He always imagined his love would be awarded to some high born girl, the daughter of a lord or a king. A girl his own age or perhaps a little older, trained in the ways of royal diplomacy, skilled in conversation with great men, knowledgeable in running a large and prestigious household.
She would be proud, and confident, and of course she would be good looking. He would ride to her father's house to woo her, bringing heavy gifts in iron-bound boxes. Her delighted parents would hold feasts in Arthur's honour, and allow the young couple plenty of time 'accidentally' alone. His honour was well known - the girl would be quite safe in his his charge.
If he liked the girl - if she seemed competent, dignified, a future Queen - he might kiss her chastely, tell her she was beautiful, ride out and pick flowers for her in the early morning, to return and knock secretly at her chamber with an armful of dew-glistening blooms. She would be pleased, would wait for his declaration, the agreement to marry. Arthur knew how these things worked.
But here was quite a different woman, no duchess or comtessa, only a girl who worked at the castle, and although he was in the forest, and armed, and definitely in charge, Arthur felt oddly out of his depth. It was unsettling.
They had fled the castle of the Dread King, stealing recalcitrant horses, pelting across strange moors to reach the safety of trees. Merlin was weak from the magic he used in theue escape and defense, and Gwen kept making Arthur stop to let Merlin rest. "Can't you magick a healing spell for your blisters?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, if you want to camp while I search for the right herbs," Merlin said.
"Please don't fight," said Gwen.
"He's my servant," said Arthur. "He shouldn't be delaying."
"I'm your servant too," she said in a low voice.
"You can keep up with me," he said. Merlin watched them both with unhappy eyes.
In the end Arthur sent Merlin west for news of the Dread King in the border lands, while he and Gwen continued south for Camelot. "I need to ride hard," Arthur said.
"What about Gwen?" Merlin asked.
"I'm all right," she said. Merlin frowned as if thinking of the false kiss given her by Arthur to distract the Dread King's guards.
"I need someone to see to the horses," said Arthur. "They're worse than oxen."
"See?" said Gwen to Merlin with a rueful smile. "You were thinking of my honour, and Arthur was only worried about the horses."
And so Merlin rode off across the meadow with many glances back at Arthur, and Gwen. Gwen raised her hand to smile and wave reassurance. "Come on," said Arthur.
"He looks so lost," she said as they wheeled around to strike through the forest.
"He's tougher than he seems," Arthur said shortly, and it was so much like a compliment that Gwen forgave Arthur's hard tone.
The forest was dark and silent, entirely beech trees, the forest floor inches deep in mast. "I don't like beech," Arthur said as they plodded through, the discarded beech nut shells almost up to the horses hock in places.
"Because the beech mast smothers everything else," Gwen said.
"No," said Arthur. "Because the only thing to eat is squirrels."
She laughed, and he glanced at her, puzzled, because he had not been joking. "I can find us something," Gwen said. "Even if it's puffball fungus," she added, and offended him again.
"I can provide us with food, thank you," he said stiffly.
They rode on through this strange, muffled world. The principal sound was their own tackle, the clank and rasp of bridle and stirrup, the rattle of kit in their saddlebags.
At last they saw a shaft of sunlight ahead. "Oh thank God," said Arthur. "Now I can hunt."
"Will we stop here for the night, my Lord?" Gwen asked as they reached the small clearing. Above their heads, blessed sunlight showed, the first sky they had seen all day. Some green plants dotted the clearing, and even a little grass. The sun above was turning from white to gold, the start of its slide down the sky to night.
Arthur sprang from his horse and led it all around the clearing. "Yes," he pronounced. "The animals can eat. And on this hard ground we will be able to hear our enemies coming."
"Yes, sire," said Gwen grimly. She was used to hard ground, but could do without the enemies.
"Don't be afraid," he said quickly. "I'm here." He tied up his horse near the largest patch of grass, then extended his hand to Gwen to help her dismount.
