Father and husband were never words Elena would have used to describe Gwaine.
He was many things to many people: Loyal, fun, strong, impulsive, promiscuous,
drunk, stubborn. He was quick wit, playful words, flirtatious winks, and wide
grins. He was forgotten late nights. He was not the exemplary paternal and
doting father figure, and Elena had never heard him utter a whisper of desire
to have children. The domestic life did not fit him. It was putting a triangle in
a circular entry.
Being coerced into something and deciding upon something on your very own were two entirely different things. Elena came to the agonizing realization as she tossed and turned in her childhood bed. The very thought had lingered within her, growing with each passing day. The persistent annoyance had began days after her eventful trip to the doctor. Elena was pregnant, eight weeks to be exact. Having a child had been the last thing on her mind, and it had successfully blinded-sided her. The fear of having an unplanned child was nearly as great as her anxiety over telling Gwaine. It was for that reason she had ran to her father, crying into his chest like a frightened little girl. Godwyn had listened and held onto his daughter until the incoherent words turned into soft whimpering. His eyes were as determined as his voice when he finally spoke.
"You will not be alone in this. Go rest."
Elena spent the whole of the following day curled up in her old bed, desperately trying to ignore the multitude of calls and texts from Gwaine. She had eaten only ice cream sundaes and stared at the ceiling. Often she found her own fingers skimming over her smooth belly, mindlessly contemplating the little person inside it. Sometimes it was with fear, but sometimes with growing wonder and fondness. Godwyn had only allowed his daughter to have a day of reflection, for the very next morning he had ushered her in the car. Elena wondered if it had been his determination or the absurd amount of times Gwaine had called the estate.
Never had the elevator ride to the flat Gwaine and Elena shared been so terribly long. In contrast, she had blurted the news out as soon she set foot in the door. Remembering the moment, Elena laughed into her pillow. The expression on Gwaine's face had been one of pure shock. He had recovered quickly, however, once he saw the fear and tears in Elena's eyes. He must have set his own insecurities and shock aside, for he spent his entire energy on comforting the blonde. It had been how Godwyn had entered the spacious flat to find his daughter on the ruffian's lap, her head curled into his neck while his arms held her tightly. It had only made the wealthy man more curt with his following words. She could still recall the quiet shouting and restrained anger. Her father had demanded they marry, and Gwaine had not taken to being commanded or how Godwyn simply believed he still had that control over his daughter. It had been an interesting night.
What had been more interesting was the next night, when Elena had found Gwaine staring intently into the night sky, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the balcony rail. She could hardly blame him; she felt the same, but Gwaine had been her strength, her comfort. As quietly as she could, Elena had walked towards him, her arms sliding around his toned waist. She had felt him relax as her lips found the skin under his ear. He hadn't said a word- a rare occurrence on its own. Gwaine merely brought her hand to his own lips as she buried her head in the line of his back.
❝——Alright?❞
❝'Course. You know me.❞
❝Hm. I do...And I think a bug just flew down my shirt.❞ She had felt him shake with quiet laughter. ❝Oi. At least it didn't fly down my throat again!❞
❝Again?❞ He had smiled after turning around, holding her by the waist.
❝I was walking down the pavement, happily eating my candy floss, and bam! Right down my-❞
❝Marry me.❞ He had stopped her mid-rant. The lines around his eyes had disappeared with his smile. In its place was a look of intensity, of sincerity.
❝What? Gwaine, you don't hav-❞
❝Marry Me, El.❞ He had left her no room to argue, his lips moving against hers in an instant.
❝Sure.❞ Elena had barely managed to breathe out after his lips had moved to the curve of her neck. Doubts and protest clearly off her mind.
That had been three weeks ago. Three weeks of lace or chiffon, satin or silk, moonlight white or pearl white, patio or garden. Godwyn had insisted the wedding be held as soon as possible. His grandchild, his future heir, would not be born a bastard. All Elena had done was smile and nod uncomfortably while squeezing Gwaine's hand. It had been a whirlwind.
