The great hall of Camelot was no stranger to music. Minstrels, bards, flutists with trembling hands — they came and went with the passing of seasons, offering their talents to the court in exchange for coin or favor. Their melodies wove through the stones of the castle like threads of fleeting magic, vanishing with the next changing wind.

But this… this was different.

“They say she plays the harp like it’s an extension of her soul,” Murmured Lady Vivienne, her voice barely above a whisper, as if even speaking it aloud might shatter the delicate reverence surrounding the claim. Her gloved hands were folded primly, eyes alight with something between curiosity and awe, “And the lute. And the viol. Even the pipe organ, if you can believe it.”

Arthur, lounging slightly on his throne with one leg hooked lazily over the step below, raised a brow, “She? The same musician whose name has been passed around more than Merlin’s secret wine stash?”

“The very one, sire,” Sir Leon confirmed with a nod. His arms were crossed over his chest, expression serious, but not untouched by intrigue, “They call her a prodigy. More skilled than any noble-born court musician in Albion.”

“Impossible,” Scoffed Lord Wintour from his place near the hearth, where the fire danced merrily against ancient stone, “No commoner could master the lyre of Eiran or the court flute without years of noble tutoring. Those instruments aren’t exactly passed around in the village square.”

“And yet,” Came Merlin’s dry voice from beside the throne, “Everyone’s heard of her. Even Gaius has, and he barely listens to anything that doesn’t involve poultices or potions. He said she played for a wounded knight in the western isles. Calmed his fever. Soothed his pain. He swore her music made the dreams go quiet.”

Arthur turned his head slightly, eyes finding Guinevere beside him. Her posture was graceful, regal as ever, hands folded neatly in her lap. But her expression was soft, faraway — already imagining the music, perhaps.

“What do you think?” He asked her quietly.

“I think,” Guinevere said, lips curling into a thoughtful smile, “I’m curious.”

Arthur straightened, “Then we should invite her.”

The finality in his tone carried the weight of decision. The chamber fell still for a moment, letting it settle.

Sir Leon was already moving, nodding sharply, “I’ll have the messenger ready by morning.”

“Make it a royal invitation,” Guinevere added, her voice gentle but certain, “Let her know her talents are not just welcomed — but honored.”

A few murmurs stirred among the nobles, quiet threads of speculation and excitement, but in the corner of the great hall — where knights and servants mingled more freely under the shadow of high arches — Gwaine leaned against a carved pillar lazily. His smirk was unmistakable.

“A girl who can play every instrument under the sun?” He said, cocking his head toward Percival, who stood just beside him, “Sounds like a tale spun by a drunk minstrel and a wild night in the tavern. I'd know. I once thought a jug of mead whispered me a limerick.”

Percival let out a low laugh, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder, “You’d believe anything if it came from a jug of mead.”

“Exactly,” Gwaine grinned, “Which is why I know how unreliable it is.”

He tipped his cup toward the throne, “But I’ll say this — if she can do half of what they say, she’ll be the first court musician who ever made me stay awake past the first verse.”

“Oh, so you do listen.” Percival teased.

Gwaine only winked, raising his cup again in salute — whether to the king, the court, or the mysterious girl they spoke of, even he wasn’t sure.

But for the first time in weeks, the wind around Camelot stirred with something more than politics or patrols.

Something new was coming. And she carried music in her wake.

***

The market was alive in that way only Camelot could be — a mosaic of sound and scent and motion. Traders barked over one another, their voices layering over the clatter of hooves on stone and the soft thrum of distant music. The sharp tang of roasting meat drifted through the air, mingling with sweet spice and the warm aroma of fresh bread.

You moved through it quietly, your hood drawn — more out of habit than necessity — the edge of your cloak catching on the uneven cobbles. The world bustled around you, but your eyes were steady, curious, absorbing everything.

It wasn’t your first royal summons. You’d played in grander cities, for kings who dressed in gold and called their praises poetry. But Camelot…

Camelot didn’t boast. It didn’t glitter. It breathed.

You paused at a modest stall of woven shawls, fingers ghosting over the deep orange fabric. As though the sunset had bled into the lap of the craftsmen and then had been woven into a beautiful scarf.

“That one would look lovely on you.” Said a voice to your right — low, smooth, and far too confident.

You turned, slowly, head tilting as you met the gaze of a man leaning against the wooden frame of the stall. His hair was tousled like he'd only half won a fight with the wind, and his smile curled like it knew something you didn’t.

“Bit bold of you.” You said, arching a brow.

“Bold?” He placed a hand to his chest in mock offense, feigning scandal with all the subtlety of a stage actor, “I was paying you a compliment. It’s a terrible flaw of mine — I see beauty and can’t help but speak.”

You fought the twitch of a smile. Even as you turned back to the shawls, your amusement lingered at the corners of your mouth.

“Do you say that to every girl in the market?”

“Only the ones who look like they belong in a painting,” He said, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little, teasing, “Or perhaps a dream.”

You cast him a sideways glance, “A dream you say? And what would you know about dreams?”

“Oh, plenty,” He said, “Mine usually start with a beautiful woman giving me her name.”

Your lips curved, “And do they ever end with her giving it?”

“No,” He said, with a grin that was somehow both roguish and resigned, “But I remain ever hopeful.”

You gave him a look — part skeptical, part amused — and began to move away from the stall. He followed easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let me guess,” You said without looking back, “you’re a knight.”

“Guilty,” He replied, his tone making it sound like a badge of mischief rather than honor, “Sir Gwaine, at your service.”

“Sir Gwaine,” You echoed, testing the name like a note on your tongue, “Bit of a reputation, don’t you?”

“Only the flattering parts, I hope.” He dipped into a shallow, theatrical bow, nearly knocking over a basket of apples behind him, “And you? Are you just visiting Camelot, or do the gods truly favor me enough to have moved you here permanently?”

You laughed then — light, sudden, like bells in the morning — and the sound made something in him still.

“Visiting,” You said, glancing ahead, where the castle loomed distant beyond the market’s chaos, “Though I can’t say how long I’ll stay.”

“Then I’ll consider it my personal mission to make your visit… memorable.”

“Oh?” You stopped, turning to face him directly. There was a spark in your eyes now — not just amusement, but challenge, “And what exactly do you offer that would make it so?”

Gwaine opened his mouth — surely ready with something scandalous or smug — but then paused.

Because suddenly, there was something in the air between you that hadn’t been there before. The way you held his gaze. The way the crowd seemed to part around you without you noticing.

He blinked, once. Shook it off with a smile that had softened at the edges.

“Well,” He said, more gently now, “you could let me show you around. Properly. Camelot has its charms. But most people miss them, unless someone points them out.”

You studied him for a moment — the easy stance, the ridiculous confidence, the flicker of sincerity hiding beneath the grin. Then you reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Maybe I’ll let you try,” You said, “If I’m still here tomorrow.”

And just like that, you stepped back into the current of the crowd, your hood rising once more. The swell of people swallowed you whole.

Gwaine stood there for a long moment, lips parted, brow slightly furrowed.

He still didn’t know your name.

But he was already planning to find out.

***

The great doors of Camelot’s castle loomed before you — ancient and tall, carved with dragons, crowns, and echoes of a kingdom’s legacy. As they opened before you, the hum of the court reached your ears: the soft murmur of conversation, the rustle of silk, the faint clang of a sword shifting in its sheath.

You stepped inside with quiet confidence, the hem of your cloak brushing the polished stone. Light from the high windows filtered through colored glass, casting jeweled patterns along the floor.

Guinevere saw you first. Her gaze caught yours as if plucking a thread from a moving tapestry, and she stepped forward, her smile warm beneath her crown. “Welcome,” she said, her voice a gentle lilt — kind, but with the grace of command.

Arthur turned next, eyes sharp and curious, the measure of a king in the way he regarded you — not as an entertainer, but as something new.

“Your name has traveled far,” He said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman behind the legend.”

You inclined your head with practiced poise. “Your Majesties,” You said, voice smooth, “It’s an honor to be received in your court.”

“We’ve heard much of your talents,” Arthur continued, his tone courteous but expectant, “Would you honor us with a performance?”

You offered a faint smile — gracious, polite. But your answer, when it came, was carefully chosen.

“I’ve found,” You said, “that music, like most things with power, is at its most true when properly valued. Inspiration is free, yes. But performance... tends to require arrangement.”

The words weren’t sharp. There was no edge to your voice. But the meaning rang clear as any bell.

Guinevere blinked once — not in offense, but in appreciation — and a faint smile curved her lips.

Arthur leaned back slightly on the throne, a brow raised in what might have been amusement or admiration. Perhaps both.

“Well then,” He said, sitting forward again, “Allow me to extend the arrangement.”

He exchanged a glance with Guinevere, who nodded with that calm royal grace.

“We would like you to play at tonight’s banquet,” Arthur said, “And you will, of course, be compensated — generously — for your time and talent.”

You inclined your head once more, a delicate, fluid motion, “In that case, I would be glad to lend my hands to the music of your hall.”

Soft murmurs rippled through the court — nobles shifting, impressed, intrigued. The prodigy was no servant to flattery or command. She had presence. She had power.

And from the shadowed edge of the hall, Gwaine stared openly now — not with offense, nor even shock. No, what he felt was something far more dangerous.

Interest.

Not the fleeting kind he wore like a cloak in taverns or side streets, but something deeper, stirred by the poise in your voice and the unshakable stillness in your spine.

He let out a low breath, almost a laugh, to himself.

Well. Now he really wanted to know your name.

And tonight, at the banquet — with the court in its finest and the wine flowing freely — he intended to find out.

***

The court began to stir again after your exchange with the king and queen—murmurs spreading like ink in water, a ripple of intrigue following in your wake as you stepped back from the throne.

You felt eyes on you. Not the polite kind, or the curious kind—but the kind that tracked like a storm on the horizon.

And sure enough, before you’d taken more than a few steps toward the grand corridor, a voice fell in beside you.

“Well,” Said Gwaine, walking easily at your side, his grin ever-present but tempered now by something keener beneath it, “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile curling your lips, “Is that a compliment or an accusation?”

“Both,” He said brightly, “You appear, steal every gaze in the room, speak like a goddess in disguise, and vanish without even offering your name. Honestly, I’m a little offended.”

“Because I haven’t told you my name?” You asked, amused.

“Because you didn’t even glance my way,” He said with mock heartbreak, placing a hand over his heart, “I thought we shared something real in that market. I thought what we had was special.”

You laughed—a soft sound, tugging the corners of his mouth into a grin.

“I thought you only dreamed of women who have yet to give you their names,” You said, stepping closer, “Shouldn’t I still be a mystery to keep your fantasies alive?”

He tilted his head, a slow smile blooming across his lips, “Oh, I don’t know. There’s something thrilling about having a name to whisper in the dark.”

“Bold.” You said again, echoing your words from before, though this time your tone was warmer.

“And consistent,” He said, “I pride myself on both.”

A flicker of silence passed between you—not awkward, but full. Charged.

