Arthur was aware that he was lying on his back. He could feel the grass tickling the back of his neck and the dew soaking into his clothes. He found that rather strange because it was mid – morning, with the sun was blazing as if to make up for a feeble summer; it was hardly the condition for dew-soaked grass. He did not know why it the dew bothered him so much when he should be concerned with the fact that the sky was white. Well, slightly off-white, without a cloud in sight. If fact, there was nothing but white, as if the sky had been engulfed in one large bed linen.

Then, he became aware of the warmth on his side, just below his chest. It was a comforting sensation, because once he was aware of the warmth, he realized that he was feeling very cold. Before he can figure out why he was on his back and cold, a dark spot moved at the periphery of his vision. He could hardly make the shape of it; it was just a blur. He tried to concentrate on the shape, but found it hard to do so. It was as if his brains...

Of course. It all came rushing back to him just then. Jaime. Bernadette. The icy-cold river. And him falling into the river. The memory must have been a trigger of some sort, for the moment he thought of the fall, he felt a dull aching at the back of his head.

The dark spot moved closer to his face. He still could not see focus his vision, but he could feel the warmth on his side pressing closer to his body and warm breath on his face.

"Arthur? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

That was Guinevere's voice. She sounded close. And worried. The dark spot above him moved closer to his face. It must be Guinevere. She must be checking on him, which made sense because he fell into a river and all that.

What, surprisingly, did not make any sense was Guinevere suddenly licking his face. Arthur was startled...shocked actually. Why would she...

And what would Lance say about this public display of...

Concern?

Lust?

"Arthur? Are you all right?" She spoke again, persisting with the licking.

How was he supposed to answer when she was administering the most unconventional, but not unwelcome, treatment for his condition?

Suddenly he felt someone hitting his cheek, shaking his head. That jolted his senses a little, enough for some auto-reflex functions to kick-start again. The white haze lifted as he opened his eyes and saw the blue sky, cloudless and the appropriate shade of blue that he remembered seeing this morning when they set out from the castle.

There was a small yelp and Arthur was subjected to another round of face – licking, courtesy of Bernadette.

Arthur gave a disgusted cry; he tried grabbing the puppy, as he struggled to get up to a sitting position. His vision and motor skills must have been in shock after his fall, thus the task was even more difficult than anticipated. But Arthur struggled on, the thought of a puppy's favourite pass time of licking itself providing an unlikely motivation for him to free himself from the puppy's ministration.

Then, he felt a hand, a human hand, getting hold of his own and another on his chest, pushing him back to the ground. Guinevere appeared in his field of vision, shaking her head.

"Calm down, Arthur," she spoke, her voice soft but firm. She was on her knees by his side. She let go of his hand, moved Bernadette from region of his face, and placed it beside her. She still kept another hand on his chest, to stop him from getting up.

"Guinevere?" he finally found his voice, though he wondered why he sounded so breathless.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, looking concerned.

That was a difficult question to answer, he decided. Though he was feeling marginally better than he was a few moments ago, the back of his head hurt a little. His brain function was apparently not compromised, because he could discern that he was wet, and because of that, was freezing. His senses was a little off though, because Arthur did not know if what he felt was normal; Guinevere's hand on his chest was causing reactions in places far away from where her hand was on his body.

"I am fine," he said, sounding a bit more normal, laying his head back on the ground. Bernadette promptly came and sat near his head. The smell and sensation of a wet dog near his head did not do anything good for his well – being at that moment though.

"Does your head hurt?" Guinevere said, visually checking him for any injuries that might have escaped him. An action, Arthur admitted, only made him more aware that he was soaking wet in his t-shirt and jeans and probably looking more like Bernadette than a hero.

"A bit," he replied and wanted to protest when she took her hands away from his chest. He wondered if he should milk the sympathy he had no doubt she felt for him, when he suddenly remembered something. "Where is Merlin?" he asked, trying to get up again, worried that Merlin might have been swept down the river as he attempted to rescue him.

"Went to get Gaius with Jaime," Guinevere explained. "They left Bernadette as protection." She could not help the smile as she said this.

"Against what?" Arthur remarked, as he turned to look at Bernadette, who had gotten up and chasing after a grasshopper it had spotted on the nearby bushes. "An attack of things that are constituted as not cute enough?"

Guinevere giggled, a sound that did wonders for his headache. "She's very grateful to you, you know," Guinevere said, glancing at Bernadette, who was now sniffing around Arthur's shoes.

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur said, pointing at Bernadette, as the puppy lifted its leg and let loose a stream of yellow liquid right into his shoes. Bernadette must have been very grateful indeed, for she was at it for long time. Must have swallowed a lot of river water when she fell in, Arthur thought, looking at his woeful shoes that were beyond salvaging.