It had been wildly boring and the couple had been entirely disinterested in and exhausted with the whole thing. Neither had found the difference between ivory white and moonlight white until Elena blew her snot into ivory white. They had mostly joked through the whole process, only serious when it came to the food tasting and to vehemently deny some absurd thing. Doves and carriages passed Arthur's level of pretentiousness, and food was serious business. Gwaine would not allow any tiny, offensive food that he couldn't even pronounce.
After two weeks, they had met each other every day for wedding preparations, but it had felt like they hadn't been with each other. Elena had come to realize that being pregnant was tiring. She would collapse onto their bed as soon as she had walked into their room. Gwaine had taken it upon himself to get the lazy bum he called his girlfriend to slip into her night clothes. Or simply sleep naked, which was the sensible thing to do. The upcoming nuptials had taken a toll on them, and Gwaine was certain Elena shared his sentiments in wanting to get far away from it all. On one particular night that Elena had enough energy to change, he had informed her that they were going to Ireland for a few days.
❝What's in Ireland?❞
❝My mum. And the evil, old toad of my sister.❞ That, and the uncharacteristic shyness in his demeanor were enough to nearly cause Elena to trip over her own trousers. He rarely spoke of his family, and she had never met his mum.
❝Oh, right. Of course! It'll be great...❞ She had mumbled, nerves wracking as she pulled her shirt over her head. She did not know what she would do if Gwaine's mum of all people didn't like her. Gwaine had been too distracted to notice her unease. His eyes had been glued to her form, an odd expression on his features. ❝Gwaine?❞ He had not responded, instead slipping out of the bed, his hands firm as they wrapped around her. She had smiled as she felt the familiar feel of his lips on her collarbone, but he had stopped suddenly- freezing in place. To Elena's surprise, his hands had gently touched the slight curve of her belly. It was the smallest of things. The slightest change only someone who knew her body could see. It had grown. Her belly was starting to grow. She had looked down after seeing the astonishment in his eyes, bashful for once. ❝It's growing.❞ She had murmured, her hands sliding over his. They had not talked about the child. It had been easier to avoid speaking of it than to face it, but Gwaine could hear the softness of her voice, he could see the fondness, he could feel the love radiating off of her. Elena already loved their baby. Their baby. When Elena had told him, he had had no time to properly freak out or let it sink in. In truth, no positive emotions had reached him. But that had been then, that had been before he felt the slight swell of their baby, his baby.
❝Yeah, yeah. It is.❞ He could feel himself choke up. The astonishment, the joy was great in him. Their baby. ❝The three of us will visit mum.❞
Gwaine's childhood home had been a nice, albeit emotional break from the insanity. One that ended entirely too soon. As soon as they had stepped foot into their flat, they had both been pulled and separated by their group of friends. The time for Gwaine's stag night and Elena's hens' night had arrived, and Gwaine was not going to say no to a drink and a lap dance.
It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed it, oh he had, but something had kept nagging at him as naked woman readily made their way to him. There had been something wrong with him. Gwaine had realized that once he had actually said no to a brunette offering him a free body shot. There had been something wrong, and it was blonde, cheerful, quirky, and made all kinds of weird noises and he was bloody in love with her. He was so bloody in love with her that he had rejected all the women. He had been drunk by the time Elyan so greatly informed him that the ladies were also hiring strippers. Gwaine had cut the stag night short then, his finger in the air as he proclaimed that the only bloke shaking his arse in his Elena's face was him.
❝My baby's in there!❞ He had responded in the packed car as Mordred pointed out the double standard. In their drunk minds it had made sense.
And then they arrived to the flat.
Gwaine had been absolutely repulsed by the amount of blokes in thongs prancing around his flat. There were two to be exact, and one was all over his Elena and his baby. The bloke had had the decency to put his football shorts back on in front of Elena. He hadn't been sure of what was happening, but he didn't like it. They were laughing. She was laughing. Her head had been thrown back and she had been laughing in the way only Gwaine could provoke. He had stumbled towards the shirtless bloke, shoving him away.
