#mimiswitchywrites

Miriam approached the bar, eyes locked on a greenish tile behind the maiden – not wanting to interact with any of the drunk men brawling on the table closest to her. She hopped on one of the stools, feet dangling. She smiled at the lady as she came over to serve her, head darting around the room at a loud crash behind her. “Hey there, love, what can I do you for?” The woman – slightly taller than Miriam – asked with a sympathetic tone. Her eyes were soft, sensing Miriam’s discomfort at the chaotic crowd.

“A tankard of your strongest stuff, please.”

The maiden nodded in response, finding a mug, and wiping the inside with the apron tied around her waist. She dropped the mug into a bucket of liquid and dried the edges, placing it in front of Miriam with another curt bow of the head.

Miriam hummed her thanks, hands gripping the tankard. The liquid was brown and smelt putrid, but she smiled at her reflection on the surface. It tasted vile, she noted with a grimace, but, as the warmth spread through her body, she knew it would do the trick.

She had her head tipped back, fishing for the last drops of the ale when he sat next to her. He was a big, burly man, with the bottom of his hairy stomach peering out from under his sained shirt. He smelt terrible – Miriam could practically taste his aroma, even with her drink so close to her nose – but he didn’t seem to care. He lent forward in his seat, elbows on knees, barely a hands length from Miriam. She placed her empty tankard on the bar in front of her and turned to him. He smiled, teeth crooked and blackened. She could see a string of meat stuck in between his front two.

“’ello bird.” He sneered – smiled? At her, hand landing on her thigh.

She shuffled sideways as much as she could, face concealing her immense discomfort.

“Good evening, sir.”

“I ain’t no ‘sir’.” He stood, arms coming to either side of her – trapping her in her seat. “But,” a grimy finger came up to her cheek, “I could preten’ to be, if tha’s what you’re after?”

She lent as far back into the bar as she could, arms pulling around her chest in a feeble attempt at protection.

A hand – a clean one, this time – landed on the fat man’s shoulder. He was pulled round to face the newcomer, shoulders squaring in preparation.

“Hands off the lass.” Miriam recognised the gravely voice, struggling to place it. Her eyes were too blurred with tears to put together his face.

“Or what? You paid for her already?” Miriam hated the way her skin crawled as his hand found the inside of her thigh. With a deep breath – shaking – she pushed it away and slid off the stool.

He swung round, face ablaze.

The new man grabbed his forearm before he could touch her again and pinned it behind his back. He pushed the man against the worktop – breath knocked out of him. “Or I’ll report you to the King. Hand’s off, by order of Sir Gwaine: Knight of Camelot.”

Miriam’s eye’s cleared long enough to see the vile mans face drop, blood draining. Sir Gwaine let him go and watched as he backed out of the Tavern, fear struck. Gwaine tossed a coin onto the bar, waving one of the male servers down, “Two ales please, Henry.”

The server – Henry – nodded, face drawn in concern for the knight that was swaying slightly. He placed the drinks down in front of them and turned to a patron calling him from the other end of the bar.

Gwaine took his tankard, downing half of it in one gulp before looking at Miriam. She was shaking, eyes glossy, but analysing him. “Gwaine. I was with Merlin when we found you.” Her mouth dropped, eyes widening in realisation. She let out a soft “oh” in acknowledgment.

With hesitation, she lifted herself back onto the stool and sat forward again. She took a sip of the ale, made a bitter face, and took another.

“Are you alright? Would you like me to walk you home?” He was facing her again, face shrouded in empathy with a slight haze from the drinking. She shook her head, nodding to her tankard.

“I just need to drink, preferably without anymore creeps interrupting.” He barked a laugh at that, throwing his drink back again, and she felt her face warm. “So, Sir Gwaine: Knight of Camelot,” he rolled his eyes, chuckling, “may I ask what brings you here tonight.”

“Aye, you can, but whether or not I’ll answer is something entirely different,” He stood, reaching out a hand to her, “but first, would you care to dance?” There was a group of men and two women at the back of the tavern creating music. They were singing, one man had a crumhorn, another a lute, and the last two were tapping on the wood of the chairs beneath them. The women’s voices carried across the whole room in beautiful harmony. They danced together, skirts billowing around them, and, one by one, others from the crowd joined in. Men and women, sons and daughters, strangers, all took each other’s arms and span and laughed and sang together. Smile working its way onto her face, Miriam nodded, taking Gwaine’s extended hand.

