Arthur wanted to see his vegetable garden before they set out for their walk to the village. Merlin immediately protested, saying that he did not want to spend his time looking for the vegetables hidden amongst the undergrowth Arthur cultivated in the patch of land behind the kitchen, which he proudly proclaims a vegetable garden. The protest was, naturally, ignored and Arthur led the way to his garden.
It actually looked worse than he had imagined.
"This is Arthur's attempt at being a farmer," Merlin told Guinevere. "If there is a famine outbreak in England or we get mysteriously transformed into cows, Arthur will save us all from starvation with the weeds he has grown in his vegetable garden."
Arthur would have smacked Merlin again, but he was more concerned with his vegetables at the moment. The ones he could see anyway. The weeds has choked off most of his seedlings that he had planted on his last visit to Tintagel before leaving for Barbados. Arthur regrets not asking his gardener to look into his garden, but he had wanted to grow his garden by himself, without anyone's help. If he could run the most successful military contractor company in the country and negotiate with heads of governments, he could damn well grow his own tomatoes. However, that was not the case. Looking around, he only saw green and not the kind he was expecting to see. His beloved vegetable garden was over run by weeds. He stepped deeper into the unknown territory that was his patch of garden, leaving Merlin and Guinevere standing where at least they could see their own feet on the ground. His gardener, Angus, who must have spotted him in the garden, came hurrying towards him. Even the seasoned gardener was hesitant to enter the undergrowth.
"Angus, I think my melons are dead," Arthur told Angus as he cleared some weeds to reveal a vegetable bed.
Merlin's shout of laughter rang clear across the garden. Arthur looked up from his vegetable gardens and saw Merlin laughing, clutching his sides as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Guinevere was biting back a smile.
"Get you mind out of the gutters, Merlin!" Arthur shouted from where he stood. "Seriously, anyone would think you were fifteen."
Glancing at Guinevere, he could see that she was laughing now.
"Shut up, Merlin!"
"But I didn't say anything," Merlin shouted back, frowning.
"That is for the future stupid thing you are going to say," Arthur replied, shaking his at disgust at both his garden and Merlin. He stepped out of the vegetable bed and made his towards them, pushing aside waist- high weeds. When he finally stepped out of the undergrowth, Guinevere approached Arthur, an eyebrow raised in amusement, as she removed bits of garden that was stuck on his hair. She shook her head, smiling.
Arthur wished she would stop doing that. Her smile was doing nothing good to him. Having had accused of Merlin's mind being in the gutters, Arthur's mind was, unfortunately, marching down the same path. But how could he help himself, when Guinevere was in front of him, her smile just begging him to kiss her? Maybe that was stretching it; her smile was just that of amusement, but what a beautiful sight it was. At that moment, Arthur had a flash of an image blazing in his mind; Arthur stepping out of his garden; a well-cultivated one without a bloody weed in sight, because this was, after all, his own subconscious conjuring up the images and it might as well be as perfect as possible. Guinevere would approach him, wearing a white cotton dress and a large hat. She would embrace him and he would push the hat away so that he can look into her eyes and then, he would...
"Well, Arthur, if you're done looking at your non-existent garden, maybe we can actually start showing Guinevere the bit of Tintagel that is not overgrown with weeds," Merlin's voice snapped Arthur from his reverie.
Arthur knew there was nothing deliberate about Merlin's comments; his friend was doing everyone a favour by not letting his imagination run wild. "My garden has...has..." Arthur began, tearing his eyes away from Guinevere's smile. "Potential."
"Says who? The cows and goats?" Merlin said, frowning as he pondered on who would stoop as low as to actually commend Arthur and his misguided notions of being a farmer. Arthur's plot of garden was too small to be considered a real garden, let alone a farm. A long time ago, Tristan Du Bois, Arthur's grand – uncle had always referred to himself more of a farmer than a landowner and the current Marquis of Tintagel apparently thought gardening was a simple as scratching the ground with a rake and throwing some seedling unto a vegetable bed.
"He has an open relationship with the farm animals," Arthur said, looking at Guinevere. "Thus, his in-depth knowledge of the interests of hoofed animals and the like." Glancing to Merlin, he added, "The garden just needs some work and a bit more attention..."
"And a prayer if anything is to ever grow in it," Guinevere said quietly, much to Arthur's amazement. Merlin grinned when he heard this; he always appreciates it when he has an ally in irritating Arthur.
Arthur was speechless, partly because of what Guinevere had said, but mostly because of the fact that she had said it. Unlike the time when they were at the Hall and Guinevere had been slightly uncomfortable in their presence, she was much more relaxed now and was less awkward around them. Then, Merlin said something, Arthur did not catch what it was, and Guinevere started laughing. Watching Guinevere as she shared a joke with Merlin, Arthur could not help but to smile. His best friend and his...
