Chapter Text
Gwen loathes Arthur Pendragon.
Before she became Morgana’s personal maid (and closest friend), Gwen had only heard talk about the expected heir of Camelot from others in the Lower Town. Cooks, servants, and stable-hands complained about the childish nature and often mischievous cruelty of the Prince (though Guinevere was desensitized, as she heard worse about his father, the notorious King Uther).
As the main blacksmith’s daughter, sometimes knights and nobles would stop in her father’s shop in Lower Town to take a look at their wares. Once, a very young, ardent Arthur accompanied them. Gwen peeked behind a stone pillar at the end of the smithy whilst her father spoke humbly to the prince. Elyan, Gwen’s brother, appeared from almost nowhere and enthusiastically went up to greet him. Gwen stayed still, watching the whole ordeal: Arthur picking up a sword the entire length of his body, switching it from hand to hand with the experience of a much older knight. He then touched the gleam of a shield and dragged his soft hands against the metal. Guinevere looked down at her own, ruggish hands. She went back to watching him. He remarked something to the knights behind him and threw his entire head back, laughing, showing his entire mouth. She couldn’t remember if she had ever laughed like that, even when her mother was alive. Of course, a boy so lucky would have soft hands and a bright laugh. Then, right as the prince was about to leave, the light outside hit the smithy just right so that the golden hair of Arthur looked more like the halo of an angel. The light shone then in his eyes, making them look impossibly blue before she realized he was looking at her, looking at him. She yelped and ran out the back door. After that, whenever she saw the crimson color of the knight’s capes coming her way, she avoided the shop entirely.
At age 10, Guinevere was told she was to become Lady Morgana’s maidservant. It came as a shock to her, but not to her father or her brother, who knew she had been appointed for her excellent seamstress skills. King Uther also had been concerned with maintaining Morgana’s femininity, as there were no other women close to Morgana in the castle, and he had caught her swordfighting with Arthur on more than one occasion. A soft but hard-working daughter of a blacksmith would be a perfect friend to a future Lady of the Court. The raven-haired King’s Ward accepted her with open arms, and Gwen had realized she had never had a friend before. The two grew close quickly, and Guinevere was soon allowed to serve at mealtimes with the nobles. It was announced to her as good news, yet she was terrified. Serving Morgana was normal, fun even, but serving Uther and his son was a new level of interacting with nobles.
“Gwen, it’ll be alright!” Morgana called from behind the changing screen as the younger girl furiously put clothes in the laundry basket. Morgana peeked from behind the screen to giggle at her.
“Suddenly I feel as though I’ve come down with a fever,” Gwen said, and she plopped down on the ground next to the basket. Morgana, still in her slip, went to her and took her hands.
“It’s just Arthur and Uther,” Morgana replied softly. Gwen looked at her with astonishment.
“Oh! It’s just Prince Arthur and King Uther of Camelot! Yes, there’s nothing to be concerned about!”
Morgana tried to hide her smile as Gwen realized that she had just raised her voice.
“I’m sorry for yelling, My Lady,” Gwen whispered, and the older girl shook her head. She took her loyal servant into a hug.
“You know there’s nothing to apologize for, my friend. I am the one who’s sorry. I am comfortable with these men as if they were my own family. It’s different for me. I will be there the whole time, and it’s not common for a servant to speak or even be the topic of conversation at mealtime.”
Gwen pulled away from the hug, and the two girls stood, helping each other up. Gwen dusted off her dress. She smiled at Morgana, easing the other girl, and went to help her dress.
She wished she could say she felt completely comforted when she escorted Morgana to the dining hall later that evening. She wished she could say she was calm as she filled the King and the Prince’s goblets with wine. She wished she could say she had a clear head as she set down the plate full of food for Arthur, and he acknowledged her in thanks. Her brown eyes met his blue as he nodded, and she gulped nervously. She shuffled her feet to Morgana’s side of the table. Morgana smiled at her, and Guinevere settled a few paces behind her mistress. Arthur’s newest manservant (he’s on his 4th this year!) stood on the other side behind the Prince.
Uther engaged the children in conversation, asking Arthur about his training and Morgana about her lessons. Morgana spoke enthusiastically about a botany lesson she had received from Gaius, the court physician. She talked about the difference between flower leaves and how you can tell between a poisonous herb and a medicinal one. As she was talking, Guinevere’s eyes lingered on the Prince at the other side of the table, only to find that his eyes were already looking at her. Her eyes widened in fear, and she looked down at the floor. She could hear a small sound come from Arthur as well, almost like a laugh.
What Guinevere didn’t expect about mealtime with nobles was how boring it was. As a servant, she was used to running around, quickly eating, and remarking to her friends. Morgana and the men took forever to eat. Speaking slowly and always asking for refills of their wine. Nobles can take their time, she supposed.
Nearing the end of the meal, Guinevere moved closer to Morgana to help clear the table whilst Morgana and Arthur engaged in an argument about something Gwen hadn’t paid attention to. Uther became exasperated with the two, ordering them to stop as the conversation got more heated. Gwen didn’t fully understand what happened, other than that Arthur was standing up, goblet in hand, and suddenly she was covered in bright red liquid all over her favorite dress. She gasped, and the room was silent for a moment. Arthur’s manservant was behind him, frozen and horrified. Morgana chided Arthur and grabbed at Gwen, taking whatever cloth on the table to wipe her face down, and Uther caught his son by the shoulder to escort him out of the room. Eventually, Arthur’s manservant helped to clear off the table as Morgana stayed fussing over Gwen.
“What a cockered, clack-dish clotpole!” Morgana scorned as Gwen stayed still. Had Arthur meant to hit her? He was a good shot, known for his aim. Had he scorned her to scorn Morgana? How could one be so rude? “Gwen, I’m sorry for his actions. I couldn’t be more sorry. And your dress!”
Gwen’s eyes were brought to tears as she looked down. Her tunic was now bright red and still dripping, and the embroidery was tainted with the wine. This was a new dress, and she had hardly enough time or money for fabric to have another. She would have to use her old, tattered one.
Later that evening, having put Morgana to bed and done her laundry, Gwen walked back to her home. The wine had dried at this point, leaving her sticky and exhausted. She entered her cottage, her father already fast asleep and Elyan god-knows-where. She undressed and tossed the dress into a basket of garbage with only one thought in her mind: Arthur Pendragon is a bully.