* LOVED / LIFE.

        ❝ you have a lot of hope. ❞ so does she; guinevere’s hopes shine brighter than any candle, not just for herself and her rule ( her rule; this crown still feels strange to her, just a servant ) but for the kingdom itself. if she has any say in the matter, she will never let it be extinguished.  ❝ as do i. i want to make camelot a better place for everyone. ❞ she has seen how bad it can be, at times — but so much of that was uther, his tyranny and his hatred of magic, and gwen knows that arthur is better than his father. that’s not even a hope, but more: a truth. camelot needs a good king. it needs to make itself better.  ❝ i am not convinced a flower would get into as many bar brawls as you used to. ❞

CAMELOT  WILL  never  be  his  home,  he  thinks.  he  is  not  a  man  who  makes  a  habit  of  carving  out  a  place  in  the  ground  &  building  walls  around  the  depression  to  make  a  structure  to  call  home.  he’d  like  to  leave  no  evidence           to  leave  no  trace.  to  live  entirely  like  the  wind  who  barely  scratches  the  surface  &  at  best  simply  kicks  up  dirt.  he  likes  the  sights  &  sounds,  the  people  even  more,  but  camelot  is  no  home  for  a  vagabond  knight  like  him.  it  might  become  better,  it  might  not.  gwaine  will  be  here  as  long  as  he’s  needed.   ❛   this  is  better,  isn’t  it  ?  heard  a  lotta  talk  in  the  lower  town           how  things  used  to  be  like  before.  this  is  better.   ❜

     ‘was it blanche?’ percival had realized a few days ago that she preferred taller men.

A  HEAVY  breath,  thumb  pressing  into  once  of  the  quickly  drying  spots  &  frowning  at  how  deeply  it  had  already  seeped  into  the  fabric.   ❛   no,  it  wasn’t.  listen           fancy  a  dip  in  a  river  ?   ❜

     on occasion ( one such as this ), the nicknames sit POORLY with him - they’re a hearkening to a calmer time, a happier one, and he can find himself nauseous at such a familial name coming from the mouth of a near-stranger. he’d half-convinced himself gwaine could be something of a brother - doubts it in times like these, when they seem to act like caged beasts, snarling and circling one another. it is normal for him to back down from these fights. it’s not for him to match gwaine’s feral grin with a rumble in the hollow of his throat, a dangerous growl that would cause a stirring in the trees. ‘it’s percival.’

ANGER  IS  an  unfamiliar  emotion  on  him            not  during  battle,  not  during  times  when  fire  crawls  up  the  sides  of  the  castle  or  when  a  blade  is  arcing  towards  a  precious  friend.  gwaine  is  never  angry  at  a  friend  (  *  anger  requires  justification  &  gwaine  would  sooner  plead  forgiveness  that  even  spare  an  ounce  of  his  life  being  angry  at  someone  who  will  never  deserve  it  in  his  eyes  )           &  yet,  &  yet.

SEMI  -  HIATUS.

        there are some, she knows, who wouldn’t want her doing this. who’d think she just needs to find a village and settle there, find someone who’s willing to take her in and build a home. but it’s not that easy; bea has nobody, now, no family left, and a home isn’t about walls or strangers—it’s about love, family, and that’s gone, leaving a great gaping hole in the centre of her chest that hurts when she breathes. it’s not safe, anyway. she has magic, and it’s not safe anywhere.

        it’s better to keep moving. it’s better not to stop. it’s better to keep surviving, even if that means learning how to kill a man. bea doesn’t want to ( her father would not have wanted her to ) but she wants to die even less.

        can i practise with you? the question ties her tongue and bea wants to scream, because she knows what she wants to say, she knows he’s not going to hurt her ( she doesn’t trust him, but she doesn’t trust anyone ) but they still sit heavy, and she can’t make them come. can i practise with you? a single nod, she has a question, and bea takes a deep breath, remembers how gwaine’s looked out for her, hasn’t minded her tagging along with him, thinks about how he’s a good enough fighter that she feels as close to safe as she is likely to ever get. come on, she can do this.  ❝ canipractisewithyou? ❞ so it comes out as one long word, and she can’t meet his eyes, and she’s twisting her knife the way she dos when she’s nervous. but at least it comes out.

HE  HAD  lived  a  life  where  mouths  formed  the  shape  of  cruelty  faster  than  they  did  kindness.  he’d  seen  people  tear  kids  like  her  apart  without  an  ounce  of  hesitation  (  *  villages  burned  every  day,  all  that  mattered  was  where  you  are  when  that  happened  ).  age  was  a  deterrent,  but  it  wasn’t  absolute.  hadn’t  he  been  a  child,  long  ago  ?  homes            were  flimsy  little  things  that  could  come  crashing  down  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  the  orkneys  were  familiar  with  surviving  (  *  not  killing,  not  all  of  them.  not  yet.  )  they  all  knew  about  the  world  out  there.  about  how  it  didn’t  care  about  them  &  gwaine  had  done  his  best  to  keep  them  alive.  happy  was  perferrable            loved  was  the  ultimate  goal.  but  he  wasn’t  a  man  of  great  ambitions.  he’d  take  alive  over  anything  else.

when  he  thought  about  where  he’d  be,  about  what  he’d  be  doing  out  here,  on  the  road  when  the  only  person  he  had  to  look  out  for  was  himself,  he  hadn’t  envisioned  this.  he  was  stumbling  in  this  world,  path  as  fluid  as  the  very  winds  that  carved  the  mountains  themselves.  he  was           unreliable.  he  wasn’t  the  type  people  could  trust  easily  (  *  or  at  all  )  &  it  was  something  that  gwaine  could  understand.  why  trust  anyone  at  all  ?  why  place  your  safety  in  the  hands  of  the  wind  ?

            merlin didn’t really know what it was  ——  whether the words that made it out of gwaine’s mouth, or the way he said them made him chuckle ; but there he was, with shoulders jerking lightly, lips crooked into a little smile.  ❛  it does sounds absolutely ridiculous  ——  gods, i don’t even have a last name to follow up, like some kind of a fake newbie noble. i’m sure plenty of courtiers would agree, since most of them didn’t seem too happy about this improvement.  ❜  

that part didn’t matter to merlin that much, or at least shouldn’t  ——  given most of them still remained long since uther’s unfair rule, and yet something about his smile fell anyway ; as if doubts extended onto his mind if he left the cracks unprotected. it made him feel silly, and he had to shake his head to stop these thoughts from spreading.  ❛  i don’t know…  ——  it feels strange, you know? i feel no different…  i am no different. titles never meant anything for me, but…  my lies feel heavier now.  ❜

THE  LAUGH  brought  a  smile  to  his  face  (  *  truth:  happiness  was  worth  more  than  anything  in  gwaine’s  life  ).  &  he  looked  at  merlin  the  only  way  he  knew  how           with  unfaltering  adoration.  he  was  a  simple  man.  what  he  did,  he  did  it  with  all  of  himself.  it  was  always  all  or  nothing  when  it  came  to  everything.  he  brushed  his  thumb  against  merlin’s  cheek,  features  softening  as  he  saw  merlin’s  expression  fall.   ❛   you  were  in  the  shittiest  position  ever,  old  friend.  but  it’s  better  now,  isn’t  it  ?   ❜