Author's Note: This story is based sometime after season 2 of Merlin. I know that a lot of Merlin fans are watching season 4, but my only access to the show is through DVD. Season 3 will not be available in the U.S. until January.
If you've not seen season 2, do not read this paragraph, as it is rife with spoilers. So, to recap for those who might not remember where season 2 ended, Merlin poisoned Morgana to save Camelot. Morgause broke off her attack on the kingdom to rescue her sister and vanished with Morgana, presumably to concoct a healing potion. Merlin released the great dragon, only to have it terrorize the realm. He and Arthur embarked on a quest to find the last dragon lord, Merlin inherited his father's gifts, and the great dragon was sent away to never terrorize Camelot again. Arthur and Merlin return to the castle victorious, and alive, drawing season 2 to an end.
With all that said, I hope you find this story entertaining, or – at the least – readable.
An Unwelcome Guest
The dining hall of Camelot shone brightly in the flickering candlelight, but Arthur was oblivious to the splendor. Instead, he found his attention focused on his father's guest, a delegate from a distant kingdom. The man was pompous and rude. Jeffries of Kabbagia was a solid figure, whose obnoxious tone grated on Arthur's nerves each time he pretentiously referenced his title as the Emissary for Kabbagia. It sounded more like Cabbage-ah on Jeffries' lips than the accurate pronunciation of Ka-beige-e-ah. Though, were he to be honest, Arthur's dislike of the man stemmed more from his ogling of the maids – one in particular – who served the evening meal than his inability to correctly articulate the name of his kingdom. Listening to the drone of conversation, Arthur quietly wished for the last course to be served. The sooner the food was gone, the sooner the servants would withdraw from the room, and the less likely he would be to cause strife between the two kingdoms by stabbing the Kabbagian delegate with his dinner knife….
Oblivious to the dangerous looks he was receiving from Arthur, Lord Jeffries sat leering at the serving women as they moved about the table. His unabashed interest made Gwen's skin crawl. She was quite certain that if Uther had not been present, the man would have been so bold as to pinch every woman within reach. For the first time she could remember Gwen was actually thankful to be in the king's presence. She was grateful when the meal was over, and she could retreat from view. The rest of her evening passed quickly as she finished up her chores. She had a group of linens to deliver to the west end of the castle before she could retire, and so Gwen headed down the west corridor laden down with her bundle. She had just passed the giant marble urn that marked the midpoint of the hallway when Jeffries stepped out of the shadows, blocking her way. Casting her gaze downward, Gwen stepped to the side to pass him, but he followed her movement. When she tried to move around him in the other direction, Jeffries again mirrored her steps. Gwen came to a halt and decided she would have to speak to him.
"Forgive me, sir." She was sure to use a tone of servitude void of any emotion.
"My dear girl, what is there to forgive?" The words seemed innocent enough, but she could not deny the uneasiness that seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach. Something about this man set her on edge. His next words only served to make the corridor seem a desolate, lonely place. "I am thankful for every moment I'm given in the presence of such a lovely creature."
"You flatter me, sir. I am not worthy of such a compliment," Gwen replied, taking a step backward. Jeffries matched her movement and stopped only inches away from the bundle of cloth she now grasped as though it were a shield.
"You are worthy of so much more than just my compliments." As he spoke, he moved closer, and Gwen found that she had backed up against the ornamental urn.
"My lord! I am but a servant!" The words seemed desperate even to her own ears, but Gwen felt cornered by this man, as though he stalked her for his prey. Much to her dismay, he clutched her chin and tilted her head back so that she was forced to meet his gaze.
