Writings of Elsewhere...

Mini Challenges and Mini Table Fics {Drabbles of 500 Words or Less}

2022-06-29T16:50:21Z

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Mini Story Table Fic/Drabbles

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{My Drabbles: 500 Words or Less}

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Mini Challenges and Mini Table Fics {Drabbles of 500 Words or Less}

2018-06-29T17:02:03Z

Drabble Masterlist

{My Drabbles: 500 Words or Less}

Golden Days of Yore 2

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Mini Challenges and Mini Table Fics {Drabbles of 500 Words or Less}

2018-06-04T16:56:08Z

Drabble Masterlist

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Love Woven Through Two Territories

2013-09-03T06:40:50Z

***

After Merlin’s help with his armor, Arthur did attend knight training, informing Leon that he would take his place that day. The elder knight gratefully and respectfully moved aside. It was good to see the prince attending to his duty more, especially with the possible trouble brewing from Isgard.

First moments of it, a full session, not just a half, Arthur was still a bit rusty, and a few of the bolder knights seemed to want to challenge, but soon everything was back into place, Arthur proving why he often was called a fighting machine.

In secret, many hours later, within chambers, Arthur let out groans of soreness, his muscles worked so much more diligently than they had been in a long time. The room also quite chilled from winter’s continued early push, didn’t help matters. So it was up to Gwen to be of assistance after Merlin got him out of his armor. She stoked the fire until it flamed nicely in the hearth and sat down beside her husband on the bed, hearing his grunts. “Sore?” She asked with a hint of a sympathetic smile, getting Arthur to nod his head.

“Yeah.” He lifted his arm, grunting some more. “Oh.”

The training activities had been a thrill for Gwen to watch. She had noticed how often her husband would show his prowess and smile at her, getting the few maiden ladies also in attendance to watch with interest. She’d smile back properly, but with tingles of excitement. It made her gratified to see him act in such a lively invested way.

Now as his soreness continued, getting him to moan, she moved in front, untying his tunic’s laces.

Feeling her fingers fumble some, before they found their adeptness at the intimate task, Arthur stared. “Guine-

She cut him off, pressing her fingers against his chest. “Wifely duties.” Then she lifted away his tunic, pulling it over his head of sweating golden blonde hair, watching the dank strands go askew. With a smile she pushed them back down and sat behind him, grasping his bare shoulders with her small hands.

It took merely moments for Arthur to be leaning against her, sighing heavily. “Oh.”

“Feels good?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

Although Arthur sometimes slept without his tunic, this was the first time she touched so intimately his revealed skin. It felt tight, muscles of tendon and sinew ripe under her fingers. She kept up the conversation to not think about his appealing physique too heavily. “It probably was a bit taxing today. So many hours. Just one session. And that is why I’m so proud of you Arthur. Taking your lead today. Twice. Respectfully with your mother, and authoritatively with your men. It was a sight to see.”

He whispered back, as her fingers kneaded his shoulders and a bit lower. “You were watching then? I was pretty sure of it. Caught your eye a few times. But then you’d look away or I’d have to. Wasn’t totally certain.”

Gwen smiled. “Of course I was. Caught your eye too and that mischievous smirk of yours. I’ve always loved watching knight training actually. Used to spend hours observing my father and Lance-

The second name was out of her mouth before she could cut it off, but it didn’t feel as heavy as it would have months ago.

“Hmmm?”

Gwen gave no answer right away so Arthur turned back now; she could see his blue eyes so close, their gentle flicker of beryl fire studying her intently, while his breath blew somewhat chilled air over her cheek. Always a bit cold her husband, and yet it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, because the warmth was in his eyes. She imagined if she wanted she could warm up that mouth too.

Oh, what was she thinking? Gwen babbled now to pretend her thoughts hadn’t gone so wayward. “Lancelot. The man I was…sort of with in Tirmaiur. I used to watch him too.”

Suddenly Arthur was filled with conflicting feeling, wanting to know everything about Lancelot, and also wanting to pretend the man didn’t exist. “What do you mean sort of?”

Gwen’s hands had earlier been on her husband’s shoulders and back, but with him presently turned they were fallen a little down to his chest. She could feel one reaching a sensitive spot before she lifted it up quickly. “Well, he had stronger feelings for me than I for him.”

“Not so strange, a man’s strength of feelings for you.” Arthur murmured, concentrating upon his wife’s face, getting in a tiny little glimpse of her womanly constitution. “You’re a very good lure.”

Gwen blushed some, her head falling, but Arthur’s hands caught at hers, and one edged along her chin, getting her to look up at him. “We haven’t really talked about it in depth. I didn’t give you reason to. Were you intimate with him? In…well…”

Nothing more needed to be said. Arthur’s tone held strong innuendo and Gwen understood quite quickly what he meant. She shook her head vigorously. “No. Not at all. I’m a princess, Arthur. I always knew that I’d be betrothed some day. Such intimate relations, I would have been required to tell my husband of and that may have not made me look so favorable.”

Arthur sighed, knowing what his wife meant. It was sort of a double standard really. By medieval expectations, a husband could take whatever woman he wanted as long as the throne was kept intact and the relations were in private. A woman however could be considered many ugly things if she cheated upon her husband. Oh it happened of course, but women like that were often marked in vile ways. And if it happened before marriage they could even be considered ‘less valuable’.

It wasn’t something Arthur totally agreed with. “It would have been alright if you had. Well I may have been a little jealous. But it would make you no less honorable really. With what I’d been up to I don’t think I’d have the right to judge anyway.”

Gwen shook her head, admitting, “It never really came to that honestly. It was intimate at times, but never to that degree. Still, he’s a good man, and I wish our parting didn’t have to be so…bitter.”

Arthur turned his eyes to the ceiling. “I know. It was just as bitter, if not more-so with Elaine.”

“So you regret it, ending what you had with her?”

Adamantly Arthur shook his head, his hand grazing along his wife’s waist. “No. I actually feel freer now. I didn’t like being in hiding.”

Gwen wondered about his answer for a few moments, before returning her attentions to her husband’s back and shoulders, getting him to turn again so she could continue the massage. “Well, as I was saying, I enjoyed it, the training. When I saw you today, talking to that knight who was trying to resist you at first, how you showed him your sword and quietly, yet efficiently, without being boastful, without being hurtful, proved you were the leader, I liked that very much. And I could see the men’s respect for you then. You were such a leader.”

Arthur chuckled softly. “That man you speak of was Gwaine. He’s actually been a friend for many years, but when I stopped training as much it added some prickles to our friendship. It felt really good today, you know, better than I realized it would. I’m just still a bit surprised it interested you so much. Not all women react the way you do.”

Every word he spoke of his gratification at having her watch put Gwen at added ease. She couldn’t help it if she wanted to, emotions so languid and free now. Her hands slid away from Arthur’s back of their own accord, and rounded over his arms, finding a spot upon his naked chest to rest themselves upon. His skin was actually quite warmer now, massaged and cared for.

Arthur caught his breath at the surprise contact. While his body was often more chilled, hers was always the opposite, and the way she was touching him, well, it was more than just pleasant, heating up any leftover fragments of cold within him.

He confessed further, “Elaine especially never cared to watch. She would do what she could to get me away from it.” As Gwen said nothing in response, Arthur peered down at one of her small hands, catching how it lay gently over his heart, feeling the contact bringing the beat up. He lifted it up slowly to his lips, and pressed down with his mouth for a quick kiss. “I’m glad you see it differently.” He murmured softly.

“Mmmm…” Gwen’s eyes were closed now, her body and mind so relaxed. Arthur shifted his head to feel those ringlets of curls against his skin. Spontaneously he stated it. “I want to go with you tomorrow to do the rounds. Make sure none of what was going on today is happening anymore.”

“Mmm…” Gwen murmured again, his contact so alluring and his words her greatest turn-on. “I would enjoy that very much my husband.” Maybe Merlin was right. Being so physically close to Arthur, now in such a private way, concealed within their shared chambers, most definitely felt…delicious. It was like practical sense flew out the window, replaced by this lazy pleasure.

Arthur was feeling much the same, that little hypnotic lure not wanting to let him go, as he didn’t want to let her go at this precise moment. Let them hold still like this. So warm. So right. Smiling with eyes half closed, he kept hold of her hand, loosely, howbeit with slow strokes from his fingers. His mind had no control over them. It was all feeling.

“Good, my wife.” He said more intimately than he ever had.

Relishing that word for the first time really.

Wife.

No. Two words.

My wife.

***

Another kingdom.

The head rolled off the platform getting the crowds of people to either scream in horror or clap in macabre joy.

A knight of Bayard’s forces now for over sixteen months, he moved carefully through the chaos. There were people fleeing and others rushing to thank Bayard. No doubt they didn’t want their head to roll off a platform too, as had been done to their now fallen dead king. He looked away with disgust as one of the knights raised it up into the air, swinging the object like it was a ball. Only the strands of bloodied hair proved it was no ball at all.

The knight advanced to a trail of tents at the edge of the conquered kingdom, stopping at the flap of one. It looked most like the others, wind torn, dull of shade, but this one too had something of secret marking it distinctly so that the knight knew for sure it was the right one. He stepped through the flap without hesitation, hearing a shrill voice come from the rear,

“Read your fortune handsome knight? Luck and good woman come to ye for sure.”

The knight carefully removed his helmet of war that disguised his mask of face, sitting down at the rickety table, and extending a tiny, but remarkable coat of arms. “The fortune of a kingdom is more of what I’m interested in, fortune teller.”

“Yes.” The person, dressed in a midnight blue colored cloak, moved forward with an elderly limp toward the table. Pulling back on the cloak’s hood just a bit, revealed a wizened womanly face, wrinkles so cut into the skin, they seemed like permanent markings since birth.

The knight let out a whistle, whispering covertly, “Elena did a good job. She’s always shown expertise with the makeup, but this, she’s outdone herself.”

“I look hideous. I know.” The elderly woman complained in a much gruffer voice now. “Even altered my vocal chords nearly perfectly with some awful concoction she made me drink. But it was necessary. If they found out who I truly am, everything would be ruined.”

Shuffling around, with a bit more of a stronger gait now, the woman came back with a rusted kettle. As she poured a drink into two iron cups, bits of her straggly white hair escaped the cloak.

“I need to get back soon. No doubt Bayard, after he’s done with his head-rolling festivities, will want to get his fortune done too, and then it might get a little precarious me being here. Since as you know, in the past, I’ve personally gone against Bayard before.”

The knight shook his head wryly, grimacing some at the sour taste of the drink. Probably had to do with the poor condition of the cup. Ah, wartime and what it meant to the condition of anything. His stomach might be complaining tonight. Better take it slow on the drink. He put the cup down. “Yeah, could have done us all a favor by just doing him in then.”

The elderly woman laughed, it coming out like a shrill cackle. “It was over five years ago, need I remind you, and it was a silly little battle about bandits and cattle. How was I to know then he was going to become the man to snatch up five kingdoms in a row within about a year’s time?”

“Baffles the mind.” The knight stated with incredulity. “He can’t even keep his own council in order. When they meet it’s like a tavern’s brawl, but now he’s managed to cut down five kings. Fie.”

“Okay.” The elderly woman drank shortly from her cup with a little less disgust. She was probably used to the acidic taste.

She put her gnarled hands down upon the table, drawing a sort of imaginary map. “From here to there. About a year’s time as I said, give or take. Newest is Chenary. Look at the distance from the first to the third especially. So great. And yet Bayard’s brain, we agree, is so feeble. Someone within is in on this for certain. Not even the keenest mind could do all this alone.”

“Well we’ve agreed on that since practically the start of all the kingdom conquering, but it’s gotten us no closer to an answer of who it is. Thing is this. Chenary is now lost, and all those foolish enough to be celebrating it with their new king will soon be fleeing for their lives. He works his people like animals. Not so nimble of mind, he still is a man of plain cruelty, a barbarian really. I’ve watched so many die since taking position in his guard. It’s made me even more incensed to learn how he’s doing it.”

The elderly tarot reader nodded her head, as outside continued the wails and shouts of a kingdom in total chaos. “Who’s next on the list?”

The knight grimaced. “Wish I knew for sure.” He wiped at his mouth with his finger after taking another quick drink. “Bayard hasn’t whispered a word, not even to his knighthood. He has little mind, but whoever it is on the inside is good at keeping him mum. All I know are the rumors and the name that keeps coming up, Isgard. Bayard seems to always start the conquering during a vulnerable point for each kingdom. A crack in an alliance and he’s there to open it up further and destroy. Within the Northern kingdoms’ alliance, it is Isgard who has been stirring up the most trouble. So yeah, my gold is upon Isgard. After that, could be wrong, but I have a feeling it will be Ascetir. They’re small and don’t have as much of an ocean border as prodigious kingdoms like Camelot.”

“What about Tirmaiur?” The elderly woman asked with the tiniest hitch of emotion.

“The knight looked miserable for a second, putting his head into his hands. “I don’t know for certain. I know he wants it, but something’s stopping him from getting to it yet. I’m guessing it’ll be the eighth.”

“Of course something’s stopping him. Tirmaiur is not the easiest territory to travel to, you and I both know, but beyond that, I have to grudgingly admit, is the strength of Camelot’s assistance.”

“Don’t be so sure. One rumor has it that Camelot too is on his list.”

“You can’t be serious! Any kingdom that has foolishly gone up against Camelot, I have to say, has lost with shame. Their guard is in the highest of numbers, impenetrable. I’ve seen how impressive they are at guarding Tirmaiur, keeping away the bandits and anything else that wants to get through. Attempting the conquest of Camelot would be like trying to crush a stone wall with a garden shovel.”

There was a shrill shriek and manic laughter from outside the tent, getting the knight to gesture dryly, “They’re rolling the head of the former king of Chenary around on the ground. Like it’s a toy That’s proof of what he can do. And don’t forget. Just five years ago in battle Camelot’s king was killed, hence the queen having to take over. Camelot is strong, but nothing is so stalwart that it’s unbreakable.”

The elderly woman ran gnarled fingers through her white hair tensely. “Which doesn’t bode well for Tirmaiur of course then. Such a fierce guard always to believe in, have sworn to it with my life, but the low numbers available now show the weakness. If Camelot with its big numbers cannot stop Bayard then that’s like saying nothing can stop him. We’re all doomed.”

The knight asked cautiously, “So we give up? Just surrender to Mercia?”

The elderly woman looked so aged now, her head down, before she lifted it with fierce, and oddly enough, young determination. “Never.”

The knight smiled. “That’s how I want to hear you talking.”

“You didn’t really think I was giving up, did you?” The elderly woman asked wryly. “Know me so little?”

The knight laughed. “Of course not. Just wanted to hear you state the contrary.”

They said nothing more for a handful of moments, sharing a look of conviction, and then the knight approached the topic carefully. “So…She married him. Another rumor spread around, but I’m guessing it’s true since it was talked about before I left on this…er…escapade.”

“No rumor. It’s true.” The elderly woman’s voice showed that crack of emotion again. “I feigned being furious with her before she left.”

“So you agree that it was the only choice then to safeguard Tirmaiur?”

“Of course. I don’t like it any more than you probably do, but with Camelot’s assistance, Tirmaiur is stronger. No matter how determined Bayard is, and even if you’re right and he can get through all the defenses because of who is helping him within, he’s for certain not to have an easy time of it. Won’t be like these first five. He should prepare for a struggle because Tirmaiur ,and Camelot too I’m betting, won’t go down without a fight to the death.”

The knight got up now, his fist tightening with inward battle. “It was over a year ago I left. Made my sister believe I was nothing more than a lost cause. Made all of Tirmaiur believe it. So that I’d be what Bayard wanted. Get accepted into his knighthood with my disguise of identity thanks to Elena. But look now. Five kingdoms lost. Tirmaiur in such potential peril that this alliance with Camelot had to be done. My sister having to marry a complete stranger. No choice of her own. I’m a failure to this point.”

The old woman stood up too, reaching out for the knight’s shoulder. This had to be one of the hardest tasks, leaving your homeland, never coming back for even a visit, while pretending to be someone you are not, fighting for a man you truly despised all to get the insider information.

“If he’s an unsavory man, this Camelot prince she married, he’ll have to deal with me, alright? No one expected you to get this done right away. We didn’t even know if it would work, getting Bayard’s forces to accept you into their knighthood. Thankfully it did, and so let’s concentrate on what matters. There’s been nothing, you’re sure of it? Nothing at all that could give us a clue to who Bayard is working with?”

The knight’s expression grew studious for a moment. “Well there is one thing. But I have no idea what it means. Bayard had a visitor. Nothing new. He’s always having different sorts who I can’t even catch a glimmer of. But something did happen after this one’s visit. Noticed it before the castle workers came by to clean up. A slip of paper was dropped. It’s ripped and messy, ink faded, but well, here, see if you notice something.”

The elderly woman took the ripped parchment, reading what was legible. “Ni---acquire. The Sp---Ug. Crush----Bl---dry.”

Her puzzled look got the knight to nod his head. “Yeah. Same as I thought. A riddle of no sense.” He started to pocket it away, but then the elderly woman reached for it, whispering, “Freya, she might be able to make something of it. Let me take it to her.”

“That’s just a game she and my sister have always played.” The knight complained.

The elderly woman was insistent though. “You never know. Can’t hurt.”

“Alright.” The knight let the elderly woman take the ripped parchment. They were about to say more when the tent flap was given a knocking to, and someone soon entered. The man, also in Mercia knight gear, but more messily, made his way to the other knight with a gruff bellow, his physique like that of a buffalo. Impressively frightening. “Oh, should have known it was you, Rulf! Always taking up the time of others. Well get, because I want a fortune reading too-

The elderly woman interrupted smoothly, her voice rising high now. “Listen here. You get back outside or you won’t like your fortune much, will you my Dear? This knight still has a few moments, and those should be in private. I’ll be telling ye your fortune in moment’s time. Wait till his departure and then you can come in and hear your future.” She stepped forward, touching his shoulder while keeping her own hunched to disguise true height. “No doubt it’ll be a good one. Have a sense about you.”

The man grinned at that, slapping Rulf on the shoulder so hard he had to fight to keep from stepping forward. The two of them waited until finally the buffalo knight was gone before speaking again.

“You’re right. An early exit from here is the best. Be smart, close up camp so you’re out of here before morning’s light.”

“That was the plan.” The elderly woman responded dryly, muttering how the buffalo man reminded her of Percival, just as big as him. And then, “Alright, get out of here. Before he knocks the tent over with his impatience.”

The knight smiled, putting on his helmet. The elderly woman took a look at the tent flap, seeing that it was closed all the way, and whispered fast against the knight’s ear. “Be cautious Elyan. See you at the next rendezvous. Rulf? Sounds like my dog back in Tirmaiur.”

The knight responded the same, in hushed tones so even if someone did try to listen outside, although the tent flap was good and thick, they wouldn’t hear a word. “Same with you Lancelot. Be watchful. Hope I have more to tell soon. Hey! It was the best I could come up with on short notice.”

And with that the knight, in truth, Prince Elyan of Tirmaiur, left the elderly woman to her own, who was no woman at all, but in truth Sir Lancelot of Tirmaiur, and a man who was in love with the king’s daughter. He slipped it out once more, the ripped parchment, thinking that, yes, if anyone other than Gwen could piece it together, it would be Freya for sure.

“That new husband of yours I hope is wise enough to be treating you right Gwen. Or he’ll have me to confer with.” He whispered softly, before pushing the paper back into his pocket and raising his voice with an elderly woman’s cackle. Elyan’s knight friend was impatiently waiting. “Come in Dear…Fortunes to be told! Great luck I see in your future!”

Great luck. Let it extend to Tirmaiur. Let that parchment mean something of value before another kingdom’s demise.

***

To be continued…

AN: What can I say about the delay, but I got sidetracked and when the muse came back in full I still had to make sure this chapter flowed well, and plan out in my head the story's continuation in stronger detail.

So with that done, I hope to get up the next chapter much more quickly. Hope27's inspiring images will be finding their way into the story shortly. We're getting to a very dramatic and relationship building point for Arthur, Guinevere etc...

Thanks so much for reading and being patient with me. As always feedback is adored. A good one to you my friends. :)

Love Woven Through Two Territories

2013-09-03T06:32:37Z

*Made by hope27*

Title: Love Woven Through Two Territories
Rating: PG13, may border on R later
Art: beautiful inspiration artwork: hope27 // beautiful award banner: ella_rose88

Author's Note Story liner notes with first part// Note that the story is moving slower than it originally did because I'm filling in the gaps that I felt were left open too much when I first posted this. As much as I enjoyed writing the original, I felt there were holes in my rush to get it up {I'm almost always rushing when I do challenge fic, lol}. Here I get to patch them up. Thank you so much for all your inspiring reviews.

***

Love Woven Through Two Territories

*Made by ella_rose88*

Part Five: Secrets of Honorable Hearts & Malicious Minds

Winter’s first urging prevented much light to crack through the curtains. All the same, Gwen barely felt a chill.

Sometime during the night her husband had shifted in closer, his pale tunic-covered chest inching against her shoulders. Pulling away some now, she studied his slumbering face.

When her father had requested she marry the future king of Camelot, Gwen obeyed in mind and body, but resisted in heart. Meeting Arthur only made things worse. Handsome, and gentle of touch, he also had such lazy arrogance.

In recent days Gwen had come to the conclusion that it was primarily an act. Arthur was a bold man, but rather than being lazy it seemed he was purposefully neglecting his duty to avoid links to the past that would bring up the bittersweet feelings of losing his father. Cloaking himself from his royal role too kept him from having to prove his worth.

Until most recently.

Gwen peered closer at her husband within the darkened bedroom, that bit of dawning light trying to fight its way through the frosty clouds outside. It lit a fragile glow over Arthur’s cheeks. Gwen lifted her hand, reaching out slowly until her fingers made lightest contact with his skin, causing a sleep contented murmur to blow out from his lips, which half startled her, before she mused on their conversation last night.

It had irritated her when he said he wanted to keep visiting the tavern. Men were akin to spend time out with their mates, like her father did in his younger days especially, but after making these little breakthroughs in communicating, she felt it was a big step backward.

Would it be crazy too that she wished to spend increased time with him?

Gwen gazed upon his face a little more longingly, before giving a shake of her head.

Yes…it would.

She pushed up on the mattress with her hand, getting into a sitting position now, studying the southern side of their chambers and deciding something.

It would do no good to leave the task up to Arthur. Her husband already had such ill feelings for his uncle.

“I have to do this myself. Now.” Gwen whispered softly, feeling just a tiny bit more light entering the room. “Before everyone’s awake.”

Quietly she moved away from the bed and tiptoed across the floor to where her discarded clothing laid, the vial contained within pocket.

…

The hallways were prominently dark and quiet. Gwen was glad for having spent enough time within the capacious castle to be able to find Agravaine’s chambers with little difficulty. All she had to do was slip in there before he awoke, return the vial, and return to bed before Arthur became aware of her absence. Think of it as a sleuthing trip with Freya. Of course Freya was not anywhere near, but that was a small technicality of sorts.

Gwen entered Agravaine’s chambers cautiously, hunched, making her small body even tinier. Although it soon became obvious that not only was Agravaine’s bed empty, but that he was also absent from the room entirely.

All she had to do was put the vial back exactly where she found it. Gwen perused the perfectly kept premises, seeing that small table she had the day before. This time it was bare, no golden object atop it.

Her curiosity nagged. Why would he move it somewhere else, and where to?

***

Something was missing.

That was the first thing Arthur became aware of as a waking sigh drifted from his mouth and his eyes slowly opened, spotting the empty pillow beside him. “Guinevere?” He called out questioningly, getting no answer. “Guinevere?” He inquired more sharply.

Still nothing.

Maybe she just had to tend to nature’s business or such, he mused.

…

Long moments later, his sleepiness now gone, his wife still hadn’t returned. Arthur got up from the bed with an impatient huff and looked for a clue of her whereabouts, kneeling down to the floor to seek out an answer.

“On a treasure hunt?”

Arthur jumped up, the sprightly inquisitive voice startling him.

“Merlin!” He clapped his hand over his heart. The young man with those crazy bright scarves, the one his mother set up as his manservant, had a dreadful habit of sneaking up on him. “What are you doing?”

Merlin gave frank answer, focusing upon Arthur with continued curiosity. “I was going to make your breakfast when I walked by your chambers and noticed you moving about. You look like you lost something.”

“I did.” Arthur stated busily.

“What?”

“My wife.” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin’s anger surfaced like the crack of a whip. “What did you do?” He advanced rapidly until he had the loose neckline of Arthur’s tunic within fisted hands’ grasp.

Arthur gritted his teeth. “What do you think YOU’RE doing Merlin? Kindly take your hands away from my shirt or you will see how much I detest being cornered.”

Merlin’s eyes were wild with emotion. “Gwen is special! She doesn’t deserve your adul-

Finally Arthur understood as he brought his hands over Merlin’s threatening ones. “You’re a fool Merlin, evident in how you have yet to let go of my tunic, but you do also have rare moments of wisdom. I ended it with Elaine, yesterday. My commitment henceforward is to Guinevere and Camelot, in all respectable fashions.”

Merlin smiled at the concession, but then seeing Arthur’s eyebrows give a little authoritative hitch, the servant slowly moved his fingers down, fussily straightening out the wrinkled fabric of his master’s tunic before he let go entirely. “Ooops.”

Arthur gave a roll of his eyes. “Yeah. Ooops indeed. Feel fortunate that I respect courageousness Merlin, even the lunatic kind.”

“You can’t blame me Arthur.” Merlin answered back. “Gwen is my friend. I don’t want to see her hurt.” Merlin grinned keenly now, his mood flipping like an acrobat. “I knew you had feelings for her, strong ones. Everything’s going to be just the way it should now.”

Arthur moved around the room, grasping a pitcher from the table. He poured its water into a nearby cup and took a small drink, his mouth dry, and Merlin’s comment not one he wanted to battle off or affirm at the moment. “So that woman, the one you spoke about a few times, you must have loved her a lot, right? To come after me like you just did?”

Merlin’s eyes fixed upon the floor for a long moment. “Yeah.”

“Don’t repeat it.” Arthur stated sharply now, giving Merlin a fixed look.

The servant didn’t back off. “Don’t make me have to.”

Arthur shook his head wryly at first, but then whipped it back around the other way with stunned amazement. The fireplace’s force had dwindled down to near nothing by the time he woke. Now it suddenly blazed with life, the flames licking the walls of the hearth hungrily.

“How-

Giving a private smile, Merlin was quick to bring the prince back to his earlier concern. “So you woke up and Gwen wasn’t around?”

Arthur turned away from the suddenly active fireplace, nodding. “Yeah. And it’s been too long now. Maybe she’s with Mary?”

“No. Saw her this morning already. She was heading to the kitchens too; I told her to go without me.”

Arthur noticed how Merlin was staring so fixedly upon Guinevere’s discarded clothing of the previous day. “What’s that about?”

Merlin pressed his top lip over his bottom one. “Huh?”

“Your look, Merlin.”

When his servant didn’t say anything, Arthur put down the cup and moved over to them. “The pocket.”

“Arthur.” Merlin stated loudly, but Arthur was already reaching inside.

“It’s not here.”

Merlin blinked feigned confusion. “What’s not?”

“The vial, Merlin!”

Oh no. Merlin had feared it. He told Gwen to wait for him. Now Arthur explained he had done the same after he learned the truth about it and what Merlin and his wife had been up to the previous day. “She took it back to Agravaine, didn’t she?”

Merlin slowly nodded. “I’m thinking she did.”

“Well then-

Arthur was swiftly making his way to the door, but Merlin intervened before he could touch the wood.

“Merlin, now is not the time for you to make me cross.”

“It’s also not the time for you to act crazy.” Merlin told him fiercely.

“Well no time is right for YOU to be telling me what to do Merlin. Remember who the master is here and then how about you shut up, eh?” Arthur removed Merlin’s hand from the door easily and stalked out of the room.

Merlin gave a roll of his eyes. “Prat.” Before following. With Arthur in such an ill mood, and Gwen in a possibly volatile predicament, his daily toils could wait.

***

Gwen thought how she should put the vial down and return to her chambers, but then something peculiar caught her eye. It was shining through the door of the cupboard, a possible answer to her question. She carefully opened the door, gaping at all she saw. “What—how-

Seconds and the door was shut fiercely, a long fingered hand clasping over her mouth. “Snooping, Princess? Dangerous habit.”

His taller and broader body was hard against hers, his arm locking in her shoulders.

“I knew it.” He sneered against her cheek. “You did take my vial.” He snatched it from her hand and proceeded to yell for the guard, but Gwen anxiously stopped him, grasping onto Agravaine’s arms. “Wait. Listen to me.”

His eyes were cold, that raven hitch of his eyebrows threatening, but he took a step away, fixing his hands upon his waist expectantly. “Well.”

Gwen sighed, taking in his full dress, before she felt that uncomfortable leer, like she had the other night. She fixed her robe more firmly over the top of her partially exposed breasts and gave explanation.

“You’re right. I took it. But I meant no ill will. That night you looked like you were coming from your sister’s chambers.”

“And so you thought what?” Agravaine asked sharply.

Only the truth would work. “That maybe the vial was hers and you had-

Agravaine advanced upon Gwen swiftly, grasping her arms so tightly she flinched. “You thought what, Thief? What did you think I would do to my own sister?”

Gwen swallowed against his unyielding grip. “Lord Agra-

“WHAT?”

Breathing fast, Gwen told him. “Her vial is almost identical. And she’s been ill. I thought you had tampered with it.”

Gwen attempted then to push apart from Agravaine’s chest, but his fierce hold wouldn’t let her go yet. She turned her head away, feeling the rabid heat of his words against her cheek.

“You DARE to accuse me of such a heinous act when-

“Let me go!” She fought against his clenching fingers more vigorously now, feeling a shiver go down her spine. “I was wrong. I didn’t realize-

He brutally cut through, spitting out the words. “Oh you now realize your mistake, is that it THIEF? You think that-

Ice and flame slashed through, a tall shadow appearing in the doorway. “Take your hands off her—NOW.”

It caught Agravaine off guard enough to allow Gwen to break free finally. She moved to the tall shadow that stepped equally as fast toward her. Arthur’s hand reached out to his wife’s arm gently, torrents of concern in his blue eyes. “Are you alright?”

Her arms were sore a bit still, but with no visible marks she was sure, it was best to keep her husband at level emotion. Gwen assured him that everything was okay and yet she couldn’t help notice Merlin standing behind, his disdain for Agravaine vivid. Perhaps she had made a grave mistake, coming here without Arthur’s knowing.

Agravaine confirmed that troubling thought, as he refused to let things go. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She had accused him of something horrid, but he was a man of the grayest shadows, and what she found in his closet he most certainly hadn’t wanted her to see. Even if he hadn’t taken his sister’s vial, it seemed there was much he hid.

“Do you know what that FIBBER did? What she thought I did?”

Seconds and Arthur was like a horse jumping at the bit. Gwen moved forward anxiously, feeling Merlin’s watching eyes on both of them. “Calm, my husband.” She whispered softly, stroking his arm to soften his mood. Both she and Merlin sighed with relief as it seemed to work.

Arthur took a step back from his infuriated uncle, stating steadily, “Don’t call her that. She made a mistake. I’m sure she’s sorry about it.”

Merlin smiled. Perfectly handled. Defend your wife, but let Agravaine do all the raging.

Arthur hated it, but what his wife did was not right. She had to make amends. And looking to her face now, catching her eye, he knew she was not such a woman of stubborn weak pride who couldn’t handle it. She was the opposite really, much like his mother.

Arthur’s hand out in reluctant invitation, for she knew he’d rather she didn’t have to apologize, Gwen placed hers in his, more than happy to make proper amends to end this once and for all. “My husband is right. I am so sorry Lord Agravaine. I made a horrible blunder and I ask for your forgiveness.”

Arthur smiled at Guinevere with wonder, thinking how good she was at it, balancing her humility and truth without making herself look pitiful.

Agravaine wasn’t having it though. Threatening seemed the best way to keep Gwen’s mouth shut about what she spotted in his room. “Nephew, your wife is a woman of falsehoods. Best to think about that carefully.” Agravaine held Arthur’s attention with calculating malevolence now. “In fact, it’s quite possible she was the one who instigated all that treacherous trouble regarding Isgard. A liar. Easily a traitor in kind.”

Gwen countered emotionally, heart beating fast, “You think I would put my own land of birth in danger?”

“Ah! See!” Agravaine pointed with emphasis. “She does not regard Camelot as her home even though she is now its future queen. No telling what traitorous doings she’s been up-

“You twist my words! That’s not what I meant! I would never hurt the queen, my husband, or Camelot!” Gwen insisted, but soon she was nudged strongly out of the way.

Agravaine’s words had shocked Arthur at first, but now they kindled his body with disgust that once Gwen was out of harm’s way he leapt forward like an attacking bear. Fingers thrust within his uncle’s loose collar, he snarled. “SHUT up. Silence your tongue. As royal prince of Camelot I order you to.”

A tension filled face-off began. Gwen felt Merlin’s hand come out to her waist; she backed up to him with dread in her heart. This had all gone so terribly wrong. “Merlin-

“Wait-

He put up his hand quietly, holding still. Arthur wouldn’t like his interference now.

Gwen whispered her husband’s name. “Arthur…”

He turned back to her for a fast moment before lessening his hold some on his uncle’s tunic. The bed held something interesting, getting him to let out a keen smile. “Seems you haven’t been around all night. So where are you going off to each evening, Uncle?”

Agravaine answered sharply. “I’m brother to the queen. I don’t have to explain my doings.” Glad to have the upper hand now that it wasn’t a tugging match, physical fight not Agravaine’s strong suit, he continued his earlier rant. “I’m not the one entering someone’s chambers without permission. This woman you married, what do we even know about her? That she loves her land? Who knows what she would do to keep it safe? Maybe even marry the prince of the land with the most formidable army and then as a favor to her father conspire with Camelot’s greatest enemies to bring the kingdom down while her precious little Tirmaiur remains intact. This liar-

Agravaine perhaps should have kept his mouth shut if he wanted to stay away from the physical. Arthur had been trained, since of walking age, how to fight by his father and the knights. Although he wasn’t at his best these days because of neglecting his role for so long, he still had incredible speed and agility.

Seconds was all it took for Agravaine to be thrust forcefully into the wall.

“No, Arthur-

Gwen started to yell out, before giving Merlin an anxious look. Please. She mouthed.

He nodded as Agravaine started to retaliate, maybe not a physical man, but he was wily, and so a threatening object was soon in his hand, a razor of sharp edge. If his nephew went too far he’d use it.

Merlin noticed the rug underneath Agravaine’s right foot. It was sneaky and clumsy magic, but oh well. Eyes glowing gold for just a second, Merlin got the rug to tangle against Agravaine’s feet, causing the man to fall in a tumble. Shocked by it, Arthur stepped away.

Gwen smiled at Merlin her thanks and with the distraction grasped Arthur’s arm. “Husband, please.” She kept her voice as low and respectful as possible. “Let’s get away from here. This argument serves no good.”

Arthur turned on her, his eyes wild. Gwen pressed against his arm, massaging it a bit with her fingers. “Please.”

The prince turned back to the fallen Agravaine who now started to stand, his finger barreling at Gwen.

“Liar. Your wife is a liar. And soon everyone in Camelot will know.”

That one Gwen couldn’t let go without her own counter. She stood firm. “I took your vial and I have made amends for it Lord Agravaine, but I am not a common fibber. Nor a traitor. The queen has been nothing but good to me and my father and I am ever so thankful for it. I would never try to hurt her—

Gwen looked to Arthur now, realizing something as she took in the disarray of his hair and the redness in his face. “Nor my husband.” Her heart was beating fervently as she massaged his arm a little more, feeling his tension start to alleviate just a fraction. “My loving husband.”

Arthur turned to her at that and Gwen smiled, but he didn’t return it. Too much had happened here. Agravaine’s words troubled him deeply. “Don’t you say another word of what you accused my wife of Uncle, or you will regret it. Mark my words. You will rue the day you made such false accusations.”

“Soon the truth will be known.” Agravaine simply added with a dark smile, directing it coldly to Gwen as he noticed her glance to the cupboard. If the woman was smart she’d stop nosing into his business.

Gwen looked back to Merlin whose expression was as disturbed as hers as she felt Arthur’s pull of hand, and heard his quiet command. “Come, Guinevere.”

She let him lead her away without argument.

***

Moments later, within chambers, Arthur made it clear that he wanted Merlin to tend to business in the kitchens to allow them privacy. A quick glance to each was all Merlin gave before he departed silently.

Apprehension nudging, Gwen watched her husband move from one side of the room to another, his hands lifting over his face, ruffling his already messed up hair even more. She would be inclined to fix it if his mood was lighter. “I know what you’re thinking.” She voiced steadily, cutting through the thick tension.

Arthur rounded on her angrily. “Oh you do, do you?”

Gwen nodded calmly. “I shouldn’t have gone to Agravaine’s chambers after I said I would leave the task to you. But I couldn’t do that Arthur.”

“Why?” He asked, jaw rigid.

“Because.” Gwen gestured to his unkempt appearance from his near tussle with his uncle. “I knew that was how you would react. Angrily.”

Arthur railed at his wife, advancing upon her quickly. “What did you expect me to act like Guinevere? The man accused you of TREASON!”

Gwen stepped back. She’d never seen Arthur so furious before. Certainly she wanted her husband to be more passionate about things, but not like this. “Well it’s not true. Surely you don’t think—it’s true?” She questioned, eyes wide, because he was suddenly so quiet. Did he doubt her? Did he believe what Agravaine had said?

Letting out a long sigh, Arthur shook his head and took a step back. Seemed he could be as threatening as his father when angry. Never realized he had it in him—until now.

Somehow this woman made him feel ways he never felt before. Damn her for that. Especially now with everything so complicated.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Guinevere. If Agravaine starts spreading these rumors-

“Lies. They’re lies.” Gwen insisted, before turning away. “How can you believe that I would do such a thing? How can you lay next to me at night and think-

Arthur’s eyes turned to the ceiling, his hands whipping messily through his hair before he took the few steps needed. Gently he brought his hand over his wife’s arm. He didn’t know her completely, but there were some things Arthur was certain about. “I don’t think that Guinevere. I know you would never betray Camelot, or me. I know how much my mother means to you. I’ve seen it and I’m grateful for that affection. Truly Guinevere.”

She looked up to him now, feeling the gentle caress of his hand over her cheek as his other stayed on her arm. “That pleases me Husband.”

He smiled for a quick moment, before frowning again. “That doesn’t make this any better though.”

“It does for me.” She whispered.

Arthur shook his head. “You’re not getting the point Guinevere.

“I’m not that dense Arthur.” Gwen affirmed.

“No?” Arthur asked, before ruefully adding, “I know you’re not, but I warned you to stay away from my uncle, and yet did you listen to me? No.”

Gwen insisted. “Even as my husband you don’t have the right to tell me everything to do Arthur. I was worried about you facing Agravaine, that you would let your temper take over your sense.”

Laughing dryly at that, Arthur raised his hands to his hair, messing it up even more. “Oh, sometimes I don’t get you Guinevere. You tell me to be a strong man, to be noble and brave.”

Gwen’s hands fisted at her robe. “That doesn’t mean for you to attack your uncle, Arthur.”

“He attacked you!” Arthur yelled back furiously. “Not only that, he accused you of traitorous thoughts and acts!”

Keeping her peace as much as she could, Gwen let out a rueful sigh. “He is an awful man sometimes.”

Arthur laughed again, advancing forward and grasping his wife’s arms. “He is also the elder brother of the queen, Guinevere. He has a lot more leeway than I wish he did. I’ve urged my mother to get rid of him, but she’s refused. With her illness at hand I do my best to not upset her. I tolerate him. That being said, don’t expect me to hold back if he starts bringing out these ugly false accusations about you within council. And don’t expect it to be a small matter. Even with my mother as queen, if he starts those kinds of rumors, it won’t just be Tirmaiur in possible danger, but also Camelot.”

The mention of Tirmaiur brought thoughts of her father to Gwen’s heart, anxious ones. “You said that Tirmaiur was safe. Both you and the queen have stated that with certainty. Is it now fading?”

Arthur looked into his wife’s concerned eyes, his hand moving forward spontaneously to touch her cheek. “No. But that is only if Camelot remains strong, Guinevere. Anything shakes that up…and…”

“Do you think Agravaine could convince the council of something so heinous?”

With Arthur not answering that threatening question right away, Gwen pressed against his arm. “Arthur?”

Did he?

Aldous’s earlier words distressed him. Yet his wife’s anxiety was too strong. It couldn’t be easy, even if it was custom, for a woman to leave her home of so many miles away, not certain for the fate of her loved ones.

Arthur moved forward, slowly taking his wife into his arms, stroking a bit at her nebulous curls of hair as she didn’t reject him. “No. Not with my mother there.” That much was true. “She wouldn’t condone such lies within council. “Tirmaiur is safe. So are you.”

At those last words, Gwen pulled away, but with Arthur’s fingers still locked within coils of her hair it kept them close for a few precious seconds. She studied the purse of his lips, inching up on her toes to finally smooth out the mess within his hair. It was a gentle moment between them, soon interrupted however.

Hearing Merlin’s sing-songy voice accompanied by Mary’s shyer one, Arthur moved apart from his wife, feeling the drop of her hands as he created the distance. Unaware of what had been going on, Merlin and Mary busily labored away to lay out clothing for the day, present breakfast, and start the tidying of the bed.

Within it all Gwen talked about her plans for the morning hours, making the rounds and other such important tasks. Arthur frowned when Merlin filled in that he, the prince, would be happy to join her. It wasn’t so much that it was a terrible idea. It was Merlin’s audacious interference, the hopeful challenge in Gwen’s eyes, and the feel of his once normal life fluttering away underneath all these new emotions that he had yet to understand. So he forcefully stated how wrong Merlin was.

…

After breakfast was eaten and they were dressed for their day, Gwen asked Arthur a question while Merlin and Mary were on the other side of their chambers, gathering up the laundry, “So you won’t be doing the rounds, again?”

His wife’s disapproval was obvious, irking Arthur. In the dark of night within their bed it was easier to admit things. At present day, it was like being corralled, and Arthur hated being fenced in.

His response was dry. “You seem to deal with the rounds well enough on your own.”

The flippant answer puzzled Gwen. Arthur’s moods were so back and forth sometimes; he hardly held steady. Giving into the feelings she was starting to experience for him would be easy if only he would give her a reason to delve so far. Now that sullen tone in his voice produced her rant. “It is your duty too.”

“You’re always telling me that Guinevere.”

“And she’s right.” Merlin brashly filled in.

“Shut up!” Arthur sneered back at Merlin.

Gwen’s hands fisted upon her dress. “You needn’t shout at him. He is only reminding you of your obligations. You don’t see me talking to Mary that way, do you? Servants should be treated with respect. They can be valuable friends.”

Stepping forward so they were face to face, Arthur fumed. “If he wants respect he shouldn’t be so cheeky. Half the time Merlin doesn’t know his place.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Gwen countered with feisty flavor. “Since often you don’t know yours.” Seeing that her husband was getting ready to respond, Gwen brazenly pushed her finger against his lips. “I’m sure now that you’re sulking you’ll be going to the tavern? Isn’t that right Husband of Mine?”

Actually he had been thinking of going off on a ride or something, cool down his bad mood. But she was challenging him and so Arthur now nodded his head vigorously, bringing down her finger. “So right Wife. Because I’m the Prince of Camelot and I can do what I want. Spend time with my mates even.”

“Then go.” Gwen stated firmly, not flinching away from her husband’s defiance.

It took but a moment for him to stomp angrily out of their chambers. When he was gone Gwen closed her eyes, pressing her hand against her heart, chastising herself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually like this. So temperamental.”

“You call that temperamental?” Merlin asked, coming alongside Gwen. “Most women would be throwing things and yelling.”

Gwen’s eyes opened to see Merlin’s proximity, his expression friendly. She shook her head. “Well that solves nothing. And neither does my acting like this. It’s Arthur though. Oh the man is so infuriating at times! Did you hear him Merlin, how he acted about the tavern? It’s like it’s his den to cavort with his friends in. Drink tankards while his kingdom is in possible peril. He can be so selfish! It’s my fault though too. I’m the one who suggested it. He hadn’t even said anything about the tavern and then I opened my mouth and—

Oh, what is it? Why do we do this? Bark at each other like dogs?” She pressed her hand against her chest, taking it away with a surprised look. “My heart is raised, beating so fast, and I just don’t understand. What is this? Why does he affect me so?”

She sank down to the corner of the half unmade bed, pressing her face into her hands.

The spot next to her sank down a little too as Merlin came to sit beside the young princess, reaching out gently. “Because you’re falling in love with him. If you haven’t already.”

Slowly Gwen lifted her face, eyes widened to Merlin with shock, which just made the hidden mage laugh. “Come on Gwen. You know it too.”

Her mouth formed into an o that made Merlin wonder if he had overstepped his place. He moved away from her. “Um, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-

Gwen’s hands closed over his though. “No. It’s not that. We’re friends. I just—how can that be? Only days ago he was with another woman. I wanted him nowhere near me.”

Merlin nodded his head. “Of course. It hurt you. But you can be hurt and feeling love already too Gwen. You blocked him out then. You still can. But I don’t think you want to anymore. And so now all the feeling comes with it.”

Gwen gazed at Merlin heavily. “You speak with so much experience.”

Merlin shrugged, fiddling some with his scarf, his expression incrementally saddening. “Yeah, maybe too much. Freya.”

“I’m sorry Merlin. You must miss her still so much.”

The servant looked away, in distant thought. “I do. But it is what it is.” He turned back to Gwen, giving a squeeze of her hand. “I need to get back to my work or Arthur will really be shouting it up. I know it’s hard. With the fact that Arthur didn’t really commit himself enough to the marriage from the start. But that thing with him and Elaine is over now Gwen. You two have a chance.”

After Merlin left to help Mary with their daily toils, Gwen pondered on her relationship with Arthur for a bit before letting out a determined sigh and rising up from the bed. Rounds still had to be made and if her husband wasn’t going to tend to them, well then as princess she’d make sure they were done right.

***

Hours later, alarming events caused Gwen to seek Arthur out at the tavern.

She pushed open the doors, entering the mostly male franchise with diligent purpose, making her way to the bar where her husband sat with his friends.

A few drinks in, Arthur had earlier noticed that Aldous wasn’t there this day. It made him feel a little guilty at first for being there himself. Now that tension was lifted away. He was laughing up a storm about some crazy squalid joke Rand just told when he spotted his wife coming toward them, at first a bit sheepish, soon turning quite cross.

Seeing Arthur loafing it up with his lazy male friends, while sharing tasteless jokes, bolstered Gwen’s objective. Hands fisted at her hips, pressing into the tailored rose material of her dress, she cut through the frivolity.

“I need to speak to my husband. Alone.”

Arthur, for his part, disgruntled by the interruption, especially in such a public place, faced his wife squarely. “We will speak tonight.”

Unable to contain herself, Gwen grasped her husband’s arm. His precious manhood could take a holiday. Kingdom residents were entitled to proper treatment and at the moment they weren’t getting it. “No. We will speak now<. This cannot wait.”

Stubbornly Arthur rolled his eyes, getting Gwen to tell him loudly, “You never make the rounds! You always leave them to me alone, but trouble is arising that needs assistance.”

For a moment’s pause Arthur wondered with concern what those last words were supposed to mean. He let it drop quickly though. She was likely being more melodramatic than necessary. Some drivel no doubt such as one farmer arguing with another over who had the biggest newborn calf, or maybe the marketplace not agreeing about the purchase cost of eggs. He’d heard it all before and it never was such a dire crisis that he had to rush in to mediate.

Gwen, however, wouldn’t let the matter go.

“Instead of fulfilling your noble deeds you come here and fill yourself of drink! Enough. You are shaming the crown you wear upon your head.”

Arthur grimaced. Thought they had gotten past such nonsense. Seemed he was wrong. But so was she, coming here in such prickly fashion. He pointed lazily to the top of his head. “Not wearing it now.”

Gwen lifted her hands in exasperation. “You know what I mean!”

Indeed. Arthur scrutinized with deeper intent. Guinevere’s chest was heaving and her breath seemed short. She could often confound him, but one thing of matter he was certain. She wouldn’t continue ranting so madly like this unless it was something more important than the size of calves.

Everyone at the tavern was staring at her so hard now, including his friends. Breathing out, giving an abashed look around, Gwen whispered, “Husband. My love. You will listen to me?”

Arthur laughed dryly at that, feeling for a second a trickle of warmth run around his heart. Oh Guinevere. She was trying to save face, but enough had already been done. He couldn’t help muttering under his breath. “Fear if I don’t you’ll shut me into a locker of ice and let me freeze.”

Gwen grasped his hand then and pulled him with her toward the tavern door.

Once exiting it she remarked, “Good idea. I’ll have to remember that if you start acting like the Pig again.”

Outside Arthur gave complaint to the insult, but it fell apart as Gwen importantly interrupted, “Do you know what Agravaine has been doing?”

Okay. After the way Agravaine grabbed her earlier in the morning, Arthur wiped away his lazed half-drunk feeling rapidly, moving toward Guinevere with care. “He touched you again?”

Gwen shook her head. “No. It’s not about me. It’s about how he’s been making the rounds, what he’s been doing during such time.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Was that all? He’d seen Agravaine do the rounds before. He was annoying no doubt, but harmless really. Most of the kingdoms’ toilers knew how to deal with his sometimes upper-handed attitude. “Oh just lauding himself around again, right? Seen it.”

Gwen grasped his shoulders strongly. “Arthur, I’m serious.”

Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes were wide and that hard beat to her breast was there again. So Arthur pulled her into a shaded area of trees where no one could spy upon them. “Tell me.”

“He’s been taxing families for their amount of children, requiring they pay a penance each time one is born. And then who knows what he does with the money. On my rounds I noticed quite a few families, larger ones especially, starting to become impoverished. All because of what he’s requiring of them. I witnessed a child with a stomach so malnourished. Arthur there is no call for that. Families-

“WHAT?” Arthur halted Gwen’s sentence with shock.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree with this.” Gwen whispered, her breathing normalizing now that she finally got his undivided attention.

“Of course not.” Arthur insisted.

“So your mother must not know either, right?”

Arthur shook his head adamantly, all left over buzzes of drunkenness depleted. “No. Never would she allow that. Where is this child? The malnourished one.”

“I brought him food from the kitchens. And I sent the physician to check upon him. I even dug into my funds…combined with yours now of course. Gave the family some silver pieces so they will be able to go to market. Crops don’t grow as well in the winter.”

Arthur gave a reassuring squeeze of her shoulders to tell his wife he agreed with her decisions. “I’m glad you did all that.” He lifted his head angrily. “Should have known he would do something like this. Now you see why I’ve never trusted Agravaine. Why I want you to stay away from him. He squanders and squalors where he can. Shady and greedy to the end. Wish my mother never brought him here, but sadly he’s her kin.”

“She needs to know, Arthur.”

“Right. Come on.” Arthur grasped onto Guinevere’s hand, getting her to look up at him with surprise.

Arthur’s response was rapid and plain. “Oh now come. You’re the one who found this all out. You should be there.”

He lowered his head in pensive thought.

“What, Arthur?” Gwen asked, placing her hand over his.

Finally he looked up to her again. “I would have known all this if I had been doing the rounds. Like you told me I should. If Agravaine had found you learning about this I don’t like to think what could have happened. He’s a vile man; my mother needs to know once and for all. I get why she wasn’t aware of this in the first place. She’s had a lot on her plate with all the turmoil Bayard and now Isgard has caused. But this is my birth kingdom, people I care about, and you’re my wife. An honorable one Guinevere.”

He caressed her hand with emotion. “Brave too. I won’t let Agravaine upset that by spreading vicious rumors that my mother is too busy to stop. She’s going to hear from me now what he falsely accused you of this morning. I want you there to hear it too. I owe you that much.”

Gwen shook her head, tempering any gratefulness for her husband’s caring response. “Arthur you don’t have to. It could cause tension between you and your mother. I don’t want to be the instigator of that.”

He grasped her hand. “You couldn’t be. Now come with me.”

It was a command, but stated so gently it touched Gwen’s ears like a tender song.

***

Ygraine was shocked and livid about what Arthur had to tell her. Agravaine taking advantage of the poorest people of the kingdom was a travesty, and his accusations about Guinevere were deplorable. Howbeit, Arthur’s strong urgings for her to kick him out of kingdom fell on deaf ears.

“I can’t do that Arthur.” Ygraine insisted, wearing a deep blue dress that made her coils of gold white hair shine.

“Why not?” Arthur asked, looking to Gwen for assistance, however she carefully kept quiet.

“Arthur, please remember that he is your uncle. And my brother. He has done much for the kingdom.”

“Such as?” Arthur asked dryly.

Ygraine pursed her lips. “Such as matters you would know more about if you tended to your duty regularly. I’m grateful that you’re so diligent about knight training, like your father was, but it would help too if you didn’t leave Guinevere to tend to the rounds alone. I’m sure she’d prefer your accompaniment also.”

They both looked back to Gwen who cleared her throat. “I think this is a conversation for the two of you alone. Please excuse me.”

She curtsied to the queen and made her way out, getting Arthur to sigh. “Come on Mother. You don’t think the accusations Agravaine made are potentially dangerous? He made them about Guinevere. I thought she mattered to you.”

Ygraine smiled slightly. “As I can see she is mattering to you much more now.” She added firmly, “Of course what he said concerns me Arthur.”

“And what about the leering?”

“Oh Arthur.”

“Mother.”

Ygraine reached for her son’s hands, asking an interesting question. “Doesn’t Gwen wear something around her neck?”

