ONCE / FUTURE .

gwen laughs, shaking her head, and reaches up to smooth arthur’s hair down around his own crown. small blessings in the mobility she is provided which arthur isn’t, hindered as he is by layers and layers…and layers. ❛ who’s to say he hasn’t? perhaps he’s simply using magic to create the illusion of his own finery. ❜ she smiles, pausing to tap her finger gently against the end of his nose before dropping her hand entirely, satisfied with her ministrations. he really does look handsome, but he would look far more handsome if he looked comfortable as well.

❛ if you injure yourself, i’ll be forever unhappy about it. ❜ hardly true, but she hates the idea of it anyway. gwen always hates the idea of arthur injured. but it hardly bears thinking about ; if it is to happen, it will. she sighs, making an attempt to relax her shoulders, and smiles at him. ❛ well, my lord. shall we brave the beasts? ❜

❛ all the humiliation without the discomfort? ❜  it makes arthur smile; guinevere’s good at that, even at the worst of times. and this is hardly the worst of times, just an unfortunate responsibility they have to take on. it’s hardly even worth complaining about, really, except for how uncomfortable it all is; arthur knows there are many who would take the discomfort of finery for the chance to wear it at all, to have what they have. if they can manage to impress their guests and make this alliance, he thinks it’ll take them one step closer to being able to offer real help to those who need it most. so it’s worth it. 

that’s what he’s telling himself to get through tonight. 

with arthur’s arms around her waist,  there’s very little gwen can do to move…at all. the most mobility she has comes from placing her hands gently on his arms, holding him that way. everything else is lost to her in the layers of fabric and the discomfort of the ornaments and a thousand other things. she pulls a face, and just barely resists the urge to thunk her face into his chest. the paint on her face had taken such a long time.

❛ do you know what this is, my darling? ❜ she tilts her head up to look at him, smiling. ❛ this is the world’s revenge on you for forcing merlin into those traditional clothes so long ago. sooner or later, it was bound to return to you.. ❜ she shakes her head, and thinks about having to walk down to the hall now. it seems a terrible journey. at least they’re as absurd as each other in these clothes.

with a sigh she steps away from him, though her hands trail down his arms to fall into his, fingers gentle against his hands, smiling. ❛ it won’t be so terrible. at least the tourney isn’t for another two days. ❜ though she is hardly thrilled for that ; it seems a strange show of violence. even if a tourney was where she first kissed arthur properly. ❛ and… ❜ she smiles cheekily here, head tilted. ❛ you’ll get to see merlin in his terrible hat. ❜

❛ that can’t be right, ❜  arthur protests, half-laughing. merlin hadn’t been happy about it, but he was going to have to wear something appropriately absurd anyway. there’s really no escaping this -- but at least arthur and guinevere aren’t the only ones having to put up with it. soon enough they’ll both have other things on their mind than this -- these feasts are hardly relaxed events, and there’s more diplomacy that happens over food than in any of the official discussions they’ll be having across the next few days.  ❛ he still has to wear it, too, if this was really revenge he’d have gotten out of it somehow. ❜

for now, then, arthur doesn’t mind complaining with guinevere. 

❛ mm, well you would say that. ❜ despite the effort it takes, gwen manages to rise to her toes and pull arthur down to kiss him. certainly not the kiss she would like to share with him - far too quick for that - but all she can manage at the moment, given the circumstances. the ridiculous, absurd circumstances.

she has opted out of the traditional shoes, as they’re awful, but hardly thinks it matters given that her feet can’t be seen anyway. it’s shaping up to be an incredibly long night, and they haven’t left their rooms yet. she’s also taken a few liberties when it comes to her hair - careful golden rings woven throughout, complimenting the crown that sits atop her head. the proper, traditional one. the absurdly heavy one. 

she sighs, dropping back down again, and takes a step back. ❛ if we’re going to complain, we might as well get it out now before anyone sees us. i’ll go first - my shoulders hurt and it’s only been twelve minutes since i put this on. your turn. ❜

❛ you’re right, i would. ❜  arthur winds his arms around guinevere’s waist, and it’s just enough to distract him from how ridiculous he feels, even if moving at all pulls on the several layers he’s wearing in multiple uncomfortable ways. he thinks his clothing isn’t quite as heavy as guinevere’s -- not quite as many ornate decorations, and more embroidery than jewels, but he feels as if he’s more protected by the layers of tunics than when he’s wearing his armour. 

at least if things go poorly tonight, the chances of them being successfully attacked are probably low -- which is good, because he doesn’t think either of them will be moving very quickly tonight, either. 