She didn’t consider herself much of a dancer – never really having the opportunity to learn – but here, dancing with this man she hardly knew, she felt right. They stumbled and fell against each other, stopping their spins every so often as they got too dizzy, and they laughed. Oh, how they laughed. Years of sadness lifted from both their faces, leaving them youthful once again.

By the time they stopped – music slowing down too much for their liking – they were red faced and the world continued spinning without them. They stumbled over to one of the cushioned seats at the side of the room – a large table in front of it – and sprawled onto it, in hysterics. Their drinks (fresh ones they had picked up from Henry before wading through the room) spilled onto the table slightly, prompting another burst of laughter.

After a few gasped attempts at calming down, they shuffled so they were sat up, leaning against each other for support. Gwaine’s hair fell across his face, stuck to the sweat on his forehead and neck. Miriam’s was still tied from work but falling from its leather string in segments.

“You know,” Miriam’s words were more slurred than she had expected; Gwaine snorted at her shocked expression which resulted in him receiving a gentle slap on the shoulder, “When we first met, I dreamt about you.”

His brows shot up, mind too fuzzy to decide between making a sexual remark and asking for more info and so he just sat, expressions rotating over his face until she continued. “Your hair, specifically.” She leant forward, peeling it from his face and running her hands through the tangles. He turned away from her to give her easier access. “I dreamt I was plaiting daisies into it. You have beautiful hair, Sir Gwaine.”

He turned his head to talk to her, “You know, you don’t actually have to call me Sir each time. ‘Gwaine’ is okay.”

Her mouth dropped open at this revelation; he laughed again and turned back to the front.

“Do you frequently dream of plaiting strangers’ hair?” He was genuinely curious but chuckled as he asked.

She shook her head, realised he couldn’t see, and then replied, “No, not often. But you do have very nice hair.” She nodded to herself and took a deep swig of her drink, spluttering slightly at the taste. Gwaine copied, only barely grimacing.

--

Gwaine enjoyed the feel of the girl’s fingers running through his hair. They sat like that for another twenty minutes at least – exchanging odd thoughts every so often but generally just enjoying the others company. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, head too tingly to place where each strand of hair was going, but it was relaxing, and he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

He finished his drink, waving Henry over for another, and went back to sipping on the ale. The Rising Sun was by far the best Inn in Camelot, but they had truly vile alcohol. It did the job though, and that was all the Knight was after. Until Miriam came along, anyhow.

She was really quite lovely, he had noticed. He knew she was something special when they had found her – the way she bantered, even when half alive, was enough to warm even his painfully cold heart – but he hadn’t expected to enjoy her company quite so much. He wasn’t attracted to her but she was kind and funny and he could see so much of himself in her and, for some reason, that made him care for her. Granted, they had only been speaking for half an hour now (two hours? Time was a funny thing) and they had both knocked a few back, but he was sure that, if she wanted, they could maintain a friendship. For Gwaine, the man that only had Merlin as a friend for years and none before that, this was quite the realisation.

He sniffled, taking another swig and blaming the lump in his throat on the brown liquid this establishment classed as a ‘drink’.

“There,” she patted his head, “you’re all done.” She spun him round – his eyes widening as he tried to save his tankard from spilling – and she checked out her handy work from the front. Her lips parted in, what was it, awe? “Pretty…” she muttered to herself. He felt his cheeks flush, already red from the drinking, and he giggled (though he would deny it if anyone asked).

She shook her head, eyes closing tightly and then opening again, “Not that you weren’t pretty before, that is. You have a very nice,” she gestured to his face and he bit his knuckle to prevent himself from bursting out in a laugh, “face?” She tilted her head to the side, going over what she said with confusion.

“Aye, well thank you for that lass.” He nodded to her, lifting his tankard and waiting for her to do the same, “To pretty faces!” He toasted. Their drinks sloshed into each other and they tipped them back, wiping mouths on the backs of hands.

They sat in silence for some time, watching the crowd in front of them. There was a particularly beautiful maiden in a red dress that was strutting across the room to a lean man with black hair and a rugged beard. She had a stern look on her face and walked with such vigour that not even the king would have been able to stop her. Gwaine wondered what the man had done, and Miriam just stared at her, warmth pooling at the bottom of her stomach.

The woman stopped in front of the man who had terror in his eyes that Gwaine could see from the other side of the room and slapped him. The sound rang out, silencing the crowd for a second. Gwaine turned to Miriam next to him, hearing her gasp and, curiously, her cheeks stain red. He smiled at that, potential reasons circling his mind.

