Title: The Right Impression

Rating: PG

Pairing: Arthur/Morgana

Spoilers: None

Summary: They do well with watching each other from afar it's just up close that things often go wrong.

Early morning light reflected off of the blade as he swung it through the air, highlighting each strike. Morgana had watched Arthur do this many times when he was a boy. Back then he relished plunging the blade into the heart of imaginary monsters, honing the skills that he'd need as a man. Now she suspected that the enemies his mind targeted were of a more mundane kind; ruthless knights and dishonest lords. Those who would seek to take Camelot and her people for themselves should the opportunity arise.

As a child she'd once asked Arthur if she could join in, if he'd teach her how to wield a blade. He'd told her 'no'. It was the men who did the fighting, not girls, he'd pompously explained. Her job was to stay at home and take care of the children because, after all, girls were no good at fighting. She'd taken some measure of offence at that and, in her determination to prove him wrong, she'd clonked him on the head with a wooden shield. He still bore the small scar, just visible in his hairline, to this day.

Not that she ever looked of course.

Just she like she wasn't watching him now. She certainly wasn't musing, as she sometimes found herself doing, that being married to him may not be so bad after all. That, despite being far too impressed with himself, he had many good qualities, not least of which was his handsome face.

Gwen shook the bed clothes out of the open window, getting air to the sheets. In the courtyard below, Arthur practiced, his sword swinging with deadly precision. It was a kind of ritual of his, something he seemed to spend many hours at each day. After the amount of time he'd taken preparing for it, it could almost be considered a pity If his reign wasn't filled with great warfare.

Finishing her work and returning to the other room, she smiled to see her mistress leaning against the window, eyes carefully watching something below. Gwen hardly needed to guess what it was. Morgana spent so much of her time complaining about Arthur and protesting that she had no desire for him that it was becoming increasingly obvious that he did affect her. Still, she never was one to go quietly into anything and it simply wouldn't be her if she didn't fight expectations.

"He is very good," Gwen commented with a teasing grin, watching as Morgana rapidly withdrew from the window like a scalded cat. "At fighting, I mean", she continued, pretending not to have noticed that the lady's usually porcelain complexion had flushed with embarrassment. "Which I suppose is important in a husband. After all, you do want to him to be able to defend your honour."

"I don't need a husband to do that," Morgana scoffed, attempting an air of nonchalance but still clearly uncomfortable. "Besides, why should my honour need defending?"

"Well you never know," Gwen reasoned with a fanciful smile, "What if you were threatened by some horrible bandit or something and Arthur rescued you? Wouldn't that be romantic?"

"Romantic?" Morgana exclaimed, as though the notion was almost distasteful, "Arthur? His idea of romance is probably asking a girl to polish his armour!"

With a huff, she disappeared into her bed chamber but Gwen simply continued to smile, laughing a little to herself.

The lady really did protest too much.

In the courtyard, sweat running down his neck and back, arm aching, Arthur was grateful that his audience had departed and he could finally stop for a rest

He really did have no need to impress Morgana, he reminded himself irritably as he splashed his face with water. He was a prince of the finest sort and she should be impressed enough with that. Besides, it wasn't as if he cared what she thought of him anyway.

And yet, he didn't want her to see him giving up. He didn't want her to see any hint of weakness and perhaps think less of him. He wanted her to be impressed. It annoyed him greatly.

As it annoyed him that she could sometimes take his breath away with the merest glance even though he so wanted to be unaffected by her beauty. If it was simply a matter of finding her desirable though then perhaps he wouldn't be so concerned with it all, but he often found himself bristling with jealousy when she flirted with other men, a reaction that seemed determined to suggest that this was more than mere attraction.

But surely she'd make a dreadful wife, he reminded himself. Wilful and stubborn; they would never go one day without arguing. But, on the other hand, would he really want a wife who agreed with all he said when he could have one who told him what she thought? Didn't Camelot deserve a queen who stood up for what she thought was right and damn the consequences?

This was ridiculous, he told himself firmly, determined to bury the matter as he returned to his training. He had no desire to marry Morgana. She made it quite plain that she found the notion distasteful herself and he wasn't going to be a fool for her.

