Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Merlin, Arthur or Guinevere. But I own this plot.

AN: This is a OneShot fic, and it's sort of AU in the sense that it doesn't exactly follow the show (or the legend). I'm currently posting another story for Harry Potter, so feel free to check that out too. Feedback is always welcome!

Enjoy :)

Noteworthy Features[AG]

He remembers when they were children; running around in the rain and through the puddles, racing on horseback even though his father specifically told him not to, playing hide and seek all over the castle with dirty hands and skinned knees. And he wonders..when in the hell did she transform from that girl to this girl?

X

It all started yesterday afternoon. (Technically, he should say it all started 18 years ago, but that part isn't important yet). So, it all started yesterday afternoon. Twenty-two year old Crowned Prince of Camelot and best knight his (future) kingdom has seen yet was training with his men, as he does every day at two o'clock, when a familiar, friendly voice had pulled his attention away from the knights who had been practicing combat on one another, and reflected it upon herself. Herself, being Guinevere Leodegrance, a trusted and loyal servant to his father, the King's Ward. Guinevere, being his childhood mate. He hadn't noticed it at the time but she was wearing a rather flattering pink, hand-sewn dress and half of her hair was pulled back and pinned in place, with the bottom half flowing casually across her shoulders. He also hadn't noticed the bloke standing behind her equipped with armour and chain mail, seemingly ready for combat, that is until she introduced him.

X

"Guinevere!" Arthur greets her upon turning around. He's dressed head to toe in armor and chain mail, his sword in his right hand and his shield in his left. He grins at the dark skinned girl before him, his longtime friend, who smiles back in that incredibly adorable way of hers. "Come to watch me practice, have you? Not that I need to, mind you."
"Mmm, and even if I did, you aren't practicing," she observes.
"Yes, well, as I said...not that I need to." He grins playfully and then glances behind him at his knights, barks out a different set of orders to which the men obey, before turning back to her. "So, what can I do for you Guinevere?"
"Actually, it's not what you can do for me. It's what you can do for my friend," she replies. She gestures behind her to where a man is also dressed from head to toe in armor and chain mail, sporting an orange vest. He's holding a sword in his right hand and a helmet in his left. He also looks rather nervous, looking but pretending not to be.
"Friend?" Something jolts through him then as he takes in the look in his friends eyes and the smile on her face. Something unpleasant.
"Yes, he's new to Camelot. And it is his dream to be a knight, more specifically a knight of Camelot. And I was hoping that you could, you know, initiate him?"
"Initiate him? Guinevere there are rules and procedures I need to follow-"
"I know, I know. I just mean...I dunno, engage him in combat. Scope him out, for now. The rules and procedures can come after," she suggests.
He looks skeptical, glancing over her shoulder at the man behind her and then back into her hopeful eyes. That was his first mistake: never, ever, look Guinevere in the eyes when she wants something.
"Please Arthur? For me?"
He sighs. "For you. And only you-but just this once," he caves, shaking his head.
She smiles excitedly, clapping her hands together before throwing her arms around him the way she always does when he gives into her for something or another. "Thank you! I'll go get him."
He turns back to his men, telling them all to stop what they're doing and form a line at the side of the field while Guinevere goes to collect her friend. When he turns back, her friend is standing before him, his held high in confidence but not smugness. In honor.
"Sire, this is Lancelot, from Avalon," Guinevere speaks, introducing the would-be-knight.
Lancelot bows gracefully, before resuming his previous posture. "Sire."
"Lancelot. Guinevere tells me that you wish to be a knight of Camelot," Arthur states.
"It is true, sire," Lancelot nods. "It has always been my dream to serve and protect, to be a part of the world's greatest army."
Arthur looks smug for a moment, before replacing it with interest. "So you fight?"
"Since I was a boy."
"Do you have a shield?"
"I do not."
"Leon, get him a shield would you?" the Prince commands of another knight.
Camelot's second knight in command steps forward with a shield and tosses it towards the stranger. Lancelot catches it ease. Arthur nods, circling him, considering him as though he hasn't already made up his mind. He glances back at Guinevere who smiles.
"One duel. If you win, you make basic training, no questions asked. If I win, you'll have to convince me why you should let you in basic training anyway," Arthur tells him.
"Yes sire," the newcomer nods.
Arthur puts his helmet on over the chain mail covering his head and Lancelot does the same. Both men, at almost exactly the same time, take their positions and on Leon's word, the duel begins.
Arthur beats him easily. His training is higher and more skilled than most knights of his age which gives him, not only an advantage, but the skills to anticipate his opponents next move before he even makes it, thus resulting in Arthur winning the draw at every turn. Lancelot is no different, in fact, he's rather predictable. He's trained before, there's no question, and he's very good. It's just that Arthur is better, and faster and stronger. It doesn't take long for Arthur to knock the stranger on his back. Arthur stands over him, looking down with an almost disappointed look on his face. He looks across the field to Guinevere, who looks even more disappointed than him, before turning to his knights. "Training is done for the day, you're dismissed. Find me tomorrow, Lancelot, if you wish to persuade my decision." The Prince barely finishes his sentence before he's all of sudden lying flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. A collective gasps escapes the audience of knights as he looks up to find Lancelot now standing over him.
"You were saying sire?"
Angrily, he pushes himself to his feet, just as two guards rush forward and force the dark haired man onto his knees. Arthur wields his sword, pointing it straight to the man's chest, above his heart. And yet as he looks down at him, the anger washes away leaving admiration in its place, for he had forgotten the golden rule in combat. Never turn ones back. Never, until you know for certain that your opponent is dead. Lancelot had remembered, and he had forgotten. He steps back, lowering his sword and offering him his hand instead before pulling his new knight to his feet. "You just made basic training."
Moments later as he's gathering his things off the field and handing them to Merlin, his manservant, he glances over his shoulder to where Guinevere and Lancelot are speaking. Arthur watches with baited breath as she smiles adoringly at him and hugs him tightly.