The crowd ended up blocking the couple from Gwaine and Miriam’s view (much to both their dismay) and their attention returned to the other. Bringing a hand up to her mouth, Miriam stifled a yawn, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“You’re tired.” She shook her head but her heavy eye’s betrayed her, “I should get you back to your room. It would be improper to keep you out so long, or something.” He wasn’t entirely sure if it did count as improper or if he would usually care, but he had no desire to have Lancelot, Merlin and Arthur on his back for keeping the new girl out for so long. He was sure they would spin some tale about him sleeping with her (not that he could dispute it, given his reputation) and Lancelot had looked hurt enough these last few days that he was sure the noble knight would snap. It would not be a pretty sight.

Something best avoided, he supposed.

“Yeah, you are, come on now lass, best us getting going before some twat starts a fight anyhow.” She snorted at this and resigned, standing up. The pair shuffled their way out from behind the table and headed out with a quick wave to Henry before the ducked through the door.

They walked through the lower town slowly, Miriam leaning against him for support and him doing his best not to sway too much. The inn became a distant echo, leaving them in their own little world. They were basked in the soft glow of dying candles and moonlight.

“What’s wrong with you?” She stopped, thinking over her phrasing before adding: “Merlin say’s you’ve been off since you found me in the woods. I think he’s worried.”

Gwaine clenched his jaw, forearms tingling. He took a deep breath before tacking on his jovial persona. “Nothing’s wrong, he’s just an old fart that doesn’t understand the point of a fun night down the Inn.”

She stayed in her spot - even as he took a few more steps towards the inner city - and watched him. She saw her own mannerisms in the way he moved. The clenched fists and jaw, the way he kept his wrists close to his body and his back and shoulders were tensed. “You’re lying.” She sang, feeling the effects of her drink.

His eye’s bulged at her bluntness but a part of him respected her for it. He was tired of the others tiptoeing around him and whatever they assumed was wrong, it was refreshing to have someone get to the point, even if it were a point he didn’t like.

He sighed, calculating the amount of information he could give away without exposing himself or how weak he truly was. He turned back to face her. “Not entirely, Merlin really is an old fart that doesn’t understand the joy one can have with a bucket of ale and a good brawl.” She squinted at him, doing her best to show how little she believed his façade.

He groaned, hand running through hair. “Fine. Yes, my mind has been doing all sort of stupid things since I saw you – not like that, you’re a fair maiden but not…” He sighed again as he massaged his temples, sober thoughts and it’s accompanied headache returning.

“You’re like me?” Her voice was soft, eye’s gentle as if she was worried the question would break him. If hadn’t spent the night out with her, it probably would have. He felt water fill his treacherous eyes – the golden lights in the street blurring in a wet mosaic. He watched her wobbling silhouette approach and place a soft hand on his cheek. His heart was racing, ocean in his ears, and he couldn’t tell if his stomach was doing flips due to the time in The Rising Sun or because, holy shit, someone knows.

“Hey,” came her gentle voice, bringing him back to reality. She moved her fingers softly against his skin and he felt himself lean into her hand. “I’ve never met someone else like me.” Despite the fear and hurt and anger, he smiled. She looked so innocent: stood on the tips of her toes to reach his face, cheeks flushed and tears welling in her own eyes. He opened his mouth, not yet sure what he wanted to say, just as the heavens above opened.

Rain poured down, soaking them both in seconds. Her hair stuck to her face and her thin shirt turned see through. He pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders, before taking her hand. “Let’s get inside.” He called over the rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. She had a large, beautiful, grin on her face as she nodded, blowing a wet strand of hair from her eyes.

She gripped his hand, and they ran. They ran past couples hiding under canvas, past children staying out far too late dancing in the rain, past drunkards emptying their stomachs in the hay. They ran all the way up to the castle, free hands on sides to ease stiches.

By the time they pulled to a stop, hiding under the roof at the top of the entrance stairs and looking out at the courtyard, they were wheezing with laughter and creating puddles at their feet.

“Well,” Miriam panted, “That woke me up some.” Gwaine snorted and shook his hair like a dog, spraying Miriam who squealed in response. She shoved him, trying to get her own back, but slipped and fell. He caught her by the forearms but quickly let go as he noticed her grimace in pain. She ended sprawled on the floor, eyes watering but laughing still. His face fell in concern and he knelt next to her.

“Shit, Miriam, I’m sorry.” She shook her head, waving him off but she cradled her arms to her chest still. “Should we go to Gaius or Merlin? I’m sure—” She butt in, eyes wide.

“No, no, not Merlin. I’m fine, really Gwaine.”

“What’s wrong with Merlin?” He tried not to get defensive but drinking always made him more affectionate for his friends, even when they weren’t there.