Guinevere laughed, settling down on the grass next to him. She drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around it, her bare feet just inches away from his hand. She looked at him, not in the least uncomfortable with the wet man lying on the grass. "Merlin almost gave himself a heart attack when you slipped into the river. Nearly did a swan-dive into knee-deep water before jumping in after you."

Arthur smiled, knowing that Guinevere was glossing over the full on panic attack Merlin had probably gotten himself into when he saw Arthur falling into the river. Arthur would have done the same. "I'll get him a new car for saving me," Arthur replied, sighing, infinitely comfortable with this arrangement. If he were not freezing, it would have been perfect.

"That is a favour to yourself," Guinevere pointed out, smiling.

Arthur laughed when he heard this. Guinevere had a surprising sense of humour; one that he was sure could keep him entertained for a long time. He hoped that Gaius and Merlin would not hurry back to tend to him.

"Besides, if you are going to give your rescuer a car, make that two," Guinevere remarked. "I helped too."

Arthur was surprised when he heard this. Looking at her more closely now, he saw that her jeans too were wet and clinging to her legs. Half her shirt was wet too, although it was fast drying up. Arthur pushed himself up to his elbow and despite Guinevere's protests, sat up, taking a moment to let his body reclaim equilibrium from his movement. Water dripped down from his clothes and hair, making him uncomfortable and just slightly miserable. "I..." he began but found himself speechless. "You..." He did not think that saying she should not have bothered was an appropriate response to her efforts in saving him. The river might have not been deep, but that does not necessarily make it any less dangerous. "Thank you, Guinevere."

Guinevere waved it aside, shaking her head, "Merlin did most of the work," she said. "I just helped a bit."

"Then, you will not get the car," Arthur said, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? I think I deserve a reward for saving the Marquis's life," Guinevere said. Arthur was not sure if it was her smile, or her proximity, but he knew, any moment then, his heart is going to stop beating and he was going to die a happy man.

"You shall have a reward," he replied. Without thinking, took her hand into his. He kissed the back of her hand, more of lightly brushing lips against her warm kiss. "A dance with the Marquis at the ball tomorrow night."

She was looking at him, surprised. Silence fell between them, but not the kind that could be classified as awkward. In fact, it was the kind of electrically charged type of silence that is the prelude to a kiss. Arthur looked at Guinevere, experiencing no pain, feeling none of the wetness; he could only see Guinevere, smell her fresh scent and listen to her calm breathing. There was just the two of them, nothing else. Arthur was sure that there was nothing else he could do but to kiss her...the curve of her lips an invitation he could not ignore...nothing felt wrong at that moment; it would have only been wrong if he did not kiss her...

Bernadette chose that moment to include Arthur in its play; it jumped unto Arthur's lap and started nuzzling inappropriately.

"Bernadette! You..." Arthur was startled when the animal jumped, but still had enough control from launching into a profanity – laced tirade that would not have endeared him to Guinevere or any animal lover. Guinevere was laughing again; she picked up Bernadette and held her, as Arthur groaned and slumped back to the ground.

While Guinevere berated Bernadette for being such a bad dog, Arthur stared back up at the sky, wondering what would have happened if he had kissed Guinevere.

It would have been bloody fantastic.

It would have been bloody idiotic, because no one kisses their best friend's gir...friend...guest.

Of course, Arthur thought. Best friend. Brothers in all but blood. Family.

As if the Universe wanted to strengthen that fact, at that moment, Arthur heard the familiar, definitely unwelcome sound of a VW Bug, as Gaius drive it down the farmland path. The yellow Bug stopped near them and Merlin stepped out, looking very worried. The expression on his face softened a little when he saw Arthur awake, but he still looked displeased, as if he knew what Arthur had been doing and thinking just moments ago. He made his way towards him, Gaius following close behind.

"Arthur Pendragon, is there any way you could visit Tintagel and not try to harm yourself in any way?" Gaius asked, as he approached Arthur, who sat up again. Guinevere was standing now; Gaius greeted her warmly and asked if she was all right. She replied she was.

"That is not possible for as long as I am with Merlin," Arthur replied, as Gaius checked Arthur's limbs for injuries. The older man grinned as he checked Arthur's head. Arthur winced when Gaius touched a small bump at the back of his head. Gaius clucked his tongue, took out a small torchlight from his pocket and held it in front of Arthur's eyes to check pupil reaction. Satisfied with what he saw, he got up, clicking his torchlight off. He held out a hand Arthur. Arthur got up and swayed slightly, Merlin quickly got hold of Arthur's arm, steadying him.

"Nothing serious," Gaius declared, looking at Arthur and then at Merlin and Guinevere. "You probably hit your head on a passing trout..." He smiled to indicate that he was only trying to make the situation a little lighter.

