#mimiswitchywrites

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 7

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering).

Master list or read on AO3

1.8k words

If you want to be tagged for updates, message me or comment!

One more chapter tomorrow and then a week or so of hiatus while I sort some life stuff out

--------------

Merlin had been dreaming about a certain sandy haired royal for the last few weeks and he couldn’t figure out if he loved it or hated it. It made serving him far harder than it needed to be as all he could think about was the way dream Arthur had pinned him to his desk as he cleared it or how dream Arthur would give him the day off so they could go to the market together and how real Arthur would never do something like that. Real Arthur could barely look at him, let alone want to go out in public with him like that. On the other hand, dream Arthur was really fucking hot, and Merlin enjoyed that. He knew he could never have real Arthur, so it made him happy to at least have a version of him at night.

Was that sad? Maybe a little.

But, regardless of his feelings towards these dreams, he did not appreciate them being interrupted. Especially not by his frantic father-figure. Especially not when Dream Arthur had just got onto his knees and was beginning to undo the ties on Merlin’s breaches…

Gaius was rather insistent that Merlin wake up and help him find Miriam who, he guessed as he hadn’t really been listening properly, had vanished. He threw on yesterday’s clothes, too tired to look presentable, and made his way into the main chamber where, unsurprisingly, the spare cot was empty. He sighed, giving into the fact that he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep, and ran out the door to ask the guards at the bottom of the stairs if they had seen her. Well, tried to run. Instead, he ended up inches from headbutting Miriam and, Lancelot? The latter of which seemed to be leaning in for a kiss that the former looked as if she really didn’t want to partake in.

He heard Gaius sigh from inside the room and settle down to get started on the days work. After letting the poor girl hurry inside and close the door behind her, Merlin decided to have some fun (it was only fair after such a rude start to the morning which Lancelot had played his part in.)

He started with a raised eyebrow, something he was getting far better at after being on the receiving end of Gaius’ for so long. The love-struck knight stuttered, trying to form a feeble defence.

“You know, out of all the knights, I thought you were the most responsible. Kidnapping a sick, defenceless young maiden? Whatever would the king say?” He bit his tongue to keep from laughing at Lancelot’s reddening face. He cracked, snorting unceremoniously and slapping the man’s arm in the hopes of getting him to lighten up a little.

“Relax, my friend, I don’t tell Arthur of every person his knights sneak off with – I would be there for years on Gwaine alone.” Lancelot finally let out a small laugh, still hot with embarrassment.

“I apologise if we worried you, I meant to have her back before you woke but we got… distracted.” He drifted off, thinking about how beautiful the shadows her lashes had cast on her cheeks as they watched the stars were.

“Distracted?” Merlin gave him a look that said: ‘you-know-how-much-that-sounds-like-you-took-a-tumble-in-the-hay-right?’ and, for the umpteenth time that morning, Lancelot turned beet red. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck and stumbling over No’s and That’s Not What I Meant’s.

Merlin could only shake his head at his friend, once again clamping his mouth shut to avoid laughing at him. He loved Lancelot like a brother, but the poor man was helpless, sometimes. He shoved the man gently, finally telling him to leave and get some sleep before training started in a few hours. The flushed knight (who, Merlin observed, matched the red of Camelot’s banner remarkably) made his way down the stairs, playing the night over and over, in his head.

It had not ended quite as he would have liked but gods be dammed, it was one of the best meals Lancelot had ever had. His free hand (the other still holding the picnic basket) ghosted over his lips, imagining how hers would have felt pressed against them.

--

Merlin entered the chambers, hopping into his room to prepare himself for his day with the king. Arthur would be holding a council meeting that afternoon so Merlin had to brush up on the topic (they would be discussing solidifying more roads between Camelot and its villages to help with trade, he was falling asleep just thinking about it) and he still needed to wash off the sweat from his dreams the previous night.

He made his way down to the kitchens first, parchments about the roads under his arm, and gathered the King’s breakfast, and an extra roll and sausage for himself. He overheard Cook muttering about how she needed more hands around and that one of her ‘good for nothing’ staff had stolen the excess that was meant to go to the dogs. He kept that in mind and made his way up to the Royal Chambers, nearly tripping over on one of the many staircases, only just keeping all the food on it’s platter.

Nodding to the guards on watch, he opened the door with his elbow and shuffled in backwards, knocking over the chair that was dangerously left in the doorway. Arthur moaned from his bed (a sound that Merlin knew he would end up replaying that evening once Miriam and Gaius were asleep) and pulled his pillow over his face. After dropping the breakfast on the table, Merlin made his way to the curtains, pulling them open.

“Up and at ‘em, time to brighten the Lords’ day with your cute little face” Merlin intended to say this with a sarcastic lilt but, distracted by those mouth-watering abs, failed to.

Arthur slowly pulled the pillow from his face, a look of confusion on his features as he watched his pitiful manservant watch him in some sort of daze. The pillow went flying from his hands, bashing Merlin back to reality.

Why must such a prat be so beautiful, he pondered as he gathered the Kings clothes for the day. He chose the tighter white shirt which he knew would be soaked after training later. He blushed at the thought, hiding a grin as he rummaged through the cupboard.

Arthur groaned, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. If Merlin had to wake him up each morning, why couldn’t it be something nice like with a kiss or his long fingers adventuring? Was that truly so much to ask? Well, to fantasise about – Arthur knew there was no way he could actually ask for that. Merlin could say no or tell someone which would lead to a civil war or him overthrowing or, even worse, he could say yes and then Arthur would be the one that had to say no to prevent the aforementioned civil war or overthrowing. Arthur quite liked his head being attached to his body, but he knew it was unlikely to stay that was if his people discovered that he had certain inclinations towards men. Merlin was incapable when it came to keeping secrets and one as big as sleeping with the king was too much of a risk.