She sighed, bringing her legs up to her chest and dropping her head on her knees. “I fucked up with Gwen and now everyone hates me and then I did something even worse this morning.” Her voice was muffled but Gwaine caught it all, mouth dropping slightly. He sat down properly, slotting himself next to her and gently wrapping and arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sure they don’t hate you—”

“They do, and if they didn’t already, what I did this morning certainly confirmed it. By the looks I was getting in the Kitchens this morning, everyone knows. Wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur sends me away tomorrow.” Her voice cracked and she nuzzled herself into Gwaine’s side. He pulled his arm tighter around her and she let out a content sigh.

“What could you have done that was so bad, eh? You threaten Princess or something?” he nudged her gently, in jest, but she lifted her head and stared at him with such sad eyes that his heart broke for her. “How about we get warmed up in my chambers and talk about this? Does that sound alright?” She sniffled, nodding. He stood first and extended his hand for her. The walk to the Knights quarters was quiet – just the patting of their feet and the sound of distant rain – but both their minds were reeling.

Miriam still didn’t quite understand what she had done wrong in the first place and so explaining it to Gwaine was going to be a mammoth task, and then she would also have to explain what her and Juliana had done that morning and what would he even think of that? Would he be disgusted? She couldn’t blame him but if he were, what would she do next? She had had a good night with him, and she knew she could get him to talk of his own issues eventually which would make Merlin happy, so she really wasn’t fond of the idea of loosing him so soon after befriending him. Befriending? Were they truly friends now or had they just happened to have gotten drunk together?

Oh bother, it was all far too much for her hazy mind to comprehend.

Gwaine opened a heavy oak door and stood to the side, waving her in. She bowed her head and obeyed – might as well do as he says so these last few hours of being his friend go as smoothly as possible.

She lit the fire as Gwaine gathered blankets and pillows for them to sit on. Once it was roaring, she leant sat on one of the pillows and stretched her feet out to warm them.

“I have spare clothes you could wear, if you would like? You should get out of your wet clothes, at least.” Face blank – her thoughts were too fast for her to convey emotion anymore – she nodded and pulled her shirt and trousers off, leaving her in just a damp chemise. She pulled a blanket round her shoulders and another over her arms.

Gwaine caught a brief look of what she was covering and had to close his eyes, trying to stop his mind from going down the dark path yet again.

He removed his own clothes, pulling on his night trousers and covering himself in a similar manner to her. They sat, watching the fire dance, and basked in the others presence.

“If it matters any,” he began, taking a deep breath, “I don’t think you could do anything to disgust me. I have explored nearly all the lands of Isles, partaken in most endeavours, so I struggle to imagine you could say something I haven’t seen or experienced myself already.” He kept his head forward, allowing her the space to process his words. He didn’t know what Miriam could have done to elicit such fear in herself, but he meant every word of what he had said. Bar threatening or hurting someone, he couldn’t think of anything she could have done wrong.

She bit her lip, puling the blanket tighter around her and picked at an exposed red stripe on her wrist. She had taken the bandages off after work – they had got covered in so much food that they were more harm than good – and hadn’t wrapped them again. They had scabbed over nicely, according to Gaius, but that made the temptation to scratch at them far worse than before. Especially now, with such an uncomfortable conversation approaching.

“Women sleeping with other women. I know it’s wrong, I know it is against the gods and all that is natural,” If she turned her head, she would have seen the confusion on Gwaine’s face, “And yet, no matter how many times I’ve tried to force out such disgusting temptations, it is something I do.” Gwaine sighed a breath of relief, and then his brows furrowed in concern as he fully processed what she said.

“Forced them out? Of yourself?” He turned towards her, shuffling closer. She allowed herself a moment to glance at his face, before turning back to the fire. She didn’t understand the look he wore. It wasn’t quite anger, nor was it agreement.

“Yes. Sleeping with men, letting them have their way with me, you understand.”

He cocked his head at that, even more confused. “I’m not sure I do, Miriam.”

She turned to face him properly now, crossing her legs to keep distance between them. He mimicked her and let his knees brush hers. “Supposedly you sleep with any woman that will allow you, is that not because you want to avoid something? To change something in yourself?” Judging by the way he averted his eyes, she was right.

“But it never changes anything.” His voice was hoarse, and he kept his eyes on the floor.

“No, no it doesn’t.

There was another pause. Gwaine stood, blanket still covering his arms, and made his way to a cupboard in the corner. He returned with a large ceramic jar and a fruit cake, setting both down next to his seat. He took a large swig from the jar – a home brewed spirit – coughed slightly and passed it to Miriam who did the same.

