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Merlin: morning after
Morning After
Merlin. Futurefic, Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot fluff. PG13. 364 words.
Gwen wakes up to the sunlight in her face, and when she tries to roll over to hide in the pillow, she finds that she quite can't.
Half draped across her right side is Arthur, his arm curled around her waist. On her left side Lancelot, his leg resting on hers and his head on her shoulder. Gwen’s limbs are going to go numb, she just knows it, but as they say: if that is the greatest of her worry, then life is pretty good.
The sunlight reflects off the wine bottle on the bedside table, and last night returns to her in a fuzzy haze as she takes in the evidence. There is a trail of clothes from the door to the bed: her necklace, Arthur's tunic, Lancelot's belt, and so on, so forth, and at the foot of the bed: her dress. Gwen remembers the feast as a colorful, wonderful blur; Morgana's proud smile as she makes the utensils dance across the table with her magic, Merlin's delight at his protege's growing skills. Arthur at her right and Lancelot at her left, just as they are now.
Merlin and Morgana retired early, but the king and queen of Camelot were the last to leave, attended upon by their most loyal knight. After a last toast and an extended exchange of good-nights, when all three of them were together, Arthur said, "Thank goodness, I thought that feast was never going to end."
"Me too," said Gwen.
"It ended at a good time," said Lancelot.
A dance here, a dance there. A smile and a touch, and the momentum of years. That's how these things start.
And this is how things end, with the sun in her face and these men in her bed, and at some point during the day she'll have to get up and review some treaties, but for now, perhaps more sleep would be prudent. She jerks violently to the right, dislodging a snore from Arthur and a "mrhgnrmh" noise from Lancelot.
"Wha," Arthur mumbles.
"Nothing," says Gwen, and rests her head on his arm as Lancelot cuddles up to her with another "mrhgnrmh" sound.
She goes back to sleep.
Merlin. Futurefic, Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot fluff. PG13. 364 words.
Gwen wakes up to the sunlight in her face, and when she tries to roll over to hide in the pillow, she finds that she quite can't.
Half draped across her right side is Arthur, his arm curled around her waist. On her left side Lancelot, his leg resting on hers and his head on her shoulder. Gwen’s limbs are going to go numb, she just knows it, but as they say: if that is the greatest of her worry, then life is pretty good.
The sunlight reflects off the wine bottle on the bedside table, and last night returns to her in a fuzzy haze as she takes in the evidence. There is a trail of clothes from the door to the bed: her necklace, Arthur's tunic, Lancelot's belt, and so on, so forth, and at the foot of the bed: her dress. Gwen remembers the feast as a colorful, wonderful blur; Morgana's proud smile as she makes the utensils dance across the table with her magic, Merlin's delight at his protege's growing skills. Arthur at her right and Lancelot at her left, just as they are now.
Merlin and Morgana retired early, but the king and queen of Camelot were the last to leave, attended upon by their most loyal knight. After a last toast and an extended exchange of good-nights, when all three of them were together, Arthur said, "Thank goodness, I thought that feast was never going to end."
"Me too," said Gwen.
"It ended at a good time," said Lancelot.
A dance here, a dance there. A smile and a touch, and the momentum of years. That's how these things start.
And this is how things end, with the sun in her face and these men in her bed, and at some point during the day she'll have to get up and review some treaties, but for now, perhaps more sleep would be prudent. She jerks violently to the right, dislodging a snore from Arthur and a "mrhgnrmh" noise from Lancelot.
"Wha," Arthur mumbles.
"Nothing," says Gwen, and rests her head on his arm as Lancelot cuddles up to her with another "mrhgnrmh" sound.
She goes back to sleep.
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I love these three together and angst free!
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