That felt like a bucket of cold water being emptied over his head. The thought startled him. What was he thinking? He was looking at his best friend and the girl, who was with his other best friend, laugh. In a heartbeat, Arthur had almost thought of Guinevere as his...
His...what?
He shook his head, the thought of what he was thinking frightening him...confusing him. People should not be in complicated situations like this, he thought to himself. He could not help feeling envious of Merlin who had the luxury of the calling Guinevere his friend and knowing to himself that that is the truth. Merlin could declare his affection for Guinevere openly and there would be nothing wrong with it. And here Arthur was, trying to struggle to find a suitable word to sum up what Guinevere was to him.
Guest?
Too impersonal. Lady Huntington was a guest and he never really cared about that old bat anyway.
Lance's gir...
Oh God, he could not even visualize the word, let alone the image of the two of them together.
Lance's friend?
His best friend's name keeps popping up everywhere. Beside, the name implied that Guinevere was exclusively Lance's friend. Guinevere was a friend to all of them.
Arthur's friend?
Arthur almost laughed when he thought of that. It had a hopeless connotation to it; the thought of it was nice, but not what it actually implies; that Arthur would forever be an arm's length away from her. And he would not know what she thought about his garden, about the castle...about everything really. And he would forever be wondering what it would be like to kiss a smiling Guinevere on a beautiful day such as this.
"Master Pendragon?" Angus's voice was not exactly a welcome reprieve from his thoughts, but Arthur decided then that no matter how delightful any thoughts of and about Guinevere was, eventually, it was just too torturous to bring him anything but misery.
"Yes, Angus?" Arthur said, turning his attention back to the gardener. Merlin and Guinevere had moved away to another part of the garden that looked civilized enough to warrant a look and a visit. The gardener was waiting for Arthur's suggestion about the garden. Arthur thanked him and told him to leave the garden as it was; something that caused absolute distress to the gardener who kept the rest of the castle grounds immaculate. Angus went away and Arthur went to catch up with Merlin and Guinevere.
They walked out of the castle grounds and into the village, Arthur and Merlin having to stop every now and then to say hello to any passing villagers. Since they were headed to Gaius's surgery, they decided to take the path through the farmlands, as Guinevere could see the village square when they go to the fair later on. Guinevere seemed to enjoy herself and she asked about the history of Tintagel and its buildings; something Arthur was glad that he knew a bit of. His morning was more enjoyable because he was getting the lion's share of Guinevere's attention. Merlin was on his best behaviour; he did not make too much fun of Arthur, but perhaps that is due to Arthur being in his best behaviour.
Gaius's surgery was just in sight when suddenly they heard the voice of a young boy calling for help. The three of them were immediately alert and ran towards the river, where the sound of the boy was coming from. The river ran the length of the farmland, forming a natural border between the cultivated land and the woods of Tintagel. They reached the clearing that opened into the river and saw a small boy, the child of one of the villagers, standing on the riverbank, looking very agitated.
"Jamie? What's wrong?" Merlin was the first to approach the boy.
"Merlin!" The boy recognized Merlin immediately. He looked glad to see all of them. Then, he pointed towards the river. "Bernadette's fallen into the river!"
"What?" Merlin, Arthur and Guinevere started scanning the river, looking for the tell tale signs of a drowning child. Arthur was already removing his shoes and the light jacket he wore, intent on saving the child.
"Where did she fall in?" Guinevere asked, kneeling down in front of the boy. "Did you see her?"
"There she is," the boy said, pointing towards a large rock that sat half-submerged in the water. All three pairs of eyes followed in the direction where the boy was indicating.
"That's...Bernadette?" Arthur asked, trying to keep his incredulity in check. Sitting on the aforementioned rock was a small Jack Russell puppy; soaking wet, shivering in cold and generally looking none too good.
Realizing the gravity of the situation to the child, Merlin and Guinevere refrained themselves from laughing or smiling. Jaime explained that he and Bernadette had been playing by the river when the bit of riverbank Bernadette had been peeing on gave way and the puppy fell into the water. It managed to somehow to climb unto the rock, since the riverbank was too steep for it. Now, Bernadette was too scared to swim back and Jaime was too scared of falling into the river.
"Don't worry, Jaime," Merlin said, looking very solemn. "Arthur will save Bernadette." He glanced at Arthur, who kept his eyes on the puppy, not knowing if he should laugh or throw Merlin into the river for being so bloody dramatic about this.
"Why should I rescue Bernadette? Why don't you rescue the puppy? Why name a puppy Bernadette?" Arthur asked, as Merlin stood next to him on the riverbank. They were whispering, in case Jaime got more distraught with the adults' seemingly indifferent approach to his predicament. Guinevere was with Jaime, assuring the child that Bernadette would be safe.