Arthur’s forehead wrinkled as he answered absentmindedly. Sometimes he even forgot it was there for it was quite simple, but for the finishing touch. “She wears a necklace sometimes, yes. She told me once that it came from Tirmaiur, has a rare stone from a cave at the outskirts of the kingdom. What does that have to do with this?”

Holding still, Ygraine didn’t answer.

“Mother.”

Directing her attention back to Arthur, she shook her head. “Nothing. Just rest assured, Agravaine’s leer has not been tied to improper advances. I will speak to him about this matter as well as the other. You needn’t fear any rumors made to the council.”

“So you know how to stop them?”

Ygraine straightened her back. “I am Queen, Arthur. Please don’t dismiss that fact as trivial. I have the final say of what happens within council, not your uncle, nor you. Gwen is a princess, a member of this family, and someone I care about as much as I hope you do. She will have nothing to fear.”

With that the queen departed the room and Arthur had to resign himself to her judgment, muttering under his breath once she was gone. “I hope you’re right Mother.”

***

The tension between Ygraine and Agravaine was as ripe as ready to eat fruit while she chastised him harshly for his unfair and unjust monetary demands upon the people. “Just be thankful I don’t put you in the cells for this. Uther most certainly would have. I am appalled, Agravaine. Taking money from the people…are you that desperate now?”

The man showed little reaction, but then it started stewing in his head. “It’s her, isn’t it? That little thief can’t keep her flippant lips closed!”

The incriminating response infuriated Ygraine. “Enough, Brother! I never told you how I learnt the truth and I don’t need to. It doesn’t matter. Just that I know now. I’ve always been aware of your compulsions and I’ve never said anything about them, about the collection you have in that locked closet.”

He gaped, getting Ygraine to respond. “Oh yes, I do know about that. About why certain things have disappeared around the castle, including precious objects of mine. Now most recently it’s Guinevere you’ve been leering at, an object no doubt of hers gaining your attention. Well you can forget it.”

Her finger pointed with meaning. “I promise you that if one thing out of Arthur and Guinevere’s chambers goes missing, I WILL put you in the cells.”

“After everything I’ve done for you-

“As I’ve done much for you in kind. Kept a blind eye. No more. You end this sick compulsion or you will pay the same price any other criminal of Camelot does.”

Looking away, Agravaine tensely wrung his hands, getting Ygraine’s expression to soften a bit. “I love you Brother. I do Ag. I always have. And I’m grateful for the things you’ve done that Arthur has not seen, has not cared to see. But I cannot tolerate lawlessness.

Now as for the other matter, the FALLACIOUS accusations you made about Guinevere, trust me that if you dare to attempt opening your mouth about any such ugly lies to the council, I will have you banished…”

Ygraine fumbled on the next words. Tears welling in her eyes, she told him with the firmest voice she could eke out, “Forever. From Camelot. From me. I promise you that.”

“You don’t even know that woman!” Agravaine yelled. “I’m your brother.”

Ygraine stood tall. “I know her well enough that she does not keep secrets from me, lie to me, like you sometimes do.” She adjusted the collar of her dress. “Now I have royal business to attend to. So you’re dismissed.”

Steaming, Agravaine stalked out of the queen’s chambers, dark mutterings escaping his breath once he was outside. “You’ll be sorry for this Ygraine. For taking that thief’s side over mine. For making such awful decisions about Camelot. One day you’ll see how right I was…

And how wrong you are.”

***

Progressing down the long hallway of the castle’s second floor, Arthur stopped at one of the many windows, studying the movement outside. Feeling gentle pressure against his shoulder he turned around. “Guinevere. Why did you leave?”

Lowering her hand, Gwen told him that she thought it a private moment between son and mother. When Arthur told her that his mother still refused to exit Agravaine out of kingdom she responded with, “Did you really expect her to? Arthur, it’s her brother. Every family has someone who is problematic. That doesn’t mean you banish them from your life.”

Arthur sighed. “Well at least you’re held in my mother’s favor. It will keep Agravaine’s mouth shut for longer.”

“Something good.” Gwen smiled mildly as Arthur turned away again to witness the beginnings of knight training for the afternoon. “You should join them.”

“I felt a little guilty actually when my mother mentioned how well I have been taking over the training. If she knew it was Leon-

Gwen’s hand reached for Arthur’s shoulder meaningfully. “Then make sure she doesn’t find out. Change the fact. Your mother has enough to deal with now. Do your duty Arthur. I know you want to.”

He sighed once more, but with it was a wry smile. “Yeah, I suppose I do. Just need to go find Mer-

“Ready when you are!” A jaunty voice exclaimed from behind them, getting Arthur to jump against Gwen’s touch. She had to contain her laughter. Merlin was indeed uncanny with his timing, presently balancing the heavy armor in his lanky arms.

“How does he do that?” Arthur mouthed at her with awe as Merlin busily skipped ahead.

*

part 2 is here

Destiny and the Wombo Combo

2013-04-11T13:21:34Z

Destiny and the Wombo Combo
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: a_g_doren- This pizza tastes better the next day.
Characters: A/G, Merlin
Rating: G

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh no!

He was doing it again!

He was going to drive him insane!

Merlin Emrys, in horror, sprinted out of the kitchen, down the steps of the house and yelled, “PUT IT DOWN!”

What was he yelling about?

This.

Arthur Pendragon, reincarnated, was on the grass holding a cat up by its feet while saying in that medieval ‘Arthur Pendragon’ voice,

“I shall slay this awful beast and cook it for dinner since it keeps defecating upon the grass. Plus it looks like it will be quite delicious once stripped and put upon a spit-

“Arthur, put it DOWN!”

Their next door neighbor was screaming that she was going to call Animal Control and then the psychiatric ward so they could rid the neighborhood of this looney bin as Arthur turned around to Merlin with a grimace. “Merlin, you do not tell me what to do.”

Merlin’s eyes glowed, and the cat fell out off Arthur’s hands. It scratched Arthur and then scurried away.

As their neighbor yelled out her last bits of anger, Merlin tried to appease by saying, “Yeah, yeah, I will. I’ll keep him away from your cat…and your little dog…and your goat…and your chinchilla…and your horse.”

When you had a crazy medieval king living with you, you made sure that you lived far away from most people. Hence, your neighbor had a zoo.

Merlin looked up, clouds, heavy ones, might as well order in, especially with all the work he had to do for the lab.

***

“What is this?”

Arthur asked with disdain, still smarting over not getting to slay that foul beast with his sword, as he nursed the scratch on his leg.

“It’s my I-phone, remember.”

“Oh yes. What shall I do with it Merlin, idiot?”

If it wasn’t Arthur who went to the looney bin, it would probably be him. Merlin needed to find the others before Arthur drove him crazy. That sly Morgana had put a spell upon him before entering the world again that made Arthur more medieval than he already was. In the year 2013 that didn’t click very well. “I want you to find a place for us to eat. Actually, I have a lot of work to do, so get delivery, wherever it’s from.”

Arthur shrugged and, used to this odd I-phone contraption, stated, “Dragon…”

“Arthur, I told you it does not answer to Dragon.”

To that Arthur raised his eyebrows and stated it with a smirk again. “Dragon…find delivery food.”

“Delivery food…looking it up now.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. Arthur smiled with satisfaction.

*And then precisely ten minutes later.*

“I have found it Merlin! The Round Table!”

“Huh…Arthur I told you to find FOOD…not a table!”

“Really Merlin, sometimes I wonder where your brain rests.” Arthur stated with disdain, giving Merlin the phone. “See…The Round Table.”

Merlin frowned, taking a look at the phone, and shook his head. Would Arthur even like it? “Oh Arthur, this is pizza. Round Table Pizza.”

“Yes Merlin, and look, the Wom--bo Com--bo. It looks quite meaty and robust for a fighting man like me. I think we shall get one of those. Plus…oh…indeed. They know how famed I am. How important I am. How-

“OH…what is it called? Just say it already!”

“Ah, I told you Merlin, you do not give me orders. The KING Arthur supreme…or the King Arthur’s Supreme with seafood. Yes. We shall get one of those too. Ahhhh, and let my heart be full. It is my darling.”

Okay maybe Arthur really was off his rockers now. Morgana!!!!! When he found her----oh…he’d turn her into a…hmmmm….weasel!

“Merlin, you’re doing it again, daydreaming. Now wake up and listen to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you see here? It is her.”

“Who?”

“It is a sign.”

“WHO?”

“My love. We shall also get, along with the Parmesan Twists…the Guinevere Garden Delight.”

Now he heard everything. Three pizzas for two men. AND Parmesan Twists. Oh well. They always said the pizza was better the next day, and at least it would keep Arthur from running off with the neighbor’s horse declaring it was his worthy steed and that he must go out upon the hunt.

**

Chivalry really was dead.

No really.

The nerve of those guys!

Gwen grumbled, as the rain had turned from a little shower to a great downpour. Since she was the new person, all those gallant boys she worked with…right…made her do the deliveries.

Getting out of the car, she zipped up her black hoodie and framed it fully around her curls and face to keep from getting horribly wet.

Then she ran up the steps, ringing the doorbell.

Arthur, money in hand, answered it, seeing just the back of someone in black. He protested loudly. “I shall say, it’s been over an hour.”

“Understood, but it’s pouring like cats and dogs-

“I don’t see any cats and dogs falling from the sky.” Arthur observed, eyes turning upward.

“Hah…so funny.” Gwen continued. “Anyway, if you’re thinking of getting it for free, fat chance. The free offer ended last year.” She finally got everything out of the warm wrap. “Okay three pizzas…must be having a feast for a king here-

“YES…yes we are!”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Right. Three pizzas, and the Twists. $68.50.”

“Over 68 gold coins. I would say that’s pretty steep.”

“Gold coins.” Gwen laughed. “Oh you’re a hoot.” Then finally she turned.

Arthur gaped. “Guinevere…my Guinevere!”

“Right, and you’re my Arthur.” Gwen deadpanned. “Um…these are heavy.”

“Who made you come out here like this? Look, you are soaking wet!” He grabbed the pizzas from her and set them down.

Gwen watched with bewilderment and a bit of annoyance. She had three more deliveries to make. “Um…in a hurry.” As Arthur rushed around the room and found it.

He proceeded then to wrap it around her shoulders. “There. Keep this blanket around your shoulders. You will not catch your death then.”

His eyes gazed at her tenderly as he also gently pulled down her wet hood, smiling as he then tucked them protectively underneath the dry blanket. “That’s better. You always had the most beautiful curls.”

Okay. So he was a nut. A certifiable nut. A certifiable really fine looking nut. Who also didn’t kill chivalry. After all, he just wrapped a blanket around her. His hands were really soft. And his blue eyes-

“Arthur! Let the delivery person go. Here…”

Merlin started to give her the money and then also gaped. “Gwen?”

She didn’t look at him though. She was still gazing at Arthur with wonder. “Do I know you?”

Arthur smiled at that warmly. “Well of course you know me-we are-

Okay.

Merlin put his hand upon Arthur’s mouth. “Yeah. Well thank you..um…Gwen?”

She nodded slowly, finally directing her attention to Merlin. “Yeah, it’s Gwen. Um…” She shook her head, lifting her hood over her hair again. “I have to go. But um…” She looked back at Arthur, giving a gracious smile, and handed him the blanket. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my Guinevere.”

And with that Merlin was telling her goodbye and shutting the door. Arthur ranted at him, until Merlin stated that they couldn’t do everything at once. It would have to be slow, careful, his reintroduction of Guinevere into his world. But Merlin was thrilled. Finally they found her.

Finally, hopefully he would get some peace.

***

*Onto the next day.*

Arthur wandered out of the kitchen into the living room, wearing his royal red robe and matching slippers that Merlin got him at Macy’s when he wouldn’t shut up about needing sleepwear and was thrilled to find a red set. Arthur muttered as he turned on the television to Knight’s Tale for the tenth time, “You’re right Merlin…pizza is better the next day. And now…we shall plan how to return Guinevere to my world.

You shall help me WOO her.” He smiled with satisfaction after a hearty bite. “Ah…it’s destiny…destiny and the Wombo Combo.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long 2013. “Uh, Arthur in 2013, wooing is pretty much dead.”

“Well I shall woo her nonetheless. And we shall dine together at that fine palace that has my table…

THE ROUND Table. And after we assemble the knights…”

A long year indeed.

*

Great prompt. Round Table Pizza for those not in the states is a real pizza place with those names for pizza and it’s kind of King Arthur themed. No cats were hurt in the making of this fic. Might extend this one later.

Thanks for reading! That's the last of these challenge fics, but I should have a new story up soon and continue 'Territories. :) Anyway, all of these were fun/challenging to write. <3

Hallelujah

2013-04-11T13:10:39Z

Hallelujah
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: kbrand5333- The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Characters: A/G
Rating/Warning: PG / tragic angst before…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The metal cuts through your flesh. A slick poison of steel. It creates a pain, nausea like none you’ve ever felt before. It builds a fury like never again. This is it. The memorial song. The requiem. You can feel it before the few days of survival. You are hours away from your last.

So you pick up your sword and drive it through your enemy, the boy you loved, trusted.

Love. Some sick weakness. It’s almost always only turned on you. Twisted your beliefs into stupidities. It’s made you the fool.

The enemy falls. He has this queer smile upon his face of release before death. You care none for it. You walk forward. Ah. The hole of injury. It drains your limbs of steadiness. You stumble over bodies of comrades. Men of knighthood whom you loved like brothers.

Now they will be no more. Now you will be no more.

There is just one sadness. One fear.

Death is not frightening. You’ve always known it would come. You’ve never ran from its ivy-twisting framed door.

It’s just in the past years something has changed. There’s this person in your fate, your destiny, your life that makes you want to scrape away from heaven’s gate.

Not yet. Not now.

In your weak heart lingers the memory of last time. Passions risen in a tent before battle. Her lips. Her curls of hair. Her essence between her thighs that always responded to your erotic kiss. Her embraces that always took away any passage of cold. Her smile. Her quietly seductive walk. Her bedtime braid that you always wanted to unselfishly twist. Her wet warm mouth that took away any quench of thirst.

Your wife.

“Guinevere…” You murmur with a dry cracked voice. “Guinevere…”

Memories.

Collections.

“Mmm…”

Arthur blew out the candle’s light and settled in against his wife, both of them tired after a long visit from the King of Mercia.

“Proud of you.” He whispered into her braided hair.

“Why? She asked softly.

“How you made the occasion so special. It’s hard to entertain those from Mercia. They’re often argumentative. But you did well. I knew you would years ago. Knew you’d be my rightful queen.”

“Mmm…” She hums softly. “As you are the correct king.”

“With you at my side I am.”

“Mmm…”

Her eyes are closed as he peers over shoulder. She holds his hand to her heart, but her breaths are turning to the deeper ones of near sleep. He presses gently into her curved warmth, kisses her forehead. “Goodnight Guinevere. You’ve had a bunch of busy days. Sleep now my Love.”

***

That is why.

Why you whisper it again now even though your mouth quakes and your lips crack with no moist comfort. “Guinevere…see you again. Need…ah…”

The wound is too deep.

*

You sleep. And travel. Sleep again. And travel more. It is all with a friend who you feel has betrayed, but then you know the truth.

It comes a few days later. You can’t travel anymore. You knew days before when you sat upon that rock, this was likely it. You knew the gravity of a sword’s intention that drove in too hard. Too viciously. There’s no more reason to pretend. To hold on. Life turns to death now. As you look to the desperately frantic servant. As you look to the skies. As you wonder.

When?

When will I see her again?

When…

When…

When…

***

Years pass. but here they have no real meaning. It is a land of peace and calm order. You are sheltered in healing. Of trees. Of springs. Of beauty. Of magic. But still you thirst for what you have not had for so long.

Still…you wait.

And then one day…

As you are walking through Avalon’s wood, a vision appears.

She looks frightened. Unsure. And so you walk forward. You take her hand.

“Guinevere.”

“Arthur?”

You smile, the tears of bittersweet joy trailing down your skin. For it is of meaning twofold. She is not just with you again. She is gone from the other world.

And so she must be as coldly fearing as you were.

“Arthur, it is you?” She runs forward, letting out a cry of happiness. You press your fingers into those curls you’ve missed so much. You rock into her with a fever of passion.

“It is me Guinevere. It is me, my Love.”

“Oh…” She holds you so fervently, before breaking away. “But then…”

“Yes.” You whisper softly, caressing her cheek. “This is Avalon, Guinevere.

“Avalon?” She asks with wonder.

“Yes.” You tell her. “Where you and I will wait.”

“Till what?”

“Till it is time. For us to return.”

“But Arthur-

“No.” You touch her lips. “Shhhh…quiet. Just…be with me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt your love all around me. I want to experience it as long as I can.”

She nods, tears glowing in her eyes. She wants the same as you.

The song plays in your soul.

Selfish…for she is gone from the other world.

Painful…because you couldn’t stand another minute of her not in yours again.

Finally some salvation though.

Finally…

Hallelujah.

Clue to Camelot

2013-04-11T12:51:23Z

Clue to Camelot
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: mustbethursday3- Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Candlestick.
Characters: A/G, Gwaine, Merlin, Percival, Lancelot
Rating: G / around early 1990’s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick, repeat, Colonel Mustard in-

Arthur lifted his walkie talking under the moonlit sky, hissing into it, “Got you the first time Merlin. Now if Professor Plum comes, you better let me know.”

“Got you. Over and out Arthur.”

“What is he doing?” Gwen asked with a frown to her thirteen year old brow. Arthur grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her with him to the window. “It’s our code for if there’s any interference. That was the janitor, on the other side of the campus, good for us.” They started to climb in, Gwen being boosted by Arthur as a new voice came from the walkie talkie.

“Professor Plum is in the kitchen…I repeat Professor Plum has entered the kitchen with the rope. AAAAAHHHH! Dead-

“Give me that Gwaine. Arthur, don’t listen to him. Gwaine!”

Arthur started to yell through the walkie talkie, until Gwen grasped his shoulder. “Someone will hear, Arthur.” He nodded, speaking softly, but with insult. “Merlin, you idiot, all I asked you to do was keep watch on the front gate. And you can’t even do that?”

“Gwaine took the walkie talkie from me!”

“Well get it back from him!”

Meanwhile, through the walkie talkie, in a perfect Southern accent…

“Who done it? Well…it was Miss Scarlet with the revolver in the conservatory…

Oh no-Merlin…ah…you’re no fun!”

“Got it back Arthur!”

“Good. Now keep it.”

“Will do. Clotpole. That’s for calling for me an idiot.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and once again helped Gwen through the window. He’d deal with Merlin and his really odd name-calling later. After Gwen, he climbed through the window too. They both carefully stayed away from the floor which was where the alarm would set off and they’d be toast for entering the school after hours. Huddled on the short counter with Gwen, holding her close which she wasn’t objecting to, {after all, they kissed for the first time at Cendred’s ‘in the closet’ party}, he changed the channel and spoke to a new person.

“Lance?”

“Miss White just vacated the billiard room with the lead pipe.”

“Great.” Arthur grasped onto Gwen’s waist, whispering. “We can step down. Lance and Leon took care of the alarm.”

They searched the Earth Science classroom, going from one place to another. “Hold on a minute.” Arthur remembered suddenly. “I think Percy knows where it is.” He got on his walkie talkie again, talking to Percival who was the guard of the operation. “Hey Perc, where did you say we’d probably find it?”

“In the study. Three drawers down.”

“Got it.”

Gwen rounded the room, finding the teacher’s huge filing cabinet. She opened it at three drawers down. “Why all the code again?”

Arthur shrugged. “Outside it’s important.”

“But inside?” She asked with a skeptical look.

He shrugged once more. “It’s fun.”

Gwen had to agree with a smile as she held it in her hand. “Got it.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here before the alarm sets back in.”

They carefully made their way to the window, and were climbing out when Merlin warned, Gwaine echoing for effect after him. “Uh, Professor Plum is nearing the lounge. I repeat….Percy, just in case, you ready?”

“Yeah…”

“Arthur?”

“Come on Gwen!”

They locked hands with each other and started running for the front.

“Where is he now Merlin?” Arthur asked as they were about fifteen feet from the gate.

“Entering the dining room, carrying the wrench.”

“Wrench? Gwen asked, as they sprinted the last feet.

“Super flashlight that the school guard carries.” Arthur told her as they made their way out just in time.

***
Hours later, in Arthur’s parents house, they all gathered around his attic floor.

Gwaine asked, while chomping down on too many Oreos,

“Why you said we had to get this again?”

“Well Mrs. Annis always keeps anything she confiscates from us for the whole year.”

“It’s that important?” Merlin asked with wonder. Arthur gave him a sobering look that even Gwen wondered about as he removed it from the cloth.

All of them gaped.

“It’s glowing!”

Then they looked to Merlin too who was chanting some weird words.

“What?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head oddly as Gwen moved in closer to Arthur and he wrapped his arm around her.

They just all had the eeriest feeling that the rest of seventh grade wasn’t going to be that normal.

As Merlin now started to say in perfect English straight to Arthur,

“Take me up and…

“Oh wow!” Gwaine yelled through his Oreo lined lips. “I think Professor Plum used the wrench this time in the kitchen!”

They all rolled their eyes, but it was clear now.

The adventure was only beginning, and it went way beyond a board game of who-done-it.

Masked

2013-04-11T12:39:20Z

Masked
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: rubberglue- Masquerade.
Characters: A/G
Rating: PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It might as well be a masquerade. Gwen thought. Something about her life felt so disjointed. It was like she didn’t completely fit into the world that carried her. Each day she went to work and did the time. She sold flowers to the loved, the loving, and the lonely. Oh yes the lonely. Sometimes they’d wander in just to get a bouquet, or a stem or two roses or daisies or carnations for themselves. It was this crazy world of seeking and never finding.

It was…just this hole in the middle that she didn’t get. Every relationship left her unfulfilled. Every kiss from a guy didn’t hold steam or flame.

It was like she was waiting for something, like something was searching her out. But there was no finding. There was no meeting. It just went on. The dull momentum. The unsatisfying existence of life.

*

Hell, call it a masquerade, Arthur surmised. Work again, a train, a route, but it wasn’t the one he wanted to travel. It gave him no satisfaction of feeling, understanding. He rushed to work, rushed to be on time, to not miss a meeting, to hours later feel like the rain of boredom. Monotony consumed it all, the days and the nights. Little shadows waited on the other side of confusing dreams. Relationships felt holed from the thickness of solid. Something lacked to make him break up or be shaken up. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him.

Why, no matter what he did, no matter who he was with, he longed for something beyond. No woman could bring him to the golden glow of a hearth. No woman matched the phantom one of dreams he could not recall enough of to piece together.

It was like he was living to find something else, to reach out and touch the essence of something that he didn’t know what it was. And as he waited to get to it, life held no real spark. It lacked sorely.

*

She carried the newest bloomed flowers in, a myriad of gillyflowers. They lost the hold of her hands though between car and door to shop. She picked up the most she could, but a bunch dropped underneath the bridge’s railing and landed near the brook of water.

*

They landed right near his feet. Now a bunch of fallen flowers was no real reason to look for someone, someplace or something, but these were enough to fit maybe four or five bouquets and they were perfectly budding, vibrant in color. Someone had to be missing these. So he lifted his head, turned around, during his lunch break. He had less than ten minutes left and it would be wasted on this. Oh well, food wasn’t tasting all that great anyway. Just horribly bland.

Well and there it was, a little establishment of lavender and blue coloring, with hints of red. Avalon’s Floral Garden. He moved up to the bridge and crossed to the higher level, a weird sensation starting to fill him the closer he got to the little building.

*

“Oh.” She pricked herself on a thorn of one of the white roses. So strange, she never did anything like that. And this sensation she was getting.

This…

Hands placed something down upon the counter. Gloved hands. She stared at them for the longest amount of time. Déjà vu and yet not understanding of why. She lifted her head. Looked up into his eyes. Seeing a mask of hollow feeling. Like that one that covered her own. Too eerily like it.

And gillyflowers. Bunches and bunches of them.

“Er…I found these on the lower end of the bridge. Um, wild guess, but thought they might be yours.”

A supply of flowers cost good amounts of money. Ones that would fill the brightest bouquet were treasure even beyond. Her fingers grazed against his black gloves and she gave a little shiver.

“I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t frightened you.” He probably was with how he kept staring, his gloved fingers couldn’t leave her bared ones. Those dark curls of hair. The light dash of freckles upon her cheeks, nose.

Something…

“You haven’t. Thank-you.” She practically stuttered on those basic words. A stammering of reply and emotion and yet the easiest thing to say.

Why?

A customer came in, demanding attention. He backed away. She had to let go. His time was up. Back to the monotony. Her time was being demanded. Back to the usual service.

***

Hours moved to days and it was the most oddest of feeling. Both never realized it before, but now they saw all the brooks of loneliness as some bit of covering, A cloak. No. A mask. Emotions so masked by their own insecurities or maybe something far more sinister. Maybe something outside that they had no control of until now.

It quaked at them. It lured them. Pulled so hard she had to find it and so did he.

The bridge lay still, the fine old stone one. It wanted them. It beckoned them. It turned away all outsiders. It whispered in the wind.

Cam…

But nothing too complete. Fadings before it all could be found.

However did that matter? When their footsteps touched the bridge’s base.

When…

They looked at each other. Gazed without making the other run. Touched when it became too unbearable. Strangers did not behave this way. But when warmth teased at your skin, told you that there were masks to be lifted, taken away, you pushed away your cautiousness.

His fingers reached out to her cheek. They slowly moved over the soft skin, no gloves upon fingers this time so he could feel the sweetness. She moved into it, her own fingers reaching out. Touching the chest of his red tie. He closed his eyes. Desiring. Yearning.

Lift it away. End the curse.

Lips pressed to lips and sparks answered with stark reveal. They stopped standing still and moved forward. Their shoes dug into the stone ground as they pressed to feel more of each other. As the masks commenced to fall, be destroyed. As awareness dawned like a babe’s first new beautiful morning of life. As they felt the trickle of recall turn to the spring of memory. Lips did not want to leave each other. Physical awareness wanted to keep in the warmth.

But part they would have to. For just a second or two to say it. To feel it. To understand it.

Found.

The other was found. The masks were disintegrated, burning in the flames of the witch’s defeat.

For they found…each other.

They were once again…

“Arthur.”

“Guinevere.”

One.

Without loneliness.

One.

With passion.

One.

Of eternal roots of love.

“Found you.” He whispered with tears and shakes.

“Yes…finally.” She echoed, a spring of joy.

Twelve Minutes

2013-04-11T12:30:53Z

Twelve Minutes
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: mustbethursday3- Gwen. Arthur. ’12 minutes to save the world is plenty of time, come here.
Characters: A/G, Mordred, talk of Emrys
Rating/Warning: R / language-action

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twelve fucking minutes before everything went up.

Plenty of time...ha.

Ka BOOM.

A total stranger, other than name utterings, a few dirty kisses, and some grinding on the dancing floor, she was a woman of mystery in shadowed claret and midnight black, and she told him to trust her. That together they could stop this.

Twelve minutes to save the world with a stranger of the most unique beauty he’d ever witnessed. Someone who kept messing with his normal intention of thought. For there was something frighteningly familiar about her. Something he just couldn’t put together.

“Come on.” She finished with that thing she did. Her black sleek boots kicking into the floor, her mess of curls flying around her face, she sprang to action, touching one button after another that was hidden into the wall.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

She looked back at him for just a second. “Emrys.”

“And who’s he again?” Arthur asked with exasperation as she ran to another wall, doing the same thing with it. Clicking button by button in some perfect pattern.

“The greatest sorcerer that ever lived. And your best friend.”

“Is he?”

She looked back at him, giving a tiny smile. “Yeah. Now come.”

“Again?”

“Time?”

He looked down at his watch. “Nine.”

“Yes again, Arthur.”

They raced down the steps into the dirty underground. Rats coursed under feet. She grimaced at them. “Oh. Forgot they lived here.”

It was his turn to grab hand. “Come on. Don’t let some little rats bother you.” He helped her weave through them and the sludge of waste. “Now where are we going?” He asked when they finally got past.

“This way.”

He looked down at his watch.

Eight minutes.

The hidden steps led them to more alleys and then to the moonlit streets, half in blazes of fire, half in blazes of people. So many running and screaming like they were just escaped from a mental institution.

Gwen weaved through the mess of frenzied drivers, feeling Arthur’s hand in hers. “We have to get to the other side…oh so many people!” She yelled desperately. “What’s the time?”

“Seven.”

“Oh…come on!”

She kept running like their lives depended upon it, because they did.

He met her at a club where Kasabian was playing so hard the drums drilled through your body. And she told him after a dance, after a drunken kiss, and after a whole lot of eye sex, that he was it. That this was it. Twelve minutes. And the world would end. And here it was. Like time had stopped and started again. He wasn’t even sure it really was this night, because how did so many know?

“I don’t get it…how do they realize what you told me?”

Gwen breathed out heavily, yelling back as she watched the cars with wariness, not wanting to get hit by one. “I told you. We didn’t meet tonight exactly. It was nights ago. The other two sorcerers I told you about earlier…but you may not remember, because they’re messing with our fucking minds. Anyway, they started this. Emrys is doing all he can to stop it. But you and I have to play this part. If we don’t, the clock won’t stop. It’ll keep going. And in…”

“Six now.”

“Yeah…six minutes, the world will be over. And we won’t get that second chance.”

“What?” He asked. What second chance?

“Come on Arthur! Just keep running with me.”

Finally they were off the streets, but in another mess of people on the sidewalk. One big guy rammed into them as he finished looting a store, and hit Gwen so hard, she fell to her feet.

“Bastard!” Arthur yelled at the man, pushing him down, and moved to help Gwen. “Are you okay?”

“Oh…my ankle.” She was grasping it with tears in her eyes.

“Damn. The fall must have sprained it.”

“Go without me. It doesn’t matter now if we’re apart, I don’t think, just that you get it there like I told you. Worse comes to worse…I’ll find you…later.”

He shook his head hard. “I’m not leaving you here with all these hooligans.” He noticed a guy two stores away, putting down his loot and leering at Guinevere like she’d be the perfect catch.

Arthur spontaneously grasped Gwen’s cheek and kissed her.

Then,

“Come on. You said it’s some feet away. We can do it.”

She was struggling and in pain. He could tell when she’d moan, but he held tight to her waist and they got across without any other oafs knocking into her. Arthur made sure of it this time, shielding her against his side. “Okay, we’re here.”

“And…” She was breathing so heavily, that he helped her to stay standing.

“We need to fix your ankle.”

She shook her head with firm negation. “Not now. How many minutes?”

“Five.”

“Okay, it’s just up the elevator.”

They got in, but it didn’t work.

Gwen hit the side of it, more tears of pain escaping her eyes. “Oh…it’s three flights up.”

“Let’s go then.”

Arthur pulled her with him.

“Arthur-

He locked eyes with her then, tugging at her waist. “Come here. Listen to me.” He fingered her cheek with intention. “We’re doing this together. I don’t get everything, but I swear I’ve known you somehow… somewhere.”

“But my ankle.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“Arthur.” She pushed at his chest.

“I’ll CARRY you Guinevere. No one stays back.” He told her with firmness.

Hoisting her over his shoulder, Arthur swiftly carried Guinevere up the three flights of steps. By the time they got to the top he was perspiring heavily and grunting some. “Okay, where next?”

“Let me down.”

He did and held onto her waist, as she navigated the dark empty hallway. The building was abandoned, or at least they hoped it was. Because if not-

“This room.” She directed him and he helped her walk inside. “Time?”

“Two.”

“Oh okay. We have to be like lightning. Emrys prepared it here. Get it out Arthur.”

So he did, the toy he’d been playing with since he was a little kid and no one could ever separate him from.

“Excalibur.” Gwen whispered.

“But it’s a toy.” Arthur told her with confusion.

Gwen shook her head adamantly. “it’s disguised for this world. Emrys put it under a type of cloaking spell. In our other world, I don’t have any power at all, but here, Emrys has taught me, and if need be, he’ll teach you too.”

“Not if I have a say.”

Gwen turned and so did Arthur. She pushed his hand back so Excalibur was hidden.

“Mordred…” She hissed.

The dark haired man nodded. “I can’t let you do this Gwen. Nor you Arthur.”

“And I can’t let you end the world.” Gwen told him evenly.

Mordred laughed, glad he had found them. Now he and Morgana could continue with their plans. “That’s not what I want at all. Why end the world? So final. Mine and Morgana’s aim actually is to have the ultimate control. Let them be our minions.”

“Drop it.” Gwen whispered in Arthur’s ear.

Mordred frowned, not liking being ignored.

“But-

“Trust me.”

It looked like a bottomless pit, but he did so, uttering the words she said were inscribed upon the sword

“Cast me away…”

“NO!” Mordred screamed and Gwen grabbed Arthur, not remembering it until now. Horrified, she ran with him to the other end of the hall, tripping on her ankle, and feeling his assistance toward the end.

Seconds.

Ten.

“What happened?”

Nine

“You just set off the end of the world.”

Eight

“WHAT?”

Seven

“Trust me Arthur.”

Six

“But-

Five

“I’m your Queen from so many years past.”

Four

“You’re my King.”

Three

“We are the once and future and this world was always meant to end, a new Camelot to take its place. Ours.”

Two

“We will rule over it together. And that horrifies Mordred and Morgana.”

One

“Come here.” She whispered. “If we hold onto each other, we can’t die. Kiss me. Let me do the same with you. Don’t be afraid…as long as we have each other....”

Suddenly he remembered.

“I’m the King and you’re my Queen.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, it was all so clear.... it was time for them to rule again, bring in another golden age.

Zero

Suddenly…

Ka BOOM

Balloons

2013-03-29T01:42:17Z

Balloons
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: 2sam11- Balloons
Characters: A/G, Merlin, Morgana, Gaius
Rating: G/ AU/tiny bits of Cannon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In first grade you have your favorite color. All four of them did. Gwen’s was purple. Morgana’s was green. Merlin’s was blue. Arthur’s was red. When it came time for the annual trip to the zoo you gave great thought to your favorite colors. You enjoyed all the animals and then you waited in line for the balloon of your choice.

Gwen and Morgana talked excitedly. Merlin and Arthur sort of snickered from behind.

Then the time came when you got to get your perfect balloon. They all got their colors and they all laughed and smiled. When Gwen accidentally ran into Arthur while running around with hers, he steadied her with his sticky first grade hands. He just had some cotton candy. When Morgana and Merlin decided to race around with their balloons, Morgana insisted she was the winner, while Merlin gave a roll of his youthful eyes.

From first grade to sixth grade. In sixth grade you went to the zoo to examine the marine life because it was a subject you were working on in class. Even though they were teased some for it, not much though because Arthur Pendragon was one of the most popular boys at their elementary school, they waited in line again, all getting their favorite colors. This time Arthur stumbled into Gwen and pulled her with him into the trees so they could kiss for the first time. Sticky because she had the cotton candy today. Merlin and Morgana raced and once again Morgana insisted she was the winner, laughing at Merlin, until his sad face. Then they too shared a kiss.

From sixth grade to high school. They’d be graduating in weeks and this was their chemistry teacher’s gift, a trip to the zoo. Now it probably really sounded silly for high school kids to want balloons, but actually every single one of the class waited in line. Seemed what Arthur did caught on to everyone quite quick. There was a boy named Lance there who Gwen was sort of smitten with. Arthur watched them with jealousy, but said nothing, since Lance played on his team with him. Merlin and Morgana teased each other relentlessly, before escaping into the trees for a little making out.

From high school to college. Even sillier many would say. But they didn’t care. The now elderly man smiled as they got their balloons. Him name Gaius, he told them to never let them go. That made them all wonder, but then they thought he was probably just a crazy old man…crazy…but sweet. Each of them loved him for always having the perfect color balloons. Arthur and Gwen were just getting back together after her time with Lance ended. He grasped her hand and asked if she’d think about dating just him. She loved that idea. They made out in the trees. Morgana and Merlin sat down upon a bench, arguing, and making up, over and over. Then all four of them raced, ignoring the snickers of children watching them. Who cared? Nothing bad about life when you had the perfect color balloon.

From college to the daily workforce. They got their balloons from that same sweet crazy old man, and then they raced around with them for a bit, before settling down. Arthur and Gwen had fallen in love, and so he asked if she would consider living with him for a while. Gwen excitedly said yes. Merlin and Morgana were still always in that bickering, loving mood, but today they were mostly loving, Morgana letting Merlin win the race.

They wandered around together, the four of them, always best friends. Always fighting and then making up. Always holding their balloons. They came to a grand dragon slide that they used to love as little kids. As there was no one around, they checked to make sure, they laughed and decided to ride it down, all the while holding onto their balloons.

But when it came to the end for each, the zoo was gone. The end of the slide led to a misty area. And they swore they could see beyond the mist the greatest castle ever.

“Arthur?”

He grasped Gwen’s hand tighter.

Merlin and Morgana held onto each other too.

None of them let go of their balloons.

They started to cautiously walk through the mist, coming to a lake with a sword floating in the water.

“Are we dreaming?” Arthur asked Merlin.

Merlin shook his head with wonder. “Craziest dream ever if we are.”

When Arthur picked up the sword, he accidentally lost hold of his balloon.

When the sword flamed at its blade, Gwen lost hers.

When a dragon flew over them, Morgana lost hold of hers.

And when that dragon talked to Merlin, Merlin no longer had his.

And when their images changed and the balloons floated up into the air, they all looked at each other anew.

Their clothing medieval style, they remembered now.

Morgana pulled away from Merlin, her face pained, but accepting. “I hate you?”

He sadly nodded. “I have to fight you because you threaten Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re my sister…but you hate me too?”

Morgana cried and disappeared.

Gwen held out her hand, whispering. “No…Morgana we are friends…”

But not here. Not in Camelot.

They lived their lives as they were supposed to. Arthur and Gwen loved as Merlin lived in sometimes dark loneliness, except for the friends around.

A golden age would come of prosperity and unification, of grand celebrations, amazing displays of magic, and love between king, queen, sorcerer and knights.

And yet so would terrifying battles, dark sorcery, and death.

And with it all, each day they couldn’t help wonder…

What would have happened if they had held onto those balloons, each color of balance?

What would have happened?

Urgency of Love

2013-03-27T15:57:16Z

Urgency of Love
Written for: ag_fics Fic Battle 2.0
Prompt: hope27- Arthur/Guinevere, ‘I will love with urgency but not haste.’
Characters: A/G, Merlin, Kilgharrah
Rating: G

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin kept telling him that he couldn’t rush this. If he did then he would fall into her trap and everything would be lost. Camelot would never rise again. But not moving fast was hard for Arthur. A man of action for so many years, this new stillness being forced upon him was indeed difficult.

“Alright Arthur.” Merlin walked into the room now, taking in the other’s attire. Well he was a lot better at dressing himself with corresponding colors thanks to the special tape Merlin put on the clothes. “The town’s called Pacifica, coastal, according to my magic.”

“That special ball you have?” Arthur asked, putting on his jacket.

“Yeah.” Merlin told him, coming forward with a large dog that had black-brown short fur. “I know you’re scared.”

“Merlin, I’m not scared of anything. Idiot.” Arthur insisted. But Merlin knew better. Being in this whole new world was bad enough. His entry was supposed to a lot less complicated, but thanks to Morgana things were quite complicated. “You’re going to take Kilgharrah.”

Arthur let out a whoosh of bothered air from his lips. “Your dog that really was a dragon back in Camelot, but now is a…”

“Yeah…dog…Arthur. He’s a dog now.” Kilgharrah growled. “He doesn’t like it, but it is what it is. When Morgana got together with the Avalon sisters who decided to turn against the healing…who decided they didn’t like you, lots of things got ruined.

Slipping on his sunglasses, Arthur deadpanned. “Tell me about it. Okay, come on…”

Arthur waited for the sound of footsteps, but there was none.

“Merlin.”

“I can’t go with you Arthur.”

“What?”

Merlin could hear his best friend’s upset, but Morgana’s curse had caused this too. “When we countered the spell with the good sisters of Avalon, we couldn’t break through all of what Morgana and the others did. You have to find her alone.”

“What about Kilgharrah?”

Arthur pointed to the big dog who let out an insulted woof.

Merlin shook his head, grasping Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s not the same. He’s an animal.”

Another angry woof. Kilgharrah in this world could understand everything, but couldn’t talk.

“A very intelligent animal who will not steer you wrong.”

Arthur let out a sigh, shaking his head. He had no choice though, really, did he? Either he lived alone or…he braved it.

“You better be right.”

Merlin nodded, telling him, “Okay, now look…uh…well anyway, search for a sign of the kingdom. Any sign of it. That will be what will lead you to her.”

“Like the word Camelot on a rock?” Arthur deadpanned.

“Arthur.”

“Yeah yeah. Okay. A sign. Hear that Kilgharrah…we’re…well you’re looking for a sign. Crap.”

*Woof*

***

Ah, the smell of saltwater, fried fish and people in general, assaulted his nose. So did the sounds of children, moving motor boats, and the docked ones hitting against the pier. The wind pulled at his black jacket and his red polo. But none of it led to a sign. After hours of walking up and down the beach, on the board walk area and in the town area, where the houses were some of the nicest in San Mateo County, Arthur was feeling defeated.

“Kilgharrah, where is this sign?” He asked the dog who promptly went:

*Woof*

“You saw it?”

*Woof*

That was a no *woof*. Arthur knew them well now. He hadn’t found the sign yet and without the sign he wouldn’t find her, and without her…well…

Suddenly Kilgharrah started running and Arthur panicked, letting the leash go. After that he panicked even more, almost hitting the ground, but his strong sense of balance kept him up. A bunch of teenagers moving past, made snickering noises. People around stared as he called out frantically. “Kilgharrah, come back!” His heart was beating so fast, he could feel it pounding against his chest.

Idiot Merlin was right.

He was scared.

Terrified.

“Oh…are you alright?” A soft voice asked, an even softer hand touching his wrist. “I was working and this big dog just ran right into the restaurant and I saw you yelling. So…is he yours?”

“Yeah.” Arthur breathed, starting to take his glasses off, but then-it was there.

He could feel a certain intensity, could feel-

“Are you blind?” She asked suddenly.

He nodded his head. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She let out a sigh. “No wonder you were so scared. It’s okay now though. He’s here. Your dog. His tag says Kilgharrah. Well you have him back. And um…I should go back to work. I’m over there. You can barely see it from the beach. Not that you would see it. I’m sorry. That wasn’t a copacetic thing to say. Are you hungry?”

Arthur had the oddest sensation. He reached out, grasped her wrist. “What is your name?”

“Oh it’s Gwen. And you just look like you haven’t eaten in a while. Well I don’t mean you look anorexic or anything. Just…hungry. Not that…well…um…anyway, I go on my break like in five minutes. If you want to join me…I’d be happy to share lunch with you.

I don’t know why I’m saying that. I don’t usually do that. Invite a stranger to lunch. But…there’s something about you.”

His heart was pounding again. Not because he was scared, but excited. Gwen. Short for Guinevere? “What is the name of the place you work at?”

“Oh it’s Camelot Fish and Chips. So without sounding really odd, which I probably already do. Er, do you want to have lunch with me?”

“Yeah.” He whispered.

He found her.

Now…no rush. No haste. Be still.

Calm.

Love was an urgent emotion. But it could never go faster than it was meant to.

***

Days passed to a week. They’d share lunch almost every afternoon. Kilgharrah would come too. They talked and talked like they’d known each other for years.

But then they had…in a time long ago.

One day she asked…

“Arthur…do you mind if I kiss you?”

He smiled and said. “No.”

“Oh.” She backed away with disappointment.

He laughed. “I don’t mind at all.”

So Gwen kissed him and the most awful part of the spell from Morgana lifted. He took off his sunglasses and saw her with his eyes for the first time.

And she…

“Arthur? My husband? Oh my God…where are we?”

He smiled Still. As they stood right underneath the sign. He gestured peacefully, “In Camelot, Guinevere. We’re in Camelot.”

And so they were.

And so he found his queen.

His heart’s breath.

Without haste.

Without selfishness.

Just the urgency of love.

Love of Exception

2013-03-05T14:16:14Z

*Made by ella_rose88*

Title: Love of Exception
Rating: Teen {has love, but also loss, so please be gently warned}
Word Count: 6,600+
Characters: Arthur, Gwen, Merlin
Art:ella_rose88 did the beautiful poignant banner art. Thank you M for so graciously sharing your talent.
Author’s Note: This was supposed to be up for Valentine’s day and then I got behind, lol, and then a wild, but fun fic competition took my focus, and so now I’m posting it and sharing it. Hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing.

✾~❧~✾

“Darling…

You are the only exception”

~Paramore~

✾~❧~✾

Past the bridge and the rushing river, from the mountains and the trees, they rose and fluttered into the sky. The stories of the mating birds were vastly beloved in Camelot. The time of the males coming out to meet the females was always greeted with jubilee. Every mid February their arrival brought such hope and happiness for the cold bitter nights would soon end and the warm and vivid colorfulness of spring would just be a beckon away.

The mood so celebratory, it came, every year, the Valentine’s Day Festival of February 14th. There would be music and dance. There would be cards of love and flowers to gift.

Some months past her very first kiss from a prince, Gwen sighed. The Valentine’s Day Festival was tonight and she would be working hard to make sure that the prince, his father, and all the lovely ladies that the prince’s father heralded, would be pleasurably served. She’d be at the side of her mistress and dear friend, Morgana, while Merlin served at Arthur’s.

Normally no weight wore upon her for having such tasks to complete, but now her emotions had been stirred around by that kiss of months past and the one that followed.

Oh the time he came to stay. She still considered then Arthur Pendragon to be a man she just sort of knew. For years she kind of marveled at him and complained just the same. She grew excited, and then deflated when he didn’t move up to the task. He was handsome, but ever so arrogant, so yet to become the kind of man that king required.

But somewhere within Gwen just knew he’d get there. Like the birds finding each other now in the skies and branches, she knew Arthur would reach his calling and become the greatest king Camelot had ever known.

Some day…

But for now…

Well she was not fit for a prince. At least not to Uther Pendragon, Arthur’s father. She was no more than a servant girl to him, and so he had others who he thought would make his son happy this night. Others who Gwen did not want to think about.

Because always, even in the light of day, if her fingers touched her lips, and he was there, training, walking by, or just standing afar, she’d feel the soft sweet burn of when his lips touched them. She’d experience the spring of flame that they tickled the insides of her mouth with. She’d wonder if emotion had turned to something so deep, so full, as passion. It was the most surprising passion of commencing love.

Gwen shook away all her rush of thoughts as a bird’s song lifted to her ears in fierce interruption of realism. She had no more time to sit upon this bank. There were many duties for her to tend to around the castle before the special Valentine mini jousting match. It was just a short performance for knights to obtain their ladies gaze, for princes to acquire a princess’s kiss upon the cheek.

Gwen fixed her lavender skirts, her apron dress with the beautiful mystery of birds upon it, and moved forward, not too watching of her direction, mind and heart somewhere beyond.

Perhaps that is why the body that came against hers did so in a way that made her startle, as arms lifted, and hands extended to steady her.

“Oh…oh…Guinevere.”

The first ‘oh’ was just a generic reaction. The second was an oh that ah-ha…it was her. Specifically her.

“My Lord…forgive me…I did not see you there.”

Arthur smiled softly, feeling a peace that oddly only came with her around. “Didn’t see you either. I’m sorry.”

“No harm. I came here to watch the mating birds.” She rambled a touch, before silencing her mouth smartly.

“Me too.” Arthur whispered. “So did you catch sight of many?”

She wanted to delve into the conversation, but it was so inappropriate. He was prince and she was servant. That meant tonight many women of nobility would be at his side, wanting to taste his flame of spring lips.

She blushed slightly, before shaking her head. “Just some. I need to get back. Morgana must be waiting for me. We’re to attend the jousting match together.”

Arthur nodded, not telling her that because he was jousting himself, there was little possibility Gwen would be late if she stayed just a bit more. He knew this was a game of avoidance that should be left alone.

Just this.

He lifted his hand, pressed against her arm as she turned to leave. He held her steady, looking up into her eyes for she was standing on the higher end of the grassy bank, his position on the lower part. “Will you cheer for me? Like you did when I stayed with you?’

Gwen gave a shrug. No doubt there would be many women cheering for him this time from the bulk of Camelot’s cities, the nearest lands. Add to that the princesses desiring his courtship. “I’m sure you’ll have many. No need for me to also.”

She once more moved to leave, but this time Arthur caught her hand, gently, but briskly bringing her down to stand with him upon the lower part of the bank. “I take it if Lancelot were here you’d be rooting for him.”

It was out of his mouth before he could constrain. It was months ago that Hengist captured her and Lancelot and they were imprisoned. They kissed. And…

Well he was pretty sure nothing else happened, but that was enough. Of course a month or two later she kissed him when he was put under a love spell. And let him know that they couldn’t be together afterward, that she would never be his queen.

Of course she didn’t like his clipped response now as she made sure to disengage from him, whispering calmly.

“Lancelot is not here. So no need to bring up the past. I must be going now…my Lord.”

He gave a curt nod and stepped further up the bank, watching the birds that now twittered in the trees.

Gwen had already excused herself, was making to leave, but she held still for a moment, noticing his quiet concentration. It surprised. She caught how he stood there with wonder in his blue eyes as the birds flittered in the trees, as the mating rituals began in the dawn of morning.

“You like to watch?”

Arthur smiled, a little more at peace now. “Who doesn’t? It’s why we started celebrating this day after all, isn’t it?”

She smiled back and touched his hand. “It is. And if you prove yourself worthy, I will cheer you on today.”

“If?” Arthur asked with a wrinkle to his brow.

She lifted her finger teasingly. “As I recall, it was Sir William who was so victorious last time.”

To that he grinned. “Oh yes, the dashing Sir William.” He probably was remembering all the costuming and washing that had been performed to get the farmer man to look like a proper knight.

“Very dashing.” Gwen grinned back and sauntered away playfully.

Arthur watched her little flirting sway for a moment, coming to a decision, before directing his attention to the birds again.

✾~❧~✾

The jousting match was a rousing display of plenty of competition, but mostly hurrahs of entertainment. Everyone was dressed quite festively and Arthur proved his worth, winning without great difficulty, but Gwen noticed with a pleased expression that he showed no huge degree of bravado as he wrapped arms around his fellow knights who received second and third place.

Night soon came, evening of the gold white moon half behind a whispering of clouds, the rest of the sky touched by the brightness of stars’ shine.

As men and women rounded each other in the middle of the floor, others dined with loving glances or flirtatious ones, to the sound of the minstrels playing one love tune after another.

Busily Gwen tended to her work, wiping her brow at a short moment of rest. Having to go back and forth from the kitchens meant she was being touched by hot sweat that she had to rid her forehead and cheeks of.

As she finished wiping she noticed the interactions of two. The beautiful golden haired princess was giving him a solid kiss upon the cheek. And he didn’t really reject it. Of course not.

Gwen let out a resigned sigh. It was to be expected of course. Uther had made sure Arthur was joined by plenty of female accompaniment this night. They were practically clamoring for the young handsome prince’s attentions. And so be it.

He had his indulgences. She had her work. No need to watch with any deep revelry. That would be just stupid counsel.

Gwen finished getting her plates served and returned to the kitchens. More sweat upon her face. More toiling.

✾~❧~✾

The hours grew to even later ones. It was near midnight when she felt a tap upon her shoulder.

“Ah…Gwen.”

“Merlin.” Gwen turned back to him with a touch of surprise, taking in his usual bright scarfed attire, fittingly red for the time of Valentines. He was smiling at her in a mysterious way.

“I have something for you.”

She grimaced a touch. “Okay.”

Merlin brought it out from his pocket. Gwen unfolded the thick parchment, her brow furrowing as she read the words. “Merlin, what-

She asked, but he wasn’t there anymore. Gwen shook her head. Strange. She read the words on the parchment again. It was just as strange, and somewhat familiar.

Why?

Well…the mysteriousness and all of it didn’t matter. She had more work to do.

Gwen returned to her tasks, but after somewhere near a half hour more of it, she let out a sigh. Quite a few had already left the premises, including him of course. She noticed too that one of the fine princesses in addition was missing. So most likely they were together enjoying themselves-

Oh now it wouldn’t do to dwell on that, Gwen silently chastised herself. The parchment found her fingers again as it seemed to be burning a hole within her pocket and mind’s curiosity. The hour was so late. Not even the king was in attendance anymore. It probably wouldn’t hurt, but best to let her mistress know first.

Gwen made her way to the front rectangular tables. Her mistress, dressed in velvet red and gold, was at the corner of one with a dashing knight. They were conversing with smiles and laughter. Before Gwen could even politely make her presence known, Morgana was turning to her with interest.

“Gwen...what is it?”

It seemed odd to tell her with the knight there too. Perhaps Morgana realized this because she stood up now, excusing herself from the knight for a fast moment, and held onto Gwen’s hand as they stepped back from the table some. “Is it an admirer?”

Gwen gave a shrug, before giving Morgana the message.

Reading it with deep interest, Morgana smiled charmingly when she got to the end. “Oh…I see it is.”

“That is not known for certain Morgana.” Gwen stated cautiously.

To that Morgana laughed, her long dark hair fluttering around the shoulders of her red and gold gown with the action. “I’d say it is. So I’m guessing you want to leave?”

Gwen shook her head, but before she could say more, Morgana was grasping her shoulders firmly. “And leave you shall, Gwen. The festivities are almost all over. Sir Roger over there has promised to show me his…armor.” Morgana stated with a hint of teasing. “Says it gleams.”

Gwen smiled with inches of amusement as Morgana once again told her, “Now go. Just be careful. Since your admirer wants you to meet him somewhere more remote…I could have Sir Roger make sure he is not some philanderer. Or…”

Morgana reached within her dress, bringing out a shiny jeweled dagger. Gwen stared at it, feeling Morgana’s hands bringing it into hers. “Here…just keep the case upon it if not needed.”

