Part 7: link
Guinevere is sitting up in bed. It is late, very late, but she cannot sleep. Her mind is reeling from the day. She has some needlework in her lap that she’s been absentmindedly working at, but her mind is not on this task at all. She’s been sewing with an empty needle for the past three minutes, in fact. Her eyes keep straying to the ring on her finger and Arthur’s heartfelt declaration. Me. Tom the blacksmith’s daughter. Future queen of Camelot. How did this happen? What did I do to become so blessed? Did Arthur talk to Elyan about this? I knew he loved me, but I still never dared to dream…
There is a quiet knock at the door. A tentative knock. A knock not meant to wake anyone, should they be sleeping. Gwen’s heart does a somersault. She puts the needlework aside and pads softly to the door. She opens it a crack.
“Arthur? What are…” she begins, but just then a sound reaches their ears; a guard on night patrol down the corridor. Arthur looks to the side and she quickly allows him in, closing the door behind him. He is barefoot, wearing soft trousers but no shirt. Obviously he couldn’t sleep, either, she thinks, his slightly rumpled hair showing evidence of tossing and turning.
“I…” he begins, not sure what to say. She looks amazing, and it is distracting him. In her nightdress again, though her hair is in a loose braid, he can see far more of her than he should.
“…couldn’t sleep?” Gwen ventures, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
“Can I lay with you?” he asks simply, then quickly adding, “Just that. I just want to be near you.”
“I… don’t know what to say,” she says, not sure if she should let him into her bed, no matter how noble his intentions.
“I need to hold you in my arms. I won’t be able to sleep if I am away from you. Guinevere. I have promised myself that I will not damage your… virtue before we are married. As much as I may want to.”
Gwen bites her lip. It’s not you I’m worried about, she thinks. She nods, afraid to speak. They cross to the bed, where Arthur notices her abandoned sewing.
“You could not sleep either.” Not a question. He picks up her work and looks at it. Smiling, he pulls the needle from where she had stuck it and fingers the thread dangling from the opposite corner. “I don’t know much about sewing, but you’re not going to get much done this way, I’m afraid.”
Guinevere puts her hand to her forehead, smiling sheepishly behind it. “I guess I was a little distracted myself,” she admits. Arthur sets the needlework on the bedside table. They look at each other, unsure. Arthur exhales and climbs in. He pats the place on the mattress next to him. She blows out the candle on the table and slides in next to him and he envelops her in his embrace. He sighs, and she snuggles against his chest.
“This is nice,” she admits, fingers absently stroking his shoulders, his chest.
“Mmm,” he agrees, warm hands on her back. I am never leaving this bed, he thinks, though he knows this it is impossible.
“Arthur?” she whispers.
“Yes, love?” he whispers back.
“What you said about my, um, virtue?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Guinevere?”
“Yes?”
“I want you.”
“What?”
“What I said before still holds, I promise, but I do want you. Very much. I must be monumentally stupid to be lying in this bed with you right now.” He holds her tighter, his hands sliding on her back.
“No, you’re not. I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him, and lifts her head to kiss his chin, then tucks her head back down. I must be monumentally stupid to let you lie in this bed with me. “I want you, too,” she admits to his chest.
Arthur’s heart jumps. It feels like it’s trying to ram its way out of his chest. He tries to ignore the stirring her bold statement has caused in his groin. He can’t believe what she has just said. Women aren’t supposed to say things like that, he thinks, or else I’ve been grossly misinformed. He lifts her chin so that she is looking at him again. “Oh, really?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow and holding her chin firm so she can’t hide.
“Do you think me brazen?” She looks worried now.
“Yes. And I think it’s wonderful,” he replies, kissing her deeply. This time there is no coaxing, his tongue has demanded entrance and was not only warmly received but met with her own probing desire. Her free hand roams his bare chest, the fair hair there tickling her palm as she strokes the muscles, running it around to his back, pulling him closer. He groans, his own hands running along her body, as far as he dares, resting at her waist. She reaches down and takes his hand in her own and guides it up to her breast, allowing him to touch at least that much of her.
“Guinevere…” he warns, but his hand has a mind of its own and is already busy getting to know this new part of her that he had previously been denied.
“Arthur,” she breathes his name as he trails kisses down her neck, not daring to move his lips lower. I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop already, he vaguely thinks, savoring her taste, her smell, the feel of her skin.
Summoning his resolve, he kisses his way back up to her still-parted lips and steals a peek at her face. She looks blissful, eyes closed, head back, lips full and shiny. So beautiful. I can’t believe it took me so long to see. She notices his pause and opens her eyes. Her lids are heavy and they only open halfway. She sees him looking at her, studying her. She leans forward and kisses him, saying, “You are beautiful, Arthur.”
The unconventional compliment brings an unexpected laugh of delight from him and he says, “I’m supposed to be the one telling you that!”
Guinevere laughs with him, and his hand slides back around to hold her, off of her breast. He looks down at her and says, suddenly serious, “Guinevere, you are simply the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” She smiles the smile she keeps only for him, a sweet smile filled with love. He kisses her one last time and they cuddle together, finally able to sleep.
Just before they drift off, Gwen has a thought. “Arthur?”
“Hmm?”
“What happens in the morning?”
“I’ve left a note for Merlin.”