You were close enough now to see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his eyes danced even when his smile didn’t quite reach them. Charming, yes—but not careless. Not with his actual thoughts. Not with a stranger like you. Not yet.

“You’ll say anything to have a woman fawning after you, won’t you? You rake.” You teased.

He chuckled but didn’t deny it, “You wound me, my lady.”

“I imagine you’ve been called worse.” You said.

Your gazes locked, and for a beat, neither looked away.

“While I would love to be entertained by you for longer, I must go prepare for my performance tonight.”

“Then I’ll have to sit near the front. You know, for the acoustics.”

You hummed, eyes forward, “Of course. It’s not at all to admire the view.”

Gwaine’s eyes dropped briefly to your lips before a roguish grin spread across his face, “I can’t deny that the view is certainly admirable.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Just that look again, the one from earlier. That quiet, composed curve of your mouth that wasn’t quite a smile but was far too much to be nothing.

Then you turned, stepping down the left corridor without another word.

Gwaine watched you go, a hand rising to rest on the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t know why.

He let out a soft, self-deprecating breath.

“I’m in trouble.” He muttered to himself.

***

The banquet hall of Camelot glittered beneath candlelight and crystal.

Laughter and conversation echoed off the high stone arches, accompanied by the occasional clink of silver against porcelain. The scent of roasted pheasant and honeyed wine lingered thick in the air. Nobles in silks and velvets lined the long tables, and knights sat straighter than usual in their polished mail. Even the stone walls seemed less severe tonight, softened by ivy garlands and flickering sconces that cast firelight across ancient tapestries.

At the head of the room, beneath a hanging banner bearing the Pendragon crest, Arthur and Guinevere sat crowned in gold and flame.

Laughter had echoed earlier — bright and loose — but now, as the last dish was cleared and goblets refilled, the mood shifted. Anticipation settled over the room like perfume.

The murmurs stilled as you stepped into the space just below the dais.

No announcement. No flourish.

Just you — and the violin resting in your hands like something sacred.

It was unlike anything the court had seen: carved from dark wood with a faint, reddish sheen, as if it had been soaked in centuries of sunsets. Silver filigree twisted along its neck in unfamiliar patterns, too delicate to be merely decorative. When you raised the bow… the room exhaled.

The first note rang out — clear and crystalline, like ice melting beneath sunlight. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The sound curled through the air like a spell, catching in the rafters, wrapping itself around torchlight.

Knights stilled. Nobles leaned forward unconsciously, barely breathing.

The melody wound through the hall like a river — rich and fluid, ancient and alive. It spoke of heat and dust, of wind-borne secrets, and lands beyond any map pinned in a council chamber. It didn’t just fill the room.

It woke it.

Then you began to sing.

The language was foreign — old, lilting — its syllables slipping like silk into the stillness. A tongue from across seas, from wind-swept cliffs and half-forgotten gods. No one in the hall understood the words.

But they felt them.

Your voice was rich and resonant, steeped in memory and longing. It spun stories they didn’t know they knew — stories they couldn't quite understand but clung to anyway, breath held, eyes wide. They hung onto every verse. Every rise and fall. Transfixed.

Arthur leaned forward, brows furrowed in concentration. Guinevere’s eyes shone, one hand rising unconsciously to rest over her heart. And across the court — warriors, mothers, kingsguard, diplomats — all stood rooted like statues, as though to move would break the spell.

And then — your gaze shifted.

To him.

Gwaine.

He sat among the knights, wine forgotten in his hand — a first. His laughter had been the loudest earlier, his presence the most familiar. But now he was still. No grin. No clever aside. Just a quiet furrow between his brows, and a gaze locked to yours like it had never belonged anywhere else.

You met his stare head-on, and in your eyes, he saw it: mirth. That glimmering, teasing light that danced there — the same expression you'd worn in the marketplace when you chose not to give him your name. And now, you were singing in a language he didn’t know, directing words he couldn’t decipher right at him.

When your voice dipped — softening into the second verse — it became something intimate. Not just beautiful, but personal. The court blurred at the edges. The air thickened.

The way your lips moved. The way your fingers coaxed sound from the strings. The way you looked at him — like he was the secret tucked between the verses.

Gwaine’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

He knew he was being toyed with. Your voice strung invisible thread around him, tugging with every word. He should have looked away. Should’ve broken the spell.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He was caught — and you knew it.

The song swelled, rising like breath before a confession. You shifted the bow in a final flourish, letting the last note tremble in the air — golden, aching, final.

And then — silence.

Not emptiness. Not pause. Reverence.

You lowered your bow with the elegance of someone untouched by effort. Not a single breath rushed. Not a single lock of hair out of place.

And then — slowly — the room remembered itself.

Guinevere rose first, clapping with stunned grace. Arthur followed, offering a few soft words of praise that you barely heard.

Then the court erupted — applause rising in waves, nobles rising to their feet for a better view.

You flushed prettily, but remained composed. You bowed to the king and queen, then again to the court — your movements measured and graceful.

And when you lifted your head, you found him.

Gwaine. Still seated. Still watching.

The look in his eyes was part wonder, part disbelief — and part something far more dangerous.

You smiled. Not sweet. Not shy. Coy. Elegant. Calculated. A tease. An invitation. And a warning.

Then you turned, violin in hand, and walked off the dais with the ease of someone who knew exactly what power looked like — and how quietly it could be held.

Behind the velvet curtain near the musicians’ gallery, you vanished into shadow.

And still… Gwaine watched.

His goblet sat untouched. His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood of his chair.

After a long moment, he stood.

And followed.

***

The corridor was hushed, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight through towering stained-glass windows. The sounds of the banquet — clinking goblets, laughter, the echo of applause — had faded behind you, muffled now by stone and distance.

You walked slowly, the weight of your violin case familiar in your hand, the click of your boots quiet against the worn floor. After the performance, it felt like you were still coming back to yourself — like the song hadn’t fully left your body.

You breathed in deep. Let it go.

And then—

“That was some confession of love you sang tonight.”

The voice behind you was unmistakable — low, smooth, threaded with amusement and something softer beneath it. You stopped, head turning slightly.

There he was — Sir Gwaine, hair slightly mussed, that ever-present half-smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He leaned casually against the wall, like this conversation was a happy accident. Like he hadn’t been following your shadow since the last note faded. The smirk was crooked, as always, but his eyes — his eyes were fixed on you in that sharp, startling way that made it impossible to look away.

“Excuse me?” You asked, arching a brow, trying not to show that your heart had just skipped.

He walked toward you at an easy pace, all casual confidence and velvet voice.

“I mean, I’ve been flirted with before,” he continued, “but never in another tongue.”

You stared at him, half-incredulous, “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

He grinned, “And in front of an entire royal court, no less. You really do set the bar high.”

“While I’d hate to miss an opportunity to make that big head of yours even bigger, Sir Gwaine… I wasn’t singing to you.”

“Oh, come on,” He said, tilting his head, eyes glinting, “I’ve never heard anything more heartfelt in my life — especially when you looked straight at me.”

“I looked at everyone.”

“Yes,” he said, “But only one of us knew what you were saying.”

You blinked.

He smiled — slow and knowing — and then, without hesitation, he spoke the line from your song. The one no one else should’ve understood. The one tucked between verses like a secret folded in silk.

The air left your lungs.

You turned to face him fully now, startled, “You… understood that?”

He nodded, the smile still playing faintly at the corner of his lips, “More or less. My accent’s probably terrible, but I think the meaning holds.”

“You know the language?”

He gave a small shrug, “Bits and pieces. I traveled through the southern coast once — small fishing village past the white cliffs. Spent a few weeks with a caravan merchant and his family. Their daughter taught me how to curse in four dialects. I picked up the rest by listening. Songs. Prayers. Old lullabies sung at dusk.”

You were quiet — studying him.

The open collar of his tunic, the relaxed posture, the rakish smirk… it all made sense until now. Everything you’d assumed about him — this unraveling version didn’t match. This wasn’t a man who stumbled through life on charm and bravado alone. This was someone who had seen things. Heard them. Chosen to remember.

“You’ve been outside Camelot?” You asked, more softly than before.

He stopped just a few steps in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn’t quite name — one that made you want to look closer.

“I’ve been a lot of places,” he said. “Didn’t always wear the armor or the title. For a while, I was just… no one. So I wandered.”

His voice wasn’t heavy. But there was something behind it — a glimpse of solitude, of silence carried across roads most people never walked.

The shadows between you stretched long and silver-blue, soft at the edges. You could hear the faint hum of the feast behind you, but it felt distant now — like a memory you hadn’t made yet.

You parted your lips, but no words came.

He wasn’t teasing you anymore. He wasn’t performing. He was just Gwaine — still with that glint in his eye, yes, but tempered now with depth you hadn’t expected to find.

“You consistently seem to surprise me.” You said at last, voice soft.

Gwaine’s smile flickered — not cocky this time. Just warm.

“I’m full of surprises.” He said, then paused like he might say more… but didn’t.

You studied him a beat longer, your fingers relaxing around the handle of your violin case.

He noticed. Didn’t push. Just watched you in that moonlight like he wasn’t sure whether to make a joke… or tell you something real.

For now, he settled on, “Walk with me?”

And for the first time all night — maybe all week — you nodded without weighing the answer.

“Yes,” You said, soft and sure, “Alright.”

And together, you walked into the quiet.

Your shoulders close, your footsteps in rhythm, your words still wrapped in everything unsaid. The music behind you had faded entirely, distant now as a dream.

Ahead of you was only stone, and shadow, and moonlight.

And something new — something unnamed — beginning to bloom in the space between your footsteps.

***

The sun was still rising behind Camelot’s towers when the knights began to gather at their usual long table in the great hall — the one tucked close to the hearth, warmed by the crackling fire and the scent of baked bread and roasting meat.

Mugs of spiced cider steamed in their hands, plates filled with honeyed figs, sharp cheeses, and slices of smoked ham.

Leon was the first to arrive, already dressed for patrol, polished and sharp as ever. Percival followed, shaking his head of any remaining droplets from the bathhouse like a dog. Lancelot looked suspiciously well-rested. Elyan, unbothered, was already on his third fig and second roll.

They were halfway through trading quiet banter when the great doors creaked open.

And in he strolled.

Gwaine.

Still dressed in the same clothes from the night before — though he’d ditched his cloak somewhere along the way — shirt slightly wrinkled, hair delightfully mussed, and a grin tugging at his lips that could only be described as smug.

Leon looked up over his mug, “Morning, Gwaine.”

“Look who decided to join the land of the living,” Percival teased, raising a brow as he set down his spoon.

“Late to breakfast, aren’t you?” Leon added with a grin.

Without a word, Gwaine slid into his usual seat, not bothering to deny the delay, “I have my reasons.”

“Oh?” Lancelot leaned forward, brows raised, mischief flickering in his eyes, “Do enlighten us.”

