"Mmmwenev..."
Merlin pauses mid-stride as he walks to the king's bed to wake him for the day. His master is muttering in his sleep. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, but this utterance sounds different for some reason.
Arthur falls quiet again, and Merlin continues to the bed.
"Oh..."
Merlin raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the sleeping king before continuing over to the curtain.
"Guinev..."
Merlin stops one more, his hands frozen in place on the curtains. Leave. Just go. He feels his ears grow warm as he slowly starts to remove his fingers from the heavy drapes, but then he remembers Agravaine is expecting to meet with Arthur over breakfast. He steels himself for the angry awkwardness surely to come, and opens the curtains.
He walks over to the bed and pokes Arthur on the shoulder. He wishes he had a long stick to use, just in case he needs to make a hasty getaway. Arthur is a good king, a great man, and Merlin thinks of him as his friend, but most of the time he would rather wake a hibernating bear than the sleeping king.
Especially when the king is apparently dreaming about his favorite handmaiden. Merlin doesn't understand why he hasn't proposed marriage to her yet; he knows Arthur plans to do so. He thought that would have been one of the first things he did as king. He wonders, but knows better than to ask.
Arthur grumbles, turning away from the light, and Merlin pushes his shoulder. "Arthur."
The king shouts and flails about in bed for just a second, disoriented, which means he is immediately in attack mode. He suddenly sits up and Merlin leaps backwards, out of arms' reach.
"Merlin," he finally says, scowling. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Waking you up, Sire," Merlin answers. "As you asked me to do yesterday. You have a breakfast meeting with Lord Agravaine."
"Oh. Right." Arthur blinks, his brain shifting to reality and duty and responsibility. He looks away as he remembers what he was dreaming about before he was so rudely woken. Guinevere. She was everywhere. Over, under, around me; and I, her. The exact details of the dream evade him, but he knows enough to check that he won't embarrass himself before standing. He stretches, buying some time while thinking about his uncle to get his head – and his loins – back where they belong. "Ugh," he finally groans, running his hand through his hair and standing.
Yes, I feel the same way about Agravaine. "Not looking forward to breaking your fast with your uncle?" Merlin asks, making the Arthur's bed while he talks.
"Hmm?" Arthur replies, lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts that won't seem to go away. Get a grip, man. It's not like you've never dreamt about her before.
Merlin decides to poke the bear. "You seem distracted this morning, my lord," he dryly comments, trying to keep the grin off of his face.
"The only thing distracting me, Merlin, is your prattle," Arthur snaps. "Now come and help me dress."
"Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire," Merlin obsequiously answers. Arthur impatiently begins pulling his shirt off, and when he his head disappears, Merlin adds, "I believe Gwen will be serving at breakfast." He can't help himself.
Arthur freezes for the barest moment, but Merlin catches it and grins, chuckling to himself. He quickly schools his features when the king's head comes back into view. "Well, of course she will be. I mean, what else would she be doing?" Arthur says, avoiding his servant's eyes as he tries to appear at ease.
Really, Arthur. Is that the best you can do? Merlin decides to keep quiet, because the only thing he can think to say is, "If you would just marry her you wouldn't need to keep dreaming about her." Somehow, he thinks the comment would not be well-received.
xXx
"Really, Arthur, you really should consider the offer from Nemeth," Agravaine presses. "Rodor sent this message over a week ago, and you should reply." He waves a parchment. Arthur doesn't answer. "Arthur? Arthur, are you listening?"
The king startles, seeming to have forgotten Agravaine was even there. "Sorry, Uncle. No, I wasn't listening," he says. Guinevere walks over and refills Lord Agravaine's goblet. She glances at Arthur, and he meets her eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away, his color rising. "You were saying something about Nemeth?" he mutters, poking his food on his plate. Guinevere is still too present in his thoughts, and now, seeing her, the memories of his dream are flooding back in. Being able to see her, be near her, smell her flowery scent is suddenly both torturous and wonderful.
"Honestly. You are King now. You really should pay closer atten—" Agravaine continues to chide him.
