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“Okay,” Gwen said to herself as she straightened her dress, “you can do this. Just stand straight. Don’t giggle. Don’t stand too close to them so they don’t smell the cider on your breath. And whatever you do, do not, I repeat, do not mention that kiss.”
Gwen took one final deep breath and opened the doors to Gaius’ chambers. She peeked in and found Gaius and Merlin sharing a meal at their table in the middle of the room.
“Merlin, I think you need to come with me,” Gwen said, a little out of breath.
Merlin didn’t ask questions. Thank the heavens for Merlin. He simply got up and came to her aid, just as she knew he would. Gwen stared at Gaius’ face, that seemed to be covered in soup, and pinched herself in the arm, to keep from giggling. Surely that would be no good at all if she wanted to keep up the pretence of being sober. No good at all.
Earlier that day
“Thank you, Gwen, this is simply perfect,” Morgana said as she took the dress Guinevere had mended for her and inspected the impeccable handiwork.
“My pleasure, milady,” Gwen answered with a smile. She curtsied and left for the castle kitchens, where she helped prepare food for the feast that was about to take place after the melee, two days from now.
-
“Gwen, darling,” the cook said, “could you please keep stirring? Yes, just like that. That’s perfect.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you darling, I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Gwen smiled in response and kept stirring the pot.
-
“Hey! Gwen!”
Gwen turned around to find Merlin headed towards her. He looked flustered, as if he’d been running. “If Sir Oswald asks, could you say I’ve been with you this morning? I’ll explain later.”
“You know the people in this town are going to run out of vegetables to throw at you at some point, right, Merlin?”
“So that means you’ll do it?”
How could she refuse when he grinned at her like that? “You know I will.”
Merlin grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Perfect! See you around!” And off he went.
“Perfect,” Gwen grumbled as Merlin ran off, barely avoiding a collision with the guards that came around the corner, just when Merlin took a sharp right.
-
Gwen went to gather the belongings she’d left in the servants’ quarters, and was about ready to go home, when she realised she hadn’t wished Arthur luck at the melee yet. If she didn’t do so now, she might not get another chance, since he’d soon be occupied with all the festivities surrounding the event. This weird non-relationship they had going on was starting to get on her nerves, but that didn’t mean she wanted the man to go off into a fighting pit full of testosterone without as much as a word of encouragement. She made her way to his chambers, only to see him exit them with Sir Leon in tow.
Gwen hoped her quick curtsey and a mumbled “My Lord,” were enough to hide her surprise at not finding him alone. She knew she shouldn’t be on this side of the castle right now, but here she was.
“Ah Guinevere!” Arthur sounded pleased to see her, at least. “Come to inform me you'll be cheering for Camelot’s champion during the melee, have you?”
His voice echoed through the halls, just a tad too shrill for his feigned nonchalance to be anywhere near believable.
“Indeed, Sire,” she said with a smile so fake her jaws hurt. Why on earth had she thought coming here would be a good idea? Things had been strained between them at best, ever since that awful incident in the Great Hall. Girls fart. Of course they do. Just not in front of that many people. And not in front of the person you had a maybe sort of kind of secret relationship with. If they still had that. Gwen felt her cheeks burn.
Behind Arthur, a group of Knights approached and before she knew what had happened, they’d dragged him along with them. While they rounded a corner, she could hear them jest about the Knightly favours Arthur would receive and how he could have his pick from all the noble women arriving in Camelot during the days to come. Right.
Of course.
Of course, there’d be noble women. Of course, they’d giggle and act coy and toss handkerchiefs around the melee like a farmer would toss grain around the chicken coop, in the hopes one of the Knights would pick one up. Gwen took her own handkerchief out of her pocket and stared at the rough piece of cloth, that didn’t even come close to the fine, embroidered pieces of art the noble women would toss into the melee. The expensive silk ones they’d pay someone to make for them, whenever they found their own skills lacking. Someone fit for the menial handwork. Someone like Gwen. She kept looking at her own handkerchief and noticed her fingers trembled. The fingers of her rough, calloused hands, with her short finger nails. So very unlike those of the ladies at Court, who wouldn’t know how to handle a mop to save their lives.
Guinevere took her time to breathe in and out. Again. And again, until her heart finally stopped its treacherous thumping. So loud she feared anyone who passed her would know of her inner turmoil.
She was so sick of this. Sick of being here, waiting. Of feeling utterly inadequate, at the best of times.
“Oh Guinevere,” she heard behind her, “I was looking for you, that’s simply perf-”
“If you say perfect, I am going to-” Gwen started while turning on her heel.
