i.
The rain hadn't stopped for 3 straight days. It flooded the streets, drowned the crops and washed away market stalls. Gwen sat huddled in her small cottage, fingering her cloak and debating when was the best time to make a mad dash for the castle. She knew, of course, that there was no good time and that she was going to get wet as soon as she opened the door. So she just pulled the cloak around her shoulders, hoisted the hood over her curls and braced herself for what lay beyond the warmth of her room.
The rain, strangely enough, did not fall haphazardly. It was straight, stick straight as it plummeted to the floor. There was no wind, not even a slight breeze, just persistent and heavy, as if Camelot was situated under a waterfall. The weather had washed away several small houses, some barns, it had carried off live stock and there were even reports of missing children. Uther had blamed magic, the curse of some sorcerer that he had offended. At first Gwen was suspicious of where the King laid blame, it always seeming to fall on druids or witches, when more practical solutions were available. But now, the rain showing no signs of letting up, she was starting to believe him. Luckily, her house was very close to the courtyard, and so she was able to run to shelter under one of the turrets of the castle walls. It was dark, concealed, but dry at least, and Gwen was able to take off her hood and shake out her hair a little. The view from the raised platform was bleak. The city was grey and deserted. People seemed to have kept to their homes or fled to neighbouring towns in an attempt to keep dry and alive. But Gwen couldn't leave. Too much held her here- like iron bonds tied her to the Kingdoms stones. She was born in Camelot, she would die in Camelot. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Guinevere?"
His voice cut through the sound of rainfall, materializing behind her. Gwen didn't have to turn to know who it was. It was the way his voice wrapped around her name, caressing it, rolling it around in his mouth and spilling it out.
"My Lord."
"What are you doing out?" She turned in a slight bow, not quite ready to dispense with the formalities in such a public place. There may be no one around, but they weren't in the confines of his rooms or her house now. "It's dangerous; you can't just wander around in the rain-"
"I had to get to work." She interrupted. "Morgana will be wondering where I am." She moved to run into the castle, suddenly all too aware of just how close he was. Gwen could feel his heat, the breath on her cheek, the hand brushing near her finger tips. But he was too quick, as always, and before she knew it she was pressed back into the darkness, his body shielding her from sight.
"Guinevere." He whispered, hand running along her cheek. She wondered, somewhere deep inside her mind, if he knew just what he did to her, every time he said her name like that. From the smile on his lips, she guessed he did. "I want you to move into the castle."
That certainly hadn't been expected. A kiss, a murmur of sweet nothings...but that?
"Sorry?"
"Move into the castle. You can't live out there." He gestured behind him, "It's unsafe and wet and I don't like the idea of you...being...there-"
"It's fine. My house isn't affect-"
"Please, Gwen...." He pressed a kiss to her neck, "I separated a room from the visitor's chambers." Another kiss. "No one will know that you're there." And another. "Please..." He moved his head and brushed his lips over hers, swiftly so that she wasn't sure that it had even happened.. And quite distracted by the taste of Arthur on her skin, Gwen found herself nodding. Living alone after her father's death was harsh and lonely- being closer to Arthur could be potentially dangerous, but definitely enjoyable.
The rain stopped just a day later, but Gwen's house remained empty for a good few months.