"Yes," he agreed in a tone that sent a ripple of fear coursing down her spine. "You are but a servant." His free hand knocked the linens from her grasp before he pulled her close, groping at the curves of her dress as she desperately tried to push him away. Gwen managed to slap him hard enough that his grip loosened as he swore at her impudence. Unfortunately, she was not able to break away and saw him raise his hand to cuff her in response. She had no way to deflect him and braced herself for the blow, but it did not come. His swing was stopped in midair by a hand that wrapped about his arm and shoved him backward, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"How dare you," Jeffries sputtered at whichever servant had been so bold as to interfere. He regained his footing, straightened, and nearly recoiled when he found not some insolent serving boy but Arthur Pendragon blocking the view of his enticing query. Were it possible, the cold blue gaze would have turned him into stone, adding another statue to the castle's decor. Facing Pendragon's immobilizing glare, he felt prodded to offer a defense and, finding his voice, hastily changed the tenor of his words from disdain to appeasement. "Prince Arthur-"
"How dare you, Jeffries," Arthur cut in, uncertain of how he would react to any excuse this man might render. "You've no right to accost any woman, much less one under my protection." He watched Jeffries scowl at the rebuke and fought the urge to ram the man's teeth back into his throat.
"She's just a serving girl, sire." Jeffries' tone – let alone his words – did little to restrain Arthur's sudden desire for bloodshed. He reigned in his anger by sheer will power, telling himself that breaking Jeffries' jaw would not be a sight Guinevere would wish to see. Out of deference to her presence, Arthur took a deep breath and settled for threatening the man instead.
"It is my duty to protect all within Camelot," he stated with cold clarity. "If I ever catch you treating another woman in this manner," his voice dropped as his words took on an unquestionable solemnity, "I will kill you." Arthur let the gravity of his anger ebb through his entire being so that his stance became as menacing as the icy flames that filled his gaze. He watched Jeffries swallow and then attempt to clear his throat before taking a step backward.
"Forgive me, my lord." His voice was slightly higher, but Jeffries managed to regain his usual tone as he added, "I must've had too much to drink at dinner. Accept my apologies, Prince Arthur." With that, Kabbagia's delegate quickly retraced his steps, disappearing into the shadows. Arthur waited until he was gone before turning to check on Guinevere only to find that she had already slipped away, leaving him in a vacant hallway.
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Gwen hurried from the castle. Once Arthur had intervened, she had hastily retrieved her bundle and made her escape while Jeffries was occupied with Camelot's heir to the throne. Gwen had no wish to be the source of a quarrel, and she wished to evade Jeffries' attention as quickly as possible. She had hurried to finish her task, taking a route that was longer but harder to follow. After winding in and out of various castle corridors to deliver her linens, Gwen had left out one of the servant's doors and headed for the drawbridge.
Now as she proceeded into the lower town, Gwen wanted nothing more than to reach her home. The dark streets seemed deserted and almost threatening. The incident with Jeffries had made her apprehensive, and she caught herself being startled by mere shadows. Sounds that were a common part of her nightly walk home now seemed unnaturally loud in the moonlit darkness. Belatedly, Gwen wished she had not left the castle alone. She should have waited until one of the other serving women had finished her chores or, at the least, asked for Merlin's company.
She had to pass The Rising Sun, and though none of its patrons had ever bothered her in the past, Gwen felt it best to hurry past the tavern as quickly as possible. Her feet began to move faster until she was almost running down the street. Solely focused upon reaching her door, Gwen did not see the cloaked figure that kept to the darker recesses of houses and shops while following in pursuit. As though a wayward spirit hunted for its grave, the apparition silently slipped from shadow to shadow until melting into the darkness behind Gwen's small dwelling as she hastily entered her home and barred the door.
Gwen was thankful for the shoemaker's wife who frequently stopped by in the evening to set a slow burning fire in the hearth so that she needn't enter a darkened room when returning from the castle in the late hours of the night. Tonight, however, the flickering light, which usually dispelled most of the gloom, cast dancing shadows across the floor and into the dim corners, cloaking the chamber in a sinister aura. Gwen removed her cloak, hanging it on the hook by the door; then moved to light a candle only to pause with it suspended in midair as a creak emanated from the back of her house.
Gazing into the blackness that hovered just behind the curtains that partitioned her home, Gwen could not recall if she had latched the backdoor before leaving for her morning duties. Could someone be in her house? Or was she simply jumping to conclusions? It was possible that she was merely unnerved from her experience with Jeffries, but Gwen was not willing to shrug off her anxiety so quickly. Besides, she would never be able to relax until she had made certain the backdoor was secure. She kept one of her father's daggers hidden beneath her mattress and hastily moved to retrieve it before cautiously edging toward the back of her dwelling. Cautiously, Gwen moved the thin curtain aside and peered into the shadows lurking behind the wooden screen.
