Title: Getting Ever Closer To Surrender
Rating: K
Characters: Arthur, Morgana, Gwen
Pairings: Arthur/Morgana
Spoilers: 1x06
Summary: Arthur was never brought up to be nice...
Arthur felt lighter and less burdened as he walked through the lower villages of Camelot that morning. He hadn't fully realised until he'd seen her awake and well just how heavily Morgana's illness had pressed upon him. By nature he wasn't the type to give in to desperation but he so nearly had yesterday, willing to allow someone who may have been a charlatan to treat her on the smallest chance that he could save her life. If he was made a fool of, then so be it. The risk of humiliation was far less disturbing to him than the thought of losing her without having tried everything they could to prevent it. If his father had continued to refuse Edwin's help, Arthur would have quite happily begged him to reconsider. At the time he would have given anything to see her well again and his dignity had seemed like a small price to pay.
Now, feeling more like himself, he was embarrassed at such a notion. He blamed it on too little sleep, something he'd thankfully remedied last night. Today, he strode along with all confidence, determined to prove to himself that his weakness had been fleeting and no one would think any less of him for it. Yet, despite his air of calm, he failed to banish the events of the last few days entirely from his mind.
He'd seen Morgana little since she'd woken, somehow uncomfortable with being around her. She seemed to have the gift of bringing out a vulnerability in him that he didn't like. He'd smiled at her as she sat up in bed, told her he was pleased to see her well but had soon left, reasoning that she should be resting and couldn't do so with concerned visitors hovering around her like mother hens. He'd secretly wished at the time that he could do what his father had, to kiss her forehead and show her how relieved he was that she was well. But it wasn't in his nature to be so demonstrative with his feelings. It wasn't usually his father's way either but he always seemed to make exceptions for Morgana.
Arthur had been surprised to see her in the King's audience chamber that morning, less than a day after she'd so nearly died and yet obviously determined to greet her saviour in a more formal manner. She'd looked pale and somewhat fragile still, in a way that he found very unsettling. It simply wasn't her. Her maidservant had hovered nearby as Morgana had walked, perhaps afraid that she didn't really yet have the strength for it. Arthur had toyed with offering his assistance, of giving her his arm to lean on, but he wasn't sure how the gesture would be taken and by the time he'd come to a decision she was already sitting in her chair at Uther's side.
He'd watched her carefully for the remainder of the meeting, eyes darting in her direction every few moments to check for signs of ill health. It was ridiculous in a way, he told himself, but somehow it also seemed to him to be his responsibility. His father was busy seeing to the official business of thanking Edwin and so Arthur felt he could be of most use by ensuring her continued recovery. After all, he'd done precious little else to help her up until then.
At the conclusion of the meeting Morgana had returned to her rooms, clearly tired. A little while later, Arthur had accosted her maid servant in a corridor, enquiring after the lady's health, somehow feeling awkward about asking Morgana himself. The girl confirmed that she was well but restless, finding it harder to settle down than perhaps was good for her. She suspected that her mistress was still unnerved by what had so nearly happened to her and Arthur couldn't blame her for that.
That was probably why the lavender caught his eye as walked through the village now, even though he wasn't really looking for such a thing. The instant he saw it however he remembered back to his own childhood, recalling how comforting he'd once found the aroma. How his nursemaid had always laid some next to his bed whenever he was unwell, stroking his head gently and saying it would help him rest. By the age of seven he'd consider himself too old for such nonsense but there had still been the occasional time when he'd wished he wasn't too embarrassed to ask for the flowers and the comfort they brought.
The market stall was filled with many other goods but the hanging bunches of lavender were all he really noticed as he stepped up. He squeezed the tip of the flowers between his fingers, bringing his hand to his face and inhaling the old familiar aroma, bathing in the warm memories it invoked.
He wondered if perhaps Morgana might feel the same benefit, if she might like some for her room whilst she recovered. Doubt instantly hit him though as another part of his mind argued that she might be annoyed at his fussing.
Arthur absolutely hated feeling uncertain, having been taught from a young age to trust his own judgement and make decisions with confidence. And yet, increasingly of late, she left him feeling more and more out of sorts. Her presence unsettled him and somehow made him feel foolish even when she said nothing. Perhaps that was why his remarks to her had been increasingly cutting; he was annoyed with her for affecting him so much.
So what if she was beautiful? He'd met many a beautiful woman before and none had left him feeling not like himself. If he just desired her though then he wouldn't have been so bothered, but this was something entirely new. She seemed to both sap his confidence and make him want to be stronger. He wanted to impress her and be a man she could be proud to know, yet his mind also argued that he shouldn't give damn what she thought of him. He didn't know what to do about it frankly, afraid she might laugh at him if he admitted anything, but he was beginning to realise that he couldn't go on in this manner forever. Even disregarding his own peace of mind, someone was bound to notice soon that he'd changed around her and the last thing he wanted was to be gossiped about.