“So, what did you do wrong?” He thought it a simple enough question and yet the look she made at him suggested otherwise.

After mulling her answer over and taking another swig, she began, “Well, other than the obvious crime—“ she ignored his attempt to interrupt, “I was talking to Gwen. About Lancelot and I. And then she said how she felt there was no man made for her. And then I, hopeful, I suppose, asked if she had explored the prospect of women. And I know that that was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have said it and I apologised as such but the way she looked at me, the way she held such disappointment in those truly beautiful eyes… I fucked up.” She stopped, taking a shaky breath and a piece of the cake.

Once she had finished chewing, he nodded for her to continue. “And then Merlin and I were in my new rooms – talking about you, actually – and she asked for me and I tried to apologise again but I think I did it wrong because she stormed off and Merlin not long followed and—” she cut herself off with a frustrated groan, hands racking through her hair. The blanket fell from her arms, exposing the harsh lines coating them.

Gwaine took another drink.

“And you say you did something worse this morning?”

Her cheeks flushed at that, “Depends who you ask but yes, much worse. Though, Juliana enjoyed it if I do say so myself.” It took him a second, but he caught on with an ‘oh? Oh.’ And she nodded in response.

“But Gwen saw, I am certain of it. Not the whole thing, mind, but the way Juliana was talking to me, and then us going into the storeroom at the back and… I have truly fucked up, Gwaine.” She fell back, staring at the ceiling. He lay down next to her, eyes tracing patterns in the beams running across his room.

He liked to think he knew Merlin and Gwen well - well enough to judge their reactions - and he was sure Miriam was missing something important. Namely that same sex relations such as the ones she mentioned were not a crime in Camelot. Sure, they weren’t the norm, but Arthur, the King himself, partook in them and so the common people were quickly allowing themselves to give into such temptations. Supposedly, even Uther wasn’t that harsh on those found doing such things, although it was never something reported that he did himself. He was also sure that she was leaving out that she had feelings for Gwen and was beating herself up the attraction. Not that he blamed her for liking her – he had tried to pursue her when he had first arrived in Camelot too. She was something special, even the blind could see that.

He turned on his side to face her and waited for her to do the same. “What do you know about Camelot? About it’s attitudes to such things?” Her face scrunched up as she thought about it.

Really, she hadn’t heard anything about what Camelot thought about it. She never intended to end up here – she had gone from town to town for work and the forest she was found in was two days ride away from the citedale. She had intented to make her way as far north as north could go but never had any specific town in her head. She knew that Merlin and Arthur were handsy with each other and she had seen the way they slept together after Merlin had given her his role mat that night, but she assumed that was just something royals did with their servants. Same as they would with a woman.

And yet, with the line of questioning Gwaine was going down, she could sense that she was wrong somewhere along the line. “I don’t know anything about Camelot, save for Uther having been King here a few years past and everyone knows about him. But I have seen how Arthur and Merlin are and I expect you are asking because Merlin isn’t just a body to warm the Princesses bed?”

Gwaine laughed at that, happy she still referred to Arthur as that. “You’d be right there. Why are you so against people like that? People like yourself?” This time she looked angry and, if Gwaine looked close enough, scared. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

She nodded, chewing her lip and scratching her wrists again. He took her hands in his, keeping them still.

“May I ask you something now, Gwaine?” He nodded slowly. “Could I see you? What you’ve done to yourself?” He sat up, dropping her hands. The blanket fell away but all she could see was his back from where she lay.

“I’m sorry. I just,” she sat up, not looking at him so he could have some privacy, “I want to know what it’s like for other people. And you’re a knight, you’re brave and yet you still did it and I just…” she grew quiet, water welling in her eyes once more, “I always thought myself a coward but maybe I’m not.”

She heard him sigh from next to her.

“I don’t think I’m all that brave, lass. Sometimes I think about joining those troops that go round preforming for lords and ladies. Gwaine the Freak. I’m sure I could draw in a pretty penny.” He laughed but there was no humour in it.

Slowly, he turned to face Miriam, and she followed suit. They locked eyes, her trying to show trust and him trying to confirm it, and then he dropped his blanket.

