Chapter 7: Infatuation

Gwen could feel Lancelot's eyes following her around the room as she searched for her measuring tape. Or at least, that was what she was pretending to be doing, needing to collect her thoughts before facing him again.

Throughout the afternoon, she'd grown increasingly nervous about the idea of actually meeting him. Still feeling self-conscious about their first encounter, she'd worried that although he'd been deeply asleep at the time, he'd somehow be able to see some evidence of it on her face. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

Even when she'd finally been able to reassure herself that it was silly to be concerned over that, she'd remained convinced that she'd embarrass herself in some other way.

I'll be clumsy and awkward or say the wrong thing like I always do, she'd thought dismally. And then he'd give her that look she'd seen a dozen times before. He'd look at her with kindness or pity and then she'd know he'd never see her as anything more than a sweet person, maybe even a friend if she were lucky.

She'd thought she'd grown used to it by now. For some reason though, imagining that happening with Lancelot had been unbearable.

You don't know anything about him, except that he was kind to Merlin and wants to be a knight, she'd reminded herself sternly. You've never even seen him awake, Gwen. You've never talked to him, never heard him speak... why should it matter what he thinks of you?

By the time Merlin and Lancelot had arrived, she'd been watching for them for half an hour. She'd imagined a dozen possible introductions by then, most of which had involved her saying something utterly ridiculous and humiliating herself.

When the moment had come, however, it had been unlike anything she could've ever expected.

She had looked up into Lancelot's eyes, so much more captivating than any of the possibilities she'd considered. They were a deep shade of brown – soft, gentle, honest eyes, fringed with thick lashes. Beautiful, but that's not what had struck her dumb, leaving her unable to speak for what had seemed an endless time.

It had been the look in those eyes. She knew that look. It was one she'd seen directed at Morgana many times, though never at herself. Lancelot had gazed at her as if he were mesmerized, like she was the only person in the world.

Somehow she'd found her voice, surprised to discover no trace of the stutter that normally affected her around men she didn't know.

Unfortunately, Lancelot hadn't been so lucky; his voice had caught in his throat as he'd tried to respond. He'd seemed, shy, embarrassed, completely unsure as to what to say or do. Having felt that way countless times herself, she'd felt a rush of sympathy, doing her best to put him at ease with an understanding smile.

He'd felt that way over her, she realized again, feeling slightly giddy. He'd been nervous to the point of being tongue-tied over the way her presence had affected him. It would've been impossible to believe if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes.

The most surprising part was the way it had made her feel... confident and beautiful, something she never felt around men. For the first time, she hadn't been worried about seeming awkward herself. She'd only been focused on trying to put him at ease.

Even more amazing was the realization that she still felt that way.

"Found it!" she called in mock triumph, pulling the measuring tape from its usual spot.


Lancelot tried not to fidget as the lovely girl knelt at his feet, taking measurements of his lower half. To his embarrassment, his body had reacted the moment she'd touched him, and he was terrified she'd recognize what seemed like a very obvious bulge in his trousers. He cringed as she wrapped her measuring tape around his upper thigh, dangerously close to the area that had him so concerned.

What will she think of me if she notices? he wondered anxiously. I'll seem like a complete lecher. She'll probably order me out of her house!

He tried to speak and provide some sort of distraction, finding it necessary to pause and clear his throat as he stumbled over the first word. "Th... this is very kind of you, er..."

"Gwen," she said, flashing him a brilliant smile as she rose to measure him from wrist to shoulder.

"Gwen," he repeated.

"Short for Guinevere."

"Ah. Then thank you... Guinevere." The name definitely suited her – elegant and beautiful.

"Don't thank me," she said brightly as she moved around to measure the breadth of his shoulders. "Thank Merlin."

Lancelot had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room until Gwen mentioned his name, feeling a little guilty as he shot his friend a look of gratitude. Merlin waved away the praise with a self-conscious smile.

"Sorry, can you raise your arms?" she said, and the rest of the world disappeared all over again as he did as she asked, feeling her arms wrap around him from behind. In truth, she was barely touching him. It was not the first time he'd had his measurements taken and what she was doing wasn't any different than the elderly seamstress back in the village had done.

And yet it was another thing entirely. Her fingers, her touch, were softer and more gentle. He could feel her warmth against his back, catch the scent of her hair as she moved around him. She smelled of lavender and sunshine, sweet and utterly intoxicating. Everything about her aroused his senses in a way that nothing else had ever done before.

"I think it's great that Merlin's gotten you this chance," she told him, wrapping the measuring tape around his neck. "We need men like you."

"You do?"

Gwen paused for a heartbeat, gazing up at him with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers. And then seeming flustered, she gave herself a shake. "Well, not me personally, but you know... Camelot. Camelot needs knights."

Of course. He shook his head in embarrassment, hoping he hadn't made her feel too uncomfortable. That was the last thing he would've wanted and not only because he felt so drawn to her. She was being more than kind; he'd have wanted to make her feel at ease regardless.

"... not just Arthur and his kind, but ordinary people like you and me."

She smiled up at him as she finished and suddenly, he couldn't help but grin back. "Well, I'm not a knight yet, my lady."

"And I'm not a lady," she replied with a blush and a giggle that left him giddy.