✾~❧~✾

So with that Gwen was now outside of the festival, past the heart of the citadel, near the river’s edge, at the bottom of a Camelot hillside. If she wasn’t holding the dagger so strongly in her grip, she probably would have dropped it when the set of shoulders and the strong line of a person’s back became a familiar one.

Her feet pressed against the ground, her heart giving a little pound of shock. “You?”

He was turned around all the way now, his eyes shining with interest, his mouth giving a little curve. Even with all the princesses surrounding him most the night, ladies from the side tables giving him wanting glances, he’d been watching secretly just one figure, desiring the company of just one individual. “Yes it is me, Guinevere.”

She walked up more, feeling his hand brush over her wrist, his eyes so intent. Gwen tore her focus away from them for a moment, seeing the blanket upon the grassy ground, the bottle, and the glasses. There were even his pillows in attendance, two of them. “What is this?” She gestured around.

He gave a shrug. “Well since we both seem to enjoy it, I thought we could watch the mating birds…together. It’s said that the bulk of them arrive at dawn, sometimes even earlier.”

“What about your princesses?” Gwen asked even more urgently. “Your father?”

Arthur still hadn’t moved his hand from her wrist. “They don’t interest me. And you may not have noticed but he departed hours ago. My father never stays for the entirety. As much as he enjoys it, also makes him melancholy.”

“Why?” Gwen asked with interest.

“Because it was my mother’s favorite too…the birds…she loved it as much as I do. Now I know what you’re going to say, that he wouldn’t approve of this. And you’re probably right. My father is still stuck in ways of old. He doesn’t see things the same as I do all the time. But this is what I want. Guess the question is Guinevere…is it what you want?”

She couldn’t help think of the company he’d been sharing inside, not with shards of jealousy, but prickles of discomfort. There was no ease in experiencing emotions of feeling for a prince, when you were a handmaiden. For you see every fate of destiny told that there was no chance of happiness together becoming veracity.

He was looking at her now like she was the one to choose, but this was his decision too just as much. To engage in anything with him was nearly threatening. If found out by those who objected, it could even cost her life. “You ask?”

Arthur took a step forward, his hand not only on her wrist now, but his fingers tangling with hers, conjoined with intention. “Yes I ask Guinevere, because I’m not always certain it’s what you want.”

She objected to that with a frown, calmed, but its direct hit no blurry miscalculation. “You say that and yet you’re the one who made clear months ago that your father would never allow such a thing. You said the same now.”

Arthur let out a sigh of truth. “I can’t see my father smiling at you and me together. It is nothing personally about you. It is how he feels about kingdom, Guinevere. He will want me to marry for political reason, not…feeling. I don’t agree with that…not entirely.”

Marriage? Gwen wondered at his direction of thought. “So what do you want to have happen here, Arthur?”

What did he want? Well, to not pretend with a pretty perfect princess who really didn’t catch his eye, or more importantly, his heart. He wanted to be outside with the one he loved, but first one matter. “To be with you. Guinevere. I want to be with you.”

“Tonight?” She asked cautiously.

He shook his head, hoping his intentions weren’t soiling into something clandestine. And it was more than that. Guinevere was a servant of Camelot. He saw her as much more, but that was her official role, handmaiden to Morgana. If foolish, careless, while together, he could leave her with something that would endanger her life. He didn’t want just some simple affair with her, especially not one that would cause her pain.

“To just be together…watch them, the mating birds. Nothing more. But I’m careful in asking because…of him.”

“Who?”

“Lancelot.”

Gwen now sighed. “Arthur, he’s not here.”

“That doesn’t mean you are without thought of him.”

Now Gwen looked more deeply into Arthur’s eyes, taking in his grand attire all the while. He was still in his Pendragon cape, but underneath this night there was no chainmail, just his bright red tunic for the festivity. It meant the top part of his chest was not covered. His pale skin lit through, displaying hints of his muscle. His golden blonde hair half fell over his forehead, mostly pushed back against his neck. And those eyes, they of blue ocean whispers of sky, looked to her with touches of doubt.

It had hurt him when Hengist took her and his recue was met by another man, Lancelot. She was wise enough now to know he mostly lied about why he rescued her then. She knew now that it wasn’t just about Morgana’s will. He lied to protect his pride…and perhaps his heart. She wasn’t proud herself of how she acted then, but it was his stubbornness that brought on her own.

Now it was months later, after a further kiss in the tent that she commenced because of that love spell.

“Arthur…” She disengaged one of her hands, feeling him gently let go. She lifted it to his cheek, her fingers stilling there under the glow of the moon. “I’m here now. In Camelot. With you. I’m not thinking of another.”

It was a risk of heart, but she wanted to take it, wanted to plunge, for something always happened when he was near. He thrilled a part of her being she never even truly knew existed before. “I want to be with you too.”

To that he smiled happily and led her to the blanket.

✾~❧~✾

Wine was enjoyed with bits of talk. They sat upon the blanket and smiled and laughed. They joked about the knights and Merlin, stories of exploits and such. He gave out a little cry of exaggerated shock as he felt the dagger come against his side. She amusingly told him how Morgana gave it to her in case the man she was meeting was some dangerous philanderer.

Arthur chuckled at that, telling her it was a good thing he was nothing of such.

Midnight turned to one, to two, to three. In all the time so far they hadn’t kissed, but they had touched, and their eyes had wandered to the other pair of lips quite often. With the night surrounding them, with the wine lazily sweet and strong, they knew temptation was right at the brink. Better to talk, to enjoy a bit of distant company for the time being. Allow that instead of kisses turning to pools of hot passion.

With the hour later and later, bodies grew more relaxed, coveted rest, and so he lay upon the blanket and coaxed her to lie beside. Soon her head was upon his chest, his hand was pleasurably stroking her back, and something popped free from his tunic’s covering, something that she looked at and soon fingered with wonder.

“Arthur, what is this?”

He drew his fingers down the barely used chain, only for this occasion, touched it with her. “A sigil. My mother’s.”

She drew up at that, staring with question. “A sigil, but aren’t they magic?”

He nodded his head. “I’ve heard the same. But it’s never stopped me from wearing it. At least not on this night.”

“What does your father say about it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. My father does not know about it.”

She stared, eyes widened, and he told her the story of someone who must have been with his mother in her last hours. She was given the sigil, told to guard it, and when the time was right, to leave it with him, with a note too.

“The note came from your mother?” Gwen asked, her fingers still upon the weavings of odd metal, like none she had ever touched, so labyrinthine the design.

“Yes, has the exact same hand used as cards/letters, my father has from her…but she died before she could finish its words. I know she meant for me to have this. I’m just not entirely sure why…something I think having to do with protection because her last word of the note stated prote-

And then it was cut off.”

“Who is the woman who gave you the sigil then, and the note?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know Guinevere. I was too young to be aware. I just know she took great risk to give me this. And I am thankful to her for that.”

“Why do you think your mother didn’t want your father to know?”

Arthur gave an uncertain shake of his head. “I’m not sure really. I guess because it had magic.”

“But magic was not outlawed until after…she died.” Gwen stated gently.

“I know that. Which is the mystery of it. I suppose she had her reason.

Look Guinevere, I’ve never questioned it. Just to know that my mother had this, wanted me to have it, is enough. I don’t like keeping secrets from my father, but this…I don’t feel guilty for not telling him. It was my mother’s wish for him to not know and so I honor that.”

He couldn’t help ask with a touch of uncertainty. “Do you think me awful for not telling him?”

Gwen did not particularly like Arthur’s father, but any respect she showed to him was because of his son. She cared for Arthur deeply and so she cared not to say anything uncouth about his father. “No. It’s like you said, your mother’s wish. It does not hurt your father. It only touches your heart.”

He smiled at her understanding, hands circling around her shoulders, lips pressing to her brow. “Thank you. You’re the only one I’ve ever shared it with. The only one who I think would understand. Well…and probably Merlin. It’s kind of different…like him…actually he’s just strange.” Arthur couldn’t help deadpan.

Gwen laughed softly, fingering the sigil further as she moved up to look upon it more intently. “Is this a bird?”

“It is. It’s a bird of legend I believe.”

“What?” Gwen asked.

He told her about sneaking into Gaius’s quarters one time after enough musings on the strange, but beautiful bird upon the sigil’s heart. In one of Gaius’s thick volumes he found an image that almost exactly duplicated the one on the sigil. The book was hard to read. He took a quill and wrote the words onto parchment. Then he went to Geoffrey to find a translator. After that, he snuck out of the kingdom for a day to find the translator and learned what the words meant, learned the name of the bird and more.

“Adar Llwch Gwin. It was said to be this great bird, of magnificent size. A giant. It could understand people, did their bidding. I’m not sure if all that’s true. The translator was a bit balmy, believing in so many odd things, but I do think it may be an image of that giant bird, or at least one that has strong resemblance to it.”

Gwen fingered the sigil with more interest, carefully turning it over, looking upon the strange griffonage.

“Are these words…does this say something?”

He nodded. “I think so. I’m just not sure what. I didn’t feel right showing the man the actual sigil. And I couldn’t figure out how to write these words…if they are that..clearly enough. They’re sort of confusing.”

Gwen murmured with consent. “They are indeed. But this is very special.” She referred to the sigil. “A beautiful gift from your mother. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He held her even closer, letting out a meaningful sigh. “Guinevere, I am glad we are together. She loved to come out here to wait all night for the great flocks of birds to arrive in the morning too. That much my father has told me. She loved to watch them. They made her heart light. She loved creatures of flight…so much.”

Gwen reached out, caressing Arthur’s chest through his tunic. “I feel so very close to you now Arthur. I wish we could always be like this.”

He grasped her cheek, the side of her face, and kissed her lips, whispering longingly. “I wish the same Guinevere. Wish it often.”

From that they slumbered together, holding close, holding tight, but not so firm to be shameful, to be needy. Peace was always found with each other, somehow, someway. Her calm tempered his spurts to action. His ease lured away her intensity of protocol.

✾~❧~✾

Morning’s dark turned to morning’s light. Sun poked at the moon and first bits of illumination sang out to the birds of wonder.

Soon Arthur was waking her excitedly, like a thrilled boy, pointing it out, gathering her close so she would see just as in kind what he did. “Look Guinevere…look at them. Aren’t they marvelous, such spectral beings, the way they fly around each other, the way they soar in the breeze…”

It was a novel side to him, it was the side that she believed mostly contained his mother. And yet it wasn’t fully surprising for his heart was most definitely his mother’s. His soul was entwined with hers. The colors of the birds, myriads, kaleidoscopes of magical majesty. The way they flew with such abandon, not knowing of their being spied upon. It truly was the most wondrous thing ever. It truly…

“I love you.”

She looked up, saw his eyes of conviction, of solid veracity. Felt his lips descend upon hers. Press and hold there. Wet warmth. A spring of quiet passion. She turned away though, shaking her head, getting him to respond more strongly, holding tightly to her arms, his voice fervent.

“I do. I love you Guinevere. You alone. I don’t love any other princess. I don’t love dancing with them. I don’t love being in halls of celebration with them. I just love you. I am at peace with you. I can forget so much of it with you. I can be myself…with you…Guinevere.”

“Arthur-

She started to plead, but he didn’t allow it, grasping her shoulders just a bit more tightly, careful to not hurt, but urgent enough to not let go. “I know you think it’s impossible. I know I’ve told you sometimes it’s not possible. But somehow…someway…it will happen. You and I will be together. You will be my queen…Guinevere. For you are the only queen I desire. You are the only queen I want by my side.”

She felt just a short sprinkle of tears at eyes’ edge. She tried to shake them away. “Can it be?” She asked, needing to hear him give answer.

His grasp of her shoulders got her to turn. “Look at the birds. How do they do it? How do they fly? How do they hold there, suspended? If they can…surely we can. If they can love, if they can give heart, then we can too.”

But when? She had to wonder. How long would she have to wait? How long-

She looked back to ocean of eyes, their blue of sky, their hope and wonder. She caressed his cheek, whispering, “I guess I’ll have to wait til then.”

His heart shook. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to make you wait too long. Just know you’re the only one.”

The only one that got by the rule, the brotherhood of knights, the love of kingdom. For she shared it all with him. And yet, this feeling of her, this depth of heart, it was its own. It lived not so much in tandem, but alone. For only one thing could make him give it up. Could make him run away from the fate. Could make him turn from his father.

Her. The only exception. Love.

And yet the hands that held his cheeks now, that found his shoulders, the fingers that delved with emotion into his hair, would never ask that of him. Loved it all in kind. Believed in all the protocol. Believed in his destiny.

She…

The only exception of love.

She…

And he…

Lost in kisses, lost in devotion of each other, they held like that until the sun warned that day was at beckon and that they could more easily be found by those who would cause them harm.

✾~❧~✾

And yet, every year hence, they risked it and returned.

From secret relationship, to marriage when they no longer had to hide, but still kept it an intimate secret.

From build of kingdom

To its golden dawn.

To children.

To grand ones.

Every year of Valentine, they returned. They loved the birds…and each other.

Every year.

✾~❧~✾

Day passed to day. Week to week. Month to month. Year to year. Past. Forward.

Time moved on, even beyond the horrid day his heart ceased its beat, when he pressed upon her breast with scarlet fingers his sigil.

It lays upon her heart now as she lies within the bed they shared for so many years, that she has still not gotten used to sleeping in alone. It is too grand. It is too empty.

She looks upon the calendar at bedside, seeing it clearly after moving forward. Her vision has blurred in past months. She is too weak to stand as the morning commences outside her window. She looks upon the flowers and other giftings. She smiles at them fondly. Marriage to her dear king brought on two sons and one daughter, brought on a few grand little ones too. They are children most precious, the son now of age to rule.

But first that eldest son must wait for her departure. He has told her he does not want it, her leaving of the world, but she is wise, and knows now that with grandchildren even to count, life is dimming.

It’s a bit of salvation anyway for it to fade.

Life has been less of heart without him, her husband, her love of exception, for these four years of existence. She misses daily, hourly, by minute, by second.

“Day of Valentine…” She whispers with dried lips, quaking for his moisture. If her health was better she’d rise and go there. Not one time has she missed. How can it be that she will not go this year?

“I must get up. I must go be…where I and my Arthur always went…together.”

It swims before her eyes, days of golden grandeur. Moments of fierce battle. Occasions of splendid festivity. Wonders of magical achievements.

She looks upon one gift specially. It is from Merlin…Merlin Emrys…the sorcerer, her husband’s dearest friend who howled madly when his king died. When he couldn’t save him. When not even the sigil would end the suffering. For it was time.

As now…

She whispered it to Merlin last night, seeing how he had aged beyond them for Merlin had much heaviness that he carried. He had done so much to keep Camelot alive and vital, to protect his king, queen, and all those who they brought to world.

“I feel my time is nearly up Merlin.”

“No…don’t say that Gwen.”

She laughed shortly, feeling him holding her shoulder as the laughter grew painful. “Easy.”

She touched his whitening beard, smiled at him fondly. “Nothing is easy anymore. I miss him every day. The children…look at them. They are older. They are mature. They lead new lives, new adventures. They will be good without me. Look at our eldest son, just like his father, so handsome, so full of heart. He will love Camelot the same. He will be good.”

Merlin had to know, Gwen thinks now. Merlin had to…for she can feel it at the moment. “Oh if only I could get up from this bed. If only…”

It comes then.

Sudden beautiful light shining through the window. Gwen curses her shaky legs, but then experiences a strange oddness.

Magic? No…cannot be.

She lifts up from the bed. She goes to the light, but it will mean travel. Good thing her legs do not give out on her now. Her feet are no longer heavy. “I can walk…” She lets out excitedly.

The stairs are not far. She takes them carefully, but there is no falter, no shake. She laughs joyfully, finding no hindrance, no one blocking her path. Even the guards do nothing to stop her.

No one rises to cease her movement. She runs through the citadel, heads with love’s abandon to it. The hillside. The one she and her dear Arthur shared so many times.

Holding the sigil pressed to her breast, she spins around and around. Breathes in the beautiful scent of nature. Stops to watch the mating birds at they arrive, flocks of them. So many. It’s so wondrous. It’s so…

“Hello my Love.”

She hears a voice, but it cannot be. No. That voice, now four years without it, can’t be possible.

“Took you long enough.” He deadpans, and she turns around, seeing him standing there. Beautiful. Proud. In red tunic. Young and vigorous. Golden shine of the sun turns his hair to mineral. He is everything. He is…

“Ar-thur…” Her hand presses to her heart. She peers down at her naked feet, at her ankles that the blades of grass brush against, tickling.

His hands come out. “Yes Guinevere. Arthur. Your Arthur…your heart’s Arthur.”

She rushes forward, nearly falling, but for his hands that grasp her arms, the love that quakes from his lips and eyes. “Oh…my Love…” She presses against him. Into him. Her fingers shiver to feel his skin, to touch it, not some dream, not some spectral vision. “Oh Arthur...”

He smiles, hands fondling her cheeks, touching and holding. “I’ve missed you.”

“I…you.” She breathes out.

The birds fly around them. Everything is beautiful. Everything is…

His lips are one with hers. Kiss after kiss. Love in each embrace of feel. She delights at it and then impulsively looks back.

“No.” He catches her shoulder, turns her. “Don’t look back Guinevere. Don’t look back.”

“But…”

She stares at him with wonder. “You are so young. So…like you never left. Like…”

“As are you.” She startles at that, feeling him leading her to a flowing spring, where her image is one of a woman of vibrancy, of young wonder, no elderly state.

“Nothing wrong with us being older, especially not you. Every maturity line made you more beautiful, but it left us weak of body often, in pain, and now my darling, that is no more.”

She stares at the image, at him, looks back more boldly now, with sparks of fear. And sees it. The room where she has not departed. Where she still lies. Where family cries over. Grieving…

“Arthur?”

He takes her hand gently, holds it to his heart. “Don’t fret. Don’t fear Guinevere. Where we go, we go together. We will never be separated again. For your heart...my heart…have always been meant to be forever, to be joined, to never lastingly separate.”

“I’ve died then?”

His kiss touches her forehead with warm moisture. “You’re in a new place Guinevere. A new kingdom…with me.”

“And our children?”

“Oh my dear. You were waiting for the moment. You were prepared for it. You have raised them well. They will cry…and then they will laugh again. They will love you…miss you…and remember you with joy one day. Do not worry. We have prepared them for this. They know the road to follow.”

She nods, the answer giving her comfort. “And this…where we are? What is this place?”

He takes her hand, leads her forward with a curious smile. “Avalon. It is Avalon, Guinevere. It is where you and I will wait.”

“For what?”

“For the time when we will return to the world.”

“You and I?” She asks.

He kisses her lips, apart from them for too long, rubs his face against hers with longing. “Yes…for you will always be my queen. Never different. We will always be together Guinevere. On day of Valentine…every day.”

Day of Valentine. It fills Avalon, the mating birds so beautiful, the hillsides glowing. She turns around with wonder. “It is heavenly here.”

“It is much of Heaven my love.”

She feels it against her breast and moves it away from her neck, from her chest, brings the chain down over his shoulders, his neck. “I return it to you then.”

He holds it against his naked skin, the beautiful mysterious sigil, and holds her too. “Thank you. Are you alright now, are you afraid to be here? I did not want your coming to be rushed. I told them that you would have to arrive in your own time. As much as I missed you…I tempered my heart that way. Now are you okay Guinevere?”

She sees all his worry, all his concern past this peace in him that is beyond what he was during life. It is she now who is new and filled with wonder. But that peace travels to her also and she nods her head, holding onto his hands, caressing his cheeks. “I have missed you just as much. And of course I am alright. I am with you again. My Arthur.”

They know, somehow are aware that when the time comes to go back to life, when no doubt they’d probably be separated in some way, taken of memory in some form, it will not matter. For hearts will travel with want and covet. They will seek the missing. And whether he be king of kingdom or that of office or that of a hovel, no matter. For the exception of it all was their love.

The exception was that together, they’d always turn fates of life to golden ages. They’d always…

“I love you…” He whispers now.

“I love you too my forever husband.”

They touch. They part each other of clothes eagerly. They quake. They moan. They hold. They glisten with the exertion of love. Bite down of passion. Glorious splendor of culmination. They are naked with no reservation. They are surrounded by warm blanket and each other.

They are alone. One together.

The only exception…

The birds of mating

Who take wing before them.

Around them.

Love found.

Love returned.

Love…

The greatest exception of life and afterlife.

Love…

~Forever more.~

✾~❧~✾

Happy belated Valentine’s day everyone. <3

This is a prelude {a little bit of an epilogue too} to a story I’ll be sharing with you soon that does a different take following season 4 into season 5. The sigil will be a huge part of it. And in that story I want to explore fully the golden age, the events that lead to it, that the show didn’t really quite give us.

Tales of the Pendragon Bunch

2013-03-04T13:55:52Z

*Made by icemintpeach*

Title: Tales of the Pendragon Bunch
Tale One : Life is Good
Rating: PG
Characters: Arthur, Gwen {OC: Arthur II, Leora, Penley, Gwendolyn}
Wprd Count: 3,000+
Art: This charming wonderful art was made for me by the graciously talented icemintpeach
Dedication: This is for the lovely pastellwinter who asked for a fic where A/G are parents and their kids…well…the rest of the story will tell that. Don’t want to give everything away, hee. But it’s a fun idea and I enjoyed writing this immensely. So much so that I will be writing another one of these Pendragon bunch tales fics and if you have any other ideas for them please feel free to share with me. <3

****

Tale One: Life is Good

Long ago, during a time of lasting enchantment and fierce dangers, of red caped knights and golden eyed sorcerers, of grand kings and even grander queens, there was a land of once and future. Although strife came quite enough, also fun and frivolity reigned here well. Within the land were many kingdoms of different rules and different ways. Within that circle of many kingdoms was arguably the most majestic kingdom of all.

Camelot.

It had red caped knights and the queen of many beautiful gowns. It had the king of prestige and valor. It had the sorcerer of great power. And within all that it had four little divine royalties.

The Pendragon Bunch.

So away with the tragic cycles that Camelot would have to face, and a pardon from the grief and danger.

Well some of those dangers anyway.

Enter the world of the Pendragon bunch and their many tales of adventure, fun, frights, and family of course. Included in that far extending family, are their father, mother, and many uncles. {Note that every knight and Merlin the Sorcerer are considered uncles.

This is book one of the Pendragon Bunch Tales.

Whereas in this one, the king simply favors some time alone with his wife. But the evil storm outside the windows will not let it be so.

****

Thunder roars. Fierce winds echo, causing wooden shutters to slam back and forth against the stone walls. Within seconds afterward, strikes of lightning illuminate the vast chambers of the four little Pendragon wonders.

Fast asleep, usually not one to quiver at such volatile storms, Arthur II is the eldest at six years old. His sanded blonde hair brushes against his red and golden pillow as the storm rages outside like an angry dragon. So deep in slumber, Arthur II takes no notice of his intruder until said intruder is halfway up his bed.

No matter, Arthur II is already being trained in warrior tactics. {Of the child sort anyway} With the same quick reflexes of his father and mother {what she can do with a fire poker could cause a man brain damage for life} he lifts his miniature Excalibur.

“Oh…you’ll have it now! Who dares to intrude upon my sleep?” He asks in his best father-imitation voice.

His intruder rolls his little eyes and gives a bothered sigh, just like his father would, whacking at the sword as he believes it has no real force unless used as a fly swatter. It’s splendid at bringing down those big coal colored flying menaces.

“Ah, Arthie, put it down.” Little Penley is four years old with dark smatterings of hair in uncanny resemblance to his mother. His thick raven-like waves barely hide his somewhat oddly enough large ears. Now his waves shake against those ears as he finishes his complaint. “I’m…not a fly!”

That makes Arthur II grit out. “I’ve told you before Penley, it’s not a fly swatter. It’s a sword just like Papa’s.”

“It’s a fly swatter!” Penley grimaces. “Catches the big ugly ones.”

It’s Arthur II’s turn to give a roll of the eyes as he lets the argument stop there and asks with ordered firmness, “Never mind. What are you doing climbing up my bed?” A chip off the old block…of said King of Camelot…he regularly gives orders to the bunch of them, successful usually, except when Leora objects. She can be as tough as their mother.

Lightning flashes outside again, illuminating half of their chambers, getting little Penley to scurry up the bed further, burying his face between the covers and headboard. “Oh no…now it’s going to come! Too bad Uncle Merly is off dealing with all Morgana’s mean witchy friends! If he was here then Kilgharry would be here too and they could get rid of it all!”

Arthur II has to hold onto the bed good as it’s small enough already, and now with Penley huddled upon it too, he’s being squished all the way to the side.

Sure enough it comes seconds later, a boom of thunder like two dragons battling it out against each other. Penley’s head is so far buried that his round little bottom comes up. Arthur II lifts Excalibur II and smacks.

“OW!”

“Told you it wasn’t a fly swatter! But a sword. Good too for hitting scaredy cats on the bum!”

“Not a scaredy cat!” Penley shouts out…while also…still…huddling. “Going to tell Mama on you…for saying bum too…Mama says that’s a fruit stock word!”

Usually when wanting to get one in trouble or hurt by one, the kids go to Mama, not Papa. Because Mama is the disciplinarian who makes sure any naughtiness doesn’t happen again. Fruit stock words are the kind of language that is inappropriate for children, according to Queen Guinevere. Fruit stock is used because when one does a bad deed in Camelot they can be sent to the stocks where they will have wasted fruits/vegetables slung at them.

Hence…fruit stock.

“Aaah…Papa says it all the time.”

Arthur II untangles himself from the covers and jumps away from his bed, ranting.

“It’s just a storm Penley. You going to act like Papa would say…like a GIRL…about a storm? Pititful!”

Penley raises his round little four year old bottom and looks down to where his big brother laid Excalibur II upon his dressing table. Grabbing it, he climbs down the bed and rounds it up. Perfect aiming shot. That’s what Papa would say. He narrows in on his big brother and gives a whack. And it works.

“OW!” Arthur II yells, but his reflexes are quick, just like his father’s. Soon he has little Penley locked against him.

He yanks at his hair. “Don’t do that!”

“Ow…Arthie stop!”

Arthur II lets his little brother go with a shove when a bolt of lightning flashes in the sky very close to the windows. It is so close in fact that it lights up the entire room this time, getting both Penley and Arthur II to open their mouths wide and let out gasps of astonishment.

“Whoa…”

“This one’s going to be big! Uncle Merly always says the bigger the lighning-

“It’s lighTning Penley!”

“Yeah…what I said you cabhead. Bigger the lighnin, bigger the BOOM!”

Of this Penley is quite right. {Not the cabhead part {actually it’s cabbage head, but Penley shortens words a bit when they’re hard to say} To prove this, the shutters quake once more as another cracking blare of thunder fills the room. And this time it’s substantially impressive to even six year old Arthur II who clings to little Penley almost as much as little Penley is tangled into him.

“Scary!”

“Uh…hmmm…er…” Arthur II tries to act like that didn’t just terrify him as two more little Pendragons of the bunch scramble in.

They are Leora, five, and Gwendolyn, a mere three years of age. Leora, a petite beauty with the same colored and length of curls as her mother, but the deepest blue eyes of her late grandfather, leads the littler one in. As she is the eldest of the sisters, she too is trying to be brave, but that nasty thunder and lightning outside is making it hard. Shuffling along behind her, little Gwendolyn has dark shining eyes upon a round shaped face surrounded by golden curls.

“Can’t sleep…” She cries out. “Monster beast!”

Leora patiently corrects her. “That’s questing beast Gwendy, and Papa said there are no more of them.”

Penley chimes in. “Uncle Merly got them all.”

“There was only one, clotpole.” Arthur II complains.

Leora, no matter that she is the younger of the two, gives Arthur II a stern look. “Mama said we’re not supposed to say that fruit stock word. It’s not nice.”

“Uncle Merly says it.” Arthur II answers back evenly. With Penley he is authoritative. With Leora he is argumentative, as she always has a way of getting him to spark up.

“Well that doesn’t make it nice…” Leora states firmly, adding in at the end. “For kids to say.”

The storm cuts through all their banter, reminding them of its awesome power and penchant for frightening cute little children, even the most noble of ones. The lightning illuminates the entire room, making all of the Pendragon bunch let out a volley of uncoordinated gasps.

“Oh-oh.” Penley forewarns.

And within seconds it comes, getting all four of them to clamber upon Arthur II’s bed, burrowing themselves into the covers to avoid the terrifying boom.

“I’m scared!” Gwendolyn cries out.

Their heads peek out of the covers as the echoing vibrations of sound finally fade away.

‘“You are too Arthie. Admit it.” Leora states stoutly.

Giving a shaky sigh, Arthur II nods his head. “Alright…let’s go to Mama and Papa.”

Penley jumps down from the bed. “Knew you were just as scared as me…and you said I was acting like a girl…you’re the girl…you’re older!”

“Shut up clotpole.” Arthur II grits out.

“fwustock word!”

Leora is patiently correcting again. “That’s FRUIT stock Gwendy…but she’s right.” She points at Arthur II accusingly. “You said two. Shut up and clotpole. Mama would be very angry.” She shakes her finger firmly.

“Then don’t tell Mama!” Arthur II rants.

“You have no right to yell at me when I am simp-

Leora’s counter argument falls to the wayside as another huge flash of lightning fills the room.

“Boom is coming.” Penley says with a blubbering pout.

The children scramble out of the room. Their parents’ chambers are only about five doors down. If they make a run for it, maybe they can get there before the…

BOOM

****

Ahhh…after weeks of traveling from kingdom to kingdom, dealing with untimely bandit raids, skirmishes of war that barely made it past the set up barracks, and a stray dragon of a witch who decided he didn’t care if Merlin was a dragonlord…he wanted to stir up some chaos…Arthur Pendragon is so glad to be home.

Even gladder to be with his wife.

Gladder than that even to be in their chambers, together, alone, dressed for sleep…or perhaps not so much sleep, in their big comfortable bed.

He climbs into it now, scooting against her side, feeling her nightdress and bits of her delicious soft skin. “Raining tonight.”

She is reading from a book, her eyes intent upon the words of a magical novel Merlin picked up a week past and that she can’t seem to put down for any good length of time. “Mmmmhm…”

She turns the page busily. Arthur pouts. “Raging storm out there.”

“Yes my love.” She replies quickly, reading more.

Hmmm…she’s barely paying him attention. “Any knights in that book?” he asks, peering over the edge.

She pushes at him some with a grimace and holds the book closer to her heart. “No.”

That makes him frown. “Kings?”

“No.”

“Warrior kings?” He asks with a grin.

She peers over the book’s crown at him and shakes her head. “No Arthur. No kings of any sort.”

Once in bed they played warrior king and warrior queen. It was a night of pure pleasurable adult frivolity indeed. But now she doesn’t even seem to have recall of it.

Exasperated, he pulls at the book’s crown. “Well then what’s so bloody interesting about it?”

To his boyish aggravation she lets out a volley of laughter, getting him to release the book from her hands entirely.

“Really, what is?” He asks again, straddling her body with his hands and legs.

“You are so impatient.” She chastises him, giving a flick of her finger to his nose.

“And you still have not answered any of my questions.”

She smiles impishly. “I thought you’d like better that we engage in some other activity than merely talking. As you pointed out so astutely my husband…it is raining outside. A fury of storm.”

Oh this woman!

She’s been teasing him all this time while he had thought she was barely listening to him. And look at her, having no loss of memory when it comes to their past enjoyment of stormy weather.

You see, once a duke came visiting after they had been separated for an entire month. Well of course the heart had missed the other, but also constitutions had suffered. It was hard enough not to find a hall closet and just relieve themselves of their carnal urgency there. However, they did manage to contain themselves {with perhaps a bit of naughtiness that no one else shall ever know about underneath the long dining table}, until they returned to their chambers. Thankfully it was stormy that night. With the thunder booming outside no one noticed the pound of their bed the couple of times it hit the wall.

Aw…little Leora was conceived that night. Oh Guinevere told him often that they could never be entirely sure, but he had just the strongest feeling.

As he in kind had quite strong emotions now. To just gaze upon his wife’s beauty, sensuality, and everything else, was an activity he was highly fond of. But to kiss her lips, to touch her, to…

Get even more adventurous was *much* more fun.

And so to the kiss, lips pressing wetly together and parting for more to fill. It’s hard to get enough and so they arch and quake against each other. Her nightdress climbs up to her thigh as his hand presses fully into it and her. His breeches start to slide down his waist under her determined fingers.

Lightning fills their room, making them gasp from physical endeavor and excitement of the storm. The roar of thunder comes afterward getting them to grunt and moan in reaction as he pushes into the bed one hand, and keeps the other high on her thigh. While she twists her fingers into his hair and keeps pulling at his stubborn breeches this night. She’s got them down further from his waist when-

There is a sharp noise.

“It’s the thunder.” He whispers wetly against her ear, tonguing at her neck.

But the sound comes again. And with it is no previous flash of lightning.

“I don’t think so. Seems to be coming from the door, Arthur.” She tells him with distraction.

Well he can remedy that. “No issue of concern then. Because the door is firmly locked. Now where were we? Oh yes…” He presses his hands to his breeches. “Let me help you get them off as you can help me get your nightdress away.”

Nevertheless the knock comes again. It’s a round of them and shouts from behind.

“It’s the children!” Guinevere calls out.

“Yes…” Arthur grimaces. “And this is how we had them so they need to go away or they will never have another sibling.”

He is buried in her hair and neck, but she pushes at his shoulder, getting out from underneath him, swatting away his hand that has been playing with her thigh…and further up. “Four is quite enough and what kind of parents are we if we ignore the cries of our children?”

“Oooooohhh….” He lets out a long moan of torture as she stands above him now.

“Oh Arthur, stop being so selfish and pull up your breeches. I want to open the door as soon as I can. But I can’t with you looking…” She can’t help but lick her lips. Man is too damn handsome and has too hardened a body. “Like that.”

He grins at her reactive response. “See…you love me so much that you can’t resist-

“Arthur.”

“ALRIGHT…I’m pulling them up!” He grumbles, mumbling under his breath as he also pulls on his white thin tunic shirt. “A few minutes ago you were more than ready to get them down, but now you want them up, well-

“Arthur!”

“They’re up! So is-

She rolls her eyes with exasperation at his saucy talk and finally opens the door as they are now presentable for visitation.

It’s like the thunder outside just rushes into their chambers as four little Pendragons race through and scramble up onto the bed, even little Gwendolyn who’s much too short and has to get a tender boost from her Papa.

Complaining moments before, he is now just as concerned as Guinevere. “What’s wrong with you lot?” He reaches out and ruffles Penley’s hair affectionately, little Gwendolyn still pressed against him, as Leora is hugging her mother and Arthur II is trying to hide the fact that he’s holding onto the hem of her nightdress.

The room lights up with perfectly eerie timing and the four of them scurry for protection underneath the vast amount of blankets of their parents’ bed.

Arthur exchanges a look with Guinevere and asks, “Oh you’re not afraid of a little storm are you?”

“BIG storm Papa!” Little Gwendolyn counters loudly and soon the thunder echoes its lightning partner. The bed practically shakes from all the trembling children.

It amazes Arthur a bit considering these same four children who are frightened of a thunder storm have absolutely no fear when Merlin brings Kilgharrah for riding. In fact they battle each other out for who gets to ride on the head, the tail…etc. They’re like a bunch of feuding knights then, while now they’re simply terrified. Well…to be expected he supposes. Nature can be an awesome force.

That doesn’t mean though he’s happy about this little predicament. Just moments ago the storm was helping the passion level rise nice and high. Now it’s like the time Merlin forgot to heat his bath water, forcing Arthur to jump out from it in icy shock.

Catching Guinevere’s expression as Leora finally bravely lifts her head, “Mama, you won’t make us go back there all alone…will you? We can sleep with you tonight, yes?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. As much as he loves his children, he has a sobering passion-ceasing feeling where this is going.

“Of course you can. Right Papa?”

She asks him with a smile that says… ‘they’re our children…they need us now.’

Arthur grumbles under his breath. So close. So perfect. So-

“Right MAMA.” He can’t help but say the children’s name for her with a huge degree of snark.

So much for a passion filled night.

****

Hours later the storm is finally beginning to let up, but the bed has no less weight upon it. Although Arthur’s arm is lovingly around his littlest daughter, he has still been pushed to the edge of the bed by Arthur II’s elbow, Penley’s knee, and Leora’s head. Guinevere is curled around most of them too and resting her head near his, but she in kind probably has had to wriggle from one area to another in the middle of the night.

“Guinevere…” He whispers softly now, getting his wife to wake. She grimaces for a bit before adjusting and giving him a smile.

“Mmm…family all around us.”

“Oh yes…a whole Pendragon bunch.”

She laughs happily at that, but then grows a little more serious, definitely intent as he in kind gently pulls forward past elbows, knees, and other parts of their children to press his lips against hers.

“Mmm…nice.” She murmurs. “All of this so nice.”

Right at that moment Penley’s foot kicks into his side, getting Arthur to grunt before nudging it away. Gwendolyn moves her sleeping head and he gets a mouthful of curls. Meanwhile Arthur II’s sword decides to poke him in the stomach.

“Oh yes…so nice.” He deadpans, but then seeing her affectionate tired smile, seeing his children all around him, Arthur can’t help but grin too.

Life is good with the Pendragon bunch. Sometimes they don’t get as much alone time as they want anymore.

But life is definitely good.

****

The End of this Pendragon Bunch Tale

*One more/perhaps a few more to come…*

Love Woven Through Two Territories

2013-02-02T19:09:39Z

***

***

Elaine whispered with teasing.

“In the daytime hours. Getting more adventurous my handsome Prince.”

Arthur shied away her advances, grasping onto her wrist as he told her pointedly, “We need to talk.” She nodded, letting him into the Camelot home she shared with her parents.

…

When he was done telling her the decision he had come to, Elaine was far from pleased.

“So that’s it? Over? Just like that?”

“Elaine, I told you-

She cut him off, thrusting her finger in front of his face. “You told me that nothing would change. That you had no feelings for her!”

“I was wrong, wrong to keep coming to you whilst married.”

“Oh, really?” Elaine asked with thick sarcasm. “I don’t recall you thinking it was so wrong to be with me the nights previous. Your grunts of satisfaction indicated everything was quite right.”

He should have known this wouldn’t be without disarray. She was terribly upset now and he couldn’t blame her. He also couldn’t go back. Maybe if he tried to reason with her, he could make her see this was for the best.

“Elaine…” He tried explaining. “I realized nothing good can come from this. It’s not right, not for you, not for me, not for Guinevere.”

She laughed shrilly. “And when did you come to this great epiphany Arthur? Can you tell me that? It certainly wasn’t when I had you in bed quite satiated. What did she do to make you change your mind?”

Finding the proper answer was a struggle for Arthur, because there was none. No matter what he said it would come off sounding appallingly uncouth. Nevertheless, it had to be this way. Isgard was causing trouble for Camelot, threatening the shaky alliance by insinuating that it had someone on the inside helping Bayard. Apart from that was the personal factor. His mother needed no more stress. He had others to think of too.

Elaine and Guinevere, both, did not deserve to be treated so inexcusably. His visit to his father’s grave helped him see much of what was going on in a new light. Guinevere’s spoken displeasure of his actions and interactions helped him look at things more objectively too. The truth was, for years now he had been hiding behind indulgence.

Now he wasn’t ready to stop visiting the tavern completely, his belief firm that he should be able to have fun from time to time, but with Camelot in a bit of shaky state, rumor-wise, no reason to increase the fodder for the masses. His father left behind a destiny that he needed to honor in greater ways. The bond of marriage meant he could not be free with liaison.

“Don’t blame this on Guinevere, Elaine. This is my decision, to do better, to be nobler.” Partly those words felt foreign, and on the other side they also felt righter than ever. Tavern visits, hunting trips, they wouldn’t all fade. A man had to be balanced. Nevertheless, his wife was expected to be faithful. She was a good honorable woman, if a bit mouthy at times. Now he would match her in that goodness.

Elaine, conversely, didn’t consider Arthur’s reasoning so righteous. Brought up with such privileged status, her family a richer one of Camelot, she saw no reason for those of nobility to have great amounts of duty. They should be allowed more time of pleasure and sloth.

“Oh yes, by leading over your fine Camelot knights, that’s how you will be nobler.” She stated mockingly. “You are their only valuable leader. It can’t be Leon or-

Arthur interrupted harshly now. This had always been a bone of contention between them, but he let it go because for so long he avoided the obligation and expectation of leading the knights. It went beyond laziness though in truth. After seeing his father covered in blood, and watching him die, pieces of Arthur no longer wanted that kind of role that would require the utmost of bravery, valor that could lead to further bloodshed. He didn’t want to look upon those red stains again, and recall the pain of losing his father.

Enough was enough though. He was no longer a child. Camelot depended upon him.

“Yes, knight training, Elaine. You’ve never supported me in that. Guinevere has a quite different view upon it. But you…you’ve always questioned it, haven’t you?”

They were the wrongs words, if veracity. Elaine was unnerved and so it took seconds for her palm to connect with his cheek, the smack loud and echoing.

Arthur lowered his head, the sharp pain stinging his skin before it faded and he faced her again. “I probably deserved that.”

“Oh you deserved that and more!” She yelled, before turning things counter clockwise. From anger to toying favor, she raised her hand to his chest, fingering at his tunic and revealed skin. “You had it so good. A woman of rich splendor like me to spend your days and…nights with. But you blew it Arthur Pendragon. Now you and your oh so noble wife can live a life of tedium. You lusting for what you can’t have anymore. Because I know you will grow tired of her soon enough. She does not understand your rebelliousness against rule, nor your indulgences in life. She does not understand how to fill you with satisfaction like I and my fine constitution do.”

She was fingering him further, intimately, her voice a hiss of seduction. Arthur resisted it all, pulling away from her wandering hands and shaking his head. “You’re wrong. You do not understand her…nor maybe even me.”

Elaine glared at him, pointing to the door firmly. “Get out.”

He didn’t want it to end this way, so furious. “Elaine…” He tried one last time to explain. Elaine wasn’t having it though. She pointed more jarringly, stating in a louder voice. “GET out.”

Arthur let out a long sigh. This was where it would have to end. Time to depart. He nodded a tad, before stepping out.

Elaine waited for a few moments after he was gone to slam the door shut. Screaming, she fisted her hands at the wood.

…

Then when her tantrum was done, she collected herself and walked to her room at the back of the house, facing Camelot’s eastern end. Going inside the room, she walked to her bed, sat down at its head and reached for something hidden within the middle drawer of her dressing table.

It was a box, and inside the box was a ring of perfectly duplicated keys.

Multitudes of keys.

She fingered them with a cool smile, whispering with laces of vengeance in her tone.

“Should I?”

They jingled against her delicate fingers.

“Or shouldn’t I?”

***

That night when Arthur departed their chambers again, like he had the previous nights, Gwen groaned from her position upon the floor. Then she pressed herself to her pillow. Merlin was wrong. It didn’t really matter if Arthur cared for her in any way or not. He still was an uncouth pig who would not give up his affair. It was so frustrating because she could see something in him greater, had viewed so many glimpses of nobility, and yet he continued on like this.

A coward. A despicable man. Well no more. If he was entitled to-

“Off the floor. Now.”

Gwen turned around, staring at the suddenly opened door, and the returned Arthur. His words were indulgently insulting. She hissed beyond her shock of him returning so fast. “Pig. Type that orders a woman.”

Arthur had enough though. His argument with Elaine had been ugly, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. This was the right decision, but it certainly wasn’t the easiest one. Especially not with his wife calling him names yet again.

“Guinevere, you do what I say and stop calling me that. I didn’t go, alright? I didn’t want to. Now come…”

His voice inexplicably grew softer at the end, the concern a nag he couldn’t control. Veracity of it was he hated watching Guinevere curling up on the floor, her small body settled against the cool stone. There was no reason for her to be like that, greater reason for her to be apart from it.

“The floor is cold. You will catch your death like that. Come on before you force me to-

“To what?” She turned back to him now, asking strongly, “What, Arthur?”

His lips pouted with tension. “Force me to pick you up and throw you down upon our bed myself.”

“Oh I’d like to see you try.” She challenged.

That was it.

Oh she and her bravado, her force of words, her provocation of his manhood. It made him covet a display of strength. He wanted no more of her quarrel, for her instead to understand that he was the one leading things here. She drove him too far.

Arthur rounded the room before she could get a word in, swept Gwen up into his arms. With his strength and her lusciously curved, but small stature she fit perfectly into his hold. Angered at her insolence, he did drop her down upon the bed with her pillow too. Gwen squealed, but then he climbed atop, and pushed his palms on either side of her head as he looked down pointedly into her dark eyes. “Don’t dare me.”

“Someone needs to.”

“Oh.” He lifted his head. She never gave up, persistent to the hilt, a fighter, a woman of stalwart purpose. “You’re the mouthiest princess I’ve ever known.”

His hands still on either side of her head, Gwen felt her vulnerability suddenly eke out, his eyes so close to hers, his mouth there to stare at. Oh, it annoyed her, but she couldn’t hold back on having some feeling for him, some attachment that she never felt with another honestly. She was always peaceful in her emotion, but Arthur had a way of sometimes threatening her calm. It came to her throat now sickeningly, how much it bothered her.

So maybe not tonight…but what about the next…what about…

“Will you go to her tomorrow night?”

Her voice was practically shaking, her eyes big and questioning. They tendered deep inside him, making him shake his head resolutely.

“No. It’s over. That’s why I came back so soon. I told her earlier. I was just checking on something else now. All of it is over. Now go to sleep.”

Letting out an extensive sigh, at her slow nod, he lifted his hands away from his wife and lay down upon the other side of the bed, apart from her. However, the chill of night caught him soon, making him give a shiver.

Gwen caught it and lifted up off the bed. She poked at the fire and got it to flame.

When she lay down again however, she realized that the covers she had been using were still down upon the floor. Before she could make up her mind to get them, she felt Arthur’s hands bringing his parts of the blankets over her and then his lips actually pressing against her cheek a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

Gwen smiled slightly, head resting on her pillow as she whispered, “I’m sorry for calling you a Pig.”

He smiled too. “Apology appreciated even if-

She stopped him there though, pressing her hand against his arm. “Arthur.”

“Yes?” He looked back at her questioningly.

It was noble he had ended the affair, but disheartening to her that it had to take so long to bring it to completion. She did not want to strip away her dignity by just accepting that he was done with it now. The time he continued it was bothersome and his secret keeping was even worse. She couldn’t let everything be at ease just because he finally came to good sense.

“I appreciate you ending your affair. But you still tried to keep it from me. You acted cowardly.”

Alright, that affected him like how her mouthiness could irk . Of course it was the truth, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. One moment she was soft and sweet, by stoking the fire for him, the next she was quietly passionate, yet firm. It teased, it tickled, and it brought on a low flame of anger.

“Did I?” He gritted out.

“Yes.” She went on strongly. “You should have at least been forthcoming.”

“What does that matter now?” He asked with a snap to his lips. “I ended it.”

Gwen faced him questioningly. “Why? Why did you end it? So suddenly. Don’t you see Arthur, I have to wonder why this marriage matters to you now when it didn’t at first. I have to-

He put up his hand, silencing her. “Okay, enough. Too much is going on in Camelot now. Bayard has taken five kingdoms already and Isgard is stirring up a pot of trouble because they are reckless, and fearful.”

“What do you mean?” She asked with a frown. “What has Isgard done?”

Hesitating with it for a moment, Arthur warned quietly, “This is between you and me, as the less people who know, the better. It goes no further, you understand?”

“Yes. What?”

“Isgard has started up a rumor that Camelot has someone within helping Bayard.”

“What?” Gwen asked with astonishment, lifting her blankets up further over her breast. “Who?”

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know. No names were given. But-

She cut through urgently. “With the recent conquest of Chenary, do you think that means Bayard could be getting closer to attacking Tirmaiur?”

Reading the anxiety in her widened eyes, Arthur shushed her gently, his hand lifting to her shoulder for comfort. “No. I told you already Tirmaiur is guarded well, has Camelot’s protection. Do not worry for your father, alright?”

Gwen nodded faintly, feeling his fingers give tender squeeze.

“Guinevere, it will be alright.”

She hoped he was correct in that. His words and touch were reassuring, but still it was not so easy being days’ ride away from her father when danger lurked.

She changed the subject, needing to talk about something else. There was no wise counsel in extents of worry.

“So this…you ending your affair, it’s really about political reason?”

Arthur shrugged. “Well you said my father wouldn’t approve and truth is Guinevere you are right. Far as I know he was always faithful to my mother. Now their marriage was by arrangement too, as is the custom so often for nobility. But it didn’t take them long to enjoy their union. They balanced each other out well.”

She asked with a weird sense of desire. “So maybe it’s not just political? This marriage we have?”

Arthur wondered about her voice, the soft attraction in it that lured him. “Perhaps.”

His fingers came out, getting her to still, as they delicately coiled into her curls of hair. They lifted and rolled as he smiled slowly. “After all…you’re not at all painful to look upon.”

“Neither are you.” She whispered.

He chuckled quietly, and drew his hand away, but then she was grasping it.

“Guinevere?” He asked, seeing hard purpose in her eyes. “What is it?”

She hesitated for a moment, before getting it out. “You were right. The vial last night, it was Agravaine’s. He dropped it and I picked it up.”

Arthur groaned, squeezing Guinevere’s hand tightly before he realized the force of his grip, and let go. “So you did lie to me.”

“I had to.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it seemed he was coming from your mother’s chambers.”

“My mother’s chambers?” Arthur questioned.

“Yes.” Gwen answered, noticing Arthur’s tight frown and fisting of his hands. He needed to know all of it. “When I first came to Camelot I noticed your mother with a vial very much like the one Agravaine had. Then I saw him leave what appeared to be your mother’s chambers last night. So when he dropped it, I took the vial. “

Arthur mused on all that for a few moments, coming to a troubling conclusion. “Because you thought Agravaine had tampered with it?”

Gwen nodded. “I thought it was possible.”

Arthur’s expression was tangled with disquiet. “Why didn’t you tell me that last night?”

“I didn’t want to cause you unnecessary torment…in case I was wrong.”

Leaning forward across the bed, now quite agitated, Arthur asked Guinevere plaintively, “Were you…wrong? It wasn’t my mother’s?”

Guinevere’s smile was slow, but filled with veracity and tender care as she reached out for his hand and held it for a moment. “It wasn’t Arthur. It was Agravaine’s.”

He let out a relieved sigh at that. “Good.”

“Is your mother ill?” Gwen asked cautiously.

Arthur shook his head. “Not seriously. I’ve known about the vial my mother takes for some time now as it was a few years ago the physician prescribed it. She has some health issues that affect her vigor and momentum at times. Higher levels of stress make it worse. And so all this now, with Bayard, Isgard, and everything, it’s not good for her.”

He hung his head in a rare display of candor’s shame. “It’s the other reason why, after your badgering…good for me I have to painfully admit…combined with the political situation, I realized I need to tend to my duty more. Earlier this morning, before leaving for my ride, I saw her. She didn’t know I did; she looked quite tired. It’s time for me to step up more, cause her no more stress.”

“Agreed.”

Arthur grunted at Gwen’s firm response. She didn’t have to say it so readily. And no matter what she was thinking about that vial she shouldn’t have gone near Agravaine. “Fine. I’ve been wrong. But so were you last night. No matter what reason, no matter if your intentions were good Guinevere, what were you thinking? Agravaine is not to be trusted even if he didn’t take my mother’s vial. If I hadn’t interfered what do you-

She frowned. “You think he’s violent?”

Arthur shook his head fast. “I don’t know. He hasn’t shown anything like that since arriving here almost five years ago. He’s been more cowardly and snidely than anything. But I still don’t trust him and I don’t like how he looked upon you in your nightdress.”

“Right…he did leer a bit. But Arthur, your mother trusts him. Merlin and I heard it today.”

“Care to explain?” Arthur asked tightly.

So Gwen did. Everything. Except the specifics of where Merlin took her and his magical secret of course.

…

When she was done, Arthur looked upon her with bewilderment. “You certainly had a busy day. Remind me to belt Merlin for joining you on your crazy venture. Hiding in Agravaine’s room, Guinevere? What if you were caught?”

He couldn’t help remember Aldous’s words. Guinevere was already quite popular in Camelot, but just one little thing and she could be seen as someone to be suspicious of. He didn’t want that, especially not now with all the political turmoil.

“Arthur?” Gwen asked. He looked so deep in thought.

Arthur shook his head. “It’s nothing. So…what happened?”

She didn’t tell him about Agravaine’s accusations. It would just anger him further and they didn’t matter since Ygraine didn’t believe Agravaine. “Well I wasn’t caught. I was with Merlin anyway. But don’t you see what I’m saying? Your mother sees something in Agravaine that made her bring him here. The vial was nothing more than…” She cleared her throat a bit awkwardly. “Male…enhancement of…”

He smirked, giving a tight laugh. “Yeah, I gathered that part the first time you told me. Which still is even more reason for you to stay away from him. Where’s the vial?”

Gwen gestured across the room. “In my pocket. I’ll return it in the morning.”

“No you will not.” Arthur told Gwen firmly now, reaching out and grasping her shoulders. “I’ll do it. Stay away from his chambers.”

“Arthur.” She responded heatedly, but there was no backing down in him.

“Guinevere, you’re not going to quarrel against me on this.”

Her eyes scrutinized with interest. She saw glimpses of it before, but this night especially his firmness was stalwart and it irked some, but she also kind of liked it. “I’m not?”

He knew she was toying with him, but his soberness was strong. “You’re not.”

Gwen nodded slightly, and asked. “The tavern?”

“What about it?” He asked stubbornly.

“Have you given up that too?”

Firmly Arthur shook his head. “Why should I? Look, I’m not going to frequent it as much. But I’m still going there.”

