[ gwen's an outcast because arthur pendragon is the king of idiocy. gwaine's allowed to say that. he's a knight. he's allowed to say mean things about his king. he's also allowed to go behind his king's back and right his wrongs - or maybe not quite like that. gwaine's never really done anything by the book, after all.
he's abandoned his post in favour of going after gwen at the persistence of her brother - and his own conscious. if lancelot's not going to be man enough for her, gwaine's going to fill in his rather abnormally large shoes and do so. he's never been one to love a damsel in distress, but he's always been one to be there for his friends.
he finds her out in the fields, wearing black that almost swallows her whole. he almost rides passed her, his horse moving at a speed that's so slow he's sure arthur's mind works at this pace sometimes. she's beautiful in black, just as she is in any colour, but he doesn't recognise her. her colour is gone; he's used to her lilacs and violets, her royal purples and golds. gwen's strength is what pulls him towards her, and even though it's blanketed in the thickest and possibly heaviest of dark cloths, he can still see it - if he does what arthur never really did and look.
gwaine dismounts his horse and walks slowly towards her. he doesn't wish to spook her, nor overwhelm her with anything he could possibly to do make this go badly - which is anything. gwaine's for dramatic entrances; these quiet moments are more of merlin's. ]
My lady. [ he bends down and picks a flower from the ground. it's not as pretty as the one he gave her in camelot, but he feels the familiar sentiment might be of comfort to her. ] We really must stop meeting like this.
[ it's destiny. ... at least it isn't chicken, okay. ]
this will be incredibly bad and by that i mean flawless / s4 but au bc i haven't seen it
he's abandoned his post in favour of going after gwen at the persistence of her brother - and his own conscious. if lancelot's not going to be man enough for her, gwaine's going to fill in his rather abnormally large shoes and do so. he's never been one to love a damsel in distress, but he's always been one to be there for his friends.
he finds her out in the fields, wearing black that almost swallows her whole. he almost rides passed her, his horse moving at a speed that's so slow he's sure arthur's mind works at this pace sometimes. she's beautiful in black, just as she is in any colour, but he doesn't recognise her. her colour is gone; he's used to her lilacs and violets, her royal purples and golds. gwen's strength is what pulls him towards her, and even though it's blanketed in the thickest and possibly heaviest of dark cloths, he can still see it - if he does what arthur never really did and look.
gwaine dismounts his horse and walks slowly towards her. he doesn't wish to spook her, nor overwhelm her with anything he could possibly to do make this go badly - which is anything. gwaine's for dramatic entrances; these quiet moments are more of merlin's. ]
My lady. [ he bends down and picks a flower from the ground. it's not as pretty as the one he gave her in camelot, but he feels the familiar sentiment might be of comfort to her. ] We really must stop meeting like this.
[ it's destiny. ... at least it isn't chicken, okay. ]