X

Later that evening, just last night, his father had held a celebratory dinner for his newest knight in training. All of the noble families, the other knights and citizens of 'importance' were in attendance. As the Prince of Camelot, he had spent most of the first half of the night introducing Lancelot to the Lords and Ladies, and talking with him as though he were an old friend. Halfway through however, after Lancelot had disappeared when a rather beautiful young Lady his age approached him, he had grown bored-a common occurrence for the Prince spoiled by lively, witty, conversations with Merlin and Guinevere.

X

He's only partly paying attention to the words spilling out of Lady Stephanie's mouth. If she weren't destroying this conversation with her talk of fashion and beauty, two things he could honestly care less about, he's sure he could pay attention to her. Perhaps she wouldn't be having a one sided conversation with herself. There's no denying that she's beautiful, and her dress is doing wonders for her curves and any man would be lucky to spend the night with her. In fact he's stuck between wanting to kiss her to cease her blabbering lips from making any more noise and running as quickly as he can in the other direction. It's not as though he isn't attracted to her, because he could be very attracted to her if he wasn't otherwise distracted and if she wasn't extremely annoying.

He finds himself looking around the room, searching for Merlin or Guinevere-searching for anyone really, to save him. Merlin, he has no doubt in his mind, is probably off snoozing in a broom closet or something. But Guinevere...Guinevere loves parties. She's just a servant at most parties but she loves listening to the gossip that goes on between the Ladies and Lords and she loves being Morgana's wing woman. But more importantly she loves when he gets bored of his Princely duties and they sneak off into a corner to quietly swap gossip like it's going out of style. And he can't find her anywhere. He continues to search though, his gaze gliding around the room over Stephanie's shoulders. He catches a glimpse of pink disappearing behind a column and a smile graces his features. "Excuse me my Lady, but I've got business to attend to," he interrupts her as politely as the situation allows him. He bows, giving her a polite nod before following the direction of the pink material behind the column and nearly running her over. "There you are! I was looking for you, I…" He trails off, his gaze landing Lancelot. He looks back at Guinevere, who looks at him waiting for him to continue, but he's completely lost his train of thought. What was he doing here? And behind his column? In his corner? With his friend? That 'something unpleasant' feeling returns to his stomach and chest.
"Arthur?" Guinevere responds, knocking him out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you've seen Merlin. I haven't seen him for at least an hour," the handmaiden replies.
"Who knows? He's probably off resting his head in a broom cupboard, the lazy oaf," Arthur replies, shrugging his shoulders. He rolls his eyes, and Guinevere smiles knowingly, but Lancelot looks confused.
"Isn't Merlin a friend of yours?" the new knight wonders.
"He's my servant. But I suppose 'friend' works as well."
"Oh please, you'd have a fit if he ever really went missing, and not just because you'd have no one to polish your armor," Guinevere teases.
"Yes, well, don't tell Merlin that. He already forgets that I'm the Prince, I don't need that bit of information getting to him."
"So do I," she points out, which is more than true.
"Mmm, well.." He trails off again, looking between his friend and his...knight. How are they even friends? When did that even happen? And why has he only just found out? They've been friends for...forever, and not once was there ever any mention of a 'Lancelot'. And if there was, he'd certainly remember. "So, you guys are...friends?" he wonders casually.
"Yes, isn't that what I said earlier?" Guinevere asks in confusion, wondering if perhaps she had forgotten that bit of information.
"Yeah-no-it was, I'm just…" he stutters, before trailing off as he decides that it's probably better to keep his mouth shut. "How'd you meet?" he asks instead.
"I was new to Camelot, last week. When I got here I asked around about a blacksmith and it just so happened that he was out of town-just my luck, right? But then Guinevere saved me, said she was the blacksmith's daughter and that he'd taught her everything he knows," the dark haired fellow replies, smiling at Guinevere.
"He did," Arthur confirms.
"So I took a chance."
"I didn't have to do much, I just measured him up and fitted his chain mail and armor," Guinevere replies shortly after.
"Fitted? You didn't have any beforehand?" the Prince asks curiously.
"I've never actually fought in armor before. Today was the first," the knight admits.
"And this was a week ago?"
"Well , over the course of about a week, yes," Guinevere confirms.
Arthur nods, looking between them again. He knew things had been far too simple and friendly between them earlier, far too comfortable with one another to have just met. The question is...why didn't tell him about it? Perhaps she fancies him. If that's the case, then not only does it not settle easily with him, but he knows exactly why she hasn't told him. He's extremely protective when it comes to his friends-especially Guinevere, because well, she's a girl-and the last time she told him about a boy that she fancied (a servant boy to one of Morgana's friends), the Prince had interrogated him of his intentions far too prematurely. She didn't talk to him for two days after that, because, well, Arthur had scared him off. Still, if they're only friends, as Guinevere had stated earlier, why wouldn't she tell him? She tells him everything, and he her. He is, after all, her best friend and that trumps new friend, right?
He's pulled out of his thoughts when Merlin arrives, saying a quick hello to him and Guinevere before dragging Lancelot away to talk to Gaius about something-something he really has no interest in, leaving him alone with Guinevere. He's suddenly feeling very awkward and self-aware, uncomfortable even, which is not a good look on a Prince of any kingdom. He looks at her and she's looking back in that I-know-exactly-what-you're-thinking look. Gods he hates that look. "What?"
"You're angry," she observes.
"And why would I be angry?"
"Because I didn't tell you about Lancelot."
"I'm not angry," he protests, mostly because he wants to avoid the fight that would be sure to come.
"Really?" she asks skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest.
Arthur sighs admittedly. "Okay, I'm a little bit mad."
Silence falls over them and he looks away from her. He isn't sure what's more uncomfortable, her all-knowing gaze or this god-awful silence.
"If you're worried he's going to replace you, don't be."
His gaze snaps back to her face and she breaks out into that brilliant smile of hers. He can never stay mad at her and she knows that, and she knows exactly how to use that to her advantage. Sometimes he hates that she knows him so well.
"C'mon, I for one am bored and I have some rather juicy gossip," she says, smiling.
"Oh you do? Well I'll take your gossip and raise you a scandal," he grins.