She nodded, turning away before she stated, “Okay then, I’ll just keep up to my doings also. After all, this marriage is mostly political of nature.”

That made him grumble as he moved forward to grasp her shoulder from behind, giving whisper, “No more going away with Merlin.”

“Why? He’s my friend.”

From his lips he let out a whoosh of air. She was exasperating him again. “Because that’s not what a princess should be doing.”

“And should a prince be going to the tavern…while other men take notice of said princess?”

“What?” He asked hotly. His hands grasped enough at her shoulder to get her on her back as she turned too, making the task easy enough for him. She didn’t mind so much looking up into his blue eyes, especially when they flamed with intent. It made her feel a little less guilty for toying with him. Oh it was true. The dashing Sir Geralt was definitely taking notice of her, but she found it more amusing than intriguing. He was a funny sort who was quite handsome. Still, she found someone else quite more handsome.

“What are you talking about?”

“Sir Geralt.”

“What did he do?”

His hands were tight on her shoulders, so Guinevere patted them with appeasement. “He didn’t do anything Arthur. He’s just a very charming man.

“Too charming. “Keep away from him.”

She grimaced. “Oh you want me to keep away from everyone and yet you still-

“I ended the affair Guinevere.”

“Yes, but-

“Guinevere.” He stated with steely counter.

It made her sigh and reach up, touching his cheek with her small fingers. “He does not interest me, other than his service to Camelot. His charming causes no harm for I am not a woman who plays such games. If you will be faithful to this marriage, then I will continue to be so also.”

“Well, with that done…” His smile was one of satisfaction. She had more to say though.

“However, if you will continue to frequent the tavern then I have every right to find my own amusements, as long as our marriage is kept intact. Whether that be spending time with my friend Merlin or finding a place within the wood, finding friends within the kingdom…I have as much right to enjoy myself as you do.”

She was adamant, allowing no leeway, and temptingly alluring again, as she stuck firm to her belief. His hand came down, touched her waist, and traveled upward slowly.

Her breath hitched as its shivery warm pressure climbed up her side, touching at the side of her breast. “Fine. But maybe soon enough…”

She arched some involuntarily under his touch as his slow smile came back.

“We’ll find amusement with each other.”

It was a slow seduction of feeling from one to another, but she was glad when the odd pressure of tiny bits of cold and expanding warmth left and he turned away. For his affair had just ended. She couldn’t help think if he changed his mind how much it would bother her, terribly. She couldn’t help think that his hand there upon her side, caused sparks of pleasure.

“Good night Prince.”

“Good night Princess.”

…

Arthur held tight to his pillow. Political, his mother’s purpose, that was all this marriage was supposed to be, right? But it was like a web of sapid reward. It kept enticing him. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted…

As she slept now, slumbered with soft breathing sounds. Slumbered less than a few feet away.

“Guinevere…” He whispered into the cool night, that felt just a little less chilled with her so close beside. He wished for a moment she was right beside because when he was touching her, when his hand was venturing up her curved constitution, he amazingly didn’t feel an inch of cold. He felt warmer than ever. A man more than ever.

“Why?”, she asked him earlier. Why did he end it? There were so many righteous answers. Infidelity was wrong. Kingdom was in strife. His father would have disapproved. His mother suffered from illness.

But they were only one half.

The other was something he never admitted, never coveted to admit, until now, privately.

He denied that the first few times she stoked the fire for him, she made his heart quiver a bit. He denied that continuing his affair with Elaine, although physically stimulating, inch by inch started to feel sordid and was more an excuse to be stubborn, to hold to how his life was before. Perhaps it was even the same with the tavern. Let’s see when she figured a way to make that fade away too. He denied that when he helped his wife remove her dress, he was filled with flares of desire for her sun blessed skin glowed in the night, alluring, distinctly beautiful. He denied it, because maybe one stupid little part of him wondered if she would give it up, feared she might stop caring. And when she didn’t…it kind of rejoiced with indulgent happiness.

How did she creep in so gently, so sweetly? How did she find his greatest irks and poke at them with no mean favor, but urge to find life’s beat again?

How did she lay right beside and take away all those horrid chills? Make his body drizzle with warmth again? How?

He wanted to move up against, feel her skin, touch her hair, get her to wake and smile back to his face. He wanted the queerest things. For it didn’t come with any warning. It didn’t just temperately become a part of him. Instead it softly, but rapidly rushed in. It made his every ill decision of before start to shake with disfavor.

He was a boy when his father died. Just a boy. Now he was a man. Now he was feeling himself truly a man for the first time.

Under her watch. Under her counsel. Under her…

Warmth.

“Guinevere you gentle temptress. I can’t go back anymore.

I can’t pretend.

Can’t pretend that I don’t care.

Can’t pretend that you don’t matter.

Can’t pretend that you don’t…

Flood me with heat.

Sapid tempts of heat…

That kiss away the cold.”

***

Perhaps love was not so far, and yet its timing was precarious, for danger was not so far either. Perhaps even tragedy.

It was true. Bayard was not acting alone. Bayard was acting with another who had their own purpose and considered Bayard no more than their puppet. Like the other puppets this one controlled.

Dupes…

Their lives existed for just one purpose…

To put all to destruction. To achieve lush rewards. To bring back a way of life. To end another.

Vale Tirmaiur.

Vale Camelot.

Salve ad plus fortunas.

***
To continue…

***

Yes, the last part is Latin. Something from Irish and British legend/and or mythology is coming.

Yes I accidentally named Freya Gwen’s friend too so that was my way of fixing that little blunder up. Coincidences do happen, right? Oh well, more important things now.

Yes Arthur is slowly growing. Yes Arthur and Gwen’s relationship has found a new plateau of closeness, but also yes, things are about to get very complicated and painful. The past is going to rise. A new future will float to the surface before it desires it.

Thanks for reading…should be continuing this soon as it’s so fun to write.

Love Woven Through Two Territories

2013-02-02T18:51:21Z

*Made by hope27*

Title: Love Woven Through Two Territories
Rating: PG13, may border on R later
Art: beautiful inspiration artwork: hope27 // beautiful award banner: ella_rose88

Author's Note Story liner notes with first part// Note that the story is moving slower than it originally did because I'm filling in the gaps that I felt were left open too much when I first posted this. As much as I enjoyed writing the original, I felt there were holes in my rush to get it up {I'm almost always rushing when I do challenge fic, lol}. Here I get to patch them up. Thank you so much for all your inspiring reviews.

***

Love Woven Through Two Territories

*Made by ella_rose88*

Part Four: Sapid Heat of Life Kisses Goodbye Charade

***

The next morning when Gwen woke the bed was empty. However, there was a note upon the chair nearby. She stretched her arms upwards, a tad sore after her sleep upon the floor.

Her muscles then less taut, she unrolled the note and read it.

Guinevere,

I left early for a ride. I should be back by afternoon. If you require anything, Merlin stayed behind.

I wish you would have slept upon the bed. The floor really does have too much of a chill for the body. I don’t want you to be ill.

Heed my words about Agravaine. He’s not to be trusted.

Your Husband,

Arthur

Gwen laid the note back upon the chair, letting out a heavy sigh. Of course there was no ‘loving husband’, but then even ‘your husband’ sounded false. There was nothing loving about their relationship, except for maybe his gentle issues of ‘thank you’ when she stoked the fire for him. He received no such favor last night, as his behavior left him quite undeserving.

Sighing, Gwen stood. Her husband up first was rare, but then maybe he was meeting with his mistress. Well she had plenty to do with her day.

Gwen called for Mary so she could start it.

***

It was remarkably surprising to Arthur, how he was able to find the place without much issue. After all, it had been quite some time since his last visit. Not even his mother’s insistent requests had worked.

The death five years in the past, it would seem ample enough for most people to have dealt with it and moved on. Perhaps it was how it all happened though that left Arthur with a vivid ugly picture that never fully retreated from his mind.

That day, four men, knights of Camelot, carried his father to the physician’s table as cautiously as they could. His wounds were grave, one upon the head, the deepest one near his heart. They left him splattered with blood that Arthur still felt sick from when he thought too deeply of.

Survival lasted no more than a few moments, even with the physician and those attending to him working feverishly to keep his father breathing. It was too late. It was too grim. There was only enough time for a few last words, ones of sage advice that Arthur wished contained more.

”Be brave Arthur. Do what is right. I love y-

And that was it. His father often found little ease with words of affection. That was usually left to Arthur’s mother, but when death knocked, Uther Pendragon attempted it at least, telling his son that he loved him.

His heart just stopped beating before the sentence could be completed.

It hurt then, the feel of that shaking, dying hand, and it hurt now, to have a grave to visit, a slab, no matter how fancy it may be, instead of the man.

“Be brave…do what is right…”

For all these years, Arthur had buried the words, giving into indulgence to not have to face his own horrid battle someday, to not have the memory of his father’s bleeding, to not face what destiny expected and required of him.

It wasn’t working anymore though. His conscience kept nagging him since marrying her. For some reason, his wife’s questions about his father, her interest, and her disapproval of his ways made his father’s memory so vital again.

He should have known his mother would be wise in her pickings. Guinevere was not the kind of woman you could just ignore or act cavalierly about making angry or upset. She had the upbringings of finest royalty and she was keen of mind. Even when silent, she had a way of putting him in his place. Although that bothered him quite a bit, it was also something he couldn’t help but respect.

Guinevere never knew his father, but she was wise enough to surmise that his father hadn’t had liaisons on the side while married to his mother. Arthur never saw sign of it and never heard complaint of it from his mother. They were in love and committed. The balance between them of strength, intellect, kindness, and courage, built Camelot into a kingdom of considerable power and prestige.

Much of that was under threat now though. Arthur noticed its wear upon his mother privately in the morning when she didn’t realize she was being watched as she stepped out of the council chambers for a short moment of rest. He felt his first true concern about it when Guinevere feared for Tirmaiur. Usually a picture of calm, her upset struck him.

The latest kingdom on the list was Chenary. Bayard was likely at its weakened border now. Kingdom after kingdom, Bayard was stomping upon them, they like bugs underneath an Ogre’s massive foot. Once powerful, once noteworthy, they succumbed to his forces as if they were nothing more than tiny ants.

Now some of them had not ever been the most stalwart, but those most recently taken were kingdoms whose demise seemed far premature.

Plus there was the fact of Bayard himself. Although a man of muscle and raging mouth, he wasn’t the most sage of rulers. Thus, it was baffling, how he was achieving all this.

Arthur let out an extensive groan, kneeling at his father’s tombstone. “Why do I care so much?”

He asked, a silly part of him hoping for an answer. No vocal one came, but his mind showed its reluctant astuteness. “Because you used to. Because Mother does. Because it is my duty to…”

His father told him to be brave, to do what was right. How he was acting now though, Uther Pendragon would view as laziness and cowardice.

“The same way Guinevere sees it.” Arthur muttered, recalling his wife’s words the previous night, that he was closing himself off, that he was afraid to live. That he was selfish, shameful.

Although he had never coveted marriage, it could be frightfully worse. She could be an unappealing and uncouth woman. She was nothing of this. Guinevere instead had distinct beauty and already was familiar with kingdom. She was a woman of integrity, the kind his father married.

“Now where’s my integrity?” Arthur questioned with reluctant honesty. So much of him loathed it, being shown his conscience in all its nakedness again, but it was there now in front of his blue eyes, and what he saw he didn’t like much. He had no intention of giving up all his perks he indulged in before Guinevere.

However, there was one activity he started believing fully just last night, when she refused to sleep upon the bed with him, he needed for more than one soul’s sake, to end.

“Right Father? Time I do what is right.”

He lifted back up to his feet, fingers grazing over the stone for a moment with lingering, before he walked away.

It was time to stop cowering away from it, time to honor his father’s memory and meet his own fate.

***

Gwen knew what she was doing was wrong and that it could land her into a heap of trouble, but it was for the better good. That was her defense, not that sleuthing also kept her mind off her less than amorous husband.

Well, perhaps he was amorous, but not with her. And really that was fine.

Gwen did not consider herself some romantic fool. She entered this marriage for purpose of kingdom, for love for her father. It had nothing to do with imagining lasting happiness.

However, she did expect a husband who, if not faithful, at least would show veracity. Arthur instead was a man of secrets and cowardice. He regarded his duty in ways that she thought were insulting to kingdom.

It was awful because she knew that there was more to him; it annoyed her that it mattered.

Ah, perhaps she should get off her high horse. After all, she was intruding upon a man’s private chambers.

Dressed now in a frock of off white with golden accent, another present from the queen, Gwen perused the furniture. The dressing table near the bed had a variety of objects. She stepped closer to inspect them in better detail.

There didn’t seem to be any more vials like the one held in her pocket, just other daily necessities like a wide eyed comb and cloths for washing face and hands. It was all quite immaculate and orderly, unlike how Arthur kept his things. They would be forever disorganized if Merlin didn’t help him.

Strangely enough though there was a blue tunic in the middle of a table, just lying there as if it might be covering something. At least that’s what her sleuthing eyes told her.

Gwen scanned the room’s entrance, seeing no one there, and made her way to the small round table with the tunic upon it. She started to lift it, glancing upon a spark of golden shine that-

“I know who tends to Lord Agravaine’s room, and you’re not him, so what do you think you’re doing in here?”

Turning around quickly, jarred by the voice, she nearly lost her footing. It took a rapid grasp of the table for her to keep her balance as she simultaneously with her other hand dropped the tunic back to cover the barely glimpsed golden object.

“Oh. Lady Guinevere. Sorry. I didn’t know it was-

Pressing her hand against her breast, getting her equilibrium back, Gwen shook her head with disapproval at Arthur’s tall, lanky, dark haired servant, dressed in worn, but bright clothing. “Merlin…I thought we were friends.”

With awkwardness he bit down upon his lip. “We are, but well…what ARE you doing?”

Gwen nodded, making her way over quickly. “You’re right. This looks terrible. Really, I can explain. Just probably best we get out of here before-

“It had to be stolen from my chambers.”

“Agravaine…”

Merlin and Gwen exchanged anxious looks. It was the voices of Agravaine and his sister, and they were nearing quickly.

There was a locked closet at the back of the room. Merlin scanned for the key, but with no time, made a decision to do things the faster way.

Merlin’s eyes flashed with fire-gold before they returned to their natural blue, and the door popped open. Gwen gasped in astonishment. “Merlin, you have-

He grabbed her arm anxiously. “Gwen, come on.”

Smartly shushing up, she nodded her head. They stepped into the closet to hide, keeping it open just a crack for the purpose of breathing. They made it just in time; Ygraine and Agravaine entered the room a few seconds after. Her look was tired. His was angry.

“Maybe you just dropped it somewhere. I’ll have the physician make you up a new one. Things of my own have been disappearing sometimes too.”

“See! There is a thief in this castle!”

Ygraine shook her head. “I’m as bad as Arthur when it comes to organization of small things. You and I are siblings. Must run in the family.”

Agravaine gestured around to his immaculate room. “Look at this…does it appear as if I misplace things? No. There is a thief in this castle.”

Ygraine let out a heavy sigh. She had no time for this really with all the kingdom drama. Word had been sent just yesterday that Bayard broke through Chenary’s borders. With how messy Bayard was about things, she imagined there was much bloodshed, death and injury. The gravest concern was who was helping him because there was no way he could conquer so rapidly five kingdoms on his own.

It got worse.

Isgard had been giving Chenary aid, but when Bayard was just a few miles from the border they fled to protect their own vulnerable kingdom. They also opened their mouths, starting up a nasty rumor, blaming Camelot for Bayard’s success, implying they had someone within that was helping him. It was of course completely false, but creating unneeded strife.

Ygraine was working feverishly into the late night hours, with discussion and negotiation, to get all the kingdoms to hold within the alliance, to cease the spread of rumors that would only benefit Bayard.

She reiterated tiredly, as sleep was something she hadn’t been getting much of. “There is no thief.”

“I’m telling you, there is.”

Ygraine fisted her hands at her deep blue dress. “Alright Agravaine, and who are you accusing of thievery, one of the servants? I am telling you that there is no way that-

“Her. I’m accusing her.”

“Who?”

“The girl you brought here to be with your son.”

Within the closet Gwen let out a tiny shudder. Merlin stared at her for a second before gesturing for her to hold it in. They could still be found.

Ygraine simply laughed, regarding her brother as if he had gone insane. “Oh Agravaine, you can’t be serious! Guinevere? She would not steal from you or anyone else!” Her small pale hands fisted at her waist. “Guinevere is part of this family now, not some stranger.”

Agravaine was insistent though, a sneer of disdain forming at his lip. “She was wandering in the middle of the night in the halls just this past evening, acting quite suspicious-

Ygraine cut through rapidly. “And what were you doing in the halls big brother? Spying on a young woman?”

“I was doing no such thing Ygraine! You’re twisting my words!”

“Then don’t make blind accusations.” Ygraine told him firmly, giving that shocking display of assertiveness when those who dared to go against her thought she was nothing more than like her skin’s paleness. Weak. Without quarrel.

Oh she had plenty of tenacity when needed. It was something her late husband learned about her with intrigue when they first met. “I will make sure the physician has a new vial for you within a few hours, but you will not offend Arthur’s wife again.”

“How much do you even know of this girl?” Agravaine was not backing down.

Neither was Ygraine. “I know enough of her parents, friends to Uther and I for years. Her father still as he lives on. I was able to spend quite a bit of time with Guinevere too when visiting Tirmaiur earlier this year. I know more than enough. For you to accuse her of being a common thief is disgraceful and will not be tolerated. I don’t want to hear another word of it Agravaine. Understood?”

He bit his tongue, but with a look of fury.

Sighing, Ygraine reached out to touch her elder brother’s arm. “I probably don’t say it enough. I am so thankful for you coming to live here. I know Arthur does not make it easy, but I am grateful for your presence and your counsel when I ask for it. Sometimes you and I do not see eye to eye Agravaine, but after the loss of Uther I needed more family around me. I needed to have my brother here.”

His expression actually softened as he returned the favor, pressing his hand against hers, his words not all that supportive nevertheless. “I think you sometimes make mistakes with how you run this kingdom, as I have told you before, and you have not listened to me those times. I think Arthur should be better disciplined. I think you are too trusting.”

Ygraine let out an exasperated sigh. She knew they’d never fully agree, but still it was just another irritation she didn’t need. Arthur hated having Agravaine in Camelot. With how Agravaine viewed him quite unfavorably at times too, there was little question why.

Ygraine had a different belief though than her son. Agravaine could be of great benefit to Camelot in the future. She hoped someday when most essential, Arthur would see that, and use it to his and Camelot’s advantage.

She teased her brother with a bit of veracity now. “Well you can be entirely greedy. You know of what I speak.”

“Ygraine-

“I have to go back to the council. This problem is still not stumped enough. If you will see to the kingdom matters…”

“Of course.” He gave a slight bow.

Ygraine smiled at him wryly. “Alright. Thank you.”

She left the room. After she did Agravaine realized she had done little to solve his thieving problem. Just like Ygraine, getting his mind to something else. Well she should know he was as canny as a watchful raven, and that he wasn’t letting Arthur’s new little bride off the hook just yet. She may be an enticing little thing, quite curvaceous, but she also seemed a troublemaker, one he would squash if need be.

For now…he had some fellows to meet with. Important matters.

…

Both Merlin and Gwen let out sighs of relief as finally Agravaine left the room too. Then stepping out, they glanced at each other curiously.

Merlin asked, “Did he really just accuse you of stealing?”

Gwen’s eyebrows furrowed. “He did. And yet…”

“Gwen?” Merlin questioned.

She brought it out of her pocket. “It’s his vial.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “What?”

She continued on in a rush. “Merlin, I saw him with it, departing the queen’s chambers. I swear I did, last night.”

“Have you told Arthur about this?”

Gwen shook her head with a grimace. “No. He knows I had a vial, but he doesn’t know it’s Agravaine’s.” Gwen went on rapidly. “Oh Merlin, Arthur is too busy with his own things to care. His awful indulgences. But there’s more. He hates Agravaine with a passion. If I tell him about this and I’m wrong—

Merlin smiled uneasily. “Gwen, what do you think is going on here?”

She moved in closer to Merlin, wanting to make sure no one else heard. “Ygraine has been ill. Do you think it’s possible…”

To that Merlin gasped. “Are you accusing Agravaine of poisoning his own sister?”

Gwen shook her head. “I don’t know. He seems so underhanded. Arthur doesn’t trust him. Ygraine even seems to have some qualms about him.”

“Yeah, but at least she also has it under hand. Their conversation there, Ygraine didn’t sound all that weak.”

Gwen smiled with relief to that fact. “Agreed, but still…Agravaine was so keen to get back this vial. Why? If it was some simple sleeping draught, okay, but what if it’s more?”

“And how do you plan to find that out?” Merlin asked. “Going to the physician?”

There was no way she could do that. Gwen knew. “Of course not. The physician would then just accuse me of stealing. After all, if he made up the vial, he knows its purpose and he knows who it’s for. I need someone who would understand the chemistry of it, but it can’t be the physician. I need…”

She stared at him now, recalling it. “Merlin, you have magic?”

He bounced from one foot to another awkwardly. “Been wondering when you would remember that.”

“Arthur doesn’t know?”

He shook his head firmly. “No. And he can’t.”

“Why? There is no ban here against it. Most see it as trivial. Magic has no real power, not like it used to.”

It was an assumption Merlin didn’t like, but had grown accustomed to hearing. “Well, yeah, if you don’t have magic you might think that. It’s actually more Gwen. But anyway, Arthur not knowing about me is not so sinister as it sounds. The queen simply wanted someone who would keep her son guessing, and yet impress him the same. He’s rejected every servant for years now. I needed a job. She offered. She’s known my father since childhood. He passed on two years ago, but he taught me all he knew and well…some of it…”

“Some of it…what?” Gwen asked.

“Doesn’t matter. What does is now with me as Arthur’s servant, I can secretly get things done faster than ever, and keep him baffled by it. Plus keep him in order. Arthur hasn’t tried to fire me once. I’m too good at my job.”

Gwen started to laugh now as it was all true. Recalling some of Arthur’s wild bantering about Merlin, the whole thing was very amusing. Ygraine had a good sense of humor, while also looking at the practical. Arthur needed a servant who he could not take the mickey out of, who would do his job awfully well, and now he had one.

So if Merlin was good at that…was it also possible…

“What about you? Merlin, do you understand chemistry? I’ve read volumes on magic and it says that most mages in the past knew it quite well. Do you?”

The vial was in her hand. She was holding it out to him. Letting out a sigh, Merlin grasped onto Gwen’s arm. “Come on.”

“What-where?” She asked with surprise.

His blue eyes viewed her sharply. “Somewhere that we can do it in private. Somewhere that you can get your answers.”

“Oh.” A little uncertain what that meant, but trusting of him, and of her own ability to get out of a tight situation, Gwen nodded, and let him lead her out.

***

After descending the mountain and coming to the borderline between Camelot and Ascetir, Arthur spotted one of his friends that he had spent time at the tavern with, Aldous, the Duke of Ascetir’s son. He looked quite disgruntled.

“Aldous!” Arthur called out to him. A flaxen haired head looked up. Seeing his friend, Aldous stopped his horse.

“Arthur.”

The prince rode in closer, grimacing. “You look like a bear on the prowl. What’s nagging you?”

Aldous shook his head. “You heard about Chenary, right?”

Arthur gave a nod of graveness. “My mother’s been in council for days now, almost nonstop.”

“My father too, meeting in Camelot for half of it. Look Arthur, you know I don’t care about this stuff much. Neither do you. But my father is saying that Isgard is starting up some trouble because they fear Bayard will be after them next. There are mutterings that Camelot is aiding him.”

“Shut up.” Arthur stated rapidly.

“Look, I’m not saying it!” Aldous hotly defended. “But there is one thing I’ve been wondering. What do you know about her?”

“Who?” Arthur asked.

“You know, that new wife of yours. What do you truly know about her?”

Arthur’s eyes widened with shock before he laughed off the question. “Oh come on Aldous! My mother brought her to Camelot. Do you think she would bring in someone who would cause trouble? This has been going on for a while, long before Guinevere set foot in Camelot.”

Aldous sighed. “I know. But Arthur, it is really looking like an inside job.”

To that Arthur smirked tightly. “And how do we know that’s not coming from Ascetir?”

“Don’t go there.” Aldous warned darkly.

Arthur came back with just as much flame. “Then don’t suggest it’s Camelot.”

The other man faced him hard. “I didn’t suggest it. I told you. It was Isgard who started it all up.”

“Then stop listening to Isgard. If they want Camelot’s protection they best not spread any more rumors.”

Aldous laughed. “Are you threatening them? You can barely hold your drink Arthur.”

The prince sneered, angered with his friend’s accusations about the kingdom he had been born to. “Same with you, swaying back and forth each time we leave the tavern.”

He took a breath, backing off some. “Look, we’ve been friends for years Aldous. Looking to ruin that now?”

“Of course not Arthur. This has everyone edgy though. How is Bayard doing this, don’t you wonder?”

Arthur gave a ragged nod of his head, his hand rustling through his hair messily. “Of course I do, now that he’s going to get Chenary too. Five kingdoms in less than a year’s time.”

“It’s absurd.”

“Right.”

“He can’t be doing it alone. It’s inconceivable.”

Arthur fisted his hand at the waist of his brown trousers, a leather black vest over it along with a dark brown tunic. “I do think he’s getting help, but it’s not from Camelot.”

“Okay then. But I still have to wonder about your wife.” Arthur’s face tightened so Aldous went on with a frenzy of haste. “You come with us to the tavern all the time and when not there you’re with Elaine. You probably hardly see her. Do you honestly know her that well, this woman from Tirmaiur?”

Arthur hated being challenged, especially by his friends, and when it concerned personal matters like who he was married to. Without thinking much, he just pushed, forcing Aldous against a nearby tree’s trunk.

“Arthur-

He clenched Aldous’s tunic within his fingers. “I already said that my wife has nothing to do with this. So that will be it.”

It was in all literality dangerous for Guinevere to be accused of such heinous crimes. It could send madmen after her. Arthur didn’t want his wife to have lies spread about her, especially ones that could threaten her life.

Aldous stared at him quietly for a moment, their faces in such near proximity, before asking, “You’re getting to feel for her, aren’t you?”

It was enough to lessen Arthur’s fire. He dropped his hands from Aldous’s tunic. “Don’t say anything more about Guinevere, about any of this.”

“Is that a warning?”

Arthur smirked grimly. “It’s a promise.”

That was enough revelation for Aldous. “You do have feelings for her, so what about Elaine?”

This conversation just tangled from one direction into another, and Arthur was growing irritated by it. “Elaine is my business.”

“She’s our friend.”

Arthur let out a sigh, before giving a shrug. “Alright. I’m thinking to end things with Elaine.”

“So you’re committed to this marriage?”

Arthur just gave another shrug.

“Elaine’s not going to be happy.”

“I know. But it’s better it end sooner than later.”

“Yeah. Probably for the best. Like us growing up.”

Arthur smiled at that. Was this what all this was? Both of them were finally rising to their fate and destiny?

Arthur thought of the rumor…thought of Agravaine. That was preposterous though, right? He could barely tolerate the man, but that didn’t make him a traitor. Agravaine wasn’t canny enough to be behind something as well orchestrated as all this.

Aldous was wrong. No one from Camelot would ever do something so treacherous. It had to be another of the kingdoms.

The two young men eyed each other warily for a moment. Bayard’s conquerings were achieving more than he even first intended.

Ally against ally.

Friend against friend.

The possible future?

Perhaps. But for the moment, both let their aggression and doubts go.

“Good luck with Elaine.”

Arthur nodded. “Thanks.”

Each rode off in opposite directions, to their respective kingdoms.

…

From beyond, a mysterious shrouded figure watched, giving a satisfactory smile.

Everything was working quite well now.

Finally it would be done.

It would be had.

***

“Merlin…where are we going?” Gwen asked with exacerbation. Already they had passed far beyond the castle, subsequently entering the darkest part of the wood. It had to be upon horseback, the journey not a short one, weaving through trees, bushes, and barely marked paths of thick banks of dirt and forest debris. Now finally a slight opening appeared that led to a queerly sunken cave.

“Merlin?”

He stopped his horse and jumped off, coming to where she still sat. “It’s here Gwen. Come on, I’ll help you down.”

He reached up for her waist, feeling her allow the assist as she came down from her horse. “A cave?”

“Yeah.” He took her hand and led her inside. It was rustic on the outer surface, with moss growing around its edges. Within, it wasn’t exactly a palace, but it definitely felt grander than it should.

“Illusion?” Gwen asked with wide eyes.

Merlin shrugged. “No. Well not really. It just appears one way when you’re out of it. It’s when you’re within you see all the potential. Come on, it’s a few rooms down.”

What is? Gwen thought as they passed from the entrance to the kitchen. The walls were rock and moss, the furniture rustic, and yet it had a distinctiveness of the marvelous too. It had little charming flairs to the edges that resembled pictures of furniture in the mage books she studied. “You are full of secrets, aren’t you Merlin?”

He didn’t respond, just finished leading her to the appropriate room. Inside were multitudes of shelves climbing to the strangely, suddenly, tall ceiling. Upon each were vials, jars, and other types of containers of colored liquids.

“Oh my…” Gwen spun around slowly, taking all the oddness in. Coming to a stop she noticed a beautiful statue at the far end of the room, sitting upon a work table. “Is that…”

He smiled curiously. “Yes.”

“But I thought they were all extinct.” She traced it with her fingers, feeling the intricate moldings, seeing the jeweled eyes.

“It’s just a statue Gwen.”

“Right.” She let out, whispering. “Are you a maker of potions then, or what?”

“Not really.” He took the vial now as she gave it to him. “Whatever I learned, I learned from my father. He was one of the great mages. He knew Arthur’s mother.”

Merlin gestured forward and so Gwen sat down upon a chair now, noticing its labyrinthine wood design. “They were friends?”

“Yes. All four of them really. My mother. His mother. All of that, but it was years ago. Arthur never really knew much about the friendship. Neither did I. My parents went to distant lands for a while and then when I was older, after my mother passed on, my father came back here. That was after Arthur and I both were much older in age. Just a few years ago actually.”

He opened the vial and deposited the contents into a small jar, noticing how Gwen flinched.

“It’s alright. I won’t tamper with it in any way.”

She nodded. “I trust you.”

Merlin smiled at that and continued his story while setting his mind to understand the contents of the vial, using a tool here and there of magic and chemistry. “Anyway, my father didn’t associate much with other people after my mother’s death. He was a quiet man to begin with, Balinor his name. And so we came here to this remote cave. The queen would come to visit.”

Gwen stated curiously as she watched Merlin examining the vial’s contents with a trained eye. “I’m guessing she didn’t bring Arthur.”

Merlin shook his head, keeping his eyes on the vial’s contents. “No, she didn’t. I’m not sure why. It was just recently, right before you two were married, that she asked me to live within the castle, hide my magic. Although I wasn’t always around when my father was still alive, I’m certain she never brought Arthur here.”

“Why weren’t you always around?” Gwen asked as Merlin’s words had mysterious air to them.

“Oh…just…other things. Other places I needed to be.”

She got ready to ask more, but he told her before she could. “Well that’s it. I know what’s in the vial now.”

“You do?” Gwen asked excitedly, jumping off the chair.

“Yeah.” He smiled fractionally. “But I don’t think it’s going to be that illuminating.”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, before blurting it out. “It’s to help him perform better.”

She wrinkled her nose with confusion. “On stage? He’s an actor?”

“Gwen.” Merlin shook his head, his eyes focusing hard on her with meaning. “Perform…privately.”

“Oh my.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “In the bedroom?”

“Yeah..or wherever he…well anyway, it’s not for a woman. It’s for a man.”

“Oh…wow.” Gwen let out a long sigh. “No wonder he was so keen to get it back. And that must have been why he was out of his room in the middle of the night. But…I saw him coming from the queen’s chambers.”

Merlin shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you were mistaken or that was about something else. Ygraine doesn’t even think anyone’s stealing from her. It’s Agravaine who wanted to accuse you because he probably wanted to stir up trouble and…”

Gwen finished for him. “And was angry at me for taking his performance enhancement. Oh dear. Now I have to get it back to him without him finding out.”

Merlin shook his head. “Leave that to me. If Agravaine finds you that won’t boast well. He would get angry and if Arthur discovered you both like that, he wouldn’t be happy either.”

Gwen shrugged off Merlin’s concern. “I doubt Arthur would care much.”

She started to walk away, but Merlin got hold of her arm, his eyes firm in belief. “Then you don’t know him well enough Gwen.”

She frowned as he went on.

“Arthur was really upset this morning about what happened with you and Agravaine last night.”

“He told you?”

“Yes, sort of. He didn’t mention the vial, just your inopportune meeting in the hall. Arthur has a habit of ranting when something upsets him. He kept talking about it more than he probably wanted to. And so I replied at all the right places and got him to talk more. Look I know that he’s still with that…woman…and I’ve told him that it’s wrong.”

Gwen shook her head with indifference. “It doesn’t matter Merlin. I don’t care about Arthur.”

“You don’t?” He asked her pointedly as he let go of her arm now.

“No.” She answered quickly. “well…I do care about him. But if he wants to be a coward and a lecherous fool then…let him. Be that.”

Even though she tried to hide it her anger was solid. Oh Gwen was definitely a woman who did not rant and rave like so many others could, but she too wasn’t made of iron. Her heart could be hurt.

“I was in love once.” Merlin told her now candidly, a bit rashly, but he knew she’d listen with all the kindness she had.

Gwen smiled, touching his hand. “You were?”

“Yeah.” He smiled too, recalling better times. “It was when I was away from here for long periods. She was beautiful, special and…we shared something together that not really anyone else would understand. Just… maybe a few.”

“Did she have magic too?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sure she had a name…” Gwen hinted.

Merlin smiled. “She did.”

“And?”

“Freya.”

“Oh!” Gwen let out excitedly. “My best friend is Freya. She has brown hair.”

Merlin smiled. “Not the same. One I loved had red. But it’s a special coincidence, them having the same name.”

“Well of course she’s not the same, as the one I know lives in Tirmaiur.” Gwen sighed. “But yes it is…special. So what happened to her?”

Merlin looked away from the chemistry contents of the room, to the statue, to the hallway, and then to the floor before answering. “She died.”

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.” Gwen touched his hand, and Merlin grasped hers, surprising Gwen as he stated fervently. “Love like that Gwen, it comes maybe once. I know I sound old, but I’ve felt it and I doubt I will again. If you and Arthur…if there is a chance that you can grow to love each other, like I think is possible, although now it’s hidden by denial, pride and fear, then keep being strong with him. But be there too. Don’t let him get away with the cheating aspect. Don’t let him go if you really do care.”

He thought about a shrouded figure, and another, of flames, of wings, and of…love. It ended faster than it should have. Now he needed a new purpose. Hmmm…maybe Merlin was finding it.

Gwen stared at him, feeling Merlin’s insistence rocking at her heart. She shook her head, admitting, “I told Arthur this. There was someone in Tirmaiur, Merlin.”

“Oh.”

She went on with a sigh. “He loved me and I never really…fully loved him back. Not the same anyway. I just never had that…special feeling with him that you must have had with Freya. I’m not even sure what it is…love of that nature. Here in Camelot, I’m frustrated and lonely sometimes. I do want to make something of this marriage, but I can’t be the only participant. If Arthur won’t even try, why should I? Why should I care to remain faithful to a man who shows none for me? He has no qualms about going to another in the middle of the night. It’s…”

She let it out angrily, hurtfully. “Humiliating Merlin.”

Gwen looked away from him, having given exposure to the truth of her feelings. It went beyond a relationship with Arthur, if that was to be a possibility. It went to her dignity.

Merlin grasped at her hand, seeing it, and getting it. “Gwen, he does have qualms. He knows his actions hurt and he doesn’t want them to. He’s troubled like you now. I don’t think Arthur thought you were going to be that special. But now that he sees…well…”

Gwen shook her head. “I shouldn’t even care.”

Merlin countered. “But you do. Because you have great heart. And believe it or not he does too. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he also cares.”

“Merlin-

Gwen started to say, but then heard an odd noise. A loud one. She turned down the hallway. “Is someone else here?”

Merlin’s face blanched. He should have been more careful. “No…well…”

“Merlin?”

The noise came again.

“Uh…you know…it’s a cave. Makes…weird noises.” He grasped her hand. “We should go.”

Another. Gwen pulled away and fisted her hands at her waist. “Merlin, please. I do have enough intellect to know that is no sound of some cave. What is it? Because it’s getting louder.”

As it was, filling the room.

Merlin sighed, taking her hand again. “Alright, come on. The queen knows. You might as well also. But you can’t tell Arthur. Not yet anyway.”

“Tell him what?” Gwen asked.

Merlin said nothing, just kept leading her down one hallway after another until Gwen started feeling dizzy. How could there be this many rooms? They were altering too, growing more rustic by nature except for so many vibrant jewels, as Merlin now came to a heavy wooden door.

“Don’t panic.”

“What? Why?”

She asked, but then the reason for the noise was right in front of her. The door was open and…

“Oh…my…how…what…” she asked in astonishment, holding on tightly to Merlin’s hand, her eyes staring ahead at what was in front of her.

“Remember. You can’t tell Arthur…yet.”

***

Wouldn't fit in one post so part 2 is here

Shared Chambers: Evermore {I}

2013-01-21T02:40:54Z

Title Shared Chambers: Evermore
Rating R mild/Teen
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen / also Gaius, Merlin, Gwaine and Percival
Word Count 19,581
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for whole series // If you did not see the series finale, episode 5.13, this will give away the ending. Please understand this before reading. // Warning: major character death, strong angst, adult mature inexplicit situations
Author’s Note These have been a joy to write and have introduced me to so many wonderful Arwen writers, artists and friends. I wrote this part with the intention I’ve always used while writing the Chambers fics. So I’ve taken a few liberties, keeping most of the story within ‘chambers’ as much as I could, adding Arthur and Guinevere where I thought they were missed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shared Chambers Evermore

Shouts of men.

Poundings of assault rock the earth.

Horses’ shrieks fill the night.

The strike of metal knells and clangors.

Gwen’s eyes open wide, her mouth educing a taut breath.

“It’s begun.”

She stands up, giving rapid scan of the tent’s interior.

The battle’s begun.

Over there to the right are her riding skirt, belt, and vest. Her blouse lies alongside, but she looks past it to the white tunic that still lies upon the table. He was wearing it before he departed. He wore it after they shared their love together.

Gwen pulls her nightdress up and over her head in a rush.

It will only take moments probably for the wounded to be carried in. That will mean every hand that can be of assistance will be needed.

That was part of her work once anyway, assisting Gaius with the injured, and enough of those times it meant tending to Arthur too, with Morgana also assisting.

Morgana has a larger army.

Gwen shakes her doubt away.

Perhaps Camelot’s army is much smaller than Morgana’s Saxons, and of course they don’t possess any magic, but they have a love of kingdom, love of their king, and that will make them the strongest fighters ever.

She knows it.

Gwen pulls on her skirt, belt, and reaches for her blouse.

His words of before echo in her ears.

“There is no one in this world I love more than you.”

No one for her either.

The shouts escalate. She must make haste.

Gwen neglects the blouse and grasps her husband’s white tunic, pulling it over her head. It is loose and so she slips it into the skirt, tightens the belt around, and wears the fur vest over, giving it a snugger fit. The sleeves are long and so she rolls them up, pulling on her boots afterward.

Getting to the tent’s flap, she gazes upon the bed, the covers still askew from their romancing and slumber. She moves to the edge and fingers the sheets, tangling them around her fingers.

“All I ask…is you keep him safe. Please Heavenly Father…

Guard my husband on the battlefield. Guard my precious Arthur.”

A few tears stray down her cheeks. She wipes them away rapidly and presses her hand against her heart, getting her mind into order.

“I need to be strong.”

She departs the tent.

No idle queen.

She will do her part, tending to the wounded as her husband fights the precarious battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is blood seeping out of the tiny knots of chain. There is stillness upon a man surrounded by carnage.

He perches between the conscious world and the unconscious, a chimera fusing through his dormant mind.

~~“Arthur…not again!”

He gives out a hiss of laughter and tightened pain as she rushes to his side. Gaius is there too, patting her hand as she frets.

“He’ll be alright Gwen. Just a bit of rest.”

“I told you not to conduct knight training just after being ill!”

“Oh Guinevere…” Arthur waves his hand, letting out a shallow ‘ow.’ Even a wave hurts. She’s holding at his back and front, walking with him hurriedly, but carefully to their bed, turning backward for a moment.

“Thank you Gaius. Oh and thank Merlin too. I’m sure he tried to stop him. But with how stubborn you are…”

Arthur flinches some at the direct strike. His wife’s firm anger is worse really than being hit by a mace in the side.

Well almost.

He watches as she fusses with the pillows, simultaneously hearing the door close to their chambers.

“Come on then.” She grasps him around the shoulder and back. “Into bed, now.”

“Guine-

He stops midsentence. Her face says ‘do not quarrel with me’. Giving a heavy sigh, Arthur relents. “it was just a little cold Guin.”

He touches meagerly at his bandaged side, feeling her assisting him into the bed and laying the covers over so he is warm and content.

It’s on her lips fast. “It was PNEUMONIA Arthur Pendragon. You had it for over a week. It was a breakout that affected much of the kingdom. Most of your men have been smart and wise enough to get the rest they need. But you insisted upon attending knight training even after you told me you would not go! You fibbed!”

He did. He’s sorry. It was one of the novel knights, just got his robes and all, who accidentally whacked him with the mace. Under normal conditions Arthur would have seen it coming right away, but he started feeling a little dizzy and well things went downhill from there. Now he has a thick bandage at his side and the pain is shrill enough even with the foul tasting tonic Gaius gave him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied.” He pouts. Although Guinevere’s anger is rare, you definitely don’t want to battle against it. You’ll lose.

He hears his wife’s exasperated sigh and then feels her gentle kiss upon his warm sweaty forehead. “Oh.” She whispers, touching his cheek. “Why can’t I stay angry with you?”

He smiles. “Because I am the most dashing man you’ve ever known.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” She states loosely, looking away from his pouting face.

“Eh?” Arthur strongly objects, hearing his wife’s giggles that precede a kiss upon his brow.

“Get some sleep.”

“Stay with me.”

“No. I’m going to get you something hot that will make you feel better.”

“Guinevere…” He whispers, shivering some.

“Arthur…” Her hands touch his cheeks, fingers caressing. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright…” He closes his eyes.~~

The man surrounded by carnage, dreaming, does not feel the presence of another, does not wake as he is lifted away from the corpses by an elderly man in red robes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later he is missing.

She has pushed herself to help with the wounded, but it will soon be time to take down the tents and head home to Camelot. There are so many hurt that need to get the proper care that they can only obtain within the kingdom, and thus they will depart in the middle of the night.

Gwen goes to the table within their tent chambers and takes out the box. Holding the Druid prayer in her shaking hands, and then letting it go, she closes her eyes, clasps her fingers. “Please…I must see him again. I must.”

Every time Arthur has gone to battle he has come back.

Her husband is the strongest, fiercest warrior she’s ever known. As much as Gwen has never held any fondness towards Uther Pendragon, she is grateful to him for one vital thing. His steeliness caused him to raise a son who is battle ready, trained from the moment he could walk.

He will come back.

She will see him again.

Her heart will feel him again.

She bravely smiles as she makes her way to the tent’s flaps. “Leon will find him. I’m sure of it.”

It is time to go back to Camelot. And soon enough he will be there too.

He will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is lying by a burning fire in the middle of the wood. The elderly man is no more. In his place is someone young, familiar and troubled.

The king not yet knowing of this change, dreams.

~~“Arthur Pendragon, didn’t I tell you to stay in this bed!”

He gives a heavy sigh as she rushes to his side and with her small, but forceful hands, pushes him back within the bedcovers.

“You were gone so long. Guinevere…it hurts.”

Her expression tenders. She sits near him, asking, “What hurts?”

“My side.”

His wife smiles, such a pretty sight in perhaps his favorite dress that she owns, the blue one. “Oh now Arthur. Of course it hurts. You were hit by a mace.”

Her fingers start to cross his brow, and he asks, “You’re still mad at me?”

He hears her sweet laughter and feels her kiss upon his cheek. “No. You’re forgiven. Enough talking. Open your mouth.”

He does so with pleasure and tastes not her, but…

“Oh.”

She grins. “Not what you were expecting, yes I know. But it’s good?”

“Mmm…” It’s warm and takes away a bit of the dizziness. “Yes…More.”

She honors his request.~~

The chimera flows and drifts.

He awakens finally to see the fire, the young troubled man, and to feel an agony that jars like an angry siren at his upper body.

The young troubled man is his servant who tells him something that nearly eclipses the pain in his body, filling him with a cacophony of uneasiness.

They’re too much, the pain and the revelation. It makes him shake and shiver.

His servant moves away from him; once again his eyes grow tired and he dreams once more.

~~“Told you that you should take it easy, didn’t I? But did you listen to me? No…of course not. You clotpole, you.”

Arthur blinks. What happened to Guinevere? Why is Merlin in their chambers now, putting logs in the hearth? “What are you doing? Where is my wife?”

Merlin shakes his head as if Arthur is silly. “What does it look like I’m doing? Starting a fire up for you.” His eyes glow. Foreign words come out of his mouth.

“Merlin!” Arthur reacts wildly, staring at his servant and the strongly burning flames within the hearth. “Merlin, you’re a—a-

Merlin stares at him now, like he is afraid. “Arthur?” He starts backing up.

Arthur’s side is in pain, but still he cannot gather enough distance. “Get away…get-get-

Merlin runs out of the room.

Arthur is breathing hard, clamoring on the bed, trying to get away when hands hold his shoulders.

Familiar beautiful ones.

“Arthur…Arthur calm down. Arthur, stop now. Relax.”

It’s his Guinevere. He points to the hearth. To the door. “Merlin-Merlin’s a sorcerer.”

“What?” She looks at him with puzzlement in her deep brown eyes.

“He is…he’s a-he’s…”

His voice is drifting. The pain is coarse.

Her voice is still questioning. “Arthur…Arthur?”~~

The chimera fades. The blade’s poison climbs higher. He grunts some in his sleep. His brow is wet, a little hot.

Beyond him sits the servant, the sorcerer, despondent, rejected.

And yet always watching out for his friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is just past the hour of dawn when they return to Camelot. Sadly many bodies are carried along too. So many, this night, have lost their lives. At least the war is over, now just a tragic ripped parchment of memory.

She is within their shared chambers, fur gone and skirt removed too. And yet still she is clad in his tunic. Its fragile pale material crosses over her bare skin, shrouds her thighs, meets her knees. There is a fire in the hearth, creating escalating warmth, as she sits upon the corner of their bed furniture, waiting, hoping.

Years ago it happened. It was no battle like this one, something much simpler.

It was the first time, since marriage, she had to wait for him to come back.

That night she clutched her ring finger, holding it against her lips.

When…

“Miss me?”

She turns around, seeing him standing there, a thick bandage around his head. “Arthur?”

He touches at the bandage sheepishly. “I got knocked in the head with the blunt end. Merlin, as clumsy as he is, tended to me quite well, according to Gaius. I would have been up these steps faster, but Gaius met me on the back end and silly Merlin insisted I get checked. Anyhow, I’m here now-

He can’t finish the last part. Her skirts fisted in her hands, Gwen runs across the room and embraces him like she hasn’t seen him in years. “Oh Arthur!”

Laughing a bit, he grasps her waist and holds her up against him, his other hand going to her hair, smoothing at the curls. “Oh now…shhhh…it’s alright. Haven’t I told you before, you’ll always have me to contend with. You don’t have to worry.”

He pulls away, looking into her wet eyes. Gwen lets out a brave smile as he wipes them away with a few fingers, whispering firmly. “I’ll never leave you.”

So young, so new to marriage, and so loving of it, every bit, all the way from the fantastic moments of passion to the trivial mundane council meetings, she wants to keep him to those words. “You promise?”

He smiles, pressing his lips devoutly against hers. “I promise. As far as I am able, Guinevere, I will come home to you. Always.”

As far as he is able.

A promise with conditions. She knew it then. She knows it now. He meant every word. But he could not predict.

No one can. What if-

Gwen moves away from the bed, shaking her head hard. “No. No.” She presses her hand to her heart, within the material, holds it there at her naked breast, her eyes closing for a moment, and then opening with firm resolve. “I can feel it. I can feel you. I know it. I know you’re still alive.”

She wraps her arms around herself, rocking slightly, doing everything to feel the comfort of his heart, his breathing, his returning.

“You’re alive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another night comes. He has been tended to, but still his body aches. Still it burns with magical poison. One, who is young, who is shown now to have hidden much, resigns himself to the wait until morning. The other, an elder, understands the heft of fate.

As the king once more dreams…

~~Guinevere is out of the room again. Why? Gaius is there as Arthur rants about Merlin, but Gaius shakes his head, holds his shoulder, and tells him something firm and reassuring.

“Sire, the mace that collided with your side injured you. Keep making a fuss and you will hurt yourself more.”

“But…” Arthur rants with cumbrous breaths. “He’s a sorcerer Gaius. He’s lied to us!”

Gaius just gives a genial smile, shaking his head. “So he is. A sorcerer, but no lies. You will see all soon. What he has done for you. Now enough. You must lie still Sire.”

“But Gaius-

“Gaius is right.” Guinevere comes into the room now, smiling at the elderly man and simply nodding her head as he departs their chambers. “Arthur…you need to compose yourself.”

“But Merlin is-

Her finger firmly moves against his lip. “Enough I said. You need your rest.”

He starts to protest more when the vertigo sails in with defter feel and his eyes grow weary. He sighs with request. “Sleep with me.”

“Arthur, I’m always with you.” Guinevere tells him simply, pressing her lips against his. “Now close your eyes. Rest my husband.”

Her fingers gently brush back the damp strands of hair from his warm forehead.

“Rest.”~~

The chimera fades away, but the magical poison does not. It seeks its target, probing for the king’s heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miles from the king, that same night, the queen questions his continued absence.

Many patrols have gone to look for him without any findings.

“He is alive.” Gwen whispers to herself with determination. He is not the only one missing though.

After the battle was over, there was so much chaos, running from one tent to another, helping with the injured. She lost sight of Gaius.

No Arthur and no Gaius, and actually come to think of it, where is Merlin?

Deep in wonder, trying to keep her mind in calm order, Gwen hears a sound coming from outside hers and Arthur’s chambers. She rushes to the door and opens it. “Gwaine.”

His expression is haggard, no doubt why after the ferocity of battle and its many tragedies.

“May I have a moment with you?”

“Certainly my Lady.” His regal subdued response is a far cry from the sweet-talking Gwaine who tried to charm his way with her before he realized she had eyes for another years ago. It saddens her some to see. Not even knighthood has totally tamed Gwaine, to which Arthur has admitted to her enough times he’s glad it hasn’t. Although Sir Gwaine’s stomach can be of a hindrance on long treks from Camelot, everyone within the kingdom likes his witty spontaneity.

There is not much of that now though.

He enters and she closes the door just slightly. Then taking hold of his wrist, she gets him to move with her to the far corner of the room. “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course my Lady.”

“It was you who took Merlin on his errand, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

Gwaine shakes his head, getting Gwen to hold tight to his hand.

“My la-

He starts to say, but she is insistent. “Gwaine, Arthur has been missing since the battle. My heart-

She presses hard against it, turning away for a moment, but then Gwaine’s hand is touching her shoulder. “Gwen.”

“Please.” She beseeches him, wiping away the few tears that try to leak out. “I just need to know if possibly Merlin would know where-

“Gwen…” Gwaine gives out a pained sigh. “Last I saw Merlin was at some cave within the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He didn’t want me to go further with him. He said he’d be fine. I had my doubts about leaving him there, but you know Merlin…he always gets out of everything. I’m sure he’ll get out of this too.”

“Gwaine, that area is filled with bandits. It’s dangerous.”

He nods. “Yeah I know. But Merlin insisted that everything would be okay. He has those looks Gwen that are hard to describe. You can simply tell that he’s not scared and that he has something in mind that no one can interfere with. I left him with one of my swords anyway.”

The answer gives her no security of reassurance about Arthur, and raises more questions about Merlin too. Every time Arthur has been gone from Camelot it seems Merlin has been with him. So what was so important that Merlin couldn’t be with him this time?

“Gwen.”

It’s obvious more tears have fallen as Gwaine gently wipes one from near her shoulder, peering up into her eyes. “Don’t let go of your hope.” He reaches out for her hand, holding it gently. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you all those years back. Well that and how pretty you were, like a princess, and now you’re Camelot’s Queen.”

Gwen smiles bravely at the compliment, admitting with an anxious sigh. “I just want him to come home.”

“I know. You have to believe he will.”

She can see that he has no more to say, and honestly she expects no more.

“Thank you Gwaine.”

He nods and exits the room. Gwen closes the door behind him and looks down upon the bed.

His weight, on his side of the bed, is usually there by this time, causing the slight shift.

But there is none this night. No shift of his side.

No husband to lie next to.

Just the neatest covers in place.

Awfully in place.

It takes everything in her exhausted body, still fully dressed in her lavender gown, to lay upon the sheets and covers, to hold tight to his pillow, asking,

“Where are you Arthur?” Her tears no longer allow denial.

“Where are you my love?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes. The sun’s shine is at best a fragile glare that must battle its way through the murky haze.

The past day the queen kept busy by helping with those injured during Camlann, meeting with the council, checking in with the castle staff, and assuring the knights order with Sir Leon.

Now she stands at the window, the morning still so early as she waits for some sign from the multitudes of patrols sent out.

Any sign.

And then it comes as she views Gaius riding up to the palace, Gwaine meeting him. Her heart beating fast, Gwen runs out of hers and Arthur’s chambers.