❝Gwaine!❞ Elena had yelled beside him, standing up from the couch. ❝What are you doing?❞
❝Me? That's the bloke that shaking his thrill drill in front of you. In front of my baby! Only I can do that!❞
❝It's my hens' night! He's not even doing anything, and you're supposed to be at the-❞ She tried to motion and shape a stripper pole with her hands. ❝And that was rude! He is my new friend! Come on Andrew!❞ That had been all she said before storming off to the kitchen, half-naked stripper bloke in tow.
❝What the feck just happened?❞
❝It was amazing. He was in the middle of a lap dance, dressed in the Manchester uniform, when Elena whispered that she was going to pretend he was Carrick holding the cup. Then they started talking while he was giving her a lap dance, then they were just talking.❞ Morgana had actually been surprised, and Gwaine had disliked Andrew every since.
The three weeks seemed like a lifetime ago as she sat up in her bed. It was early, much too early. The sun had yet to rise, and the lush fields surrounding the estate could not be seen from the window. It was the day of her wedding, but Elena could not sleep. The persistent annoyance had turned into a fear. One rooted deep within her. One that was beginning to paralyze her. Elena had to see him. She had to see Gwaine.
It was not easy to navigate through the house in the dark. Even with her knowledge of every creak and wall she had arrived to the largest, oldest oak tree with a number of bruises. She shook in place, the cold morning air as strong as her fear. Elena had messaged Gwaine, calling once she did not get a reply. His groggy voice had agreed as soon as he heard the tone of her voice.
Elena had waited impatiently. Even the beautiful view of her childhood home could not calm her. What did soothe her was the shape of Gwaine's form walking through the fog. He had taken his jacket off to drape it across her slender shoulders just as she threw herself into his arms. He was always warm. There was no time to scold, however. Elena's lips were instantly on his, hungrily moving against his. She realized why her fears had been so strong. She didn't want to lose him.
❝If you wanted to do this we could have stayed inside.❞ His deep voice trembled against her lips, his smile causing the slightest of movement away from him. She didn't laugh. Gwaine's browns furrowed at the wideness of her emerald eyes, the frown of her wonderful lips. ❝Hey. What's wrong?❞ His rough fingers tilted her chin upwards. Elena had never been good at hiding things.
❝If you don't want to-You don't have to do this. You don't have to marry me if you don't want to. You don't. What my father says doesn't matter and you don't have to. We can stay like this.❞
It had all poured out of her in a jumbled string of words. Gwaine would have laughed if her words hadn't ached. How long had she been agonizing over it? How could she possibly think that? In part, it made him angry. She was truly oblivious sometimes.
❝Elena. Listen to me. I love you, and you know that's not an easy thing for me to say to you. But I do. I'm not doing this because your blo- father told us to. I'm not doing this simply because you're pregnant. We're not children. I'm doing this because I want to. I'm doing this because I want you. Alright?❞
She could not respond, but the sweet smile on her features told it all. She pressed her lips against his once again, but it was the entire opposite of the first. It was gentle, quick before her head nuzzled against his neck.
❝Yeah. I love you.❞ He could barely hear her faint whisper against his skin, but it made him smile in a way only Elena could cause.
❝I know.❞
Morning had come with an intensity. The sunshine was as plentiful as the fog had been that very morning. Elena had been awakened with the perfect smell of pancakes and the sounds of ❝You're getting married today!❞ It had been a matter of minutes before she was ushered into a chair, and all these women poured into her bedroom.
It had taken much longer to get the bride to be ready. It was no wonder the had waken her early for the afternoon ceremony. A woman with all kinds of odd makeup tools had worked on her for ages. While Elena had feared her request for the natural look was going to be ignored, she had been pleasantly wrong. Once she looked in the mirror she could see herself, but she was different. She was beautiful. She was glowing. Her eyes were bright and as green as emeralds while her hair shone in a perfectly messy updo. Her dress looked even more beautiful than she remembered. The weight of the day was finally getting to her. She had been agonizing over the marriage, and forgotten about the wedding.
❝I'm getting married.❞ She must have said half a million times, but every time she said it, it became more real. She was going to marry Gwaine. She loved him and she was going to marry him. Her realization quickly turned into giddiness.