"Poor trout," Merlin commiserated. Arthur glared at him, but it did not have the effect he wanted, seeing that he was holding on to Merlin for support in the first place.

"We'll get you back to the surgery and take an X-ray, just in case," Gaius said, turning back to his car. "I am not going to take any chances."

Arthur nodded. He knew he did not need any x-rays, but he has never won any arguments with Gaius before and he did not think today was going to be any different. With Merlin still supporting him, he walked towards Gaius's VW. Guinevere was nowhere to be seen. Arthur looked around, worried expression on his face.

"She's near the car," Merlin said softly, as if he could hear what Arthur was thinking.

"Oh."

"Am I going to have to smack your head?" Merlin asked, his tone conversational. They were talking in hushed voices, lest Gaius or Guinevere would hear them.

"I fell into a river, Merlin," Arthur pointed out, cynically. "I was unconscious for five minutes and then it took me another ten minutes before I could even feel my toes again. I am freezing and I could not have done anything even if I wanted to."

"I am just concerned," Merlin said, his voice quiet.

"I am not going to do anything..."

Merlin stopped walking. He looked at Arthur, a hint of a frown furrowing his brows. "My concern is for you, Arthur," he spoke, his voice quiet. "Maybe I am wrong, but it looks to me that you have a set a collision course towards an inevitable heartbreak."

"Why would I..."

"There is only one thing more tragic than a broken heart, and that's lonely broken heart," Merlin said, looking concerned.

"It will not come to that," Arthur said, tugging at Merlin's arm to get him walking again.

Merlin did not say anything. They reached Gaius's car and saw the older man talking to Guinevere. Merlin bundled Arthur into the back seat, before getting in beside him. Guinevere took the passenger's seat in front, holding Bernadette on her lap. It took several tries before Gaius's car fired into life. The journey to the surgery was silent, save for Guinevere speaking to Bernadette, telling the puppy she was the best puppy in the world in an effort to calm the poor creature who did not like being driven a car.

In the five minutes it took to get to Gaius's surgery on the village, Arthur knew Merlin's words were somewhat prophetic. It was mad, but when he saw Guinevere giving Bernadette a tummy rub, Arthur felt an emotion that he knew could only be jealousy; it felt like his heart was repeatedly stabbed using an extra – blunt butter knife and the whole image had a slightly greenish tinge to it. Bernadette gets a tummy rub for falling into the river and all Arthur got was probably a concussion and an embarrassing ride in Gaius's VW.

And like all jealous thoughts, this one too evolved in a rather spectacular fashion, into one of Lance getting a tummy rub from Guinevere.

Perfect. Arthur did not need an x-ray to check for his head injury. All these thoughts were the confirmation of a head injury far worse than what Gaius had feared.

And yes, with his head injured, there was just no stopping the heartbreak that he is bound to experience soon. If Merlin was to tell Arthur that he had warned him about it, Arthur knew he had an excuse; he had hit his head, on a passing trout.

The Tintagel Ladies' Club was in a bit of an upheaval. A crisis has erupted that has thrown a spanner, and by the sound of it, a monkey as well, into the well- oiled cog that is the Ladies' Club Annual Fair. One of the stall minders in the fair was getting married. It would not be that much of big deal if the stall was the one that sells muffins or teacakes. But the stall in question was THE stall of the fair, the one stall that generates a lot of interest, and subsequently, a lot of money. Last year, the stall beat the second – placed marmalade and preserves stall by a profit margin of £110. The stall made a profit of £230 without investing any capital and charging £1 for every 'purchase' of the 'product' it had on offer. Normally, a conservative lot most of the time, the Tintagel Ladies' Club have always maintained their 'A Kiss For a Pound' stall was very chaste; and it is only a peck in the cheek, in an open stall where everyone can see what was going on. The stall was minded by a girl; the Harvest Queen, chosen among the university – going girls in Tintagel. This year's debutante was Jill Mallory, a twenty-year-old girl on a gap year from university. She was very cute and had been looking forward for her duties, until her boyfriend asked her to marry him and accompany him for the worldwide tour with Coldplay; he was one of the lighting supervisors for the band's stage show. She accepted and was off to London early this morning. The ladies at the club thought it was most selfish of her to leave them stranded like this; the deputy Harvest Queen was down with a hay fever and there was absolutely no one else who could mind the stall. The suggestion of closing the stall provoked an outrage not seen in the club since one of the members served Starbucks' Premium Brew instead of proper Earl Grey to drink.