"Did you forget," she asked as he swung her down from the saddle.
His hands were still on her waist. He snatched them back "Forget?"
"That I'm only a servant. Do you help Merlin get off his horse?"
He blinked several times. "You are my companion on a long journey," he said with great dignity, "and I hope I would show this courtesy to anyone. Now build a fire. I'm going to find us dinner."
"Yes sire."
"Don't wander off. We're still in the Dread King's lands, and this is wolf and boar country."
"Yes sire."
And please call me by my name like you always used to. I can't be yes sure all through dinner."
"Yes - Arthur."
Her voice caught and he stared at her. What was wrong now? "I won't be long," he said after a moment, and strode away.
Xxxxx
Gwen worked quietly by the fire, honing Arthur's sword with the swift, expert touch of long practice. Of course. She had been a blacksmith's daughter longer than she had been a lady's maid.
Her tools were arranged neatly around her, and all Arthur's weapons. "Who does this usually?" she asked.
"Merlin."
"I'll have to show him a better way. You can't take shortcuts with fine steel like this." She frowned in concentration, her strop rhythmic along the gleaming blade. Arthur watched, trying and somewhat failing not to be mesmerized.
He had played his part, his bow providing two rabbits,and now he was superfluous as she cared for his weapons, the fire already built, their packs unravelled, the horses seen to.
"You could gut those," she said without looking up. A tendril of hair fell forward over her nose. The strop flew across Arthur's workaday axe.
"You have my knife."
She handed it to him, a curved-bladed hunting knife. "The first thing I did."
Was that a rebuke, that he had sat idle watching her work?
Why did he care?
He picked up the nearest rabbit. "Do you want the skin?" he asked. Out hunting with his friends, the kills merely piled up for the castle staff to deal with later. But to the poor and the fugitive, every part of an animal is valuable.
"Yes. Please," she added, now glancing g up at him. A further thought occurred: "Sire."
He nodded and began his task. To kill a creature you had to honour it, to be quick and kind in its death, and grateful in its use. "Its life might be ended but its purpose is not," he said aloud automatically, laying aside skin, liver, kidneys, heart and at last, the tender meat which would be his dinner.
"What's that? A proverb?"
"Something Merlin says."
She smiled.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's nice that you respect his opinions. Even if you don't often show it."
"He's not often right," Arthur retorted, and Gwen smiled again.
He wondered then if there was anything between them, Merlin and Gwen. She was protective of him, always defending him to Arthur. Merlin certainly liked her - and with good reason, who wouldn't fall for such a pretty girl? And of course, they were both low born.
It made sense. So had Gwen kissed Merlin, had Merlin folded her in his arms and pressed his mouth to Gwen's? Did Merlin even know how to kiss a girl? The thought made Arthur queasy.
Arthur had thought, from the way Gwen shivered in his embrace outside the Dread King's castle, that she had never been kissed. But then Gwen had turned flirtatious, gamely playing her part, kissing him in turn, stroking the back of his neck. So maybe it was only nerves, at kissing him, Arthur, the King.
"There's no pot for stew," Gwen said.
"I'll make a spit," said Arthur and escaped to cut green wood. After that he took his axe and cut older wood to burn slow and long through the night. As he returned, good dry oak and beech piled under one arm, Gwen looked up from tending the spitted meat, and smiled at him.
Habitual courtesy bade him smile in return. And the moment lasted a little longer than it might, until the fire spat and they each turned away, she to the rabbit, he to walked the border of their small camp, and think of secrets and care.
Xxxx
"Will you marry," he asked her later, sprawled in one elbow on his spread cloak, the second rabbit roasting over the fire on its frame of green twigs. The privilege of a king, to ask such a question and expect it answered.
"I don't know," she said. "Nobody's ever asked."
He could not bring himself to make some gallant comment of outrage. But Merlin was truly a fool, it seemed.
"Will you?" she asked him.