“-fect timing,” Gaius finished, a dazed expression on his face.
Gwen felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “I’m sorry Gaius, how can I help you?”
Gaius’ brow had reached new heights. “A young squire who came to me earlier for a cure for his hangover, asked me if I knew a seamstress who could fix his master’s tabard. He says his master tore it during training, but the stains on it indicate this may well have happened during a visit to the Rising Sun. Something tells me it wasn’t the noble who wore the tabard, so I was wondering if you could fix it before his master finds out. Seems like the young man had quite a bit of fun.”
“Must be nice,” Gwen grumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing, Gaius. Who was it? I’ll get right to it.”
“Perfe-”
Gwen’s arched brow was enough to shut Gaius up. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug at that achievement. Gwen smiled all the way to the noble’s chambers and even started to hum on her way back to her house, where she’d spend the rest of the evening mending the man’s tabard.
Must be nice, she thought. To go out and forget any and all responsibilities.
Must be nice, not to have to wonder what people think of you. To pretend to be someone else, if only for one evening.
Laughter drifted in through Gwen’s open window. The sun had begun to set, she noticed, as she glanced out the window, which meant the first tavern-goers would have already downed their first few tankards of mead. Gwen got up to close the window and heard more laughter.
She looked back at the needles and threads on her table and bit her lip. She really shouldn’t.
She really shouldn’t change into that purple dress she’d made, the one she knew fit her perfectly. But she did.
She really shouldn’t put her cloak on. But she did.
She really shouldn’t put some of Lady Morgana’s pigment on her lips or pinch her cheeks before leaving the house. But she did.
She really shouldn’t walk over to the Rising Sun.
But she did.
Gwen ordered a tankard full of cider and moved to a small table in the back of the tavern, somewhat intimidated by the large crowd and the ever-present stench of ale and sweat. She hadn’t expected this many people, not at this hour. A man whistled at her when she walked past.
“Manners, friend, that’s no way to treat a Princess,” someone said and the whistle stopped suddenly. Gwen looked at the men talking and saw the dark-haired rake, who’d spoken to her earlier that day. The one who’d called her a Princess and had tried to give her a flower. Gwaine. His bright smile had thrown her off then, and did so again now.
Gwaine got up from his seat and walked over to her. “Mind if I join you Pri- Gwen,” he quickly corrected himself as he noticed her glare at his choice of words.
“Only if you promise to drop the act. I’m here to have a good time. I just want to...” Gwen sighed loudly. “I just want to spend one night not having to be perfect.”
“Consider it done,” he said, a boyish grin on his handsome face, “Tell me, Gwen. What does not perfect mean?”
“I want a drink.”
He looked at the one she was holding and smirked, a clear challenge. Gwen downed the tankard of cider in one go, while Gwaine cheered her on. He went to get her a second one. As soon as he came back, he handed it to her and asked, “Alright, what else?”
“I want to... I want to gamble!”
He seemed to approve of her choice. “Follow me!”
Gwaine offered her an arm, which she gladly took and led her to a table in the back, where a group of people were playing the dice. She half expected Gwaine to tell her what to do, but found out, much to her surprise that he simply leaned back against a wall with that cheeky smile of his on his face. He let her take care of things. Didn’t feel like he had to guid her or help her out in any way, but simply stood there and enjoyed the show. Gwen beamed with the unexpected sense of pride she experienced, and tossed a couple of coins on the table.
She lost her first game.
Miserably so.
And she enjoyed every second of it. She hadn’t been this excited in a long time.
Gwaine moved a bit closer, and whispered hints in her ear every now and then. His warm breath made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, whenever he did. The others gathered around the table shot the two of them nasty looks when she won her second game. And her third.
She cheered after winning her fourth game, and Gwaine spun her around in celebration before buying pickled eggs for everyone at the table.
“What comes after gambling?” he asked.
“Dancing!”
He bowed at the waist and held a hand out to Gwen. “Your wish is my command, mila- wait.”
He pulled his hand back and winked at her. “I’ll be on the dance floor,” he simply said and turned around without saying another word. Gwen grinned. He walked away without waiting for her. Without holding a hand out for her. Without offering her his arm. He simply walked off, expecting her to follow him.
She did so with a bounce in her step.
They danced for what felt like hours. Danced and laughed and enjoyed the carefree evening Gwen hadn’t realised she needed until she finally had one. Gwaine spun her around and around on the dancefloor. Made her laugh so hard her sides hurt. Didn’t leave her except for when he went back to the bar to get more drinks. He was very popular, she noticed. Everyone seemed to like him. She suspected they would have, even if he hadn’t kept buying everyone drinks. Or pickled eggs, for that matter.
