Valentine's Day Challenge Number 2: Choose one of your favorite romantic songs, then write a one-shot based on that song that features the couple of your choice. –The Heart of Camelot

Category: Het (Canon)
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Rating/Warnings: K+
Song: The Call by Regina Spektor

Author's Note: I'm not a romantic and it's a bit late, but I figured 'what the heck' I might as well try. So here is my attempt for the Valentine's day challenge. Not quite sure if the song counts as a romantic song, but it's the closest to a romantic song I listen to so yeah. :P I started this literally ten times before it finally decided to come out right. I think I'll just stick with angst, it's so much easier hahaha

All italicized words, save the lyrics, are from "The Moment of Truth" in season 1 and "The Once and Future Queen" in season 2.

Disclaimer: Merlin doesn't belong to me. Nor do the lyrics to The Call.

The Call

It started out as a feeling…

Arthur Pendragon had known many women. Indeed, he had courted many of them. Never seriously, no, it would not do for the Prince of Camelot to be serious about any relationship. No, any courting he had done had been for the fun of it. He had known women all his life and none had ever left him speechless. So why was she any different? Her, a servant he had never paid attention to. Why was he suddenly speechless at her outburst?

"Food is scarce for these people; you shouldn't turn your nose up at it!" A look of shock crossed her face as he remained silent and she stuttered on. "Oh, no. I—I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm sorry."

"Gwen." He wasn't sure what made him call out, what made him seriously consider her words. She was a servant, he was a prince. Why should he listen to her?

"I'm sorry." She continued to stutter, to apologize. "I don't know what I was thinking. It won't happen again!"

"Guinevere!" He called out, hint of laughter in his voice. Was this serving girl always as bumbling and sweet? Wait, sweet? What was he thinking?

"Thank you," he said, trying to shake himself from that line of thinking. "You're right. And you were right to speak up. I should've listened to you and Morgana." Under his breath, he couldn't help but add, "We're going to need all the help we can get."

"We'll be fine." She replied instantly.

"How can you be so sure?" Surely she knew the dangers facing them. Surely she knew they had no chance of winning?

"Because I have faith in you." She hesitated, realizing what she said. "I mean, we all do."

"Thank you." Arthur said sincerely, wondering what he had done to cause this woman he barely knew to have such faith in him.

Guinevere smiled and curtsied before going back down to the village. Arthur watched her go, curiosity for the young serving girl filling him. There was something different about her, something that he had never seen any other woman…

Which then grew into a hope…

Several months, perhaps up to a year, had passed but Arthur never forgot that encounter. He tried to—what good would pining after a servant do?—but for some reason, he just could never forget it. Could never forget her.

How could he forget? She was their every day, dutifully standing by Morgana's side. For the first time he truly noticed her. He would watch her as she went about, not meaning to, not sure why he was. Why was he watching a serving girl? He was a prince; he could have his pick of any girl in the five kingdoms. So why was Guinevere taking up his mind?

Day after day passed and the feeling began to grow. It had begun at Ealdor, and it never faded. No, the feeling faded after a month and was replaced. Replaced with a single, small hope: the hope that she would notice him not for being Prince Arthur, but just for being Arthur.

Which then turned into a quiet thought…

It wasn't until after the events with Sigan that Arthur had realized the truth: he liked her. He liked a servant. A servant that he barely knew. He tried to deny it, but he couldn't. With every glance, every look she gave him, he fell harder than before.

He liked Guinevere. The Prince of Camelot had fallen for a serving girl. A serving girl who would never return his feelings.

Which then turned into a quiet word….

When Merlin had come to him saying Guinevere had offered her home for him to stay in while he proved himself in the tournament, it had been all he could do to hide his excitement. He knew it was wrong, he was the Prince and princes didn't get excited over serving girls, but he was excited. But then it had all gone downhill and he knew she would never feel the same way for him as he did for her.

"Because I thought you'd shown some humility! You'd done something kind for me even though I'm just a servant! A good king should respect his people, no matter who they are!"

With each word she said, it was as if a knife had been driven deep into his heart. To hear those words alone hurt, but to hear them from the woman he liked was worse.

"Guinevere," he began shamefully. "I know I have much to learn. There are some things that I am terrible at—cooking being one of them. But also, knowing what to say to someone I care about."

He cut off quickly. Had he just said that out loud? From the look on her face he must have. How could he have just admitted that he cared for her out loud? What had possessed him to admit his feelings? Why? He breathed a sigh of relief—relief because he wouldn't have to face her disgust—when Merlin burst into the door.

And then that word grew louder and louder,
'Til it was a battle cry!

The night passed awkwardly, with Merlin never returning with his mattress. But he would gladly have given up the mattress if he could only have taken back what he had said. How could he have been so foolish to admit to the woman he liked that he cared for her? How could he have?

"One more match." He said as he prepared, not sure if it was to himself or to Guinevere. "The tournament will be over."

"You can go back to being Prince Arthur." Guinevere answered regardless. Fingering the cloth she held in her hand, she somewhat hesitantly added, "Um, I thought you might wear it…for luck."

Arthur smiled as he took the cloth, his fingers brushing against hers as he did. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Thank you."

She smiled back and released the cloth. They stood there, smiling, neither knowing quite what to say. He looked down at her, wondering how he had once not found her beautiful. Because standing before him in her simple lilac dress, he could not remember another woman more beautiful. It was at that moment that he realized the truth: he didn't like Guinevere. He loved her. He loved Guinevere.

With just that thought in his mind, he bent forward and his lips met hers. He fully expected her to pull away, to slap him, to tell him to leave her. But she didn't. No, she kissed back and Arthur couldn't think of a better kiss. When he pulled away, he could only look down at her, shocked at his own actions. But, and this he knew for a fact, he didn't regret it. He loved her and he wouldn't be afraid to admit it.

Neither said a word, both standing their awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Though he didn't want to, Arthur knew he had to go to the tournament. For a brief second he considered staying here, staying with her and forgetting the tournament, but the thought was gone immediately. He knew he couldn't. And so, regretfully, he left his love for the tournament.

"I must go."

I'll come back, when you call me.
No need to say goodbye.

Years later, Arthur stood before his throne, crown in hand, broad smile on his face. Though years had passed, he could still remember that first time, that first kiss. His love for the serving girl had never faded, despite the obstacles they had faced. There had been times he had tried to forget her, to quit loving her, but he always came back to her. And she always came back to him. They were soul mates.

He placed the crown on her head, declaring her Queen of Camelot, his wife. His smile was wider than any in the room, matched only by his new wife. He placed his hands in hers and helped her to her feet. They had said goodbye so many times before, but no more. He wasn't going to lose her, not again. There would be no more goodbyes. With that thought, he leaned in and kissed the love of his life.