A movement in the darkness sent her into action. Gwen thrust her blade forward only to have her wrist caught in a firm grip before she was swung about so that her back rested against the intruder as he wrapped one arm around her waist, causing the hand with which she held the dagger to be pinned against her hip, while his free arm encircled her upper torso and his palm covered her mouth. Cold fingers of panic clawed up her spine at the touch of his breath on her neck when he leaned down so that his lips were only inches from her ear.
"Guinevere." As soon as he had gently whispered her name, Arthur felt her collapse against his chest. The dagger clattered to the floor with a muffled sob of relief that shuddered against the hand he held over her lips. Realizing how frightened she had been, Arthur mentally scolded himself and loosened his hold, intending to apologize. Before he could ask her forgiveness, however, Guinevere turned in his arms and buried her face in his shirt, clinging to him in a silent plea for safety. Deciding words were of no use, Arthur offered her his strength instead, tightening his embrace to provide the refuge she sought and resolving that nothing – neither man nor beast – would move him from his position until Guinevere regained a sense of security and no longer trembled with fear.
Long after her tremors had faded, she expelled a deep sigh that sent her warm breath through the cloth of his shirt to spread across his skin, causing Arthur to marvel that such a simple action could have so profound an effect upon him. Had his senses always been this keen or were they sharpened by her proximity? Oblivious to his thoughts, Guinevere leaned back, prompting Arthur to loosen, but not relinquish, his hold so that she could meet his gaze.
"You should not be here," she softly rebuked.
"I couldn't let you walk home unescorted," he countered in a warm tone. Her eyes softened for only a moment before her reservations returned.
"I am not a lady of the court, my lord," was her candid response. "I am a servant, nothing more." She applied a gentle pressure to the hands resting against his chest, attempting to pull away. Arthur chose to ignore the gesture, as she softly added, "You are the future king." Her voice was filled with a regret that urged him to counter her resolve with an impish grin.
"I was told that a good king respects his people," his light tone turned tender, "no matter who they are."
"You've mistaken the meaning of my council, sire." Though her words suggested he relinquish his hold, her eyes implored him to never let go; giving him hope that she was affected by his presence just as her mere gaze seemed to pierce his soul.
"Really?" The playful doubt with which he posed the question brought the hint of a smile to the corners of her mouth. "Just as I misinterpret the way you look at me, I suppose." Unable to deny what they both knew to be true, she glanced down at his shirt, collecting her thoughts, before meeting his eyes with a determination that told him she would neither concede nor argue the point further.
"Thank you, Arthur," she redirected their exchange. The effect of hearing his name on her lips was so overpowering that he resisted the buffoonish grin that threatened to overtake him by sheer willpower alone. "I appreciate what you did, and it was kind of you to ensure that I reached my home without incident." Once more Guinevere gently pulled away, and Arthur reluctantly allowed her to withdraw from his embrace. "But you should return to the castle." He watched her move to the hearth and add another log to the dimming fire. "I am not the only serving woman to need protection from Lord Jeffries' advances."
"He won't have the chance," Arthur replied. He retrieved the dagger she had dropped on the floor, offering her the handle when she turned toward him, urging him to explain. "I ordered the palace guards to keep an eye on him." Guinevere took the weapon, returning the blade to its hiding place beneath her mattress.
"What if that's not enough?" she asked as she moved to sit on the bench closest to the hearth, her eyes resting on the flickering flames. "It is not easy, but the guards can be avoided." She put on a brave front, but he could sense the anxiety that still lingered due to Jeffries' behavior.
"I spoke with Durwood," Arthur stated, referring to the head of the castle's staff, "and left instructions that no handmaiden was to set foot in any room our visitor occupied. For the remainder of his stay, only male servants are to do his bidding even if I have to send Merlin to deal with him."