The talk downstairs is oddly balanced with hope and anxiety. Although Gaius assures her that Arthur is alive, he also gives her the Royal Seal, stating how Arthur wanted her to have it. No type of gift, it is an object she’d rather not be holding for its meaning is so barbed. Finally the mystery of Merlin is revealed. Of course he is with Arthur. Somehow she is not that surprised, maybe having always known it deep in her heart. What is shocking is that Merlin wants to travel with Arthur alone. How can Merlin defend both of them? Gwen wonders.

However there is more. Gaius starts to tell her it with Gwaine in attendance, but then she silences him, gesturing for them both to follow her up the steps. She leads them into hers and Arthur chambers.

“I don’t want anyone to hear. That face you made downstairs Gaius, I saw it, Gwaine you saw it too, yes?”

The knight nods his head. “Yeah, what is it Gaius?”

The elderly man frowns gravely. “The girl, Eira, I believe and Merlin does too that she has betrayed us.”

Gwaine shakes his head with bewilderment. “What?”

“How do you know this, Gaius?” Gwen asks, the Royal Seal rubbing against her fingers, the coarse rope scratching at her skin.

The elderly man explains how it is clear Morgana knew of their battle plans well ahead of time, their aim to surprise Morgana’s Saxons at Camlann, everything.

Gwen’s eyes widen. “How did she learn this? Was she spying, listening in? I don’t understand. How did Eira learn of this when she had only been in Camelot a day or two?”

Gaius looks to Gwaine, which makes Gwen turn from one to the other. “Gwaine?”

The knight lowers his head, his expression so defeated, so self loathing. “It was me. I told her.”

Gaius isn’t that surprised, but Gwen’s eyes widen more. “You told her? Why?”

Looking to the wall for a moment, in his mind the men who had been lost, friends, brothers in arms, Gwaine grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean to my Lady. It was just…conversation. Stupid…conversation.”

Horrified, Gwen looks down at the seal, back to Gwaine, who is avoiding her eyes now. “Oh my God…” She pushes her hand against her heart. “Oh Gwaine…”

Gaius, knowing that time is not in their favor, points it out. “Morgana probably would have found out anyway. If not Eira…from someone else.”

Gwen nods her head, her heart panging bitterly. She clears her throat, lifting her head with determination. “The only thing that matters now is that Morgana does not find out where Merlin is taking Arthur. And that Eira pays for her crimes.” Her expression holds no forgiveness, and yet no vengeance either. She simply wants justice and the safety of her husband and his friend.

“She trusts me.” Gwaine whispers now, before speaking louder. “She’s charmed by me.” It is something he usually boasts about. Now it is just a way to hopefully end this whole nightmare. It hurts, because truly he had begun to care for her. He had…trusted her. Now she is the reason for so many dead.

“I can mislead her.”

Gwen nods, her expression stalwart, she is all purpose. “And so you will Sir Gwaine. You will tell her that Arthur and Merlin are heading in the opposite direction. And then when she tries to send message to Morgana, we will be ready.”

She sends them both away, telling Gwaine to communicate the plan to only a few knights, including Sir Leon who she knows will make sure everything is done right.

After both depart, Gwen sinks to the chair that sits at the table where Arthur just days ago was planning the war out. She clutches the seal in her fingers.

Her hands tremble, clasped in prayer as she bows her head down, her lips wetting the ring and cord as they graze against.

As she pleads.

“Oh for the love of Camelot…merciful Heaven…

Bring him back…

Let him come home to me…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another night commences. The poisoned magic persists, traversing through his body, getting, closer, closer. It makes his voice weaker, his periods of sleep deeper. As the chimera continue to linger.

~~He shivers as once more Guinevere is not in the room. He tries to move on the bed, but there are pricks of hurt that won’t let him shift. He looks to the hearth, seeing a shadowed figure there. “Merlin.”

The servant and sorcerer turns around, his eyes shining just a touch. Not by magic. By wetness instead.

Arthur grunts uneasily, angrily. Merlin gives an odd display of what he can do with his magic. Arthur’s breathing speeds up as a chair slides across the floor, and a pitcher moves near where he lays. When Merlin stands afterward, Arthur grunts again, stressing to get up. But he can’t.

Can’t move.

Merlin sits down in the chair and pours the contents of the pitcher into a cup, whispering, “You need to keep your strength up. This will help.”

Bewildered, Arthur can barely object as the cup is lifted to his parched lips. He drinks some and then shakes his head. “Why…why?”

Not much else gets out. His eyes drift closed.

And then soft hands are touching him.

“Guinevere…” He breathes fast.

“Shhhh…” She gently fingers his cheek. “Everything’s alright Arthur. Just rest.”

“But Merlin-

“Arthur…” She tells him softly, but with added firmness. “Do as I say. Lie still and rest.”

“Stay.” Oh, his side hurts so much now. He brings his hand down, but she stops its progress.

“Of course I will stay with you. Always. Now rest Arthur. Rest.”~~

Like that he finds sleep, but his body is having a harder time fighting what is trying to poison it. His body is growing weaker.

Feebler.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s done. They have her. Gwen is within hers and Arthur’s chambers, holding the Royal Seal between her fingers, standing at the window. Looking out.

“My Lady.”

She turns around, seeing Gwaine standing there, his eyes looking pained. “Sir Gwaine.”

His brow wrinkles, his head shaking.

She puts up her hand. “I know you had feelings for her. But the judgment stands. She will hang tomorrow for her crimes.”

“Gwen-

That makes her suddenly angry. She turns around in a rush, her tone authoritative. “Don’t think of asking me to spare her. That woman caused the death of many fine men of Camelot! Your fellow knights. And her treachery may have also resulted in---oh-

Her voice starting to break, Gwaine takes slow steps forward, meeting his queen in the middle, but she does not let him reach for her hands this time. So he has to relent. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry. And to not lose hope. Merlin’s a sturdy one and Arthur…”

She stares at him, her eyes wide, the one way to keep the tears from falling again. If she doesn’t blink, they won’t come. She shakes her head. “Apologies are not needed. I know you meant no wrong. But it was a mistake to confide in her. I just hope you realize that now.”

“I do.” He tells her flatly.

Gwen nods; her fingers touched by sweat, having held the seal for so long, drop it. She looks down upon the floor like it is a bottomless ocean.

Gwaine squats down and picks up the ring. “Here.” He hands it back to her.

Her hands press against her mouth and the tears come, that one act of kindness blowing away her firm resolve. Gwaine reaches out, but a hug, with Arthur missing, feels wrong, especially after what he has done. So Gwaine grasps Gwen’s arms instead, telling her the best he can, “I am so sorry. You can’t stop believing though. You always have hope Gwen. Don’t let it go. Keep what you have inside, believe.”

She shakes her head, whispering the dreaded thing. “But what if…what if this time he doesn’t come home Gwaine?”

He thinks of the family members he’s lost, the day that Lancelot sacrificed himself, the horrible day Elyan was killed. He thinks of what it feels like before death swims into the mortal world.

“Can you still feel him?”

Gwen lifts her hand, presses it against her heart. “Yes.”

“Then have faith in that.”

She nods and moves apart from him.

Gwaine knows why. Things are different between them now, even between him and the knights. He only has one purpose now, one fueled endeavor.

One.

He backs out of the room and Gwen sinks down upon the bed, one hand at her heart, one at her stomach. She hasn’t eaten that much in the past days, hasn’t desired to. It’s not a big thing. She’s always been a light eater, having grown up meagerly.

She hungers for only one entity.

Him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes and with it a sign of hope, of beautiful sweet hope. Even the sun is stronger in the sky. It will be a lovely day, a day of renewal, Gwen can feel it. She treads around the room with purpose and then stops, peering at the table, gazing at it with light in her face.

The gillyflowers that Arthur gave her, every day they’ve been sitting in water. They’ve grown some, but also some of the flowers have already dried out. And yet at the tip of one stem, there it is. A bright new bud. Just starting to blossom. Just finding its way into the world. Her face glows with excitement, her mouth forming a happy smile as she touches her heart.

“It’s a sign. I know it is. A wonderful sign.”

There’s more too. She thought of it last night, not able to sleep that well and so giving up, letting her mind ponder. Gaius persuaded her that Merlin would be able get Arthur to the mysterious isle, that Gaius still had not named, only told her the direction of. He strangely had no doubt that Merlin could get Arthur there by himself, against Morgana, a sorceress.

Beyond that was the bearded sorcerer, the man that Gaius seemed to know, the one that ended the battle, fighting for the side of Camelot.

Could it be possible?

Gwen gazes at the precious bud.

Arthur has the protection of someone of great ability. That must be why this sign of life has come.

Arthur has…

Oh. Enough thinking about it! She needs to go downstairs. Find out for sure. Quickly dress and find it out.

Gwen rushes around her room with the biggest burst of excitement she’s had in days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After her talk with Gaius the bud still quakes with beautiful beginnings of life. Gaius has told her for certain, in his own somewhat cryptic, but caring way. Merlin is the one with Arthur of course, but there are new revelations. Merlin is the one who was the bearded man on that hillside. Merlin is a sorcerer of the kind of power she’s never encountered before.

It heartens her because it’s been true from the commencing time Merlin came to Camelot. Oh he fussed and he argued against it, but Merlin has always shared a special bond with Arthur. He has always looked out for him. He is the kind of friend who is true and his being a sorcerer makes that no less. She imagines if Arthur knows now it must be quite a shock to him.

But it will be alright. Gwen knows in her heart. Arthur will see all that Merlin has done for him. Her husband, a man of such profound heart, as stubborn as he can be, will see.

“Oh…” Gwen lets out a long sigh. Now she must do her royal duty. They will be waiting for her to step out upon the balcony for Eira’s hanging. There is no joy, no vengeance, no excitement in Gwen’s soul to hang a person. It is simply the right judgment to be done. Because of Eira there has been so much death, so many mournings of family, of friends. It can’t be forgotten. It can’t be let go of.

She looks down upon the royal seal, held in her fingers, and kisses the gold. “Oh Arthur, I wish you were here with me. I’ve never done this alone before. And it won’t be like Sefa. Nothing will stop this.” She thinks in her heart that nothing should. Eira has written out her own fate, made poor choices and so now it comes to this. It is fair. It is right.

It is just not easy without the man she loves. She clasps the ring, holding it to her heart. “You’ll come back to me. Soon. Merlin will bring you back.”

She takes a long breath and moves to the balcony.

It is time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening comes once more. The king’s battered body barely functions, the poison ruthlessly carving its way to his heart. Usually a man of action, so used to traversing beyond pain, his weakness is palpable now as he negates his servant’s anxious insistence to go further. The veracity of it is he simply can’t, the ride too jarring to his chest and side. Rest is required, a reprieve from the constant momentum and so the servant agrees reluctantly to an hour of it.

Soon the king drifts into unconsciousness and once more enters the hazy and sometimes bizarre world of dreams.

~~“Okay now eat up.” Arthur looks down to the bowl in his hand that his servant is helping him with. Then gazing upward to the servant, he sees him in patches of heavy obscurity. “Why am I so dizzy?”

Merlin laughs. “It’s the mace that hit you. Square in the side. Could have used my magic to stop it, but that would have just upset you-

It comes to Arthur now, wonderingly, how Merlin helps him, every time. How he is there-

“Is he quarreling with you about eating, again?”

Merlin laughs further, a rich room-filling sound as Guinevere reenters. Arthur calls out. “Guinevere…Merlin’s a sorcerer.” There are bits of shakiness in his voice, but beginning understanding is there now too. “Says he does it to help me.”

“Yeah…even when you’re a cabbagehead.”

“Idiot.”

“Oh now that’s enough.” Guinevere tells them strongly, and yet a smile finds her lips. “Merlin, thank you for tending to him when I couldn’t be here.”

“Of course.” Merlin smiles and walks out of the room.

Arthur’s eyes close for a few moments, his breathing heavy. Hands, full of purpose, but also gentling, lift his shoulders, to bring him against a familiar heart and breast. He relaxes, his wife’s touch comforting and desired.

“Your brow’s too hot.” She complains, wiping at his forehead with a cool cloth. “I told you that you weren’t ready. Should have had another day of rest. Now you’re going to have to stay in bed for at least a week.”

“A week, Guinevere?” Arthur asks with a boyish groan because he does not like being complacent and staying in bed. Always moving, he can’t imagine a full week of bed rest.

There’s no give in Guinevere’s strict expression as she tells him, “Yes, one full week Arthur Pendragon.” She taps his chin and softly kisses his lips, a small smile finding her face. Arthur’s hand strays to her breast, noticing that she is in her nightdress now, the soft flowering texture allowing him to easily feel the defined curves of her body.

“Mmm…you’re staying this time, right?” He asks her sleepily.

She gives a pair of kisses to his cheeks. “I am…all the palace work is done.”

“You’re not upset that Merlin’s a sorcerer?”

Guinevere’s expression is adamant. “Of course not. Arthur, you two have known each other for so long. Merlin has always been there for you. Nothing in him has changed. He’s still the same person, simply has magic.”

Arthur sighs, nodding his head. “Yeah…I suppose he is.”

“Mmm…”

He grunts in discomfort, his side giving out little lightning sparks of pain. “Uh…”

“Easy, Arthur.” She coos, coaxing him back to sleep, her fingers composing loving trails through his hair. “Just relax. Don’t move. Stay still and close your eyes. Rest Arthur…rest.”~~

With that the king falls asleep within dream as he sleeps too within reality. There is little that is better though. When his servant sharply wakes him and tells him that they cannot wait any longer, the poisoned blade is inches from discovering his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day passes, the ugly hanging event over, and the waiting still going on. All day Gwen has tended to her work with fragile hope and soberness. There is no joy in another life taken, but it is of sad necessity. One person has no right to allow so many other lives to be stolen away. That is what Eira’s selfishness of choice allowed.

Gwen has no regrets for what she has done and has no belief that Arthur would have acted differently.

Instead there is something else that nags, and so she calls the physician to her chambers.

“Gaius, thank you for coming.”

“My Lady.”

“This won’t be long. I just need to ask you something.”

Gaius is protocol as usual, but there are shards of heaviness in his face too. Gwen can see it plainly now that her strong hope of earlier might be just a bit tempered.

“What is it my Lady?”

Gwen looks him straight in the eye. She wants no avoidance. “You said Arthur was wounded in the battle.”

“Yes.” Gaius states gravely, but cautiously. With Morgana in pursuit of Merlin and Arthur, one, if not more, will have to die, for Morgana will never give up, and neither will Merlin.

“Wounded by many…or by one?”

Gaius stills at the question, seeing the strong insistence for an honest answer in the queen’s eyes.

It brings him to think about her growth and Arthur’s, as he has known both for many years now. With Arthur it has been since birth. A time of what was to be joy, turning awfully tragic after Ygraine breathed her last.

Ygraine was a well loved queen, who had an abundant heart that she shared openly with the people. She balanced Uther well, for while he was so firm in decision making, rightfully or wrongly, Ygraine often helped him to listen to others. Having been born into royalty too, Ygraine was very in tune to expectations and rules of conduct.

Arthur’s birth, what was meant to be a time of celebration, was shrouded in tragedy and horrific pain of sudden change: The Great Purge. It hardened Uther when Ygraine died. It maddened him. And so tragically his son grew up without much love, coveting it urgently at times, before he covered the desire with arrogance to not look too weak.

And yet that heart still festered.

It is why, when he and Merlin started to trust each other, Arthur looked out for Merlin as much as Merlin did for him. It is why Arthur never wanted to believe his Uncle Agravaine would deceive him. It is why Morgana’s betrayal hurt Arthur so deeply. It is why in the face of horrific war, one without much chance to come back, Arthur chose as he had chosen many times before, to fight alongside his men that he loves beyond brotherhood.

And it is why Arthur did not marry for political reason alone, but for true and abiding love, the kind he has for this woman who has grown so much over the years. Truly, she has matured into a queen of such tremendous composure, valor and wisdom, it is as if she was born to the role.

Now this queen asks him a question that he cannot retreat from, the truth not the gentlest answer. It was no mere sword that cut through Arthur’s chest. It was borne of magic and so as such, is meant to solidly wipe him from the land.

“There is possibility of both my Lady. Arthur had more than one superficial wound.”

Gwen frowns, as it is obvious those superficial wounds are not what bother the physician. “Gaius.”

“Yes. Well one was more immersed. It is because of that grave wound Merlin travels to get the king the healing he needs.”

“And who delivered it, do you know?”

Severely, Gaius nods. “Mordred. As he is dead now too. Merlin saw him slain.”

Gwen presses her hand against her heart, the Seal’s rope tangled within her fingers. Suddenly the hope doesn’t feel so full. It does not matter that Mordred died too. It matters what he did before his last breath. “Thank you Gaius.”

She manages to eke out. The elderly man moves forward, gently grasping her hands. “We must not give up hope Gwen. We must believe that Merlin will get him there in time.”

Her body trembling just a bit, she asks him stolidly, “Do you believe that Gaius? That Merlin can get Arthur to that mysterious isle you spoke of…in enough time? Do you think it is possible?”

Gaius shakes his head, his wrinkled skin ever so evident and his age of knowledge a weight upon his face. “Anything is possible Gwen. I believe it is Merlin, and Merlin alone now who can save Arthur.”

Gwen nods, a glimmer of a smile on her face as she squeezes Gaius’s hands and barely lets out in a whisper. “Thank you Gaius.”

It is a gentle dismissal. The elderly physician leaves her and Gwen holds still until the door closes. When it is shut she heads to the furniture at her side of the bed and takes it out, the box, and the Druid prayer.

One Druid…foretold to exact the life of the King of Camelot. After Uther’s demise, said to be his son, for the belief of the Druids that he has not healed the wounds, has not lifted the ban on magic.

To them just a king. To her…a husband…to love…to make her heart tremble now for his return.

“Oh…” She holds the Druid prayer in shaking hands, before dropping it to the furniture, not wanting to gaze upon its foreshadowing foreign script anymore. She goes to the table where the gillyflowers sit and sees it. The bud still continues to bloom.

However, another full flower has dried up.

That is almost all of them now.

It echoes the dryness in her clamoring heart.

Gwen changes out of her clothes, into her nightdress, the one her husband had made for her…

“Time for bed.”

He presses his lips lovingly to hers. “Yes, and with it, a present for my wife.”

Gwen gazes in wonder at the package her husband holds. “Arthur.”

“Go on, open it.” He tells her with the excited grin of a young boy.

She lets out a small laugh and releases the heavy packaging from its twine bindings. Once it’s all gone, she stares with disbelief. “Arthur…” She murmurs.

There is no more boys’ excitement in his eyes now, instead a husband’s glow of happiness, as her reaction seems to be the one he has wanted.

He gestures and so she unfolds the beautiful material, a color not so pale, not so stark. Instead it inhabits a sweet in between, with just a hint of golden glow. The sleeves are flowing. There is a bit of flair at the back, gentle, soft. The bodice has a charming, but sweet dip. Nothing lascivious. It is elegantly meant to flow to her body’s natural curvature. The completion of all this sophisticated beauty are the intricately embroidered flowers of golden resplendence that extol the bodice.

His hands move to her curls of hair, not yet bound for the night, his fingers coiling through them as he looks her in the eye. “I wanted something that was like you. That would show as close as possible to your beauty, your wonder of life. See, the coloring is like this.”

He touches her cheek, further down to her shoulder, the commencement of her breast. “Like your skin. Somehow blessed by the golden sun. Radiances of it that bring this glow I cannot even fathom how it is brought to life. Every time I look upon you, it is simply there for me to marvel at.”

“Arthur…” Tears shine in her eyes, but he is not done.

“And the flowers. I still remember that first time I stayed at your home, your little precious home that I know you loved so much. I’m glad we were able to find a small family worthy to take it over. I stayed there and you know how I was then, a bit vain at times, so used to grandeur, not yet a man fully, and so not as appreciative as I should have been. But I’d wake up in the morning and I’d inhale it. When I kissed you the first time it was there too. And every time after. It’s like the flowers are a part of you. All these gillyflowers and every other type you love so much. They are within you. Growing. Blooming. Such a surprise of life, and fascination of you.”

She lowers her head, feeling the tears trailing down her cheeks, feeling his hands on her arms. “I said it once before.” He lifts her face so that she can read his eyes. The blue in them is so vivid now, so full of the ocean and sky.

“I’ll say it again. You have never…

Ever…my love…failed to surprise me. You thrill me Guinevere. I stayed in your house and you called me a pig.”

She protests right away. “I did not call you that. I said you made sounds like one. In sleep. And it was truthful because you do.”

He laughs softly, with just a hint of a disapproving grunt. “Alright, well. I know you got pretty mad at me then. Doubt you were that happy too that my mattress caused some issues with your door.”

“Well it never shut the same again.” Gwen tells him strongly.

It makes Arthur smile. He loves when she is strong and forceful. “Merlin’s fault.”

She shakes her head at that and he moves around her, gently taking the nightgown from her hands. “May I?”

She nods, feeling his hands reach around as he gets her to move off the bed with him. He stands right behind, removing her clothing, her lavender dress. “So beautiful. But I think the blue one’s my favorite.”

She laughs at that, giving a spark filled look. “I know.”

He gets it away from her body, the lavender dress, and then the kinds of things women wear to enhance their constitutions. “Not needed.” He tells her in reference to those undergarments, softly, a hint of seduction in his voice.

She blushes a bit. Arthur is always quite appreciative of her body now that he has seen it and she loves his attentions, but still sometimes with marriage anew, it can catch her off guard…just…how…attentive he can be.

Everything is taken away, but the underwear that hugs her hips and thighs. He strokes her breasts with his fingers lightly, wrapping his arms around from behind, nuzzling his face into her hair and inhaling with slow appreciation. “I love you…how you feel against me…every gorgeous curve, your skin so soft…full of warm sweet scents…it entices me into a fever that here in our chambers, you are the sole cure for. Evermore Guinevere. You for me.

And vice versa whenever you want…my love.”

“Arthur…”

Her hands move in front too, clasping his. Her fingers intertwine with his fingers that lay over her breasts. She moves her head back to feel him even stronger. His lips descend upon hers and she parts hers to feel the fullness of him, to taste the beautiful revelation her husband is. As this continues on the flowing material of the nightdress comes over her body, falling gracefully around. She feels its wonderful texture, the floating sleeves, the way it softly hugs her body.

“Oh Arthur I love it so much. Love you so much, always, evermore.”

He smiles at her appreciation of his gift. “I love it too…and you.” However he teases naughtily, as he breaks away for a moment to view just how perfectly the nightdress is made for her alluring form.

“But I must warn...”

He’s grinning with so much wicked promise.

“I doubt you’ll be wearing it for that long tonight.”

“Whatever do you mean Arthur?” She can’t help but tease back.

“This.” He tells her strongly and grasping her waist, flips her backward on the bed.

Gwen lets out a thrill of laughter as her head hits the pillow and he makes his move, kissing her passionately, just the beginning of making his promise come true...

The nightdress adoring her body like it did that night, like it has so many, she can’t help but feel cold, can’t help but shiver even with the glowing flames in the hearth. She wants him to come home, but her hope in that is starting to flicker some, like a candle’s flame losing its sinew.

Her body seeks his side of the bed. She gathers his pillow into her arms, his white tunic there too, clenched within her fingers.

Her voice is hollow as she whispers, “I miss you Arthur my love. Come home to me…Arthur…

Come home to our chambers. So we can share them together again. I will cure you of any fever, evermore, I will. I will hold you till any sickness is gone. Just come home. Come share our chambers with me. Arthur…come...”

There is no answer. There is no husband’s grin. No promise. No kiss to warm her. No hold to embrace her.

And so sleep does not find her with ease. Instead she spends most the night pleading in her heart for a miracle.

A magical miracle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning comes Gwen once again tends to her tasks, this day wearing his favorite dress, the blue one. Actually he has admitted times enough that each holds a special attraction for him, but there’s something about this one that makes it just utterly sumptuous for him so much so that sometimes during council meetings he’s given her very saucy looks…

“You know as you were arguing the reason why the um…what is that stupid committee called again?”

She giggles at his unappreciative term. It is kind of silly though, how many committees are within the noble house. “The royal palace decorating association.”

“Yeah, that.” He rolls his eyes. “Who in all of Camelot thought of such an inane committee?”

“I say we end it.” She tells him with a firm look. There are other more important things that sub-committee councils can be made for.

“Agreed, but anyway, back to the other matter. The way you looked in that dress, how your brilliantly florid breasts kept heaving upon that silky blue material each time you passionately made your point, was quite invigorating.”

“Oh my.” Gwen presses her hand to her chest in mock anguish. “Do you think members of the council noticed?”

He gives a strong shake of his head. “Oh most certainly not. It was one of those husband type things, you know my Love? Only I could see it of course.”

She fingers within his tunic as he strokes her waist and then lower royal backside, appreciating her round little bottom.

“And were you having any other husbandly thoughts?”

He moves in closer, grasping some of her teasing little curls and whispering heavily, “Absolutely. Like how I wanted to make all the council members disappear so you and I could be alone.”

“To proceed with what type of action, my Lord?”

“The kind that would put that long table to the utmost proper use.”

She toys with his chest, fingering within his tunic lazily. “So we’d use it then?”

He smirks, sucking at her bottom lip. “Indeed…my lady.”

“And once you had me atop that table what would you dare to do with me?”

“Many things.” He whispers hotly into her ear.

“Such…as?”

He moves his fingers suggestively within her dress’s sculpt and then underneath the hem. “A little of this…”

They, his naughty fingers that is, get more risqué. “And a lot of that…”

“Hmmm…” She hums with sensual pleasure. “I think I’d just spring upon your manly lower half and see if we could make that council table brandish…properly.”

“I am most agreeable to that.” He grins.

She nods and after taking a look around the room opens her mouth with delight at what she spots. “We have a table my Love. Right here within our chambers.”

He lifts his eyebrows like it’s a new knowledge. “So we do!”

“Shall we test it, our important council meeting theories that is?”

“I think we shall.” He says with propriety. And then without much propriety is sweeping her up into his arms, and bringing her round little bottom down flat upon the table. There is a candleholder on the side. Gwen reaches for it and hands it to him. “Don’t want that to get in the way.”

He nods his head with an approving smile. “No. Right as always.”

He places it down upon the floor and each gives a dirty little giggle as he lowers her to the table and climbs atop too to start their fun. When she objects to the table’s coarseness, he goes to get a blanket to make all better. As he returns she smiles with gratitude before promptly pulling on his tunic with a lustful grunt and pushing him down so now it is his manly bottom that is feeling the table’s topside, oh and blanket too.

“Guinevere!” He laughs with surprise.

“I told you I had a strong desire to be the one who does the springing.” She coos, stroking his muscled chest.

His hands climb up and over her shiny form fitting blue dress, then saunter inside, caressing the bare skin of her thighs. “Well actually I quite like you from this vantage point.” He whispers seductively, getting further within the dress and giving her bottom a teasing love tap.

“Oh!” She lets out at his hand’s contact, but then it is soon him letting out the ‘oh’s as she commences to steer/ direct the physical action…

And her husband.

Suffice to say, soon enough, that table brandishes quite…properly…and with strong impropriety.

…

“Oh…I don’t want to move.”

“Me either.” She smiles lazily, half atop him, both of them fully naked and glistening with satisfaction.

“But we should go to the bed.”

“Why?”

“Because if anyone walked in upon us…”

She grins. “The door is locked. I made sure of it after I came in.”

“Oh you wise splendid woman.”

She giggles, but then he gives a groan and so does she. Their bodies still slick, their limbs sometimes slide around the table’s edge and hit the wood with an uncomfortable pang as the blanket, during their exertions, has gone a bit askew in some areas.

“Oh.”

“Ow.”

She snorts and he lets out a similar sound, lifting up with another groan.

Decision made.

“Alright, come on, bed’s only a few steps away.” He lifts her up and she grasps his arms for support.

Their short travel is not without mishap though. Halfway between the table and the bed, he stumbles upon his boot and tangles into their bed’s curtains. They tumble messily to the floor, bodies smacking against each other and the stone.

“Oh.”

“Ow.”

“Well that was in royal fashion.”

“Yep, royal clumsy fashion.”

They laugh so hard together before he gives it another go, grasping onto her waist as she holds tightly to his shoulders.

This time they make it to the bed. Letting out happy little sighs, they snuggle within the covers together.

“Mmm…this is so nice.” She whispers, stroking his warm damp chest.

He holds her close. “Indeed.”

“But I’m hungry.”

He chuckles at that, admitting as his stomach gives a low rumble. “Me too.”

Arthur puts on his tunic and pants and runs down to the kitchen.

…

When he comes back it is with some meats and fruits.

“Oh yum!” She claps her hands in delight as he gleefully climbs back into bed with her, holding the tray of food.

“Yeah…I had to sneak in. Head cook was in there and I swear the woman scares even me.”

Gwen giggles. “Oh you just have to know how to talk to her. Worked years with her in the kitchens. We get along well.”

“I bet you do.”

They enjoy the food and each other, giving playful kisses in between their exchange of feeding.

Then, when most is done, they nuzzle back under the covers appreciatively.

“I’m full.” Arthur pats his stomach happily.

“So am I.” She presses joyfully into him. “I’m so full of everything being married to you.”

It’s a moment of sincerity. He kisses her brow. “Same my wife. But next time we sneak in and use the council table.”

She giggles. “I love how daring you can be.”

“Me…eh? The things you did with me on our chambers table here. You’re the daring one naughty Guinevere.”

“Oh you have plenty of naughty in you too.”

That night when they slumber it is just like that, an echo of fun, teasing and love. It’s them in every entirety. It’s them evermore.

Gwen sighs away the remembrance. She will once again this day keep busy with palace affairs. It keeps her far from idle, and guards her wanting heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the early dawn comes increased frailty. As the king travels further with his servant, his body barely obliges the burden of momentum. The pain twists and turns too deeply for him to register its end or commencing mark.

Thereupon, by fate, something alarming happens.

His sister is no more.

Arthur gasps. His stunned eyes watch her breath sucked out as his servant stabs her with that ancient sword of Camelot kings. Within that moment, something of himself is released in kind. Morgana has been the reason for disruption of peace lately, her mind so twisted with vengeance. It has saddened, angered and baffled him.

He spent a year of his life searching for her, loving her as a friend before he even knew she was his sibling. Something so horrible happened though somewhere in between, caused by his father, and more. Her once kind heart turned ruthless and mad.

Now it is over. Morgana Pendragon is dead.

Peace at last is conveyed within a tragic moment, furthermore making it possible.

He has been holding on for so long since the battle of Camlann, trying to keep breathing. Now, the threat to his kingdom, to those he loves, is no longer there. Now, for years married in noble rule, he knows as much as it may hurt her in heart, his wife will be ready to rule over the glorious Camelot. She is after all its rightful Queen, his primary choice as successor.

So Kingdom will be well. There is no more battle for the knights to fight. There is no sorceress to fear. There is peace, calm…and allowance.

The blade that struck him has been searching out its target and now has it entirely. It slowly cuts through his heart with its intent to end life. As it does, he feels the most foreign of emotion.

Mind you, it is not death itself that talons the king’s heart. Arthur has held the hands of many fallen knights, stayed with them in that moment when all they want, all they desire, is a human presence. He has known starkly those times that his own demise too would come one day; he has accepted that for years.

So casualty itself is not so frightening, rather the shivery journey to it.

Now he finally understands the way his fallen knights would search out desperately for his hand and hold it with cold icy fingers before succumbing to the light. He gets that now as mortality nudges his soul. It makes his body so bitterly cold, as if ice is hanging from his flesh.

It makes him tremble. It makes him covet warmth desperately.

Merlin wants to keep walking, holds on hard to him, but his legs tangle. They go down and that frigidness expedites deeper, those claws of mortality clinch his flesh. Merlin is so anxious. He won’t stop ranting.

Arthur simply requires warmth.

As the poisoned blade weaves a destructive path through his heart, he pleads with Merlin to hold him.

It is not dying that makes a man fearful once more. It is that bitterness that enters the bones and muscles, that makes the heat of love coveted fiercely.

And the truth is this. Arthur is loved by, and loves both. As Merlin holds him, in kind, Arthur’s last bits of heart traverse to chimera where his Guinevere is with him. His vision is dimming, hazily focused upon the skies above, the golden haze of shared chambers.

~~“Guinevere…hold me…please…”

She reassures him.

“I’m always with you Arthur…Always holding, protecting you.”~~

Her arms surround as Merlin’s do too. Everything is so evident now, as much as his love for Guinevere has been from that very first kiss.

Merlin has been helping him, keeping him safe with his magic from the very beginning. He did it bravely, the crazy fool, knowing he was in a kingdom where the ruler in charge, his father then, could have burnt him at the stake any moment for it.

And yet Merlin held to his valor. Like his Guinevere so brave that time he told her to ride away from Cenred’s palace. Get far away. And yet did she? Of course not. She waited for him.

Two people who love him.

When did Heaven decide him so fortunate?

Merlin is ranting, raving. Poor idiot Merlin now really is scared. He’s giving good face, trying to keep him breathing.

Arthur’s eyes remain on the sky above. It has that faint beautiful golden glow of shared chambers.

His Guinevere. Oh his Guinevere. Love never truly found him until her. It never caressed him entirely until her. His mother was lost before he could ever even see her. His father was rough with affection, uncomfortable in it.

Guinevere has always given it to him. These past years of marriage have been his happiest. To share his bed with another, to share life with her, counsel and intimacy, is everything.

Oh the skies, oh the blue golden skies, that gleam evolving to chambers, to the hold of his wife.

~~“Guinevere…”

“Arthur…I’m here.”

Her voice gently rents through. He’s held all around, kept warm, sweat stroked away.

She is giving. Evermore.~~

His heart is…weak. It’s fading. Like his vision. Like his feeling. All the embrace is keeping the cold away though. That’s all that matters.

Eternal Warmth.

Of friend.

Of wife.

Merlin is a mess of emotion. His hands fuss as he holds him tight. Arthur does his best to calm with his own hand. Merlin needs to relax. Merlin needs to hear. It’s all there now, every time his friend has used his magic to help, saving his wife, saving him, saving even his father, almost like a flash of brilliance, almost like a lightning of revelation. It has been there throughout this long journey that will not end with a healing…

but a passing.

He is not afraid. Arthur fears not, for he is held. He just wants Merlin to know his gratitude. He wants him to understand.

Summoning the strength to utter the words his eyes find that golden glow again, the hearth flaming gently, the bed upon which he lays and she embraces him. With her body, Guinevere is his scabbard. She shields him from every pain, every chill.

~~“I love you…always…”

Her kisses are sweet glowing drops of rain upon his forehead and cheeks.

“I love you too my dear Arthur…rest…”

“I will see you in the morning?”

Lips upon lips. Warm golden drops.

“You will see me in the golden light…”~~

It gives him the one last bit of zeal needed. Arthur’s hand lifts, cups the back of Merlin’s head as he quietly, honestly, whispers his thanks with his eyes upon his servant, forever gratitude in his voice, love of his friend.

Then they gaze upon the sky one more time, his heart at its very last beat.

In the blue sky is the golden glisten of chambers. Is the passing from one world to the next. Is the end of pain. The end of fear. The end of chill.

He is more blessed than ever, given love in ways of all.

~~“Goodnight Guinevere…”

Her kisses, golden raindrops, all along his skin, making his body glisten with warmth. A Hallelujah of caress.

“Goodnight my sweet husband…”

“In the morning?”

“In the golden light…”~~

Merlin yells, screams. His eyes open for a moment, gaze upon his dear friend. Time is past though. That gaze cannot hold. It flutters away.

It flutters to golden chambers.

~~“Love you…forever…always….Guin—e—vere…”

Her kisses caress his flesh. They sprinkle warm beauty upon him.

“And I love you Arthur…will always shield you my dear husband…forever…evermore…”~~

*Goodbye Merlin. Thank you. I trust you will get over the pain. You will check to my wife. I trust you, old friend. Goodbye.*

~~Oh the chambers sparkle so gloriously now. Oh…she feels so…

Her touch…her kisses of golden light.

“Evermore…”

It means to never end, not through death, not through distance. No passing of one existence to another can separate eternally. Her red and golden token, her gift is wrapped around his naked flesh, is his scabbard. She will always be with him. He will always be with her.

*Always Guinevere. Never forget that my love. I will never part from you. I will always be with you in the golden light dear wife.

Always my beautiful queen. Always.

Forever.

Evermore.

Good night.*

“Guin---e---vere…

Ever---more…”~~

*~~~~~~~*~

With that, with his servant weeping, with his wife in chimera of all his heart, the king breathes his last. He fades from the world of living for moment, for time of now.

In golden light…

Evermore.

Shared Chambers: Evermore {II}

2013-01-21T02:17:47Z

Shared Chambers: Evermore

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning is a slightly hazy one with intervals of sun. Early hours, it starts out busily.

Lady Eleanor, who has a young daughter of half past two years of age, needs someone to tend to her child while she marks her husband’s recent death with a private ceremony. He is sadly a casualty of Camlann.

Eleanor’s handmaiden is ill with a persistent cough and does not want to make the child sick too. There are of course others who could be watching her, but Gwen offers to do it herself, coveting a task to keep her busy and also relishing the company of a young one.

Now, after getting the girl, who is a burst of energy, to sleep in her arms for a morning’s nap, she recalls the last time the toddler was here, a happier time, when sweet Alena still had a father.

That day, events started to go awry quickly. Her husband was in their chambers at the moment also because he had hours’ time before a knighting ceremony.

“It will just be for a few moments Arthur.”

He eyes her warily. “Moments?”

Gwen smiles comfortingly. This day is a busy one for the kingdom, what with a visiting duchess.

It was at first expected that the duchess would arrive during afternoon hours.

Well, unfortunately, according to the frantic Camelot guard, it is now understood she will be within the kingdom’s gates in a few precious moments. Seems the duchess is one who likes to be exceptionally early.

Alena is at that very interesting age of the beginning two’s. Taking her down to meet the duchess doesn’t seem that great an idea to Gwen.

“Tell me why again you won’t just let one of the servants watch her.”

Gwen shakes her head strongly. “Because Arthur, all of the servants have been preparing for the duchess’s visit and now are desperately rushing to get their tasks done. Meanwhile I’m going to do my best to ward her off.

Look, if deemed more preferable, you could entertain her, the duchess that is, while I continue to watch Alena.”

Arthur makes a face. “Uh, no. The last time she came she drove my father and I crazy with all her demands, boring stories and lofty ways.”

“That’s what I thought you would say.” Gwen states with a busy smile. “Just this one favor my husband.”

Arthur’s eyebrows go up. “Oh now I’m your husband.”

Gwen shrugs. “You’re always my husband.”

She is playing with his hair, as his hands grasp her waist. “Yes, but when it’s something you desire that I’m probably not going to like much, it’s ‘my’ husband.”

“Oh Arthur.” Gwen gives him a gentle appeasing nose kiss, tapping his cheek afterward. “So you’ll do it?”

“Moments?”

“Moments Arthur. It really shouldn’t take longer than that. Alena probably won’t wake until I get back. Okay?”

Pressing his mouth to hers, he gives her a firmer kiss. “Alright. Should be harmless then.”

…

Things have a way of falling by the wayside at the most inopportune times. What is supposed to be moments, turns into an hour. During that time little cute Alena wakes up, deciding that Arthur’s many tools of arsenal, which are all laid out on the table for the knighting ceremony, are quite interesting. Especially his sword.

Finally getting a reprieve, Gwen starts to enters hers and Arthur’s chambers with Eleanor when they hear the interesting bits of Arthur’s first child-sitting experience.

“swooood…mine.”

“No, not yours. Mine.”

Alena doesn’t like that negative response.

“Mmmmgggtrr…”

“Oh oh oh…alright!” Arthur lets the little girl touch the pommel, keeping her fussy hands away from the rest of the dangerous object. Eleanor starts to rush to intervene, not wanting her child to be bothering the king or get hurt, but Gwen holds back the noble woman’s arm. “Wait. Let’s see what happens next.”

Alena is not happy with just the handle. She wants to touch more of the sword. In fact she wants to touch all the other shiny things on the table too. It takes some strenuous effort, but Arthur gets Alena’s mind off the things on the table eventually.

Problem now?

Her new toy that she finds quite interesting is his hair. It is so fascinating in fact that she starts yanking the fine strands with her tiny determined fingers.

“Ow. Now you don’t want to pull people’s hair.”

“Pulllllll!”

“Ah-no---OWW! You have a grip stronger than a knight’s---AW—ow!”

Gwen is finding it hard not to have a giggle fit.

Eleanor whispers, “We should put him out of his misery.”

Gwen shakes her head. “Wait.”

It seems Arthur has an idea to prevent the toddler from pulling all his hair out. He sits little Alena down on the chair and lowers himself to all fours.

“Alright, climb on.”

“Horsey!”

He nods his head vigorously. “Yeah…horsey!”

Gwen smacks her hand against her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter as Arthur literally starts riding around their chambers, neighing here and giving a whinny there. It’s obvious Alena is thoroughly enjoying it, an excited shine to her face as she pulls hard on the horsey’s reigns…unfortunately for Arthur, once again his hair. He grins and bears it the best he can though, letting out the random ‘ouch!’

Then he starts to tell her amusingly about his time being a donkey and how he quite likes being a horsey better than a donkey.

“A goblin, ugly little creature, got in the castle and acted terribly!”

“Gobbbbblin!”

“Yes!”

“Made me a donkey, but it’s much better being a horsey!”

“Horsey better than donkey!”

“Yes yes!”

“Horsey naaaayyy!”

“You want me to neigh more?”

“Yes, horsey naaaaay!”

Arthur gives a grumble. Neighing gets quite annoying after a while, but Alena is insistent and so…

“Brrroooa…naaaaaaaayyyy!”

This time Gwen loses it, laughing so hard, she nearly falls over.

Eleanor tries to smile politely, but it is over for her too.

Arthur cocks his head to the side, just like a horse would, in surprise. Alena jumps off of him excitedly, Arthur’s hands helping her safely get down.

She runs to her mother and exclaims, gesturing toward Arthur. “Mama…hooorsey!”

Gwen makes her way to him, laughing. Standing, with a touch of indignation, Arthur latches onto his wife’s waist. “So you thought that was funny, eh?”

“Very.”

He rolls his eyes, mocking her earlier pledge. “*Moments*. More like hours, Guinevere.”

She calmly corrects him. “One hour. And I’m sorry. The Duchess just wouldn’t let up.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know how that is. Last time she came she drove every servant Camelot has batty.”

Gwen’s listening to him, trying to anyways, but she can’t help notice it.

Reaching upward, she pats down his ‘horsey’ hair, which is a-twist and a-tangle from one direction to another.

Eleanor thanks Arthur and Gwen, set to leave them to some peace and quiet, but before she makes it to the door, little Alena runs back to the king.

“Play horseeeey…aggggan?” She asks.

He squats down with a grin. “Yeah…another day.”

Her little hands reach out and hug him. Giving a happy blush, Arthur hugs her back.

…

When they’re gone, Gwen’s hands gather around Arthur’s waist. “I want to play horsey sometime too.”

He grins. “Okay.”

“Mmm…” She lets go and wanders away, but then he’s latching on, swinging her up into his arms and stating boldly, “Right now sounds good!”

“Arthur…the knighting ceremony!” She half giggles and warns as he drops her upon the bed and crawls onto it to friskily join her.

“Oh, we have an hour. Plenty of moments to play…hooooorsey!”

“You crazy man…you!” She laughs and then…

…rides…

The memory of what happened after makes her flush with feeling for a fast moment; it was quite amorous.

It is the sweetness of how he was with Alena though that makes her smile with lasting fondness as right now her emotions are delved in the sentimental.

It’s that fun and lively remembrance of Arthur riding around the room, neighing crazily, while little Alena pulls on his ‘reigns’ to get him to go even faster that fills her. Gazing down at the sleeping little girl in her arms, she kisses her forehead and recalls it further.

Riding here…riding there…from one side to another…

She can visualize him, silly, adorable, on all fours, giving a neigh and squinting as Alena’s hands sometimes held his hair too hard. Galloping on his knees from one part of their chambers to anoth-

The picture etiolates and fades. It oddly starts to float out of her head. Out of her heart. Out of the room.

Out of…

Gwen gets this hollow feeling. It ascends through her stomach, into her heart. It holds there. It clutches. Coldly. Bitterly.

“No…” She whispers, her lips trembling.

There is no declaration spoken in words or any strong vision of prediction. There is no deep pain in her body, any paralyzing anguish. There is no cry of horror from her mouth.

However, maybe there need not be, for ever so quietly, so gravely, she simply feels it.

Something is different.

Something is not there anymore.

There is just this hole, this gaping hole that brings the tears to her eyes.

“No.” She whispers, as thin as a shallow breeze.

“No. Please. No.”

The little girl murmurs in her sleep and so Gwen holds her more securely, her face pressing into the sweet scented hair.

…

When it is time for Alena to go, her noble friend asks if she is alright. Gwen nods, best she can with her husband still missing.

But it is a lie.

The door closes and Gwen’s back presses against it. She scans the room, coveting to see the vision of him, of his playing horsey, his fun side, his charming silly one.

There is the amorous facet of passionate culmination, their constitutions naked and satiated by love.

There is the warm endeavor of lying together in bed, arms embracing each.

Watching him change behind the screen with a wife’s appreciative smile…

Sharing the waters of a hot luxurious bath, scrubbing each other’s bodies intimately…

Moment to moment…

Marital, private ones…

So many chambers moments.

Precious always in constitution. In heart.

Evermore.

They find no sight now. Each time she tries to envision a moment, the image seems to fade before it can fill her anxious eyes.

She pushes her hand strongly against her heart, but nothing has changed from the moment his ‘horsey’ image etiolated.

Something, something she cannot describe, cannot tell with sense of mind, with any firmness of belief…something is gone.

“Arthur let me be wrong…let me please…”

She sinks down to the floor, clutching her heart with trembling fingers.

With the ugly continuance of fading images.

…

The night is a long one of her clasping to his pillow and slipping his white tunic over her chilled body. In a few fingers is held fast the Royal Seal. She pleads for it to be returned to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass. One to two. Her heart is still fervently holding on. Holes poke through the remembrances. Each time her eyes see him, the picture dulls to murky ponds of near extinction of thought.

Nearly not there. Nearly there enough to contain ache of hope.

It gnaws at her, this intrepid uneasiness. She holds his seal with anxious fingers, standing at his bedside in the early morning hours. She touches his things, his comb, his medallion that he wears upon his cloak for ceremonial occasion.

The waiting crawls up her skin, inches through her flesh, making her hope, making her wonder, making her cycles away from a scream. It does not pause, it does not give consolation, the weak passing of time.

This day she hears something of interest though.

Turning away from her husband’s things she hears it again, firm knocking at the door. Gwen moves away from the bed furniture, gazes down at her state of dress for a second. Changed into her lavender gown she is in appropriate wear. Unclasping the lock and opening the door further she sees his tall strong stature.

“Percival.”

There is sweat in his face from riding for days it looks like, dirt upon his clothing, lack of luster to his chainmail, horrid redness upon his wrists, and a flat line to his lips. “My Lady.” He whispers.

She looks beyond him and back to his raw wrists. “Are you alright? Where is Gwaine? I thought he went with you. That was what Gaius told me, that you two left during Eira’s hanging.”

He nods slowly. “I’m okay…and we did.”

“You wanted to find Morgana, yes?”

“Yeah.” Percival states, the words being dragged out slowly, hesitantly.

“And did you find her?”

It’s that slow nod again. “We did. I got her with my sword, but I guess it wasn’t enough, a sorceress like her. She imprisoned us, tortured Gwaine to find out where Merlin and Arthur were heading.”

Gwen’s eyes widen with shock. “Did she find out?”

“Gwaine’s dead.” Percival states dully.

Gwen’s stomach gives a raw uncomfortable tickle, and yet her heart still is seeking something else. “Oh no. I wish you two hadn’t left. Going against her alone, you had such little chance.”

Percival shakes his head hard, always the gentle giant knight with the shiniest disposition, he is now a face of graven anger and sadness. “We had to. She murdered so many of ours. Gwaine had to. He was one of the best knights ever, like Elyan and…”

Percival’s voice drifts off, full of pain that collides with a barely tempered fury. Gwen moves forward, clutching at his arm, pressing her hand gently into it. “You are right. Gwaine was very brave and I know he meant well always. He will be missed so much, just like Elyan, just like…”

Her voice drifts off as she needs to know more. “Did you come back right after? I have to ask since you’ve been gone for about two days. Did it take you long to find Morgana?”

Percival looks down at the floor, his focus descended there like every bit of stone, crack and line, bump and color, are an entirety of interest. Gwen presses against his arm again. “Percival.”

Slowly they travel back up, his blue eyes filled with something beyond the anger and pain.

“What else happened?” Gwen asks tightly.

It seems wrong to him that he be the one to tell her this. Percival remembers a time when he had so many brothers in arms, when he was new and yet they accepted him into Camelot with excitement.

Then Lancelot was gone, Elyan afterward, and now Gwaine…

And…

He didn’t call himself Prince Arthur then like he could.

Just…Arthur.

Knighting him within hours of knowing him. Trusting him already so fast. So faithfully.

So many alive. So many brothers. And now so many de-

“Percival.”

Gwen cuts through his deep reverie, seeing something in his face that talons at her heart.

“Morgana is dead now too. I found her corpse near the island of Avalon.”

It is like her stomach drops. Gwen holds onto her breast, getting Percival to move closer, but she lifts her hand, a slight brush away. “By who?”

The sorrowed and weary knight shakes his head. The lightness that has always been him is now not so gentle and sweet as before. These days and especially this battle have changed him forever. Oh he will not go down roads of fury and vengeance, but he is also not so young anymore, not so green to the ugliness of death.

“I don’t know for sure. I’m supposing Merlin or…maybe even Arthur.”

Gwen’s hand entrenches her heart as she asks shakily, hopefully, “Arthur did you see you him? Where is he?”

There is no drip of hope though in Percival’s face as he recalls, as he reaches out for his queen’s hand. “My Lady…”

It is dread. Just icy cold dread that starts weaving a bitter path through her body now. “Where IS he Percival? Where is my husband?”

Husband. King. Friend. He didn’t have to knight him years ago. He could have held back. He could have told him he was not noble, but that was never Arthur Pendragon.

That was never…

He feels Gwen’s hand leave his with a fast fury. Percival tries to look away, but her eyes are hard on his and so he has to look back. Has to see her tiny little string of longing.

“When I got to the island, to its edge, I saw nothing at first and then…”

He stops. Shakes a little.

Gwen grasps his hand hard. “Saw what, Percival?”

He looks down to her needing eyes. So beautiful like her, their queen. Arthur has always called her that, beautiful, in moments of pride and happiness to be married and so in love. Arthur has displayed her beauty to everyone often by giving her a turn on the dance floor so all can see.

They are each others. They are a unit. They are Camelot’s King and-

“What…Percival?” She asks insistently, but it is all there in the tear that starts to fall from his eye. It is all in the dread filling her body and sucking at her heart.

“What?” She asks brokenly.

He shakes his head, wishing this was some evil nightmare.

But sadly it is not.

This is how it ends.

“A boat.”

“Oh…” Gwen’s hand clutches her mouth sickeningly. She has seen a boat before upon the Lake of Avalon. She knows its meaning.

“With Merlin in it too?” She asks though hopefully, maybe the possibility that Merlin was taking Arthur to be saved. To be-

“No.” Percival states softly. “Arthur was in it alone. On his back. Eyes—c-closed. He was d-dead Gwen.”

It clenches her heart and stomach all at once making her let out a moan that stretches from the core to the crest. From her lungs to her mouth.

“Oooohhh…”

She nearly stumbles forward, but for Percival’s hands deftly reaching out and keeping her steady against his strong chest.

“OH…no, no, no no…NO…”

She cries, a shriek of agony that smashes away the last bit of hope.

She is not aware of much more as Percival does his best to keep her in his hold, to keep her from falling as her legs lose their rhythm, her feet no longer supply the base, and her stomach roils with pain.

This feels so wrong. It shouldn’t even be him doing this, he thinks. It should have been her brother or even Lancelot. But now they’re all gone, Gwaine too, her husband. She is alone and in pain. He is the one left, once new, now the old.

He hears it, her repeated moans of anguish, of loss and helps her, keeping his hand tightly around her waist as he guides her to the bed so she can sit down upon it. And then he backs away just a bit, hearing the terrible sound of her grief.

“Oh no…Arthur, Arthur…oh my Arthur, no, no…oh please no…”

Gwen does not feel as one of his hands stays anxiously at her side. She does not see him standing in front of her, his face lined with so many miseries. She only feels the hollow stab of her body as now Arthur is with certainty separated from her.

Is gone from her world.

…

She is given a tonic for sleep shortly afterward. Council members want to know what is going on and other things about the kingdom, but Gaius and Percival tell them to go away, that they will learn more later. With the tonic Gwen does find sleep, but there are bits of the night where she awakens, seeks out his presence and then remembers.

And then cries.

And moans.

Not wanting to believe it. Not wanting to accept it.

Her father. Her brother.

And now…

Her Arthur.

Her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We cannot go on like this.”

“Yes, she has to do something!”

“An announcement must be made!”

“Tell her-

Gwen enters the council room, seeing the wild disarray of its members. Wearing her red royal gown she stops in the middle as their conversation ceases. In her fingers is the Royal Seal.

Leon moves to her side, frowning at the bickering council members and then eyeing her softly. “I’m sorry My Lady. They are just-

She brings her hand up, her face one of sorrow fill. “Concerned about the kingdom. Yes, I know.”

She directs her attention to the council members. “Your impatience is troubling as you should know I regard this kingdom no less than my husband did. Now it will never be the same without King Arthur. Never fully the same. But I will not let it fall into shambles either. So the announcement will be made today.”