X

As he went to bed alone that night, he found himself acutely pleased with the knowledge that she was also going to bed alone.

He is presently having breakfast with his father and Morgana, only he isn't very 'present' at all. He isn't taking part in discussions with his father and he isn't bickering with Morgana as he usually does. He's too distracted by the thoughts running around his own head to deal with the King's court issues and his sibling-like rivalry with his father's Ward. Thoughts of Guinevere and Lancelot. For reasons unbeknownst to him he can't get the image of her hugging him after their fight. Hugging and smiling and laughing. Nor can he kick that 'something unpleasant' feeling in his stomach and chest. He tells himself that he's just worried about her, but there isn't a rational excuse he can think of for that to be true. There are no obvious signs of danger, no signs that she will get hurt-certainly no signs of her even being in a situation which may cause he to be hurt. There isn't a reason on earth he can think of to explain this extreme (and utterly uncalled for) dislike of Lancelot. He is kind and honorable, a good guy. We were born in Camelot, he's sure that the guy would've been made a knight years ago. He would've even considered him a friend of sorts, he's sure. And yet he can't shake this unexplainable dislike for him. It's unnerving. Unsettling.
His attention peaks at the sound of her name and he looks up to see her standing beside Morgana as she fills the Lady's glass with more water. Her curly brown hair is falling out of its pins and into her face.; he laughs, thinking of all the times she has complained that her hair has a mind of its own at its best of times. A few tendrils have also escaped, falling across her collar bones and he follows them with his gaze. A glimmer of silver catches the suns glare through the window, which catches his gaze and he follows the thin chain (a necklace her mother had given her as a child) down towards the top of her dress. It disappears behind the pink material and he tries to look away, really, he does. But then he finds himself looking further, admiring the handy work of her home stitching and the curves of her breasts. Wait-curves, breasts? When did that happen? He blinks, hoping he'd been imagining such things, but he's almost disappointed to find that he wasn't. He blinks again and she stands up straight, watching as the maid curtsies before turning away and walking back to the servants table to stand next to Merlin. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Morgana looking at him, so he glances back at her. Her gaze narrows suspiciously at him and he rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to his breakfast plate. He ignores how hot the room around him has become all of a sudden as he stuffs his mouth with his specially made breakfast. Perhaps the quicker he eats, the quicker this meal can be over and the quicker he can get to training his men and forget about his new found...discovery.

When he walks out onto the field approximately an hour later, with Merlin in tow, ready to rid his mind of every thought that is not combat related, he's surprised to find Guinevere standing on the outside of the fence surrounding the grassy area. He's not surprised, however, to find her standing with Lancelot. That very same unpleasant feeling comes back like a kick to the stomach and he stops walking, leaving Merlin to babble to himself for a moment until he realizes that he's alone and turns back to the Prince. Arthur doesn't hear the servant complaining about how he never listens because he's too busy staring to listen. Instinctively, he finds himself looking her over. The way her hair blows in the wind, the way her dress hugs all the right curves-honestly, when did she even develop curves? He knows the answer to that, obviously, for she is a girl and like every other girl she develops the same. And yet it's different. He finds himself admiring her-her breasts, her slim waist, her curvy hips and round bum, her long legs (he knows they're toned because he knows how active she was as a child)-as though he's seeing her for the first time. It makes his mouth water and his legs weak in the knees. But then, in a way, he is. Because until now, she was never more than Guinevere to him; his childhood friend. She was a girl, yes, but she wasn't a girl. He had never paid attention to her development because he had never cared that she was a girl; to him she was just one of the guys, always had been. And so now that he's noticing these rather...graceful features she dons quite beautifully, he wonders when in the hell did this happen? When did she transform from the girl he knew as a child into...into this girl? Into a woman?
"ARTHUR!"
The sound of his servants voice shouting at him pulls him out of his reveries. "What, Merlin?"
"Finally. You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you? Something's wrong, what is it?" Merlin wonders.
"Nothing's wrong Merlin," Arthur replies.
"I know you, I know when something's wrong-"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Oh really? I've just talked none stop for the last 10 minutes straight and not once did you tell me to shut up, that in itself is proof. Not to mention that I insulted your Princeliness five times in the last minute and-"
"Shut up Merlin."
"Well that's a start," the dark haired servant mutters.
"Nothing is wrong, got it? I'm fine. Now, gather my knights will you?"
"Well if you're fine, why can't you?" Merlin counters.
"Because I told you to."
"Hmm, fair enough."
"Hmm," the Prince mocks.
The Prince spends the first half of practice watching his men duel each other, giving pointers and demonstrations as needed, but otherwise he just stands on the sidelines and watches. He also watches Guinevere. Normally he stands with her and they both observe the knights, but he decides against that plan because let's face it, his discovery this morning has poked many holes in that one. Besides it gives him the perfect view of her perfect body from where he is, and from where he is it would just look as though he's keeping an eye on his surroundings.
And as he watches her, he remembers who she was as a child. When he met her he was no more than four years old-she tells him he was a snot-nosed child, but he refuses to believe he was a snot-nosed anything, he is the Prince after all-and she was just a girl with curly pig-tails and ribbons in her hair.