Arthur groaned again, finally rolling out of bed and allowing Merlin to help him into his clothes. He picked at his food, giving the leftovers to Merlin because gods knew he didn’t eat enough. The boy looked exhausted and sat on the trunk at the end of Arthurs bed as he devoured a sausage (don’t you dare go there, Arthur).

Pushing out from his chair, Arthur leant back against the table, so they were facing each other.

“What’s got you so tired? Sneaking off to the whore house in the dead of night?” Gods, he hoped that wasn’t it. He didn’t like how jealousy bubbled in his chest at the thought. Merlin’s brows shot up, practically jumping off his head, and he choked on the bread roll that he had tried devouring in a single bite. The boy turned red as he struggled to breath and Arthur, being the gallant knight that he was, hit him on the back, dislodging the food and perhaps a vertebra or two. His hand lingered longer than it should have, rubbing a few gentle circles before dropping to his side.

Finally getting air into his lungs, Merlin responded, “Took me forever to get to sleep and then I dreamt all night and didn’t get any proper rest and then, before the sun had even risen, Gaius woke me to say that Miriam had gone missing.” At that, Arthur straightened, worrying about the girl. Merlin noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed, and eyes drifted to the door and so added, “she was okay, she snuck off with Lancelot on a date or something. He said they got ‘distracted’.” Merlin wiggled his eyebrows at this, and Arthur’s head tipped back, laughing.

“I was hoping they would return at a decent hour, I’m sorry they caused you to lose sleep. Because, well you know, you’re terrible at your job when you’re tired?” A sloppy attempt at his usual façade but Arthur was busy focusing on the purple bags under Merlin’s eyes. He wanted to rub the pad of his thumb over them, cupping his face. The boy really should sleep more. He would get a great night’s rest in a bed like Arthurs (especially after their activities exhausted him). Arthur turned away from Merlin, forcing himself to get his thoughts under control.

“Wait,” said Merlin, finally catching up, “you knew about this?”

Arthur paused to think about his answer. Should he not have known? He hadn’t meant to, but he’d bumped into Miriam and they had a particularly useful conversation which he was sure Merlin would be proud of. “Yes?”

“Are you asking me that?” Merlin’s lipped curled at the ends and Arthur’s heart fluttered.

“I knew, yes. I found Miriam looking out at the courtyard in a brooding stance that would put even my father to shame. We talked and I think things are mostly resolved between us. Turned out she was only up there as she got lost trying to find Lancelot, so I lead her down to him and they went off. Looked like he had a basket, so I believe they had some sort of late-night picnic. It seemed sweet, really.” He muttered the last part, craving the opportunity to take Merlin on a picnic – late-night or otherwise.

Merlin hopped off the trunk (with the grace of a drunk, new-born, calf) and closed the distance between the pair, tentatively placing his hand on his master’s bicep. “I am glad you talked; I know you were struggling with the idea of doing so.” Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin. He loved the soft blue ocean that coloured his eyes and, had they been anywhere else, been anyone else, he would spend days looking into them. But he was the King, Merlin was his servant, and Camelot was no place for such things.

“Don’t be such a girls petticoat, Merlin.” They both ignored the break in Arthur’s voice.

“Prat.” Merlin offered in response.

Arthur watched out the window as Merlin cleared their breakfast up and tidied the mess Arthur had somehow managed to create between his dismissal and waking the clot pole up. There was a comfortable silence between the two that they had mastered over the half decade of knowing each other. At some point, Arthur turned to watch his manservant as he flittered about the room, sweeping clothes under the bed with his foot and wiping shapes into the table as he cleaned it. He truly was terrible at his job and yet Arthur didn’t think he had ever been matched with someone so well.

None of his previous servants would tolerate questions such as: “So, what were you dreaming about that kept you from resting so?” Merlin stopped in his tracks (bent over the bed, arse in the air, as he put the duvet back in its place. Arthur had to bite his knuckles to avoid doing anything he would regret.) He straightened and Arthur swore he could see a blush forming.

“Nothing really, I mean, I don’t remember. Dreams are so hard to remember and all that, right? I don’t remember. Uh,” he cleared his throat, “why?” A pause, “What did you dream about, sire?”

His previous servants most certainly wouldn’t ask something like that.

“You know what, I think I have training to lead now. We should go.” He nodded to himself, Merlin mimicking – still red – and the pair swept out of the room.

[jaded-witch-baby]

∞

“Can barely walk the city streets without a cop harassing me, searching me, then asking my identity; Hands up, throw me up against the wall—Didn't do a thing at all. I'm tellin' you one day these suckers gotta fall! Cuffed up throw me on the concrete. Coppers try to kill me, but they didn't know this was the wrong street. Bang bang, down another casualty, but it's a cop who's shot there's brutality. Who do you blame? It's a shame because the mans slain. He got caught in the chains of his own game. How can I feel guilty after all the things they did to me?”