…

As it is.

Gwen, holding Arthur’s Royal Seal, now hers to use for command, signals to Leon and he makes the announcement. She eyes Percival at the front, who echoes the call to serve her. He is full of despondence as is she.

…

Another night comes and another day with a bird as a messenger. It leaves a note for her that she reads within chambers. Gwen scans those chambers with a sad opaqueness to her eyes. It has been there since Arthur’s death, since her agonized moans turned to nothing more than royal purpose and squash on feeling.

It is like her body still moves, but her emotion is deceased.

It died with him.

Sitting down upon the long bench seat of lavender near the window, Gwen unfolds the note and begins to read.

‘Gwen,

I am sorry. Please forgive me. I tried.

I failed.

I couldn’t get him there in time.

I couldn’t save Arthur.’

“Oh.” She sighs brokenly.

Merlin’s words are full of pain and self incrimination and the usual would be for her to have sympathetic emotion for his misery. For she is sure he is in his own personal purgatory right now. She is finding it hard enough to understand her own feelings now though, let alone Merlin’s. Grief has so many stages, ones she’s sadly acquainted with, but this time there is a stark difference.

The loss of Arthur feels like the loss of a piece of her body. Even that day while watching Alena she felt his presence leave her world. And now days later she succumbs herself into her work. She pushes herself to continue Arthur’s rule with purpose and authority because that is the only way it seems to spend moments and hours without dissolving into tears or wanting to throw something against the wall in hope of ending it.

The endless drone of this new life. This sad half existence. She wants no part of it. Gwen has never held to pride or greed. And she wants none of that now. Always her life has been one of peace and order, but all that feels tampered with now. All that is ajar and skewed. Her heart is a hollow piece and her mind is out of order.

She is living by monotony, by what is ordained, but not anymore by the wonder of circumstance or the happy element of surprise.

She shakes her head away from her reverie and goes back to reading.

‘I need to tell you more. I have magic, Gwen. I always have. I was born with it. I have used it just to protect Arthur-those he loves. I swear. I’ve only wanted to serve him and now that is gone, I just, I can’t go back to Camelot. That’s why I’m sending this by messenger. I feel—ashamed. I should have done more. I wish I could have.

In the end Arthur knew of my magic and he accepted it. He…Gwen he was my friend. Like you are. I hope you still are.

I’m sorry once more. Maybe one day you and I will talk again, but for the moment I must stay away. I need to do something…I need to serve my purpose.

You were my first friend in Camelot, Gwen, and I love you, my friend. I will always.

Goodbye…

For now.

Merlin Emrys’

He uses that second part of his name that Gaius has told her is large in history and of great importance to the Druid people. Well then why did they not help her husband? Why did Merlin not seek assistance from them?

Why? Why?

So many why’s. So many questions that are brutal and less fair than keeping a mouth shut. But she wants to know. She wants to delve into the bitter to ward off the pain of the night.

Oh the night.

…

Soon, after a day of toiling, working with the council, helping Leon setting up the patrol, and eating a few bites of supper here and there, her stomach not able to take much more, evening is there, the moon bright, and sleep fills most of the castle.

Apart from the tending guardsmen, apart from Camelot’s Queen.

She lies within the blankets, holding onto his pillow like she has since he had gone missing, and quietly whimpers into it.

Her body had grown so used to even after long treks, his being back, his arms surrounding her waist, stomach, gently rubbing her nipple, caressing her breast, fingering between her thighs intimately, his lips against her cheek, her neck and face. It had grown used to the fine hairs upon his chest, the hardness of his muscle, the way his feet pushed against her ankles sometimes because they grew cold in the middle of the night, or the way he would grasp the covers so tightly to himself and she would have to nudge them away from his greedy big fingers.

That snore that would start out softly and sometimes rise in timbre too much that she’d bring her finger across his nose, nudging it, and feel him make a throaty sound, feel his body shift, so that his snoring stopped…for long moments before it found its way to start again. And she groaned with exasperation.

Some nights would be so cold that they’d scurry under the covers together like two crazy rabbits. Other nights, so warm, they’d just lightly hold each other and grimace at their discomforts.

Some nights romantic. Others weary. Some passionate. Some of conversation.

And now all that is gone.

Gwen thinks of them, those precious nights, and feels the tightness in her breath, the bulk of pain form in her throat and the tears well in her eyes before they fall to the pair of pillows like a shower of rain.

“Arthur…I never wanted this. I never wanted Camelot without you. I never…”

The night is the most dreaded because it is the loneliest. The storm of emotion no longer has a protocol fence to lock it in. The hollow pain is the deepest and the cold is the most bitter. Or the sweating heat too ugly hot.

It is when she lays for hours until her eyes can take no more of the brutal punishment of insomnia.

But when they close, the dreams come on, and sometimes the chimera of feeling is too much to find any true slumber.

…

Another night. Another unwanted dream. She pushes against his pillow, her tears falling again.

And feels it. A touch. A touch so soft. So softly familiar.

A hush.

Shhh…don’t cry

She stirs.

No.

I’ll never leave you. I promise that.

Gwen’s eyes open starkly. She whispers, “Arthur?”

I’m here Guinevere. I always will be. Evermore...

Never…leave…

Evermore…

She sits up in the bed, her breath fast as she grasps her breast. “Arthur? Arthur!”

There is nothing there. No one there.

And yet…

She felt something upon her shoulder. She did. She knows she did. She heard a voice.

“Arthur?”

She questions one last time, but there is nothing, no one.

Then a peculiar sound. A crackle.

She turns her head to the hearth, sees a soft golden flame. It shines so beautifully. So gorgeously. So resplendent. Like it will never go out.

Like it will burn evermore.

Evermore?

And then it’s gone. The room is practically cold.

“Ar-thur?” She questions brokenly, her face a mess of wetness, her body shivers of confusion and pain.

She lies back down upon the bed, a tangle of tremors and loss. Her hand moves over her heart and stomach, between her thighs wretchedly, with the most utter loneliness.

She has to cry herself to sleep. To finally allow her eyes their needing of reprieve.

So deep into it she doesn’t feel it when it comes again.

Ethereal. Bodiless.

The touch upon her shoulder.

The soft gentle whisper.

Never

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She consumes herself so deep into the work of keeping kingdom and lays with little sleep in the night that she doesn’t even feel it, that all her dying sense is combined with something else. It is only one day when sitting upon the throne for hours meeting with one person after another and it is time to finally stand, she stumbles and falls to the floor.

In a rushed mess of movement from all surrounding she is carried to her chambers, and receives Gaius’s care.

Exhaustion has fallen upon her body. She cannot keep this up for the reason of her own well being. And for another reason as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days turn to weeks to months. She recovers from her fall and is allowed to return to duties of kingdom.

A knock comes at hers and Arthur’s chambers door during the morning hours.

Gwen has long moved past that time when she would hope and wonder for Arthur’s presence. She has dully accepted her husband’s demise and now goes to open the door, staring in wonder at who is there.

“Merlin?”

He is not entirely recognizable. Unshaven. He has barely combed hair that is already growing longer, and a face that is partially dirtied.

“Hello Gwen.”

She lets him in slowly, closing the door behind him and staring.

For long moments he seems like someone she no longer knows, but then the sheepishness kicks in, the humility strong. “I’m sorry.”

Emotions tear through her as she shakes her head. “What happened?”

He looks up, eyes a pool of misery and anguish and Gwen has to back to the wall some to get away from it. There is something wild in Merlin now. Something she no longer knows. Along with all that familiarity is an ocean of newness. “You have magic. Wasn’t there a way you could have gotten him there faster?” The words sound cruel even to her own ears, but she has to ask them.

Merlin pushes his hand against his forehead. His knuckles are cracked with lines of redness. “I swear I tried. I never wanted to leave his side in the first place, but Morgana took away my magic before Camlann. Then she locked me into a cave. I managed to get out and I got my magic back, I stopped Aithusa: the dragon, and I ceased the efforts of many from her army, but I couldn’t get to Arthur in time. Mordred had already-

“Oh.” Her hand pushes against her mouth as Merlin echoes that it was Mordred.

Before he can continue a piece of paper is thrust into his hand. “This…did you know about it?”

Merlin looks down upon the familiar Druid prayer and then raises his head, his eyes glancing at Gwen’s heavily, before he looks away. “The Druid prayer. Yeah I knew.”

She turns away from him, gazing out the window, before facing him again in a rush of fury. Her eyes ponder his without mercy. They look far and deep before she whispers it. “You knew it was Mordred. Didn’t you?”

Every day he goes through the horrible list of failures. He begs it all to be just a nightmare and everything to start over. “I knew.”

The tears are there again, never there in the day, but now with Merlin they return as she nearly screams out, her peace in shatters. “Then why didn’t you do anything Merlin? Why did you let Arthur bring him back here? Why did you let him live here, leave here, knowing that he---oh my God…” She pants and Merlin feels his tears hot and heavy.

“What was I supposed to do, Gwen? He wouldn’t have listened to me. He would have wanted to know how I knew and then I would have had to-

She looks up at him, seeing the fear and pain, but hers is sharp too. “What, tell him that you were a sorcerer, when you were one? Tell him the truth? You don’t think he deserved that after all the faith he put in you?”

“Gwen…” Merlin is brokenly crying now. “I loved him…Arthur was my friend. I love you. You’re my friend. I didn’t mean-I-I’m sorry—I—I failed…I tried but I failed.”

His breakdown stops her mind from ranting and pierces her heart.

Oh Merlin, she thinks.

He came to Camelot with magic outlawed and had to be so scared. But he stayed because he started serving Arthur, and she saw it, how he started liking Arthur. A liking that grew to the kind of love brothers share. He put up with Arthur’s bullish ways at time, countered it with his own smartness and they had that silly bickering going on between them, but also so much loyalty, so much care. All these years Merlin was a sorcerer and he never required any reward for it. He did it in the shadows. He did it with cost to himself.

He didn’t save Arthur. Her husband is gone. But in his crying eyes, in the dirt of his face, is the veracity that he tried.

She moves toward the broken man and lifts her shaking hand to his cheek. “Merlin.”

He loses it all once more, his head falling. “I’m sorry Gwen. I’m so sorry.”

She begins to hold him and feels his hands hold her even tighter, needing her presence. Maybe needing any presence. There is no telling if he has been with anyone since.

“I know. I know.”

Merlin holds her like that for a long while, before breaking away, touching his friend’s face. “Gaius said you got sick.”

“My emotions. Not eating enough.”

Merlin frowns. Her face is flushed, but to hear she’s needed bed rest troubles him greatly. “Gwen, you can’t let that happen. You have to be well. Arthur would want it. He loved you so much. A few times in the middle of the night, he didn’t know I heard. But he’d call out your name. He’d keep saying it and I’d calm him down, get him back to sleep, but you were in his heart.”

He presses his hand against his chest, against his tattered scarf. “You were there with him.”

“Oh…” Gwen cries a little more at that, but then thinks of the words. There with him.

Never leave.

“Was he in pain?” She asks, hoping not.

Merlin shakes his head, a quiet reassurance. “Not so much at the end. He went peacefully, Gwen.”

She nods, feeling his roughened fingers gently touch her face, and then…

“I should go.” Merlin starts parting from her.

She looks at him quizzically. “You’re not staying?”

“No. I had to come back to see you, to see Gaius one more time, but…no.”

“Merlin.”

“I’ve caused enough pain. I--I want to be alone.”

She reaches out, grasps his hand. “Not just pain. And not alone. I’ve been alone for a while and it hurts and…Merlin not alone.”

“Gwen.”

She smiles just a little. “It was many nights ago, a month or two maybe when I felt this presence. I felt like he was here. Arthur. And I felt him whispering what he told me weeks before he died, that he would never leave me. I don’t know if I was just imagining or what, but I could feel him. I could…”

Merlin stares at her, and then even harder as she clutches his hand tighter, brings it to her stomach. “Can you…feel him? Feel…”

Merlin’s face fills with shock, his hand actually beginning to glow.

Gwen’s eyes widen at the magical wonder in them, and then their direction ascends as the glow goes away quickly.

“Sorry.” He looks so remorseful.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s alright. It felt warm.”

Merlin smiles mildly. “Yeah…I don’t do it to hurt.”

She touches his hand that is shyly away from her body now. “I know. When Morgana turned me into a deer, you healed me, didn’t you?”

Merlin nods his head slowly. “Yeah. I had to. You would have di-

She stops him, pressing her hand against his arm. “Merlin?”

He gazes down upon her stomach, back to her shining eyes. “You’re with child.”

Gwen smiles. “True to his promise. ‘Never leave me.’”

“That’s also why you’ve been resting. Are you alright?”

Gwen nods. “I’m fine. Truly Merlin I didn’t have much desire to eat, to enjoy, but now…” She touches her stomach gently, “Knowing that there is this one inside me, this little one that is a beautiful facet of Arthur, I care more to be well. I have another to think of.” Her smile is soft, sprinkled with hope.

Merlin smiles too, faintly telling her, “I’m so happy then for you Gwen. You deserve to have joy in your life.”

He thinks about how there will be another piece of Arthur in this world, before that day he is supposedly destined to come back.

Many would think him a freak, an idiot for believing, for holding onto the hope that Arthur will actually return someday. But Merlin needs that deep in his soul. He has realized that with the absence of Arthur, he misses the teasing, the badgering, the hits upon his shoulder that are meant to be awkward little hugs. He misses him so much. Misses…

“Merlin. You deserve it too. Joy.”

Gwen’s hand is there, warm on his cheek. Merlin tries to push away from it, but she holds fast. “I know, no matter what I said before, that you did everything you could to keep him alive. To bring him back to Camelot. Merlin, I know. I know you loved him like all of Camelot has. Like I have. I know he was your greatest friend, that you served him the best anyone could.

Merlin, do not go.”

“Gwen-

She shushes him, her hand inches from his mouth before he stops and she lowers her wrist. “Gaius misses you. I do. The knights. No one puts you to blame. We all know you tried.”

He thinks about the isle, his voice shuddering. “I-I can’t Gwen. I can’t stay.”

“Why?” She asks so plaintively.

He looks away from her, to the window, where past the mountains it lies. “I have to keep going there. I have to keep-

“Where, Merlin?” Gwen asks.

She wouldn’t understand. No one probably would. He practically considers himself a madman. Crazy man of the wood.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No.”

Gwen’s brow wrinkles, but with a sigh she relents. “Alright. Then one night. Gaius is so happy to have you back. We can dine, all of us together. One more time. Merlin?”

His mind tells him to say no, but his heart…

“Okay. One more time.”

She kisses his cheek and leads him out of the chambers that for so many years, he served his friend in, that for a few precious years, she shared with her eternal love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night they eat together, the closest of them, Leon, Percival, Merlin, Gwen and Gaius. Sad moments are inevitable, memories of all they have lost, but within too are intermingled happier ones and jokes and cute little foresights into what the new little Pendragon may be like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen recalls it all two days later, after a trip she took with Merlin, that he hadn’t totally been prepared for. Rubbing her stomach gently now in her nightdress, her hair braided and ready for sleep, she recalls…

“Merlin.”

He stares at her as she walks out of the stables with her horse. “Gwen?”

“I’m going with you. Leon has charge of the kingdom for the days and nights needed.”

“But-

Gwen fixes her gloves into place, like she did when she rode with Arthur to Camlann. “Gaius has said it’s alright too. The air will do me good after getting the rest I needed. I’ve been eating well enough. Now I just need one thing.”

“What?” Merlin asks.

She reaches out, touches his hand. “To be with Arthur. One last time.”

“But-

“Merlin…take me there. Please. Take me to the Lake of Avalon.”

“Gwen-

She brings Merlin’s hand down with hers to her stomach, whispering. “I want him to feel his child. I want our child…to feel his…or her… father. Merlin…please take me.”

He protests and all the while she holds steadfast, like she always has. Calmly she watches his argument deflate. He gives a faint nod, telling her, as he squeezes her hand softly, “Okay.”

…

The ride takes a few days, but it is peaceful enough. At one time they have a bandit encounter. Gwen marvels as for the first time she sees the strength of Merlin’s magic while he is Merlin, not dressed as an old man. There is no death. Merlin does not seek to kill the bandits, just frighten them away, but there is steeliness in his eyes as he does so.

“You have great power, don’t you Merlin?”

He nods a little shyly.

“Arthur saw it?”

Merlin gives a shrug. “He saw some. Enough to get it.”

“And the name, Emrys?”

“The Druids call me that. I’ve been told I have more than one name, that I am of the elements, but that’s not important Gwen to you now. What matters is that you get to Avalon and so I will keep my promise to take you there.”

She smiles faintly as once more Merlin is still quite cryptic.

…

The day that they reach Avalon is a lovely one, with the sun shining gently through the sky, causing glimmers of color that the wan clouds have little power over. Merlin stands back as Gwen, clad in her riding outfit, makes her way to the water, holding wildflowers in her hands, and something else. She deposits the wildflowers into the lake before speaking softly.

“Arthur…” There are probably so many inspiring things to say, but one comes to heart continuously. “I miss you. I miss the love you gave to me, that you gave to your kingdom and to your men. I miss your bravery, your good heart, and the chivalry you showed me and so many others.

Confession, I wanted to beg you not to go to Camlann. I followed you because I couldn’t endure sitting…waiting. You gave yourself fully always. I had to do the same. And I will never regret it, sharing that one last beautiful time with you. Being in the arms of love, yours.”

She sighs somberly, tears finding her eyes. “I know that if I had tried to stop you from serving your purpose, from fighting for Camelot, I would have taken a most vital part of you. Oh Arthur, as much as I coveted keeping you safe, I knew from the moment I fell in love with you, that would never be easy. You were born to be king, to be the greatest king Camelot has ever known. I believe that. Even if it was cut short…I believe it.”

She smiles fondly with a touch of amusement, which makes the tears even more prevalent actually. “You weren’t all perfect, and I would have you no other way. You had a penchant for snoring like a pig and a pout that could compete with a baby’s. Until now perhaps. I may have some competition for you soon.”

She caresses her stomach fondly, the fingers of her other hand feeling the gentle waters of the lake. “You see my husband you gave me the most precious gift you ever could. But you know that, you must Arthur. Our passion and love for each other was never a feeble thing. We enjoyed our time together, embraced it, shielded it. And so that beautiful scabbard of your love has created within me something alive and so dear I could never imagine before.”

She gazes upon the lake, the gentle waters, wishing her eyes could literally touch its depths, wishing she could pull him out and begin life anew together. Whether he be farmer. Whether he be king. It would not matter. Her love for kingdom has always been as full of veracity as his, but never could anything eclipse her love for him, the naked beautiful man he always was inside, that piece that he cared to share only with a few.

The private essence that only she and she alone knew. Her hand presses to her heart, presses deep and solid as she wishes for one more reprieve. One clause to the other world. For she can’t imagine she will ever love anyone the same. She can’t imagine that the hollowness that is in her heart, will ever entirely be fulfilled again.

However, she can’t give in. Can’t give up. Can’t thrust away the beautiful years they had together. Can’t tarnish them.

Her hand caresses her stomach, soon enough to be round, to be blushing with fulfillment. To think that their passions, their intimate touches, his entering the private walls of her womanhood have led to this.

*Life.

It’s why as much as there is a part of her that wants to run away from this new half existence, she does not allow it to dictate her way. She knew years ago her husband would likely go early in life. Oh she had the hope they would spend olden days together, but she has always been wise enough to understand the kind of man he was, that the most honorable way of dying for him would be in the company of his men, during a fight for the most vital justices.

“As much as I miss you my husband..” She clutches her breast, “And I miss you with all my heart Arthur, every bit…I am so happy too. For I have a facet of your life inside me now. I have a wee one to come who I will protect and shield…as fervently as I shielded you. As you shielded me.

My heart Arthur…” She presses her hand to it fervently. “My heart…evermore. Will never leave you.

Never.”

She brings it out from the cloth it’s wrapped in, the belted tie from possibly his favorite dress. The blue one. She whispers, “You gave me the most thrilling reactions when I wore the dress that went with this belt. And now I won’t need it anymore. So here…for you…”

She drops the gold and blue belt into the water. Not every memory will be locked away. She has not put serious thought to putting away his clothes or endeavored to get rid of them. Also, she will keep the nightdress because it was his gift to her and she will keep her other dresses too. Just this one with all its fervent memories of his hands slipping over her breast, his fingers knotting into the belt and molding to her hips, this one she cannot bring herself to hold onto. This one she wants him to have a piece of too. So let it lie in the lake with him.

“For you my husband…” Her voice quietly whispers.

“For you…My Love.”

…

Moments later Merlin comes to join her. He sits at her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She rests her head on his. “Thank you.”

Merlin nods, noticing her path of tears, his own face a little wet. “I think there’s something else I should tell you.”

Gwen starts to lift her head, but Merlin’s hold grows tighter. He doesn’t want her to look at him yet. She keenly stays still.

“Years ago, when the black knight came to Camelot, do you remember that Gwen?”

“Yes. Arthur was to fight him.”

“I came to you and asked if I could have one of the swords your dad forged.”

Gwen’s brow tightens. “I remember that.”

“It was forged further actually. In a dragon’s breath. It was the one Arthur used to fight in Camlann.”

Now Merlin finally allows it and so Gwen lifts her head. “The one you asked me for? But Arthur said-

Merlin smiles fractionally. “I lied to him then. I had to. Arthur needed to believe in himself and I couldn’t tell him how the sword was created.”

“If you forged it in a dragon’s breath too, why would it matter who it came from? Why not just-

Merlin shakes his head, that smile still there. “No. It wouldn’t have been the same. Tom forged everything with dedication. He had such talent and passion for what he did. Arthur felt the difference in the hold almost right away. And you gave it to me. You actually gave it for him. So it wasn’t just forged in passion, in fire…but also in love. And it saved Arthur so many times Gwen.”

She feels new tears and hugs Merlin, who holds her too, letting out a ragged sigh.

“Come back.” She presses her hand to his cheek. “Merlin.”

“Sure. I’ll bring you back to Camelot. I said I would. I would never let you go alone.”

She shakes her head, takes his hand and presses it against her shoulder. “No…stay. Merlin, stay.”

But he negates her request, softly, gently. “I’m sorry Gwen. I cannot.”

She lowers his hand with hers. “What if…what if he…or she… ever needs you?”

Merlin stares, shaking some.

“You were always there for Arthur. Will you be there for his child?”

“Gwen-

“Please.” She doesn’t let his hand go.

“I failed him.” Merlin mutters miserably.

“No.” Gwen objects. “Merlin?”

He turns away. “You won’t need me. Albion has peace now.”

“Will it hold?” She asks.

Merlin smiles reassuringly. “I know you’ll keep it.”

“Merlin.”

He gives another sigh, finally turning back to her and nodding his head.

“Peace. However…if anything breaks it and you want me there...”

The memory drifts away from her heart. Merlin of course left it there. Not giving any certainty of anything.

On the way home she did not pressure him for further answer. When he hugged her goodbye, she peacefully accepted his departure. And was glad that at least their short time together could bring back some glimmers of his fun and youthfulness.

She looks to the table now, to where all the flowers have dried away, but for that stubborn little blossoming bud. Nothing will stop it she is sure of. She smiles fondly at the growing gillyflower and caresses her stomach with care, feeling where soon there will be the swelling of life.

“I love you little one…and I will always shield you. Always tell you about the great father you had.”

Her smile is one of melancholy, but also hope.

Never ending hope.

For the future.

For the promise of life.

Evermore.

Her husband’s promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is now where Chambers ends. <3

Thank you everyone for reading/responding/creating incredible art/being part of all this with me. I appreciate it so much. I have loved writing Chambers, and this last one brought me to tears quite a few times.

If you’re wondering about Arthur’s chambers dreams, I truly believe in heart Guinevere was always with Arthur. I think in episode 5.13 when he gave Gaius the seal that was with his heart fully of his wife and kingdom, for he expressed it enough. He loved both. And yet, Camelot was nothing without love in his life. I also think when Arthur was taking his last breaths and asking to be held, it was a powerful scene. I think Arthur, realizing how much Merlin had done for him, had braved for him, truly loved him as a friend that moment. But it went beyond, it was such an intimate side of Arthur. He did it so emotionally that I firmly believe it was not just him and Merlin on those banks of grass. Within his heart, when he looked up glassily into the skies…Arthur was with his wife.

Maybe even in chambers.

Thanks dear readers. Until next story.

Arwen evermore.

Shared Chambers: Firestorm

2013-01-03T19:19:09Z

Title Shared Chambers: Firestorm
Rating M
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 8,678
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.12 / lots of speculation also / this one has mature romantic scenes and angst
Author’s Note Thank you for all the lovely comments on this story. I appreciate everyone. This one’s for you all.

Shared Chambers: Firestorm

The footsteps pound through the hallways, messily and noisily, a cacophony of sounds: rousing voices and bits of staggering. Rolling her eyes at it all, Gwen calmly puts away her work, blows out the candle at her side of the bed, and lies down within the covers, closing her eyes.

It is just a few minutes later that he comes in, obviously trying to be quiet.

She cringes some as his belt lands on the floor with a heavy clang, and has to contain her snicker as he gasps at its noise.

He checks her side of the bed, peering over cautiously. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

But then they open to interested slits as his white tunic sails to the floor and his pants join the shirt. His boots are already landed there too. Finally when he is done with his disrobing, he climbs atop the bed. The mattress shifts some and she feels a strong arm come over her shoulder.

“Guin…Guinevere are you awake?”

She makes no sound which releases his sigh. “Ah, as well.” He grumps. “Merlin, I swear it’s like he’s a cheat. Wins every time. Took half my silver tonight. Idiot.”

“I’d say he’s a pretty wise idiot for winning your money.”

“Yes, well I guess you could say that-

She stifles her giggles as her husband stops in midsentence. “Guinevere! You’re awake.”

Her lips form a smirk, eyes still closed. “No, just talking in my sleep as you like to talk when to yourself.”

“I was not talking to myself!” Arthur grouses indignantly. “I was talking to you.”

“Whilst I was sleeping?”

He peers over her shoulder, noticing how she still has yet to open her eyes. Stubborn woman. “But you were not sleeping, Guinevere. You do not talk in your sleep.”

“How do you know? You’re too busy snoring like a pig.”

Oh that does it. He grasps her waist and presses against her side, raising his fingers to invade the most vulnerable areas of her nightdress. Hearing her high giggles as he starts it he smiles in victory. But then she is lifting her pillow from underneath their tussling bodies and hitting him square on the head with it. “Ow.” He tickles her harder.

She wriggles in his arms which causes him to watch with more than just amusement. Woman has more flare in her than a flaming torch.

Ready to get her own leverage, she reaches down within his breeches and-

“Oh Guinevere…don’t you…”

“Mmmm…” She strokes with a saucy look, her fingers enticing his sensitive anatomy.

“Stop.”

“You stop.”

His fingers cease moving on her body. Her knowing womanly touch is kind of a bit like lightning. “Guinevere.”

“Mmm…” She grins and he sighs, letting her sides go as she lessens her hold on him. His head veers downward to kiss her mouth. Gwen tangles her fingers into his golden locks, bringing her husband more abundantly against her.

“Oh.” He whispers in between, getting a breath. He teases her mouth with his finger, circling her bottom and top lip languidly, and then delving within to tickle at the rim.

“What were you really doing before I came in here?”

She smiles up at him warmly. “Sleeping.”

“Fibber.”

“Hmph. I’m not the one who had to have a round with the boys, am I?”

“Do I detect a spark of jealousy?” He asks teasingly.

She grips his naked shoulder just a bit too tightly, getting him to hiss. “You should know me better Arthur.”

“Indeed I do.” He grins as her hold loosens and they come closer together to kiss, one after another.

In between their hands play with each other, a frolic here, a naughty little pinch there.

And thereafter they snuggle, pressing upon bits of clothing each wears and delving further too. All is matrimonial privilege and exquisite custom. His hand strays within her nightgown to which she hums with pleasure as she presses kisses upon his chest that let out his happy growl.

“So Merlin was the victor again tonight, huh?”

That lets out his grumble of complaint. She whispers with amusement, “Perhaps you should stop betting against him.”

“Hmph.”

Her lips descend to enjoy her husband’s spicy taste, mingled now with plenty of Ale.

A few more kisses, he asks plaintively, “Come on Guinevere, my beautiful wife, what were you really doing?”

She grins at his insistence and thrown-in-there compliment, but refuses to give in. “Already told you. Sleeping.”

“Ah. Why so secretive?”

“Why so curious?”

He grumbles some more before lifting it high above their heads. The material slowly lowers to cocoon them inside.

Gwen giggles at the cave of blankets they are now contained within.

Even though she is bright and experienced enough to know where he is going with this, she asks teasingly, “Arthur?”

He arches above her, his greater muscled body flanking her petite one with defect-less acquisition. “Fortress time.”

However, she is not willing to let go so easily. A queen now for years and quite accustomed to a woman’s efficacy in bed, she lifts her fingers to his chest with the intent to make it, and him, spark with feverish desire.

“Your favorite game…again?”

It’s been played many times within these private chambers, and not only upon the bed.

Her words rouse memories of the other times they’ve engaged in his esteemed pursuit, bringing on a glimmer of pleasure to his face.

“You should know by now my sensual gillyflower Guinevere, I never grow tired of it.”

Well truth be told, she is quite fond of it too. Oh, and him. Really, can a man be any handsomer?

She thinks not. Bared to the waist, even under the blanket’s cover, he is sinew and firmness. His mostly pale skin actually shines under the blanket with little golden effects. His eyes glow like a sea’s blue and his mouth pouts outward with charming effect. She loves him like this, nearly naked to her appreciating eyes, every bit of his look secretive and reserved just for her and their very private chambers.

Her tongue edges past her lips as she gives a passionate sigh.

He notices it and all of her with easily returned appreciation. The nightdress she wears he actually gifted her with shortly after they were married. It fits her perfectly well, with flowing sleeves, a dipping bodice, and delicate floral ornamentation. Her long curls braided for sleep just give more attention to her face, that natural sun blessed shimmer, those attentive dark eyes, and of course her luscious lips.

Stroking his chest languidly with her fingers, Gwen gives a look of innocent confusion. “You’ll have to remind me of my role as I have completely forgotten.”

His answering expression is skeptical as he doubts very much she forgot, but he lets it go with a shrug. If she wants to play, he’s very game. “I’m the knight.”

Gwen has fun twisting things, her finger toying around his slightly upraised nipple as she answers coyly. “I think it would be better if I was the knight.”

His eyebrows pitch with question. “Guinevere, you…the knight? My Love, you are quite keen of intelligence and have a strong backhand when it comes to raising random things to hit someone with. I know well. That time I came in here early from the hunt when you were not expecting me, and I grabbed you, I felt the fire poker’s wrath upon my head.”

“Humph.” She complains, still idly circling his nipple and pressing random kisses upon his chest. “Your fault. Be grateful I did not use the pointy end.”

“Yes…” Arthur sighs with a wry look. She has quite an adept hand when needed. “Grateful indeed. But back to the point Guinevere, that does not make you a knight. Being a knight requires years of training my love…” He lets the words stretch out, an expanse of breathy tones as he greedily takes her luscious damp limps with his.

“Physical…”

“Mmmm…” She hums with sensuous satisfaction.

“Arduous…”

Their mouths joust for sybaritic triumph.

“Training.”

Her fingers canter up his chest, grasping at his shoulder, and then slide redolently downward, a smooth flow of flesh to flesh. She watches his eyes react, the aroused glimmer of blue turning to flashes of passion. She’s not completely done though as she keeps up her teasing banter, frolicking in bed, among other key places, with her gorgeous husband, one of her greatest enjoyments of life now.

“A wise courageous knight must always get the advantage, you told me once, isn’t that right my husband?”

Hmmm…she’s definitely thinking of taking this somewhere, but right now he’s a little preoccupied with her neck, lips mingling with soft skin to institute wetly burning kisses. “Yes…” She tastes divine. “Absolutely must.”

Gwen lets out a languid sigh, her head falling backward upon her pillow. His mouth…oh a sword of carnal passions. But time to make her point. One hand slides further down his chest, tickling at his stomach.

“Guin.” Arthur gives out a little weak giggle. However his wife has lustier intentions than just making her husband dissolve into a mess of titters.

Gwen presses her hand between his breeches and skin, sliding within the thin material that holds his length of manly hardness inside. She gives a taunting little stroke with her fingers, feeling him jump against her with reaction.

“Guinevere-

“Sshhh…” Her other hand touches his lips, takes ownership of his mouth. “I’m getting the advantage. Being a proper knight.”

It’s an indulgent lull they are engaging in. Outside their chambers and past the castle’s exterior, beyond Camelot’s high climbing gates, war is looming. Morgana is set to fully begin it anytime. Some nights he sleeps little. Days are full of round table meetings of necessity and increased patrols. Some have already even been sent out to the surrounding kingdoms. Danger is all around. Beyond their bed sits a map of war-planning upon a table.

But now here…in shared chambers, in shared bed, in shared proximity, her fingers flush pleasure into his face as they enjoy their lull.

She continues her wifely threatening stroke. Feels him arch up against her, always susceptible to her touch as she is to his. Rest assured, she has little fear her attentions will not be returned. Arthur is a man of generously seductive chivalry after all.

Arthur clings to his wife, holding her body down against his to keep her hand in place. Moments there are the friction climbs so high he wants to push it away. Other moments he wants to seal it to him forever.

“Guinevere…oh for the love of Cam--Guin…”

His whispers turn almost breathless. His hardening is firm against her fingers. And the wet hot swell.

A man transfixed by his wife. She loves what she can bring him to. Loves…

“Oh…”

He’s done. The jousting play is all over. He’s pulsing hard against her and struggling some for regular breaths. Her strokes that started out slow have grown fast and intense. It is time to give her some of the same.

The blankets are half on them now, half off. He’s widening her thighs and she’s tangling her fingers into his hair, twisting and pulling as his hand slides deep between her legs. Kisses rain from their mouths. Sloppy messy misplaced ones. Their limbs are tangles of desire and erotic need. He pleasures her again and again with his fingers and then that’s not enough.

Something else.

“Love…” He whispers in her ear. “Guinevere…my beautiful love…fie…you…always…drive me…mad…”

She rocks against his lascivious dance, hips ascending, descending. Slow. Sweet pain and pleasure.

He watches her eyes close and open. Long gazes, they glimmer with sexual joy. His rapacious hands keep forward the momentum, up, down. He urges within her insatiable wet heat.

And she loves it, his relentless endeavor to be deeper inside. She wants him there where satisfaction is a long sigh of pleasure. It’s coming, inches away, she can feel it. Her restless hands press into his chest, lightly scrape his nipples, eliciting his throaty groan. It is like a warm watered ocean, love with Arthur. It is like nothing she can fully describe really. Her toes tingle, her fingertips radiating like lightning.

The hard unyielding thrust. “Oh…” She lets out a soft cry. So close.

So near he can feel it too. Arthur whispers into his wife’s ear, commencing to bring her over the edge.

“Come my beautiful Gillyflower…let go and come…”

And as he pierces her one more time, as he slides so deep within that she forgets what part of her is herself and what part is him, she gasps out pleasure to his waiting kiss. Feels him swallow it all with his mouth and she just gives it back, her body a tangle of sensations. Wet. Hot. Carnal feels…

He too lets go of his hardest pain and pleasure. They release everything together.

It is a most beautiful ascension.

…

Many moments later he holds her securely in his arms, letting out a slight growl of defeat. “You win.”

She smiles the bit she can, feeling his fingers intertwined with hers over her breast, and whispers, “We both do.”

“I love you.” He murmurs into her neck, keeping her ever so close.

“I love you the same my husband.”

…

Moments pass. They hear the crackle of the still slightly burning fire in the hearth. Then they hear each other’s breaths slow down from all their pleasurable exertions as sleep finds them both.

…

She dreams.

Gold is within her fingers. Upon the crest is the symbol of a winged dragon. There is nothing else. Just her fingers holding it and the image is gone, but it remains in her mind as she wakes, strokes her heart for a moment, getting it to beat a little faster.

“Ah…”

Gwen opens her eyes, hearing a sleepy grunt from her husband. She brings her hands over his arms that clasp her securely to him, rubs with her fingers, and keeps him from waking as he slumbers contentedly again, that slight familiar snore blowing out from his mouth. She smiles at it and after carefully slipping out from his grasp, putting her pillow nearby so he doesn’t notice right away her absence, stretches across the bed to his side.

Arching above his sleeping face, she finds it, a large metal ring of multitudes of keys. They go to the dungeons, the various throne rooms, their chambers, and other places. One in particular goes to a box. She learnt all this their first night of marriage.

He does not regularly wear it, but the day of her coronation, after their ceremony of marriage, he did wear it and when they came to their chambers for the first time as man and wife, he educated her about it after their first makings of love.

It was a night of passionate exploration if anything. The talked first and then they kissed and acted upon all the physical desires they had suppressed for so long. She enthralled in his naked physical beauty, even that endearing little paunch of stomach, and hissed inward at the first time his thick, yet long fingers reached out and stroked her breasts, and then later further intimate places of her body. It was a tangled excursion of pants and whispers to culmination. Pain and pleasure combined in which he spent a few moments making sure that she was okay. To which she stroked and kissed away his worries. Zenith reached. A plummet of emotions and feral showering of release and meridian met together, with uninhibited cries.

That first time, they just did it once, as it was exciting but still novel. Later days they’d engage in more extended marital bliss.

They were just starting to slumber, still disrobed and with drops of exertions’ glow upon their warm bodies. After his checks to make sure all was right with her, and her whispers of gratitude for his concern, she was laying quietly in his arms. Their bodies turned in to each others’ she could feel it upon his finger that intertwined with hers. “The Royal seal.” There was no question in her voice. She had seen it before.

Kissing the top of her hair, Arthur murmured against her brow. “Yes. With it I am King.”

She stroked the gold and his finger together, pressing a kiss against both. “You wore it today.”

He smiled with a touch of tiredness. “Yes…I honestly don’t often, but for occasions like this one.”

“So where does it go regularly Arthur?”

“Here…”

And that was when he showed her. There were two boxes you see.

Gwen finds the insignificant looking key on the ring now and opens the first box. It holds a key of its own. She reaches into a secretly inserted drawer that one must have prior knowledge about to understand how to pull out, and finds a second box. She uses the little key to get it open. Within, surrounded by crushes of velvet is the precious Royal Seal of Camelot. The Pendragon Seal of a winged dragon. She separates it from the velvet, lifting it within her fingers, wondering. Why a dream about it?

“Mmmm…”

He stirs again and she grasps the ring tightly, putting it back within its box, locking it inside, and putting the box back in the concealed drawer. Then she puts the key back in its box and locks it tight with its key from the ring. When she is done with all she slowly, quietly stretches back to her side of the bed and carefully slides the pillows past his arms to be back within them.

Another murmur comes after a few moments, and then perhaps not so sleepily, he asks,

“What were you doing?”

Guinevere smiles at her husband’s alertness, not terribly surprised as he is a man who regularly goes into battle. She smiles even more though at how during her separation from him the covers climbed higher upon his body. Arthur is the first to feel a draft of cold always in bed, growing up a bit more spoilt than her. What with glowing hearths and all.

“Nothing much.”

He lets out a small sigh, his warm breath blowing across her cheek. “You don’t want to tell me?”

Gwen shakes her head, her braid brushing across his chin and mouth. “Not that. I’ll tell you if you want.” And she means it.

But he shrugs unimportantly. “No. It’s fine. If you think it’s no matter then that’s enough for me.” He suggestively brings his fingers over her naked breasts and reminds. “We probably should put some bedclothes on, considering Merlin still sometimes wakes us up with little warning.”

She giggles at that, keeping his hands warmly around her. Merlin indeed does come bristling into their rooms some mornings with a cheery whistle, but since their marriage and the placement of the curtains around their bed, he has never opened them without invitation.

Still…the mornings are regular to carry a shrill draft and the last thing he or she needs is to catch a cold. “You are right.” She relents with a smile.

She reaches for his clothing and he for hers. They fondly help each other get dressed and then snuggle back within the bedcovers again.

“Good night Guinevere, my Love.”

She presses a kiss to his hand and holds at the white material of his tunic. “Goodnight my dear Arthur.”

As they begin to find sweet repose together, the silence surrounds them, but for the last dying crackle of the fireplace.

It is perhaps the last evening they will ever spend together in their shared chambers within Camelot.

That is because it is only hours away, the beginning.

The end.

Brother against Sister.

Blood upon Blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What happened? Where is Merlin going?” Gwen asks her husband, entering their chambers as Merlin passes by, rushing out before she can ask him what the matter is.

Arthur shakes his head from where he stands on the other side, his look unhappy. “He says he has an errand for Gaius that he has to do. Now. So I told him not to even bother with the armor. I’ll get it on myself.”

Gwen watches for a moment as her husband struggles with the chainmail, the little links of metal catching onto his hair and pulling, causing him to let out a hiss of pain. Giving a sigh she steps forward and extricates it from his fingers. “Let me.”

Grimacing, Arthur relents.

The news came just hours ago, receding Gwaine and Leon’s return. Morgana’s invasion of a nearby kingdom has resulted in so many killings of people and torching of the land. Next for certain will be Camelot. Thus, there is no other choice.

It is never a light decision to put his men into grave danger, but the alternative is unacceptable. Already Morgana has taken Camelot twice. It cannot be allowed again. It goes against everything the kingdom has always been for. Desecration of its people and its lands would ruin Camelot forever and lead to so much needless bloodshed of innocents.

He will not acquiesce to that kind of ruined world. This is what the Knights of Camelot have been trained for and always stood for. If going to Camlann means their deaths then that is a price they will take within their hearts, knowing at least they did not die as shameful cowards, they did not die with their kingdom up in flames. If it is their last heartbeat, it will cease with honor.

And that is why too Arthur cannot sit upon his throne and let those men go alone. He will be right alongside them, fighting for the love and continuance of his precious Camelot.

He is of mind to that, with little question. What he questions is why his servant now does not want to come along.

Merlin, always so brave.

Oh yes he has not told him so in the past, but it is something that Arthur actually has felt for years now. Merlin is truly one of the bravest men he has ever known. For Merlin, unlike other servants, has never left his side. He has always been there in the fight, without armor. Even when struck a few times, nearly lost his life once, Merlin has been there.

So why not now?

Why?

The tension in his body is palpable. Gwen tries to relieve some of the knots as she helps him get into the chainmail and then starts tightly binding his armor on.

“Ah.” He complains some and she can see in his face as she moves in front how he still is unhappy about his friend. “Arthur…Merlin must do what is right for him. And you must do what is right for you.” She fingers his face gently, but all the firmness is in her voice. “And for Camelot. You cannot leave here so troubled. You must focus on the task at hand.”

He sighs, letting out a full knot of tension, and moves forward to kiss her lips, tapping at her chin afterward. “How is it that you get me so well?”

She shows it to him, her ring. “Years of marriage and woman’s intuition. It’s quite a strong armament.”

He agrees with a smile and pulls her in closer, locking his hands around her waist. “You agree with what I’m doing? Going to Camlann. Fighting this way.”

She nods her head as she takes a moment of enjoying his closeness, but then moves past his hold to help him get the wrist cuffs on too. “I think you are right about the dangers of fighting here. Too many would be hurt. Morgana has already entered the kingdom by force before. She could do so again. And then, what? This is better.”

He quietly agrees and sees soon she is done with all his armor. Arthur moves away, looking for his cloak upon the table, and wraps it around his shoulders. As he goes to fit the buckle she walks towards him, holding it herself.

“Arthur…”

He shakes his head and she says nothing, clasping the buckle into place. But then he remembers something.

Gwen watches curiously as Arthur goes to his side of their bed, opens each box with each pair of keys and brings it out.

“The Royal Seal?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Gwen frowns as he places it in her hands. “You are in charge as always while I’m gone my Queen. Camelot is under your command.”

She nods quietly, her head down, eyes studying the dragon pattern.

“Guinevere?”

She lifts her head and clasps his shoulders fervently. She presses her breast against his plates of armor and chainmail so closely that she can feel the roughness. Her kiss drains from her lips upon his cheek, before it finds his mouth. His joins eagerly. A bit desperately.

They delve into each other, a mess of hands pressing and pulling. Tongues tangling. Breaths gasping at intervals.

“Be careful Arthur…” She whispers, heart beating fast and deep. “Do only what you need to and then come back to me…please…”

She presses her hand to his chest. Her eyes are full of anguish and hope at the same time.

He smiles bravely, touching that hand at his heart and holding it there, but then he frowns slightly. She is a wise woman, always has been. He knows she understands. This desperate choice, to go into battle this way, will mean rivers of bloodshed. There are many men who will probably not return. There is the strongest possibility, that he, the king, will fight his last fight there.

“Guinevere…”

“No.” Tears form in her eyes that she fights away with her persistent mind. Not now. She will not shed them. They are too indulgent, too greedy. He must be focused.

“No.” She says more strongly, pressing against his heart more staunchly, holding her hand solidly there. “I am so proud of you. And I love you so much. May you be strong, may you be safe…may your heart vibrantly beat, and may you by Heaven's grace, come home.”

There has never been any other woman for him. Never. Oh there were little flings and little bits of boy’s puppy love. Enchantments and such. Infatuations. Little bits of lust even. But not until her, has he felt his heart so full and in place. “I love you. Always. You’ll never be apart from me.”

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall upon his chest for a precious moment, but then she stands back up straight swiftly, nodding. She knows. There is that dreaded ugly chance. “My heart will always be with you.”

They clasp to each other one more time. Her hand has to be dragged from his heart before she finally lets go, and he fully leaves. She stands there holding the Royal seal in her shaking fingers.

And decides with lighting choice.

This may be the last time.

And if it is…

She will not let him go alone.

She will be right alongside, assisting with the wounded, and giving her husband all the support he may need.

She has never been an idle queen.

This is a very sorry time to start.

Gwen goes to their dressing furniture and removes all her riding clothes.

She’s going with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The choice for her to come is one both of them are grateful for. Arthur’s tent, since becoming king, is a vast one, and sometimes feels lonely. With her there, warmth is always surrounding him. She is glad too. He eats so little when alone at battle that at least her presence gets him to dine with her. Afterward, he spends so much time perusing their map of action.

Keeping her emotions in check, for she knows he does not need any type of weakness at this time, and she doesn’t need to divulge herself in it, she asks, at his heavy look of doubt, what is wrong. Then after his admission she gives him her truth.

Although his plan is ever so bold, it is right and wise, a king’s decision. To fight the war here at Camlann is frightful, yes, but it is the one way finally to put Morgana’s tyranny to an end.

Gwen is quite proud of her husband for making such an astute determination, with the keen knowledge that not all women would feel so. There would be those begging their husband to not join in on the fight, stay at home instead, seated upon the throne as death falls to the soldiers.

They might as well be dead to allow such atrocities.

And there is one more thing.

Since a young one, Gwen has thrilled at Arthur’s prowess in matches and upon the battlefield. Oh sometimes in the distant past his boastfulness would annoy her silly, but he’s matured now into a man she loves fervently. His valor is so commendable, as is his respect for what is good. His courage and fight comes not only from his muscle, but his brain and heart.

Years ago, when the Questing Beast bit him and she tended to his high fever, she could see it already. The supreme king Arthur was meant to be, better than his father. The kingdom itself had so much love for him, and secretly it was beating in her individual heart. She dare not tell him then for fear he might not feel the same. So she kept it inside, even though after he awakened he seemed to remember some, teased her for it.

Then later he came to stay with her when he was testing his true ability to joust by concealing his princely identity. After she shyly handed him a token to wear for luck, he smiled, and then suddenly kissed her. The slow break away, his gaze was one of wonder, matching her vibrant heart pang. His kiss made her feel so alive, a promise perhaps of what was to come.

However, loving Arthur Pendragon was never meant to be easy, one hardship after another. There was the temptation of Lancelot and Arthur’s father trying to marry him off. It took so long for them to finally come together but now here they are.

After his gratefulness for her wise council they hug. Then he lifts her into his arms, bringing out her sweet laughter.

It is a sound that Arthur dearly loves, and wants to always hear. It’s his wife’s sound. It and she is everything that most matters to him in life.

He seats her upon the bed and sits just a few inches across, touching her cheek and whispering meaningfully, “You’re right. Rest is needed.”

She smiles.

His lips find a spot right underneath her chin as he tells her quietly. “But not yet.”

The sensual answer delights and excites her.

On his knees, his hands, he crawls forward. She scoots backward, meeting the headboard. He surrounds her, legs, fingers. “I love you…” He whispers, his mouth parting, kissing the way up her face, to her closed eyes, her forehead, weaving around her nose, her chin…

“I love you too.” She whispers back, his lips consummately one with hers now. They pulse against her mouth. Wet flames. Torches of showering desire. Let everything be inside this tent. Contained.

Their chambers. Aflame with the beauty of love.

Under grasping, pulling hands, under mouths of adoration, clothing slips away. Bareness takes its place. Blankets shield and cause delicious friction. And eyes endeavor.

Each watches the other, pushing back at shoulders and whispering silently, wait. Make it last.

It could be argued that their true chambers are back in Camelot, but that is fallacy. Their chambers are the veracity of wherever they are contained together, just the two of them. That makes this tent them now. It is only within these shared chambers they are witness to it. The beauty of each other’s unclothed constitutions.

Her voluptuous curves. His male hardness. Little marks of birth. Memories of scars. Hidden imperfection. Tunnels of oasis. Uniquely adorned hues of skin.

His hands find her breasts. His fingers move over the curve. They cup the roundness. They frolic with the nipple. And she just holds him there. Shuddering a few times. Letting out little moans and gasps.

Her fingers find his stomach. She presses her hand into the much slighter paunch, for Arthur’s body is now so full of muscle there is little bounce in it. She goes further between his thighs. Strokes. Touches. Fondles.

A sword of passionate furies, his manhood vibrates in her hand as she gazes upon his gorgeous naked form. He lies without protest underneath her adorations. Just gives his own moans. Shudders his own bits.

Their passions are a storm of love, filled with erotic lightning sparks.

She pulses to his mouth, his hands, and he to hers. Their bodies move against the sheets in a fervor of joy and frenzy. Love. Seduction on their lips. In their fingertips. Skin presses and wetly thrusts. Flesh wet and wanting. A carnal menagerie.

Every impulse, every wish of no regret is here now upon their bed, within shared chambers. If this is the last time, if this cannot hold, if this shower of love is not meant to be once more, then they will not pull back. They will not forego the manumission of their emotions. Of their trembling constitutions.

Their tempest of feeling rises and lowers like their heaving forms. A squeeze here. A hiss of intention there.

Naked. Legs splayed. Hips thrusting. The foreplay of their earliest days is a shadowy memory. Even the fun with the gillyflowers is over. This is want and need. This is a firestorm of ache.

Arthur’s hands reach out for his wife’s bared legs. He widens them to lock around his waist.

Gwen lies back upon the pillows, her eyes looking up into her husband’s feverishly. “Arthur…” She murmurs.

And he is in.

“Oh.” Her arms extend to the headboard, hold it wretchedly. Feeling all his length deep deep inside.

Out.

In.

Her muscles below quake and quiver. Bring him within…again…again…

He grasps her hips. Squeezes and lessens the hold, squeezes and begins the pattern again. He watches their private dance, catches the passionate undulations of her venereal body. She takes him so deep inside, within her wet heat. It leaves him almost mindless, his head rolling back with a hoarse sigh of increasing satisfaction.

Low continuing moans escape her lips. She doesn’t want this to end, but the climax is at the peak, something for once she does not covet. For she fears when it is reached, when he is no longer so full and hard inside her, when sleep knocks stubbornly at them, that hour of dread will be closer.

That minute.

That second.

He’ll leave this tent and-

“Guinevere…”

His eyes, so blue, so struck of sky and ocean’s wonder, force her to concentrate. Bring her to focus. “I’m never happier than like this.”

She nods her head, feeling his hard thrust and hearing his groans.

His whispering confession is filled of urgency within all their physical exertions. He needs to say it.

“Here…now…it’s like we’re one.”

“Oh.” Her body is pulsing so fast. Vibrating and sliding on the bed until his hands hold her firm to placement. Until he doesn’t let her move so far. And she thanks him for it, because it beautifully gets him deeper inside. So far that her sheath of love, her scabbard of passion embosoms him, enthralls him. If only there could really be a scabbard that never let him be vulnerable. If only it could go beyond these chambers and shield him forever.

If only…

Oh…so much it hurts. So much it sends tiny lightning bolts of rapture through her, a precursor to the ultimate moment.

“Arthur…my love…” Tears form at the corners of her eyelids.

And at his. “My Love.” He says back. And moves faster.

So fast that she holds tight to keep up with the firestorm of their passions. To match and to keep it all within. To have him as much as he has her. To fully…

“Always remember this…always…you…me…together…love…”

He whispers against her wet cheek and she echoes it. “Always my husband…always…”

It’s enough.

“Oh…”

They cry out together. One piece. One climacteric of feeling. They shake so violently that for a moment it rocks the bed. Tears falling down their cheeks, they cling tight to each other, pressing and pulling into skin like it’s the only saving of life.

Like their lives are forever a connection of vital links.

When they finally descend it’s to a mess of blankets, it’s to glisten of sweats holding their bodies, it’s to the shared armor forever of each other.

When they come down it’s to the raging hope that love like this, within the arms of each…

Will be again…

and again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He strokes her back, fingers descending all the way to her firm cupped ass, and fondles there, giving a little pat. She’s holding onto his hip and between his thighs as she feels it. “Husband?”

He smiles sleepily. It is long moments since their storm of passions. And as much as it is tempting to just lie all bared like this together forever, he knows that is not possible. “Yes…Wife…”

A teasing reply to hers before he gets serious.