Besides, he reasoned in a moment of contemplation, would it really be so awful to court Morgana? Yes, there were those who'd probably laugh at him, reminding him of how dismissive he'd been of her charms in the past, but did that really matter? Although he couldn't help but wonder if he'd make an awful mess of it. He was used to fighting and leading men and this was a quite different matter. He desperately didn't want to make a fool of himself. Yet he couldn't deny there was something appealing about the idea of her being on his arm. That he smiled when he considered the notion of introducing her to others as his lady and, someday, his queen.
"Would you like some, sire?" a voice interrupted. "For the lady Morgana perhaps?"
He hadn't noticed the woman approach him and her sudden words startled him a little. He assumed that she must be the owner of the stall. She wasn't a young woman, appearing to be around his father's age, but she had a kindly face and was smiling at him with genuine warmth even though, as far as he was aware, he'd never spoken to her before.
"We're so pleased to hear she's well again," the woman continued when he said nothing.
He cleared his throat and nodded, a little embarrassed at having been caught in such a moment of sentimentality. "Yes. We are all most relieved. Thank you."
"You were thinking perhaps she might like some lavender?" the woman guessed, the smile on her face seeming to hold an essence of understanding although what she thought she knew was a mystery to him. "Whenever my family are unwell it comforts them greatly. Most find its scent very relaxing."
"Yes, so I hear," he agreed, unable to admit anything so wistful as the fact he knew that from childhood experience. Somehow deciding it would be more awkward now to walk away without purchasing them, he nodded. "Anything that aids her recovery would be most welcome." He put his hand to his purse. "How much will you take for them?"
The woman immediately shook her head. "They're yours, sire. With my compliments to the lady."
"No," Arthur said instantly, feeling that it would not be chivalrous to take anything from the woman. She hardly looked wealthy. "I insist."
But still the woman shook her head.
"My husband died last winter," she explained simply. "Young Gwen told the lady about it and she sent bread and fruit to my house every day for a month. She's a good soul and I only wish her well."
She smiled at him one last time and then turned away, tending to another customer.
Arthur waited a moment before picking up a bunch, checking that the woman wasn't watching, and leaving two coins in its place.
*****
Morgana sat by her large fire, wrapped in the shawl that Gwen had so protectively put around her shoulders and yet still she shivered a little. She wasn't sure though if that could be attributed to genuine coldness or if it was just a consequence of her still troubled nerves. After all, she would be less than human if coming so close to death hadn't disturbed her.
The light dinner that sat on the table remained mostly untouched. She knew she would likely feel better once she was eating properly, but her stomach still seemed able to manage but a few mouthfuls before it protested in the form of nausea. Gwen would no doubt return soon and look at the left food with dismay. Morgana hated to cause her more worry but her appetite, much like her strength, had not really yet returned.
The knock at her door wasn't entirely a surprise. Many had been to visit her during the last day, coming to give her their best wishes for a quick recovery. When she called out for the visitor to enter however and Arthur walked into the room she was a little taken aback. He'd been conspicuous in his absence up until then and, try as she might to not let that bother her, it had made her feel unduly sad, something she attributed to her still being out of sorts in general. Gwen had smiled at her knowingly though, commenting that perhaps she missed him and was just a little disappointed he hadn't come to see her. It was something Morgana had adamantly denied, but her private thoughts didn't hold the same conviction. She didn't like it, but she was unable to deny to herself that she wanted him to visit.
Equally she didn't like how she suddenly fidgeted, feeling the necessity tidy herself a little in his presence, sitting up straighter and futilely attempting to smooth her hair with her hands. It currently lay lose and unbrushed over her shoulders, whilst her skin was still an unattractive sickly pallor and her clothes were simple ones for practical comfort rather than her usual fine gowns. She hated that it bothered her so, that she felt embarrassed to let him see her without her normal attention to finery. She shouldn't give a jot what Arthur thought of her appearance but clearly she did and, fortunately for her, if he had noticed anything then he was too good to mention it. The way she felt right now she probably would have burst into ridiculous tears had he done so.
"How do you feel?" he asked without any of the formality she half expected, genuine care and kindness in his enquiry instead. It was something she rarely heard from him, a warrior's thoughts occupying most of his days.
"Slowly better," she reassured with a nod.
There was an awkward moment of silence, as though he could think of nothing more to say. Rescuing him, she nodded to the lavender in his hand. "Are those for me?"
"Oh, yes. They're just a token," he said dismissively, as though they really did mean nothing. She wasn't sure though – had Arthur ever brought any girl flowers before? It didn't seem like him somehow.
"Although," he continued uncomfortably, "I see one of your admirers has already sent something far more impressive."
He nodded at the lilies on the side table.
"No," she explained, barely glancing at the other flowers, "they were sent before I was ill."
She wondered why he hadn't noticed them before. They'd been here for days and Gwen had mentioned that he'd been in and out of her room many times during illness. Perhaps his mind had just been elsewhere. The thought warmed her a little, even though she told herself she was being silly and unduly emotional.
His reaction to the news was not what she suspected. He didn't tease her about gentlemen sending her gifts, but instead his face flickered with something like suspicion for a moment before he covered it well. Too tired to enquire, she decided to let it go.
