Wimbledon

As expected, the reaction to Arthur's surprising loss was huge. Masses of photographers went wild, cornering him as he left the court. From Guinevere's seat, she could tell he was emotional. It pained her to watch him look so...forlorn.

"I wasn't expecting that," Mithian commented, idly admiring her nails. Gwen thought she would be angry with Arthur: but apparently not, "Mordred Waters has really brought his game up."

"Arthur didn't give up, though. That's the most important thing. He fought until the end." Gwen articulated. She watched Arthur as he passed their private box.

"Son!" Uther's cold tone wasn't particularly loud, but everyone in the box quietened for him to speak. Typical.

Arthur lifted his head and stopped in front of the team. He avoided his father's stare momentarily, and glanced up to Gwen. She shot him the most comforting look she could manage, but she could see the overwhelming disappointment in his eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes.

His gaze flickered to his irate-looking father. It was a situation where, had it been portrayed in a cartoon, the characters would all gulp nervously in an over-exaggerated manner. Awkwardly, the father and son made eye contact, and leaning closer, Uther made sure he was in full paparazzi view. Whispering in his son's ear, the older Pendragon's expression was so obviously angry. The paps were having a field day - Gwen wanted nothing more than to jump heroically in front of them and steal away the attention from the private moment between the two.

With that, Arthur moved away from his father. Gwen had no idea what had been said, but she was concerned - especially as Arthur quickly moved away, into the changing rooms. Gwen jumped up to go after him - but suddenly realised that she may not be allowed. She'd never been in this position before.

Mithian soon reassured her. With a small tug of a smile on her perfectly inked lips, she nodded at Gwen.

"Go after him, Guinevere. He'll be hurting like a bitch."

And so, Gwen took off out of their open box and coursed through the interior of the club. She wasn't exactly sure where he would be - it was a choice between his private changing room, the massage room, or the physio's office. Going with her instincts, the petite brunette stormed down a sloping corridor, where Arthur's small changing room was located. Pushing open the door, she peeked inside tentatively.

No one.

Arthur's racket bag and personal bag were gone - as well as the hoodie he nearly always kept on his door. Gwen stepped inside, inhaling the welcoming smell of his rich aftershave. The totally overwhelming, beautifully warming, intoxicating scent...

Gwen shook her head. Focus. Find Arthur.

It took Gwen another ten minutes to search the physio and massage rooms, where, surprisingly, Arthur was absent from.

"Have you seen Arth - Mr Pendragon?" Gwen corrected herself, as she asked the tight-lipped receptionist. The blonde raised her eyebrows at what she was wearing, before adjusting her classes.

"Mr Pendragon left the building roughly about 15 minutes ago, pretty much immediately after he was knocked out of the tournament. I can't give away personal details, however."

The woman turned back to her desktop computer with a smirk. Gwen felt a small bubble of rage.

"No! If you know where he is I need to know! Please!" Her voice took on a desperate tone, however, it caused the woman behind the reception desk to pause. She glanced at her fiery client before resting her pen on the desk and sighing.

"He stormed out of the doors and went west. He didn't take his car. Is that alright for you?" The receptionist mumbled, intruiged by Gwen's sudden change of expression. Gwen herself felt elated as she realised where he would be - and she thanked the receptionist profusely before running as fast as her size five feet could.

The stream of profanities running through Arthur's thoughts were completely out of character for the blonde, but he didn't care. He sat at the bottom of Wimbledon tube station, hidden away from the busy circulation of tube passengers that had just left the match. As hidden as Arthur was, he was no fool - he could sense the overwhelming air of disappointment.

Disappointment from the fall of a worshipped hero. The fall of Arthur Pendragon, the failure of the boy who was never loved.

Wallowing in self-despair, he hugged his knees in an attempt to keep warm - Gaius's constant ramblings about lactic acid were suddenly heeded. As Arthur sat in the said position, he began to think deeply about his past. Random memories flooded into his mind - Uther forcing him to go to his tennis lesson when it was storming, Uther taking a business meeting in the middle of his first match and missing him win, Uther refusing to speak to him for a week after he pulled out of a match with a knee injury.

Is it worth it? Is it worth losing so many things? I've lost my family, my pride, normality.

Minutes passed, and Arthur watched from his hiding place at the bottom of the tube line as the station gradually emptied. Wimbledon was never particularly busy - generally the place was rather tranquil, if you omitted the crowds that suddenly appeared through June.

"I guess I've returned the favour."

Flipping his head around, Arthur blinked. The figure of none other than Guinevere stood merely metres away from him. Appreciatively, he smiled at her. Basked in the dimming sunlight, she really was something to behold. The curls. The curves. The muscular legs. The smile. The collarbone. The eyes. The lips. She was beautiful. Of course, Arthur thought, the only person to seek him out and make him feel better was Guinevere. She wasn't in the game for sex, or money, like Vivian was, and she didn't rotate her life around her work, like Mithian. She wasn't fake, like most of his friends, and she certainly wasn't ruthless, like his father.

She was just Guinevere.

