CHECKMATE [ARTHUR PENDRAGON]

Chapter 9: The Beginning of the End

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Merlin, their characters nor their plot. I do however own the Princess Arwyn and Sir Geralt. Their character and story arcs remain my intellectual property.

"Can I..." 

"No." The gruff knight interrupted without bothering to look up from the straps of leather knotted between his calloused fingers.

"You don't even know what I was about to ask." Her arms crossed defiantly over her chest as she turned to face her protector, met only by a single raised brow. The princess sighed. "But I am oh so heartbroken, and it would make me feel so much better." Her nostrils flared lightly as she refrained from stomping her foot like a petulant child; Sir Geralt simply ignored her. This time, with feigned downheartedness, the princess sighed gently. "I suppose you are right." Glancing at the man out of the corner of her eye, she continued - misery lacing her tone. "Do you think we could leave tomorrow? I know that I said I would give it longer, but I am sure that my Father will understand when he sees how devastated I am."

An amused snort erupted from the greying man as he shook his head and finally looked up at the young woman as she stood over him with an expression of false sorrow: "How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Can I...?"

"No."

Her hand clutched her chest as she threw herself into her chair, dramatically, and gasped: "I cannot bear to leave my chambers today. How is a princess to breathe without the love of a prince?"

The warrior looked to the young royal as she feigned death, an earnest chortle exploding from him as she opened one eye to peak at him. Sighing in defeat, as if he ever stood a chance against her, Sir Geralt ordered: "Go and try on your dresses with the Lady Morgana, and I will consider it."

Her dimples grew prominent and her eyes sparked as she grinned in triumph. Leaping from her seat and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek: "You are the best!" Her companion smiled warmly; it had been the happiest that he had seen her since she had argued with the young Pendragon prince. "May you also get rid of these flowers?" The princess asked, gesturing to the abundance of blooms that littered her chambers. A tiny wrinkle appeared between her brows as she stared at them. "They are suffocating me."

"It is the kingdom's way of convincing you to stay. They are showing you that they care for you." As he rationalised, his dark eyes scanned the many vases before he too wrinkled his nose. "Although, they do make me miss the bloodied stench of a battlefield. What shall I do with them?"

"You always talk of the glory of battle, and yet you refrain from the mention of the horrors." Her tone was indecipherable as she stared out of her window. At the thought of the nightmares that he had endured during his time at war, Sir Geralt's expression hardened. His eyes grew darker than the caves in which he and his men had taken refuge. His blood ran colder than the hands of the soldiers that he had cradled in their final moments. Her voice broke him free as it echoed through the room once more: "Lay the flowers on the graves of every fallen soldier. If you have any to spare, deliver them to their remaining family." His face softened. Every so often, the young woman surprised him. She showed compassion toward situations that her young heart had yet to learn to comprehend, and the ageing soldier could not have been prouder of her; for she touched his closed- off heart in ways that he had thought impossible. Noting his expression as she turned to face him, she smiled and headed towards the door. As her hand grazed the cool metal handle and her guardian's moment of contemplation passed, she paused; a calculating smile creeping onto her face. "Except for the ones from Arthur." She continued, allowing the man a little hope that she would rekindle whatever relationship she had left with the prince. However, that optimism was soon quashed. "Take those ones and dump them on the floor of his chambers, water and all."