Wimbledon

A/N: This is only a 3 chapter story! Centred around the All England Wimbledon Tennis Championships, and how Arthur and Gwen deal with being entered as a Mixed Doubles pair.

Wimbledon was empty at 5am. The fresh, mint-coloured grass of the courts was clearly visible from the exterior of the plush venue; the dewy morning had taken its hold and the grass appeared ever so slightly damp.

Gwen gazed out upon the courts. The morning sun was just breaking through the clouds, and in the distance she could hear the tube rattle away softly with the earliest passengers travelling towards the centre of the city. Today was just another day – it was a regular occurrence for her to be here, unbeknownst to any of the Wimbledon officials. She would trudge up the dirt track from her East London flat, jog along to the tube and take the tube across the city to the prestigious Wimbledon station. Then she'd power walk to the back of Court 18 – the lonesome court for the lesser of the famous tennis stars.

On this particular morning, Gwen Leodegrance was basking in the breaking sunshine as she made her way to her favoured court. Using her toned, athletic build, she vaulted over the strong metal gate and onto the lush grass court. Landing on her simple but effective Nike white trainers, she took a deep breath and began to warm up.

It wasn't even 5am when Arthur Pendragon felt his sleep being forced away from him. He blinked, looking around his room. The night before seemed blurry. He thought back, and fortunately, the memories came rushing back.

Perhaps it was more unfortunate than it was fortunate – the Aegon Championships after party had ended in a load of intoxicated young adults swearing and shouting about the matches they'd won or lost, Arthur had almost been beaten up by Gwaine and Percival, two of his best friends but also his tennis rivals, who he'd seen off to become the winner of the Aegon Championships for the 5th time, and he distinctly remembered Vivian kissing him. Numerous times.

Arthur groaned. The last thing he wanted was a relationship with that...hussy. She was clingy and far too self-confident. She wanted to boast about the fact that she'd bagged the World Number 1 tennis player. Ugh.

Stumbling out of bed, he observed the purple and red sky as the sun rose. Looking out of his penthouse apartment bay window, he impulsively went to get ready to play tennis. He needed the release.

The ball flew into the air, approximately 3 metres high. Gwen drew her arm back behind her head and waited for the fluffy yellow ball to drop to the right height. She flexed her arm, tensing her muscles in her legs as she rocked back and threw her racket right at the centre of the ball, before following through neatly as the momentum powered her legs to sprint forward into service box.

The serve bounced directly on the middle line down the court. It was perfectly aced.

Gwen sighed. She wanted to be a contender, for once. Not an outsider – a contender. How familiar those words were – they felt like a repeated mantra inside of her head. Nothing seemed to work – no matter what, she could never quite break into top-seeded tennis players.

The brunette slipped a hand into her pocket and removed another fresh tennis ball. She went to serve again: bouncing the ball twice and inhaling deeply. She fluidly raised her arm and let go at the ball at the perfect 150 degrees. The ball sailed directly into the air and Gwen brought her racket up behind her head, keeping it level before letting the head drop as she rose up onto her toes and used her explosive arm to whallop the ball down the court.

"I could have you arrested." A voice echoed from the court entrance. Gwen automatically whirled around to see a blonde man, standing in tennis whites. His shorts were perfectly crafted so they hung to the right length – showing off muscular but shapely legs. His tight polo shirt left nothing to the imagination: every arch and every bump of his abs was clearly visible. His face was the most striking feature of the man, however: piercingly vivid blue eyes reminded her of the Atlantic sea, and his flawless complexion could not go unnoticed.

Gwen tried to reply but no words escaped her mouth. She found herself staring at him. The man approached her, using a key to unlock the gate to her secluded court. A wave of inadequacy passed over her – for years she'd been hopping fences like a vagrant, and in walked this man with a simple key.

"Tell me," he started again, staring at her, "what brings you to Wimbledon courts at a time when only the British Number 1 seed is permitted to play?"

Arthur looked her up and down. Her hair was hidden under an oversized grey hat. She wore clean white trainers but the rest of her outfit did not portray the class of Wimbledon at all: she wore grey cut-off tracksuit bottoms and a purple tank top.

Nothing special, Arthur scoffed to himself.

Suddenly, the girl's expression changed.

"You're...Arthur Pendragon?" She exclaimed, looking stunned. Arthur didn't bother reacting – it was an everyday occurrence that some girl would come up to him and coo about "what an amazing tennis player he was".

"Look, my trainer is due in 15 minutes. I'm not usually around here, but when I am, I don't expect other people to be taking up courts. My regime is strict. I'd appreciate if you could make your exit pretty soon."