The conversation caught the attention of the monarchs. Arthur turned toward the knights with an almost boyish grin, while Guinevere’s eyes twinkled with growing amusement. Merlin, passing by with a tray of eggs, snorted quietly at the scene.

Gwaine hesitated a beat too long — then rolled his eyes and began piling cheese on his bread. “You lot are insufferable,” He muttered, though there was a smile beneath the words.

“Oh, come now,” Leon said, feigning innocence with all the grace of a fox in the henhouse, “You disappear halfway through the feast, don’t return to your chambers, and yet show up this morning looking like...” He gestured vaguely at Gwaine’s disheveled, tired state, “That.”

“We’re just curious.” Elyan chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“Concerned, really.” Percival added, his voice mock-serious.

“Spill it.” Merlin said, settling at the table with a sly grin.

“Nothing happened.” Gwaine replied, a little too quickly.

“Ohhh...” Elyan said, arching his eyebrows knowingly.

“So something definitely happened.” Leon pressed.

“No!” Gwaine put down his bread, exasperated but grinning despite himself, “We didn’t—gods, must you all behave like gossiping washerwomen?”

“Not until you tell us where you were.” Merlin said, taking a bite of bread.

“And with whom.” added Lancelot, his grin positively wolfish.

Arthur cleared his throat, his grin betraying any attempt at decorum. “If it concerns the lady currently under my royal invitation,” He said with mock seriousness, “I’d like to be informed as well.”

Even Guinevere leaned in slightly now, chin resting on one hand, looking far too entertained.

Gwaine sighed dramatically, “You lot have filthy imaginations.”

Merlin’s grin widened, “So deny it, then.”

“I am denying it.” Gwaine leaned back in his chair, eyes rolling toward the vaulted ceiling as if seeking patience from the very stones, “Nothing happened.”

Elyan raised both eyebrows, unconvinced, “Nothing?”

After a beat, Gwaine answered, voice low but steady, “We walked.”

“Walked?” Percival repeated, voice dripping with skepticism.

“Just walked,” Gwaine said, “We talked. About traveling. About music. About places we’ve seen.”

Silence fell over the table as the knights exchanged amused glances.

Then—

“Awwww.” Lancelot cooed, entirely too delighted by the confession, “A moonlit confession.”

“Taking a quaint little stroll with your love, were you?” Elyan teased, a wide grin splitting his face, “How Romantic.

Arthur chimed in, "What’s next? Poetry under starlight?”

“Perhaps a duet,” Leon said, “He’ll be picking flowers like a forlorn page by week’s end.”

“You can all kindly jump off the highest tower,” Gwaine muttered, but the corners of his mouth were curving helplessly.

Arthur tilted his head, “So let me get this straight — the infamous Sir Gwaine disappears with a beautiful musician who just sang a foreign love song in front of the entire court… and all you did was talk?”

“Yes,” Gwaine said firmly, “I was a perfect gentleman.”

That, of course, only made everything worse.

Leon sputtered into his drink, “A perfect gentleman, he says.”

“A new era,” Elyan said, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, “Mark it down. Gwaine, model of chivalry.”

Gwaine only shook his head and smiled — softer now, a little quieter, “She’s not what I expected.”

That settled the table.

Leon blinked, the teasing fading into something gentler, “That so?”

For a moment, no one knew quite what to say.

Until Elyan muttered, “Poor fool.”

And the laughter resumed — just a little more fond this time.

***

The sun hung warm and golden over the bustling town square, where cobblestones shimmered beneath soft light and laughter rolled in gentle waves. Children darted between market stalls, merchants called out their wares, and villagers leaned casually against fountains and barrels, all drawn to the sweet strains of music weaving through the air.

At the heart of it all sat you—perched gracefully on a low stone bench, a lute cradled in your hands. Your fingers glided effortlessly across the strings, coaxing out a melody that was light and playful, a tune meant more for joy than grandeur. The notes fluttered like birdsong, making old women smile softly, dogs tilt their heads in curious delight, and strangers pause mid-step, caught by the enchantment.

Gwaine spotted the gathering crowd from across the square, curiosity tugging at him like a tide pulling toward shore. He threaded his way through a cluster of giggling children until he stood where the music blossomed brightest—right before you. Your hair caught the sunlight in a cascade of warmth, your eyes half-closed, caught somewhere between deep focus and fondness.

He folded his arms, leaning casually against a nearby post, his smirk growing as he watched the way you commanded the square’s attention.

When you finally lowered the lute, letting the last note drift gently on the breeze, the crowd erupted into applause. Coins clinked into a small woven basket at your feet, though many offered nothing but their smiles and gratitude.

“That was lovely.” Gwaine said, his voice carrying that familiar mixture of charm and teasing challenge as he stepped forward.

You didn’t look up immediately, but the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile.

“And free,” he added, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned in just enough to catch your attention, “Which is curious… considering you only perform for payment.”

You raised a brow, eyes locking with his, “Do I look like a liar to you?”

“Never,” he said with a slow grin, stepping closer, “But I seem to recall a certain royal audience where someone insisted she only performed when properly compensated.”

You gave a small, playful shrug, “Believe me, I will be quite rewarded for that performance.”

Before Gwaine could reply, you bent down and took the hand of a small girl standing shyly nearby. The child’s eyes sparkled with innocent excitement, cheeks flushed from the warm day.

Then, turning back to Gwaine with a sweet smile, you said, “This is Lady Tilda. She promised me a thousand gold coins if she ever becomes a princess. How could I refuse the future princess’s humble request?”

Gwaine’s grin widened, eyes crinkling with amusement as he stepped closer to the little girl, “Well, when you put it like that…”

“She’s good for it,” You said with mock solemnity, “We have a verbal contract.”

Tilda nodded eagerly, clutching your skirt as if it were a treasure.

Gwaine knelt down to meet the girl’s bright eyes, “Did you enjoy the song, Lady Tilda?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “She played it just for me.” The girl beamed, pride shining in her voice.

“She did, did she?” Gwaine glanced up at you, his smile softening, “Lucky you.”

Your gaze lifted to meet his, warmth pooling in your eyes. The noise of the square faded into a gentle hum as something unspoken passed between you. You found yourself eager to talk to him again, to lose yourself in hours of quiet conversation and shared stories, like you had the night before.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was not heavy—it was comforting, filled with the quiet breath of being near someone who saw beyond the surface and chose to stay.

“Sleep well?” He asked, his voice softening, a vulnerability slipping through his usual easy confidence.

You glanced at him, the corners of your lips tilting upward. “Eventually,” You said simply, “You?”

He gave a faint smile, the flicker of night’s fatigue still present, “Eventually.”

The silence settled once more, but now it was warmer, threaded with something golden and new. There was no pretense anymore—not about who he was, not about who you were. Last night had stripped away a layer from both of you—not completely, but enough to glimpse something real beneath.

Suddenly, Tilda piped up, her voice full of childlike wonder as she stared between the two of you. “You’re to be married, aren’t you?”

You stilled, caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, your cheeks warming as you turned to glance at Gwaine — who, to your dismay, looked utterly delighted.

“Well,” He said with a mock bow toward the child, “if the future princess so declares it, who am I — a humble knight of Camelot — to defy such royal command?”

Your brows lifted, lips curving into a smirk as you shot him a pointed look, "Not even in your wildest dreams, I'm afraid."

Tilda, entirely pleased with herself, beamed between the two of you, “Mama says when people smile at each other like that, it means they’re in love.”

Gwaine choked on a laugh, quickly pressing a fist to his mouth in a failed attempt to muffle it. You turned slightly, shoulders stiffening as heat crept up your neck.

“Your mother says too much.” You muttered, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips.

“She says it all the time,” Tilda went on, entirely undeterred, “Especially when she’s looking at the baker.”

That made both you and Gwaine pause.

You glanced at her, then at each other — the same thought clearly occurring to both of you.

“And the baker is…” Gwaine began delicately, “…your father?”

Tilda shook her head with cheerful obliviousness, “No. My father rears sheep.”

You both blinked, sharing a wide-eyed glance of barely concealed alarm and amusement.

“Well then.” You said at last, clearing your throat.

“Indeed,” Gwaine agreed, his voice pitched a little higher than usual, “A… fondness for bread, perhaps?”

“She says he’s got strong arms.” Tilda added proudly.

Gwaine covered his mouth again, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You shot him a look that was equal parts horrified and entertained.

“Tilda,” You said gently, “perhaps we keep some of Mama’s wisdom just between us, hm?”

The girl nodded solemnly, as if she’d just been entrusted with a royal secret.

Gwaine leaned toward you slightly, still grinning, “I rather like her. She’s brutally honest.”

You gave him a look, amused and exasperated in equal measure, “You would.”

***

You’d been invited to the palace for what was meant to be a simple meeting — a short discussion with Queen Guinevere about the upcoming tea gathering she planned to host for visiting dignitaries. She’d asked for music, light and sophisticated, and had offered you a formal commission to compose and perform.

You accepted — how could you not? But the queen, warm and disarmingly thoughtful, had asked you to stay just a little longer to finalize the arrangements. And so, you waited in the drawing room, the air scented faintly with beeswax and roses, a soft breeze drifting in through the tall windows.

From your chair near the hearth, you could hear the hum of conversation across the room. Guinevere stood at a long table with two male advisors, one of whom spoke with a particular air of authority — all of them bent over plans for the luncheon.

“The Rosenthal china, I think,” Said the older of the men, tapping a parchment, “The gold-rimmed set from the Andalusian trade. It shows strength. Wealth.”

You glanced up at that.

“Forgive the interruption,” You said gently, rising partway from your seat, “May I offer a small suggestion, Your Majesty?”

Guinevere looked up with interest, “Please.”

You stepped forward with quiet confidence, folding your hands, “The Rosenthal set is exquisite, truly — but might I suggest something simpler? Perhaps the sage porcelain or the white-and-cobalt set from Albion?”

The advisor raised a brow, “And why would we serve foreign dignitaries on second-tier tableware?”

You met his tone with nothing but poise, “Because one of the guests — the Lady of Lys — will be attending on the anniversary of her father’s passing. He was their king. The gold embellishments, particularly the eagle motif on the Rosenthal, may unintentionally echo symbols once used in opposition to her house. A more understated set would not only reflect sensitivity but offer elegance without ostentation.”

There was a brief pause.

Even Guinevere blinked, as if surprised — pleasantly so, “I hadn’t considered that.”

But the older man standing beside Guinevere — a lord in richly embroidered blue, his face too long and mouth too thin — gave a small, dismissive chuckle.

“Commoners and their kitchen gossip,” He said, “Your Majesty, perhaps we ought to rely on those trained in such matters of etiquette. This young woman is here to play songs, not instruct the royal table.”

You slowly lifted your gaze to him, still smiling — though now it carried a sharper edge.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, my lord,” You said, voice light with perfect grace, “I should not have assumed the responsibilities of the lady of the house were being managed by a lady.”

There was a pause — just long enough to let the insult settle.