Morgana sat in the midst of the chaos, amused that such a small matter would cause so much drama. Cups after cups of tea were consumed and all the women looked as if they could use with something stronger. Some were making frantic phone calls using the vicar's telephone; others were discussing possible replacement and many others were wringing their hands in despair. The stall's profit would be for the Christmas party for the children in the hospice that Gaius ran and every year, the money had been useful in providing the children with a good time and lovely gifts. And now, they were faced with the unthinkable...

She did not know what made her do it; perhaps it was the thought of Gaius. Or perhaps it was the children themselves. Or perhaps it was Mrs. Fern was calling her daughter, Sophia, convincing her to volunteer for the stall. Morgana frowned; Sophia was one of the worst snobs in the land. She has Arthur and the title of Marchioness on her crosshairs ever since she was fifteen and never forget to remind everyone and Arthur about it. It had been charming ten years ago, but now it was just plain revolting, not to mention rather disturbing. Putting her in the kissing stall would be like giving her an early Christmas present; the guys always spent more than ten pounds amongst them at the kissing stall and Sophia could take advantage of this and offer more than a pounds' worth. From what Morgana could discern from this side of the conversation, Sophia was on the verge of agreeing to it. Morgana groaned inwardly. Arthur was not the only one at risk here; Merlin and Lance were equally at risk because Sophia would settle for either one of them in a pinch. Morgana narrowed her eyes; another floozy she has to protect the guys from.

So, before she could give it more thought, and in the interest of the three guys, the words stumbled out of her mouth, "I'll do it."

There was a momentary silence. Then, the vicar's wife. Secretary of the Tintagel Ladies' Club spoke, "Bless you, Morgana." And Morgana found herself surrounded by grateful matrons who were very sure the profit for the stall would skyrocket this year. Morgana just smiled, knowing that may not be true. When she was seventeen, she minded the kissing stall and made a paltry £18 until the curvy Hanna Templeton replaced her and the collection rose to £97 in just an hour. Morgana decided that if the profits were low, she would just put in her own money; a few hundred pounds would hardly blow a dent in her expenditure. And she would be doing something at the Fair for a change, instead of just visiting.

Morgana's offer was applauded and recorded into the club's minutes. The meeting came to an end and the ladies filed out of the drawing room of the vicar's home, excited at the prospect of having the female equivalent of the Marquis minding the kissing stall. Morgana just took it all in her stride, deciding to give the stall at least two hours before having Philip deliver a 'message' from her office.

"Miss Morgana?" one of the ladies called out, stopping Morgana just before she stepped outside the house. Morgana turned around and saw Mrs. Mallory, the wife of the only advocate in Tintagel, and mother to the soon-to-be-wed Jill.

"Yes, Mrs. Mallory?" Morgana said, approaching the older woman. Morgana liked Mrs. Mallory; she was quiet and practical and always made the most delicious angel cakes.

"I have a favour to ask of you, my dear," Mrs. Mallory said, looking rather hopeful.

"What can I do for you, Mrs Mallory?"

"My niece, Anne Cavendish, is getting married this evening. And, as you know, Jill, has gone off to London," Mrs. Mallory began. "My sister-in-law is at her wits' end having one less bridesmaid..."

Oh God, Morgana thought. She knew exactly where this was leading her. An ugly dresses and an uglier leering best man. Morgana is just going to have to say no.

"You are the same dress size as Jill..."

"I have to mind the stall..." Morgana said, trying to be as gently as possible with the letdown.

"The wedding is at five, dear," Mrs. Mallory said quickly. "There will be plenty of time for you to get ready for the wedding. Please, Miss Morgana. It is just for half an hour, tops. Anne is my favourite niece and I think Master Pendragon has been sent an invitation as well. You will be coming for the wedding, after all. Only this time, in a different dress and seated somewhere else."

Morgana opened her mouth to say no, but she caught the look in Mrs. Mallory's expression. Morgana knew she could not save everyone...but today, she could at least save Mrs. Mallory and her niece.

"All right," Morgana said, unable to help the involuntary smile when Mrs. Mallory gave a quiet whoop of joy.

"That is wonderful, my dear," she said, kissing Morgana on the cheek. "I will deliver the dress to you at the Fair. Anne is going to be so thrilled; she has always admired you."

Morgana just smiled, nodding. She excused herself and went outside the house, her smile fading just a little. She hoped that after this, she would not be jinxed and spend the next few years of her life as a bridesmaid. In Morgana's opinion, there was nothing worse than faking a smile at someone's wedding.

As she walked to her car, Morgana hoped that Lance would not come to the wedding. She was not sure if she could handle being in the same church as Lance was; it seemed a terrible combination; flowers, vows, priests, rings and a bride and groom that is not her and Lance. And it would kill her if he were to see her in what is probably going to be the most hideous dress she had ever worn in her life.

She should have just said no, but now, it was too late.