TITLE: The Longest Day
Author: Shabbytiger
Show: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur and Gwen
Genre: Romance
Warnings: MA for adult content later...plus set after episode 3 x 10.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, just borrowed for naughty purposes :P
Multi Chapter and Complete.
/
" No honestly, I am fine, I'm just going to go home and sleep it off." Gwen grimaced as the words fell stiffly from her lips, tension causing her back to creak in protest as she finally managed to escape the serving girls. Goodness, she wanted to scream at them to mind their own business. Ever since the Enchanted Kiss as it was now known amongst the castles scurrying masses, she could hardly move without some comment from those she barely knew, yet seemed to feel knew her intimately. Stopped at the door, turned back by encouraging smiles, she had been forced to try another route, lest she cause a scene as the girls giggled and chatted too loudly after sneaking crafty goblets of wine from the kitchen boys.
Her patience, a reliable trait most days, was rapidly snapping, and a sense of claustrophobia was started to crawl through her limbs, as each exit appeared blocked, every escape hampered. How, she mused, could the Prince leave without ceremony, yet she, a nobody, was being treated as though she were an honoured guest with whom the party could not continue without? It was ridiculous. It did not help that each person she so scrupulously tried to avoid latched on like a limpet and sought her word on Merlin, and when he was returning to the castle. When he did return, she decided, he was going to get an earful. She was not his personal message service for goodness sake. With each passing minute that dragged by, she pictured Arthur, his eager eyes fading as she still did not show. In the end it was this image that sharpened her tone and brook no argument as she firmly insisted they allow her to pass.
Her entire body was a screaming nerve ending as she all but ran to the corridor by the side of the hall, and bitter as it was to find that Arthur was not there, she could hardly blame him for giving up. Breathing hard, and clasping her hand to her throat, she scanned the way for tattling eyes, before marching toward his quarters. He deserved more, and before her courage failed her, it would be offered. The sweet light butterflies that lived in her stomach and grew wings at the merest hint of his presence were now hawks, soaring and swooping and making her giddy. She paused as a guard passed by, and she bowed her head, sure that every secret was obvious with a glance. The guard just walked on by, and she realised that this was normal. She was always running these halls at night whilst waiting on Morgana. Just a slight detour would be no real feat. With renewed confidence in her walk, she strode toward her target, hoping that he was not angry, and still wanted her company.
At his door , she hesitated. The intimacy was a little too real. Yes she had knocked on his door before, even been in his room with him unaccompanied. But now it was dark outside, and the lanterns lit, and her intentions far from innocent. The door key that her brother Elyan had gifted her with lay at her bosom, hanging from the leather thong she tried to hide amongst the neckline, and the weight of it, the cool touch of the metal, made her count to ten. She toyed with the thin silver key, letting her mind wander from its deviant course. Elyan had insisted on putting a lock on her door since his work at the forge meant a live in position, and in truth, she was relieved she still had her privacy. The lock had been a thoughtful gesture, but it would still be awhile before Elyan became a regular fixture in her life again. They had both inherited their mothers fierce independent streak, and having lived alone for so long, it was odd to have family again, and both struggled with the concept. Besides which, she avoided his forge when possible, since he favoured Tom so much, that seeing him there, in his place hurt too much some days.
Squaring her shoulders, and calling herself a coward, she raised a hand to knock on the dark wood when footsteps down the way made her jump, her hand at her throat tugging the leather thong undone easily. Embarrassed, she fell to her knees, searching beneath her feet for the thing, hating her many skirts, and terrified that she would be found here, at Arthur's door. With no reasonable explanation as to why. Thudding feet and her heartbeat deafened her, her fingers clasping metal at last. Before standing, she knew she would have to run from the guards, and that she would not dare come back. He was so close; she could knock, he may open the door and pull her inside. Or she could knock and still be waiting as the guard rounded the corner. Closing her eyes and throwing herself at the Gods mercy, she ripped a flower from her hair and wrapped it roughly about the key and thong. Holding it to her lips, she winced as the feet pounding stone grew closer, and with a small prayer, she slid the makeshift package beneath Arthur's door, knocked hard and then ran. As she lifted her skirts to aid a longer stride, she thought of all the things that could go wrong with her foolish impulsive gesture. He may not even realise what the key was. May not find it till morning. All of which were irrelevant she thought, joy filling her up and drowning her heart. She had tried. She had taken a leap, and of that she was proud.