He tore at a rabbit leg with his teeth. "I must. And soon. Lives are short these days, and Camelot must have an heir."
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
"Nobody's asked me yet though, either" he said, grinning to show it was a joke.
Her answer was more grimace than smile. "It is for you to do the asking, my lord. You are the man."
"True. But I'm more likely to be propositioned by some crinkly old chancellor." He grinned at her confusion. "I mean I will be drawing up a contract, not swooning on a hearth rug." Moves were already in hand for it, in fact.
Gwen sighed.
"What?"
"A hearth rug would be nice. For the cold I mean. I didn't mean. Never mind."
"You do say some peculiar things, Guinevere."
"Sorry my lord."
"Arthur. Please. We're in the forest and nobody in a hundred miles cares what we do." That came out a little wrong, he thought. "I mean if you call me by my name. I don't mind."
She dropped her empty leg bone into the fire with a hiss. Arthur reached across with his knife and speared her another piece. "Thank you." She bit into the tender meat, and juices ran down her chin. She wiped her face with her hand, then unashamedly licked her fingers. "This is good."
"I'm glad."
She smiled, a glowing smile. He flashed back to her in his arms, her blissful face, her radiant eyes as she drew back to look up at him...
Was that what Merlin saw? Arthur shook himself. Gwen was not for him.
The wind stirred the trees far above their heads. The motion settled gradually through the forest bringing chill down to their little camp, and to the back of Arthur's neck.
He reached into his pack. "Here," he said producing a leather bottle. "Mead. It'll keep us warm," he added briefly, aware that offering drink to a servant, and a woman, was a rather awkward thing.
She took the bottle, drank, wiped the flask's mouth on her sleeve, and handed it back. He drank likewise, his eyes on her. He held out the bottle again, the neck still moist from his sip. She gazed at him, serious as she often was, and wrapped her hand around the bottle. She put her lips where his had just been, and saw that thought in his eyes too.
She cast about for something, anything to say to dum the heat that was rising between them. Her eye lighted on his sword, ready as always beside him. "How do you face battle, knowing every time that you might die?"
Arthur paused before answering. "I don't wsnt to die," he said. "Fear of death is natural. But you must ignore thst fear if you're going to fight."
She shivered. "I have been a soldier for a brief moment, and I didn't like it."
"I remember your skill." It had been the battle which had revealed Merlin's true nature. Gwen had stood sword in hand beside Arthur in defense of magic, little knowing that magic stood between them, had been fighting for them and Camelot since the day he arrived there. Merlin nearly died trying to protect Arthur without magic, and then the moment came: reveal or let Arthur be killed. "You fought bravely. And took a wound, if I recall."
"A surface wound," she said, indicating a spot in her shoulder. "My only foray into war."
"You earned your battle scar all the same."
"Not so many as you." She cast her gaze over him and sighed again.
"I am a warrior."
"And you fight often." Her hand went to her lip. She glanced away, as if hiding a blush.
"I must." What were they talking about here, he wondered? About scars, of course, but it seemed to him that they were also taking about that kiss.
Perhaps it was only that they sat so close together. That and the mead confused their talk.
"Whar would seem a mortal injury, to me, is only a surface wound to you," she said.
"Not so," he said slowly. "Any cut can kill."
"Even a surface wound?" she asked.
"There is no such thing as an unimportant cut." Or kiss. Did she understand?
She sighed.
Their faces were close together. Her eyes brightened, flared in the firelight. "Arthur," she said. His name in that moment became new, never before heard.
He had kissed her the previous night, a false kiss, for an audience. A little foolish, perhaps, the plan of a young man who enjoyed risk and daring, but it had not seemed dangerous. Here, though, was only Guinevere, and her gentle beauty spelled great danger for him, because acting is one thing and telling is quite another.
He could not tell her. How could he? It would only sound like an obligation, like he was telling her so that she would declare herself, tell him that he might do as he liked. It would only sound like a king speaking and not a man.