You inclined your head slightly, a picture of decorum, “My sincerest apologies. I forget myself. It was presumptuous of me to assume such things. Clearly, you are more than capable of handling the arrangements typically overseen by a hostess.” You smiled wider now, barely containing the glint in your eyes, “My la— I mean… my lord.”

A cough disguised as a laugh sounded from somewhere behind you. One of the knights — Elyan, perhaps. Gwaine, leaning in the archway, had the audacity to look impressed. Merlin was biting his cheek to keep from grinning. Even Guinevere’s lips twitched with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction.

The advisor’s expression soured, but he said nothing — merely adjusted his cuffs and cleared his throat, retreating a step with wounded dignity.

Guinevere gave you a subtle nod of approval. “I do hope you’ll stay for the tea itself,” She said, voice smooth, “I rather think we’ll need your eye for refinement.”

You smiled again. This time, just a bit sharper.

“I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

"I'm not the only one full of surprises." Commented Gwaine underneath his breath.

***

The sun had barely shifted across the courtyard when the next visitor arrived — not heralded by trumpets or fanfare, but by the heavy tread of boots, the jingle of polished reins, and the unmistakable colors of high nobility.

“His Grace, the Duke of Elenfort.” The herald announced.

The atmosphere shifted like the air before a storm.

Conversations halted. Heads turned. Even Arthur, mid-discussion with Leon and a visiting councilor, straightened in his seat. Guinevere’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before slipping back into practiced grace.

You froze.

That name hadn’t touched your ears in years — and hearing it now, in Camelot’s great hall, was like a tolling bell you hadn’t realized you’d been dreading.

The man who stepped through the great doors had a presence like thunder. Tall, silver-haired, cloaked in hunting green and sable, Duke Alaric carried himself like someone used to command. His signet ring gleamed as he gave a bow — just deep enough not to be called disrespectful.

Arthur rose from the throne beside Guinevere, posture formal, “Lord Alaric. Your arrival was… unannounced.”

Alaric offered a short bow, shallow to the point of insult, “Forgive the breach of etiquette, Your Majesty. But I believe I am owed a word.”

A rustle moved through the court. Murmurs stirred like dry leaves.

Arthur gave a cautious nod, “You are welcome in Camelot, Your Grace. What business brings you here?”

The Duke turned — and his eyes landed on you like iron.

“There you are,” He said, “Enough of this charade.”

Gwaine moved before you could even react, stepping instinctively between you and the duke, his posture loose but ready, “Care to explain yourself, my lord?”

“I am the Duke of Elenfort,” Alaric declared, turning back to Arthur, “And this girl is my daughter.”

The silence that followed was total.

Even Merlin, passing with a tray of scrolls, paused mid-step. Leon looked stunned. Elyan raised both eyebrows in disbelief.

Arthur blinked, “Your… daughter?”

“My only child. The Lady of Elenfort,” Alaric said tightly, “She fled our estate three years ago — abandoned her name, her duties, her betrothal — all for some fool’s fantasy of becoming a performer. And now I find her here, parading herself in court.”

You stood a little straighter.

Gwen frowned, “She is here by invitation of the queen. Her conduct has been nothing but honorable.”

The Duke barely glanced at Guinevere, “With all respect, Your Majesty — she is meant to be married. She has lands. Titles. A legacy to uphold. The life of a wandering musician is one of disgrace. One step above beggary. It is not fit for a woman of her breeding.”

Each word struck like a slap.

Alaric turned on you, “You ran from a life people would kill for. And now you make a mockery of our house, dancing on tavern floors and performing for peasants.”

Your voice was cool and even, “I was invited. I’ve done nothing to disgrace your house but live a life I chose.”

“And yet here you are,” He sneered, “Living among knights. Playing for coins. Singing like a tavern wench.”

“Watch your tongue,” Guinevere said sharply, stepping down from the dais.

Arthur raised a hand, “Enough.”

But the murmurs of the court were already rising — knights exchanging glances, advisors whispering behind their hands.

“I will not stand by while she tarnishes our name,” Alaric snapped, “You will come with me—”

“I will not.” You said, voice like steel.

The Duke’s jaw clenched, “Then I will petition the king—”

“You already are,” Arthur said, gaze tightening, “And I am trying to prevent this from becoming something worse.”

“I won’t have her become some common whore with a pretty instrument—”

Gwaine moved so quickly Leon barely caught his shoulder. “Do not speak of her that way,” He growled, “Duke or not, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of this hall upright.”

Your gaze flickered to him — but Gwaine didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed fixed on your father, sharp and furious, as he took another step forward, positioning himself directly between you and Alaric.

“Stand down,” Arthur ordered, voice cracking like thunder, “That is enough.”

A silence thicker than steel followed.

Guinevere now stood beside Arthur, “She deserves to stay. If that is her wish.”

Arthur’s eyes scanned the room — from the queen, to the knights, to you… then finally to the duke.

“She is a noblewoman by birth,” The king said slowly, “And the daughter of a sitting Duke. This puts us in delicate territory.”

“And if she refuses to return?” Gwaine asked, gaze hard on the king.

Alaric cut in again, voice rigid, “I expect this court to respect the laws of nobility.”

“And I expect,” Arthur said, teeth clenched, “this court not to descend into shouting matches.”

“I will take her back by force if I must.” the Duke snarled, stepping forward—

“You will do no such thing—” Guinevere began.

Tension snapped tight as a drawn bowstring.

“I won’t go back!” You said, loud and unshaken — the words slicing through the court like a blade.

Voices clashed.

Gwaine took another step forward.

Alaric raised his voice over everyone’s.

And you stood — fists clenched, heart pounding, Gwaine’s shoulder nearly brushing yours as he prepared to fight a whole court if it came to it.

And then—

“Enough.” Arthur said again — the word quiet but final.

Still, the Duke turned toward you.

“You will come with me.” He said — voice low. Icy. Absolute.

The air was thick with tension. Duke Alaric’s voice still rang in your ears — the threats, the venom, the absolute refusal to see you as anything but a wayward daughter who needed to be dragged home and locked away again. A pawn to be placed neatly back on his board.

You could feel the weight of the court pressing in — the uncertain glances, the restrained whispers, the queen’s steady presence at Arthur’s side, the knights standing tense in a line of silent solidarity.

But when your eyes found Gwaine, standing just off-center, you saw it — the smallest smile. Just for you. Subtle, a flicker at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual grin, all teeth and swagger — it was quiet. Meant only for you. And it said: I’m on your side.

And gods help you, you trusted him.

You straightened, chin lifting with calm resolve, “I’m afraid I can’t return home with you, Father.”

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.

Alaric’s head snapped toward you, his mouth already curling in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“Because I’m a married woman,” You said, voice clear and unwavering, “I belong here. With my husband.”

The silence shattered.

Gasps. Murmurs. One of the kitchen girls near the back dropped a platter. Leon swore softly into his mug. Merlin choked on air. Gwen’s hand froze midair as though she’d been paused mid-spell. Arthur… Arthur looked like someone had hit him square in the face with a pie.

And Gwaine — Gwaine blinked.

His head jerked toward you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t knock something loose. His eyes flew wide, blinking hard — just once — before you gave him a sharp, pleading look. Just go with it.

And bless him, because he did.

He straightened, rolled his shoulders back, and stepped toward you with the kind of swagger only he could pull off without looking like a fool. “That’s right,” He said, voice full of infuriating ease, “We’re married. Happily.”

Another ripple of disbelief passed through the room like thunder.

Arthur looked between the two of you, visibly trying not to smirk. Leon blinked slowly, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. Merlin covered his mouth with his sleeve. Guinevere was still frozen, a teacup raised halfway to her lips.

“Married?” Duke Alaric spat, “To him?”

Gwaine gave him a dazzling smile, “Pleasure to meet you, Father-in-Law.”

You cleared your throat primly, “It was a quiet affair. We didn’t want to attract attention, given my... complicated family situation.”

Alaric turned to Arthur, furious, “I demand the marriage be annulled. This was clearly done in haste.”

You tilted your head, “Oh, we can’t annul it.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” You said, voice syrup-sweet, “the union was witnessed by a member of the royal family. It’s legally binding.”

You turned to Gwen, who was watching you like you’d just tossed her a dagger and a crown at the same time. Your life was in her hands. Your eyes begged: Please.

And Guinevere, glorious woman that she was, didn’t even flinch.

She straightened, regally, and nodded once, “Indeed. I witnessed their vows. It was… a deeply moving affair.” She tilted her head just slightly, “So much love in the room.”

Arthur looked like he was trying not to laugh. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. Leon was actively shaking with silent mirth. Elyan had to turn away.

Alaric looked between you all, flabbergasted, “Fine. Then you will divorce.”

“Also impossible.” You said at once.

“Impossible?” he echoed, voice rising.

You held his gaze and delivered the final blow with a smile that could cut glass. And with the poise of a queen, the calm of a saint, and the nerves of someone absolutely lying through their teeth, you said,

“We consummated the marriage.”

Silence.

Guinevere inhaled sharply. Arthur made a strangled sound. Leon nearly dropped his goblet. Merlin outright choked.

Gwaine blinked, “I’m sorry, the marriage has been—?”

You gave him a look. That very specific look that said: Gwaine. This is the part where you help me or I kill you with my bare hands.

He stared for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, with that same ridiculous flourish he used when gambling or charging into battle, he stepped beside you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and flashed a grin so rakish it could have brought the ceiling down.

“Oh. Yes. Right,” He said, “Absolutely. Consummated. Thoroughly. Best day of my life.”

Leon choked on a laugh. Elyan whispered “He’s going to die” to Lancelot, who only nodded solemnly. Your father looked a hair’s breadth away from a heart attack.

Arthur cleared his throat, “Well. That would make the union valid under every law I know.”

“And irreversible.” Guinevere added smoothly.

Duke Alaric’s face flushed a furious crimson. His jaw locked tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he cast his gaze between you, Gwaine, and the royal court — many of whom were now struggling to conceal their amusement behind goblets, gloved hands, or tightly clenched jaws.

“You have humiliated yourself,” He hissed, voice low and shaking with rage, “And disgraced me in the process.”

You tilted your head, lips curving into a smile as sweet as it was sharp, “Well,” You said lightly, “the list of advantages to this marriage appears to grow by the moment.”

Alaric’s hand twitched at his side, as though tempted to strike the words from your mouth — but not even he was foolish enough to try. Not here. Not with Arthur watching him like a hawk, and Gwaine standing half a breath away, one hand already perilously close to the hilt of his sword.

Alaric’s gaze flitted to Arthur, to Guinevere, to the silent wall of knights lining the edge of the court — and found no allies among them.

“So be it,” He snapped, “You’ve made your bed.”

He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him like a banner of war, “When this charade collapses around you, do not come crawling home. You are no daughter of mine.”

And with that, he stormed from the hall, boots striking like thunder against stone. The great doors boomed shut behind him with a resounding crack.

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

“A word,” said Arthur, voice calm but cutting, “Sir Gwaine. Wife.”