She couldn’t help the way she leant forward, hands itching to draw over his body. His chest and arms were littered in scars – some from fights and brawls, others from himself. There were a few burn marks, likely from run ins with magical beings. She met his eyes again, asking for permission, before she gave into temptation and traced the patterns marring his skin. She started over his chest, tracing over his heart, down to his ribs and then past a particularly nasty white mound by his naval. She then took his hand in her own, placing it on her knee. She began at his hand, tickling swirls over his palm which made him smile despite himself, and then, slowly, she worked her way up. There were fresh red streaks over the blue streams under his skin. They got less calculated the further up his forearm she got: more erratic, more angry, more hurt. He averted his eyes as she gently trailed her fingers over the fresh ones, not wanting her to see the tears slipping through his lashes. She found the circular scar at his shoulder where he had been skewered by a spear – that one still caused him pain in the winter. Finally, her hands trailed up his neck and cupped his jaw. She pulled his face to look at her again, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“You’re beautiful, Sir Gwaine.” Her voice was light, genuine, and it broke him. He tried to snort, to play it off like it was nothing, but he couldn’t. Those traitorous tears broke the banks and came pouring down. She brought his head down to meet hers, foreheads resting on each other, and he shook. He distantly felt her arms wrap around him, and soft whispers near his ear, but he couldn’t be sure. You’re beautiful, Sir Gwaine. And he knew she meant it, he could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She didn’t strike him as the kind of girl to dish words like that out and somehow, that made it so much worse. He felt as if he had let her down by being like this, despite knowing being like this was why she was drawn to him. He had never had anyone care for him before (bar Merlin), not truly, and even Merlin hid things from him. He wasn’t stupid, no matter how the other Knights joked: he could see that Merlin had a secret and he was almost certain it was to do with magic, but Merlin didn’t trust him with that, and he could feel the wedge that drove between them. But here was Miriam. A stranger, practically. And here was Miriam, sharing a secret with him that had practically killed her just days before, and here was Miriam, taking him in her arms and making his heart warm in ways it hadn’t since his father had died all those years ago. And here was Miriam, caring. Something so simple, and yet, so rare for him that he no longer knew what to do but cry.

He felt disgusting, snot dripping down his face like a child, and body growing hot sat so close to the fire, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He sighed, tears slowing, and sank deeper against Miriam. She moved her head, resting it on his shoulder and bringing him closer to her. He listened to their heart beats – both still beating wildly from their run and subsequent outbursts.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours but was only a quarter of one. The fire was growing low, desperate for more wood. When they pulled apart from each other, a tangle of sweaty limbs, they stayed silent, basking in the loving atmosphere. Gwaine leant forward, throwing two more logs onto the embers, and sat back again.

Gently, he brought one of his calloused hands to her cheek – just as she had with his – and smiled. It was one of the most genuine smiles he had ever pulled, and he knew she could sense that. “Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, but she nodded, hearing it still.

They ended up working their way through the cake and the spirit, trading stories from the lands they had lived in, and ignoring what had happened before. They were both appreciative for the interaction, but neither was emotionally prepared to dive back into it and so they focused their energy on stuffing their guts.

She breathed a sigh of relief upon finding Elyan’s note on the table: “I shall be spending the night with Gwaine, hopefully talking some sense into him. See you tomorrow dear sister, be well.” She loved him but the idea of explaining why she was in such a state was not something she favoured.

She sat on the creaky stool with a huff, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, face burrowing into the fabric as if it were hugging her. At least something was. She stayed that way until the sun set, rocking back and forth very gently.

It was the way Miriam had said it that bothered her the most. She seemed to genuinely believe that a woman laying with another woman was disgusting, maybe even worth condemning by the god’s around them, and yet she was the one that suggested it. Why would she think of such things if she hated them? And yet, she had said that she had had a long day in the kitchens so maybe it was as she had said and she was just tired.

Gwen stood, pacing the length of her small hut.

She felt the need to apologise. To assure the girl that she had done no wrong and that it was Gwen that should have held her tongue. She probably shouldn’t have shared that she had been with Lancelot – especially not sharing a little of their more intimate relations – but there was something in her that told her it needed to be said. Maybe she wanted to put Miri off him. Was that selfish? Yes. And yet, it felt so right. There was a hint of relief in Miriam’s eyes, as if she was glad to have a reason to reject him.

Her heart fluttered again; Gwen pinched herself to force it to calm. She had no right seeing that as an opening for herself. What if Miri was uncomfortable with the situation with Lancelot? He was an honourable man, and he would back off immediately if he saw any sign of discomfort, but he was also passionate and that blinded him at times. Was it up to Gwen to step in? She should talk to Miriam. Yes, just to make sure that she understood where her courting could lead.