What’s not to like, Gwen thought when she stared into those dark eyes and pushed away his sweaty black fringe that had fallen before his eyes.
So different from w- No. She wasn’t thinking about him tonight. Wasn’t doing anything but enjoying herself. And so what if enjoying herself meant allowing him to touch her back while they danced? What of the looks everyone gave them as they her skirts swirled around and around after he twirled her around his finger? He made her feel good. And warm. Dear God, the heat in this place. Gwen suspected it had little to do with the bar and everything with her dance partner. His eyes seemed to light up like the coals in her father’s forge and seemed to smoulder just the same. His hands spread a warmth through her body whenever they touched her arm, her shoulder, her back. Wherever they touched they burned. As soon as he let go, the mourned the loss and felt herself move closer to him.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice low.
“Very much so.”
“I’m glad.”
Gwen looked into his dark eyes and felt something warm spread in her chest. Perhaps it was the cider. Definitely the cider. She smiled at him and saw his eyes flick down, to her lips and back up to hers. She felt a bit off-kilter and rested a hand on his arm for balance. Bad idea. Her palm set ablaze by his skin.
“So, what else should we do on this perfectly imperfect night of yours?”
Gwen’s mouth had gone dry. She licked her lips and sighed. He lowered his head, eyes still locked onto hers.
“Good question.” Where had her voice gone? Why was his face so close to hers? What had-
Oh.
His lips were soft when they touched hers in a careful manner she wouldn’t have expected, not from him. Careful wasn’t what she wanted though. Careful didn’t suit her. Not tonight. She pulled him into an alcove without breaking their kiss, and pushed him against the stone wall. In an instant, his hands were on her lower back, his fingers digging into her soft curves. He gave back as good as he got, but Gwen had a feeling he was still holding back. This would not do.
“Kiss me,” she said against his lips.
“I thought I was?”
“Gwaine...” He inched back, his eyes looking for hers. “Kiss me.”
He didn’t have to be told again and deepened their kiss. Gwen’s head started to spin. She felt herself turn into a puddle of goo in his hands, heard her breath hitch when he fisted her hair and tugged slightly, so her head fell back to expose her neck. He trailed kisses down to the soft skin he’d exposed there, sucking his way down to her collarbone.
“So soft,” he murmured into her skin. “So damn soft.”
She raised her hand to his jaw, and was surprised to find his rough beard. She quite enjoyed the feeling, the contrast between those gentle lips and that roughness, so very different from -
And there it was.
The thoughts she’d tried to push out of her mind all evening came flooding back. Gwen tried to focus on the very real, very kind and so very, very warm man in front of her. The one who’d treated her well, had taken care of her all evening without looming over her as if she couldn’t fend for herself if need be. The idea of being with Gwaine wasn’t just an unattainable figment of her imagination, but a very likely outcome, should she wish to pursue it. More than just the promise of a day that might never come. And yet, there he was, no longer pushed to the back of her mind.
Arthur.
Gwen sighed and caressed Gwaine’s jaw with her thumb, cursing the stubble she’d found so very attractive mere moments ago, before it reminded her of exactly why she’d come searching for this distraction in the shape of a brave adventurer, as if he’d come tumbling out of the stories her brother used to tell her.
He caught on to the sudden stiffness in her frame within seconds, and held her in his arms with a kindness she hadn’t seen coming, as he pulled back from their kiss. “Reality caught up with you, didn’t it, Princess?”
This would have been easier, Gwen thought, if he hadn’t looked so damn hurt. As if a part of him had been expecting her to wake up from the daze which had come over her, to find she’d been kissing a frog rather than a Prince all along. “I’m sorry,” was all she had to offer.
He smiled that lop-sided smile of his, the one she’d seen in the lower town earlier that day. “Don’t be. Wouldn’t want to ruin our very imperfect evening by feeling sorry, now would we?”
He let go of her, smile still on his face, as if to show her he really did not feel any animosity towards her whatsoever. “Allow me to walk you home then, milady. Made sure you don’t run into any trouble on your way back. There’s all sorts of miscreants out and about at this hour, trust me,” he said with a wink, “it takes one to know one.”
Gwen giggled and quickly accepted his offer. She’d had a great time tonight and would have regretted to see it ruined by hard feelings on either side. He offered her his arm again, which she gladly took, and together they headed for the tavern’s exit.
“Excuse me,” a voice boomed behind them. She felt Gwaine stiffen beside her. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”
They turned around to find the barkeeper looming over them. "Paying your bill, perhaps?"