But as he swung his sword once more he couldn't resist glancing up to her windows just in case she might reappear.

He was so distracted by checking in fact that he didn't realise she'd entered the courtyard until he turned to swing and saw her standing there, leaning a little against the stonework, a fondly amused smile on her face.

Startled, the sword flew from his grip and clattered to the floor, skidding to a stop by her feet.

"Morgana!" he scolded, making it sound like it was indeed all her doing, "You should be more careful. I could have hurt you."

She ignored that, bending down to pick up the sword, turning it over in her hands, looking carefully at the blade. "You know, you never will be very good if you're distracted by a mere girl," she teased.

Huffing a little he walked over to her, holding out his hand for his sword. "Did you come here for any useful reason or for the sole purpose of disparaging me?"

"Teach me," she demanded simply.

"What?" he asked with a frown, gripping the sword.

He pulled it but she didn't let go.

"Teach me," she said more purposefully, nodding down towards the blade.

"No," he instantly said, barking an incredulous laugh at ludicrousness of the concept.

Her face grew suddenly irritated, a common expression he'd seen whenever she didn't get her own way.

"Why not?"

"Because it could be dangerous," he explained, wondering why she'd even requested it, "and there's absolutely no need. Trust me, you are well protected."

She scoffed a laugh, "Half Uther's guards don't look strong enough to protect themselves. I'd hate to have to rely on them in a fight."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm here," he pointed out. She must realise that he would never willingly let any harm come to her.

"And what if you weren't?"

He blinked a little. She seemed utterly sincere in that.

"Excuse me?"

"One day you'll have a wife to protect," she explained with an easy, yet somehow sad shrug, "and I'll probably be married off to some old man who can barely even lift a blade."

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to imagine her gone away, married to someone else. He couldn't.

"I don't think that will be your future," he said softly, hurriedly continuing before she had a chance to question that. "Give me the sword."

"Arthur-" she began to protest.

"It's too heavy for you," he interrupted firmly before she had a chance to launch into a barrage of unnecessary complaints. "You'd be better off with this."

He drew his short sword from its scabbard, holding it out for her to take instead. She looked at it almost suspiciously for a moment, perhaps surprised, perhaps expecting some sort of trick, before she returned his other sword and took that one instead.

"Now," he explained, walking back towards the middle of the courtyard and expecting her to follow, "I'm not going to teach you to fight but, if the need should arise, it would be good if you knew how to defend yourself."

She opened her mouth as if to argue but quickly snapped it shut again and simply nodded, apparently accepting that compromise.

"Well, hold your weapon up then," he prompted when she didn't move. And she did so, but her positioning was awkward and he grinned in amusement to see her do something so badly. "I see I have my work cut out..."

She rolled her eyes at him but any sharp reply was cut off as he walked up and stood close behind her holding the wrist of her sword arm.

"If your opponent comes at you from high then place your blade here," he instructed, using his body and arm to reposition her, "and if they come low, then place it here." He moved her again. "Understand?"

He realised his mistake as soon as he made it. He never should have looked down at her to check that she was following his instructions. The instant he did, his heart seemed to jolt, his body suddenly aware of how close he was to her and of how easy it might be to bend down and kiss those disturbingly inviting lips, pale eyes looking at him almost coyly from under dark lashes. Her face gave little away but he was sure she wasn't unaffected by the experience herself.

He hurriedly moved, unsheathing his sword as he strode to stand in front of her instead, trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Yes, he decided, he'd far rather have her swinging a blade in his direction than simply standing near him. The latter seemed far more dangerous.

Morgana watched Arthur stepped away from her, clearly flustered.

For her own part she remained confused. So much of her being fought back against the weight of expectation, against the notion that she should love him because she'd been told to. But she couldn't help but feel something when he stood that close that she could feel his breath warm on her neck.

He infuriated her that much was true but, more often of late, he also interested her and she wasn't sure which feeling would win out in the end.

He cared for her certainly, but he'd never acted like he'd loved her. Yet, not for the first time recently, she was beginning to wonder if she had the wrong impression of Arthur Pendragon after all.