Gwen stopped in front of the wash bowl, splashing the chilled water on her face and neck. The cold was refreshing on her boiling skin – complicated emotions always made her warm. She took a moment to watch out the window and look up at the castle. She loved the way the candles flickered in the stained-glass window, creating beautiful colourful blobs that flittered about with the gentle breeze that would inevitably get into each room. The whole citadel was quiet tonight, as if giving Gwen peace to think. She hated it.

With yet another sigh, she forced herself to light the fire and heat the soup from the previous night. She hummed as she worked, determined to keep her thoughts in check with songs of Bears and Maidens.

As night set in, belly now full, Gwen prepared herself for bed. Her mind once again circled back to the beautiful girl as she put on her sleeping gown. She knew from the moment she saw Miri that there was something there, something that she was drawn to. She had to give her something, some reason to talk more, and so she had volunteered up a few old gowns for the girl to wear (Gwen did her best to ignore the image of the bloody dress in the bucket, soaking, as she recalled her first memory with her) and it had worked – they had spoken gently almost every day since then.

And now, Gwen thought, we may never again.

With that, Gwen curled up in a ball, pulling the itchy blanket over her head, and fell into a restless sleep.

--

When she woke, eyes caked shut with dried tears, Gwen made a plan. Sure, she felt like she was wearing a shops worth of armour – heart too heavy for her to move properly – but she was nothing if not efficient and a do-er and so her mind set to work.

Miriam was a good person, she had a pure soul – Gwen was sure of it – and so, saying something as… horrible as that must have been a lie. She was new to Camelot, brain in loops from her night in the woods and so she must not know the cities views on such relationships. Although, as she thought about it, Gwen realised that there wasn’t really much to prove Camelot had positive views on such things. There was Merlin and Arthur, of course, but not everyone saw them as she could and so why would someone new assume they would be okay with it? Maybe Gwen could talk to them, get them to tell Miri of their thoughts on the matter and prove her wrong? Show her that it wasn’t shameful and that such things were allowed to be talked about here?

And then what? It was foolish of Gwen to get her hopes up, to think that sharing this would make Miri like her. Like her.

Once again, Gwen’s heart fell.

As she looked in the mirror, tightening her floral corset that people always complimented her on, she imagined Miriam stood next to her. She could see the girl’s dark black hair cascading down her back, their eyes level – Miri was barely taller than Gwen – and they were smiling at each other. Gwen had noticed through stolen glances, that Miriam had three main ways of smiling. The first was her most frequent one: when she pretended she was doing well for people, such as Gaius who would question her on her emotional wellbeing daily. She could see the way it exhausted her to plaster such a look – ends of her mouth curled upwards – but she understood why she did such things. To admit her true feelings (Gwen didn’t pretend to know what they were, just that they were unlikely to be positive) would lead to her being stuck in the physicians chambers for longer, she wouldn’t be able to work in the kitchens and Gwen could tell that brought her true joy.

The smile she saw after meeting the girl the day before was the best smile she had seen in all her twenty-something years. Her eyes practically sparkled, singing her hearts joy, and the apples of her cheeks were full. She was light in her step, as if floating with happiness. The feeling was infectious.

The third smile was the one solely reserved for Gwen. It was the one she saw in the corner of her eye when busy, pottering around the room and clearing up after Gaius. She would pretend to be occupied, just so she could catch glimpses of it. She may not know why Miriam smiled like that, just for her, or why her cheeks glowed red each time she was caught looking, but she did know that it did wonderful things to the butterflies residing in her stomach.

That was the smile she imagined now, looking at the faux reflection of the girl next to her.

She sighed, pulling on her shawl.

--

By the time she had finished work that day, doing little jobs for whoever needed a helping hand, the sun was hiding behind the woods. She popped her head into Gaius’ chambers, asking where Miriam’s quarters were, before slowly setting off towards the servants’ lodgings. She was glad to have never needed to sleep within the castle – she found that living in the lower town, no matter how many drunkards would wake her with their shouts outside, created a much-needed gap between work and home life. They were kept well, there were plenty of people proficient at cleaning in this area of the castle, but Gwen noticed how much colder the stone felt without the fires being kept alight as they were in the parts of the castle that high born’s inhabited.

Gwen slowed her pace further as the end of the corridor came into view. Gaius said Miriam was in the room one from the end, on the left. She played over what she wanted to say, trying to form some sort of structure to the conversation but falling short. You should talk to Merlin and Arthur and Camelot is a kind Kingdom with accepting inhabitants and even if you do truly think people like that are vile, I cannot agree with you and I hope you accept that. She was less sure on that last point. It didn’t feel as if Miriam would think that but what if she did? Would Gwen even wish to stay friends with someone like that? Would it be safe for Merlin and Arthur to be friend with someone like that? She wasn’t so sure Arthur counted as her friend – she had heard conflicting reports on his thoughts towards the girl – but Merlin would definitely be affected by views such as that.