-“Trapped” by Tupac

[whatspringdoestothecherrytrees]

Pass the happy! 🌻🌈 When you receive this list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications! 💖

Thanks for the tag @anolderlove

- waking up super early when the world is quiet and blue and fresh with possibility

- liking how i feel in my own skin

- when i feel little baby L wiggle or kick

- doing science and experimenting to find things no one else knows

- being with my love

@pinklovehearts @sweetgrass-soul @professssor @quarter-past-midnight @bluebusto @downtoscale @van-gof @mimiswitchywrites @mushroom-bitch-ass @oldfarmhouse

[divine-mistake]

“Let Me Feel Low”

“Let Me Feel Low” by Cavetown for @mimiswitchywrites​​​

Characters: Loki/Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), language, mentions of suicide and death

Wordcount: 664

A/N: Thanks for 250 followers!!! Drabble requests are closed!

“Oh.” You stuff your hands in the front pocket of your hoodie, looking down at the concrete ground. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

Loki, leaned against the railing of the rooftop, the wind whipping his hair around his face in beautiful chaos, turns to face you.

“We can share,” he simply says, beckoning you to him.

It feels like you’re trying to walk on the ocean floor, your steps heavy and bloated and everything in slow motion as you cross the roof toward him, shoulders drawn up like it makes you seem smaller in such an empty space. The sky above you is dark, the moon shadowed by clusters of clouds moving overhead. The lights from the Tower are too bright to allow the stars to shine through the veil of blackness.

Loki watches as you throw your arms over the railing beside him, sagging against the metal with a sigh. Your hand grip the bars as you peer over the side, swallowing at the sight of the seemingly endless drop. The cars lining the streets look like nothing more than bleak specs from the height you’re standing at.

His stare is burning.

“I come out here a lot,” you tell him. “I just like to think. Like—do you know how insignificant we are? Our lives are so small, so individual, so singular and even our deaths don’t make a difference.”

Loki chuckles. “Your life is but a small blip of time in mine, so yes, I do know.”

You frown. “Oh. I see.”

A moment of quiet settles over the two of you, Loki standing impossibly still as you shift uncomfortably beside him. Of course you’re insignificant to him. He’s a God. A millennia old and still counting. You could never be anything significant to him.

Maybe that’s why your tongue feels so loose tonight, or maybe it’s the shot of whiskey you had only moments earlier in an attempt to dull the pain that’s been building quietly in your chest for the past few weeks.

“I could just… die.” Loki’s head snaps to look at you. “It would change nothing. If I went out on a mission tomorrow I could die and the world would continue on. If I jumped off this roof, right here, right now,” you gesture over the railing, “nothing would happen. I would die and that would be it.”

Slowly, you turn to meet his gaze. There is depth to his blue eyes that most people don’t pay attention to, but you do. You always have. Right now, there is a glimmer of sadness, of remorse, of empathy. He looks at you like you’re something he needs to apologize to.

“That is untrue,” he says softly.

“Is it? You just agreed that human lives are insignificant.”

He smiles at you, but it isn't kind. It’s rueful.

“Perhaps I misspoke.” Loki’s hand moves onto the railing, and then toward where yours rest, and then his fingers envelope yours. He delicately flips your hand over in order to lace your digits together, something that brings a heat to your face. Loki’s never touched you like this before.

He stares at where your hands are intertwined.

“What I should have said,” he tells you, voice low, “is that your death would make a difference, indeed. Our teammates would mourn your loss, whether you bled out on the field or fell to your doom from this very rooftop. They are your family, and you are theirs, and your presence to them—to us—is significant.”

Loki brings your hand up to his cold lips and presses one soft, tickling kiss to your knuckles.

“You are significant to me.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his. “What?”

“If you died, then my heart may as well die with you, my dearest.”

Tears run hotly down your cheeks. “Loki,” you stammer his name, “what are you talking about?”

“Keeper of my heart, if you are ever to leave me, then what will become of me?”

[finishthatficmerlin]

Winners 2021

This round of 'Finsh That Fic, Merlin' has finally come to an end. This year you guys managed to finish 14 fics and write 236,615 words in total! Way to go!!! And now it's time to announce the winners of each category who will all receive art from one of the talented artists who've volunteered. Having finished 5 fics in total @thepolomonkey wins for Most Fics Finished and will receive art by the wonderful iiris / @thesmartbluebox as a prize. With an astounding number of 127,491 words written, @tenderlydangerouswerewolf wins for Most Words Written, and will receive art made by the talented MimiJ / @mimiswitchywrites Doing the impossible and finishing a fic started all the way back in 2013, @letstheriveranswer wins for oldest fic finished and will thus receive art made by the awesome grace / gracegraylove Congratulations to all the winners!! Feel free to contact your artist to figure out what you want your prize to be. Remember though, that the artist is doing this of their own free will and if you demand something they aren't willing to create, they are free to say no. (In which case you then have to wish for something different) See you all next round!! (Or until I pull myself together to make a master post for this year's fics, which I've forgotten to do all other years)

[mimisstudy]

Getting Shit Done

My plan for the rest of the week because I realised that I am really behind on a fuck load of stuff and it’s stressing me out so I made a list to hopefully de-stress a little. 

Oh, and yes, I would say that I have given up on the 100 days of productivity due to the whole ‘I have barely got out of bed this last month and it took almost three months to write a 4 page essay’ thing that I have going on

Wednesday:

Therapy

Find out where to buy things for my shop (will create a separate post about this on @mimiswitchywrites at some point once I know where I’m getting stuff fr sure)

SU meeting

Figure out how much money I need to save before opening my shop and how much I need to work to get said money 

Video about music video 

Make bread

Record Voice Over for Hidden Figures essay (I’ll post the video essay once it’s finished - hopefully it will be a good one)

Thursday:

College 

Pick up books (trading the bread I make for these books on words which I am far too excited about)

Organise desk

Friday:

College

Edit essay

Tidy room

Figure out what stuff I have already made that I can sell and what I still need to desgin. Maybe also order test prints and sketch out business cards

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden Masterlist

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering)

"It was on yet another hunting trip that he found her, face pale and crimson pooling under each arm. Percival would later find a small knife under some moss next to her. Sweat covered her face and chest, leaving dark patches on her cotton dress."

or

A very angsty fic where the Knights find an injured girl in the forest and take her home to heal. Queer fluff with Gwen ensues.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 11

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering).