X

He's a Prince, and thus he's got every right to walk about the village and show off his new sword. It's nothing like his fathers-the King's is twice as long, three times as heavy and made of steel, where as his own is twice as short, light as a feather and made of wood. His father claims he is much too young to train with the real thing yet. The other boys are jealous, as they should be, for he's been training to be a knight since before he could even talk. It's all he's ever wanted to be-just like his father-and this sword, however juvenile it might be, brings him one step closer.
He's in the process of showing off to a boy around his age, a farmer's son, who looks at the sword as though it's the coolest thing he's ever seen when a softer, much different voice behind him starts speaking.
"That's not even a real sword."
He turns on his heel, his gaze landing on a girl just as young, if not younger than he is. She's wearing a light blue dress, an old one meaning she isn't a Noble, and her hair is in pigtails with ribbons wrapped around the ends. After taking in her appearance and her stature, her arms folded over her chest and he head held high, he narrows a gaze. She may not be a Noble, but she could be a threat. "And what do you know about swords?"
"More than you," she replies confidently.
"More than me?"
"Mhmm."
The four year old looks smug, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yes, and obviously you don't know who I am."
"Should I..?"
"No. But I still know more about swords than you do," she replies simply.
"Prove it then."
"Alright then, follow me."
He doesn't know why, but he follows this mysterious girl, all the way to the building his father takes him to when he's looking for a new sword. Arthur stops in front of the door, but the girl grabs the handle and pulls it open. The Prince hesitates, looking around him to see if anyone is watching. "Are you mental? We could get in trouble."
"We won't get in trouble," the girl assures him.
"How do you know? Father says I shouldn't come here without adult supervision," the Prince tells her sternly.
"Alright fine then, be a chicken. But what do you think the boys will say when I tell them that you're afraid-"
"I'm not afraid!" he argues loudly.
"Prove it then."
He bites his lip, torn between proving himself to this stranger girl and obeying his father's orders. Her arms are crossed over her chest again, and her head is tilted innocently. "Fine." He follows her inside, into a room displaying all kinds of swords. She gives him a tour, reciting everything she knows about swords and the metals used to make them. When she's done, Arthur looks at her with a sort of faraway look on his face. Admiration. "How do you know all that? You're a girl…" he mutters, trailing off in wonder.
"Yes. But I'm also your blacksmiths daughter. Guinevere, my lord." She curtsies to him then and bows her head. He smiles back at her when she stands up straight and smiles at him. "My friends call me Gwen."
"Why?"
Guinevere shrugs. "Easier to say, I suppose."
"Well, I'm gonna call you Guinevere. You can call me Arthur," the Prince tells her.
"Pleasure to meet you my...Arthur."

X

They had been strangers then, barely old enough to even have friends let alone know the meaning of the word. But that one encounter, that one conversation had sparked a wildfire. Their encounters and conversations doubled and then tripled; like some sort of illicit affair, tumbling out of control. They were inseparable from that day forward. They did everything together. They played well together, kept the other entertained when it was a particularly slow day.
When he remembers Guinevere as a child, he remembers a girl who wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid to climb a tree even though she was wearing a dress, or to go into the woods to find magical creatures lurking about. (They never did find anything magical in the woods, not as children at least). He remembers a girl who liked to play fight and watch him practice with his not-so-real sword because she truly enjoyed it as an art form. He remembers a girl who didn't care when her dress got dirty or ripped because she knew how to fix it herself. He remembers a girl with grazed knees and dirty hands and a dazzling smile that showed that she didn't care what she looked like. He remembers a girl who would play hide and seek in the castle with him even though both his father and hers and told them not to because passing up that sort of opportunity didn't even cross her mind. She was a free spirit. She couldn't be contained no matter how hard one tried. He had never tried, in fact he had encouraged her let it out-although she never needed much encouragement. And even as they got older, hitting and surpassing their teens, he remembers a girl who would disobey her father's curfew and joined him in the royal kitchens for a midnight snack. He remembers a girl who would skip dance lessons (no matter how much Morgana begged her not to) and go horse-back riding with him just because he wanted to. He remembers a girl who would sit silently through his rants about his latest row with his father and give him advice that he already knew himself; it's just that hearing it from her, it seemed to make more sense. He remembers a girl who didn't care what anybody thought about her because she was proud of who she was, she was comfortable with who she was; comfortable enough for the both of them.
When he was 13 he had started to notice the changes in the girls his age, and in the girls older that him. He began to notice their curves and their figures. He noticed every step of their development as they came. But he had never noticed Guinevere's, because it had never been about her gender. She was a girl, but she wasn't a girl. (There were other girls for that, and he's had his fair share). Even when Merlin came around and started working for him, even as they became friends and he would point out how much attention she got on a regular basis, he hadn't noticed. He had warned and sometimes threatened anybody who looked at her, naturally, but only because he cared.
Now, however, the extent of her development over the years has hit him like a mace at full speed. Hard. And somewhat painful. So forget when it happened and why he never noticed, and instead he wonders how. How in the hell had he missed something so blatantly obvious? How, when he spent every day with her, had something like that slipped his mind? Every other male species in Camelot had noticed (many of them even drooled) and yet he hadn't even given her a second look. Man, is he ever regretting that now..
"ARTHUR!" For the second time that day, Merlin's voice shouting in his ear pulls him out of his thoughts.
"Ow, WHAT Merlin?" The Prince shouts back, glaring at his servant friend. "God you'll burst my ear drums…"
"Well if you would pay attention, I wouldn't have to YELL."
"Watch it Merlin, I'm not above throwing you in the stalks," the blonde threatens.
"You're not, but you are above doing your own laundry, aren't you?"
Arthur sighs loudly. "What do you want Merlin?"
"It's not what I want, it's what your men want. They're bored-apparently keeping themselves entertained isn't one of their best skills," the servant replies.
"Careful mate, if one of them hears you say that-"
"I'm not scared of them."
"'Course you aren't. Alright guys, line up!" Arthur shouts at his men. He stands in the middle of the field while his men rush forward and gather in a line in front of him.
"Are you ever going to tell me what's wrong?" Merlin wonders quietly.
"Nothing's wrong. Now move out of the way Merlin, before you get hurt."
Five men down the line he sees Lancelot, who seems distracted by something on the sidelines. The Prince follows his eye line to where Guinevere is standing with that bright smile on her face. He almost gets distracted by her as well, until he realizes that that smile isn't for him and he draws his sword. "Now before everyone leaves, you are to fight me. If you win, you have my permission to skip practice tomorrow. If you lose then, well, you lose. Leon, you're up first then? C'mon." The Prince grins at his knight and his knight grins back.
Needless to say he wins every fight, which means unless someone falls ill, he'll have all of his men at practice tomorrow.
Needless to say that when Lancelot steps forward for his turn, Arthur is just a tad more aggressive.

