Loss ;; an Arthur/Gwen fanfic
Jun. 1st, 2010 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bennie Yes this is unexpected, I really didn't plan to write this.
Title: Loss
Characters: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Spoilers: Set after 2x13, so spoilers for that really.
Disclaimer: Arthur and Guinevere belong to... well... somebody. But not me anyway.
Summary: Arthur and Gwen remember those who have been lost.
Word Count: 526
A/N: Inspiration for this arose from several C_L discussions about how Arthur and Gwen both lost their mothers at an early age... and then my own research which revealed that we know almost nothing about the Guinevere of legend's mother. So I decided to give her a voice (of sorts).
Loss.
Not many people remembered that Gwen had once had a mother. Not many people thought to ask. Gwen herself rarely thought of her nowadays, except when the occasional visitor would appear out of the blue with a basket, or some flowers, and sit and talk with Gwen. Then it would all come rushing back. They would speak of kind deeds and helpful advice, of her sweet smile and graciousness. They would express regret at the loss of her father.
Her father.
Gwen had only ever known a father, she had never had the advantage of a woman’s guidance. It wasn’t until she became Morgana’s handmaid, aged thirteen, that she stopped resenting the long dresses girls wore, that she stopped longing for the freedom of trousers and of the blacksmith’s anvil. Morgana had become like an older sister to her over the years, and the loss of her now… It affected Gwen more than she ever let on.
In the beginning Gwen had begged for details of her disappearance, pestering everyone she knew for information about her possible whereabouts.
She even asked Arthur, once.
Now she recognised it was futile. It had become gradually clear that Morgana had left of her own volition, and nothing would persuade her to return.
To lose so many would have been too much for some, but Gwen bore it with her usual grace, scurrying about the corridors of Camelot as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Only a select few knew the true extent of her pain.
Arthur could tell.
He could tell by the way she jumped at the mention of Morgana’s name, twitched (even as she served dinner) to see Morgana’s empty place at the table, how she always avoided the part of the castle where her former mistresses’ chambers lay. How every rare kiss she gave him grew more desperate. Every look more sad.
Not many people remembered that Arthur once had a mother. Not many people dared to ask. Igraine had been a popular Queen, dearly beloved by her husband and by the people. Those who knew her well spoke highly of her beauty and grace, her kindness and charity. But all Arthur had ever known of her were his father’s rare drunken stories and the false apparition Morgause had conjured to deceive him. He still wondered to this day if the witch invented everything, or if… perhaps… his mother was as beautiful and lovely as her counterfeit.
On the anniversary of Tom’s death, Arthur came by the modest blacksmith’s house dressed in the same blue cloak he had worn the first time he visited.
He was greeted with tears and an embrace as forthright as the one he had received on the night they had escaped the dragon.
“Your mother,” he whispered as he held on. “I never asked…”
“Her name was Marian.” Gwen whispered back. She lifted her head every so slightly off of his shoulder. “Your mother…”
“Igraine.” Arthur smiled weakly. “I never knew her.”
And then somehow they were kissing, in the tiny dusty room, holding on to each other for dear life, in memory of those they had lost.
Title: Loss
Characters: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: G
Spoilers: Set after 2x13, so spoilers for that really.
Disclaimer: Arthur and Guinevere belong to... well... somebody. But not me anyway.
Summary: Arthur and Gwen remember those who have been lost.
Word Count: 526
A/N: Inspiration for this arose from several C_L discussions about how Arthur and Gwen both lost their mothers at an early age... and then my own research which revealed that we know almost nothing about the Guinevere of legend's mother. So I decided to give her a voice (of sorts).
Loss.
Not many people remembered that Gwen had once had a mother. Not many people thought to ask. Gwen herself rarely thought of her nowadays, except when the occasional visitor would appear out of the blue with a basket, or some flowers, and sit and talk with Gwen. Then it would all come rushing back. They would speak of kind deeds and helpful advice, of her sweet smile and graciousness. They would express regret at the loss of her father.
Her father.
Gwen had only ever known a father, she had never had the advantage of a woman’s guidance. It wasn’t until she became Morgana’s handmaid, aged thirteen, that she stopped resenting the long dresses girls wore, that she stopped longing for the freedom of trousers and of the blacksmith’s anvil. Morgana had become like an older sister to her over the years, and the loss of her now… It affected Gwen more than she ever let on.
In the beginning Gwen had begged for details of her disappearance, pestering everyone she knew for information about her possible whereabouts.
She even asked Arthur, once.
Now she recognised it was futile. It had become gradually clear that Morgana had left of her own volition, and nothing would persuade her to return.
To lose so many would have been too much for some, but Gwen bore it with her usual grace, scurrying about the corridors of Camelot as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Only a select few knew the true extent of her pain.
Arthur could tell.
He could tell by the way she jumped at the mention of Morgana’s name, twitched (even as she served dinner) to see Morgana’s empty place at the table, how she always avoided the part of the castle where her former mistresses’ chambers lay. How every rare kiss she gave him grew more desperate. Every look more sad.
Not many people remembered that Arthur once had a mother. Not many people dared to ask. Igraine had been a popular Queen, dearly beloved by her husband and by the people. Those who knew her well spoke highly of her beauty and grace, her kindness and charity. But all Arthur had ever known of her were his father’s rare drunken stories and the false apparition Morgause had conjured to deceive him. He still wondered to this day if the witch invented everything, or if… perhaps… his mother was as beautiful and lovely as her counterfeit.
On the anniversary of Tom’s death, Arthur came by the modest blacksmith’s house dressed in the same blue cloak he had worn the first time he visited.
He was greeted with tears and an embrace as forthright as the one he had received on the night they had escaped the dragon.
“Your mother,” he whispered as he held on. “I never asked…”
“Her name was Marian.” Gwen whispered back. She lifted her head every so slightly off of his shoulder. “Your mother…”
“Igraine.” Arthur smiled weakly. “I never knew her.”
And then somehow they were kissing, in the tiny dusty room, holding on to each other for dear life, in memory of those they had lost.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 10:31 am (UTC)In other news: I'm glad you like the story!:):) And I love your username btw... random I know:L
no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 05:09 pm (UTC)Thanks! Random is good! =]