“Guinevere…I think we should dress into our bedclothes. Don’t you?”

“Mmmm…” She murmurs protest, but then looking up into his eyes, nods. “Yes.” She lifts her hand away from its more evocative position and tenders it at his cheek. “Yes…you need sleep.”

She really doesn’t want to think about it, but hours away is a battle he is set to fight. He must rest.

He lets out a dry laugh. “After what we were just up to, I think we both do. Ah…I’m sore in the oddest places.”

She smiles at his bit of a joke and consents. “Me too. You were quite lusty tonight my husband.”

He fingers at her nose. “And you were plain wicked at moments.”

They giggle together, in private chambers. And consent to find out where their bedclothes reside.

…

Once in all the proper wear, they lay back down upon the bed, holding each other close. It doesn’t take long for her to see that his eyes are looking away, beyond her face to the walls of the tent.

“Arthur…what is it?” She asks, pressing her hand down upon his chest. He doesn’t say anything right away and so she rests her cheek upon his chest, looking up to his face, but waiting.

Finally, “I still don’t get it. Why he didn’t want to come.”

“Merlin.” There is no surprise in her voice, only quiet acceptance.

“Yes.”

She rubs his shoulder silently. There are women who would be jealous or maybe even insulted that during private time their husband thinks about his servant. But there are many faults with that kind of thinking that Gwen finds.

Merlin is not just a servant. He is a friend, precious and loved by all in Camelot. To her husband though he is almost like a brother. Oh now Arthur would hardly ever admit, but they are like siblings at times, bantering and ranting up a storm. Acting silly. And yet always protective. Merlin has always been there, going with Arthur on whatever jaunt it is. Hunting trips. Seeking out a dangerous beast. Encounters with bandits.

Battles.

“You miss him.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Arthur.” She states gently, but firmly.

So that he concedes. “Alright. I make light of it, but I do believe Merlin is brave. One of the bravest men I’ve ever known. I just don’t understand why this time he didn’t come.”

She reaches up, brushes back some hairs from her husband’s forehead, gently kissing his brow, and then lies back down upon his chest, with calm response. “Like you, maybe he has his own duty to follow.”

“So you believe that story that he had to get vital supplies for Gaius?” Arthur asks with skepticism. “Well I don’t.”

Neither does she, especially after her talk with Gaius. But now is not the time to go into it. Not fully anyway. “I believe that Merlin has a purpose that should be respected and that as his friends we should not quarrel with. Alright Arthur?”

His hands rub at her back. Her wisdom as usual is precise, direct on the target. He doesn’t fully like it, but to keep musing on it is not going to solve anything. He supposes he’ll find out soon enough what Merlin’s purpose is.

“Yes…you’re right.” He quietly concedes.

She smiles gently, pressing in closer to him. There is still that part of her that does not want to slumber, for the morning will hold departure, but for now she wants her husband to feel at peace. That is all.

She arches upward, kissing his lips, and then lays back down, grasping the material of his tunic, her fingers tendering over it and him. “Sleep…Arthur.”

“Yes…” He sighs, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep…” His eyes are now so drowsy, his body languid. “Sleep…together.”

And so they do even with the sounds of swords being prepared for fight outside. Even with so many watchful and wary.

They hold each other and find gentle repose.

…

Just maybe a few precious hours later that repose is cut short far too early.

He feels it. Sees it. So strong it is that it jolts him awake. Merlin.

Merlin?

Talk of Morgana. A path and…

His alertness wakes up his wife. Gwen rubs at Arthur’s shoulder to get him to rest again, telling him it was only a dream.

But none of this feels that way. Instead like something else. Something more powerful. More threatening. Something…something to listen to.

A path. Morgana. Find…

Find…

The…

Path.

It comes to him so suddenly that Arthur jumps from the bed, hearing his wife’s cries, but he ignores them, rushing to get his coat on and then hurrying outside the tent.

Gwen clutches the bed covers, thinking how just moments ago they were together, his precious arm wrapped around her, his hand touching her hand.

And now…

She presses her hand to her heart, hearing the horrible action outside. It can’t mean…it will soon begin.

“Oh so foolish.” She laments.

It’s been a beautiful little hope. That she could contain him always. Keep him safe. Keep him asleep. One her silly little heart held.

But her sharp mind always knew. There was no way. This is to happen. He will fight. She cannot stop him.

Deep in her soul she does not want to, for why would you want to break the man you love? Why would you rip him from his purpose? Why would you hide away in a bed while he prepares for war?

“No.” She states firmly, pushing away the bed covers and standing. He still has to dress. She can get it all ready for him, assist him in putting it on since Merlin is not here.

Merlin? He was so certain that it was not a dream, that it was something about Merlin, but no kind of chimera. So what was it then? This must have something to do with what Gaius told her. It must.

Oh, be calm. Let that go for now.

She will find out soon enough. She needs get all his things in place so that he’ll be ready.

She picks up all the heavy pieces in a rush, laying them upon the table where he has the map.

As she finishes getting it set up, he enters the tent again, pulling his coat away from his shoulders. He goes to get his armor, but then stops as he sees her standing there.

“Guinevere?”

Moving to her husband, Gwen helps him shrug his coat off. “You have to go now, don’t you?”

He nods his head slowly. “It was a warning message. From Merlin.”

She stares at him with question. “What? How do you know that Arthur?”

He shakes his head, answer uncertain. “I don’t really know. I just…I can feel it, alright?” He holds her hand. “I can feel that somehow Merlin was warning me. There’s another path Guinevere.”

She’s helping him get his white tunic off and reaching for his red one as he talks.

“There’s a hidden one where Morgana intends to outflank us. I sent Percival and Gwaine to find it. There’s no time. She will attack tonight.”

Gwen gasps a little, but not so much in surprise. The dream was enough. It’s just still such a heavy weight upon her heart that her husband will be out of this tent and fighting a war as soon as she has him ready of wear.

It’s too soon. It’s too…

“Guinevere.”

Gwen ends her reverie, reaching for it, two things actually. She brings one out. “The Seal.”

He nods his head. It is on a cord that he attached it to hours ago. In battle when his wife is with him, he wears it. She lifts the cord over his head and shoulders and fixes it into place. The rope is frayed, light, not so easily detectable and fully hidden by his armor.

Then she takes out the other piece, extending it almost as shyly as she had years ago. “I thought you might we-

Almost because this time her voice breaks on the word ‘wear.’

He gazes at the embroidered piece and grasps her tightly into his arms.

“Oh Arthur…” She cries against his shoulder, not able to contain it anymore, her heart pounding with anxiety.

“Ssshhh…” He holds her strongly in his embrace, comforting the woman who never is rash in emotion. His always at peace Guinevere, now needing his reassurance and so he gives it, with whole utterance.

“Ssshhh…Guinevere…ah my love…Ssshhh…don’t cry. Guinevere don’t cry.

Please.” But it doesn’t hold, his firmness. Her tears are his shattering. He can’t take it honestly.

It’s his voice falling apart too that makes her give a shaky, but determined sigh. A breath of resolution. She must be his shield. His armor.

She pulls away, trembling fingers reaching out for his cheeks, wiping at his tears before he can alleviate her of hers. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” He smiles with love in his eyes, shining within all the tears. “No. Never be sorry. For loving me. For giving me all you give me. This…”

He gently extricates the embroidered piece from her hold. “This token and so much more. For opening your heart to me Guinevere. There is no one I love in this world more than you.”

His hands firmly grasp her arms. “NO…one.”

She clutches her mouth. The truth seeps from her veins. Her breaths. Her soul. “No one for me either Arthur. You are my only family left.”

She reaches out to his heart and he does the same to hers. “And you are all I have left of mine.”

It is there now. So thickly there. The possibility. The awful chances of fate that may brew this night.

But neither can languish in that. He is set to fight this war. She is set to support him in it.

Gwen lets out another pained breath and reaches for his cheek, caressing it as she asks, “May I put it on you my husband?”

He smiles. A slow one that fills his face. “Yes. Please do.”

It is embroidered upon the scarlet fabric, the beautiful golden symbol of Pendragon. It is all made by her, once a seamstress, now a Queen.

Gently, she ties it around his naked arm, where he wants it. So no matter what happens, he will always feel it, her handcrafted work of love.

When she is done, his kiss is to follow. It pours from his lips like a shower to rain upon hers. He holds her close, hands pressing into her backside, grasping at the material of her nightdress, clutching her body against his. Let this be their forever tenure.

Never apart. Always together.

Let this taste of each other never be lost. Let love always flourish. Passions always climax. Let the furniture, the floor, the bed of their precious chambers back in Camelot once again feel their heated nakedness. Their lovemakings. Let conversation never drift away from their mouth. Let hands touch again, clasp and gather. Let words of ardor come once more.

All this is in mouths that swell with the waters of fervor and sentiment.

All this.

Like the first kiss. Mouths exploring. Like her first one pressed upon his lips, a dip of her body. Like the one when his father wanted to separate them, angst of hands needing to hold and keep. Like the first battle for Camelot, a beautiful whisper of emotion.

Like all they have felt in each other, it is the joy and pain of life.

It is them.

And when he parts from her, his look is that one of wonder from that first time. Her descent is with half lidded eyes, parted lips. Wanting more. Yearning for so much more.

But he nods. And so does she.

His clothing to fit him with is in her hands and she is securing it all over his body. As he holds still, watching her all the while.

She is a wonder of beauty, his Guinevere. A wonder of love and peace. If he can feel just a little of that on the battlefield, he will be alright, no matter what happens.

She finishes with the last of the armor, getting it on him and then stands back. He looks to the table and takes something out from wrappings of paper.

She smiles as he extends them to her, fighting to not cry again. “Gillyflowers.”

He nods with his own smile, pushing them gently into her hands. “Gillyflowers for my beautiful Gillyflower Guinevere.”

She holds them to her heart, struggling to not shake, to not convulse. “Thank you.”

He hears the tremble in her voice, touches at a fallen curl of hair. “I have to go.”

She nods, biting upon her lip so hard it almost begins to bleed. “I know.”

“No more time.”

Her face falls, her tears hard to stop. “I know.”

But hearing his voice weakly say her name she forces them back. Doesn’t allow them extrication. She reaches out instead, brings both her hands to his heart, and whispers, “With all my heart…”

His tear finds his cheek as he touches hers the same and whispers back, “With all my heart…”

Lips finds lips again. One last time maybe. If fate is cruel. If Heaven beckons new company. If blood is to be shed. If love’s happiness is to be short.

If…

There is no fast breakaway. There is no easy part. His fingers tangle and course into her hair. Hers travel thickly into his. The break of mouths feels forced. Tongues still taste.

Hearts still hold.

No further words. He wants to say them, but she shakes her head no. And he gets it. No more. Let that be the last.

Let that never be the last.

Let more words always be there.

Let love live.

Please.

Hands meet. They hold on.

Hold.

Until the drag is too far apart. Until he is slipping outside the tent.

Until he is no longer there.

And lowering her head she looks to their bed. To the fuss of covers.

Then beyond. She goes to get it. The box that contains the Druid prayer. She gazes at the unfamiliar words again and lowers herself to her knees.

Clasps her hands in prayer above. And whispers.

“Please.

Just…

Please…”

…

She does not move.

For seconds.

For moments.

Long ones.

Until it comes.

The cacophony of sound.

The firestorm of war.

Shared Chambers: Scabbard

2012-12-28T18:05:35Z

Title Shared Chambers: Scabbard
Rating PG-13
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen / a little Merlin in this one too
Word Count 4,845
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.11 /has angst and heavy foreshadowing, a bit of mature situations
Author’s Note These have been such a joy to write, and two more are coming. I feel a little pause before I write them though because I know they will be heavy and one will not even have much of Arthur in it. Oh…emotions. Thanks dear readers for reading. I adore you, and your interest in my stories is just lovely. Dedicated to you all, everyone who loves Arwen.

Oh and a note for my dear ‘Territories’ readers, I’ll be working heavily on it too, and try to get a new update up for you sometime next week. I love writing that story also. My goal, and resolution now is to finish all unfinished stories, not start anything new, but perhaps one story…I’ll say more about that later. It’s linked to these Chambers fics.

Shared Chambers: Scabbard

There is the tread of footsteps and then he’s there. She moves forward, seeing in his face the weight of rule. The unending heft of kingship.

“She didn’t take it.”

Gwen nods and looks to the window, seeing how the procedure is being put into its last bits, the plank laid down, the noose extended.

“She refuses to admit the truth. I have no choice. She will be hanged in a few hours. I will not blame you if you have no desire, but I will be standing on the balcony above. I will observe her execution as a king should.”

The words escape his lips in webbed tangles. He stutters and blurts, shakily. She vacates the window, grasps his cold hand, whispering, “And I will be standing by you. For you are my honorable king and my husband whom I love.”

She doesn’t wait for his falter, just lifts her hands and extends her arms, pulling him toward her. He grasps her upper arms, fingers tangling into the scarlet red material. His head falls upon her shoulder, his golden hairs brushing against, and his eyes wearily looking beyond. His sigh is heavy, dragged from his lips. And as she pulls backward she can see the increase of lines that each day crack more and more into his skin. It does not matter he is still a young soul. Kingship finds its way to abuse youth and vigor.

“I tried Guinevere. I swear I did.” He states plaintively, almost like he is seeking forgiveness.

Calmly she strokes his fingers, and pulls them and him against her heart. “I believe you. And the people have seen too.”

“She says I am just like my father. A brute. A merciless killer. When Mordred came to me, when he kneeled at my feet I saw the pain of loving someone swim into his eyes. I remembered loving you and begging my father to just let us go, let us be alone. As Mordred did the same with me.”

Gwen sighs, grasping her husband’s hands firmly in hers as she speaks with conviction. “But the difference is Arthur, I committed no crime. Kara has.”

She pulls him in closer, her hands still locked over his. In his face she can read his anguish, his revulsion at what is to happen. “You gave her a chance to repent and she did not take it. She has sworn up and down her hatred for you and her absence of care for the lives she ended, brutally, mercilessly. She accuses you my husband and yet she admits in a court of law with just a shrug of indifference that those men were nothing more than ‘casualties of war’. To spare her after that, after attempting to give her another chance, and still she says she has done no wrong, would put Camelot in the gravest danger. It would show you as weak and pliable.”

Arthur looks up into his wife’s eyes, reading her intelligence, so keen, her resilience so impenetrable and her heart so abounding. It is the most curious of physical characteristics combined. It is why she always amazes and enthralls him.

If there could be a scabbard to a husband, she is his. In nights of passion she contains him within her sun blessed glistening limbs. But in the hour of mundane day or that of the hour of potent duty, it is her peace and her order that is the scabbard then he so necessitates.

When Mordred kneeled at his feet and the young man began to cry, looking up into his eyes with misery, Arthur felt his agonies keenly, for it was the same for him when his Guinevere was nearly terminated of life.

However this is indeed different in that Guinevere was innocent, and Kara is not. Also Mordred deceived him, he who is holding in a cell now.

“I don’t want to hate Mordred.”

Gwen lets out a sigh at that. From the first when Arthur knighted Mordred she could see how much the young man meant to him, and Mordred has shown in-kind respect every day he has been in service. Until now. Until love and perhaps something else has interfered.

“Then do not.” She squeezes his hand, looking up into her husband’s wearied blue eyes. They have seen little sleep these past days. She has felt his shiftings upon the bed, been woken up in the middle of the night to spot him at his table, tiredly continuing the planning of war. “Hatred is an emotion that is only wasted. It serves no purpose. You need not hate someone just to be in disagreement with them. You are a man of compassion and if Mordred cannot see that then I am sorry for him.”

Arthur studies his wife quietly. “You see none then in Kara?”

Gwen ponders the question only for a quick moment. “Kara is young. You are right about that. Could she be influenced by another? Possibly. Morgana or such. But she stands upon a side that I cannot support and neither can you. To do so would place Camelot in grave peril, I remind Arthur.”

“Then you agree with my decision?”

His asking continues and so she lets go of his hands, tenders his cheeks with her palms. “Arthur you have done the only thing you could do. You gave her a chance, an out, and she did not take it. She is wrong about you. You are a loving passionate fighter of your people. You would never stoop to cause harm to Camelot or your men who serve you. I will not lie. A hanging is not something I want to see.

Camelot held in peace for so many years my husband. Your pledge to not disturb the Druid way of life, a pledge you have kept. It has been good, but there are those who do not agree with the peace that you and I seek. They want revenge, just a sad fact. So I will stand by your side, as your queen, and as your wife, and not let you face this alone.”

His lips come against hers. Press down and part her mouth to him. His drink is her essence to touch the desert of his tongue. Her lips around his are that scabbard again, containing him with care.

He whispers that he’ll be back in some moments.

It is sometime after he leaves that a party passes by their chambers. Hearing the clang of the guards’ armor, Gwen opens the door and makes a request.

“I will speak to her. You will give us a few moments.”

One of the guardsmen shakily answers, “My Lady, we’ve been told not to release her from her bonds. King’s orders.”

They seem hesitant as if the queen will object to that response. But Gwen shakes her head, putting her hand out in understanding. “I know. And that is fine. You may be privy to this conversation also. I know your discreetness fine guards of Camelot. My words will not take long. The shackles may remain.”

They seemed relieved by that as they take a few steps back, keeping Kara in their watchful eye all the meanwhile though.

Gwen steps forward, lifting her red scarlet dress some, and settling it around her waist to land regally at her feet again as she stops directly in front of the young Druid woman.

“My husband gave you a chance to be pardoned earlier today. You did not take it Kara. Why?”

Her voice is gentle, soft. Kara seems a little taken aback by it at first, before she lifts her chin. “Your husband required that I take it by admitting my crime. Well I have not committed one.”

Gwen smiles a bit with irony, before questioning. “You have not? And yet did you not admit to the killings of many men? Casualties of war, that is what you called them, yes?”

Kara continues to display pride in her cause. “Yes. A war that your husband has perpetrated by being a cold cruel ruler who destroys lives without thinking.”

Gwen eyes her firmly now, not letting Kara look away from her as she says nothing for a long while, just keeps up the lock of gaze, before she speaks of the personal. “And you are no destroyer?”

“I have hurt no one.”

Gwen’s mouth flattens to a tight line, before she whispers ominously. “Then you are a liar. For you see those men who you consider nothing more than casualties of war had lives and loves to fulfill their hearts.”

Kara swallows, but acts as if she doesn’t care. So Gwen steps forward more, treading upon personal space. “One was set to be a father, two months from now, give or take a few with how nature is sometimes unpredictable. Now his wife grieves and must be given safe herbal tonics to sleep so she has no nightmares in the night. One had a son who is no more than thirteen. And now must be the man of his homestead while he is dazed by the horrific loss. One had a lady who he wished one day to marry, but now she is broken of heart. And it goes on Kara. There are more with lives that you tarnished and destroyed. And yet you call them nothing more than casualties of war. As if they are parchment to be carelessly torn after error.

Are they your error? Your mistake? The one you do not regret. They are nothing but that to you?”

“Camelot is a land of unjust people who hold no regard for those who have suffered so many years-

Gwen cuts through now sharply, her voice rising enough to show her disagreement. “Camelot is a land of people who work hard every day to keep this kingdom at peace! It is a land that I love and the king of this land is a man that I love, and yet you come here and you speak of this place and this man with such lack of respect, such lack of care, within our court of law! You insult my husband, King Arthur Pendragon, with false truths and unfair accusations!

So hold your tongue on your lies. I will not hear them anymore.

Do you know what a scabbard is Kara?”

The change of conversation’s direction offsets Kara. She nods with a touch of exasperation. “Of course I do. It holds a sword. What does this have to do with-

“Do you love Mordred?”

Kara’s chin flinches some; she says nothing.

Yet a woman who is loved and shows love gets her answer right away. “You do. And yet you don’t seem to understand. To be a man’s love of life you must be like his scabbard, holding him within your embrace of living. Sheathing him protectively when needed and honoring what he holds passion for. Mordred came here to Camelot because he wanted to serve Arthur. He respected him that much. Your disgust in Arthur’s ways quarrel with Mordred’s beliefs.”

“You don’t understand-

Gwen fixes her jaw. “No. I understand. You spoke of Arthur’s father with ill will and I must concede he was not a king of the most just decision. His father caused me pain, but I don’t want to extend that pain to my husband. For I love him. I am his scabbard. I contain him in every way I must. If you truly love Mordred you will try to see why he does what he does. You would hear his hurt when you killed those guards, those ‘casualties of war.’ You would not force him to choose.

Oh you see Kara I too had a time when I could have selfishly made Arthur choose. But I did not for I knew my husband needed to be king of this land. The just wonderful king he is now. The one you question so and yet you do not understand an inch of him. You do not see that the greatest weapon Camelot has is the people’s love for him.

But most sadly Kara you do not see that the man you confess to love is in agony at you forcing him to take a side. His destiny is now tarnished by you and your greed of purpose. There is no crime until one is committed, and you Kara, committed not only one, but many.

Perhaps you serve Morgana, and yet do you know truly the woman you serve? She imprisoned me for days. Enchanted me to kill my own husband. Morgana’s heart is cold, Kara. So very cold. However, it is my husband that you accuse of coldness.”

Kara says nothing, but her gaze is now more fixed upon Gwen, listening.

“Let me tell you about my husband, Kara. Let me educate you about King Arthur Pendragon. He married me when my position in life, before I became queen, was as nothing more than servant. You see Arthur did not let that stop him from being with the one he loved. He knighted my brother, who had no inch of royal blood. And he has knighted others, with likewise circumstance, even Mordred. He has aided people who cannot afford the tax of living, by alleviating them of its cost. He is the kindest man of heart I’ve ever known. Robust just heart.”

Kara quarrels back verbally. “He is like his father, treats the Druid people without mercy, barbaric in his ways.”

Gwen shakes her head strongly. “That is not true. For years now Arthur has not gone near the Druid people, made no disturbance upon their way of life. As he said to you in the throne room, your sentence has nothing to do with magic or sedition. It has to do with that you murdered, more than once, and have no repentance for it. I love my husband, but I would never blindly support a decision of law. I support him entirely in this decision though you see Kara because it is the fairest. Someone like you, who turns knights against their king without remorse, who murders good honorable men without understanding of the cost of life, and who claims to love without respecting that person’s honored loyalties, is no good for Camelot, no good for existence at all. Your heart is too cold. You are a threat. And therefore you must face your judgment.”

Gwen starts to signal to the guards to take her, but then Kara’s words stop her. “And what about yours and your husband’s heart? He has not made up for his father or his own cruelty because there continues to be a ban upon magic. He seeks no end to a merciless sickening law. And neither do you. I do not fear death so much. I do not regret it. But I do regret that I will not be here to see it. Camelot’s fall. Its decimation.”

The words spit out of her mouth as Gwen slowly turns back to her, disturbed by much of what she says, recalling something of foreshadow that crawls up her skin and pinches, like blood seeking leeches.

“And with it your husband’s death. His blood soaking into the land, creeping out of his body, until his limbs cease to move, until his heart finds no more beat, until his breath leaks out its last exhale. It is coming Queen Guinevere, the final battle. The one where Arthur Pendragon dies.”

Her heart starting to beat terribly fast, Gwen holds her outer composure, saying nothing to Kara, just signaling for the guards to take her. This conversation is done.

When they are gone, she closes the door to their chambers, stepping further inside, going to the position of her bed furniture. Within the stand is a box. She takes it out and the rolled up paper that is inside. Months ago, when Sefa was just escaped, when her father was dead, when Arthur was facing Morgana for the first time in years, and when Mordred was found again, this message came into her hands, speaking of Camelot’s fall, and Arthur’s end of life.

Then there was skepticism about Mordred’s loyalty. That ceased when he seemed to prove himself and showed no link to magic. Now Gwen has to wonder darkly. Was this all the prelude to the end?

She shakes herself out of her dark reverie, putting the Druid prayer back in its box, and turning to the bed, seeing rivers of it.

Blood. Crimson blood. Floating among the pale sheets. Cursing its stain into the covers.

“Oh.” She gasps, holding her hand to her mouth, and extending the other one to the bed, shakingly touching it, and watching as the liquid drips down her skin, covers it with a body’s excrement of life.

“No.” She breathes. And hears the door. Looks back to see her husband, his face not directed her way. She painstakingly turns once more to the bed, to her fingers, which are now stainless.

The bed unmarred.

A foreshadow?

A chimera of what is to come?

Gwen shakes it away, wiping at her uncovered hands, stealing herself to be calm in her husband’s presence, to not show him what just horrified her.

Arthur steps into the room, his heart beating heavily, his legs feeling cumbersome. “It’s time Guinevere.”

She looks back to him, letting out a sober, but calmer look.

“Like I said, you needn’t go with me. This will not be pleasant to see. I know. I’ve faced these before.” He has: burnings, hangings, decapitations. Since age deemed appropriate by his father, just past twelve, he has been an observer of violent deaths of those who practice magic.

After so many, bits of numbness protected him, the judgments feeling almost ordinary.

Almost.

Never could he fully get rid of the grotesque feel.

His face is so haggard. His beautiful blue eyes so lifeless. Gwen moves away from the bed, reaching out for her husband’s hands, and tells him strongly, “I stand by your decision as it is the right one. So unfortunate she did not take your pardon. So wrong she would threaten your life and those of Camelot. We go together, Arthur.”

He nods his head, feeling his wife’s kiss upon his cheek, and leaning into it for a moment weakly, whispering with shaky breath, “Guine-vere.”

He doesn’t want this. She can feel it. His heart recoils, but there sadly is no other way, especially after the dark words Kara uttered to her. She has threatened Camelot and the love of her life. To leave Kara alive would be foolishly detrimental.

Arthur feels his wife’s hands at his back, rubbing and helping him to move, to stand straighter. She gives nod.

Time.

They walk out of their chambers, a unified movement of royal purpose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it is done, Mordred is gone, and sitting in their chambers, Arthur feels a fool. He has trusted again and been betrayed once more. Every person it seems that he has placed loyalty in, deceives him. It is exhausting. It yanks at his mind, making him feel such an idiot. Such a weak king.

How could he have been so stupid?

Now what? Would Mordred go to Morgana? Would they work together in alliance?

There is another tangle in his mind though, Mordred’s love, Kara. Her face as she died. Staring up at him. Challenging him. Telling him her only remorse was that she wouldn’t see his death.

Arthur doesn’t care about that, her foreshadow that is. Her bluster.

He just cares about Camelot, his wife, putting all he loves, all he is passionate about in the gravest danger. There will be no choice now, but to go to the gallows of war. To fight to hopefully one day, some time, some year, achieve peace.

But there is no time for this, these selfish indulgences in misery. He reminds himself silently and sparks to action again.

Arthur sends Merlin to get Leon. They lay out the map and work hard at finding the best routes to victory, although all seem far too shallow. For hours they labor. Every time Kara’s death creeps into his heart, he pushes it away. Has to get everything right. Has to be King.

It goes on past dinner. He ignores his wife’s calls for him to take a break. It continues to the hours of midnight and then finally he takes a breath, steps away from it all, and leans against the window. Silent. Finger nudging at his chin and lips.

Gwen touches Merlin’s shoulder, concerned for her husband. “He hasn’t eaten.”

Merlin nods, his own heart heavy. He could have kept Mordred away, never allowed this to happen, but he failed before. And now…

Now it is more dangerous than ever. For years Morgana has hungered to know the existence. So now…dejected…hurt…incensed…will Mordred tell her?

Will he reveal that he is Emrys?

It is a useless question for Merlin is almost certain he will. Kara is dead. Mordred is devastated, and hence a grave danger to Camelot and Arthur.

Seeing the heaviness in Gwen’s face, Merlin touches her hand. “Gwen, it will be alright.”

She says nothing, and Merlin can feel the deceptiveness of his words. He has this dark dread that maybe nothing truly will be alright again. But he just wants to reassure her.

Finally she nods her head, thanks him, and gives a quiet signal. Merlin understands and leaves them alone in their chambers.

Arthur moves to the bed, pushing his hands against his face, sitting there with his shoulders hunched, the effort of action seeping out from his body. It takes a few moments for Gwen to see that he is repeatedly shaking, and that odd queer disturbing sounds are escaping his mouth. She moves forward rapidly, lowering to her knees in front of him, catching more of the trembling, seeing the tears upon his cheeks.

“Arthur.” She whispers, extending her hands and arms, bringing him down against her, pressing him to her breast. “Oh Arthur.”

He knew the moment Merlin was gone and felt everything sag from there.

Always he tries to be strong, but when alone with just his Guinevere, he is never so naked that he can’t reveal his emotion. Its tangle with an ugly cacophony of moments. Mordred crying and kneeling in front of him. Kara hanging from the noose. Every betrayal that has ever caught him a fool. Each life horribly taken by the wars Camelot has had to fight.

The ones coming that fill him with ugly oils of dread. Two unfortunate possible outcomes, killing her, or being killed by her. He is not afraid to die, not so much anyways, just afraid to leave all he loves, to let down his kingdom and his wife. Oh his wondrous wife.

She is holding him tight, but Arthur pushes even further into her warm arms, feeling inches of freezing climbing up his flesh. He needs her every presence, needs to be enwrapped by the scabbard of her love, her devotion. To face this alone is too painful. So he sobs into her shoulder, cries into the scarlet material of her dress. His tears a river of regret, of shame, of fear.

It’s one of those curious moments, when that silly little farmer dream is not so far away from his mind. If only he could be anonymous and live with her happily somewhere. Just be not important. Just be-

“I’m here, Arthur.”

He shakes and sputters against her. Into her. He vibrates like a violent earthquake of emotions bursting out. A waiting explosion of agonies. His fingers clutch the soft red velvet of her dress, dig into the material. But she does not complain, just embraces him even tighter.

Her own tears fall forward. Let that prayer be a lie, a mistake. Let this war end with him not having to leave her.

She encloses her husband upon her sheath of love, within her scabbard of adoration. She holds him to her and wipes away his tears. Take away his rivers of pain.

His father would call him weak. Weak to grieve a woman of no worth being dead. A throwaway. But he is not his father. Always has had his mother’s heart. And it’s so heavy. Mordred’s face. The pain. Morgana turning away from him, using his wife. Sometimes it just hurts so much.

But what’s worst of all is fearing Camelot’s possible fall. Because of his fault in trusting, believing.

“I’m a fool.” He finally breathes out. “I’m such a stupid fool.”

Gwen shakes her head hard, not allowing him to believe such a terrible thing.

He is not done though, firm in his disapproving belief. “I am, Guinevere. I’ve trusted so many that I shouldn’t have. I’ve believed they would stand by me, that they wanted the same things, for Camelot to prosper, for a unification of kingdoms. I trusted Morgana, Agravaine, now even Mordred. And they’ve all deceived me. My father never trusted, or rarely. Maybe I should have just followed his way.”

She pushes back now, grasps his arm and shakes her head so solidly that he sees, that he hears. “No. You cannot believe that. You are NOT your father. And I am so grateful for that. I will not deny that you have pieces of him, that you loved him, and that it pains you he is no longer alive. But you have never been him Arthur.”

She reaches forward, digs past the material and lays her hand upon his naked heart, whispering for that part of him to hear. “You have so much in here. So much that few rulers have. Few people in this world. You are such a GOOD man. So strong. So vital and full of valor. Every time an ally needs assistance you are there. Every time the people in the kingdom need assistance, need a helping hand, you give it unselfishly. You treat your knights, men of noble birth and of much simpler upbringings like they are your brothers. You have never looked upon your servant and friend Merlin like he is expendable. You are passionate, and you are brave. You never sit back. You are always at the front of the battle. And your people will be there with you.”

She grasps his cheek with one hand. “But beyond that you are my husband. I have never loved any man more than you Arthur Pendragon. In our bed you are the fiercest lover. And the gentlest all the same. And out, you treat me like I have always been of nobility. You helped me those first days when I was still a little unsure, when rulers would come and not accept my new role so easily.

You kiss me, still my breath for seconds, and my body shivers with lightening thrills. You are the other part of me Arthur. I have given all my heart to you. I will always give that to you. Oh Arthur, you are no fool. You are a beautiful wonder my love.”

“But they betrayed me.” He whispers. Her words amazing and full, but even they can’t take it away, this ugly lonely knowledge. “They hate me.”

She caresses his cheek, looking solidly into his eyes. “They want what you have. They covet more. And people like Kara, they do not think how their own acts of vengeance will lead to just more pain. That their cause maybe is noble, but not their actions in it.

You could not spare her. As painful as that was. You had no choice. I stood with you on that decision and on every new one you will make. A fool would be alone, no one nearby. You are far from alone. You are no fool, my husband.”

He moves forward, pulling her up against him, needing and wanting her closer and so she yields easily. His lips press hard against hers. Their tongues swirl together. They taste and are tasted. They drink and fulfill. Every bit of her essence is everything to him, and that feeling is believed in return. It can be said he is truly the sword. The man of armor and vigor. And that she is the scabbard, holding him in, protecting.

But as they lay down upon the bed, and embrace each other, kiss each other, touch, feel, and delve within love, swim into the waters of passion, of adoration, of comfort, the position of the scabbard is not always so easy to find. He is her shield as much as she is his. He contains within her contains. At certain points they are like one unit, one piece of existence. So close. So pressed upon each other.

Love in cries of pleasured pain.

Love in needs of naked touch.

Love in shared chambers.

The scabbard is in each body, within both.

It protects. It shields. It covets. It holds.

For precious moments.

Because beyond the scabbard of their precious chambers, lingers the chimera of dread.

The coming final battle.

Camlann.

Shared Chambers: Indulgences

2012-12-26T15:56:57Z

Title Shared Chambers: Indulgences
Rating PG
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 3,046
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.10 / lots of speculation though too
Author’s Note This is another chambers series fics, inspired by the episode to fill in missing pieces. By the way, 5.11 Shared Chambers is coming. It's longer and written, but needs more editing. Following will be 5.12 and 5.13, plus a possible surprise. // Inspired to starry--eyed who brought up some important points about the after-effects of Gwen's time under Morgana's spell//helped me write this with a little more observance

Shared Chambers:Indulgences

Morning comes to which he wakes early, but she still slumbers and he feels no rush to get her to join him. It has been a little more than a week since the cleansing ritual, the Dolma ending Morgana’s spell. When they first returned home there were for sure bits of confusion. The loving moments, the truest moments that were produced by the depths of her fighting heart, his wife could remember with more clarity. It was those moments of puppet control, of Morgana’s dreadful influence to cause harm, even death, that his wife had little to no recall of.

She wanted him to tell her everything, but he had no ease with that at all. So she went to Merlin and got the gist of what she wanted to know most. Arthur couldn’t help but be angry at Merlin for a bit before his wife showed him why it was so important that she understand more about what happened during that time. With her good heart she did her best to make amends for anything that needed it and in that way was able to personally move past the horror.

Not everything was remedied though, which is why now he lets her sleep. Sometimes in the middle of the night she has awful dreams, or when waking quietly complains about disturbing thoughts when trying to sleep. They are the aftertaste of the spell and at times can be wretched and cause bits of insomnia. They anger him often as even her horrid experience in the darktower becomes a little more vivid. Within all that is her not loud, but solid grief of losing her brother. During the time of the spell she was not really able to properly mourn his loss so it is only now she can feel it honestly. And yet as is the norm for his wife, it is quiet and almost properly humble, her pain of loss.

The past week especially, during a time of not so many kingdom issues, Arthur has done his best to spend the bulk of it with his wife, treating her lovingly to different experiences of pleasure for both of them. A picnic in the wood, with Merlin attending, but then making himself scarce when romance grew to its ultimate height between him and his wife. Meals in bed. Walks along the coastline or maybe a ride to the ocean’s beachfront.

Sometimes he almost forgets how beautiful a place Camelot is. With its surrounding evergreen forest, its bordering rivers and its beauty of architecture, it is a true sight to behold. One to enjoy with love at your side.

After he sends Merlin off, he studies his wife more. As she is in everything, Guinevere has rare kind of beauty.

Something unknown, he noticed it actually when they were growing up. Guinevere had always lived in Camelot, but it was her father’s expertise in sword making that brought them to the center, where the most exciting things happened.

Just a year past that he imagined it was that Guinevere became Morgana’s handmaiden. She was different in that too from the others. It wasn’t rare for the handmaidens to go into the depths of the castle to gossip without being found. Arthur sometimes listened in as he frequented there too secretly when he wanted to get away from one useless servant after another. And to get away from his father’s anger when another foolish servant ran running for the hills because Arthur Pendragon was so *scary*. Ha ha.

Never once though when he would go down there did he find Guinevere joining in with them. Actually, never did he hear her whisper a contrary thing about Morgana. Her faithfulness to her lady was so heart driven that it was something to be admired. Maybe even feel a bit jealousy at. None of his servants regarded him that way…not as a friend anyway.

Guinevere too liked flowers and that was the way he found her years ago, picking flowers in the middle of the wood, the first time they actually talked more than the formal greetings conducted within the castle.

She had so many bunches that she was dropping them, her face pinching with unhappiness before she calmly let some go and stooped down to rearrange the fallen ones. Getting an idea quickly it seemed, she gathered them within her red and white dress’s apron quietly.

“Need some help?”

The quiet blew up. His presence and what he thought was his muting voice strongly alarmed her, making her drop every single flower. Then she abruptly moved down to her knee. “My Lord.”

He shook his head, giving a wry smile. “Do you…need some?” He couldn’t help it, making his voice sound insistent. From the time he could speak his father taught him to never sound shaky or irresolute, always give voice like one in command, for one day he would be.

As his voice got that bit of grating edge he could see, even though she hid it quite well, that she was a bit put off by it. “No need my Lord.”

She moved down to two knees, saying nothing more as she gathered the flowers, but he could tell her hands were now shaking.

A few of the gillyflowers seemed to leap out of her trembling hands, falling to the ground once more. He took a step forward, his fourteen year old body just a bit taller than her equally aged one. “You don’t always have to call me that. Especially since I’m not even close to being crown prince yet. You can refer to me as Arthur. I don’t mind.”

Now she looked up and he smiled as he could see that her dark curls, although bound back, many were betraying the ribbon tie, and falling forward freely, tickling at her nose. He gave a slight gasp as she pushed them back suddenly, harshly, away.

“Guinevere?”

“It’s Gwen.”

He handed her some of the flowers, noticing how she kept her hand far away from his as she took them into her grasp.

“But I thought you were first announced as Guinevere?”

She looked up at him again, a pinch to her face. She probably was thinking about how even though he had seen her many times in the hallway he never bothered to call her by name. Not until…now. No bother ever before. He was always like that. But her disapproval didn’t quite feel so right. She was a servant girl, really nothing more, but still…something different.

“It is my given name Prince Arthur. But I am Gwen. It is what everyone calls me.”

“Oh.” So he’d just call her Gwen from now on. Yeah.

Hmmm. Guinevere fit better. Taking a look again at her face, he was sure of it.

She nodded and then oddly enough started to spout it out. “These are gillyflowers, my favorite really. The Lady Morgana loves them too. They’re as gleaming as your armor.”

His eyes widened. She continued in a rush.

“Well not your armor specifically. I didn’t mean that of course. I just meant armor…because it gleams…shines like…lightning.” Her nose scrunched up, her eyebrows pitching with uncertainty. It was a burst of nervousness and then it was gone, her face falling back down to concentrate on her task.

He helped her gather more, feeling a bit of nature’s presence and her quiet not really disturbing, but more calming on his busy mind and always ready for action body. Just sitting with her, collecting the flowers, he could almost hear his breathing. Relax in it. They got to the last of them and she started to get up, but he grasped her wrist.

“Gwen?”

She peered down at him, biting her lip some with more uncertainty. It once again didn’t sound quite right, and yet he let it go.”Remember…you can call me Arthur. Like if you need something sometime or whatnot. You can call me…Arthur.”

She stared down at him for a moment and he gently let her wrist go. Then after giving a slight, almost not there, nod, with her gillyflowers clutched in her apron, she left him, alone.

It was maybe a year later he was being bullish with one of his many annoying servants. He was using him for target practice while she was outside too, tending to the launderings. An unhappy look crossed her face, and it must have bordered on disapproving, because one of his friends noticed with a sneer.

“What are you looking at Servant girl? Put your nose back in your work.”

She frowned at his friend, but then turned away.

“You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”

“What, she’s a servant Arthur!”

“She’s Morgana’s handmaiden, and also a girl and she’s just trying to do her work.”

“Yeah, and looking at you like what you’re doing is wrong. As she isn’t an inch of royalty, she has no call to do that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything more, changing the way of the conversation and actually ending the display with his hapless servant. Then when it all was done and his friend excused himself to take care of some tasks for his father, Arthur walked over to Guinevere. She was scrubbing at a dress, her attention totally upon it.

“Hello Gwen.”

He couldn’t help notice how she didn’t look up right away. It took a few moments before she faced him, giving a somewhat curtsy, as awkward it was while she was centered on her work.

“My Lord.”

He studied her for a moment, noticing how in the hot summer sun she was sweating some, having to wipe at her brow a lot and her dress one of her thinner ones to ward off some of the awful muggy heat. “Was my friend right? You didn’t really approve of what was going on there?”

She faced him now with surprise, her hand stilling on the clothes, before she regained her composure and shook her head, letting it fall back down again as once more her task was of utmost importance. “My Lord I have been busy doing my work, as you can see.”

“But you were watching us.” Arthur stated, no question about it.

She lifted her head, giving a slight nod. “I saw some…yes.”

“And you don’t approve?”

She seemed to be quarreling with herself before she gave a frown. “I don’t like bullish behavior.”

“You’re calling me bullish then?”

She frowned, those eyebrows uncomfortably pitching. “I didn’t say that. I said that I don’t like it. When boys who are bigger than other boys act like bulls. Not that I’m calling you one. But when you see a bull…it can be nothing more than a…bull. Not that you’re one. My Lord.”

“But I’m bullish.”

He didn’t ask, didn’t need to. She raised her head again, giving another one of those disapproving frowns. And he knew she saw him that way for sure. It bothered him, for whatever reason then he wasn’t sure why. But another year passed and the girls started to be a big part of Camelot banquets. Girls of nobility, of perfect beauty and all that.

And yet still years later when Merlin was his servant finally and she was accused of sorcery, she called out his name. His first name without any protocol before it. She screamed to him, Arthur, and it started then, a wonder again to her unique natural beauty. To the girl who called herself Gwen and yet the fitting title for him was Guinevere.

His remembrance of the past is broken as Merlin comes in, of course forgetting the precious Gillyflowers. And of course beyond that his wife realizes that even if his intentions are good, it is Merlin who has done much of the work. She gives him that smiling and knowing look as Arthur tries his best to protest that at least it was his idea.

Then they enjoy the meal together. When it is done, Arthur snuggles up against her, kicking away the plates and tray. She giggles as they crash down to the floor before exuding her responsible tone.

“Arthur, that will need to be cleaned up. You shouldn’t make such a mess for the servants.”

He tickles at the edge of her ear with his finger. “Always so considerate Guinevere.”

She sighs some under his touch, reminding him, “I used to be one of those servants. Tending to messes that sometimes were the result of nothing more than indulgence.”

Okay. He likes how she phrases that last word. Adds a bit of naughtiness. “Well indulgence within private chambers isn’t always bad. See my Queen, we have a curtain around this bed and all for such private indulgences.”

She presses her lips desiringly against his. “We do indeed my King.” They kiss some more, but then he asks, fingers tendering at her curls of hair to bring some stray ones away from her face. “How did you sleep?”

She smiles at his concern that edges just slightly into his voice. He tries to be cavalier about it, but he worries regularly since the end of Morgana’s control. “I had no more dreams if that’s what you mean. Just that one when we first lay to sleep. They are rarer now, so that is good.”

“Yes, very good.” He sighs and taking her more strongly into his arms lies down with her upon the bed.

She frowns as his intention becomes clear. “Do you not have court business Arthur? Knighting matters to attend to? I must have some too, obligations of being Queen that is.”

She starts to lift from the bed, but he shakes his head, pulls her in closer. “No. To have such a strong Round Table Court and Council means that there are times I do not have to be there. If there are any emergencies they know to consult me. As for the knights, they too tend to their business quite well and should do fine without me for at least a day. And as for your obligations, you’ve been relieved of them this day. Everyone needs some time off. So hence, we get ours.”

She laughs softly, snuggling in against him. “Well I shall no longer argue against your will then…for this day that is. Whatever will we do with ourselves Arthur?”

He moves up to his knees and pulls the opening part of the curtain tightly closed, grinning back at her after he’s done. “Oh I have a few chivalrous and yet indulgent intentions in mind.”

“Chivalrous you say?” She asks with a wink to her eye as his hands grasp underneath her arms, pressing intimately into her back.

“Yes. What can be more chivalrous than a man attending to his wife?”

“Mmm…” She murmurs as his lips wetly find her neck. “Nothing I suppose.”

And within those concealed curtains they indulgently enjoy their day off.

***

The time of lightness is not meant to last however. Days later she finds him within their private chambers, a tight look upon his face.

“Arthur, what is it?”

He says nothing and so she closes the door and steps forward, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “Arthur?”

He holds at her hands, bringing one to his lips, his look still troubled, but her presence a pleasure to his heart. “Morgana has declared war on Camelot.”

She lets out a sigh, but it’s not one of surprise at all as she moves around him to stand in front. “And you are surprised? I can’t believe that you would be. She took me and tried to bend me to her will of ending your life.”

She whispers is with quiet passion against his face, a brush of her lips. “Thankfully she failed. But Morgana has proved it. She is determined to have her way. She wants Camelot’s fall.”

Arthur stares at Guinevere for a moment. There is cold truth in her words. It is what Morgana’s capture of her has done. Oh, by all understandings of heart, his wife is still the beautiful, peaceful, humble, yet strong woman he has always loved, but now too she is even firmer of purpose. Morgana, with her capture, with her setup to kill Elyan, has unwittingly made a stronger foe.

“She does.”

Gwen lifts her hands, touching her husband’s cold cheeks. He is tired and weary of the hatred, of the cold heartless pursuit. She has little doubt he will not sleep much tonight, mapping out courses of war into the latest hours. They will be ones that he will travel with his knights because Arthur rarely stands back from the strongest battles. He is always at the front, a warrior king.

Only in his white tunic, she frowns at the coldness she feels upon his face, and goes to their dressing wardrobe, bringing it out. She wraps it around his shoulders, bringing his hands and arms into the sleeves of his long warm coat for cold evenings. “Here…there is a chill tonight. I will go make up some cider too. Keep your heart warm.”

She goes to leave, but he catches at her hand, love in his eyes because even though he knows sometimes she does not like it, that he is this way, she understands him well. She knows the duty they both agreed to when he became king and she became queen respectfully. “Thank you. Guinevere, my Heart. You keep me warm.”

His lips press intimately to hers, his tongue rolling inside to connect indulgently with her. For just a moment. A bit of intimacy, before he lets go and she gives a slow smile.

Perhaps reluctance? Maybe a bit of want to fight? But he gets none. And beyond love and physical pleasure and desire it is why he is so entirely glad he married her years ago.

She is not so selfish to quarrel, to hold jealousies or ugly disagreement when he must think of the kingdom.

For she thinks of it too.

She leaves the room and Arthur presses his hand to his heart, where hers just touched for a second. Feeling that lingering warmth, helping him to move to the desk and begin it.

A plotting of war that he darkly wonders…

If Morgana has her way…

Could it be his last?

Shared Chambers: All

2012-12-08T18:52:19Z

Title Shared Chambers: All
Rating PG13
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen {also Merlin and George in this one}. Also Tyr's mother Gelda {thank you pastelwinter for the help with her name}
Word Count 7,916
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, 5.01-5.09 / mature situations at times
Author’s Note This is a scene extender that probably goes quite AU after a while. I don’t think the show is going to give us this for 5.10, which is fine, looking forward to what they do give, but this is what 5.09 inspired in me. Bradley and Angel were just beautiful in once again bringing Arthur and Guinevere to life.

This one’s a belated present for belindapendragon who is a wonderful positive part of tumblr and who recently celebrated her birthday and for the wonderful ella_rose88 because she is such a dear friend and so talented.

Shared Chambers: All

Gwen pushed to get away from him. It hurt, and it made her angry, how he kept forcing his hands upon her. How dare this stupid man keep forcing her to listen to him! Had no right. She didn’t love him. Everything she did, it was for Camelot’s rightful queen. It was for Morgana, who would make everything alright. She would keep away the black slime. Morgana. Not Arthur.

Oh what was he saying now? Still forcing her to listen, his hands gripping her arms so hard it made her even more furious. He needed to let go! She didn’t want his touch, she didn’t want the black slime to invade. She didn’t want-

Wait. Suddenly he was letting go. He said something and his hands were letting go afterward. He said something so potent. So-

“With all my heart…”

And he kept saying it. She watched with confusion as he backed to the water. But something was lifting. Some cloud over reality, some block on her heart, was slowly ascending. It was sliding past and letting her see again.

He stopped holding her so hard, and now he just moved to the water, watching her. Watching. Repeating it one last time.

No. It wasn’t him. It was her. It was coming from her lips. Being whispered out. As she could feel it. The truth, eking its way past the black slime. Gasping to be let go.

He entered the water, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. And yet there was worry in those eyes. There were touches of fear. He had let her go and now he was scared she might run. She could feel it.

The other part yanked, clenched, telling her the black slime would cover her body, would take over if she did not listen to her rightful queen.

She could not though. She could not run away from this. Not from his hand extended, coaxing her to come. To be with him in the water.

It pulled her feet apart. It made them tread forward. She took each step like a babe first walking. But she made each move, past two others that were there. It did not matter. Her eyes were only for the man standing in the water, waiting.

She felt herself entering, his fingers grasping hers, his hold so gentle, and yet firm. She feared for a moment. What was she to do, drown?

But no. He gestured just with his eyes, with a slight nod of his head to keep going. They told her everything. That she was safe. That he would let no harm come to her. That this was the way it had to be, must be, and she needed to enter more. She needed to fully be in the water.

So Gwen nodded, and took more steps toward the middle. A voice was coming from behind, not Arthur’s, another one, chanting, yelling words. It was all so foggy though, as something else was so much more vibrant, clear. A cloud just kept lifting. A haze kept blowing away. A heart became unblocked. As whatever that horrid black hanging thing was, disintegrated from her soul.

Oh.

She was free. In the water. Free.

Her husband, her beautiful dear husband standing there just a few feet away. Her Arthur. Her oh so precious Arthur.

It felt like years since she had seen his face, his strong body. And his eyes, there was so much pain in them now, so much uncertainty. So she smiled with all her new awakening, brought out her hand. Beckoning to him. Come to me my husband. Come to me now. I love you with all my heart. Arthur, come.

And finally he did. Was. Treading across the water to her, getting there as fast he could. She kept raising her arms to him and then when he was there clasped him against her heart. Held him ever so near. As he grasped her too, held her tightly also.

It felt like so many moments they stayed that way. In his arms, holding him in her arms, she felt so warm, so loved, so passionate about life. In his embrace all was as it should be. No separation. No ugliness of uncertainty.

He had to pull away though for a bit, gazing at her still with a tread of uncertainty, even after his relieved sigh, even after his fierce hold. She smiled, touching it with both her hands. “With all my heart Arthur.”

The tears formed in his eyes, fell into the healing waters of where they stood. They floated among them, his salt to the fresh flow.

“With all my heart Guinevere.” He whispered back and he was moving forward again. So was she. Forgotten was anyone past them. Their eyes only could see each others. Their hands found skin and fabric. And their lips came together. She tasted his kiss, his tongue roll into her mouth, as he forgot they had an audience, as that audience discreetly turned away. She could hear his breath clutching, shivering. The waters were cold, but it was more than that which made him shake. Made her too. She waited for the sweet heat of his mouth to be parted from hers, before touching his arm, feeling the strong links of chainmail under her hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He sighed, gathering her by the waist, so they could walk out together…

…

These were Gwen’s thoughts of remembrance as she and Arthur entered their chambers. She looked down, seeing the mess her royal blue dress was, and noticing how pale his face was. Tired. Both of them so tired.

“Arthur…”

He pulled her against him, bringing his chin over her head. “I’ve missed you.”

That was odd. She knew why he said it. But the oddness was in that she didn’t feel like she had ever totally been gone. If she had, how could she remember Elyan’s death? How could she recall being in bed with her husband, loving him? How? Blurs and yet queer clarity also…how?

“I wasn’t me at all then?” She asked with confusion.

Arthur amended his words quickly. Never once in their bed did he feel his wife wasn’t with him. When they celebrated, when he gave her gillyflowers, all their love makings felt as vivid as ever, no difference, no bit of loss. But now he knew she was in a haze of confusion during that time too, with the most horrid moments completely blacked out it seemed.

“No. It was you. Of course it was you.”

She frowned.

Arthur let out a sigh. She needed to rest. That was all. After all she’d been through, the trek through the woods, his wife required slumber. And at the moment, he wouldn’t mind finding it with her. “Guinevere…let’s just go to sleep.”

She nodded her head quietly. Together, they helped each other with their clothing, got it all off and then put on their sleeping attire. He gazed fondly as she lifted the cream colored material of her nightdress over her naked shoulders, past her exposed breasts. It slid over her thighs, and found her ankles in the end. Then he pulled back the covers.

Gwen gratefully got inside, lifting her arms afterward to him. “Arthur…”

He climbed in too, moving against her side, and taking her into his arms. “Here.”

“Mmm…” She pressed into him, holding his shoulder and chest, her legs tangling with his. She breathed with a hint of complaint, moving against him even more. She’d never needed to be so close. It was like her body wanted to become one with his. Let it be that in sleep.

“Shhhh…” He coaxed, holding her tighter, and getting her to finally still. “I’m here, alright? Always here Guinevere.”

She thought of Elyan for a moment and burrowed harder into him, a sob escaping her mouth.