X

Later that night, while sitting in his king sized bed-no pun intended-dressed in his night clothes while Merlin finishes up his chores around his chambers. He's leaning against the headboard, thinking and over-thinking the events of the last couple days. He's vaguely aware that Merlin keeps looking at him skeptically, as though he's expecting the Prince to burst with whatever's on his mind. Little does he know that he has no intention of doing so.
"Okay, you've been quiet all day and honestly? I find it extremely unnerving," the servant admits, sounding annoyed.
"Tell me Merlin, why is it that it's alright for you to be mysterious and moody whenever you feel like it, but when I'm doing so, it's terrible?"
"So you admit that something's wrong."
"No," the Prince replies.
"Because I am mysterious and moody-"
Arthur snorts loudly, rolling his eyes at his manservant. "Sure you are."
"More so than you," Merlin argues.
"How so?"
"You're the Prince, Arthur, everybody knows who you are. Everybody knows what you're like. Everybody knows you. You're not a mystery at all-moody, sure, and hot headed, absolutely-but a mystery? Not in the slightest. Which is exactly why your behavior today is so unnerving."
"Shut up Merlin," Arthur grumbles.
The raven haired boy does as he's told, tending to polishing the armor on the table in front of him. Arthur looks at him, his gaze narrowed in concentration and wonder. "Can I ask you something?"
"I suppose."
"Good, 'cause you don't have a choice." There's a pause, in which Arthur looks away and stares at his wardrobe, and Merlin stops his polishing to look at the Prince.
"Continue..?" the servant friend pushes.
"Do you find her...beautiful?" he wonders vaguely.
"Who? In case you haven't noticed, Sire, Camelot is full of women," Merlin teases.
"Guinevere."
Had Merlin had a form of liquid in his mouth-or even food, he supposes-he's positive he would've spit it all out. He's shocked that Arthur would ask him such a thing-for a number of reasons. He's also extremely amused and a little bit proud. He isn't, however, surprised. Arthur may not have noticed his attraction to the simple maid, but Merlin has. The whole of Camelot probably has, come to think of it.
"Well?" the Prince urges.
"Well what?"
"WELL, do you think that Guinevere is...attractive?"
"First of all, you said beautiful not attractive. And second...just give me a minute to digest this-"
"Digest what? It's a simple question Merlin," Arthur snaps, growing impatient.
"It is not a simple question Arthur, not from you."
"What does that even mean-you know, forget it. Just answer the question."
"Which one?"
"The first one!"
"Alright, fine, don't get your trousers in a bunch. Yes," the dark haired boy replies.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I find her 'attractive'."
"Great." Arthurs voice is more of a squeak than anything and forces his gaze away from the dark haired boy who is now crossing the room to stand beside his bed.
"You think so too," Merlin observes.
"Yes, mildly-"
"Mildly? Are you joking? If anything about this was mild, you wouldn't be asking-"
"'This'? There is no 'this', we're friends. Just friends," the Prince states.
"Mhmm. You like her."
Arthur scoffs. "Of course I like her, I've known her all my life."
"You've known Morgana all your life and you can't stand her."
"That's different, she's like a sister to me. I'm not supposed to like her. Guinevere and I are friends. That's all," he insists.
"You're lying. You have feelings for her, don't you? You can deny it all you want, mostly because I know you will anyway, but it's true. But that isn't the wonder, the wonder is why it took you so bloody long to realize it-why did it take so long? How could you not have noticed?" Merlin asks, genuinely interested.
The blond glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thank you Merlin, that'll be all," the Prince replies, changing the subject entirely.
"What? But I'm not finished-"
"I don't care. I'm tired, I'm cranky and I want to sleep so you're done for the night."
"But-"
"GO, Merlin."
The Prince pulls the sheets up to his chin as he settles beneath them, shifting to get comfortable with his back turned to his servant. He hears the door open and then close and then all he hears is silence and that's how he knows for certain that he's alone.