"You're the save-the-world type personality here," Merlin said, grinning at Arthur. "You probably had decided that you have to save the puppy because I am a vegetarian and Guinevere is a woman. And Bernadette is a perfectly fine name for a puppy."
Arthur frowned when he heard this, but after a moment's consideration, he knew it what Merlin had said was, in a way, the truth. If there is any risk involved, Arthur was willing to do it himself. So, he took a deep breath, folded up his jeans up to his knees, and gingerly tested the water with his big toe.
Arthur gasped when his skin touched the icy water. Turning around, he saw Merlin with his thumbs' up and a ridiculous grin; looking as if the gesture was enough to warm the water. Guinevere, holding Jaime's hand, looked as hopeful and eager as the child did.
Wonderful, Arthur thought. An audience with an expectation; though he wondered what he could possibly do to make the entire process of wading through the thigh-deep icy water seem more dramatic.
Arthur stepped into the water, with Merlin's help, and went towards the rock where Bernadette was. When he approached the puppy, it gave a growl; a sound that almost made Arthur laugh because the puppy was still shivering and the sound it made was more comical than threatening. He extended his hand to pick Bernadette and the puppy showed its gratitude by taking a nip at Arthur's fingers.
"Ouch!" the sound that escaped from Arthur's lips was decidedly girlish; something that drew laughter from Merlin.
"Are you all right?" Guinevere called out. Although she was smiling, she looked concerned. Very concerned. Arthur felt he owed Bernadette a biscuit for its effort.
"Bernadette's a bit upset," Arthur replied, turning to the puppy again. This time, Bernadette was not hostile to its rescuer. Nevertheless, Arthur was sure that the warm liquid that trickled down his arm as he walked back towards the riverbank did not originate from the river but came from inside the puppy. He took it all in stride, because Guinevere was looking at him as if she was proud of him and that made everything bearable. He handed the puppy to Merlin, who gave it to a grateful Jaime. He then took a step forward to climb up to the riverbank when he misplaced his foot on a slimy patch of rock. He managed to haul himself on one foot, when his foot gave way and he found himself falling.
The last thing he saw was Guinevere looking up from the puppy, her smile turning into a look of horror as she saw him falling into the water. And then, everything went black and he could not remember anything else.
It took Lance half an hour to sort through his files in his laptop and send the mail the appropriate files to his office. He was alone in the dungeon because he had just sent the gardener's son, who was supposed to monitor their mobiles and the castle's surveillance cameras, for a half an hour break. The boy looked as if he needed one; he had just seen the young maid he fancied headed to the kitchen garden with a basket in hand. The boy did not need a second invitation. He shot out of the dungeon, in search of his object of affection. Lance smiled after him, shaking his head and turned back to his laptop.
As he waited for the confirmation of receiving the pictures from his office, Lance went through the pictures he had taken in Milan. Most of it was of the match he covered. Some of it was the artwork he managed to see at the stadium, his hotel, and the restaurant where he had his meals; these were for Merlin. There was also some shots at the bar Lance and the rest of the English press had gone to for a post-match celebratory drink. He went through these photographs quickly, deleting those he did not want. He paused when he came to the final photo of the collection.
The photograph was that of Guinevere. They had been at the airport cafe when Lance , who had been checking his camera at the time, took the impromptu picture of Guinevere. She was seated at a table, a jumbo –sized mug of coffee in front of her. Half a dozen empty sugar sachets lay forlorn next to the cup, decimated into tiny pieces. On a saucer on the other side of the cup was a small hill of sugar. Her hands were on the table, twisting a straw. Her face was turned to the side; Lance only got her profile. Her expression was straddling the fine line between worry and all out panic. She had no idea he had photographed her. She had not been aware of many things at that time; her fear of flying and crashing rendering simple thoughts and actions almost impossible. She managed to switch seats to be next to him before the plane took off, but Lance did not think that he helped that much. Guinevere refused to undo her safety belt even after they were airborne. Lance wanted to point out that a safety belt would probably be a hindrance should there hypothetically be a crash, but he had refrained himself. Guinevere looked as if she could not handle the fact they were thirty – thousand feet in the air, let alone the dreaded c-word. She managed to tell him that her journey to Italy had been easier because she had taken the train to France and then had someone drive her into Italy. She would have gone for the same route for her return journey, but her office had paid for the business class seat and told her to get back to London before the next day. She said even God must have pitied her, which was why she and Lance were in the same flight. She held his hand, cutting off his blood supply and only realizing it somewhere halfway in the French airspace. She only let his hand go when she saw the London skyline and was one of the first to disembark. When Lance cleared Customs, he saw her at the terminal's entrance, a completely different Guinevere than the one who had been panicking in the plane. She thanked him and then, had kissed him, as if to compensate for his kindness and his dead hand.