The Godwyn estate had been transformed for the day. Flowers lined every inch, as fine white fabric hung from the ceiling and trees. Godwyn had spared no expense for his only daughters wedding. The man himself was dressed in a fine black suit and tie. Her father had come to find her once the time had come. He had stopped in the doorway, tears collecting in his eyes as he took in the sight of his daughter.
❝Father?❞ Elena rushed to him, wiping at his eyes with her veil. He took her hands into his, placing a kiss atop her forehead.
❝You look beautiful. So much like your mother. She would have loved to see you like this.❞ His words brought a sad smile to the bride's features. She would have loved to have her mother there. Her father would not have been left alone then.
❝I love you, father.❞ She had whispered, kissing his cheek.
❝And I love you. Come now. That man is waiting.❞
❝Don't let me fall.❞
❝I never have.❞
Elena had never been so nervous walking to her old backyard.
Gwaine remembered the first time Elena had taken him to her father’s estate. Dew still clung to grass and the stable-hand had just let the horses out of their stables, free to graze or run as they pleased.
And run they did.
It started with one, trotting around the vast field, and others followed. The heavy thud of their hooves grew louder and faster as the beasts picked up speed. It was a sound that Gwaine could hear in his bones, in his rib cage, as he’d stared wordlessly.
And still, the thundering of those hooves didn’t even compare to the pounding of his heart today. Gwaine wiped his palms on the back of his trousers, swallowed. Hoped the rows of people seated in front of him didn’t notice. For weeks now, the jokes had gone around. Jokes about cold feet and bets made by his wanker friends about how much time would be left to the wedding before Gwaine tucked tail and ran.
Gwaine didn’t understand the phrase ‘cold feet’. His feet weren’t cold. Far from it, they burned. They burned with pins and needles and the feeling that he needed to r u n to work out all this extra energy. That, coupled with the constriction of a fully-buttoned shirt and the stares of his friends and family and people he hadn’t even met, Gwaine almost did run. Almost.
The music came on, and thoughts of the horses came back to the fore.
But then Elena appeared and Gwaine wasn’t thinking of anything at all. Nothing except for the way she looked, eyes flitting across the rows of seats before finally finding him. The way her beautiful face split into a grin at the sight of him, and he found himself smiling in return without thinking about it. Suddenly, the energy coursing through his body wasn’t telling him to run away but to run to her.
It was eons before she was finally stood in front of him, grinning, uncharacteristically bashful, absolutely stunning. “Hey,” he couldn’t help but whisper, in the brief moment of silence that followed. The words of the minister barely registered. With Elena in front of him, all thoughts of cold feet or hot feet or feet, in general, fled him. He almost would have missed the cue for his vows if Mordred, Arthur and Merlin hadn’t coughed—simultaneously.
It didn’t matter that he’d spent weeks upon weeks in agony over finding the perfect words to say. It didn’t matter how many hours he’d spent practicing the bloody thing; it all sounded too little now. Too rehearsed. Again, he swallowed. Licked his lips.
"Hi," he began, then winced. Stupid. “This is hard for me, you know that. I’m good at talking about how clear the beaches are in the Bahamas and the best places to eat in Thailand and ranking the ski resorts in Sweden. But things like this—” he gestured to the both of them, shook his head. “Not unless I’m drunk. And the wan—idiots—back here wouldn’t let me drink.” Gwaine cast a glance toward Godwyn. It probably wouldn’t do to call his groomsmen wankers in front of his almost-father-in-law.
"What I’m trying to say is: this doesn’t come easy for me. None of this does. The marriage, the family…" his eyes dropped to El’s stomach; she wasn’t even showing yet. "All this domesticity nonsense. But, El, you…you make me want to try." There was so much more he wanted to say. So much more he needed her to know. Like the fact that he’d never wanted to be with one person for the rest of his life until he knew what waking up next to her was like. That making her laugh was one of the best feelings in the world, only second to the feeling of knowing no matter how stupid, hard-headed, hot-tempered he may be, he had her love. He needed to say all this and more, but only to her. These were words that required hushed voices, entangled limbs, lips against skin. He would tell her later, when all the friends, family, strangers had left. For now he only took Elena’s hands in his. It was best that he stop talking now anyway, from the telltale stinging behind his eyes.