X

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and Arthur feels refreshed and ready for the day ahead. Considering the lack of sleep he endured due to tossing and turning half the night, by all rights he should be exhausted. He supposes it could be the decision he made before he eventually did fall asleep; the only way to deal with this...situation rationally, is to ignore it all together. Pretend it never happened, that he never noticed anything-at all-about her, or her body. It would be much safer and much more productive this way, after all. Merlin shows up bright and early, probably expecting him to fall apart at the seams and admit his deepest, darkest secret about holding some sort of lit torch for his lifetime friend. If he's at all disappointed to find him cheery as ever, then he doesn't show it.
Once he's dressed and ready, he heads down to have breakfast with his father. On his way there, however, someone grabs his elbow and pulls him inside an empty alcove. He opens his mouth to berate the person responsible for not only startling him-although he'd never admit to that-but also for being so rude. Except that when he turns around, he finds Guinevere standing there, a brilliant smile on her face. He sighs, shaking his head, no longer feeling the need to berate her. "Dammit Guinevere…"
"Did I scare you?" she asks softly, giggling.
"No."
"I did, didn't I?" she teases.
"What's with the secrecy? I'm on my way to breakfast-"
"II know, so am I."
"So, why don't we just walk together?" he suggests cheekily.
"You're ruining the moment Arthur."
He rolls his eyes as he pulls her out of the alcove and back into the corridor. Quite frankly he has nothing against lonely alcoves, in fact he's got numerous fond memories in such places. It's just that he was suddenly feeling very hot and even more uneasy about the whole thing and being that close to her, with her face next to his and her flower scented perfume… "What moment? There's no moment," he replies casually.
"What's wrong with you lately?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay that, how quickly you redirected that right there, tells me that something is up. What is it?" she asks sternly.
"Nothing, I'm fine. Why does everyone assume that something's wrong with me?"
"Because you've been really quiet-"
"I'm not Merlin, I don't talk constantly-"
"Perhaps not, but you certainly talk more than you have been. Besides, I hardly saw you yesterday," she points out.
"I was busy," he shrugs.
Gwen's gaze narrows skeptically as she stops walking. It takes a moment for him to realize she's not beside him before he stops and turns back to her.
"What?"
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"Yes. I was busy."
"Okay..." she mumbles, her tone implying that she doesn't believe him in the slightest. "It was probably a good thing anyway, when I wasn't doing chores for Morgana, I was helping Lancelot settle into his chambers."
Arthur snorts, rolling his eyes. "Of course you were.."
Guinevere smiles. "He's settling in quite nicely, he really likes it here-"
"Can we NOT talk about Lancelot?" The tone in his voice, especially the way he says the knights name, startles her. He sounds completely taken aback-bitter, almost.
"Okay…"
They continue to walk in silence, side by side down the corridors. He finds that that unpleasant feeling is back in his stomach and chest, and he raises his hand to chest in a vain attempt to make it go away.
"So I was thinking we could riding today," she suggests, and then noticing this discomfort she asks, "are you okay?"
"Fine."
"So, riding? I could have the horses ready after your training."
"And would Lancelot be joining us?"
"Of course not, he-oh...oh my god," she whispers.
"What?"
She stops walking again, only this time he's looking straight at her so he stops too. A few other servants have to side step them to get around so he pulls her to the side, closer to the wall. "You're still mad that I didn't tell you about him."
"That's not why I'm mad-"
"But you are mad."
Arthur sighs, "no, I'm not mad-"
"That's why you've been avoiding me. That's why you wouldn't even look at me yesterday. You're jealous!"
"Jealous? I'm not jealous, why would I be jealous?" he scoffs.
"Because I'm friends with Lancelot-"
"That's insane."
"Is it? Ever since I introduced him to you, you've been acting strange and it's because you're jealous that I'll start to spend all my time with him."
"I'm not jealous."
"You…YOU, are a moronArthur Pendragon!" she shouts. She turns around then, walking in the exact opposite direction they'd been headed, without looking back. Arthur clenched his jaw and his fists, before groaning loudly and continuing on his way to have breakfast with his father. He finds that his appetite is gone when he gets there and when Guinevere doesn't even look at him when she tends to Morgana's needs, he finds that it's harder than he thought it would be to just pretend..

X

When Arthur returns to his chambers after breakfast, he's relieved to find Merlin there tending to his chores. He's also angry and unpleasant. He slams his door shut, more for dramatic affect than anything before huffing as he throws his jacket onto the table.