Period typical h***ph**ia and internalised, alcohol mentions?

Master list or read on AO3

2.4k words

If you want to be tagged for updates, message me or comment!

---------

Merlin left soon after Gwen, face void of emotion. Miriam tried to stop him before he left, wanting him to explain what she had done wrong, but he shrugged her hand away and walked, head forward.

She went to bed early, blowing out the candles and hiding under her blanket. Dreams plagued her – she saw the faces of every woman she had slept with. They laughed at her, threw stones, dragged her to the noose. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset by this.

She deserved it.

She woke before the sun, throat tight, heart racing, mind numb.

The kitchens were quiet that day – there were no meetings with the King scheduled and so they were just preparing the usual meals of the day. Bea made small talk with her occasionally, but Miriam noticed that the cook was be short with her. Maybe Gwen or Merlin told her what happened last night.

She kept her head down and avoided people as much as possible – clearly, she had done something wrong, and she had no desire to make matters worse by saying something to the wrong person.

That it, until the after-luncheon break rolled around.

She was exhausted, sweat pooling on her forehead and chest. Her eyes were heavy from her restless sleep and she still couldn’t piece together which part of last night had led to such animosity within the kitchens. She couldn’t help but worry Bea wouldn’t want her working there formally and so, with little care left, Miriam did something terrible.

Juliana – a twenty something laundrette that was popping in for her own lunch – approached Miriam with a quizzical expression. She recognised Miriam after Lancelot pointed her out in the courtyard a few days prior and she could tell the woman was in distress. She walked towards the woman with trepidation – not wanting to spook her in her riled-up state. She was practically an arm’s length from her before she noticed.

Juliana was beautiful, that was the first thing Miriam thought. Not like Gwen, no, but the kind of beauty that one knows they have, the kind that one uses in their favour. Her cheek bones were high and fierce, eyes passionate. Her lips were rouged and plump – they reminded Miriam of this one apprentice she had worked along side almost five years prior.

“Hello.” Even her voice was attractive: soft and melodic but an undertone of something else. Something sensual. It brought a blush to Miriam’s cheeks.

“Hello yourself. Do you work here?” Juliana shook her head, mouth curving into a smile which Miriam found herself mimicking.

Juliana took another step forward, Miriam standing her ground. She lifted her head to look up at the stranger. “I work in the laundry. My name is Juliana.” She leant down, mouth brushing Miriam’s ear, “What’s yours?”

Miriam felt herself shiver at the sound, pulse racing. Her legs clenched at the tingles sparking between them. “Miriam.”

“Well, Miriam,” Juliana stepped back to look into Miriam’s eyes, “it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must return to work. Unless you wish to do something else, that is?” Her smile was sly and knowing, eyes with a mischievous glint. Miriam found herself nodding before she even processed the question. She took Juliana by the hand and lead her through the kitchens, keeping an eye out for Bea who had disappeared outside for some fresh air. They arrived at the back of the long room, next to a small door: a storage cupboard. With one last glance behind her, Miriam pulled the pair inside and closed the door.

--

Gwen rubbed her eyes. Surely, after all that transpired last night, she was mistaken. She refused to accept that Miriam, the woman who tore her heart in half (whether knowingly or not) was taking Juliana by the hand and leading her towards the back storage room.

And yet, even after shaking her head, taking a deep breath, and rubbing her eyes again, that is exactly what she was seeing.

And oh, how it hurt.

After gathering all the food that had been requested and setting it neatly onto three separate plates, Gwen found her eyes drifting towards the cupboard again. She had tried with all her might to shut her eyes off to the sounds of pleasure emerging from inside as she grabbed rosemary from the hook beside the room, but she was still forced to hear more than she had wanted. Despite her anger, her pain, Miriam’s voice was clear, and it did things to Gwen’s body that she truly wished it wouldn’t. Even when moaning Juliana’s name, Miriam had a tremendous affect on the young serving girl.

Gwen hated it.

With tears in her eyes and a heart of lead, she balanced the plates across her arms and made her way towards the Lord’s room.

Luckily, Gwen bumped into Merlin before she got to her destination. He caught the trays (Gwen pretended she didn’t see the glow in his eyes) and, after straightening themselves out, he noticed the look in her eyes. The ways her eyes shook with tears and she was biting her lip – brows pulled taught. He immediately softened, shoulders relaxing to comfort her.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” His voice was soft but laced with concern. It broke her. The flood gates opened and tears streamed down her face. She did her best to prevent herself from sobbing aloud – they were still in the corridor and she was meant to be on duty. He pulled her to the side as some Lady walked past, and gently wrapped his arms around her, placing the plates on the floor first. She sagged into his chest, shaking.

He rubbed his hand in circles over her back, whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

With a hiccough, Gwen pulled away, tears finally running dry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pushed the balls of her hands into her eyes to get rid of the wet. Her shoulders still shuddered slightly, and her breathing was irregular.

“I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me,” she bent down, reaching for the plates to set on her way, “I shouldn’t have done that, I have work to do.” Merlin intercepted, grabbing her wrists softly.