"I love you, Elena Godwyn. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And if some day I ever forget that, you have my express permission to beat it back into me."
Elena had laughed, using the side of her veil to wipe at the nervous, happy tears. Her hand returned to his in an instant. She didn't want to let go of it. She had listened to him until she could only smile, wanting nothing more than to kiss him, to show him what she felt for him. Instead, she took the take-out flyer Mithian was handing her, placing it in front of her face.
"Hi." She started, laughing slightly with Gwaine before turning towards the crowd of people. "Hi... Gwaine, I never thought about being with you. It just happened. We just happened. I realized I sort of wanted to push every girl you brought home off the roof and I think you felt the same and now we're here... And I love how warm you are and how you laugh. I love how funny you are. I love how daft you are in the mornings and how angry you get when you can't fix things. I love your face and your-Hm. I shouldn't say that. No. Well...I-Um, I love how you make me feel and how you are." I love you. She mouthed the three simple words.
Elena had not let the minister finish his sentence. She had jumped onto her husband, throwing her arms around Gwaine's neck, kissing him. Not one to be out done, Gwaine took his wife into his arms, dipping her until she was mere centimeters from the ground as their friends and family cheered and laughed behind them.
~
"When my head is strong, but my heart is weak,
I'm full of arrogance and uncertainty
When I can't find the words, you teach my heart to speak,
You make it real for me"
The music drummed through the ballroom, encompassing the couple in its words. They hadn't taken dance classes. They hadn't choreographed a big dance number. They hadn't chosen a typical song. Gwaine and Elena had swayed in the middle of the room, his forehead against hers, her feet on top of his. He mouthed some words along with the song, stopping ever so often to kiss or drip her. It wasn't until the end of the song, after he had dipped her one final time, placing a kiss on her neck that he spoke. "Mrs. Blake."
~
It had been a lot more than either could have ever hope for, but Gwaine realized soon enough that an open bar had quite the effect. Though what he didn't expect was the little time he had spent with his new wife. Since their first dance he had only gotten glimpses of his bride. Apparently, he and Elena had plenty of distant family members and wankers of friends that knew exactly what they were doing. Two songs ago he had seen Elena and Merlin doing the robot in the middle of the dance floor to swing music. He could barely contain his laughter in front of Elena's great aunt.
Gwaine had walked by the rather uncomfortable conversation between Godwyn and Arthur. There was no question why Uther Pendragon hadn't attended, and there was no doubt Arthur's arse of a dad hated Gwaine even more. The thought made him smile as he continued his search for Elena. He passed Merlin who was laughing hysterically with Lancelot, Gwen, and some old lady that looked absolutely scandalized. Merlin really couldn't handle his cups, and it was hilarious. His brothers were scattered around the room, but he saw Arthur laugh with Elena's father before walking towards Elyan. His mum was happily going through her camer while Fiona was shamelessly flirting with some bloke.
Gwaine finally found Elena, or parts of Elena, once he saw her toes sticking out from under the table. They were wiggling along to the beat of the music. She grinned at the sight of him, letting her head fall back onto his shoulders. "We're tired." She had said with a pat of her stomach. Gwaine smiled into her neck, placing his hand over the curve of her stomach. Her hair was already spilling out, and even in the dim lighting he could see the various stains on her dress. She was bloody perfect. "I'm happy." She murmured, with all the sincerity in the world. The sincerity and simpleness of her voice leaves him quiet for a moment. He smiled, realizing it as well. He was completely besotted with his wife, and he couldn't wait to meet their kid.
"Oh sure, now they keep their hands in the upper regions!"
tavernking replied to your post: Well I HAD plans to take a trip. But w...
Oh my frick, I’m so glad you’re safe. Go step papa!