"What do you mean, returned the favour?" Arthur's reply was quick and hastened, and Gwen noticed. She sighed and slid onto the ground next to him, shuffling around until she was comfortable.

"This isn't the first time we've been sitting in this station alone, Arthur." Gwen replied, jolting Arthur's memory. He remembered how upset she'd been after he'd insulted their doubles partnership and frowned.

"I remember. Less than three weeks ago. How things have changed." He said solemnly, glancing over at Guinevere's pondering face. He stretched a warm hand out and interlinked his fingers with hers, causing Gwen to shift in surprise. At first, Arthur felt like he was the same ten-year-old boy again, becoming so nervous about asking his first crush, Sophia, to go to the park with him, that he'd sweated until his hands were clammy. Naturally she'd squealed and giggled and ran off to tell her friends - but after one playdate at the park, he'd become bored of her.

But this feeling, Arthur thought to himself, as Guinevere's soft fingertips stroked over his knuckles, I will never get bored of this.

"I'm really proud of what you did. You shouldn't ever be disappointed with your performance." Guinevere's voice was like the sound of an angel singing to Arthur's ears. He let a smile settle on his face, and looked over at her.

"You're so positive. I love it." Arthur remarked, casually leaning further back against the wall. Gwen laughed.

"I need to be with you around! Your face when you left the court..."

Arthur shot her a pointed look, to which she replied with an expression of amusement.

"Are you not ready to laugh about it yet?"

"Guinevere, you do realise that my father most probably wants my head right now, don't you?" Arthur said, shaking his head bemusedly.

Gwen shrugged, a very suggestive, let's be bad shrug.

"I don't care, Arthur," Gwen replied, with a small laugh as she gazed at their linked hands, "as much as I would like to respect your father, he doesn't seem to give me the same expression."

Arthur looked as if he wanted to disagree...but stopped himself, quickly bringing himself to take heed of the harsh realisation that his father was a very prejudiced man. He licked his lips as defeat washed over him.

"You're right." Arthur admitted, gazing at his companion. You always are.

And so, Arthur and Guinevere went on their first date. Of course, it wasn't much. Arthur had refused to go back to Wimbledon to fetch his car, so they'd merely called into a nearby off license with a twenty pound note. 2 bottles of Gatorade, a large bag of pretzels and a tub of Hagen Daaz later, the pair had somehow managed to amble to an empty field of luscious green terrain, dotted with stray poppies. Gwen dumped her knitted jumper onto the ground and dropped down onto it, crossing her legs as she went. Arthur followed, eyeing Guinevere's exposed skin beadily.

"You'll get cold..." He mused, debating whether to give her his (sweaty) hoodie. Gwen raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"I won't."

Her reply: confident, succint...Guinevere in a nutshell, Arthur decided. He handed her some Gatorade, and they both simultaneously snapped open the lids, taking long swigs.

"It's the semi tomorrow." Gwen broke the silence, watching out across the field as birds frequented the sky. Arthur's reply was non-existent; he looked out over the field also, and rested his chin on his hand. Following his gaze, Gwen noted that he was staring so intensely at the tallest poppies in the field that it was if they would disappear, were he to remove his gaze.

The tallest poppies. Gwen's gaze settled on them also. They were taller than the others, and the petals brighter. However, the great height of the plants came with the fragility of the stems. They swayed in the breeze, unsteadily, and it was if one turn of bad weather could rip each plant out of the soil brutally. Pondering why they were still standing, Gwen felt her eyes focus on the wavering stems...they were intertwined.

The combination of the stems provides stability. It provides strength.

"We are stronger together!" Guinevere burst out loudly, jolting Arthur. He looked at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and confusion.

"I'm sorry?" He replied, his face softening from his earlier intensity.

"The tallest poppies are the most fragile. If the weather is bad, they could fall apart. They withstand it by intertwining their stems to generate more resistance, more strength. Similarly, the best player are, um, the also the most unstable...so they, um," Gwen began to stammer under the depth of Arthur's gaze. His eyes were filled with an emotion Gwen had never seen him wear before: one so strong that she felt herself tremble underneath it. She attempted to continue, "...unite their players and combine assets to create a force to be, uh, reckoned with."

Arthur was drawn to her. He couldn't stop it. The words pooling out of those mullberry-coloured lips dissolved into a blur. His arm reaches out to her neck, and he lets his hand wrap around it, freely and tenderly. Gwen's expression of surprise was soon replaced by one of adoration, and she let her arms naturally wrap around his torso as Arthur took control of the kiss. Their mouths moulded into one - it was if they were two pieces of a jigsaw that had been waiting for years to be finally pieced together.

After a few moments, Gwen pulled away breathlessly. She licked her lips as her cheeks tinted a deep shade of rose.

"I guess we better win tomorrow, then," Arthur commented, brushing her hair out of her face as he moved in again for another kiss.

Swinging their joined hands, Arthur and Gwen made their way out of the Wimbledon player doors, revelling in their latest victory. The match had almost been (surprisingly) easy. Their opponents, the Swedish duo Lorelai Elena and Ivor Odin, had lost their way in the first set, and several audible conflicts later, they had lost 6-2, 6-0. Elena hadn't even waited to shake Guinevere's hand - as she walked away, Arthur had firmly but politely asked her to do it. The crowd hadn't been impressed by Elena and her partner's performance, therefore the British pair's win seemed even sweeter.