@etfuturus

❛ well i think he looks handsome! ❜ gwen’s laughing comment follows an equally mirthful merlin out of the room, and she turns back to arthur with a bright smile on her face, eyes sparkling. it’s true that the traditional clothing looks slightly absurd, but when hosting a visiting dignitary one does what they must, gwen thinks. and if such things mean agreeing to strange garb, then it’s hardly much of a sacrifice.

even if the colours are ghastly.

gwen’s own clothing - equally traditional - is slightly less absurd. overly jewelled, and absurdly heavy - she can feel an ache starting in her shoulders already - but the colours are muted compared to arthur’s. still, she steps forwards - jingling heavily - and smooths her hands across his chest. ❛ i do think you look handsome. i always think you look handsome. ❜ she presses her lips together for a moment to suppress a smile before she speaks again ❛ - even when you resemble an exotic bird. ❜

personally, arthur doesn’t think merlin’s going to have much to laugh about when he realizes that everyone’s got to wear this ridiculous traditional garb -- but it’s not like arthur’s outfit has much going for it, either. he’s all too well aware that he looks absurd, and really isn’t sure what message they’re meant to send to any visiting dignitaries beyond the fact that ancient camelot had a truly terrible eye for colours. 

perhaps it’s just something they can all agree on -- a nice, neutral message, bonding over the absurdity of holding onto too many traditions. 

based on this modern reincarnation plot, for @etfuturus​

she had signed with pendragon enterprises, a big multinational company that would bring huge billing to her firm and all thanks to her. morgana was finally getting somewhere in the firm, she could taste what this big sign could bring for her future so there was no way she would screw it up. or let associates deal with her business. there were a couple of papers uther had to sign for her and she was hoping she could talk to him about the takeover he was thinking about. however, she didn’t find uther waiting for her but someone rather younger.  ❛ you’re not mr. pendragon. ❜ he didn’t seem to fit in the room, a loose tie and hands in pockets. was he even allowed to be in here? though, she didn’t comment on it, not being able to look away from his eyes. something about him felt weirdly familiar. she had never seen him before, she was sure, yet she could have sworn she had. shaking her head, she pulled herself back together.  ❛ i don’t know who you are but these can only be signed by uther and i was told i was meeting him here. did i get the wrong room? ❜

they’ll die bloody and sooner than any of them think. gwen knows that. she’s known it since the first time arthur kissed her in the aftermath of battle, rough calloused hands and too-warm with the heat of it. she felt the bullet in her, sharper than any real one. lancelot only confirmed it, white hot in his unyielding passion. she’s happy to die with them – for them. but that’s the truth of it ; they’ll all three die together. whether on purpose or by accident, but they will.

❛ even you can’t stop the stars from going out. ❜ though if anyone were to try it’d be arthur. she smiles at the thought of it, tilts her head back to imagine it. outside the pinprick lights wink at them and gwen thinks soon they’ll be like that. nameless and distant and burning for a million years with all their leftover passion. 

she tugs at strands of his hair and makes sure his eyes are on her when she speaks again. ❛ no blood at daobeth. ❜ she doesn’t care if they draw it ; but it’s been too soon since they stitched each other up and felt each other’s blood. ❛ you come out with a bullet in you and i’ll make sure no one ever sings a song about you again, you hear me? ❜

❛ just watch me, ❜  arthur says, all bravado and charm; guinevere’s right, of course. they’ll all die someday, more likely bloody and ugly but arthur’ll be damned if it isn’t together. that’s a consolation in this cold expanse, having guinevere and lancelot by his side, and all the rest of them too. when they make it back, take their rightful place, arthur’ll give all of them all the titles and land they could ever want, everything they don’t have aboard this ship, bouncing from outport to dusty outport. without them, he’d be lost. 

but with them, the stars will remember their names for centuries to come. 

she leans into him, having learnt long ago that denying herself simple pleasures is ill-advised and poorly executed. much better to give in, to her desires and to his hands, and live while she’s alive. he’s sweet when he smiles, breaking through his rugged handsomeness to make him something softer, the boy she remembers from her childhood. 

ever vigilant she finishes with her gun before she climbs into his lap, settling easily to brush back his hair ; they both need to wash anyway. ❛ you’re terrible at making friends ❜ she teases him with a familiarity she shares with only one other. arthur pendragon is sweet with her, with lancelot ; with the rest he is a hair’s breadth from the trigger. she likes it better that way anyway.