A stroke of anger bubbled in Gwen's stomach.

"I'm ranked 120th right now. You can have 17 other courts but you most certainly don't need this one. I'm practising for the odd chance that I'll be picked for a wild card entry to the tournament – but don't worry; I'll be leaving, so Mr Number One can have 18 courts at his leisure. No worries." She replied, her eyes blazing as she sarcastically hissed at him. Arthur smirked as she grabbed her bag and stormed passed him.

"You never told me your name!" he called after her. She turned around, eyebrows raised at the audacity of his request – after all, he had just kicked her off a court.

"Gwen. It's Gwen."

With that, the dark-skinned brunette walked away from him, down the dirt track and into the distance. Arthur shook his head. He wished for respect these days. It was a hard trek to be the UK Number One – some people didn't understand the pressure he had piled upon his shoulders. He had to please his family, his coach, his team, his tennis friends, his old friends, his fans and the expecting world. It was hard.

Days passed by. Gwen did not go near Wimbledon – she was far too embarrassed. After mulling it over in her head, she could not quite believe the way she had spoken to such a talented player the way she did. Gwen knew she could not show her face there for at least a few weeks, when Wimbledon has passed.

She avoided training - although she didn't normally train full-time at SW19, the humiliation of her encounter with Pendragon had left her feeling as if a knife had been swirled in her stomach.

Gwen's plan? To stay completely out of the way.

However, that was not to be so.

One phone call changed everything. Her coach, wondering why she hadn't shown up to training that week. Gwen had tried to explain herself to him, but he hadn't got time to listen to her - instead, he'd delivered the ground breaking news that she had been selected as one of the British Wild Card entries to Wimbledon that year.

After screaming down the phone, rolling around on the floor and almost hyperventilating, Gwen returned to the phone, only to hear her coach stammer.

"Gwen...Gwen. There's a slight complication. It's not...quite...the category we were hoping for."

Gwen paused.

"What? What category is it?" she replied, agast.

"A partnership have dropped out of the Mixed Doubles teams. They were going to pick Angelique Anstell but she's got prior engagements with LTA Creation Squads. You're up for it."

There was a silence from the other end of the phone. Gwen stood and bit her lip.

"But I'm not trained at all for Mixed Doubles!"

Her coach sighed.

After a 40 minute lecture from her coach, Gwen checked her emails. Sure enough, there was an update from The All England Lawn Tennis Association British Tennis Championship Wimbledon 2013. Gwen felt her insides flutter. She was an East London girl. How on Earth had she managed to climb to one of the world's greatest tournaments?

The email instructed her to report to the Wimbledon Courts as soon as possible. Gwen looked at herself. She was dressed in a pair of faded turquoise shorts and a simple Nike tank top. It was time to dress up.

Sprinting into her bedroom, she flung the wardrobe door open and rifled through the outfits hung up until her eyes landed on the desired item.

The white tennis dress was the last thing Gwen's father ever gave her. Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father took ill two years ago, before he finally passed away to a stroke. The white tennis dress had been purchased not long before his passing and she hadn't worn it yet. Today seemed a suitable day, Gwen thought, closing her eyes as she flashed back to the sweet memories of her family.

Arthur lazed in his reclining chair, sitting at the side of Court 6 at Wimbledon. Today was a Debenture day - only the most elite members could enjoy an exclusive day at the courts for pre-tournament relaxation and socialising.

His hand slipped around his glass of Pimms and sucked at a strawberry. His icy blue eyes glared out upon the empty grass expanse. In seven days, Wimbledon would be starting - Arthur was using today as his last day of Pimms (his secret weak spot).

"Mr Pendragon," a voice called from behind him, "would it be possible to speak to you about a prospective category for you?"

Arthur slowly spun his head around. He noticed a tall blonde woman standing near by.

"And...you are?"

"Mithian. Mithian Alcott. I'm in charge of the Mixed Doubles at Wimbledon."

Arthur stood up, letting his toned body lean against his chair.

"You would like me to participate in the Mixed Doubles? I really don't think I'm in a position to do so. The whole nation is counting on me to win my first grand slam."

Mithian smiled.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr Pendragon. I expected such a response. The professionalism that you've been trained in. The arrogance that lies beneath. The soft centre hidden away, saved for when emotion calls it out. Then there's the attribute of winning you don't even try to conceal. Success is so important to you. You strive for success. Want to deny this, Mr Pendragon?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Clearly, this woman had done her research.

