So Ты all basically encouraged me to post this, so here it is. It's an AU Arthur/Gwen and is actually not super exciting. I leave it with an open ending... Hehe, I hope Ты guys like it. Oh and there might be typos and if so, sorry about them.
It was late. The час of midnight chimed and the eerie ворона of the blackness seemed to seep into the pores of the small cottage- taking all light away. The night was cloudy and the moon invisible causing a feel of dread to creep up the single, individual figure in the cottage’s spine. She was half covered by the плащ of night, but she managed to light a solitary candle and place it on the windowsill. A pretty little thing, she was. With a thick black mantle that came close to her waist and expressive eyes, the fellow village men enjoyed having a go at her at every chance they received. It was a sort of game during the summer season- where the festivities for a carnival were alight and people came staggering Главная well into the Далее day. It was a rare thing not to go to the festivities and her brother, who had left hours ago, had questioned her decision to stay behind tonight. She had not had any real reason; just an odd sense that tonight was different… tonight was dangerous. The instinctual feeling that she had first come to her that morning had no become a fear- so paranoid that she did not want to go to sleep. Her warm, comforting постель, кровати was not a welcome place today. She placed her hand on the melting wax of the candle and sighed, moving away from her post by the windowsill, carrying the candle with her. Her blue dress moved in elegant circles as she walked towards the kitchen; as if she was destined for something other than a mere healer. Once in the kitchen, she lit another candle, blowing her old one out. It was there that a loud knock jostled her fear. Suddenly fully alert, with a feeling of impending danger flowing continuously through her blood, she cautiously made her way to the wooden door. The knocks got louder and еще impatient and her feeling of anxiety overcame that of fear. She opened the door, holing out her candle. She hoped desperately for it to be Elyan, returning from the fair- but instead it was two other men- neither of whom she had seen in her entire life. She did notice, however, that they both wore red cloaks- a sign that they were of noble birth and probably residents of King’s City. That was the city were the King Uther of Camelot- the large landmass that her small village was contained in- lived. Both men now wore identical grim expressions and they were holding up another figure, whose face was covered.
“You are Guinevere?” one of the men asked, scratching his beard. He was trying to cover his desperation with a cautious guard, but she saw through him immediately.
“Yes,” she сказал(-а) softly. “Has something happened, sir? I would not expect a lord like yourself at my door.” It was an inappropriate Комментарий to a lord- let alone a lord who seemed very anxious about something. But no lords would come to a village like this- she never received patients whose ranking was anymore than the local bishop’s son. The man gave her a small smile as he responded,
“Perhaps, we’ve heard a rumor that Ты can heal all sorts of injuries.” The other man intervened, glaring at the other- his eyes flashing. Holding the candle up to their faces, Guinevere could see that they were equally handsome- but differently. One was much еще classically handsome, the other a еще brazen look.
“Enough,” сказал(-а) the classically handsome looking and possibly the еще practical of the two. “We are here on very desperate measures, miss.” He pushed back the капот, худ of the cloaked figure that they had been holding. Guinevere gasped as recognition burned in her mind. It was a man and undoubtedly beautiful- his features seemed to be carved by the angels, yet they were sharp and prominent. His head was covered with thick hair, a color of dulled gold. Though his eyes were shut closed, she knew immediately that they were blue- for he was the Prince of Camelot whom she had seen from a distance. He had visited her village every few years to see if things were running smoothly and he also enjoyed getting to know his future subjects. He was сказал(-а) to listen carefully to their complaints, but she always avoided ever meeting him. Though contained in him was a kindred soul, he was in fact сказал(-а) to be arrogant and pompous- as she had met servants from Court before. A loud cough from one of the two nobles broke her free from her reverie and her eyes snapped up.
“Why have Ты brought the Prince here? What has happened?”
“There has been a raiding during the carnival. Someone was looking to kill the Prince for they knew he’d be visiting this village. It was festival season and Prince Arthur always preferred to visit the different areas of Camelot during the summer. It was an assassination attempt on his life- only they got the wrong man. Still, he ended up getting severely injured because a fight broke out- many of the drunken villagers believed the Prince was at fault. He took a нож to the chest. We were able to take the нож out, but people told us that we had to go to Ты if he had a chance of living.”
“Who was the man?” Guinevere asked her сердце racing with dread. The danger of the night had settled on this Prince and whose ever life was taken.
“I don’t know,” sighed the nobleman and Guinevere immediately beckoned them inside.
“I’m Sir Gawain, by the way,” the brazen looking noblemen said, piping up again. “And he is Sir Lancelot.”
“Bring him here,” she said, laying a sheet over the rigid slate where she attended to her patients. They laid him on вверх of the slate and then turned to her, standing ground impassively. Guinevere left the room for a few moments, returning with several odd looking tools that befuddled the two nobles.
“I will have to ask Ты to leave,” she сказал(-а) calmly. “You are doing yourselves no good, watching this. Ты must be tired. Please- there are lodgings across the street. The innkeeper would not mind Ты coming on such short notice. I expect Ты can pay well?”
“Of course,” Sir Lancelot nodded. “Thank Ты Guinevere. We shall never forgive your kindness.”