❛ if you get me killed i’ll be very unhappy. ❜ her kiss suggests otherwise, but then gwen’s never lied to arthur before. ❛ especially if you die first. ❜

arthur waits, patient as anything, while guinevere finishes with her gun; she’s the fastest draw of any of them, best with aim, and meticulous with her tools. anyone else, except lancelot, and he might be impatient, pacing the floor of the ship and snapping. but with guinevere, and with lancelot-- they both put a peace in him not found anyplace else. 

besides, the reward for patience here is worth it, and arthur winds his arms around her waist and holds her there. he might be rough around the edges, now, turned ragged by life in the stars, but he’s happy to smooth those down for her, and now he’s chasing her kiss, this time, staying close and sneaking in another kiss to the side of her mouth at the last moment. 

the stars drift by lazily, and gwen is cleaning her gun.  she has no need to keep her gaze fixed on it while she works, the structure and feel of it as familiar to gwen as her own hands.  her cleaning is meticulous, but her focus is on the stars to keep her mind from spinning.  things are going well for them ; and she might be glad for that if long runs of good luck weren’t so often followed by devastation for their little band.

arthur’s hands pull gwen from her thoughts, and she chases his kiss, oil stained hands keeping him in place a moment longer before she leans into him.  ❛ feeling brave, are we? ❜ there’s stories ; from all they know it’s long-abandoned now, the whole place.  but who believes stories anymore?

❛ i wouldn’t count on daobeth for fuel, but i’m willing to make friends. ❜

oh, but he loves her; loves the grease on her hands, the way she cleans her gun, her eyes fixed on the stars sprawled out before them, her eagle-eye.  ❛ aren’t we always? ❜  guinevere makes him smile, soft and fond; the kind of smile held for no one but a few. he knows she’s got a better eye for trouble than him, knows which kinds of mess to avoid when arthur’d just fly in and take on the world if he had his way. it’s more of a request than a suggestion, really; if guinevere thinks it’s a bad idea, then to daobeth they won’t go.  

but she sounds interested, anyway, and he’d rather go to hell with her than paradise on his own, so even if daobeth has nothing other than ruins-- arthur’s smile grows, wide and boyish. 

        ❛ busy?  that is all you can come up with?  are you bloody serious, arthur?   you disappeared!  you ghosted everyone. you could’ve been DEAD and no one would’ve known because you cut us all out of your life. ❜     she’s angry — no. she’s hurt. the plural used in her sentences is served as denial for how painful it has been for her. to be alone. for all her life, he was there for her, with her. he was her brother, blood or not, so to have him gone from her life felt like losing a limb. and the worst part was she didn’t expect to hurt this much as soon as words came out of her mouth.

       it doesn’t really feel like it’s been as long as it has. arthur thinks he must have been so caught up in his time with sophia --- that’s what they say about love, isn’t it? that it distracts people from everything else? it certainly distracted him, if that’s what it was; he thinks he loved sophia, or loves her--- or something. arthur winces anyway, because morgana’s anger is something to behold; he’s been on the wrong end of it before, but never like this. he doesn’t need to ask to know that he’d hurt her --- no matter whether he’d meant to, or not.  

days out from any planet, they are, but the ship’s well-stocked and they’ve had a run of luck lately. they’ll get back home soon, arthur’s sure of it --- at least that’s what he’s telling himself, even if there’s no telling when they might have the numbers to get back and take the castle for their own again. no going home ‘til that happens. 

his hands come to rest on guinevere’s shoulders, and arthur leans down and kisses the side of her head.  ❛ thought we might make a stop in daobeth. ❜  hey’ve never been there, yet, and it’s only legends anyone hears about the place now. arthur’s got a real hankering to see the place, just for that.