"No, no. It sounds pretty accurate to me."

Mithian took a step closer to him, and placed a hand (inappropriately) on his chest.

"Then compete in the Mixed Doubles. We have a talented partner for you. We can assure you victory."

Gwen flew along the dirt track that led to the back of Wimbledon. She was careful not to get her freshly-scrubbed white trainers tarnished. Luckily, the courts seemed rather empty.

Walking coolly into the Reception area, she confidently approached the front desk. Handing her entry sheet over to an older woman who, in turn, coldy asked if she was a member.

"No, no - I'm just here for the tournament. I'm a Wild Card entry for the Mixed Doubles."

Raising her eyebrows, the older woman tapped on her computer.

"Today is a member's only day. You'll have to do your business, stay out of the way and then clear off, sharpish. Understood?"

The woman's tone was icy. Gwen felt her mouth open in shock. How unwelcoming! Before she could retort an answer back, a blonde woman walked over to her.

"Guinevere Leodegrance? My name is Mithian Alcott." She said, looking down at a clipboard and offering her perfectly manicured hand in a gesture of greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you. It's just Gwen, though," Gwen replied, smiling as she shook the woman's hand enthusiastically - a complete shift in mood to what she had just experienced with the receptionist.

"Ah, yes. I read it was just Gwen. However, now I feel it would be more professional to call you Guinevere. You're here for your Mixed Doubles place, I assume?" Mithian commented. She indicated with her hand that they walk together.

"Yes, it's my first official slam. I am a women's player but I'll settle for anything - I'll play for Men's Veterans if it means I get noticed!"

Mithian laughed. Gwen took in the woman. She looked about 30, with dyed blonde hair piled up on top of her head in a curly pie bun. She wore a long navy skirt and a matching blazer, with a low cut white blouse underneath.

"My darling, you'll be exceptional in the Mixed Doubles. I have high hopes for you. Especially with the partner I have lined up for you!"Mithian exclaimed, grinning. Gwen's smile faltered.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why me? I'm not even in the Top 100, no matter how hard I try."

"Guinevere, you just answered your own question. You've been working harder than many other female tennis players this year. I really believe in you. Now," she said, swiftly moving on from the topic, "I'd like you to go on Court 6 and warm up. There'll be balls on court. Your partner should be there."

Gwen nodded confidently. Mithian was right - Gwen had worked herself damn hard this past year.

Arthur sat up on his deck chair as we watched Mithian return to the plush court with a girl, who he assumed was his partner.

She was breath-taking. Her hair was long and bounced to the middle of her back in richly natural curls. She was dressed in a stunning, white tennis dress that clung to every curve of her petite body. The dress was sleeveless, with a lavender stripe running from the short, flattering skirt to the neckline. It was plain, but beautiful - very much like the girl's appearance. Her legs were shapely and long - from Arthur's view, they looked as if they were going on forever. He drank in the image of her, appreciating every angle -

until she turned around.

For her face gave her away, as pretty as it was. Her eyes were intense brown, and her skin was as flawless as her dress - but she was all too familiar. She was indeed the girl who he had met a few days ago early in the morning at the courts. The girl who he'd completely disrespected and disregarded. The girl who, dressed in frumpy clothes, was a totally different person to the goddess he was seeing now.

Her eyes connected with his and he watched as her mouth formed the perfect 'O' shape. Shock formed on her features, and Arthur could feel himself growing hot and uncomfortable. He was not only feeling ashamed of his behavior the other day, but felt insulted that he was being made to play with a wild card. Those feeling were totally wiped out by the overwhelming emotion of desire coursing through his body...physically.

He stood up and glanced down. Fortunately, his desire wasn't too evident.

"I trust you two are complete strangers, right?" Mithian asked, flipping pages in her clipboard. Arthur looked up hesitantly at Gwen - she did the same, biting her lip. Why didn't I even notice how sexy she was on our first meeting? Arthur pondered.

"Something along those lines,"Arthur replied, smirking to himself. He noticed Gwen shuffle from one foot to the other. Mithian must have observed the tension, as she stepped in.

"Well then. Arthur, this is Guinevere Leodegrance, upcoming female for LTA. She won her Regional tour but injury stopped her from progressing to Nationals this year, so she's still 120th seed." Arthur looked Guinevere up and down. It felt like he'd encountered two different people - the scruffy, shy Gwen from last week, and the beautiful, confident Guinevere from today. Mithian turned to Gwen.

"Guinevere, this is Arthur Pendragon. Our top seed. Together, you're the perfect match...we hope."

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