Still standing shoulder to shoulder, Gwaine’s hand a steady warmth at your back, you exchanged the faintest of glances — and followed the king and queen from the hall. You were led into a side chamber, quiet and sunlit, the scent of lavender and parchment rich in the air. But you noticed none of it.

Because the moment the door clicked shut behind you—

You turned and launched yourself into Gwaine’s arms.

He caught you at once, stumbling a half-step backward as your arms wound tightly around his neck, laughter bursting from your chest.

“Gwaine,” You gasped, breathless with adrenaline and disbelief, “you were brilliant. I could kiss you.”

“You owe me a drink.” He said under his breath — though one arm settled instinctively at your waist, fingers brushing against your ribs like he didn’t quite want to let go.

“I owe you far more than that,” you said, voice softer now as you met his gaze, “Truly. I can never repay what you’ve done today.”

His smile gentled, and for a heartbeat it felt like you two were the only people in the world.

“You owe me nothing,” he murmured. “I would do it again. A thousand times.”

A pointed cough broke the moment — theatrical and not at all subtle.

You turned, cheeks flushed but glowing, to see Arthur standing with arms folded, his expression somewhere between disbelief and deadpan irritation. Guinevere, beside him, looked perilously close to laughter.

“That,” Arthur said, his tone dry, “was quite the performance.”

Guinevere grinned, “One I thoroughly enjoyed.”

Arthur’s gaze returned to you, “Lady (Y/N)… are you certain of this path? You’ve turned your back on land, power, a title that many would kill to claim. Is this truly a decision you won’t come to regret?”

You didn’t even blink.

“Never, Your Majesty,” You said with bright conviction, “I would sooner die than return to my father’s estate.”

Arthur blinked, “You’re… smiling. Rather excessively.”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, “I can’t stop. Is this what joy feels like? My heart won’t sit still.”

Gwaine chuckled low beside you, the sound warm and unguarded, “Feels rather the same from this side, too.”

You turned to him with a grin that could have lit the room, “Truly, my cheeks ache. I feel as though I might take flight.”

Arthur looked between the two of you, then turned slowly to Guinevere. “I believe,” He said, “this may be the first time I’ve seen anyone cheerful about waking up married to Gwaine.”

“Jealousy,” Gwaine said, without missing a beat, “is unbecoming, sire.”

Guinevere laughed — light, delighted, and wholly unrestrained.

And you just stood there, beside the man who had helped you reclaim your freedom, your name, your joy — smiling so hard your face hurt, heart light as a feather and full as a kingdom.

***

The days that followed passed in a blur of whispers and watchful glances. Your “marriage” had become the scandal of Camelot — retold in courtyards, corridors, and kitchens with growing flair. By the time it reached the stablehands, you were either a runaway princess, a bardic enchantress, or a spy sent to seduce the king’s best knight.

But beneath the laughter, beyond the amused jests, lay the quiet truth: the marriage had been a ruse. A clever, desperate ploy. And now that the storm had passed and your father had ridden off in outrage, it was time to untangle the knot.

You had never meant to stay.

Camelot was golden, yes — full of music and kindness, sunlit towers and friendly halls. But it was not the road. Not the ache of strings beneath your fingers, nor the wind in your cloak as the world unfolded beneath your boots. You were born for songs and silence and sky. And Gwaine… he’d known that from the start.

You stood at the castle gates with your pack slung over your shoulder and your lute at your back. The sun was cresting the towers, casting long shadows over dew-damp fields. A breeze stirred your sleeves and lifted your hair. And for the first time in days, you felt like yourself again — unanchored, wild, free.

Gwaine was already waiting. Leaning lazily against a post like he’d been there since dawn, arms crossed, hair tousled by the morning wind. His expression was unreadable — but his eyes softened the moment they found yours.

“So,” He said, straightening with a small smile, “you’re really going, then?”

“I am,” You said, voice quiet but certain, “I have to make use of this newfound freedom you lied so spectacularly to give me.”

He huffed a soft laugh, “A noble lie, surely.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was weighty — like words left unsaid were pressing gently at the seams.

You looked at him, “Thank you, Gwaine. For everything. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

He tilted his head, his grin a little softer than usual, “Wasn’t all bad. Always wondered what it’d be like to have a beautiful wife without the effort of commitment.”

That made you laugh, light and real — and it brought a twinkle back to his eyes.

But his voice dipped, gentler now, “You’re sure about leaving?”

You nodded slowly, “I’ve been still too long. This… this is all I’ve ever wanted. And the road’s always called to me louder than any ballroom or banner ever could.”

“I never meant to stay,” You added, your tone lowering to something more fragile, “Not forever. As lovely as Camelot is, I don’t belong behind stone walls.”

He nodded once, “I know. I never expected you to.”

You looked at him — really looked. His armor was gone, sleeves rolled to the forearms, hair wild from wind and sleep. And in his face was everything you’d come to know in the brief, beautiful madness of the past few days: mischief and loyalty, steel and softness. Knight. Fool. Friend. Something more.

You shifted your pack higher, readying to leave — but before you could turn, Gwaine stepped forward and reached into his tunic.

He held something out to you: a pendant. Silver, worn at the edges, stamped with the sigil of his house — a lion’s head wreathed in curling vines.

“For protection,” He said, trying to sound casual, “If you get into trouble. Or, you know, if some drunk tries to impress you with his third-rate lute playing.”

You blinked at it, “You’re giving me your crest?”

“Temporarily,” He said quickly, “Don’t get any sentimental ideas.”

“Heaven forbid,” You replied, though your fingers curled around it gently — reverently. The chain slipped over your head, the pendant settling over your heart like a second shield. Or a vow unspoken.

Gwaine watched you in silence. Then, with a crooked smile, he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go,” He whispered, “Before I say something foolish.”

You placed your hand gently over his chest, where his heartbeat beat steady and unguarded beneath your palm. His hand rose instinctively to cover yours, holding it there.

“In my experience,” You murmured, voice warm and sure, “foolish words often lead to the most beautiful things.”

He smiled at that — truly smiled. But neither of you spoke again.

You lingered for a breath, then let your hand slip away.

And you turned.

Boots light, lute slung across your back, the wind tugging at your cloak like it couldn’t bear to see you go. The gates of Camelot opened before you, and the road beyond stretched wide, wild, and waiting.

Behind you, Gwaine stood on the steps, arms crossed over his chest, watching.

He stayed until long after you vanished from view.

And even then, he didn’t turn away.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

The early spring mornings were one of the highlights of Y/N’s day. As she meandered through the corridors of the castle, she caught glimpses of the morning sun slowly rising, bathing the white stone walls in orange.

Each sunrise brought with it a new day and a fresh start.

It also brought along one knight and a large plate of breakfast.

"What is it today, Sir Gwaine?" Y/N asked, walking down the corridor and toward Gwaine.

Gwaine was half dressed, cloak draped and folded over one shoulder, chain mail roughly tucked into his belt. He held a large plate in one hand, gloves in the other.

"I believe it is pork with leftovers from last night," he replied, coming to a stop beside Y/N. "There's some apple, some... I think potatoes?"

Y/N peered at the plate. She nodded. "Potatoes."

She reached out and snatched one off the plate, dodging Gwaine's pitiful attempt at slapping her hand with his gloves.

"Have you not got things to be doing?" He asked, shielding his plate from her.

"Oh, I have a lengthy list," she replied, "but I would much rather be taunting you than helping people get dressed."

Gwaine chuckled. He tossed his head back, letting his hair fall out of his face. "I should probably go and get ready."

Y/N nodded, gently sweeping her foot across the floor. "Do you need a hand?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Uh..." Gwaine looked at himself, taking in his mismatched state of dress. "Please," he replied, his smile growing.

Gwaine leant across Y/N and placed his plate of breakfast down on the window sill. She pulled his cloak from his shoulder and took his gloves.

Y/N held Gwaine's clothes as he untangled his chain mail from his belt and awkwardly dragged it down over his head. She watched, angling her eyes down when Gwaine looked up, flicking his hair out from under the shirt.

He reached out and took his cape from her, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand. In one, rather dramatic, swoop, he put the cape around his shoulders and pulled the buckle tight, letting the cape settle around his shoulders.

With a smile, Y/N slapped the gloves into Gwaine's hands. "Good morrow, Sir Knight."

Gwaine bowed to her, sweeping his cloak out behind him. "Good morrow, Lady Y/N."

Y/N giggled. "You better get going unless you want our wonderful king to yell at you."

"He yells at me all the time," Gwaine replied, pulling his gloves on. "It'll be nothing new."

He leant across and pressed a kiss to Y/N's cheek. Gwaine stepped back and nodded at her, turning on his heel and walking down the corridor.

Y/N shook her head, a fond smile on her face, and began walking the opposite direction.

//

"Gwaine, if you spent more time watching your opponent, you'd spend less time on the floor." Arthur yelled, stabbing his sword into the grass.

Y/N laughed softly as she walked past. Gwaine was, indeed, lying sprawled on the grass, his sword flung miles away. He rolled over onto his stomach, his eyes catching on Y/N as she passed. She waved to him and he awkwardly waved back to her.

When she got a chance, Y/N always went for a walk down past the training ground. Partly so she could watch Gwaine try and partly because she could breathe in the fresh air and stroll amongst the upper town.

There was only so much pretentious behaviour Y/N could take from those in the castle before she lost her mind.

"Lady Y/N?"

Y/N turned her head, coming face to face with a flush-faced, out-of-breath messenger.

She nodded. Y/N patiently waited as the messenger fiddled with this bag, struggling to find the piece of parchment he was meant to give her.

Eventually he found it, whipping it out the bag with a flourish. He handed it to Y/N and, before she could even unfolded it, ran off back into the upper town, dodging through the crowds.

The wax seal popped off easily. Y/N unfolded the letter, all ready knowing what it would say.

She'd been waiting for this letter for months. Ever since her father had retired from his role as secretary of state because of his declining health, she'd been waiting for the letter that summoned her home to be at his death bed.

'It's time to come home.'

There it was, written in black ink and folded into a square.

"You alright?"

Y/N jumped, dropping the letter and stumbling back over a tiny pebble on the ground. Gwaine, who'd made her jump in the first place, caught her by the waist and stabled her, setting her back on her own two feet.

"Sorry," he said, wincing. "I thought you'd heard me."

"No, I hadn't," Y/N breathed, still recovering. "I was -"

"Reading?" Gwaine held out her letter to her. "Is it your father?" He asked as she took it, clutching the letter to her chest.

Y/N had confided in Gwaine about her father's health long ago. He'd been the one to watch out for him during council meetings, escorting him back to his chambers when he'd been to unwell to stay any longer.

Gwaine had been a silent supporter for Y/N as she tried to cope with her father and her job in the castle. When her father had retired and returned back to their home village, Gwaine had held her hand as she watched him disappear through the gates.

So it was with no surprise that Y/N turned to her best friend and said "yes... he most likely won't survive the week."

Gwaine took a step closer, reaching down and gently grabbing Y/N's hand, cradling it in his.

