Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana
Rating/Genre: G; fluff
Spoilers/Warnings: Allusions to s3 spec/spoilers
Author's Note/Summary: written for thefuturequeen's fluff fest. The prompt was: Arthur and Gwen dancing under the stars/ moonlight Although... Things got away from me a bit and somehow it turned into something about wheat. IDEK.
Tired of watching Merlin and Morgana glower at one another, Gwen stood, smoothed and tugged her trousers into something resembling comfortable and took a step in the direction of the fields.
Arthur's eyes snapped up to her face, and Gwen smiled slightly, inclining her head in silent permission.
He stood quickly, drawing the attention of the glaring pair, and said in a voice that brooked no argument (and no invitation), "Guinevere and I are going to take a walk."
When Merlin made as though to join them and Morgana opened her mouth furiously, heedless of Arthur's tone, he snapped, "While you two work out whatever it is that's between you," and Merlin settled with a huff, Morgana prodding the fire irritably.
Though Gwen suspected Morgana knew about she and Arthur, they both maintained a certain, respectable distance between them until they reached the field, it's tall stalks of wheat easily swallowing them and their clasped hands as they waded through it.
Somewhat miraculously by Gwen's estimation, the weather had held for the duration of their journey, though rain clouds had been rumbling towards Camelot's spires when they'd made their departure. Tonight, moonlight shone down brightly enough to linger affectionately on each feathered tip, stars acting as escorts in the vastness of the sky.
She could make out Arthur's expression in the silver light, troubled, and she squeezed his hand and shook her head when he looked at her. "Not tonight," she said softly, though her stomach was a little tight. "Tonight we celebrate victory."
Rolling her eyes as he smirked, Gwen held her breath when he ducked his head down, his curved lips dusting against her ear, "And how do we celebrate, Gwen?"
Gwen turned, her hair and cheek brushing across his mouth before she stepped out of reach. "We dance, sire," she said, offering him a curtsy, wondering how strange it appeared when she did so in breeches.
Immediately, he looked at her, utterly unimpressed and disinterested. "Dance."
She nodded, and took a further step back when he approached her again. "In the way of peasantry," she informed him lightly, stepping deeper into the whispering stalks as he reached for her. "Which, if done properly," she added, when Arthur stopped, shoulders stiff and expression irresolute. "Usually ends in a kiss."
Laughing as his brows shot up, Gwen offered her hand to him in the style taught to her long ago by her father. "A kiss," he repeated to her thoughtfully, mimicking her action as her feet planted, one after another, and brought them in a circle.
Wheat waved and whistled as they moved, stroking and catching at their clothes, simultaneously playing as ignored orchestra and envious, disregarded, partners.
"Indeed, my lord," she said, offering him a smile before glancing away again.
They made it perhaps halfway through the steps before something occurred to Arthur and he drew her to an abrupt halt. "How many times, exactly, have these peasant dances ended in kisses for you?" he demanded, frowning, as the wheat whispered their displeasure in rustles.
Gwen cocked her head. "Perhaps one or two," she said carefully, and as Arthur scowled, but looked marginally placated, added, "For each celebration."
She made it not two steps away before his hold found her hips, and Gwen quickly forgot that the peasant's dance involved more than lips and hands and turning in slow circles as one.
The wheat did not, swaying in agitation and sending a susurrus of disapproval spreading fast through its number with each stalk disrupted by a wayward hand or misplaced boot.