod.

"Look at me, Gwen."

When she raised her head, he saw it on her face... the guilt that had plagued her when she'd made her choice, the awful memories of their temporary banishment, and even before that, traces of the loneliness they'd both suffered in the futile attempt to stifle their love. It was all there, as she stood before the last remaining barrier that existed between them… the acceptance of the king who'd turned a blind eye in the year since their return.

"Arthur's all right with it," he murmured, rubbing her back in soothing circles as he spoke. "Really, he is."

"How can you be sure? You know Arthur isn't exactly the type to discuss his feelings."

Lancelot smiled at the memory. "Because he told me that if I didn't marry you soon, he'd launch an investigation into a breach of the Knight's Code. Lack of chivalry or dishonorable intentions, or..."

Gwen interrupted him with a chuckle and he immediately joined in, relieved to see that the last traces of sorrow had disappeared from her eyes. "Really?" she asked, looking endearingly hopeful as her laughter faded away.

"Really," he confirmed with a gentle smile. "Please, Gwen, say you'll marry..."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, cutting him off with a single breathless word. "Yes, I'll..."

But this time, she was the one who was interrupted, as Lancelot took advantage of her open mouth, capturing her lips in a passionate and exceedingly grateful kiss.

It took a few minutes for him to work up the motivation to rise, reluctant to leave the cozy nest of blankets and Gwen's drowsy embrace. He padded barefoot across the icy room without bothering to dress, bending down to fumble in the pocket of the discarded trousers he'd worn on his journey home. Withdrawing the tiny circle of silver, he crept back across the room and knelt beside his newly betrothed, ignoring the shock of the cold, hard floor pressing into his knees as he reached for her hand.

For the second time that night, she was fast asleep.

He smiled to himself, slipping the ring on her finger before crawling beneath the covers again, whispering words of love she'd never hear as he pulled her into his arms. His eyes drifted shut with a deep feeling of contentment as he held her close to his heart... the woman he'd waited for, suffered for, very nearly died for time and again.

And it had all been worth it, for at long last, she was truly his.