"Wait-can you not...I just cleaned the table-"
"She thinks I'm jealous!" Arthur shouts, as though it's the silliest thing he's ever heard.
Merlin blinks, confused and surprised by the Princes not-so-subtle outburst. "I'm sorry?"
"Guinevere, she thinks I'm jealous. Me! She thinks that I think that because she's friends with him all of a bloody sudden that I'm jealous that she won't spend time with me. Absurd, right?"
"Not really-"
"I mean what do I have to be jealous about? I'm the Prince for God's sake, I don't get jealous of anyone," the blonde scoffs.
"Sure, of course," Merlin replies skeptically.
"Exactly. I'm not jealous."
"Of course not. Unless, you know, you are."
Arthur stops his pacing, glaring at his servant. "Excuse me?"
Merlin smiles. "You're jealous-"
"Why do you people keep saying that? I'm not-"
"But you are."
Arthur opens his mouth to protest but he finds that he can't find the answer. His chest feels unpleasant again and he rubs it his right, looking away absentmindedly.
"What's wrong?" Merlin asks, looking at him wearily.
"My chest is in knots."
A growling sound from Arthurs stomach breaks a moment of silence and Merlin smiles knowingly. "You didn't eat much at breakfast, did you?"
"I wasn't hungry."
"I hate to break it to you Sire but...those are telltale signs that you're jealous. Ah, who am I kidding? I loved that…" the servant chuckles, shaking his head to himself.
"Charming, Merlin, really." Sarcasm is laced within his tone as he pulls out his chair-much to Merlin's dismay, who winces as the Prince sits down and kicks his feet up onto the table. Deciding to ignore it and fix it later, the faithful manservant goes back to his chores while Arthur sits there pondering his situation.
Jealousy. He's heard of such a thing, but he's never felt it. He's heard that it can tear up ones insides and make then angry and withdrawn. That it can play with emotions and feelings, as well as with one's physical attributes-loss of appetite, loss of sleep, a tight chest..
He groans suddenly (and a little too loudly for Merlin's liking) as he lets his head fall back against the back of his chair with a thud. He then pounds his fist on the arm of the chair and bangs the table with his foot before groaning again.
"Are you dying or something? What's wrong with you?" Merlin asks, looking at him weirdly.
"I'm jealous…" the Prince mutters.
"Sorry, could you speak up? I couldn't hear you over your overly dramatic moaning-"
"I'm jealous!"
"That's great, I already knew that."
"Yeah, so did Guinevere apparently," the Prince grumbles.
"Mmm. That's tough mate."
"Why is this happening to me? Who the hell did I piss off this time for them to put a curse on me?"
"It isn't a curse-"
"Sure feels like one. It isn't pleasant Merlin. Not at all."
"I'm fairly certain it's not supposed to be," the raven haired man points out.
"Well what am I supposed to do?"
"Um, gee, I dunno...tell her how you feel," Merlin tells him, his voice sounding as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Hmm, gee, that's a great idea except-oh yeah, I dunno how I feel!" the Prince shouts.
"Well you feel jealous, let's start with that."
"And admit that I was wrong? To Guinevere? Absolutely not, she'd never let me live that down," Arthur replies, shaking his head.
"Would you rather that scenario, or be jealous of Lancelot for the rest of your life?"
"What-you don't think he fancies her, do you?" the blonde asks, his eyes wide with fear.
"No, but clearly you do-fancy her, I mean. As more than a friend."
"Apparently."
"Great, tell her that then," Merlin suggests.
"I can't just tell her I fancy her Merlin. What if she doesn't fancy me back? Or worse, what if she does?"
"How is that worse?"
"I dunno how to do this Merlin.. I don't even know how I feel," Arthur admits, sounding defeated. "One minute she's my friend-my best friend, aside from you of course-and the next I'm noticing her...features and I'm fantasizing about taking her into the stalls and tumbling around in the-"
"OKAY!" Merlin shouts, stopping him short. "Seriously, didn't need to know that."
"Sorry…"
"Okay when did all this start?" Merlin asks.
"Breakfast yesterday morning. She was refilling Morgana's glass and I could...well, you know."
"That's very specific," the secret warlock responds, looking smug.
"Yes, well…"
"So basically you're saying it was after she introduced you to Lancelot."
"So this is all his fault," Arthur replies, sounding half bitter and half hopeful.
"What-no. Perhaps when she introduced you to Lancelot, he posed as a threat to your relationship with her which brought about your true feelings. Perhaps you've always harbored them and this was just...the trigger."
"You think I've been in love with her this whole time?" Arthur asks.
"Yes."
"How do you-"
"I've seen the way you look at her. Everyone else sees it too, they just see it as friendship."
"What makes you so different?"
The servant shrugs. "I didn't grow up here. Perhaps, I dunno, I see it differently because my opinion isn't skewed, like the rest of Camelot's. Like yours, even."
"Okay...so what do I do?"
"Tell her."
"And suppose I do tell her...what if she doesn't fancy me back? It'll ruin our entire friendship, I'll lose her," the Prince mutters, looking down at the table.
"You won't lose her," Merlin assures him.
"You think she fancies me?"
"I think that she wouldn't be so mad at you if she didn't."
Arthur nods, crossing his arms over his chest heavily as yet another thought crossed his mind. "What about my father?"
"What about him?"
"He'd never approve," Arthur points out.
"He approves of your friendship-"
"That's entirely different. Marrying someone and being friends with them are two completely different things. He'd never allow it."
"You want to marry Gwen?" Merlin asks, sounding shocked.
"You know what I mean."
"Here's the way I see it Arthur...there was a time when royals wouldn't have befriended a simple peasant let alone his or her own servant out of obligation let alone their own personal desires. You changed that. Perhaps things are changing around here and perhaps you will be exactly what that change needs," Merlin replies truthfully.
Arthur smiles at his friends, genuinely smiles. "I find that you can be quite helpful at times Merlin."
The servant smiles cheekily. "I try."
"Thanks."

X

Later that night, after enduring Guinevere's cold shoulder and icy gaze nearly all day, he sets out after dinner with Morgana and his father to find her. She isn't anywhere in the castle or the village below. That...jealous feeling returns when her ponders the idea that perhaps she's with his newest knight-that is until he sees Lancelot and Leon practicing in their own time in the field. He checks the stalls as a last resort and sure enough one of his horses is missing-her favorite. She's fallen in love with the horse she called Charlie when they were 11 years old.

x

Even as the young Prince drags her across lands towards the stables, she keeps her eyes closed exactly how he had ordered her to. Not so much ordered though, as he had asked very, very nicely.
"Are we there yet? My eyes are getting sore," an 11 year old Guinevere complains.
"Just about," he laughs. He pulls her through the doors, being extra careful not to bump her into anything to give away their location prematurely-as though the smell isn't enough. He shifts her into place, guiding her with his hands on her shoulders into a steady position before side stepping into place behind her. "Okay, open!"
The young, soon-to-be servant girl opens her eyes and as predicted by the handsome Prince, her eyes light up and a smile (bigger and brighter than he's ever seen grace her features) spreads across her face as a delightful squeal escaped her lips. He watches her as she approaches the large, white horse his father has recently gotten him with a smile of his own plastered on his face. "He's beautiful," she whispers.
"Father got him just this morning."
"Wow, you are so lucky," she gushes reaching out to pet him and the horse dips his head down to let her.
"He's yours," Arthur whispers.
"What?" she asks, turning to look at him incredulously.
"I got him for you. Father doesn't know, of course, he thinks I just wanted another horse," he replies, smiling at her.
"Well, why?"
"I know how much you love horses, how much you wanted one."
"Arthur...I dunno what to say…" He smiles at her as she lunges forward, throwing her arms around his neck. She's practically in tears as she giggles into his neck before pulling back and placing a kiss on his cheek. He blinks at the newest display of affection, before an even wider smile spreads across his lips. "Thanks, Arthur," she murmurs.
"It was nothing," he shrugs.
She turns back to the horse then, reaching out to pet his large neck with her delicate fingers. He watches her do so, the way she runs her fingers over the horses white fur, the way her gaze never leave the animal. Her love for horses-animals of all kinds really-is unlike anything he's ever known, it astounds him.
"What are you gonna name him?"
"Charlie." She doesn't even hesitate in her response and he laughs as he moves to stand beside her.
"Charlie it is then."