The guards rounded the corner just as she ducked into the next, and relief pounded through her rattling chest, making her want to laugh aloud. Smoothing her hair down, trying to tame the wild curls, she regained some modicum of control, and strolled toward Morgana's rooms, to fetch the spare key she had hidden there in case she had lost the thong. This time, when she met guards en route she smiled serenely, as anticipation and excitement mingled in her blood and tipped her stomach. Now it was her turn to wait. And she would.
/
The knock at the door was an unwelcome interruption, and Arthur cursed as he sat up right, heart rate through the roof and breathing ragged. In the half light of his chamber, he glanced to the door through the curtains about his bed and debated on bothering to answer. There was only one face he did and didn't want to see right now, and since that person knocking on his bed chamber was as likely as his father outing himself as a sorcerer, the temptation to ignore it was strong. Yet since Merlin was away, it was hardly usual for his peace to be disturbed at such an hour, and worry formed a knot in his gut. However much he wanted to hide, he was the Prince of Camelot. If there was something wrong, he had to deal with it. Especially if Uther was still making merry at the banquet. Not for the first time he envied those without such titles and responsibilities, and he forced himself to his feet, tying the loose belt at his trousers closed. Running both hands down his thighs, he grimaced, and went to the door, hearing a guard trundle past as he approached.
Dragging the door wide, blinking hard as the light from the lanterns blinded him after the relative darkness of his room, he barked hello before opening them again. Then opened one slowly as the silence his greeting elicited. Nobody stood at his door. His senses caught a waft of something akin to lilac, and the depths his desperate imagination would plummet angered him. But still he searched anyway, hope a fire lit within him, no matter how futile that hope may be. The corridor was empty as he scanned it, the tapestries hanging quietly, as if mocking his confusion. At times, he felt as though the walls themselves were laughing at him, were teasing some secret beyond his reach. The ghosts of his ancestors whispering within the stone about his lack of acuity. Yet he felt them, bearing down upon him, at odd occasions, usually when Merlin stared at him blankly, after some mishap or mysterious happening that he could almost, but never quite, grasp the meaning of.
Though he would never share such fanciful ideas, it had occurred to him more than once that his life was being guided by unseen hands, and on darker nights, when Uther's will was impervious to all reason, he hoped it was his mother. He knew he should not pine for the woman he had never known, recognised it as the weakness it was, but it comforted him, when he would never admit to needing comfort, and soothed him, when unanswered questions buzzed about his head till dawn. Now the whispers were silent, and the emptiness in the corridor seemed colder for it. There were no ghosts lingering here tonight. Nothing but the ache in his chest and the stone walls that were as much his home, as his prison. The disloyal thought was an icicle in his chest, and he cursed. He needed...well what he needed he could not have. Not yet. So sleep would have to suffice.
On turning to close the door, and return to his bed, something caught his eye on the tiled floor, something silver, winking as the light from the hallway struck it square. Frowning, he crouched to examine it, holding the door open so he could see clearly. As his fingers wrapped around the object, he felt petals crush beneath his skin, and something inside slid to the left, as he bought it up to the light. A key, tied to a thin leather thong, with a flower half wrapped about it. His fingers shook as he held the key close. He had been teased and tormented by this key over the last few days, every time Gwen bent to pour a glass of wine at dinner, or curtsied way too deeply for him not to think explicit thoughts...this key had nestled in her cleavage, peeking between the ruffles of her corsets and the creamy promise of her skin. Now he glanced back to the hallway, and the tapestries appeared to hang at an angle, as a dog would cock its head at its master. A question. Well?
Unable to withhold the grin that split his face, he paused, unsure. So much had happened. Gwen's life so very nearly...He shook his head clearing the morbidity. If they were caught again, Uther would not hesitate. A flare of rebellion and rage sparked his feet to move to the window. The leaded panes looked directly onto the castle forecourt. The guards were reaching the point of the evening when all the sneaked tankards of mead would be catching up on them, making them groggy. The bridge was up. Half the lower town had been drafted in to act as extra staff to the local dignitaries.
And Gwen. Gwen had knocked at his door. Curling the key into his palm, he began to hunt for his boots, wishing he hadn't such a powerful arm as he spied one above his wardrobe. Then he grinned again. He no longer wanted the day to be over. Not even close.