For one person, however, the match hadn't gone to plan.

Uther watched the pair exit the building: a bitter taste of fury in his mouth. He swilled his glass of whisky momentarily, and downed it, before walking off back to the Executives' Box for more drink. He had strayed from his usual seat in Arthur's Team Box after the events of the other day, when Arthur had lost the Men's Singles match. Uther remained seething and disgusted by the performance; therefore he wanted to appear as cold, aloof and distant as he possibly could from his son.

During the match, Uther had been approached by Julianne Annis - one of the most powerful women in British Tennis - to discuss, of course, his son. Uther had let on his thoughts about Guinevere (or, in Uther's words, "Arthur's new common piece of ethnic trash") and how it was his belief that the girl was affecting Arthur's play. Julianne had been most supportive - her words had led Uther to seriously think about how much of a problem Guinevere could potentially be. Annis, ever so painfully honest, had suggested that Uther could perhaps...dispose...of the girl.

Uther wasn't sure whether he could do that. But in all fairness, the girl was certainly going to dispose of Arthur's career. Picking between the life of a worthless tennis desperado and the shining career of his son was easy. Uther's disappearance through the middle of the match went unnoticed, and so did his "modification" to Guinevere's car.

"I can't believe that just happened. We're in the final!" Guinevere screamed, once they were outside and no one was about. Arthur threw his arms around her in shared jubilance - she lifted onto her tip-toes so that she could curl her hands around his neck, and he nuzzled into her neck - their smiles were infectious.

"The first British mixed doubles pair to reach a final of a Grand Slam for 48 years. We actually did it, Guinevere, we've made history." Arthur beamed.

"Now, all we have to do is win. Should be easy, right?" Gwen replied, a smirk accompanying the irony in her voice. Arthur chuckled.0

"As easy as this whole tournament has been? Wow, it should be a breeze..." He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at his sardonic remarks. It truly had been a test - at first, they hadn't gelled at all. Then, he'd pissed her off. Then, his father had gotten involved, and so had Vivian, and so had alcohol. After that, Arthur had lost everything in the Singles Tournament. However, they had prevailed: a sign of a real team, and a true relationship. They reached where their cars were parked - Arthur's Bentley pretty much outshone Gwen's Volvo, but Gwen was very proud of her own vehicle. She'd used the winnings from the Regional Tour a few years ago to buy it, and it still looked as good as new. Shyly, Guinevere gazed at Arthur.

"Are you busy tonight?" The look in her eyes said everything her question did not: I can't bear to be without you for over a night, I want us to be together, I need you.

Arthur shook his head, smiling.

"Mine or yours?" He replied.

Guinevere unlocked her car, and indicated that he get in. He did so - bounding over to the passenger side, faster than he had even moved in the match. Gwen slid into the driver's seat, after dumping the four large racket bags and holdalls into the boot. She started up the car and sped out of the parking lot, escaping any lingering paparazzi. The car jolted a few times, which was odd, but Gwen took no notice. They turned out of the road running up to Wimbledon and carried on down a steep, tree-surrounded road - Arthur was glad he had his seat belt on, as Gwen seemed to be quite the reckless driver.

"Lover of speed?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as the car's speedometer reached 50. It was almost a country lane that they travelled on, taking them the scenic route from Wimbledon over to East London.
Gwen shook her head, confused.

"Arthur, I'm not even pressing the accelerator!" She said, an expression of worry flashing upon her face. Arthur's quick glace at her feet confirmed that she was indeed not.

"Maybe you should brake...this is supposed to be a slower road," He commented, as the road became less steep, but more winding. Gwen's foot hit the brake. Nothing happened apart from a low grunt resonated by the engine. She tapped it again. Nothing. Still steering the car, she floored her foot down onto the brake with all the strength she could muster.

Nothing.

"The brake won't work!" She screamed. Arthur suddenly registered the circumstances - no brakes, on a tree-ridden road, with bends and curves. The situation was ominous and extremely dangerous.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, trying to stay calm, "when I say 'now', you need to get out of the car."

"The car's still moving, Arthur! We can't get out of the car when it's still moving!" Her voice was filled with fear, and it kicked Arthur into action.

"We can! It's our only option!" He shouted, reaching across to remove Gwen's seatbelt as she continued to drive the steadily accelerating car. He then pulled the handle on her door, opening it a fraction, before doing the same for his.

As Gwen looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. Arthur could read her like a book - she didn't believe they would survive. For a moment, Arthur doubted it himself, but they could only try.

"NOW!" He yelled, throwing his door open and leaping out.

Next chapter will be posted before the end of the year - it's the final chapter. I'm so sorry for the wait and thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, I am so grateful. As for Merlin - it ends tonight, and I am currently so upset. I'm going to sob my heart out. It'll be awful. Well, the ep will be brilliant but still...I hate endings. PLEASE REVIEW! Oh, and Merry Christmas!