He pulled her up to standing again, shaking his head at her. “Gwen, it’s okay, you don’t need to do anything. I am sure whoever was after food has ordered someone else to get it for them by now.” She bit her lip harder at this, hating the way it sounded like she had failed her duties. Hated the fact that she had failed them.

Sensing her train of thought, Merlin started up again, “You didn’t do anything wrong; you needed a break – it was a hard night. I’ll explain it to Steward if he asks, you’ll be fine.” She nodded, still unsure.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Her voice was thick with phlegm and tears.

He nodded, smiling down at her. “Now come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.”

“What about…?” She gestured to the plates.

Merlin shrugged, grinning mischievously, “Arthur hasn’t eaten yet, how about we eat like Lords and Ladies for the afternoon?” She gasped, eyes growing wide, before coughing out a laugh. She nudged him, nodding, and picked up two of the plates, leaving the third for Merlin to pick up.

They set off towards Arthurs room in silence, bumping into each other every few steps playfully. Gwen’s head hurt from crying so much over the last few days, but she was happy to know Merlin was still there for her. He always would be, she was sure of it. Her heart still stung from last nights discussion, and her whole chest felt like it was imploding as she played over what she saw and heard not even an hour before, but she had her friend with her and that was as good a distraction as any.

They arrived before she knew it, the walk a blur. Merlin barged in, as usual, and Gwen followed with as much dignity as she could draw together.

Arthur was sat behind his desk, hands together with chin resting on top. Her looked frustrated at the paper in front of him, but his face broke into a smile at Merlin’s arrival.

And then dropped slightly upon seeing Gwen. Or, the rational part of her mind interjected, at her puffy eyes and damp cheeks.

“Guinevere?” He looked over to Merlin, eyes racking over his face for answers, “What happened?”

Merlin set his plate on the table and took Gwen’s from her hands. She was frozen in spot, looking between the King and the floor. She was biting her lip again and beginning to taste blood. Without her noticing, Arthur approached and lifted Gwen’s chin so he could look into her eyes. There was so much pain in them, he noticed. He pulled her into a hug, chin resting on the top of her head. She sighed, out of tears.

“What happened, Guinevere?” His hands squeezed her arms in a comforting manner.

“She – Miriam – I--” She broke off, voice thick again.

Arthur pulled away, thumb rubbing over her cheek lovingly. Merlin watched from beside the table, looking just as concerned.

Gwen groaned, rubbing her hand over her face. She pulled back from Arthur and sank onto a chair with a thud. Merlin and Arthur quickly followed.

After devouring a hand of grapes, Gwen cleared her throat and began again. “Either last night was a total lie, or she is a hypocrite, and I truly can’t tell which.” Merlin stretched a hand across the table, rubbing hers. He nodded for her to continue. “I went to the kitchens to grab luncheon for Lord and Lady Tyrine and their daughter and while I was waiting for the meat to finish being cooked, I saw—” She took a deep breath, “Miriam and Juliana,” she couldn’t help the bitter way she spat her name, “sneak into the back cupboard. Yes, that one.” She directed the last part at Merlin who was shooting a questioning look at her. He nodded slowly, knowing exactly which one she meant but not quite sure he could accept it.

Arthur, who had rarely set foot in the kitchens, interrupted, “What is so important about this cupboard?” Merlin made a series of nods and eyebrow raises before Arthur took a deep inhale, piecing it together. “Oh, right.”

Gwen spitefully tore into her roll.

“But she said…”

Gwen nodded, “I know exactly what she said and yet, judging by the moans I heard, she either doesn’t believe any of the shit she said, or she does, and she is messing with Juliana’s heart.” And mine, she added to herself. She sighed; this was all just too much for her to handle. She had been barely holding herself together after Morgana and now this? She truly wasn’t sure if she would be able to cope with another interaction with the girl. The beautiful, funny, kind girl.

They sat in silence, absently picking at their food.

--

Miriam straightened Juliana’s skirts, getting off her knees and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Both their faces were flushed, chests rising and falling quickly as they tried to catch their breaths. Turning around, Juliana took a strawberry from the box behind her elbow and places it between Miriam’s lips.

“So people don’t go smelling me on your breath.” She pulled the leaves away, replacing them with her own mouth and stealing a kiss. Miriam’s hands found Juliana’s waist and she pressed them both against the shelves again.

Slowly, she stepped back.

“It was nice to meet you, Miriam.” Juliana whispered, before poking her head out the door and stepping out, raising her hand is a brief wave and disappearing.

Miriam leant back, head resting on the wall. She groaned. She knew she shouldn’t have done that but when she had seen Gwen at the entrance to the kitchens, she couldn’t stop herself.

Oh, how she wished she’d stopped herself.

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing her fingers in circles over her temples.

“Fuck.” She whispered to herself.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and putting on a pleasant smile, and stepped out into the kitchens. Thankfully, no one seemed to see her leave and she returned to her station seconds before Bea came through the door again.

She kept her head down for the last few hours of work, picturing Gwen’s face the whole time. She didn’t think the girl had noticed them but what if she had? Could she apologise? Did she even need to? Gwen was obviously upset with her for what happened last night (she was no closer to putting together what that actually was) and so maybe it was best not to interact for a little while?

By the time she was let off work, she was practically shaking with unanswered questions. She stumbled up the stairs and through to the courtyard for some fresh air but stopped when she heard drunken shouts.

Drunk.

