Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC. That's it. Over
In That Simple Action
She was safe.
Truth be told, that was all that Arthur cared about. He and Merlin had charged into Hengis' hall recklessly but not a moment too soon.
He shuddered to think about what may have happened to her if they hadn't arrived.
He shook his head violently: thoughts like that were pointless now.
She was safe.
He had expected her face to light up when she had seen him, seen that he had come to rescue her. He had hoped that she would show some sort of affection towards him even though he was loathe to think that. But that was before Lancelot. Arthur had never imagined bumping into him again and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Now, clambering out of the tunnel that had led them to safety, watching Lancelot help Guinevere climb out, Arthur knew exactly how he felt about it.
As Gwen's hand stayed in Lancelot's slightly longer than just a friendly gesture of help, he felt a bitter surge of jealousy creep upon him. It was stupid to think that Guinevere might have any feelings toward him, the Prince of Camelot, after he had squashed any notions of a relationship.
He had been foolish. For what he couldn't decide: maybe he had been foolish to kiss her the first time before the jousting finals; maybe he had been foolish to say anything in the castle corridors after everything that had happened; maybe he had been foolish to think that she would still harbour feelings for him.
Whatever the case, it still stung to see her hand in his. Even though he knew that nothing could have happened between him and Guinevere- his father wouldn't have allowed it- he still felt a sinking feeling in his heart when he saw her with Lancelot. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know: he was no longer in her affections.
He turned away: not able to watch any longer, not able to see through the sudden haze of pain and salty water that clouded his eyes. He blinked furiously; he, the Prince of Camelot, would not cry, he couldn't let his emotions betray him.
Instead he continued walking; attempting to push aside the thoughts that were buzzing around in his head like bothersome flies.
One thing was unchanged: his feelings for Guinevere had not gone away. One thing was certain: in that simple action, he was sure his heart had been torn to shreds.