"Well," she prompted, when he still didn't move, "are you going to give those to me or make me come and get them myself?"
He finally smiled, apparently a little more at ease now she was teasing him again. He walked towards her and handed the lavender over, the small flowers looking all the more dainty in his large hands.
"Apparently they'll help you rest," he said somewhat awkwardly, as though feeling the need to explain his gift in some practical manner, to show her it wasn't mere whimsy on his part. And Lord help her, she found that somehow endearing.
Bringing the bunch to her face, she breathed in deeply the scent of the flowers, taking a moment to revel in the warmth of the aroma. She had no idea he could be so sweet or thoughtful.
Or any clue that she could be so affected by the notion. It was just the illness, she told herself again. She was tired and emotional and not herself. Or maybe she really was, and in this more fragile state she just didn't have the strength to don the masks she usually wore.
But this wasn't him either, she reminded herself, looking at him curiously. This wasn't the self-assured, almost arrogant young man she had become so used to. She was almost tempted to ask him what was wrong but she was afraid he might make hurried excuses and leave if she did, so she settled with something unobtrusive.
"They're lovely, thank you."
He smiled slightly, apparently pleased before he seemed to feel foolish again and returned to more practical matters.
He nodded towards her table. "You haven't eaten," he pointed out, almost scolding.
"I have a little."
"Come now," he reasoned, "you'll never get your strength back like this. And how am I supposed to continue without you berating me at every turn, hmm?"
Her smiled widened at that. Now that was more the Arthur she was used to. Confident and somewhat superior.
Appearing now feel properly at ease, he came and sat on the bench near her, taking his knife from its sheath and picking up an apple. He sliced part of the fruit deftly away and handed it to her. Any other time she would have baulked at being treated like a child but she still felt shaken and his kindness was so very welcome.
"I hope that's clean," she said dryly, not willing to quite give up her spirit totally just because he was being so nice. "I've been ill enough as it is."
He smiled, apparently pleased to hear such a typical response from her. "It's perfectly clean, I assure you."
She nibbled on the apple for his sake, seeing how apprehensively he watched her and deciding that she'd already caused him enough worry without adding to it. It seemed to work because he looked heartened by the sight of her at least eating something.
Silence reigned for a few moments and he continued to watch her with a scrutiny she would have found uncomfortable at any other time. And yet now... Maybe it was her light headedness but there was something rather enchanting about his boyish face observing her with such attention. A small shiver flitted through her which he instantly caught sight of.
"Are you cold?" he asked with concern, "Would you like me to fetch you another shawl? A blanket?"
"No," she replied softly, "I'm feeling a little warmer now..."
He seemed to take a deeper breath at that, somehow catching her hidden meaning, and she thought she saw him glance ever so briefly at her lips.
"I'm glad you're well," he said, voice little more than a whisper, "Things didn't seem right without you here."
"Really?"
"Yes, I..."
She hung on his every word, her heart thudding in a way she was sure couldn't be healthy in her condition. But she didn't care. He looked so handsome in the warm firelight, his eyes darker than in the daytime and but somehow holding a multitude of feelings. She sensed uncertainty but also something more tender. And no one had ever looked at her like he did right now. Like he wanted nothing more in the world than to bridge the gap between them. It was the warmest feeling she'd ever felt.
It would be so easy to kiss him in that moment. To reach her hand up and caress his cheek, to press her lips softly to his. But she would never live it down and nerves stopped her from moving.
"Yes?"she prompted when he spoke no more, torn between wanting him to give in to what he was clearly thinking and scared that he might.
"I should leave you to rest," he concluded, sitting back, finishing that sentence in a way she suspected he hadn't originally intended to. "Will you be all right?"
She felt a little sad as she nodded, their moment truly lost.
"Gwen will be back in a minute."
He smiled at her. "Sleep well."
He seemed to have little control over his fingers as he reached out and brushed a stray strand of messy hair away from her face, fingertips softly grazing over her temple before lingering too long as they travelled down a wisp of hair. A little unsettled, he nodded politely at her and hurriedly left.
Remembering to breathe again, she smiled after him, still feeling the new warmth he'd somehow left in his wake. She was just being fanciful, she warned herself. It meant nothing. He was simply being kind because she'd been so ill.
But still, when she looked down at the lavender lying on her lap, her fingers toying with the stem, that little burst of warmth increased tenfold. He was right; it had made her feel better. And so had he.
*****
Arthur regained his shaken composure by the time he reached the end of the corridor which was fortunate as he met Morgana's maid servant, Gwen, coming the other way.
"Those lilies," he demanded without preamble, "who sent them?"
She'd been grinning knowingly, seeing him come from the direction of her mistress's room, but instantly looked a little taken aback at the sudden question.
"I don't know sire," she admitted. "There was no note with them."
Arthur frowned thoughtfully for a moment.
"Get rid of them," he ordered and strode off down the corridor.
Something was not right about this at all. What if they had all been wrong and her illness had been inflicted by someone? But who would want to hurt Morgana?
Perhaps he was just being overprotective, but he somehow felt better with the notion that those flowers were out of her room.