Gods above, how she wished she could be drunk right now. With a contemplative sigh and a hand running through her hair, she set off towards the lower town in search of a tavern or inn. She didn’t intend to drown her sorrows, merely dull them enough to get to sleep without dreams. She hated the dreams. Not just the nightmares (though she certainly hated them too), but the mundane dreams. The ones where she woke up next to a woman – someone kind and gentle and happy – and kissed her shoulder and cheek before getting out of bed. The ones where she would make them both breakfast and they would eat in bed and wash the pans before setting to work in the field while the woman – her woman – would sit behind the spinning wheel. The ones where she was happy.

The ache in her chest after she woke from those nights lasted all day.

Sometimes she would even forget her reality, confused for a moment upon waking, wondering where her woman had gone to, before realising that it wasn’t true.

She knew it should be a good thing that it was just a figment of her imagination, that she hadn’t attached herself to a woman like that, but it still hurt. And then with Gwen, someone who she wanted to be attached to like that…

She sighed.

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 12

TW: SH references, S*x**l a****lt near the beginning

Period typical h***ph**ia and internalised, alcohol mentions?

Master list or read on AO3

5.8k words (I'm so sorry, it wasn't meant to be this long)

If you want to be tagged for updates, message me or comment!

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The sun was beginning to fall behind the tree line, and she still hadn’t found the tavern, electing to ask a passing guard. He looked her up and down for a minute, before pointing down the path and saying to take a right at the cart with the cabbages.

She arrived, mind still looping. The tavern was humming with chatter inside – hopefully good chatter – and the street glowed from the light of the candles. It was quite beautiful, she thought.

She stepped forward to open the door, hopped back as a large man stormed out - scowling - and then dashed inside before the door slammed shut again.

There was a long work top spanning half the room, with two men and a grinning maiden behind serving out tankards. Tables lined the walls with long benches, all covered with various states of intoxicated patrons.

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.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time they passed out.

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 9

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references

Master list or read on AO3

2.7k words

I think I'll be posting about 2 chapters a week from now on? But who knows. If you want to be tagged, message me/comment!

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Gwaine awoke, head as heavy as the treasury with ears ringing like he’d been stood next to the great bell for the twelfth hour, to a knock at the door. He pulled his pillow over his eyes, the dim light through the shutters still too much. He groaned and suddenly stopped, feeling yesterday’s food fluttering about.

Another knock.

He threw the pillow at the door, muttering ‘fuck off’ and rolling onto his front. Something next to him moved, an arm draping over his back. He turned to face it, her, and tried to remember her name. Avery? No, Anna? Maybe… he would get it eventually.

Another knock.

Gwaine sighed loudly and dramatically, before pushing himself from the bed. His stomach dropped and he pulled out his chamber pot, barely reaching it in time. The pork pies from the tavern were never that good going in but oh, how they were worse coming out again.

“Gwaine?” Came a muffled voice from the other side of the door, “are you alright, my friend?” Lancelot, of course it was Lancelot. Gwaine loved the man like a brother but he really didn’t understand the concept of good timing.

“’m fine mate,” he wiped his mouth, spitting into the pot, “just a bit much to drink.” He stood, legs shaking a little, and made his way to the door. He took a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face and plastering on his classic smile, and opened the door.

Lancelot stared, taking in Gwaine’s appearance. The man looked like shit. His hair was tangled, a bit of sick still on the corner of his mouth, bruises on his bare chest (most looked as if they were from… affectionate activities but some were clearly from the tavern brawl Lancelot had heard the guards talking about). He held an arm behind his back, his other holding onto the door frame for dear life – he barely seemed capable of standing up by himself. There were small scabs on his knuckles, surrounded in purple and green bruising.

“Oh, Gwaine.” The man in question grimaced, looking down at himself. He straightened up as much as he could, swaying a little. “You should sit down and then I think we need to chat.” Chat, that was never good.

Gwaine sighed again, heavier this time. “Fine, let me put on a shirt at least, yeah?” Lancelot nodded, gesturing for them to head inside.

He watched Gwaine turn around, looking for something to put on. As the man turned, however, he couldn’t help but notice some curious marks on his arm – the one that, now Lancelot thinks about it, had been hidden behind his back.

Before he could comment, his theorising was interrupted by a moan. A particularly feminine one at that, coming from the bed. Lancelot’s head darted round to investigate, just in time to get full view of a (stunning) woman sitting up. Sitting bare chested. Lancelot felt his face burn, mouth opening and closing. She yawned, stretching her arms above his head – Lancelot felt his blood move from his face, further south. He made an awkward choking noise and she turned to face him, a light blush coating her face. She brought a dainty hand up to wave at him and, with jerky movements, he waved back.

“Hi”

“… hi”

Gwaine stepped between the two, fully clothed and with a shit-eating grin slapped on. He gestured to the chairs by the fire and threw a dress on the bed in front of the girl. “It was lovely to spend the night with you my love, but we shall have to catch up another time, okay?” She frowned slightly, nodding, and pulling the sheets up to cover her chest. “You’re welcome to go back to sleep if you wish, but we’ll be talking over here – official knight business and all that.” Lancelot opened his mouth to object, this had nothing to do with knight business for the most part, but Gwaine sent a look his way that sent a clear signal for him not to do that.

She pulled the dress over her head, doing her best to shield her body from the men who, noticing, turn their backs on her. She brushed her hands through her hair, hopped out of the bed and waved, saying a hushed “goodbye, Gwaine, Sir Knight.”

The pair sat, Gwaine poking the fire and chucking a log on. His face was still pastie and glowed with a sheen of sweat. Lancelot’s face crumpled in concern for his friend.