"Poor Merlin," she sympathized. "You wouldn't really make him tend to that man, would you?" Arthur gave a shrug and pulled back the cloak that hung from his shoulders before joining her on the bench.
"Why not? A day or two of Merlin's service would frighten Jeffries away better than any threat I could make," he sarcastically replied, "what with the boiling bathwater and rat soup…"
"Surely he has never served you rat soup!" Her disbelieving tone was edged with a hint of laughter, urging Arthur to make his response droll in hopes of lightening her mood further.
"Oh yes, it is no exaggeration that he is the worst servant I've ever had." Guinevere met his gaze, and they shared a smile at his dry humor. "But," Arthur added out of fairness to Merlin, "He is the most loyal." She nodded in agreement and then stared back at the hearth. Arthur followed her gaze, watching the fire grow as the flames licked over the fresh piece of wood. A few minutes later, Guinevere leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh, and Arthur found himself rooted to the spot, unwilling to move lest she withdraw.
A peaceful silence filled the room as the minutes melted into a timeless blur. Arthur caught himself wishing he could remain there forever but knew it was not possible. One day that would change. He would be free to openly court Guinevere, and woe be to any naysayers who dared question if she was worthy of his pursuit. Anyone insulting Gwen should do so at extreme peril. Merlin had been right; proving himself more perceptive than Arthur wished to admit. Were he to question his feelings for Guinevere he had only to remember his reaction to Jeffries' assault. Arthur knew that his lack of a sword was the only thing that had spared the life of the Kabbagian representative. Even now, he still battled with the desire to run the man through. The knowledge that Guinevere would feel responsible for Jeffries' death kept him in check.
When had she come to hold such power over him? Arthur wondered if she understood the strength of her influence. He had braved the wilddeoren infested caves of Andor, scaled the walls of Hengist's keep, and endured the stinging scratch of the great dragon to ensure her safety while overruling his father's sentencing of Gaius and surviving Olaf's challenge of mortal combat because it was what she had asked of him. Live for me, Arthur. Like the echo of his own heart, that one request pulsated through his very being each time he confronted a new foe bent on his destruction. 'For the love of Camelot' might be the battle cry on his lips, but it was for the love of a woman that he persevered.
As these thoughts played across his mind, Arthur became aware that Guinevere had grown still; her body lay limp against his side. He slowly turned his head and found that her eyes were closed as her chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm. Arthur smiled at the realization that she felt secure enough in his presence to drift off to sleep, but she deserved a pillow with more cushion than his rough shoulder. Taking great caution not to wake her, Arthur gathered Guinevere into his arms and carried her over to the bed where he gently lowered her onto the mattress. His gaze swept over her, catching at the hem of her dress where two hard-soled slippers peaked out at him in the dancing glow of the hearth. For a moment, he hesitated, but the necessity of her comfort won out against the concern for impropriety, and he reached down to remove her shoes, attempting – yet failing – to ignore the sensations caused when his fingers brushed against the soft skin of her ankles.
Pulling back, Arthur glanced about the room to clear his mind and paused as his eyes came to rest on a nearby shelf that held an extra blanket. He retrieved it, spread it over Guinevere's sleeping form, and watched as she snuggled beneath the blanket's warmth. Arthur knew he should go; there was no reason for him to stay. Guards patrolled the streets, and she had lived alone in safety for quite some time. However, her backdoor could only be latched from the inside. Were he to leave now, he would have to leave that door unlocked, allowing anyone to walk inside. Returning to the castle would be pointless, for Arthur knew he'd never get any rest with the knowledge that Guinevere slept behind an unbolted door while someone like Jeffries lodged in Camelot. His decision made, Arthur scanned the room once more – this time searching for a position that would keep him out of view should anyone happen to glance in one of the windows – and found that his best option was to sit beside the bed. At least he would have a pleasant view, he reasoned with a smile as he lowered himself down onto the floor. With his back against the wall and the sound of Guinevere's gentle breathing whispering against the side of his face, Arthur settled in to keep watch over the one handmaiden in all the kingdom whose mere glance held sway over Camelot's future king.
That is all for now. More will be coming soon. Please review and let me know what you think.