"I am not going to entertain the offer from Nemeth," Arthur snaps. His eyes flit to Guinevere again, uneasy for more than one reason. She has no idea that Rodor has suggested Camelot and Nemeth ally through the marriage of Arthur to Princess Mithian, and he doesn't wish to discuss it in her presence. Especially because he has absolutely no intention of marrying anyone other than Guinevere.
The other reason he is uneasy, of course, is the images from his dream keep appearing in his mind's eye. He doesn't remember all the details, so the images are mainly flashes. Her eyes, her lips, soft, light brown skin, her hands touching...
"It is a good offer, and we would gain much from it," Agravaine's irritating voice cuts into Arthur's thoughts once again. "I realize your," he pauses, clearing his throat, aware of his nephew's fondness for the beautiful serving girl who is currently refilling Arthur's goblet, "er, preference may be for—"
"Agravaine," Arthur interrupts, his voice quiet but with an edge like a knife.
The lord falls silent, scowling and quickly popping some food into his mouth. He watches Arthur for a moment. He keeps glancing at the girl like he feels guilty about something. Surely not the alliance, if he says he is not going to go through with it. He watches her, but won't meet her eyes. Did he take her to his bed and regrets his actions? Did she turn him away? He looks at Guinevere. She is hovering, fulfilling her duty as a servant to the letter, as always. When she looks at Arthur, Agravaine can see her eyes soften with fondness. When she looks at Agravaine, they are filled with indifference bordering on mild disdain.
It is how most of the servants look at him, in fact. Except for Arthur's other favorite. He regards me with undisguised loathing. Of course, I feel the same way about him...
"Well," Agravaine says after a long, somewhat tense silence. "I don't think we're obliged to respond until a solid fortnight, so I'll let you think it over a bit longer," he says. "Your father would be quite pleased with this offer," he adds, just to twist the knife a little.
"My father is not here to be pleased, and this is not his kingdom anymore," Arthur retorts.
xXx
After breakfast, Arthur practically bolts for the training fields. Guinevere had hoped to get a moment with him after Lord Agravaine left, but Arthur exited first, leaving a confused Guinevere alone with Agravaine. Something she never enjoys.
"Thank you... Guinevere, is it?" the vile lord had asked. She knows he is well aware of her name; he was clearly taking his irritation with his nephew out on the maidservant. He paused a second longer and added, "You always perform your duties with such perfection. If only all our servants were as capable and efficient as you are." He placed his large, soft hand on Guinevere's shoulder and concluded with, "It is no wonder you are Arthur's favorite." He leered at her for a second, then swept from the room.
Guinevere shrugged off Agravaine's creepy behavior and went about busying herself until the end of training. She knows Arthur's schedule (Merlin keeps her informed), and tailors her duties to be able to be near him whenever possible. She passes the corridor she knows the knights use when they return from training, fresh linens in her arms, smiling and nodding at the men. Leon greets her by name; Gwaine winks at her, and Elyan pauses to talk with her a moment, asking how she is and if she will mend one of his shirts that Percival rent with his sword during the previous day's training.
"Yes, of course, just see that you get it to me," she says, her eyes searching for Arthur's familiar blonde head. Or even Merlin's familiar black one, as he is usually with the king, carrying his things.
"He went around," Elyan quietly tells her. "Took the east corridor instead. Don't know why."
"I wasn't—"
"Sure you weren't," her brother says with a smile. "He's in an odd mood today, I will say that. Distracted. Not himself. I managed to knock him down, and I never manage to knock him down."
"Do you think he's taking ill?" she asks.
"I don't know. Maybe. He seemed healthy enough. Just... his mind wasn't on the task. Leon wanted to offer to take over for him, but he knew better than to suggest it," Elyan says with a chuckle. "I'm sure he's fine, Gwen."
I'd know if I could see him. "Probably just tired," she halfheartedly agrees. She watches her brother walk away, catching up with Percival, who is always last, and puzzles over Arthur's behavior today. He would tell me if there was something wrong. She remembers Agravaine's odd, cryptic comments about an offer from Nemeth this morning, and a rather unpleasant thought occurs. She shakes her head, dismissing it. He would definitely tell me if he was thinking of marrying for the kingdom.
"Gwen?"
She wheels around to see Merlin standing there. "Merlin, you startled me..."