She stopped, the door within reach now. Her heart was racing, mind spinning. Despite trying to organise her thoughts for an entire day and night now, she was no closer to knowing what to say, not properly. How does one even broach the subject? She had to also be careful of the girls mental state – it was clear she did not want people walking on hot coals around her, but she couldn’t allow herself to be angry at the girl for what that could do.

She took a deep breath and listened, trying to ground herself.

There were voices inside. Although muffled, Gwen could make out the distinct, beautiful, melody of Miriam and, listening closer, Merlin.

Merlin. That was good. Maybe, if she knocked now, he could stay. That way, she would have someone to back her up that she knew would agree. Having him, she selfishly thought, also meant she wouldn’t have to bring her own feelings into the mix. She wouldn’t have to mention Morgana if someone that felt towards those of the same sex as was expected of the opposite was there.

She took a final breath of fresh air, pushing away the thoughts telling her to run and hide under her blanket.

She knocked.

And then again, just to be sure they would hear.

“Hello?” It was Miriam and, Gwen noticed, her voice was off – as if she were upset. That did not bode well.

“Miri?” She called, anxiety flowing through her whole body, “Can we talk?”

There was a pause and Gwen almost considered leaving, apologising for the interruption, and packing a bag. Maybe she could visit Ealdor and stay with Merlin’s mother for some time. Cleaning pig pens sounded far better than this—

The door opened and there she stood; eye’s glassy but still smiling hesitantly at Gwen. How did she still look so perfect when upset? Gwen’s nerves fluttered once again but, with a heavy swallow, she began, “Hi.” Her voice was quiet, but it brought Miri’s lips up more, evolving into that smile.

“Hi.”

“Hello Gwen.” Came Merlin’s voice from inside the room. Miriam opened the door up further, allowing Gwen to peer into the chamber. It was small – smaller than Gwen’s room – but, judging by the one bed, it was all for Miriam which was a rare occurrence from what Gwen understood. Miri stepped back, gesturing for Gwen to come in.

“Are you alright?” Miriam asked, face softening in concern as she noticed the way Gwen was wringing her hands with worry. She nodded, once again trying to form the introduction to the conversation.

“I wanted to talk. About yesterday. And my thoughts on that.” Gwen caught the way Merlin and Miriam’s eyes locked – clearly, he was aware of the situation which would make asking him to stay a lot easier, hopefully. “You can stay, Merlin.” She turned to him, eyes practically pleading. He nodded, sitting on the seat behind him.

Miriam sat on her bed (which creaked in protest) and patted the space next to her. With yet another deep breath, Gwen gathered her dress and sat – keeping a bit of distance between them.

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t understand—” They started at the same time, breaking off with nervous giggles, heat rising in each of their cheeks. Merlin’s eyes darted between the two.

Gwen nodded for Miriam to start.

She took a second, eye’s tracing the serving girls soft features, and began, “I am sorry for how I reacted yesterday. I shouldn’t have said such things – both suggesting you should… consider other options, and for saying it is an unnatural passion.” She picked at her nail, stopping before it bled. “I should have kept quiet, I have no right to interfere in your personal life, and I most certainly shouldn’t have said anything about exploring it like that.”

Gwen’s stomach dropped. Did she still think it was wrong? Why must the girl be such an enigma?

“I can’t wrap my head around you. You are such a kind, pure hearted woman – I am sure of it – and yet you seem to truly be disgusted by the idea of woman laying with woman and man with man. Why is this so wrong? Is it not part of life to be pleasured? If one finds the person that fulfils that part of them, should they turn them away purely for how they were born?” Out the corner of her eye, Gwen noticed Merlin bite his lip and look down at his hands. She had no intention of raising her voice, but she was just so confused, and she needed answers.

“That’s not it, I just, I –” Miriam stood, wrapping her arms tight around her waist and pacing, “I am sorry that I am not the kind of person you thought I was.” Her face was dark, eyes blank and brows pulled tight. Merlin was looking at her with a curious expression, head tilted to the side as if that wasn’t what he had expected her to say either.

“Oh.” Gwen couldn’t form any other words, world busy crashing down around her. She was so sure that Miriam was a good person. That she was just putting up a front. That she meant something with the soft touches of her shoulder and back. That she did actually have a smile reserved just for Gwen, and that the blush meant something more.

But maybe Gwen was wrong: she clearly had been with Morgana.