“What’s happened to you? Since when has a night on the Tavern affected you so?”

Gwaine scoffed, “Since it’s been a week straight—” He clamped his mouth shut, brain catching up with his words.

“A week? What are you doing? You’re losing control.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry yourself, mother hen.” He laughed but there was clearly no real feeling behind it, voice still weak from emptying his stomach not ten minutes before. Lancelot notice, brows softening in concern. He leant forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, watching the mans every move.

There were chunks of his lips bitten raw, blood dried on in a few spots, and his facial hair was looking particularly shabby. He was never clean shaven but there was usually a more uniform look to his beard. The shadows under his eyes were worse than Lancelot had ever seen them – worse than they had been after the fight with the dorocha. Maybe it was just the poor lighting, but Lancelot was sure there was a concerning blue tint to his friend’s skin.

He looked dead.

“You’re killing yourself.” Lancelot didn’t miss the way Gwaine flinched at this, eyes opening wide and breathing hitching before returning to normal as if nothing happened.

“Pfft, nah I’m not mate, if I wanted to do that, I would just clean Princesses sock – that’s more than enough to kill a man.” He laughed, smile awkwardly sculpted and eyes dull. With some effort, he stood and made his way to the table by the window, where he poured himself a drink. He downed the wine in one, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth spread through his chest and down to his belly. He leant his head back, closing his eyes as he faced the ceiling beams. He could feel his heart beat in every inch of his body, head pounding. He got lost in the gently thud, near jumping out his skin as a hand landed on his shoulder.

Lancelot was stood, inches from his face, a horrible look of pity etched on his features. He kept eye contact as he gently pulled the cup from Gwaine’s hand and lead them both back to the chairs.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but I need you to know that I am here. I am sure Merlin would say the same, and the rest of the Knights too if that’s what you need. We care for you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine tried, he really did, but he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I told you, I’m fine. What about you, anyway? I heard rumours of you kidnapping Miriam. Trying to bed a poor, injured, woman?” He did his best to look disapproving with a hint of mischief, but his brain was too hazy to coordinate his features and ended with a sloppy wink. It still did the trick, though – Lancelot’s cheeks drowning in blush and eyes darting around the room, anywhere but at Gwaine.

“I did not kidnap her—”

“Sounds like something a kidnapped would say.”

“—and I am not trying to bed her, but I suppose I am trying to court her.”

It was Gwaine’s turn for the eyebrows to shoot up – he hadn’t expected Lancelot to actually be trying anything with the girl. She didn’t look like that was something she was interested in, especially not with the state she had been in the last time her had seen her. “oh?”

“Well, sort of. I haven’t officially asked her if I can, but we have spoken every day in her rooms and we had a midnight picnic not two eves past.” He sounded as if he was in a dreamlike trance, “she’s so beautiful, Gwaine.”

Gwaine frowned, concerned for his love-struck friend. “What is she like?”

“She’s wonderful, truly. She’s so funny and she tells the most amazing tales when she finally talks about herself and—”

“You know she tried to kill herself only a week ago?”

Lancelot’s expression soured, a flicker of pain in his eyes, “of course I am aware of that, Gwaine. That doesn’t make her a terrible person and I don’t appreciate you forcing your biases on me.”

Gwaine felt the skin on his left arm tingle in stripes. He grit his teeth, jaw clenched.

“Now, if that’s all, I am glad to hear you are well and shall take my leave. Arthur wants you to be in training in two hours. I suggest you wear something more protective than normal if you want to say something like that again.” Lancelot stood abruptly, chair scratching the stone and ringing in Gwaine’s ears. He didn’t even look up as Lancelot stormed out, door slamming painfully behind him.

“Fuck.”

His right hand snaked into his left sleeve and picked at the small scabs forming. A hiss escaped his lips.

“Fuck!”

--

After much debating and a few more goblets of wine, Gwaine found himself sat with Merlin on the training grounds. The pounding in his skull had subsided mostly, thanks to some concoction from Gaius, but he was still left with the memories of the morning.

“He’ll get over it once you’ve apologised, it’ll be okay Gwaine,” Merlin gently placed his hand on the knight’s thigh (Arthur, on the other side of the field, did his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed.) “But I must ask, why did you insult her? Do you not like Miriam? You’ve been off ever since we found her.”

Gwaine groaned, falling back against the earth, watching clouds float by. “I don’t dislike her; I don’t even know her.”

“Then why have you disappeared? At first, I thought you were only tired and that you would spring back when we returned to Camelot, but it’s been days and you’ve barely left the Tavern the whole time.”

The knight ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the nape of his neck. He didn’t want to answer Merlin, knowing the boy would smother him if he knew what was wrong. “I’ve just… I have my own thing’s going on, okay?” Merlin went to speak, likely to give some speech about how he is always there if Gwaine needed him, “I can deal with it myself, mate, I’ll be alright. I appreciate you though, friend.”

Merlin wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He knew Gwaine well enough to know that he was keeping something from him but also that pushing him would do no good. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and placed his hand on his friends’ shoulder, love in his eyes. Gwaine looked away quickly, picking at the grass. He cleared his throat, pulled at the back of his hair again, and stood, heading in the direction of the knives and targets.

Gwaine was Merlin’s closest friend, next to Lancelot, and he knew that the knight was funny in the brain sometimes, but the way he had been acting for these last few days wasn’t right. As much as Arthur told him not to, Merlin couldn’t help but feel concerned. He would get to the bottom of it though, he would do anything for Gwaine, even if he resisted at first. Cogs started turning, Merlin planning the best way to get the infamous chatterbox to talk honestly.