"Sorry. Gaius is wondering if you had any chamomile. He's running low," he explains, walking towards her.
"Yes, I think so. It's at home though," she absently answers.
"I'll walk with you. Arthur is in a mood."
"So I hear."
xXx
"Come."
Arthur's door creaks open, and Guinevere's face appears. "Arthur? May I come in?"
He sharply looks up. "Oh. Um. Of course," he answers. Normally, he would stand and meet her with a kiss on the cheek at the very least. He keeps his seat this time.
Guinevere wrings her hands. "Have I... have I done something that displeases you?" she quietly asks.
He had been avoiding her all day. Acted strangely at breakfast, went out of his way to avoid her before lunch, then dined alone in his chambers, even sending Merlin away.
Arthur deflates, feeling terrible. The dream he had that morning had really gotten under his skin. He knew he was behaving badly, but hadn't realized how deeply he had wound up hurting Guinevere.
"No, Guinevere, you haven't," he answers, standing. "You have been wonderful. As always." He walks over to her, but does not touch her.
She looks up at him. He looks... afraid. Why is he afraid of me? "What's troubling you, Arthur?" she asks.
He regards her for a moment, then reaches past her to slide the bolt on the door, locking them in. Or, more accurately, locking everyone else out.
She is being soundly kissed, held close in his arms, before she even realizes he has turned back to face her.
"Arthur," she gasps, and he takes the opportunity to open his mouth against hers, kissing her deeply, more so than he usually does.
Guinevere melts into his embrace, hanging on to his shoulders, giving in to the passion of the moment. She trust him implicitly and knows he would never do anything to compromise her honor.
They've only kissed like this a few times – twice, in fact – but she feels something different in this kiss. Something new.
Desire. Raw, hungry desire.
It excites her, but frightens her just a little, and she quietly whimpers in the back of her throat as she clings to him.
Then, he is gone. The kiss is over just as suddenly as it started.
"Sorry," he apologizes, his voice rough. He is facing away from her.
Confused, she places her hand on his shoulder blade. "Arthur?" she asks. "What's the matter? You're... confusing me. And scaring me a little."
He turns around, catching her hand and kissing it. "I am sorry, Guinevere. I don't wish to frighten you. I'm a bit..." he exhales. What am I?
"The word I've been hearing a lot today is 'distracted'," she supplies, wrapping her fingers around his hand.
Arthur nods. "Come and sit with me." He leads her to a chair and sits beside her, looking down.
"Arthur, if you feel you need to cement an alliance with Nemeth by marrying the princess, I und—"
His head snaps up. "How did you know about that? I didn't mention it to you because I am going to decline, but..."
"I pieced it together from what I heard this morning," she quietly explains. "But if it's not that, what has got you so distracted? I hate to say it, but it feels like you've been avoiding me today."
"I have," he admits.
"Why?"
Can I tell her? I cannot lie to her. "I had a... dream about you this morning," he softly says.
"Oh," she replies. Then, "Oh," as realization dawns.
He nods. "I... I don't remember the exact details... but I remember enough." His face feels warm, embarrassed to have to confess this to her.
"I see," she answers, her cheeks a bit flushed as well. "So you thought if you didn't see me..."
He nods. "And then I thought if I kissed you... but all that did was... well..." He nervously chuckles, dropping his head down again and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
Guinevere says nothing for a very long minute. "I didn't mind," she whispers.
Arthur looks up, eyes wide. "You didn't?"
She shakes her head, a small smile creeping across her face. "I'm not saying you should always kiss me like that, but... sometimes... at appropriate times... I might enjoy it." Her cheeks take on a still rosier hue, and now it is she who cannot meet his eyes.
"Guinevere," he speaks her name in a surprised whisper. "I... I said once that you always surprise me. It's good to see it still holds true." He chuckles, realizing he is feeling a little better. Not so scattered. It helped to tell her.
She laughs with him, reaching for his hand. To her surprise, he pulls her onto his lap and she makes a noise between a giggle and a yelp.
He caresses her cheek, then guides her lips towards his. "Don't be afraid," he whispers.
"I'm not," she replies. "I know my virtue is safe. I trust you."
"Good," he murmurs just before his lips meet hers again.
There is no more talking for a long while.