If only it were possible just to look one's heart into another's eyes and have them know the truth.
Merlin could probably do that, with magic.
Don't think about Merlin.
"We should bed down for the night," he said. "I mean you should. Get some sleep. I'll watch until after the wolf hour."
She nodded.
Neither of them moved.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I would never let harm come to you."
"Or I to you. On my watch."
"No."
God, it was awkward, this talking about several things at once. He wasn't even completely sure that was what they were doing. Court girls tended to be a little less subtle: the favours of a king were much in demand. Princesses were the worst, essentially viewing courtship as a stage to be got through quickly in order to reach an alliance.
Guinevere was not like any of those women. And when she spoke of a wound, she seemed to feel its hurt.
"You're safe," he repeated, and touched her arm as he might a young squire, to reassure.
She looked down at his fingers on her sleeve. Then she raised her eyes and looked pure longing at him, a look so intense that Arthur felt its answer deep in his heart. "There is always danger," she murmured. "But thank you. Arthur."
"Guinevere," he began.
A wolf howled far away. Arthur reached for his sword. "Sleep," he said. "I'll wake you."
The Dread King's fiends attacked as the wolf hour thinned and became the reign of the blackbird and robin. Arthur slept, his hand on his sword. He dreamed of a glaring desert, he riding a strange beast, travelling alone, looking for something precious he had lost.
"Arthur." Gwen's breath was warm in his ear. "Wake up. But do not stir. We are surrounded."
He opened his eyes. She crouched close beside him. She put her palm over his mouth as he began to question. He shut up and cautiously looked about.
There were eyes, red eyes dotting the edge of the clearing. He heard rough snorts, and the rasp of claws.
"The Dread King," whispered Gwen.
Arthur nodded. He could maker him out, a leathery demon larger than the rest.
The King made directly for Gwen. "Maiden," he said. "You deceiver. You would leave my house in the night like some woman of shame? I do not give you that option!"
"Stay behind me," said Arthur to Gwen.
"Behind or in front I will have her," said the Dread King, cackling. His winged fiends laughed horribly.
"We're trapped," said Gwen. "If I go with him then maybe-"
"Don't be ridiculous," said Arthur.
She smiled at him gratefully. "Let me stand beside you. I can fight too. I am not afraid of a wound if you are here."
"No-"
But she was light and swift and had leapt into the circle, brandishing her short sword.
The Dread King lunged for her, no knife, only his claws.
"No," said Arthur, barging Gwen aside. The King raked his claws the length of Arthur's right leg. Arthur grunted in pain, but even as he fell, he thrust his sword with practised accuracy into the demon's heart.
All the fiends shrieked at once.
"Retreat," croaked the Dread King. "Retreat!"
The fiends beat their grotesque wings, and lifted into the sky, their wounded king carried among them, and before Gwen reached Arthur's side, they wee gone.
Arthur collapsed on the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked, stretching his leg out in front of him. "He got you, I think. Your arm."
Gwen felt her wrist. "It's nothing."
"Good. Ah..."
Gwen exclaimed. "Your leg!"
IHe looked and saw spreading blood. "Oh..."
Gwen began ripping strips from her petticoat. "Stay still. Let me."
"Where's my sorcerer when I need him?" said Arthur. He swallowed down pain.
"I can help," said Gwen.
"No, no -" He wound the bandages around his thigh and knee himself. "See? Done. You didn't need to help." And she had already done so much, the fire, the rabbit, the very sword that defeated the Dread King. The smile that had kept him warm all through his watch.
"No," said Gwen.
"We - I was foolish to lead us here, on our own." Spending the night alone with her! And Gwen was nearly kidnapped by a fiend.
"Yes."
"Let's get out of this forest, though. Before anything else happens."
Looking up he saw hurt in Gwen's eyes. He thought of their almost kiss over the campfire, their almost indiscretion, and wondered about surface wounds.