--

Miriam flopped back on her bed, regretting it as her back twinged at the solid mattress. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the marks in the stone with her eyes. Merlin was sat on the chair, watching her.

“You’ve done well with this room; most servants have to bun together. I think Arthur put a word in with the Steward for you. I’m glad you two are on good terms.” She hummed in response. “Have you heard from Cook yet? I heard her talking to the Steward this morning about confirming some people so I think maybe you will soon, will get the job, I mean. So, how –”

Miriam sat up, staring him down. “Merlin, I really appreciate you, but please stop.”

He clamped his mouth shut, pulling his head back in surprise.

“I will hear from Bea at some point and yes, I also think I got the job, or they wouldn’t have let me have this room. I don’t need you making me worry more about it, alright?” She sighed, head dropping into her hands. “Anyway,” came her muffled voice, “what were you looking so worried about on the field earlier?”

Merlin cleared his throat, still shocked at her little outburst. “Gwaine isn’t acting himself and he won’t talk to me – to anyone – about it.”

“Why does he need to talk to anyone?” She asked, genuinely confused.

“Well for starters, he’s a knight of Camelot and the King needs to know that his protectors are well enough to fight. And he’s my friend, I want him to be okay.” She nodded slowly, processing the idea that anyone would actually care that someone wasn’t themselves.

“Huh, okay,” Was her intelligent response.

“You’re confused?”

She shook her head and then paused, “I just, I don’t know, this whole friend’s thing doesn’t quite make sense to me. I’ve never really had them before, bar my bosses, I guess. I was never friends with mine like you are with Arthur.”

Merlin blushed, looking down – Miriam pretended not to notice but smirked to herself. “What is he like? Gwaine, I mean?”

A grin spread across Merlin’s face as he thought about his friend. “He’s nothing like he was in the woods when you two talked. He’s hilarious and he’s always there for his friends and even helped me save Arthur a few times, despite not liking him at that point. He has an amazing sense of right and wrong and he’ll always fight for what he believes in. And he’s happy. He lights up a room and spreads joy, normally while rilling up other people. But he’s not doing any of that at the moment.” She nodded, gesturing for him to expand. “He was so quiet after we found you and he’s always had a reputation of being a drinker but he is practically living in the tavern and when he isn’t there, he’s…” he broke off, trying to figure out the most appropriate phrasing, “he’s bedding people.”

Miriam looked off to the side, mulling over what Merlin had described. She felt herself in his words but knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Could I talk to him?”

His brows shot up, surprised with the girl yet again. “Uh,” he stuttered, “Yes? Yes, I could arrange that, I guess.”

She stood, dusting off her – his – trousers. “Great.” She pulled him from his seat, ignoring his groans of protest, and, after a second of thought, dragged him into a hug. He tensed up at first, before warming into it. They stood like that for a few moments and then she pulled back, face hot. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, grinning. “No need to apologise, that was, nice?” She blushed, looking down at her worn out boots.

“Not used to the affection thing yet but I think you’re my friend and it seemed appropriate.” She hesitantly glanced up at him through her lashes. He was smiling down at her, eyes a little glossy. He pulled her into another hug, cupping the back of her head.

“I am honoured that you would think of me as such.” She sighed, content, and her body relaxed into his.

A gentle tap on the door interrupted them, the pair breaking apart. They both had tears welling in their eyes – she couldn’t quite fathom that he cared for her but appreciated him pretending.

He cleared his throat, nodding his head to the door as another tap sounded from the other side.

“Hello?” she called; voice thick.

“Miri?”

The pair locked eyes again, Miriam’s wide with dread and Merlin’s sympathetic.

“Could we talk?”

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 10

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering).

period typical h***ph*bia

Master list or read on AO3

2.7k words

I refuse to proof read this chapter after spending four days on it so apologies for the inevitable errors you'll find.

If you want to be added to my taglist, message me or comment!

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Gwen liked to think that, after serving families from a young age, she was hard to surprise. That was, of course, until the enigma that was Miriam showed up. The girl, the woman was just so… SO. She was so pretty, so smart, so kind, so funny and so right for Gwen.

And Gwen, foolishly, thought Miri felt the same way. When she had admitted she was glad Merlin had interrupted her and Lancelot, her heart soared. The face Miriam had made upon hearing Gwen and Lancelot had once had relations practically confirmed that, her body draped in loving warmth.

But it was quickly shoved into the depths of ice as Miriam said those scathing words: “something so vile.” Was that truly what she thought? Was she pretending? Maybe so Gwen wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think she had a chance with the beautiful girl? It felt like Morgana all over again – she had found someone that she felt truly comfortable with and they ran off, leaving her to pick up the pieces of her broken soul alone.

But still, Gwen plastered on the servants smile that she had mastered over the years, and made her way about her duties, pretending everything was fine. Because everything was fine. It wasn’t like anything had happened or ever would happen and sure, Gwen had had a momentary lapse in judgement where she thought she could be truly happy with someone, but she would use this as a learning opportunity and would file it away as something to never allow to happen again. And if a tear slipped from her glassy eyes, well, good thing there was no one around to notice.

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.

“Well, I am sorry to have bothered you. Goodnight Merlin.” Her voice cracked but she kept her head high, taking her leave. Her hands shook – whether with anger or sadness, she couldn’t be sure – and so she balled her fists as she made the long walk home.

[mimiswitchywrites]

fixed my masterlist btw, now you can actually find all the previous chapters!