Guinevere is sitting up in bed. It is late, very late, but she cannot sleep. Her mind is reeling from the day. She has some needlework in her lap that she’s been absentmindedly working at, but her mind is not on this task at all. She’s been sewing with an empty needle for the past three minutes, in fact. Her eyes keep straying to the ring on her finger and Arthur’s heartfelt declaration. Me. Tom the blacksmith’s daughter. Future queen of Camelot. How did this happen? What did I do to become so blessed? Did Arthur talk to Elyan about this? I knew he loved me, but I still never dared to dream…
There is a quiet knock at the door. A tentative knock. A knock not meant to wake anyone, should they be sleeping. Gwen’s heart does a somersault. She puts the needlework aside and pads softly to the door. She opens it a crack.
“Arthur? What are…” she begins, but just then a sound reaches their ears; a guard on night patrol down the corridor. Arthur looks to the side and she quickly allows him in, closing the door behind him. He is barefoot, wearing soft trousers but no shirt. Obviously he couldn’t sleep, either, she thinks, his slightly rumpled hair showing evidence of tossing and turning.
“I…” he begins, not sure what to say. She looks amazing, and it is distracting him. In her nightdress again, though her hair is in a loose braid, he can see far more of her than he should.
“…couldn’t sleep?” Gwen ventures, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
“Can I lay with you?” he asks simply, then quickly adding, “Just that. I just want to be near you.”
“I… don’t know what to say,” she says, not sure if she should let him into her bed, no matter how noble his intentions.
“I need to hold you in my arms. I won’t be able to sleep if I am away from you. Guinevere. I have promised myself that I will not damage your… virtue before we are married. As much as I may want to.”
Gwen bites her lip. It’s not you I’m worried about, she thinks. She nods, afraid to speak. They cross to the bed, where Arthur notices her abandoned sewing.
“You could not sleep either.” Not a question. He picks up her work and looks at it. Smiling, he pulls the needle from where she had stuck it and fingers the thread dangling from the opposite corner. “I don’t know much about sewing, but you’re not going to get much done this way, I’m afraid.”
Guinevere puts her hand to her forehead, smiling sheepishly behind it. “I guess I was a little distracted myself,” she admits. Arthur sets the needlework on the bedside table. They look at each other, unsure. Arthur exhales and climbs in. He pats the place on the mattress next to him. She blows out the candle on the table and slides in next to him and he envelops her in his embrace. He sighs, and she snuggles against his chest.
“This is nice,” she admits, fingers absently stroking his shoulders, his chest.
“Mmm,” he agrees, warm hands on her back. I am never leaving this bed, he thinks, though he knows this it is impossible.
“Arthur?” she whispers.
“Yes, love?” he whispers back.
“What you said about my, um, virtue?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Guinevere?”
“Yes?”
“I want you.”
“What?”
“What I said before still holds, I promise, but I do want you. Very much. I must be monumentally stupid to be lying in this bed with you right now.” He holds her tighter, his hands sliding on her back.
“No, you’re not. I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him, and lifts her head to kiss his chin, then tucks her head back down. I must be monumentally stupid to let you lie in this bed with me. “I want you, too,” she admits to his chest.
Arthur’s heart jumps. It feels like it’s trying to ram its way out of his chest. He tries to ignore the stirring her bold statement has caused in his groin. He can’t believe what she has just said. Women aren’t supposed to say things like that, he thinks, or else I’ve been grossly misinformed. He lifts her chin so that she is looking at him again. “Oh, really?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow and holding her chin firm so she can’t hide.
“Do you think me brazen?” She looks worried now.
“Yes. And I think it’s wonderful,” he replies, kissing her deeply. This time there is no coaxing, his tongue has demanded entrance and was not only warmly received but met with her own probing desire. Her free hand roams his bare chest, the fair hair there tickling her palm as she strokes the muscles, running it around to his back, pulling him closer. He groans, his own hands running along her body, as far as he dares, resting at her waist. She reaches down and takes his hand in her own and guides it up to her breast, allowing him to touch at least that much of her.
“Guinevere…” he warns, but his hand has a mind of its own and is already busy getting to know this new part of her that he had previously been denied.
“Arthur,” she breathes his name as he trails kisses down her neck, not daring to move his lips lower. I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop already, he vaguely thinks, savoring her taste, her smell, the feel of her skin.
Summoning his resolve, he kisses his way back up to her still-parted lips and steals a peek at her face. She looks blissful, eyes closed, head back, lips full and shiny. So beautiful. I can’t believe it took me so long to see. She notices his pause and opens her eyes. Her lids are heavy and they only open halfway. She sees him looking at her, studying her. She leans forward and kisses him, saying, “You are beautiful, Arthur.”
The unconventional compliment brings an unexpected laugh of delight from him and he says, “I’m supposed to be the one telling you that!”
Guinevere laughs with him, and his hand slides back around to hold her, off of her breast. He looks down at her and says, suddenly serious, “Guinevere, you are simply the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” She smiles the smile she keeps only for him, a sweet smile filled with love. He kisses her one last time and they cuddle together, finally able to sleep.
Just before they drift off, Gwen has a thought. “Arthur?”
“Hmm?”
“What happens in the morning?”
“I’ve left a note for Merlin.”
