On the edge of something beautiful
I find my eyes tracking her movements throughout the hall. She's so graceful, so delicate. Not like a servant. Never like a servant.
She moves like nobility.
"Arthur, are you listening to me?" my father's voice cuts into the study I am making of Guinevere as she circulates, filling goblets and fetching napkins or cutlery.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry Father, no, I wasn't," I decide to try honesty and see where it gets me.
He sighs, exasperated. "Honestly, Arthur, if you are going to be a good king one day you are going to have to learn to pay attention when people are speaking to you."
Right.
"Yes, Father," I answer obediently.
Where'd she go?
"What were you saying?" I ask.
"Oh, never mind. Are you enjoying your feast?"
"Yes, very much. I liked the fire-eaters. Much better than that awful bear-baiter you got last year."
"More wine, my lord?" Her voice is like music dipped in honey.
"Yes, thank you," I say, sliding my goblet over closer to her. If she reached across me I don't think I would be able to control my actions.
She pours, and I turn my head, "casually" looking around the banquet. Really I'm turning my head toward her to inhale her lavender scent.
I only know it's lavender because I asked her once. She showed me the flower. Delicate and purple on a long, slender stem, silvery-green leaves. It's now my favorite flower. I never thought I would have a favorite flower.
But I never thought I would have a Guinevere, either.
"Happy birthday, Arthur," she somehow manages to whisper in my ear before she vanishes in a swirl of lavender scent and lavender skirts.
"Yes, that bear-baiter was a bit of a disappointment," my father agrees, resuming our conversation now that our cups have been filled. "The bear was clearly ill."
"It was funny when it fell asleep in the middle of the act, though," I chuckle, remembering the one highlight from last year's birthday feast.
She pauses to chat with Merlin a minute. What are they talking about? She looks a little nervous about something. Merlin's nodding, reassuring her of… what?
What, damn it? She's blushing now. Why on earth would she blush for Merlin?
"Arthur, are you all right? You seem distracted." Morgana's bothering me now, coming to sit beside me from her seat on the other side of my father.
"Just tired," I lie. I feel fine. But I am distracted by the beautiful doe that is my Guinevere. "Didn't sleep well last night, and training was long today."
Morgana absently fingers the strange gold bracelet she's been wearing constantly now. "You should have Gaius prepare you a draught. Might help you rest tonight," she suggests.
"I think this wine should do the trick, actually," I say, lifting my glass and toasting her silently with it before taking a drink.
Of course my eyes are trained on a slender neck, kissed by a few disobedient curls that have slipped from their pins.
To be one of those curls for even an hour.
"Well, perhaps tomorrow morning you can sleep in a bit. Surely you can afford to take one morning off," she suggests, smiling.
I shrug noncommittally, still wondering about Merlin and Gwen's conversation. I'm not jealous. Am I? No, I'm not. I know they are friends. Merlin knows how I feel about her, and he would never do anything like that to me. Not even because I'd kill him. He just wouldn't. Because I don't think that he could.
Damn, I lost her again. I make a sweep of the hall. She's gone. Perhaps she went to the kitchens to refill her jug.
xXx
I stumble to my room, not quite drunk but not quite sober. Warm, head slightly fuzzy.
She never came back to the feast. That saddens me.
I open the doors and enter my room, looking for Merlin.
"Merlin?"
"He's not here."
Wait. Maybe I am drunk after all. "G-Guinevere?"
"I… I asked him if he would like the night off…" she says shyly. "I, um, told him that I would attend you tonight. I hope you don't mind."
She did what? Is that what they were talking about? It would explain the blushing…
I stand there, gaping like an idiot, while she wrings her hands nervously.
Say something.
"No, I don't mind at all," I finally say. I'm still standing just inside the doors. I finally look around. She has a warm fire crackling in the fireplace, candles lit, my… oh, gods… bed turned down and my night clothes laid out.
She smiles nervously and turns away for a moment, pouring water into a goblet. On impulse, I reach back and slide the bolt in place across the doors, locking us in. I don't know what she has in mind, but whatever it is, I do not want to be interrupted.
I finally will my feet into action. "What about Morgana? Don't you need to attend her?"
"She is under the impression that I am not feeling well," she says lightly. "Apparently something I had for lunch is not agreeing with me and I am at home hugging a bucket."
I laugh now, watching her putter around, moving efficiently, effortlessly arranging things that do not need arranging, placing another log on the fire, plumping my pillows.
I reach for her hand, my thumb stroking the back of her hand lightly. Her hands are not silky-soft, like Morgana's or a Lady's hands, but I wouldn't have them any other way. Those hands have comforted me too many times for me to wish them different.
"Would you like to change clothes, my lord?" she asks, blushing slightly. She is trying to remain cool, act as my servant for the night, but I can see her struggling. Because I'm fighting the same battle.
"I think I can manage by myself," I say, not wanting to make this any more difficult that it already is.
"I can assist," she presses quietly, and before I know it, she is loosening the belt. In a flash, it is gone and set neatly on a table.