x

He knows exactly where she is. She calls it 'their' place, emphasizing that nobody except for them is allowed to go there. It's where they both go whenever they need to think, or be alone. It was where he went when he learned that his mother had died giving birth to him at the age of 14. It was where she went when her father was killed on suspicion of being with sorcerers when they were 17. It provides a sort of comfort and peace that nothing else can.
He gathers his own horse and his own supplies before taking off after her. It's a clearing in the forest that surrounds most of Camelot, nothing but dirt and grass and flowers and moss, logs from trees that have broken or fallen down and a creak. When he gets there, as he pulls his horse, Rider, to a stop, he sees her sitting on a rock next to the creak. She's got one arm wrapped around her bent legs and she's holding a stick in the other hand, twirling it around in the water. He knows that she knows that he's there, even if she doesn't show it. He ties Riders reins around a tree trunk next to Charlie's before joining her on a rock beside her, silently. The air is nipping at his face, it being cool now that the sun is setting, and he can see pimples ghosting over her bare arms.
"Cold?" he whispers.
"A little," she whispers back.
He smiles softly, pulling his red studded jacket off of himself and then wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Well now you'll be cold," she protests.
"Nah, I'm a man. I can take it."
"Mmm, always the hero huh?"
"Always."
Silence falls between them again as he leans forward and crosses his arms over his knees. He looks at her out of the corner of her eye as she continues to twirl the twig around the water. "I'm not mad at you anymore."
"Well I'm mad at you."
"Fine then, I am mad at you." He's stubborn, but so is she and he knows that he won't win against her so he softens as soon as those words leave his lips. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You're right...I was jealous. Just...not for the reasons you think."
She looks at him finally-FINALLY-and her gaze is softer and warmer than it's been all day. He, however, can't look at her.
"It has nothing to do with our friendship," he admits.
"I-I don't understand…"
"God, this is hard…" he sighs. "I just...when you introduced me to Lancelot I started to...feel things I've never felt before. And then I started to notice things...about you, and then I started to feel more things. For you." He looks at her then, her curious and confused gaze boring into his. He swallows a lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with you."
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open and for the first time in his life he thinks he's rendered her speechless. He immediately regrets letting that slip out and he pushes himself to his feet quickly, stuttering as he tries to take it back.
"I mean-I didn't mean-I just.. It wasn't supposed to come out like that. It was supposed to sound much more romantic than that," he admits.
"Arthur-"
"I know, I know, crazy right?" he laughs. "I'm insane right? It's just...I think I always have been, I was just too blind or stubborn to admit it or see it and...until Lancelot came into the picture, I didn't.. It's brought out this whole other side of me, that I didn't even know existed and-"
He's silenced suddenly by a pair of soft lips crashing against his. He freezes on the spot, shocked. She's kissing him-KISSING him. With her lips. It takes about 30 seconds for him to realize exactly what's happening and it takes another 10 seconds for him to respond. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his frame and deepens the kiss. Tongues collide and teeth graze and he's just about to act out one of his fantasies when she pulls away, leaving him only able to nip at her bottom lip. She pushes her forehead against his; they're both panting.
"I didn't mean to do that," she whispers. "It's just, you were talking-about me-and I just...something came over me," she admits sheepishly.
"Hmm, well that's a shame 'cause in about 10 seconds I'm gonna do it again-"
"Wait.." She pushes back on his chest softly. He drops his arms to his sides reluctantly and his chest swells in anticipation for what's about to come. He'd been right, she doesn't fancy him..
"Look, Guinevere, if you don't feel the same way we can just pretend this whole thing didn't happen. Pretend I didn't say any of what I just-"
"What-no, I..I do. It's just...it'll never work. I'm a servant, Arthur-"
"I know-"
"And you're a Prince-"
"Guinevere-"
"Your father would never approve-"
"So what? Huh? So what if you're a servant and I'm a Prince? We've been friends for years Guinevere, and my father is fine with it-"
"You and I both know that's not entirely true," she whispers, turning away from him.
"Okay, not entirely, but he hasn't done or said anything about it. So what's wrong with taking the next step?"
"What's wrong with it? Everything is wrong with it Arthur, your father is in the midst of finding you a bride-a Princess, a woman of nobility..." she reminds him. "And I am neither."
"Now you and I both know how I feel about nobility."
"I know...but your father doesn't share your views."
"Well then my father will just have to deal with it," the Prince states stubbornly.
"Arthur we can't-I can't put you in that position," she protests.
"Like it or not Guinevere I'm already in that position. And I've been there for quite some time. Look, I...I love you. And I will do anything to make this work. Just say the words…" he murmurs softly.
She smiles softly and he pulls her back in, securing his arms around her waist. He smiles back, pressing his forehead against hers and assuming their previous position.
"I love you too," she whispers.
His smile widens as he leans in to kiss her. She deepens it, running her fingers through his hair while simultaneously pulling him in as close as possible.
"Remind me to thank Lancelot…" he murmurs against her delicious lips.
"Don't be such a prat Arthur Pendragon," she giggles, swatting his arm half-heartedly.

Fin.