"When are you going?" He asked, lowering his voice as a group of knights passed by, laughing loudly.

Y/N shrugged. The wind picked up, blowing her hair in front of her eyes and she brushed it back, ignoring the headdress she'd pinned to her hair.

Gwaine reached up with his other hand and caught her hand. He brushed her hair back, untangling it from the headdress. His hand lowered, brushing against her cheek before returning to his side.

"It's an hour or two away," Y/N said softly, "so either before nightfall or first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'll come with you."

"No, Gwaine, I can't ask you to do that -"

Gwaine cut her off, putting a hand to her cheek. "I offered. I don't want you to be alone, that's all."

Y/N nodded, swallowing back the tears building in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

//

Atheyers was quiet as they rode into the town. The townsfolk had begun lighting lanterns and shutting windows, settling down for the night.

Gwaine helped Y/N down from her horse and, hand in hand, they walked up to the big, wooden timbered house, that was Y/N's family home.

Inside the atmosphere was sombre and almost stifling with grief. For a moment, Y/N thought she was too late. But then she saw her brother rush down the stairs and her panic eased slightly.

"You're just in time," Isaac whispered, embracing his sister tightly. "Come on." He turned, looking at Gwaine. "You too, Sir Gwaine."

The room was quiet, lit candles providing warmth and a calming light.

Y/N walked in, hiding behind her brother for a second. She peered round and saw her father lying in bed, looking pale and fragile.

"Y/N's here, father," her brother whispered.

Y/N glanced behind, searching for Gwaine's reassuring gaze. He stood in the shadows, quietly watching. When he caught her gaze, he nodded and gave her a reassuring smile.

She stepped forward and crouched down beside the bed. "I'm here, father," she said softly, taking his hand in hers. "You can rest now."

//

Bird song greeted Gwaine the next morning. He'd fallen asleep in a chair that sat outside the bedroom, against the wall of the corridor. He stretched as he stood up, rubbing his face.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, peering inside. Y/N was asleep beside her father, still curled on the floor, her head resting on the mattress, arm folded under her head.

Gwaine knew that her father had passed. There was a new, peaceful silence in the room broken only by the birds tweeting outside.

He approached Y/N and knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Y/N," he whispered, shaking her gently. "Hey..."

Y/N lifted her head, looking up at Gwaine. "He's gone."

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Y/N sat back, leaning against Gwaine's chest. He shifted, kneeling behind her, pulling her into his lap.

They sat there for a moment. Y/N held Gwaine's hand tightly and closed her eyes.

//

They gathered on the shore of Lake Riveia, watching the boat containing the body of Y/N's father burn.

Y/N stood at the edge of the shore, her brother next to her. Dressed in black, she looked like a shadow in the afternoon sunlight.

Gwaine stood with the other knights, capes blowing in the breeze, heads bowed. Arthur stood along side them - not as a king but as a knight himself.

After a while, those gathered began to walk back to the castle, until Y/N and Gwaine were all who remained.

"How are you?" Gwaine asked, coming to stand by Y/N's sad, his shoulder brushing against her.

"Coping," she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the burning boat in the distance. After a moments pause, she turned to face Gwaine. "Thank you for being here."

Gwaine raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised. "Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

"I know but... I'm grateful for the fact you even stayed to check on me," Y/N replied, chuckling sadly. "Not many do."

"Not many love you like I do."

Y/N smiled, looking down at the ground. Gwaine reached over and placed his finger under her chin, gently guiding her head up until she was looking at him.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. He rested his hand against her cheek and Y/N leant into it. "I love you with so much of my heart, none is left to protest."

"That's good," Y/N said, giggling quietly. "I don't think I could cope with you denying your feelings." She paused, pressing her lips together. "I think I do enough for both of us."

Gwaine gently turned Y/N by her shoulders until she faced him. She looked up, staring into his eyes, suddenly remembering just how beautiful his brown eyes were.

Slowly, Y/N leant forward, her eyes closing. Gwaine pressed his lips to hers, his hands resting on her hips. Y/N raised her arms, threading her fingers through his hair, untangling the curls.

They pulled apart, resting their foreheads together.

"I finally have my own knight," Y/N whispered, shoulders shaking as she giggled.

"And I my lady," Gwaine replied, pressing another kiss to her lips. "Forever and always."

"Talk about what?"

He shrugged lightly. "Tell me about yourself."

You let out a soft laugh that made his heart flutter. "We've known each other for months now Gwaine."

He grinned. "True, but that does not mean I know everything about you. I only know the basics, tell me more."

You opened your mouth before you shook your head with an uncertain laugh. "I don't know what to tell you, it's all pretty boring."

"Oh, I doubt that." He said with a soft smile.

You smile in return, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. You weren't expecting to be alone with Gwaine, and now he wanted to know all about you? You had never felt more unsure of yourself.

"How about this, I will just ask you questions, and you answer."

"Alright, but do I get to ask you questions too?"

He nodded "Of course."

"Alright then." You smiled, wondering where this conversation would end up.

"Okay, let me see," he mumbled "Why did you pick Camelot? Of all the placed you could have moved to, why here?"

You thought about your response for a moment, as you and Gwaine headed deeper into the woods, and closer to Camelot.

--------

As the mid-day sun hung over head, you and Gwaine sat by a small river, taking a break from your long venture back to Camelot.

"So, you've been in Camelot a lot longer that I have" Gwaine said as he sat down beside you. "But I hardly see you with anyone but the Knights, Merlin, or Gwen."

"Yes? And?"

"Is there no one else in your life?"

You felt an uneasy tightness in your chest at this, but you smiled casually. "Is that not enough people?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I meant romantically."

You felt a bit of tension rise between you, but felt it was surely one sided. You shook your head as you pulled your water canister from your bag.

"Ah. Well, no, there is no one romantically in my life." Standing, you began to head to the river, unaware of the hopeful gaze on Gwaine's face.

"And no one, headed, in that direction then?" Gwaine asked, watching your profile.

You shrugged your head a bit, "I don't know. I tend to be 'blissfully unaware' of that sort of thing, or at least Gwen says so."

Gwaine let out a soft laugh, and you felt your heart beating heavily. As curiosity set heavy on your mind, you asked softly, while trying to sound as casual as you could.

"What about you? Who are you with?"

He shook his head. "No one."

You looked at him with a bit of surprise, he was unable to miss. He rose a brow a bit. "I know I'm labeled the palace flirt, but that doesn't mean I'm always in a relationship."

You let out a soft chuckle. "I thought you liked that label."

He shrugged softly. "I didn't mind it at first, but, I don't want it to become my reputation. The person I have actual feelings for might not think to kindly of me if it is, they might not trust me."

You felt your heart sink a bit as you turned, looking out at the forest, not wanting Gwaine to see your face.

"So you like someone then? In Camelot?"

Gwaine stared at you, wondering if that was disappointment in your voice or if he was just imagining it. "Yes, I do."

"What are they like?"

Gwaine's lip curled up a bit before he spoke. "They're amazing. They're smart, witty, talented, too kind for their own good really. Attractive, more than they're willing to admit. They're much too good for me, really."

You looked down at your feet but smiled softly. "They almost sound made up."

He let out a soft laugh. "I would think so too if I didn't know them. I don't think they realize half those things about themselves though."

You wondered who it was he was thinking of. Someone you knew? It didn't really sound like it. Maybe it was someone he met in the town.

"Sounds like you really do like them."

Was that a hint of jealousy? No. Surely you understood he was talking about you by now.

"I do. Very much."

His voice had grown softer, and you felt a jealousy in your chest, but you tried to push it away. You should feel happy for him. Happy that he has found someone who makes him feel that way, even if it couldn't be you.

Swallowing down your feelings, you turned back around and made your way over.

"So, how long have you been with them? Do the other Knights know about them?"

Gwaine frowned as he watched you set your water down, before you grabbed a rag and went back to the water. You really didn't realize he had been talking about you. He almost laughed.

"I'm not with them."

"Oh." You looked back at him, clearly confused. Wiping your face and hands with the damp rag, you steadied your voice. "So, do they know? How you feel?"

He shook his head softly as he watched you closely. "I don't think so."

"Whats stopping you from telling them?"

He repressed a smile as he cleared his throat and began to stand up. "I've tried, but I don't think they understood what I was saying. Or, they just didn't understand how it could be them I had feelings for."

'Sounds familiar' you thought quickly as you stood. "Maybe they need a more obvious sign."

You mentally kicked yourself for encouraging him, all you were doing was pushing him further away from you.

Gwaine made his way towards you, "An obvious sign? Like a kiss?"

You almost choked, "Uhm, I suppose that would be obvious" you let out a short laugh. "But, you can't just march up to them and kiss them out of the blue."

Gwaine stepped up to you. "So I ask first?"

You tilted your head with a soft shake, "Yeah, then you'd at least know for certain how they felt."

Gwaine continued to stare at you as he nodded softly. A small smile spread across his face as you felt your heart flutter.

"Alright then." Taking a step closer, he was right in front of you, his eyes drilling into yours. You felt your breath catch in your throat. "Can I kiss you?"

As confusion turned into denial, following by realization, you opened your mouth slowly, and spoke softly. "You were talking about me?"

His lips stretched into a grin as he nodded softly. "I thought I was being obvious."

You felt your face grown hot as you failed to repress a smile. "Gwen was right. I am-"

Gwaine's smile turned into a grin as you both spoke at the same time.

"Blissfully unaware."

You giggled softly as you looked down, feeling almost overwhelming embarrassment, confusion and excitement.

Feeling Gwaine hook his finger under your chin, you looked up to meet his gaze. "I was certainly right about one thing. You really don't realize any of those things about yourself do you?"

"I don't really think about myself at all." You admitted.

His smile faded a bit, before he replaced it again with a flirty gaze. "That's alright, I think about you enough for the both of us."

You let out an almost startled giggle as you felt your ears burning hot.

Keeping your eyes locked with his, you felt him gently caress your chin with his finger. "So, about that kiss?"

Your heart was hammering heavily in your chest, as you found it hard to breath. Smiling, you nodded your head.

Gwaine slowly lowered his head, as his lips met yours gently. The soft kiss was deepened as Gwaine brought his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. You brought your hand up and set it against his chest.

Slowly parting, your eyes fluttered open meeting his again. You both had soft smiles on your lips.

"I do trust you, by the way." You whispered softly. "Label or not."

His smile widened, "You really are too good for me."

You shook your head lightly. "Agree to disagree."

Letting out a soft breathy laugh, he pulled you into another kiss, deeper and more passionate than the last. You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he pulled you flush against him.

xx End xx

I had no idea what to write next, so I just ended it lol. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless <3

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @onuen, @witchygagirl

The streets of Camelot were different at sundown. There was a quietness about it that never seemed to be there until the right time. 

Since arriving in Camelot, it has become Y/N’s favourite pastime - their freedom away from the stresses of court. 