Me too! And thanks :D
Yes @_@ I was all AIEEEEEE and he was all 'oh look the tire blew.' THEN he tried to inch along to get me there and I was all 'nooooooo we gotta change it augh'
Send me "Come and Dance" for my muses reaction to yours taking their hands and pulling them onto the dance floor.
Perched behind the pillar adjacent to the entrance, Elena had a grand view of the banquet room. Flowers lined every crevice of the perfectly sculpted pillars, flowers in bloom throughout the grand room. They even decorated the feasting tables. There were more flowers than in Brom’s garden. Nobles filled the seats and dance floor alike, skirts and capes swirling behind them in a rhythmic motion. That night, they were merry, and the strong smell of ale stung her nose as strong as Borin’s red beard did. The king had always been fond of his drink, and all had been made perfect for Queen Annis’ visit. Elena could see the old queen fervently whisper something in her daughter’s ear.
Rarely did the stables hand attend such balls. In fact, she never had. She had always taken them as an opportunity to relish the empty stables. Often they were more than occupied, but during grand banquets like the one held that night, the people flocked to the castle. Well, the first few times she was old enough to attend, and when their King had returned, that had been the case. Elena refused to acknowledge the true reason she always stayed behind, watching the shadows dance and hearing the muted music. She had to wait for him, for her king, for Gwaine. He had a habit of slipping out of the great hall and his lengthy cloak. He would always drape it over the saddle hook, his eyes scanning the length of the stars. If she was daft enough she would even think he was waiting, and she would say she would never make him wait long. She was always there, ready to hear whatever it was he had to say. Perhaps it was the ale, or the suffocation of so many people, but he always spoke with a free tongue, and she always listened- offering laughter at odd times and words that would ease the lines etched into his forehead, deepening the ones along his smile.
That night was different, however. Alys the barmaid has forced her inside the tavern, armed with potions and tonics that would make her hair smooth and her neck smell of lilacs. It was too bloody sweet in her opinion. Alys had even let her borrow such a nice dress. It seemed like a rag compared to the one the princess was wearing, but it was much nicer than anything she had ever worn. Elena had even washed her feet. She felt like a complete idiot. There she was, hiding behind a pillar looking absolutely ridiculous when she should be waiting for her king.
He did not make her wait.
Gwaine’s warm, brown eyes had glanced in her direction, only a fleeting look before his features contorted to that of astonishment, then happiness. He had rushed to her, ignoring all the hands and words in his direction, their only replies the dust behind is cloak.
❝Come and dance.❞ He had said, with that smile of his. Elena merely looked at him with contempt.
❝You’ve gone mad.❞
❝You dare call your king mad?❞
❝I call him a right idiot.❞
He could never keep it up for long, and neither could she, his smile broke through the facade quickly, his hand still outstretched. ❝Please?❞ His tone was so very hopeful and sincere as he plucked a piece of hay from her smoothed hair that she couldn’t dare say no, even if she could not dance. Her feet had been made to ride, not dance. Taking a breath, she put her hand in his, not relishing in the new silence overtaking the room or the stares filled with disdain. It was enough to make her want to run to the stables, but then his hand had landed on her waist and his lips were right next to her ear. All the people of the five kingdoms couldn’t move her then.
❝You wore shoes.❞ He murmured, quite astonished. She only snorted in reply, too occupied watching her troublesome feet. ❝Elena. Stop. I will not let you fall.❞
❝They would certainly like that.❞
❝What do they matter?❞
❝You need them.❞
❝Who?❞
❝Them, with all their gold and swords and allegiance.❞ Elena insisted. The king did not miss the heated glance towards the shocked princess. Elena had always been so obvious.
❝I’m not marrying. I just thought I’d tell you that.❞
❝Ah. I take it the ride did not go well?❞ The grin she was trying to hide revealed exactly who had given the princess a wild, untamable horse. But he could not scold her, not her. Gwaine had actually been quite happy the princess had gotten to angry. They would have insisted on him making an offer.
❝Somewhat, but there is another problem… I much prefer blondes with hay in their hair.❞ He said, his voice low in her ear. She could not stop the foolish, giddy laughter.
❝You’re drunk, aren’t you? Just don’t let me fall, your highness.❞