“Farwell, maiden,” Sir Gawain grinned, boldly sweeping over her hand and pressing his lips to it. Lancelot pulled Gawain away, pushing him out of the cottage and allowing the front door to shut behind him with a loud thud. The thud seemed to signify something еще than just a disturbance and Guinevere instinctively jumped. She placed the candle on the windowsill and moved towards the Prince. Her сердце beat quickly as she pushed away the Prince’s cloak, revealing a very bloodied shirt. She shivered, begging herself to complete this arduous task- she could feel the life leave his body. With her nimble fingers, she undid the ties of his рубашка and eased the entire Статья of clothing off. The wound was worse than she could imagine- the blade had left an ugly laceration and crimson seeped onto her fingers as she prodded at it. With a глотать, ласточка and a look at his pale, lifeless face; she began to tend to it. She had her threads and she had her cloths- she worked quickly to close the wound. It took her longer than she expected, but she kept in her fears inside, and the wound was soon closed. She leaned back in her chair, staring at him, knowing that he was going to live. But he was cold- despite the heat of the surrounding air and he shivered uncontrollably. The loss of blood, she knew, had wrecked him and so she placed thick blankets upon him. She carefully blew out the candle afterwards fell into a light sleep on the floor beside the Prince.
A knock awakened her and she found the morning light seeping through the window. The sun was shining extravagantly in the sky and Guinevere smiled. It was a beautiful day- completely and utterly. Perhaps it would make up for the ghastly night which preceded it. She eyed her patient who still lay relatively motionless on the slate. Biting her lip, and hoping dearly that she would not disturb him, she latched open the door, surprised to see a grave-faced, pudgy man who was in fact the village butcher.
“Gwyn! Guinevere…” he сказал(-а) sadly. He handed her a note, before giving her an apologetic look. “Everything is written here. I am sorry that I was too weak to tell you…but I…cannot.” He left the threshold without another word, leaving her gawking at his back. Quickly she shut the door, leaning against it and pried open the note. As her eyes scanned the note; color drained from her face and her expression twisted into one of absolute shock. The paper fell from her hands upon the floor and only when it slid across the cool wood did her tears begin to spill across her face. There was no stopping them and she found it pointless to wipe them off. They just kept coming. She collapsed into a seated position onto the floor, covering her face in her hands. Her sobbing grew louder- so much that there was a grunt from the slate bed.
“Good God,” a voice said, but she was too absorbed in her sadness to truly notice. “Where…What…” There was a creaking sound before the voice spoke again. “Who are you?” Immediately she dropped her hands and faced the voice with a tear stained face. The Prince had risen and was scanning the room meticulously. He seemed to want to take in every inch of it.
“Sire,” she whispered, jumping to her feet and dropping into a wobbly curtsy. The Prince gave her an odd look before going on to make an inquiry,
“Where is my shirt?” Feeling incredibly foolish, Guinevere grabbed the white, blood-stained shirt. She stared at it dumbly and then looked at the Prince uneasily.
“I’ll go fetch my…brother’s,” her voice choked as she spoke and the Prince frowned. He did not tell her not to go, however, so she raced up the stairs and picked up a brown shirt. She then came down the лестничная клетка, лестница and presented it to the Prince who took it gently. He put it on, wincing slightly at the pain in his side. She, in the meanwhile, resumed to sitting by the windowsill and let her tears flow down her face.
“Thank you,” the Prince said. “I’m sorry, what am I doing here? I remember someone trying to kill me and someone else dying as a result. “Only I do not recall coming here. I took a нож to the chest…” His hand rand over his injury where the stitching had been visible and realization dawned on me. “You did this? Ты saved my life?”
“Yes Sire. Or, what I mean is that it was not too much of a big deal.”
“You will be rewarded. I promise you, that Ты will be rewarded for this.”
“No, my lord. I do not wish for a reward.”
“No reward,” he sounded confused and taken aback. “But how can that be possible?”
“No,” she choked again. A single tear trailed down her cheek.
“Something’s happened. Else Ты would not be crying.” Guinevere stared at him, wondering if his tone was one that was commanding her to tell him или if he had meant it out of sincerity. She decided on the first.
“My brother was the man who died.” Arthur stared at her when she сказал(-а) this, disbelief reaching his eyes.
“Your brother…” he stammered as if unsure if she spoke the truth.
“Yes my brother. Elyan,” she replied in a strong voice. The Prince continued to stare at her- it was clear he was trying to Показать sympathy. She was sure a man like him would have difficulty doing that.
“I am extremely sorry,” Arthur said. “I will hunt down the assassin right now and kill him.” Guinevere stared up at him, shook her head frantically, and forced him into a chair.
“You are not allowed to leave my care until the stitching is out. And besides, I would not go after an assassin who wants Ты dead.” Despite the severity of her words, she was pleased that he had felt so strongly about avenging Elyan.
“Thank you- for doing this. Not many healers would dare take the Crown Prince’s life into their hands. It was very honorable and I will kill the assassin if it’s the last thing I do. If it is not a reward Ты want, then at least allow me that.”
“No Sire,” Guinevere stated. “You will not endanger your life again. I only wish Ты to be safe.”
“That is all?”
“That is all.” He gave her a peculiar smile, as if he did not quite understand her. He must think me mad, she thought as she gave him a small smile back. “Anyways,” she continued quickly as not to linger. “Shall I get Ты some hot water?” Before waiting for an answer she began to leave the room, but a hand fastened around her arm pulling her back. She looked up at him, with a surprised look and he grinned,
“You never told me your name. Seeing that I will not be doing much until my wound heals, I might as well as learn of your name.”
“Guinevere,” she said. “Though mostly, people call me Gwyn.”