Y/N came to Camelot with their father - the King of Deira - on both a diplomatic mission as well as a courtesy call to visit the royals of Camelot. 

Their father had tried to push Y/N to spend all their time with Arthur but Y/N couldn’t bring themselves to do it. Instead, Y/N seemed to want to spend their time with Arthur’s manservant, Merlin. Slowly, their budding friendship grew to love over the months spent in Camelot. 

One, two princes kneel before you 

That’s what I said now

Princes, princes who adore you

Merlin walked at Y/N’s side as their walk lead them to the woods outside of the walls of Camelot. 

Merlin’s eyes wandered around at the fireflies that slowly started to dance until his gaze fell on Y/N’s worn out face. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Y/N looked at Merlin and sighed. “Father wants to strengthen the alliance between Deira and Camelot. He’s proposed a political alliance through marriage. He’s offered my hand in marriage to Arthur.” 

Merlin looked down at his feet. “Do you want to?” He asked. 

Y/N shrugged. “I want to marry, but not Arthur. Not some stupid political alliance.” Y/N groaned. “This is what I get for being the second born. He’d never make Carina do something like this.” 

Merlin looked at Y/N when his eyes widened. “I have an idea.” He stopped walking and grabbed Y/N by the shoulders. “Marry me.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What?” They smiled in disbelief. 

Merlin smiled widely, his eyes sparkling. “Marry him or marry me. I’m the one who loves you, baby, can’t you see? I know i ain’t got no future or family tree but i know what a prince and a lover ought to be” 

“But what about my father?” Y/N liked the idea of being with Merlin but feared the wrath of their father. “If i marry him, my father will condone me. If I marry you, my father will disown me.” 

Merlin just pulled Y/N closer. “Y/N, come on, forget the King and marry me.” He dropped to one knee, holding Y/N’s hands in his. 

Y/N looked down at their hands and pondered their choices for a moment. 

“If you want to call me baby, just go ahead now.” Y/N kneeled down to Merlin’s level. “And, if you want to buy me flowers, just go ahead now. And if you want to talk for hours, just go ahead now. Cause, yes. Yes a thousand times yes, Merlin.” 

Y/N wrapped their arms around Merlin and leaned their forehead against Merlin’s. 

“Now, how are going to tell my dad?” 

You’d been sad and grumpy for the last week and you knew you’d been bringing Merlin’s own mood down a great deal. It wasn’t his fault or anything to do with him really, being a servant at the castle was usually perfectly fine...but the visiting nobles that had arrived were rude and horrible. They were constantly complaining and pointing out flaws in your work that weren’t even there. It was exhausting and upsetting. One thing you valued was your ability to do your work well. 

“I’m sorry...” You look over at your sweetheart from where you’d been sat together near the well. He’d come to visit you as he usually did and you felt bad for not being in a more chipper mood. 

“About what?”

“I’ve been sad a lot lately...it’s just these nobles! They’re so horrible and all i’m trying to do is make sure the rooms are clean and they have what they need, but they’re so horrible, Merlin!” You press your cheek into his shoulder with a sigh. 

“Love, it’s alright, you’re allowed to be sad.”

“Still...” 

The two of you fall into a brief silence. It makes you feel worse for being so grumpy, but Merlin was right, you couldn’t help being sad and you were allowed to be so. 

“How about we go camping on the edge of the woods? You don’t have to work for the next few days and neither do I...maybe it’ll cheer you up? Getting away for a bit?” He bumps your shoulder with his. 

“Is it safe?”

“If we stay near the road and near the walls of Camelot. I know a thing or two as well.” He says it with a twinkle, the one that means he’s referring to his magic without referring to his magic because he shouldn’t be mentioning it. 

Merlin stands and with a tug on your hand the two of you are walking towards your home. You know that you have an old tent, your fathers, hidden away, and some spare blankets. Your suspicions that Merlin was indeed intent on going camping that very evening appear correct as you spent the next few minutes rummaging around your house for all you need before setting off outside the walls. 

“Here should do!” Its a little spot near the road and Camelot but still private enough that you don’t feel uncomfortable about camping there. Together you set up the tent, after much confusion and a few attempts which end in you being twisted in tarp, and the blankets before sitting down together.

You lie down, with your head in his lap and for the first time in the last week you feel yourself relax just a little bit. You look up at the sky and smile as you recognise the sparkles and shapes of Merlin’s magic, as he creates a little story in magic before your eyes. There has never been anything in your life that has compared with the beauty of Merlin’s magic, the beauty it had the potential to be. You knew it could be dangerous as well, everyone in Camelot did, but moments like this proved that magic was not all bad and that Merlin indeed could be trusted with it. 

“There’s my favourite smile”

Gwen, seeing your sudden change in demeanor, followed your gaze.

"Gwaine?" You muttered, shock and uncertainty obvious in your tone.

"Do you know Gwaine?" Gwen asked.

You turned to look at her, and she could see the obvious shock on your face. You nodded your head lightly as you looked back here he had just been, seeing he was gone, again.

"He- we- we were.."

Gwen frowned before she gently grabbed your arm "Wait, is Gwaine the one you told me about? The man who disappeared?"

You nodded again, feeling overwhelming emotions course through you.

Gwen, able to see this, gently tugged your arm "Come on."

Ushering you to her cottage where she was allowing you to stay for some time, she gave you a few moments to gather your thoughts as she sat beside you. You had told her briefly what had happened a few years previous, but you never told her Gwaine's name, or exactly what had happened.

Taking a deep breath, you looked over at her as she waited patiently across from you.

"Around five years ago, a man came into our village. He was injured after a skirmish with some bandits in the forest. Gwaine. My father allowed him into our home, and we helped him recover. During that time, to repay us for our kindness, he helped us around the house, helping my father fix the roof, work his job when he was sick. Eventually, me and Gwaine fell in love. Oh Gwen I loved him so much. But I was always afraid he would feel the need to leave again. Nothing ever seemed to keep him in place, he was a traveler, he love adventure. A quiet village life was not appealing to him, I knew that. After some time, he reassured me he would not leave me. That he loved me. He even told me that he would marry me one day." You looked down at your hands "And I believed him. I truly did, and I do think he did love me. But...he was never the type to settle."

You stood up and walked over to the window, trying to repress the tears that were forming in your eyes.

"One day, after about a year and a half of being in the village, he left to go to a nearby town to get supplies. But he never returned. I waited every day for him to come back. But he never did. So I waited for a letter, but never received one. I decided he must have been killed. Because the idea that he chose to leave me, hurt too much. But now....he's here, and he's a knight nonetheless." You let out a soft almost scornful laugh. "Now I know, I was not enough to make him stay."

Gwen rose and walked over to you, gently placing her hands on your arm "I'm so sorry Y/n. I had no idea. I mean...Gwaine has mentioned a great love in the past, but...I suppose he was too ashamed to say anything else."

"How long has he been here?"

Gwen thought for a moment "Nearly two years I think."

You nodded "I mourned him Gwen. Every day."

Gwen sighed "What will you do?"

"I don't know" You shook your head "Maybe I should not stay here."

"You mustn't let him chase you away Y/n. You need a new place to start over, where else would you go?"

You turned and looked at her "I don't know. But...I'm afraid."

She pulled you into a hug "I know. But perhaps this could give you your answers, and you can move on, stop mourning." Pulling away, she met your gaze "Please stay. For a week at least, and if after that you still want to leave, I will support your decision."

You thought for a moment, uncertainty still coursing through you. You really did have no where else to go.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded "Alright. I'll stay, for now."

She smiled softly "Good."

"What do I do if I run into him though?" You asked with a sightly panicked expression.

She shrugged her head slightly "Slap him?"

You let out a laugh and shook your head "I would be lying if I said he wouldn't deserve it."

Looking out the window again, you feared what would happen when you saw him again. What would be his answer to your long asked question. 'Why did you leave me?'

--- ---- --- ---

Over the next few days, you managed to avoid seeing Gwaine all together. You were not ready to face him. So when the knights left on a short scouting quest, you felt relieved you would not have to peer around every corner, at least for a short time.

You and Gwen walked through the market picking up supplies for dinner. Looking through some vegetables in a basket on the ground, you froze in place when you heard a familiar voice call out.

"Hello Gwen, how are you today?"

Gwen, looked down at you with an alarmed look before looking over at Gwaine as he approached.

"Gwaine! I thought you were on the scouting trip with the other knights?"

"Oh I got the easiest part, I'm already done." You could practically hear the grin in his voice as he spoke.

Standing, but with your back still towards him, you felt your hands beginning to shake as nervousness washed over you.

As Gwen spared you a brief look, Gwaine looked over her shoulder. He felt his heart jump a bit as he recalled the similarity to someone he had once known.

"Who's your friend?" He asked with an uncertain voice as he stared a the back of your head.

'Oh, um-" Gwen stuttered as she looked back to you.

You clenched the basket in your hands tighter as you let out a shaky breath. Slowly turning around you spoke, your voice soft, yet full of obvious emotion.

"You used to know my name."

As you turned and Gwaine's eyes fell on your once familiar gaze, he felt his heart clench in his chest. Your eyes were still the beautiful shade he would recall at night when he thought of you. Your voice still sent chills through him. You were still you.

"Y/n." He muttered softly, mouth agape.

"Ah, so you do still know it." You said softly, yet scornfully as you looked briefly down at your feet.

Looking back up at him, you met his eyes with an attempt at a cold gaze, but the tears that threatened to build caused a shine to glaze over your eyes, revealing your true emotions.

"Nice to see you're still alive."

Gwaine frowned slightly at this comment before recalling that he gave you no word of his whereabouts after he left. A familiar guilt rocked through him, causing him to take a deep breath in.

"Y/n." He repeated, a bit louder this time.

Clearing your throat, you turned and handed money to the clerk at the stall. Looking back at Gwen you forced a smile "I think that should do us for dinner then."

Gwen nodded, looking from you to Gwaine nervously, as she watched you begin to leave.

"Y/n, wait!" Gwaine quickly stepped past Gwen and grabbed your hand, stopping you.

As you felt his hand in yours, you felt your heart swell, but you yanked your hand away, turning towards him with a bold gaze.

"You don't get to demand me to wait after what you put me through."

Gwaine faltered, his voice was low "Y/n. Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did."

"And yet you seemed to do it so easily." You said scornfully.

You saw him flinched a bit at your words but you would not allow yourself to feel guilt

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, you cut him off "I thought you died."

Your voice came out softly than you meant, and you saw his eyes widen slightly.

"I convinced myself that was the only thing that would stop you from coming back home. But now I see I was wrong. You chose to leave and never come back. And now your a knight? Something you swore you'd never be?" You scoffed as you stepped back from him "What else did you lie to me about?"

Gwaine began to follow after you as you turned away to leave, but Gwen grabbed his arm. Looking back at her, she shook her head "Not now Gwaine, give them some time."

"How long have they been here?"

"A few days. Y/n saw you in the courtyard the day they arrived, it's been a lot to process."