It was chaste kiss, but Guinevere must have felt an acute need for gratitude, so it soon developed into...something else. Of course, Lance was obliged to return the kiss. It was a brief kiss, but one that had held much possibilities. At that moment, the chemistry between them had been just right.
That has been his thought in the span of a heartbeat. In the next heartbeat however, a single name emerged from the kiss-induced haze; a single thought that ignited in his mind, bringing forth the memory of a smile and azure eyes. He just let the thought hang at the back of his mind, as he said his goodbye to Guinevere and promised her that he would call her later that evening. And as he walked to where Merlin had been waiting for him, the thought persisted; he was unable to fight it, as much as he was unable to give it the consideration it deserved. He had lived with this torment for so long that it was almost a second nature to him; he knew that if that thought ceases to be, he would be at loss, not knowing what to do. The thought was a part of him; it had its grips not just of his mind, but of his heart and soul as well.
It was the most beautiful of thoughts, but one that makes Lance feel as if he is living a lie, being dishonest to those around him and especially to the person he sees in the reflection of his mirror. It was a thought that spurs him when all around him is bleak. It is the thought that accompanies him to work, letting him see the beauty and wonder of the world around him. Yet, it was the same thought that accompanies him home on the nights when he returns home after spending the evening with a woman. On those occasions, the thought mingled with self-loathing so strong that it takes days before he is able to look at himself in the mirror again. The thought reminds him, that despite his best intentions, he is still a liar to the women he was with because he could never give them all of himself; body, mind or soul.
The thought, always painfully reminds him, that every woman he is with, is never Morgana.
He turned his attention to the monitor screen of his laptop, the screensaver was on, showing a slideshow of miscellaneous photographs taken of his friends. A photograph of Morgana and Merlin taken at the Glastonbury Music festival a year ago fills the screen. Morgana was the focus of the picture, with Merlin in the foreground. Morgana had her eyes closed and her hands clasped, as if she was having a religious experience as she listened to Snow Patrol. Although there were people jostling around her, Morgana stood out from the rest of them; ethereal comes close to describing the perfection that she is.
The picture dissolved into tiny pixels, to be replaced with one of Morgana with Arthur taken at the same location. This time she had an umbrella raised above her head, ready to attack her stepbrother who seemed unfazed with the violence that was about to unfold, which came about after his comment on Morgana should not really bother with a suntan lotion because she was a vampire and all that.
If Lance was asked to blame someone for his predicament, he would blame Uther Pendragon for marrying Morgana's mother. The blame line ends there because no one invited him to fall for Morgana. He was not sure if a rule existed, one that prohibited someone for falling for his or her best friend's stepsister. His friendship with Arthur was the closet he has to a family. Morgana was his friend by default because she was related to Arthur. Could he risk throwing away twenty – years of friendship for a mere attraction he felt for Morgana? Lance stood to loosing everything and everyone he cares if his friends find out about his feelings for Morgana.
Things may work out...
As predicted, the little voice deep in his subconscious was quick with its assurance. Lance should his head; he was not going to risk everything on a 'maybe' that resounded from the back of his head. Not when he was perfectly capable of rationalizing and still had the capacity to be logical. His attraction to Morgana was south of the rational zone and the only logical thing to do about it, as he had for the as long he could remember, was to just let it be. Morgana had not shown any indication that she was even remotely interested in him in the same manner he was of her. If she even had an inkling of an attraction towards him, she would not have mooted the idea of inviting Guinevere to Tintagel for the weekend.
He pushed a button on his laptop, refreshing his screen. His office had sent their confirmation, so, Lance's work was done. The picture of Guinevere reappeared on the screen and Lance looked at the picture, smiling. Girls like Guinevere were the sort the guy with the hottest girl in the club dream of taking home to their mothers. She was safe, and not in bad way. She would be strength behind any man lucky enough to have her.
This is why he knew he could not carry on with their relationship. When she had kissed him at the airport, he knew it had been gratitude. Today at the main hall, he was not sure. Perhaps, it was the normal course of action a girl takes in a relationship. A girl like Guinevere did not deserve someone like him. She deserved everything a man has to offer. Lance has everything, but his heart, inevitably, belongs to another. And he would not go down the same course as he had with the other women he has dated; women who had looked for nothing more than a good time before moving on to the next thing that catches their fancy. Not that there had been many of them in Lance's life; one or two, who had appreciated his company, among other things...but their appreciation does little for his guilt.
He will talk to Guinevere soon, he promised himself, as he powered down his laptop. He genuinely liked Guinevere but he was wrong for her. She deserved someone better, someone like...
No. He was not going to go there. His love life has enough complications on its own. It is always a bad idea to interfere in the lives' of other, let alone matters of the heart. For now, he thought, as he made his way out of the dungeon, he just wanted to save Guinevere and himself from unnecessary heartache that none of them deserved.