"If you sit, I'll remove your boots," she says, her voice still quiet.
I am her puppet. So I sit. My brain is no longer following my orders. It belongs to her, just as the rest of me does.
I hold out my foot and she removes my boot, then we repeat the actions with my other foot. She even removes my socks.
I hope my feet don't smell too badly. I had a bath this afternoon, so I should be all right. She stares at my bare feet a moment, then stands, holding her hands out. I place my hands in hers and she pulls me to my feet.
Before I know it, my shirt is off. Her efficiency is almost unsettling. Morgana is lucky to have her as a servant, and she probably doesn't even realize it. I should have Merlin attend her for an evening; then she'd know that Guinevere is a treasure.
"Um, I'll just do the trousers myself," I say, grabbing my sleeping trousers and disappearing behind my changing screen.
This is no good at all. My body is already getting ideas that it probably shouldn't be having, and the soft cotton of my sleeping trousers is doing a very poor job of disguising the semi-aroused state I seem to be in.
Think about jousting. No, that's no good, not jousting. Too much thrusting and long poles. Merlin. Think about Merlin. Gaius. Even better, Gaius. Gaius and… socks. Yes. Socks. Gaius wearing socks.
Better.
I emerge from behind the screen and Gwen takes my trousers and sets them in the basket with the rest of my laundry.
"Is there anything else you require, my lord?"
"Only that you stop addressing me by my title, Guinevere." I hate it when she does that. I understand why she does it, but that doesn't mean I like it.
She looks away and says nothing. Now I'm afraid I've hurt her feelings.
"Guinevere," I say, my voice soft. "I do need one more thing."
"Of course," she says, her soft brown eyes returning to me.
"I need a goodnight kiss," I say.
"Aren't you going to put a shirt on?" she asks, not moving yet.
I step towards her. "No. I sometimes get too warm." That's the truth, actually. The fact that I'll likely get to feel her hands on my bare skin is just a bonus.
"Oh," she says. I pull her into my arms rather suddenly and she repeats, "Oh!"
She is so beautiful. It amazes me that I never noticed this until a few short years ago. How could I have missed it?
My hands slide on her back, and I bring one up to gently cradle the back of her head as I claim her lips with my own.
Her arms are bent, pinned between us, and her palms are resting on my chest. I feel her fingers curl into my chest hair, and I boldly deepen the kiss, parting her succulent lips with my tongue. She accepts it into her mouth, actually sucking hungrily on it for a moment before sliding her own sweet tongue against mine.
Her hands move slightly, caressing my chest now, and one comes up around my neck. Bravely I move the arm around her waist, sliding my hand down to come to rest on her backside. She whimpers but does not stop kissing me. I lean into her, feel the muscles in her body shift as she clings to my neck.
All thoughts of Gaius and his socks are a distant memory, and my hips press against her of their own accord. I'm certain she can feel my arousal against her when she whimpers again and I feel the small, sharp bite of her fingernails as they dig into my chest.
Where is my bed? I peep open one eye. We are frighteningly close to it. Her fingers lace into my hair now and my feet move until we are right beside the bed.
I've never kissed her quite like this. We were getting there at the picnic, before we were interrupted, but this is…
Wait, stop. Remember she was almost killed because of this.
I pull away, gently. Resting my head on hers, I whisper, "You should probably go before I do something I shouldn't." We are both breathing heavily, both overly warm, both still clinging to each other.
"We've already done several things we shouldn't," she answers. She has a point.
"Guinevere, if you don't leave now, I'm going to lay you down on that bed and make love to you. Probably all night long."
Did I just say that out loud?
She exhales, a long breath released, blowing hot against my neck. I can feel her conflict.
"I want you to make love to me," she whispers. "I do, even though I know we shouldn't."
Again, neither of us moves. I don't think either one of us wants to decide.
She almost died for less. I can't risk her life again. I slowly release her with a shuddering sigh.
"Would have been a hell of a birthday present," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
She giggles slightly at this, but I can sense disappointment on her.
"After what happened, I cannot risk it. No matter how much I want it. How much I want you."
"I know," she sighs, her hands smoothing her dress, her hair. "I suppose I should say 'thank you,' but somehow I feel…"
"Cheated," I supply. Because I feel the same way. She nods.
I steal one more kiss before I allow her to slip away, watching her walk to the door. She sees the locked bolt and smirks at me over her shoulder.
"Goodnight, Guinevere," I say. "And it was still the best birthday gift ever, do not doubt that, my love."
She smiles. "Happy birthday, my lord," she answers. There is something different about how she said "my lord" this time. It sounded like an endearment this time. A seduction. She grants me one last smile before sliding the bolt and exiting, heading out into the night to her small house.
I'd love to be able to hide out there again sometime. Her bed is narrow, but I think we'd manage it. She's tiny.
I can't sleep now. I'm wide awake and frustrated. She brought me right to the edge of something beautiful and I had to step away, for her safety.
It's supremely frustrating, and I am well aware that I'll have to do something about my situation before I can sleep. Again. The memories are fresh in my mind, and I savor them.
Because one day.