"Sorry, my..." Addressing her that way felt natural, something that came to him without conscious thought. He wanted to say something else, but then his mind went blank… there was a moment of flustered panic just before she rescued him.

"Okay, we're done," she said, as if there had been no awkward silence at all. "I should have these ready in no time. Nice to meet you, Lancelot."

She extended a hand to shake his, but on impulse, he lifted her fingers to kiss them instead.

When he raised his eyes to her face again, he knew it had been the right thing to do. There was something vulnerable in her expression, leaving him with the feeling that even though she'd managed to hide it better than he had, the attraction between them was definitely mutual.

He found it nearly impossible to take his eyes off her, even when Merlin clapped him lightly on the back, letting him know it was time to leave. Finally turning away with a great deal of reluctance, he was already missing her face the moment he shut the door behind him.


"She seems lovely," he commented as they were making their way back to Gaius's chamber. "Guinevere."

Of course, Merlin would know exactly who he was talking about either way, but it was nice to have an excuse to say her name again.

"Oh yeah, she is. And the best seamstress in Camelot, I promise."

And then as if from out of nowhere, he remembered Gaius mentioning Merlin's visit to Gwen that morning, remarking that the two of them were close. He shouldn't be allowing himself to feel the things he was feeling if her heart belonged to someone else… especially if that person was a friend.

"Are you two…?"

Thankfully, Merlin laughed at the suggestion. "No, no. Just friends."

That prompted a huge sigh of relief, which he did his best to disguise as a yawn. Even though he barely knew Gwen, might very well be getting ahead of himself, he'd never felt such a strong attraction to anyone in his life. He hated the idea of having to stifle those feelings, especially if they might be reciprocated.

Merlin gave him a sideways glance. "Are you trying to say you might like her?"

"Well, of course I like her. She seems like a nice person. I really appreciate her help… and yours, of course."

"You know what I mean."

He shrugged, pretending not to notice Merlin's knowing grin.


It was going to be another sleepless night, Gwen realized as she arranged bolts of cloth and sewing materials on the table. Lancelot would need a tabard, of course. Having seen his clothing, she decided he'd also need new trousers and shirt if he was going to give the overall appearance of nobility. His boots weren't so bad, newly polished and of decent quality. But everything else was too simple to be convincing.

Not that she thought there was anything wrong with the way he looked, of course. It was just that she'd been around nobles her whole life and knew how particular they could be about such things.

She'd been focused on practical matters since the men had left, gathering materials together, preparing a light supper, then carrying a plate of food over to her father, who'd be working late at his forge as he usually did. Now that everything was settled, however, and she'd sat down to sew the blue and red badge of the house of Northumbria, her mind began to wander.

Lancelot is attracted to me. There was no denying it, he'd made it blatantly obvious in every possible way. She still felt giddy, remembering how he'd gazed at her as if she were some ravishing beauty, listening to every word she'd spoken as if it were of paramount importance.

It was amazing to realize that plain, shy little Guinevere could have such an effect on someone… especially someone like him.

From time to time, she'd stop what she was doing to rub the place where his lips had touched the back of her hand, imagining it all over again. His kiss had been firm but gentle, warm breath tickling her skin and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. It had been something so small, yet she was still feeling it hours later.

She couldn't make excuses for what had happened in Gaius's chamber anymore. Now that she'd truly met Lancelot, there was no denying she was attracted to him... and had been right from the beginning.

In the bright light of day, he was even more handsome than she'd imagined when she'd seen him sleeping in a dimly lit room, sweating and pallid in the aftermath of fever. He was taller than she'd assumed, a full head above herself. Slender, yet strong and broad shouldered, she'd been able to feel the hard muscles under her fingertips as she'd taken his measurements.

Perhaps Merlin was right about him being such a good fighter. He certainly had the kind of body that could only come from long hours of training. And training, of course, meant skill.

I suppose we'll find out soon enough, she mused to herself.

As the night deepened, she wondered if he was asleep, hoping nerves weren't keeping him awake and that Arthur wouldn't intimidate him too much in the morning. She hoped the new clothing would help him feel more confident, serving as a reminder that he deserved this opportunity as much as any other man.

The tabard needed to be orange with the red and blue patch of Northumbria stitched to the front. Not colors she might have chosen herself, but necessary to give the appearance of authenticity. Meanwhile, the trousers would have to be black; any other color would clash with the already dubious combination.

But the shirt wouldn't even be visible under tabard and mail, giving Gwen her choice of colors. White, she decided. Yes, white would complement Lancelot's dark coloring, emphasizing his deeply tanned skin and rich brown hair and eyes.

As she measured and cut the fabric, she was distracted by thoughts of his appearance, picturing his face again in her mind. She lost all concentration as she remembered his eyes, gazing down at her with a gentle intensity that had taken her breath away. And that led to musings upon his lips, of course, surprisingly soft when they'd touched her skin. His smile, the way it had lit up his face and made her feel as if...

"Ouch!" she cried aloud, her daydreams rudely disrupted by a sharp stab of pain and the sight of blood welling from her finger. Scolding herself for her carelessness, she bandaged the cut with a discarded strip of fabric, resolving to remain focused on her sewing for the rest of the evening.

Easier said than done, she thought to herself with a resigned sigh.