Gwaine looked back to see you disappeared at the end of the road. Guilt sat heavily in his chest, he needed to talk to you again, to explain. There was no good excuse, he knew that, but he needed you to now how much he regretted what he did. He needed you to know how much he still loved you.

--- --- ---

Gwaine's eyes searched through the trees as he looked for you. He managed to find out you had gone out to gather herbs, and he was determined to speak with you.

Finally spotting you through the trees, he made his way over to you. His steps were hurried, so he was not able to sneak up on you.

Turning at the sound of footsteps, you saw Gwaine falter for a moment as you looked at him. Your heart jolted in your chest, but you looked away from him, quickly picking the herbs you were after.

Finally reaching you, he stood behind you for a moment before he finally spoke "Y/n, I wish to speak with you."

You remained silent as you continued to walk to gather other herbs. Gwaine let out a sigh but followed you.

"Y/n please., I want to explain." He begged as he followed you. Reaching out, he grabbed your arms and forced you to turn and look at him.

You met his eyes and or a moment he saw your gaze soften, before it was quickly replaced with hurt.

"Please Y/n." He said again, his voice soft as he stared into your eyes.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as he looked at you. His familiar gaze, even wracked with guilt made you heart beat fast. The way he stared at you, as though he still cared for you like he used to made your heart ache.

"Don't look at me like that." You muttered out, almost in a whisper.

"Like what?"

"Like you still love me."

Gwaine felt his heart ache at this, your face so full of hurt, and doubt, all of it he caused. He frowned as he shook his head lightly "I do still love you."

You closed your eyes tightly as you pulled away from his grip "Then why did you leave me?"

Gwaine hesitated for a moment before he sighed "For no good reason. I just...after I left the village, I felt the desire to keep going, to keep moving again, and I just...didn't stop. But that doesn't mean I did not love you."

You let out a soft huff of air. "If you loved me you would have come back." You voice began to grow in anger.

"I did come back."

You frowned "What?"

"I did come back. After a month, but I- I saw you, outside the cottage, with your father, laughing. And I thought, that maybe I didn't hurt you as much as I thought I did. And I thought that maybe it would best if I didn't barge back in again."

You shook your head "My father makes one joke to cheer me up after I thought the love of my life either abandoned me or died, and you thought that I meant I was better off? Gwaine, I was devastated. I waited outside the cottage for you for months. Every day for weeks, I walked down to the river to look for you, hoping that I might see you come over the hill with a grin on your face. Every day you didn't come back broke my heart more and more!"

Gwaine's own eyes were burning with the threat of tears as you spoke to him. He could see the pain he caused in your eyes like it was a fresh wound.

"You don't know what it was like, being alone after that." You let out a soft whimper as you spoke.

"But you had your father to help y-"

"He's dead." You cut him off. "He died four months after you disappeared, I've been alone ever since."

You saw the realization and pain cross over his face. He stepped back as he looked down at his feet. He and you father got along great, you new it would hurt him to learn he died.

"I was alone, and I needed you." You added on once more, as tears streamed down your face.

Gwaine met yours eyes against and his heart broke. Stepping forward, he grabbed you and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He muttered into your shoulder.

For a moment, you allowed him to hold you, allowing yourself the one thing you wanted for so long. Before you pulled away from him.

He watched as you stepped back, giving him one last look before you walked away. He watched you go, and even though everything in him was screaming to chase after you, he didn't.

--- --- ---

Adrenaline rushed through you as you rushed through the crowds, everyone was running in different directions trying to get somewhere safe.

Making your way down the street towards Gwen's home, your eyes landed on one of the soldiers who had attacked Camelot. One of the knights of an enemy kingdom, hoping to catch King Arthur off guard.

At the same time that your eyes landed on him, his met yours. You saw a smirk cross his face. Looking around, you realized you were the only one around now, everyone else had fled.

Looking to the ground, you saw a deceased soldier. Quickly grabbing his sword, you spun back towards the enemy soldier who was stalking towards you. You kept your blade out in threat as you backed away.

Your breath was heavy as your hands shook, you were not a soldier, you were not a knight, why was he coming after you?

A voice whispered in the back of your mind that made your skin crawl 'He just wants to kill'

Suddenly lunging at you, you blocked his attack, but stumbled back. Quickly, he knocked the sword from your grasp and hit you in the face before grabbed you. Pulling your arm back, you punched him in the face as hard as you could before stomping on his foot, trying your best to get away from him. You yelled out as you struggled in his grip.

As Gwaine rushed through the streets to locate anymore of the enemy soldiers. His eyes were drawn at the sound of a yell.

Looking down the road, he felt his heart drop and stomach twist as he saw one of the soldiers grappling with you. He began running towards you, watching as you hit, and fought against the man. His blood boiled as the soldier yanked at you violently.

As the man lifted his sword, preparing to strike you down, you clenched your eyes shut. Hearing a clank of metal before the man groaned and let you go. You stumbled back, opening your eyes.

You saw Gwaine step in front of you as he began to fight the man. You felt relief and worry wash over you as you pressed yourself against the wall, and watched as Gwaine fought to protect you.

After a few minutes of fighting, Gwaine dealt a deadly blow. You flinched and looked away.

"Y/n?"

Hearing Gwaines voice, you looked back up to see him slowly approaching you.

"Are you alright?"

Coming back to your senses, you nodded "Yes, I'm alright."

Gwaine sighed as he came up to you, gently taking your hand in his. Looking around, he gently tugged on your hand "Come on, let's get you somewhere safe."

Following his lead, you looked down at your intertwined hands, feeling a once familiar spark of intimacy and safety.

Finding your way back to Gwen's home, he ushered you inside, looking around, you spoke with a worried tone "Where's Gwen?"

"I saw her in the palace, she's alright."

You let out a sigh of relief as you sat down in a chair, lowering your head in relief and exhaustion. Seeing Gwaine kneel down in front of you, you slowly looked up at him.

He had a frown on his face as he slowly reached up, taking your face in his hand. He gently caressed is thumb over the mark left on your face from the soldier.

You saw guilt, and anger wash over his face before he met your eyes. As your eyes locked, you felt a familiar warmth build in your chest, reminding you of the day you and Gwaine had first kissed.

You had been injured when thrown from a horse, and Gwaine came to help you. You had mud on your face and he brushed it away. Your eyes locked, and before you really knew it, you were kissing. It was he beginning of your relationship, of your great love.

Gwaine was surely thinking the same thing, as his eyes gently fell to your lips.

Seeing this, you felt nervous, and reminded yourself of what your relationship with him now was.

Looking down a your feet, you spoke softly "Should you not go back? Surely others need help."

Gwaine let you a soft breath "Most of the soldiers were captured or killed, the one who hurt you was one of the last. I'm not going to leave you."

Seeing the way your eyes shot to him momentarily, he felt his chest clench.

He gently caressed your chin "I wont. Not again."

Placing his hand in yours, you let out a soft breath and shook your head before you looked back up at him.

"You can't just charm me back into your good graces Gwaine."

A soft, almost sad smile crossed his face "I know."

"I wont force you to come back to me. I understand that I hurt you. And I deserve all the anger in the world for what I did. I just need you to know that I do still love you, I never stopped. And I will always be here if you need me. We can both make Camelot our home. And eventually, if you want to, we can start again. Because I will be right here, waiting."

"I-" You started, before letting out a sigh "I do still love you Gwaine, no matter how much you hurt me, I could never stop."

You saw hope fall over his face and you softly shook your head.

"But I am not ready to forgive you, not yet. We are both different people now, it would not be the same."

Gwaine's face fell a bit, but he nodded in understanding. "I understand. But believe me Y/n, I wont give up. We are back in each others lives for a reason. Whether it is fate, a second chance, or just coincidence, I will do whatever I need to do to make sure I don't lose you again. And I will wait however long it takes."

As he slowly began to stand, he tilted your head up, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You close you eyes briefly at the action.

When you opened them again, he was staring down softly into your eyes "Stay in here, to be safe. I will come back to check on you shortly, I need to make sure the attack is over."

Nodding wordlessly, you watched him go. And as he left, you did not doubt he would come back. And the previous anger you felt for him had faded. You could not forgive him yet, but you knew you would.

And you couldn't help but wonder what would happen after you did.

xx End xx

Could possibly do a second part to this at some point if people want it.

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

So here he was, standing at your door, waiting for the moment you would return. He looked around restlessly, tapping his fingers rhythmically. Looking down at his chest, he spotted a clump of potato on his shirt. Quickly brushing it away, he looked up, feeling a jolt when he saw you round the corner.

You looked down at your feet as you made your way to your home, glad you had only been asked by a few people to cover for their normal tutors. You wanted some time to relax, and you were hungry.

Looking up, you halted in your step for a moment as you saw Arthur standing by your door. He smiled at you, waving lightly. The way he seemed restless made you nervous.

Walking the rest of the way to your door you smiled softly at him. "Hello Arthur. Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No, I just wanted to see you." He smiled as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You felt your face warm a bit at the action. "I haven't really had the chance recently."

You felt a little guilty as you nodded your head. "Yes, I know, I'm sorry, I've just been-"

"Busy?" He smiled down at you, almost a sad smile. "Gwen told me. Why didn't you let me know? I could have helped."

You let out a soft chuckle. "How? You want to tutor unruly children?"

"Oh, definitely not. But, now that I know, I was able to convince my father to send out an announcement to nearby villages and cities letting them know that we are in need of tutors and teachers."

Your eyes widened a bit. "Oh." You shook your head, feeling a sudden wave of foolishness. "I wasn't aware you could do that so easily."

Arthur chuckled softly, placing his hands on your shoulders and a kiss on your forehead. "It's alright, it's done now. Soon you will be able to go back to your normal schedule, and I will actually be able to see you again."

You smiled as you looked back up at him. "Thank you Arthur."

"You're welcome, and, I am sorry."

You furrowed your brow. "Sorry for what?"

He glanced at your door before clearing his throat and pushing it open. Slowly, you walked into your home, immedietely noticing the dishes on the counter, and the food on the table. Potatoes, a slightly burnt chicken, rolls that may or may not be as hard as rocks, some vegetables and two goblets of wine.

"You made me dinner?" You asked with a surprised smile.

"Uh, well, I attempted too yes. Gwen told me what to do, but...I'm not great at remembering this sort of thing."

You giggled, walking over to the table, before looking back at him with a bright smile. "Well, however it turned out, I appreciate the gesture. I've never seen you attempt to cook."

Walking up to you, he stared down at you. "And you probably never will."

You laughed and pressed your head to his chest. Arthur felt his heart swell, so glad to hear your laugh again, and see that same bright shining smile on your face.

Looking back up at him you shook your head softly. "I love you Arthur Pendragon."

He smiled down at you, gently bushing your cheek with his thumb. "And I love you. But, you might want to hold that thought until we find out if I accidentally poisoned you."

Letting out a giddy laugh, you pressed your hands onto his chest, leaning up, you pressed a quick kiss on his lips. "Well even if you did, I will die happy."

xx End xx