“Guin…” His hand kept stroking at her hair, his fingers tangling into the curls. They would both need a bath later without a doubt, but for now, to just be close to her, was what felt right. Hearing her start to cry though, that brought on a plague of pain.

“Elyan. I can’t believe he’s gone. I’ve felt the pain of him being torn from me, but now it’s sharper and now-

“I know.” If he could hate someone, completely, a part of his heart now did hate Morgana. Oh it hurt, her betrayal, but the anger was there too. Full of fury like a thunder cloud that swelled with torment. It was one thing to come after him, but after his Guinevere? No. Not his love.

Guinevere never once hurt anyone, especially Morgana, and that was how she was repaid, with evil treads of sorcery. Well gauge your war carefully Morgana, he thought, because you made the mistake by going after my wife. I won’t let you touch her ever again.

“Arthur…”

“Oh.” He pulled her harder against him, kissing her lips as his hands pressed against her cheeks. Just like her, he wanted no separation.

“Arthur, how long was I under Morgana’s influence?” Gwen pressed her hand against her husband’s chest, stroking the finely haired skin. “I don’t remember the exact amount of time. I know some things I did and felt then, but a lot of it too is foggy and-

“Guinevere.” He whispered quietly, to get her to be silent.

“How long Arthur?”

He let out a wearied sigh. “Some weeks, close to a month.”

She echoed his words, with surprise, and dread. “Close to a month?”

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “Now don’t dwell on it.”

He brought her in tighter against him as he shifted his head on his pillow to be comfortable, to make sure she could relax her head upon hers. But then-

“And in that time, what exactly did I do? So deeply under her influence, how did I serve her?”

He was trying to close his eyes, but her words wouldn’t let him. Bringing his hand through his hair tensely, he looked, seeing her eyes fixedly on his, needing to know. He didn’t want to tell her though, didn’t want to hurt, didn’t want to burden. She had the purest most beautiful heart he ever knew. She gave it to him entirely when she married him. And Morgana played with that. She stabbed it with her dark magic. She turned his Guinevere into her puppet of choice. But the witch should have known. No way would his wife ever totally succumb to her whims. She was stronger of soul than that.

And yet…

“You just did some things that she wanted you to.”

“Did I hurt anyone?”

Seeing the plead in his wife’s eyes, hearing the ache in her voice, Arthur felt the wetness well in his. This was worse than just trying to kill someone. Morgana tried to twist his wife’s soul. She had no right. No right at all. “No. You hurt no one.”

“Arthur-

He grasped her arms. “Guinevere, it helps none to talk about it. It’s over. That’s all that matters. Morgana can hurt you no more.”

Gwen sighed, seeing that as hard as this was for her, it was equally hard for him. He was making it about his guilt very possibly that he hadn’t protected her well enough. “Arthur, did I hurt you?”

He shook his head hard.

Seeing that this was maybe too much, Gwen moved forward on the bed, cupped her husband’s face. “Arthur?”

“No.”

And she knew he was lying. His eyes averting themselves from her. She knew.

“That’s not true.”

Arthur lifted his head some, focusing on the ceiling. He now knew she poisoned him. But to him it wasn’t really Guinevere that poisoned him anyway. It was Morgana. Because it was Morgana’s will. It was Morgana that killed Tyr and that young boy. It was Morgana who set everything up because of her sick lust for the throne.

Arthur ruled with pride sometimes, but mostly with his heart, he tried. He wanted to protect Camelot, protect what his father created, even with all his faults. He wanted to rule over the greatest kingdom he ever knew with love at his side, with his wife giving him council and showing her firm authority that balanced of heart.

“You didn’t do it. Morgana did.”

Her expression was a frown. Arthur pulled her against him. “Can we sleep now? Guinevere?”

She stroked his cheek, to the line of his hair, seeing the weariness there, the treads of worry. He could not tell her this. She was seeking out the wrong person. Arthur did not have the strength of heart to do it. “Yes. Let’s sleep my husband.”

He nodded with relief, pulling her against him, and feeling her hold him in return.

Sleep. That’s all they needed. Everything was over.

All done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock.

“Come in.”

Merlin gave a small smile. “My Lady, you need me to do something for you, the laundering, the-

She put up her hand. “No.” Arthur was at a council meeting. Usually she would attend too, but he insisted that she get more rest after her ordeal. She didn’t fight him on it, wanting this moment.

“Then what is it I can help you with, um, my Lady-

“Merlin- Her brow crinkled. “We are friends still, yes?”

He stopped all his fussing, focusing in on her troubled expression. She looked the same as always, beautiful in her lavender dress, but she also looked troubled. No wonder after what she’d been through.

“Merlin?”

He smiled softly, taking a step forward to meet her extended hand. “Yes Gwen. Of course we are.”

She nodded her head with conviction, leading him further into the room so he could sit at the table. She sat at the bench that sat near the window, adored with lavender fixings. “Good. Then you will tell me the truth.”

Merlin frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

She cleared her throat, like how her whole mind was starting to clear now, but needed more answers. “What happened when I was under her influence Merlin? I know the time I spent with my husband. And I know bits and pieces. I know Elyan died…” Her voice broke. “In my arms…I know that. But what I can’t recall is what I did for Morgana. And yet I know I had to have done much. If I hadn’t, it would not have lasted so long. I must have been successful in some things. So please Merlin, what did I do?”

Merlin could see his friend’s pain clearly, but this was not right. Arthur might not like it. “It’s not me you should be asking, Gwen. It’s Arthur.”

She shook her head profusely. “No Merlin, don’t you see? Arthur will not speak of it. He doesn’t want to hurt me anymore. But I must know Merlin. There’s this darkness there, this haze of feeling. Something horrible pulling me into this abyss, but it goes no further beyond. There are no answers. All I want are answers Merlin. So I can live my life with understanding.” She got up from the seat.

Merlin could see the tears in his friend’s eyes, heard the quake of emotion when she mentioned Elyan. It was so vivid to him, how Gwen was now fully Gwen again. So soft, so gentle, so firm, so determined. And someone who would recoil at what she did during Morgana’s influence. He got up from the table, shaking his head. “Gwen, I’m sorry-

She ran forward though, catching his hands, slowly turning him around. “Merlin, please.” She reached out, touched his cheek. “Please. I must know. Please.”

Her eyes were so big, so needing, and he felt himself having no choice. Yielding to them even as he feared this might be wrong. Not what Arthur wanted. Even as-

“Merlin.”

Even as there was no choice but to tell her. He gestured back to the lounge seat. “Sit down Gwen.” Then he moved his chair forward, sitting directly across from her. “You were under Morgana’s influence. Keep that in mind, alright? You couldn’t control it.”

She nodded, gesturing for him to continue. So Merlin did, painfully, uncomfortably. He told her the truth. When it came to the part where she poisoned Arthur, he watched her clutch her heart and stomach in revulsion.

“Oh God.”

Merlin brought out his hands, grasping at hers. “Gwen. You were not yourself. You did not mean to hurt him.”

“But if I had succeeded-

Tears fell down her cheeks.

“No. Gaius was able to stop it. That’s all that matters.”

She frowned, but gestured for him to go on. So Merlin did, coming to the part where he was put in the cells.

“Oh.” It wasn’t easy to hear. None of it was really. This horrible feeling she had, that was what Arthur was trying to protect her from. She knew it, but to sentence her own friend to death for something she actually did, that was horrid to find out. “Merlin I’m so sorry. You must know I would never want to hurt you. And I would never believe that you could even think of hurting Arthur. Merlin…”

He sighed, grasping her hand again, getting her to focus on him. One of the lightest moments of his life had been turning into the Dolma and ending this disgusting spell. Seeing Gwen and Arthur embrace, feeling their love even from so many steps away.

He knew of course it hadn’t really been Gwen doing all those awful things. It was Morgana’s influence, Morgana’s twisting of magic. He needed to get her to see that now.

“Gwen, I know you wouldn’t. I told you, that you can’t think it was you. Because it wasn’t. It was Morgana, Gwen. She enchanted you to do all those things, using the mandrake, using-

“You’re leaving something out Merlin.”

He was. Tyr. Merlin met Tyr through Gwen, years ago. She and he had been friends for quite some time. This would be the worst for her to hear. He was hoping to spare her from it.

“Merlin…you must tell me. I mean, how did it all start? What did I accuse you of exactly? Wanting to kill Arthur…but…the part before, it’s blurred. What was going on there?”

Finally he told her. He told her how Tyr was accused of tampering with Arthur’s horse. How Tyr was killed before the truth could be revealed.

“But who would do that-who-

Merlin didn’t even have to show a troubled expression. Gwen knew by his silence, by the awful heaviness that lay in the air.

“Oh no-

She pressed her hand against her mouth, tears rolling from her eyes. “No Merlin…please-

He grasped her hand tighter, pulling at his friend to bring her up from the lounge. “Gwen…”

“Oh for the love of Camelot…no…”

“Shhhh…” He pulled her in against him, somewhat awkwardly rubbing her back, knowing that if the king came in now, despite understanding they shared a friendship, he might just be a little peeved.

Gwen looked up into his eyes, seeing Merlin’s comfort there, but also feeling the horror of what she did. “How?”

Merlin shook his head.

So she asked it more pointedly, telling him she would not relent until he gave her clear answer. “How, Merlin? Tell me.”

It was the kind of firmness she used as queen, that she just somehow had so strongly in her, even though she started life as a servant. “Stabbed. He was stabbed.”

“Oh.” Gwen pushed away from him, going to the window, but faltering before she could get there, her mind and heart filled with so much revulsion. Flooded by it that she clutched her stomach. “Oh my God.”

Merlin reached out to her again, but Gwen pushed with her hand to keep him away, shaking her head. “No. Don’t.”

He stayed still, bouncing uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Gwen. It was Morgana’s influence.” He told her firmly. “You had no choice. I know that. Arthur knows that. It was the mandrake. They tamper with your mind. They grasp control of it and fill it with the darkest horrors. Gwen, men stronger than you physically, trained to endure such terrors could not stand it. You had no way to fight it Gwen. You cannot blame yourself.”

Still holding her stomach, she turned back to him now, her face flooded with tears, her brows wrenched in pain. “How do you know so much?”

Merlin swallowed. “Gaius told me.”

Gwen stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “Tyr’s mother? Gelda? How is she?”

Merlin cocked his head to the side for a moment. “She’s alright. I’ve been seeing to her, making sure she has friends around. It’s been hard. But she’s starting to heal bit by bit.”

Gwen nodded her head, asking, “And was he properly buried?”

“Yes. I made sure of it. Arthur too when he knew that Tyr did him no wrong.”

“Good.” Gwen whispered. But it wasn’t enough. She had to do more. She just didn’t know what yet.

Looking up, she told him quietly, her voice shaking, “I’m so sorry Merlin. I’m so sorry for what you must have gone through with all that, Tyr dying and then feeling like your own life was in danger. I’m sorry for all that.”

Merlin shook his head hard, gasping his friend, the queen’s hand. “Gwen, I don’t want you to tell me that. Because you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t-

“Someone stabbed Tyr, Merlin. Me.”

“No.” Merlin told her strongly. Shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter who physically did it. You didn’t do it with this.” He gestured carefully to her heart, not touching it, but bringing his hand over.

“You didn’t want to do it. And so it was not you. It was her. And one day she will be sorry for causing all this pain. One day she will…”

His look was so far away, like it often was now, distant, alone. Gwen brought out her hand, touched her friend’s shoulder, trying to bring him back from whatever far-away place he went to often now. “Merlin…”

Seeing her tentative smile, he smiled now too, gathering her into his arms again. “We’re all going to be okay, Gwen. Everything will be.”

She was thinking of things. Pondering on possibilities. “Yes, we will be. I’m going to need your help, but everything will be alright. Somehow.”

Merlin knew she was hurting still, in such pain because she was a person of such good truth of heart, and it was not easy for her to hear the veracity of what the mandrake could do. But there was no way he could have held it back. She would have found out, and better at least to hear it from a friend.

“Are you going to tell Arthur-

She pressed her hand against his shoulder. “No. Not yet anyway. Arthur has tried to keep all this from me. For good reason. Loving reason. So please don’t tell him either.”

Merlin smiled, needing to tease, hoping it could bring out her laughter. “No. Never even told him about that time you kissed me.”

She did laugh now, a burst of needed release. Couldn’t hold it back, her face filling with wonder. Innocence of long ago. “Oh Merlin, that was so many years ago!”

“You had a crush on me.” He was blushing some now as he said it, but teasing still.

Gwen shook her head. “No. I was just young and maybe a little besotted. You weren’t as arrogant as Arthur then.”

He smiled fully, before reaching out, touching her shoulder. “You’re alright?”

Alright? What was that even? There was something so terrible about living your life for weeks and only having minimal control over it. “I’m okay. Thank you Merlin for telling me it all.”

He didn’t really. Not so much about the part where the Druid boy died too, where she plotted with that awful king. But enough. Gwen heard enough. It was all Morgana’s doing anyway.

The part of him that was Emrys was determined to one day fully stop her. To never let this kind of pain happen again.

“Just remember Gwen. It wasn’t you. Don’t forget that okay? It was NEVER you.”

She nodded with shaky resolution. “I won’t forget. Thank you Merlin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After her talk with Merlin about the truth of what had happened, Gwen did her best to make things right. With Elyan, all had been put into place already. He received the fitting knight’s send off to Avalon and beyond, that he should. Yet much of it was a blur.

So Gwen went back there herself one day. To send him off her own way, personally. It was a morning when Arthur was out of Camelot and so she was able to depart from the castle without much fuss. Taking her horse, she rode to the spot. Once there, she stepped toward the water, memories floating through her heart…

Of course he was no longer there. He had been taken to the waters, his body a pyre, but somehow she could still feel his presence, perhaps in her soul and so she smiled softly, looking around at all the nature, the forest trees, the blooming flowers, and hearing the trickles of lake movement.

She whispered.

“Do you remember when we were children Elyan? You were full of dreams always. I used to tell you sometimes to stop dreaming and start working, start doing your duty. Well you came to do that and more my brother. You were a knight of Camelot and I’ve never been more proud of you than when Arthur laid the sword down upon your shoulder and you became Sir Elyan.

You and I we did not always talk enough. We did not always spend the time together we should. You and I lived so differently at times, but we always came back to each other. Like when we went to go visit with Dad.

Oh Elyan…” She pressed her hand against her heart.

“I miss you so much. I feel a void in the knights now and I know they feel it too. Even Gwaine is more sober, thinking less of food.” She let out a trickle of laughter.

“Arthur is more protective.” She went on lifting her head some, shivering a tad. “Percival wears glimmers of sadness.”

“I remember so little of the dark tower. Arthur and Merlin say that’s for the best. That it was a place where bad things happened. I know that. I know what Morgana did there took a hold of me in awful ways.

But what I do remember of it is…” Her hand shook, the tears falling down her cheeks.

“Is watching you fall. And running to catch you. I remember holding you in my arms and begging Heaven to not take you from me. Pleading with Avalon to let you stay. I remember that because those feelings were MY heart. They could not be tampered with.”

There were treads of anger in her now along with the pain. She had felt herself experiencing it more, as she came to understand fully what Morgana had done to her. She took away her own conviction. But not even the darkest magic could fully steal her heart. It was there with Arthur in moments of love.

Oh the waking hours, the easy bits of day, it was a subterfuge, yes, but not in their bed, not when he kissed her, not when he loved her. Not all of that was some blade of pretend.

And it was never any blade of pretend either when Elyan ceased to breathe.

“I love you Elyan. And I am so proud of you. In your last hours you were the knight you wanted to be. You were a man of courage and honor. And no one shall ever forget that. I shall not. But beyond that, you were my brother, my family, my last connection to Dad, and because of that, my heart will have one tiny little hole in it. One more to join with the one that came from the loss of Dad. With that, I will always, forever remember you, live and love you.”

She bent her knees, dropping the flowers into the water, watching the gentle waves take them, watching them float away until they could no longer be seen.

Until…

“Goodbye my Elyan. Goodbye for now. One day we will see each other again, be with Dad, and my heart will rejoice. May Avalon’s blessings always hold you safe and dear.”

…

Gwen could remember that now as she sat upon the corner of the bed in hers and Arthur’s chambers. That was personal. That was her family. Beyond, in the past days, she had done more. She went to Tyr’s mother and confessed what no one else knew. She told her how the spell had taken her faculty and made her do that horrible deed. Now Tyr’s mother was a kind woman, but also a grieving one. She politely asked her to leave before Gwen could talk to her further. When she didn’t right away, Tyr’s mother rose with anguish, and so Gwen did leave the woman in peace.

It hurt that Tyr’s mother may never like her again, but Gwen didn’t care to indulge in her own sorrow. She instead enlisted Merlin to help her get a statue made. It would stand outside the stables, a likeness of Tyr and the horses he loved tending to. It would be simple, like Tyr, workmanship quality, like Tyr, but it would be a beautiful reminder of how special he was to Camelot.

Beyond that, Gwen made certain that Gelda's house be forever in her keeping. No one could take her home away from her. And past that even, without Tyr’s assistance in such matters anymore, she put in place an architect to fix any structural problems of the house and to keep a close eye for future ones.

Earlier that afternoon Gwen had been walking through the citadel, exchanging conversation with the merchants, and visiting with the people when a voice called out to her.

“My Lady…”

Wearing her burgundy riding dress, Gwen walked over quickly, although a bit unsure. “Gelda…how are you?”

The elder woman smiled. “I am doing well enough my Lady. Could I have just a tiny moment of your time?”

Gwen nodded. “Of course.”

Then she entered Gelda’s house with her. Before she could take much a look around, Gelda was moving to her knees. “I am sorry my Lady for treating you so wrongly before. I had no call to excuse you from my home. Please forgive me.”

Gwen stared down at the elder woman who when she was a girl would invite her for dinner, and who used to talk to her so familiarly. But now there was protocol and bits of division.

Still, Gwen bent some, reaching out her hand to take the other woman’s. “Gelda, please don’t. I am still Gwen.” She lifted at her to get her to stand. “You had every right. You were grieving. I understand that well enough after losing Elyan. There is no need for apology. I only hope that those bits I’ve done have helped some. Tyr will never be forgotten.”

Gelda smiled, tears glowing in her eyes. “Thanks to you my Lady. You are the most gracious and wonderful queen Camelot could ever have.”

Gwen shook her head, but said nothing. Then they sat down together, enjoying a bit of sweet bread and tea. Oh Gelda fussed about her so much still, now that she was queen. But for a few moments she actually forgot, calling her Gwen again, which made Gwen smile.

Now all that was done, everything she needed to put closure upon after the water and the sorceress’s freeing of her from Morgana’s grasp. Oh Morgana. There was a time Gwen still cared for her. But no more.

Perhaps she pitied her, but she no longer held the woman in regard. Morgana was cold, vicious, and nearly insane with her lust for Arthur’s throne. He was her brother and she would hurt him so? Taking away the woman he loved.

And what about the interactions of kindness they once shared? Morgana just forgot it all. That she could think she would use her as some puppet to mastermind everything she wanted, that she would use her to kill her own husband? The man she loved with all her heart.

No, Morgana was nothing more than a foe now. Someone to shriek at. And someone that sadly one day would have to be stopped.

With that grim thought Gwen heard the door open to their chambers. She looked back to see her husband, his handsome face smiling at her, before it furrowed into a frown. He knew her too well.

“Guinevere what is it?”

She moved to the window, seeing it starting now. The rain falling from the heavens. It would be one of Camelot’s first storms of the latter months that would lead to winter.

“Guinevere?” His hand was on her waist. She turned around to see his shaking worry.

“I know about Tyr.”

Arthur stared at her in shock. Everyone was sworn to secrecy. That it would not be spoken of ever again. That-

“How?”

“Merlin.”

Arthur’s look was furious. He started to stalk from the room, but Gwen caught his arm. “I asked him Arthur. I wanted to know. Do not be angry with him. He was reluctant to tell me, but as my friend, he revealed it. I left him no choice. I plead for the truth.”

Arthur squeezed her hands, his expression still troubled and questioning. “Why? Why would you want to know?”

“Because a life was taken, Arthur. Taken from his mother. Taken wrongly.”

He sighed, looking up to the ceiling, and then squarely in her eyes again. “You had no part of that.”

“I was the one who probably stabbed him.”

Arthur shook his head furiously. He hadn’t told her because of this. He didn’t want her to believe that she did anything horrible. Merlin should have kept his mouth shut, but he could see how persuasive his wife must have been, just by her need. She was quite good at that. “What you say is not true. You did not do such thing.”

Gwen smiled softly, walking toward her husband, clasping his waist with her hands, a bit surprised to see that at the moment he was wearing just his white tunic, not his chainmail which was the usual during the afternoon hours. “If I did, would you even tell me?”

His mouth had a firm flat line, his eyes looking around before they fixed back on her. It was answer enough.

Gwen pressed upon her toes, leaning in and kissing his lips quickly. “You would not. I know that because you love me.”

“Guinevere-

She put up her hand. “It’s fine. Arthur, I know that I was under a spell when all this happened. I have accepted that. But I still had to right the wrongs. Can you see that?”

Arthur nodded, saying nothing, and Gwen told him about what she had done for Tyr’s mother and how she went back to where Elyan had been laid to rest so she could properly say goodbye to him. Then she told him that these things were important to her to do, for they put closure upon the control Morgana had over her those days. Closure upon the pain it caused.

“That abounding heart of yours never fails to amaze me.” He told her when she was done explaining about the statue and everything else. Then he wrapped her into his arms. They stood silently for long moments, within their encircling chambers.

Then suddenly he spoke some interesting words.

“Fancy a picnic?”

Gwen pulled back from him with a furrow to her brow, gesturing to the window. “In case you haven’t noticed my dear husband, it is raining steadily outside. Now I doubt very highly you’re thinking to have a picnic in the mud.”

He laughed softly, rubbing her back with his fingers. “You’re right on that. I was thinking we could have it here.”

Her eyes widened and then suddenly he was calling out. In with precision of movement came George, all of the picnic attire in his hands. Arthur gave a small frown.

“Had to be George. You gave Merlin the whole week off.”

Gwen told him strongly, “Well he deserved it after all he had been through.”

Arthur’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, but George is very boring. And he does his job too well sometimes.”

She eyed him questioningly. “How can one do their job too well?”

Arthur pointed. “Watch.”

And so she did. George put down the blanket and all the food, settling everything into place, and then stepping back to assess. Not quite happy with the set-up, he rearranged it all. Then not quite happy with that, he rearranged some things some more.

“See what I mean?”

Arthur asked dryly as Gwen pushed her hand against her mouth to keep from giggling. It was quite amusing certainly.

“I mean, why are the grapes better on the left side and the meats are better on the right? Who really cares about these things.”

Gwen grinned. “George.”

“And on top of that Guinevere, he gets my armor so it gleams.”

“And that’s a problem?” Gwen asked with questioning bemusement.

“Yes!” Arthur let out excitedly. “It’s supposed to look at least a little worn. Adds knightly character. Merlin NEVER polishes it for so long that it shines that much!”

She giggled. “You’re missing your servant.”

“Bite your tongue.”

Her eyebrows came up.

He gave a saucy smile. “On second thought, how about I give a little bite of those ruby lips that-

He stopped mid sentence. George was rushing around them to get the pillows. Both Guinevere and him, just mouths inches away from each other, stopped to watch the spectacle.

George gathered all the decorated pillows together and plumped them up so they were quite fluffy. Then he scanned the picnic spot, one eye focusing sharply as the other closed to give it precise direction.

“I swear, it’s like he’s going into battle.”

Gwen hit at her husband’s chest to keep from giggling.

“Ow.”

“Quiet.”

George mouthed a silent ah-ha and placed the pillows in strategic spots of comfort. Then he stepped back from his masterpiece and gestured politely. “My Lord. My Lady. Is it to your satisfaction?”

Gwen stepped forward, smiling graciously. “It is wonderful George. Absolutely perfect.”

George gave one of his straight acknowledging smiles at that. Then he walked to the king. “Shall I get your coat Sire? Another tunic? Perhaps a cloak? Or-

Arthur eyed Guinevere sharply, silently saying with his eyes, Do you see what I mean? Before he smiled too at George. “No George. That is enough.”

“Very well Sire. I shall go now to make certain that your armor shines impeccably. If either of you shall require any more of my services please do not hesitate to call upon me. And now I shall be off.”

He was…off…with a bounding step of energy and protocol.

Arthur groaned, leaning against the bedpost after George was gone, muttering with exasperation, “I want Merlin back. George will drive me batty by the end of the week. I don’t want gleaming armor!”

Gwen giggled, catching her husband’s waist, and then gesturing to the picnic. It was so beautifully laid out upon the floor. So perfectly. She was almost afraid to touch any of it. Almost. “Well come on then.”

Before she could take more than two steps forward, he was grasping at her legs and waist, and she felt herself bounce upward into his arms.

“Arthur!” She giggled.

He pointed down to the floor with mock seriousness. “Oh but Guinevere! Do you not see the pond? I shall carry you over it so you will not get wet.”

She smiled widely at him, whispering. “You’ve spent too much time with George.”

Arthur let in dryly. “I’m surprised he didn’t use the pillows to lay out a path for us.”

She giggled some more and kissed his cheek twice. “Well I don’t mind. I happen to love your chivalrous nature.”

He grinned with satisfaction. “Well there we go then.”

Her fingers clasped to his neck and shoulder until he lowered her down to the pillows. Settling against them, she lifted her hands, gesturing for him to join her quickly. With a grin Arthur did.

The food was delicious. They delved into each dish or bowl, feeding each other too at certain intervals.

Finally each could enjoy. She had put closure on her time of Morgana’s occupation. Her overwhelming and abounding love was for her husband.

She gazed down now at his hands with admiration. They were so big, so finely lined. Scars here and there, tiny ones to be barely noticeable. But they were also not so rough to scrape her skin. Soft enough to hold her tenderly every time they did. Her gaze turned to his face. It had changed some in the past years. It was receiving its lines of age now more profoundly. She paid it no mind. She actually liked it. They made him appear more handsome, gave him golden maturity. And within it all he was still a boy often. Needing her assistance to find things as mundane as his comb or red tunic. Or perhaps just being silly enough to play out that act.

His gaze came to her and she smiled as he asked curiously. “You’re watching me?”

Gwen nodded faintly, stroking his hand with her own. “I am.”

“Why?”

“You are beautiful.”

He blushed some at that, before lifting from the pillows, bringing his back up straight. “You are more.” He whispered quietly, catching a curl on his finger, delighting at its soft coarse texture. And his bottom lip trembling a bit.

“Arthur?”

He held it a little more tightly, his other hand grasping her chin and cheek. “I was a little more scared then than I want to admit.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed. “Well you were no less loving, but after a while I could just feel it. Something was not right. There were things that no longer concerned you and that was not my Guinevere. She wouldn’t dismiss so easily.”

Gwen frowned. “Terrible things?”

He shook his head. “No. Just…never mind it. Anyway, I spoke to Merlin and he finally confessed his and Gaius’s suspicions.”

Gwen’s hands were in her lap, clasping tightly to each other as she lowered her head a bit. “I was awful to Merlin during that time. My friend and I treated him like nothing such.”

Arthur grimaced, but said nothing. Gwen could see though that his mind or heart was delved deep into some wonder.

“Arthur?”

He scooted closer on the blanket, keeping hold of her curl and cheek. “When you woke you were so angry. So upset. Every time I tried to hold you closer you sought to break away from me. I didn’t want to admit it then, but I was afraid I might lose you forever.”

“Arthur…” Her hand lifted, found his face, tendered against it. Such tightness in it. The lines so prominent with pain.

“And I couldn’t take that. I knew I was being forceful. I feared I might hurt you, but I just needed to pull you back to me. I needed my Guinevere back.”

She could hear the knife’s stabbing in his voice, the wound of ache, and it reached her heart, making her clasp it. Making her seek his lips. Kiss them. “Oh Arthur. I’m always here.”

She brushed away the tears that suddenly came from his eyes. Delved into them reverently. “Always Arthur.”

Relief flooded his mind with those words, that touch. It’s true what he just said. Those moments he was of iced fear. The Dolma kept telling him he had to let her go, it had to be of her free will, but it hurt so hard to do it. Made his heart pang like a hammer was hitting it over and over again.

“And that’s when it came to me.” He whispered to her now, pulling away to let her see his face.

“What?” Gwen asked, holding him in her grasp, holding him close.

“What you said when I asked you to marry me. It came because in those moments when you wouldn’t walk with me to the waters, I could feel my heart being hammered. It made me so afraid at first. And then I felt an inch of calm. Of quiet resolve.

“You said to me…”

She pressed her hand against his lip, her memory full now, her love complete. “With all my heart. That is what I said. With all my heart Arthur.”

He nodded. “With all my heart. And finally I saw it register. As I let you go. As I backed to the water. I saw it in your eyes. I saw it fill your body. I saw it light your face. I saw it make your heart beat faster. I saw it. And yet I still feared. I still-

He lowered his head and so she caught it with her hands, brought it back up gently, a new trail of tears there to join her own.

And she whispered. “I’m here my husband. I’m here my Arthur. My love.”

He echoed it shakily. “My love.” His mouth pressed against hers. His foot kicked away the forgotten dishes.

She clasped him tightly so his white tunic chest met her breasts. Their legs commenced to tangle. The pillows supported the new positioning of their bodies.

They lay together on the blanket, upon the cushions, but with no stillness. Frenzied hands clasped and squeezed. Like the rain outside, loved rained inside.

In the sweat of the makings of love. The glistening of revealed bodies. Skin upon skin, they thrust and vibrated. They cried out and bit down. Pulsing to each other they loved with passion’s fire, the only cooling, the tenderness of wandering hands.

They whispered words of secret eroticism and adoration combined. They opened eyes to see the action of the other. His lips on her nipple. Her hand thumping his manhood. A kiss upon lips. And through it all they could feel it. That ache of never-ending love. The kind that consumes so fully there is no end to it, no beginning, no mark.

It lived flush in their bodies from the first kiss and it lived there now in the moments of husband and wife secret interaction.

When his actions between her thighs, upon her woman’s bud of fervent feeling, made her head fall back, her curls falling in carnal disarray, he observed with a man’s groan of observance. And when she got him to bead with reaction, she enjoyed his trembling of excitement.

This was their love, uncontained, beautifully wild and giving to its seeking. This was their love, so aching with release and containment, so swollen with passion, that it filled their chambers now. Like carnal rain. Like intimate showers.

And when they lay later together, in entwined satiation, bodies still half glistening, limbs still coiled together, and naked, falling to slumber, they murmured to each…

“With all my heart…”

With all their hearts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love this couple this so much. Along with a few other faves, they will always go down as one of the couples that filled my heart so much with their scenes. I wrote this rewatching the scene each time I started after a break because each time that scene took hold of my heart again, where they go into the water together. It made it so easy to write and just feel flooded with emotion. I adore writing these two I want all my readers to know. You give me feedback and it’s so lovely, but the process of putting this together is always just so fulfilling for me. Your feedback is just a beautiful way of telling me that what I enjoyed putting together actually worked. So thank you. And thank you to Bradley and Angel for making loving A/G {Arwen} such a wonderful thing.

Added to that, the Merlin Gwen scene was also a joy to write. I love their friendship. And hee, I love writing George too. He’s fun.

The show will not go down this route. I’m almost positive. It’s an ensemble show and so they have less luxury of time to deal with all the fallout of Morgana’s spell over Gwen. So that’s the loveliness of fanfic. We get to fill up all those little holes. Thanks.

Shared Chambers: Gillyflowers

2012-11-26T01:31:44Z

Title Shared Chambers: Gillyflowers
Rating R
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 2,527
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, 5.01-5.08 / mature situations at times
Author’s Note This is a scene extender of the opening romantic scene of A/G in episode 5.08. It’s a lot of speculation, but I see conflict in Guinevere. I also see her loving her husband without reservation when they are alone together. So here we go. For all the arwen shippers. For the fantastic gif/art creators. And for rubberglue who just recently celebrated her birthday.

Shared Chambers:Gillyflowers

They are everywhere. In this room. Upon this bed. The scent. The color. It has been like that for years now, since he married her. When she took her bath, they were in her soap. And now, as they endeavor into the truest part of marriage, they are sprinkled over her naked body. He put them there. Petal by petal. Flutter to flutter. He knows she loves how their soft texture caresses her skin.

He loves how if he slides one up higher on her thigh it causes her body to give a lightning spark’s shudder. He loves pressing them over her breasts, watching the pink lavender white mold her tender crescent nipples. He loves her quaking sigh as he takes each petal, turns it to a washcloth, a body brush, an intimate comb, a prelude to capitulation.

His fingers, grasp petioles and woman’s flesh. Her waist responds to his firm hold. Her fingers lock hard into his hair. Hold him there so he descends even further. It is sensual. It is sexual. It is love. His heart has never filled so full as it does when he is with her. He goes just a bit mindless. Just a bit scattered. All over, all protected, all shielding, he is with her.

That is why he gathered strings of gillyflowers. Had Merlin find the rest. That is why he strung them all around their bed this night. Because when she smiles the way she did when she saw them all, the sweet lift of her voice, is what enraptures him the most.

Makes him excited. Makes him yearn. Makes him ache to be free of clothing, bonded to love. Bonded to desire.

His manhood throbs. His chest beats, long staccato of vibrations. He rubs himself against her, against the petals, feeling one find his thigh, go between even more. And the friction’s so deep. He presses further against her. Rubs. Thrusts. Pulse right there. Her breasts, petals and all, push upward, rasping his chest. He moans. He aches. Yearn so deep.

Too fast. He’ll expel if he keeps up the foreplay. But for her benefit. Make her feel-

“Now Arthur.”

She whispers in his ear, telling him to stop his silly resistance. Let it go. She’s ready to catch. To hold him inside.

So he enters. And feels petals. She’s holding them, rubbing them into his shoulders. They’re between her hot wet thighs. Caressing him. Teasing him. They’re within this intimate cavort. She is like the flowers. Wild. Beautiful. Unique. Loving her is like a melodic dance that reaches crescendos too high to sing. It’s only seconds. He can’t take it. Apologizes.

Sometimes he’s patient. Sometimes she does this to him. But her kisses tell him to feel no sorrow. She loves him and wants him to be free. To not hold back. Closing his eyes, everything on the tip, too critical to go back now, the surge there, he is swelled. So full it’s too much. Like loving her. Like-

“Come inside me Arthur.”

And he’s gone.

He’s a hot mess of man’s exodus.

He’s falling against her shoulder, his palm pressing into the mattress and an equally fallen petal the only thing keeping him from collapse. His pleasure first. Juvenile feeling. Like when they first married and he couldn’t contain things.

But she’s there, caressing his wet locks of hair, bringing his head down, bringing it to rest under her breasts. He lifts his shaking fingers, catches a nipple, squeezes it gently, swallows it for a second with his mouth, and loves it. Loves her. As her fingers continue stroking. Pushing back from his eyes.

He wanted it to be together. He wanted it to be perfect. But he should know by now nothing ever is. And that she will never blame him for being taken over by emotion, by passion.

And yet…

He finds it. The strength. He’s over his fill. He loves seeing her body arch. Watching her breasts bounce. Hearing her shudder. He loves giving her pleasure. So he slowly pulls out, the swell over. He grasps her curls. He rubs his fingers across her beautiful skin.

And whispers.

“Now yours.”

And he means it. He gives it. He brings her to a point of highest ascent. He feels her hot and wet. Sees her cry.

As he returns the favor. To be her husband. To give his wife the same joy she gives him, a sprinkling of petals pressed between their ardent passion-slickened bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen wakes up, feeling a bit of moisture and softness against her breast. She opens her eyes. There are wet pressed petals upon her skin. And there is also a head with golden hairs that are still a bit damp. She has turmoil of emotions as she gazes at him within the slowly lightening room. It will be morning near enough and she will have to push him away. Time to wake and dress. But for now the hour is still pardoned for sleep. And rest. And husband and wife intimacies.

She has this cacophony of noise in her head. Arthur’s. Morgana’s. Back and forth. She has temptations and desires that don’t quite mesh. One part of her wants to leave this bed, go to see her mistress, for Morgana is the one she loves and cares for. She is her dearest friend, like a sister really. Morgana is the one who will keep her safe, keep away those awful slimy black things. Morgana.

But Morgana did not give her gillyflowers. Oh beautiful precious colorful gillyflowers, always with that edging sprinkle of pink. No matter what their shade, forever that bit of pink. And it is only with him she feels such strong passionate yearnings. Even when he can’t hold back, like last night. Nearly falls apart in her arms.

Actually maybe that is when it is most prevalent. When he is a quaking mess of man’s need and also man’s overflowing love. She knows he is less satisfied with himself then. Thinking he’s not being the kind of man who quashes his own happiness for his wife. So she always strokes his wet hairs then. Tenders it all away from his wet forehead.

Maybe it’s counter to what he thinks will come, but she loves him even more then. Because she knows he tried. Tried so hard to temper himself for her. But sometimes it just doesn’t work that way.

Like sometimes assassination attempts go bad. She tried to kill him a week or two ago. It didn’t work. Poisoning him, he still lived. And yet the poison affected him. When he first woke, he was feeling some pain, some discomfort. Walking around to relieve himself, other things, were hard for him. And so she would hold his waist, assist him to the pot, back to the bed and such. Until he was okay to do it himself. Until he no longer needed someone to lean upon.

She felt herself actually wanting to help him then. Feeling discomfort at his pain and lack of resource.

Which is all so strongly strange. Because she is the one who gave him the poison. Morgana wanted her to do it and she did.

Now he sleeps. Trusting. Believing. He is so pressed up against her that it would only take seconds for her hands to find a way to rid the world of him.

Her fingers ascend. They clasp his throat. A little harder. A little tighter. In sleep a gasp comes from his mouth. His forehead wrinkles. Then a moan.

She shudders at it, bringing her fingers away.

It wouldn’t work like that. He’d wake and see her she tells herself. No way could she do it fast enough that he wouldn’t know. That is her excuse, not that hearing him moan with ache actually bothered her. She tenders his neck with her fingers, caressing to rub away the faint redness, thinking it is because she doesn’t want to leave a noticeable mark, not because of her heart swelling.

His hands when they touch her breasts, when they enter her most intimate walls and stroke do not make her body flutter with excitement. That can’t be it. He can’t be her desire.

That’s wrong. That will bring back the black slimy things. That will displease Morgana. Oh sweet wonderful Morgana. Like her sister. Keeping her safe.

She doesn’t love this man in bed with her. She only pretends. If she could, she would end his life now. But the time, the place is wrong. It will only spoil the plans. Morgana has them. She tells her. Wait and she will learn what the next move is. No failure. They will succeed.

And then…

Arthur Pendragon will be a corpse.

Oh. Her breast pangs. She moves away from his damp head. She pushes it far away and then recoils at what she’s done. She tries to bring it back, but then he’s waking, slowly. Eyeing her with confusion.

“Guinevere?”

She looks down upon the mattress, gathers some in her hands, and rubs them against his cheek. “I love you so much for getting these for me…tying them around the headboard, the end. You are a wonderful husband.”

He smiles at that, grasping her naked shoulders and looking into her eyes. He gazes upon her face. Her lips. Her teasing breasts. “You enjoyed them then?”

She smiles back genuinely at his question. It is the queerest thing. This man she is meant to hate. He remembers the sweetest little things. Cares about them as he does her. His lovemaking is full of devotion. Oh it ardent. It is fast. It is also sensual though. Slow as much as the fevered pitch.

It is balance.

He weaves it all in, along with these beautiful gillyflowers, some lifting into her fingers now, the others being pressed across her cheeks as he holds her in his grasp now. She reaches out. Touches with a fingertip his cheek. His brow. His chin. Her finger sliding. As he gazes. Looks down. Looks up. Licks his lips. As she presses down upon hers. As he finally kisses her. Mouth wet. Warm.

It is love.

Is it not?

Morgana is love, like a sister. But this kind of love, a man’s love, it is so real, so vivid, so-

“Alright?”

He asks tenderly, tipping her chin.

She stares too long. Too questioning. Scared to feel the black sliminess. Scared to face death and horror. Laughing and-

“I’m alright Arthur.”

That’s enough to make him smile, to make him kiss her again, to lower himself and bring her down too. She gathers some of the petals. Sprinkles them over his chest. Kisses each one. Kisses his warm damp skin. Presses her lips to his flesh. To the petioles.

Whispering…

“You are beautiful.”

He doesn’t counter, just holds her tighter. Letting out a growl of sensual pleasure.

And she doesn’t let go. Of the petals of the wild gorgeous gillyflowers. Of him.

Even as she is determined to follow Morgana’s word.

Even as she loves her sister Morgana.

She queerly

In some deep part of her heart, that an enchantment cannot touch, that coldness of feeling will never conquer…

Loves him.

For getting her gillyflowers.

For making them part of their love bath.

A shower of love.

Of petals.

Of color.

Of passion.

That try as she might…

She cannot deny its furor.

Arthur Pendragon.

Maybe keep him alive a little longer.

Solve this flaming mystery.

Wait until the petals wither away.

Wait until then.

For now…

She presses one hand over his nipple, a gillyflower locked into her fingers and interpolated between his pale snow skin and her sun dripped one.

It makes no sense really to want this, to so strongly desire this, but that one piece of her does. It clutches him and the gillyflowers.

It wants to press them together…

Forever.

Shared Chambers: Nothing

2012-11-16T07:48:14Z

Title Shared Chambers: Nothing {Make sure you clicked on the title, not the heading so that the font/html is not askew.
Rating PG13
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen, also Elyan in this one
Word Count 6,767
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5: episodes 5.01-5.06 / PG13 for dark subject matter at times, nothing explicit / strong angst in this one
Author’s Note The episode 5.06 was full of strong emotions. This fills in a few missing pieces and also has more speculation than probably cannon as I continue a little from where the episode left off too. I don’t expect the storyline to go the route of my fic or necessarily even want it to, but I do hope this, that the storyline shows conflict. I’m sure Angel and Bradley will, who were fantastic in 5.06, especially Angel. It truly was her episode to shine in and she did it beautifully, tugging at the heartstrings.

Shared Chambers: Nothing

Gwen frowns with interest, lifting the long decorated object into her hands. How could she have not noticed this before? She picks up the piece by the handle, delicately runs her fingers just over the side of the blade. It’s adorned with the strangest markings of gold. Although it’s not that which piques her interest. It’s the way it’s been crafted that-

“Interested in my tools of armament now, are you?”

She startles at the voice, feeling the contact of his hand pressing over hers.

“Sorry, did not mean to alarm you.”

She turns around, giving a small smile as she lays the blade down. “No. You didn’t.”

He peers into her eyes curiously and she gestures to the sword she’s just lain down upon the table. Their chambers are dark, but for a few candles. He’s wearing his blue tunic and trousers, his boots already shucked off. Meanwhile, she wears her blue gown. The hour advancing, they’ll be going to sleep soon, but first she wishes to speak to him.

Her fingers move over the blue material of his tunic as she looks up into his matching eyes. “Arthur, did you not say that this sword came from one of Camelot’s ancient kings?”

He nods quietly. The sword is the rarest one he has, esteemed in history and therefore he takes it out hardly at all. Now he gets ready to sheath it back into its hold and put it upon the shelf where she must have found it, but her hand grips his arm. Stopping him. “What?”

Gwen peers down at the sword with a winkle to her brow. She runs her fingers over the shining gold and silver metal.

“Careful, touch the wrong part and you could cut yourself.” He pushes at her hand, but she lets out a grunt of protest, reminding, “I’ve forged a sword before, Arthur. Helped my dad in his makings. I know how to handle it without harming myself.”

He nods, saying nothing more, just catching at her chin, asking, “What is it Guinevere? You keep staring at it.”

She faces him with a tight sigh. “My father always forged swords in unique fashion. His style was like no one else’s. Arthur, I could tell just by touch, the ones he crafted. And this one…it’s oddly familiar to that same style.”

He raises his eyebrows with skepticism. “Well unless your father was one of the ancient foragers of long ago, my dear, it can’t be. This sword is perhaps hundreds of years old.”

She nods her head, unpleasantness setting on her face. Arthur finishes putting the sword away before turning to catch how unhappy she is. He ponders for a minute, realizing something. “It’s coming, isn’t it?”

She shakes her head.

So he moves in, and touches her cheek gently. “Your father’s birth anniversary.”

Gwen admits, “I miss him,” with a vulnerable whisper.

Lifting his hands, Arthur clasps his wife into an ardent hug.

Gwen’s lips touch her husband’s shoulder. She presses in against the familiar material, feeling his hand stroking her hair. “It’s actually months away.” She relates. “But still, I have so many feelings for him now. So many thoughts. So many remembrances.”

His fingers tangle into her hair, grasping at the coils of curls. “Makes sense to be sentimental. We’ve barely had a week for the past months without some kind of predicament.

It is so true. Morgana returned. Mordred returned and then injured. Uther’s ghost. Mithian needing to rescue her father. Odin wanting to kill Arthur. The Disir’s grave warning. It had been one thing after another.

So it makes sense that his wife is unraveling some from the lack of rest, and the continued piling of calamities. He sometimes feels like he is too.

“Where is it that he’s buried again?” Arthur’s gone with her a couple of times. But the place is remote, just a few village homes and the rest forest land.

“Mordor.”

“So far away.” Arthur whistles, to which she quickly responds with a snap of her lips.

“Well he could not be buried here because your father falsely accused him of being a traitor. No traitor burials in Camelot.”

Her anger is almost blazing. Arthur pulls back some, his face showing hurt and bits of shame. “I’m sorry. I know I didn’t do enough then.”

She lets out a calming sigh, chagrined for exploding so abruptly. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. It is in the past and I should not start a quarrel about what’s been done.”

“Guinevere.” He rubs her shoulder with his hand. “You have a right.”

Perhaps she does, but that won’t solve anything, will it? Gwen has always considered herself sensible, not so prone to outbursts “No matter. We both made mistakes then. Continue to do so sometimes now. A part of loving and living. Actually, he’s buried there because it was where he grew up.”

“Really?” Arthur asks intently.

Gwen smiles some, continuing fondly. “Yes. Where he met my mother too before she started working for Leon’s family. I think he followed her, if anything, when he started up his forge in Camelot. He was quite lovestruck by her. He used to tell me and Elyan the stories of how they met and how she did not like him at first.”

Gwen laughs softly at the remembrance.

Arthur smiles, caressing her cheek with his fingers. “Go on.”

“Well he was too much a dreamer. My mother was much more serious according to my father. She thought he was a little bit silly.”

“Like you think of me sometimes?” Arthur asks, tipping his wife’s chin with that boyish grin. She gives him one right back, fingers tracing into his blonde hair. “Actually I thought you were arrogant then.”

“An arrogant pig as I recall.” He states.

She shakes her head adamantly. “I never said that. I said that you snored like a pig. Your arrogance was just…you.”

“Well that’s complimentary.” Arthur deadpans with a roll of his eyes.

She laughs at that, capturing his face, planting a meaningful kiss upon his lips. “I love you.”

He smirks. “Same.”

She kisses his nose now. “But you still snore like a pig.”

“And now that it’s so long you flip your hair too much.”

“Ah!” She hits his arm and he laughs. They get into a bit of a tickling battle. Their silliness soon brings them to the edge of their bed, where once again she lets out a sigh. Arthur fingers away the hair at her temple. “You want to go there, don’t you? To Mordor?”

She nods her head. “I do. I want to see my father, Arthur. Visit him.”

He presses a kiss softly to her lips, letting out afterward, “I know. Elyan would probably like to come along. I could go with both of you.”

Gwen shakes her head at that, making him frown. “You told me that King Odin is to come for a day. Soon. You won’t want to miss that. You’re still putting the treaty to solid writing. You should be here Arthur.”

Although he doesn’t like it, he relents. She’s right. The meeting is too important.

“Fine. Elyan then. Gwaine, Leon and Percival too.”

Gwen’s eyebrows go up. “So many?”

He is adamant. “It’s a long trip Guinevere. There are bandits all around that land and don’t forget…there’s her too.”

Gwen’s frown comes. She doesn’t understand.

“Morgana.”

“Arthur-

“She tried to take you from me once before.”

“You mean when she enchanted me in the wood?”

He would later find out that before Morgana tried to take possession of Camelot for a second time with Agravaine, she first tried to stop the woman he loved from warning him about the upcoming attack.

“Forcing you to resemble a deer of all things, Guinevere. It was sick. Then just this year she wanted to put me in Odin’s hands so he could kill me. Thank heaven the man has a conscience.” He fingers her cheek. “I don’t know Morgana anymore. I don’t trust her. You can’t either.”

Gwen grimaces. Although it’s hard to accept Morgana as the enemy, she, herself, hasn’t trusted Morgana for some time. Albeit it’s strange, how suddenly Morgana is around so much. For years they caught no sight of her. Now she seems to constantly be lurking in the shadows, determined to cause harm.

However, for Arthur it’s been even harder to accept her malevolence. After all, when he learnt she was his half sister Morgana had just surprisingly seized possession of Camelot and taken his father prisoner, after years of what seemed a protective caring relationship. Truth was there was plenty of dark conflict.

“Alright, better to not take a chance.” Gwen whispers with admittance. “They can all go with me.”

~~~~~~

It’s many moments later that Elyan walks into the room. Arthur has just found him in the hallway. Gwen takes in her handsome brother, changed out of his chainmail from earlier, now wearing the usual brown trousers and a cloudy gray tunic.

“Arthur said you had something to ask me.” He states in his soft voice.

Boots tapping the floor busily, Arthur clears his throat. “Um, I’ll give you some time to-

Gwen catches at his arm though, shaking her head. “No. You are part of this too.” Holding to both their hands now actually, she tells Elyan her desire. “I want to visit Dad’s grave. Arthur proposed you coming with me which I would like very much.”

Elyan smiles softly, nodding his head. Although he and his sister love each other greatly, there have been incidents in the near past, and more distant too, that have strained at their relationship. For years he was the careless one, traveling around with barely a word between them. He moved from one place to another. But before that, she was the one who raised him mostly.

Recent prickles of distance came from the banishment ,and simply the long periods of time he spends away from Camelot because of his knighthood. So this will be good for both of them, a way to strengthen their familial ties.

He smiles at Arthur for a fast moment. His king is not only a ruler of supreme conduct. He is also a good loving man, who treats his sister well. He is so grateful for that. Grateful to his king too for giving him purpose finally, a reason not to travel constantly with no true destination.

“I’d like that too Gwen, us going together.”

She lets out a sigh of happy relief, smiling and moving forward to spontaneously hug her brother. “We’ll go in a day?” .

Arthur thinks how this is just what she needs. He wishes he could go too. But the trip shouldn’t take more than a few days. Soon they’ll be together again.

“A day it is Gwen.” Elyan agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His heart is pounding. No other way to explain it. His boots pound the floor as he enters their chambers, alone, the words ringing in his ears. It can’t be true. He sent four of his most trusted men, including her brother, and they lost her? How can that be? Arthur pulls away his chainmail; it gets caught and so he yanks it past his hair. A mistake. The actions sends shards of pain through him that he ignores, finally getting the blasted chainmail fully past.

Momentary hurt. Doesn’t matter. Just wants his wife.

He turns back to the bed, sees the sheets and covers all neatly in place, per the usual. But nights ago she was sleeping within them and he was pressed against her. That is where he likes to be. Pressed against his wife’s body.

He loves her. Needs her here.

Needs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They clasp each other’s arms and then Merlin departs, telling him it will be alright, that they’ll find her, after speaking of the horror Arthur doesn’t want to face. Morgana.

Morgana might have done this?

God in Heaven, no. Morgana’s heart is cracked now. She doesn’t seem to care for her soul or anyone else’s. Morgana is so full of hatred and desire to have his throne that she will stop at nothing to get it.

He wrings his hands, goes to the furniture at his wife’s side of the bed. All her things she uses to enhance her beauty. Intimate things. He feels his eyes swelling with something of liquid. Water of salt. But he can’t permit it. No weakness. He needs to find her. That’s all.

So no sleep tonight. He doesn’t want to lie down upon the bed anyway. His arms miss her so much. His breath clutches. It hurts. Being without Guinevere, knowing she could be in danger, maybe hurt, maybe crying for him…

It’s the worst pain.

Crazy, but maybe she can hear. Feel. “Guinevere…I’m going to find you. I swear. Bring you home. My wife.”

He looks to the side of the bed, sees it upon her furniture, her nightgown, folded so neatly. He clutches it into his hands. It was his gift a little after they were married. She loves flowers so much. He found someone who crafted it perfectly. Like her it is sensual, but not seemly. Like her it is glowing in soft natural color, no sharp white or darkness, but somewhere beautifully between. On her it flows, captures her breasts, trails down her thighs. On her it is beautiful.

And in his hands now it is wet.

As he can longer hold it in. One moment of stupid weakness. As he lays upon the bed. Clutching the material in his grip. Giving in for seconds of that moment, before he scrapes away his tears, gently places her nightgown where it belongs and sits up against the headboard. Even if his eyes close, he will not fully sleep this night.

No peaceful slumber until she’s returned.

None.

~~~~~~~~

The funeral is over. She is back in Camelot. Within their chambers. Gwen, who hasn’t smiled in days, looks around the set of rooms solemnly, hearing as her husband comes in. She turns around, seeing his watchful expression.

“It’s late, Guinevere. Time to sleep, don’t you think?”

She stares at him for a moment, before nodding. He changes out of his clothing, and dresses for the evening. His white tunic, his sleeping trousers. He walks over to her, gently grasping her dark curls. “No braid tonight?”

Gwen slowly shakes her head. “I think I’m too tired to bother with it.”

He frowns at that, touching her cheek, which she allows. “I could help you.”

Her answer is quick. “No. It’s fine.” Her hand clasps his for a moment, before letting go.

He moves in to kiss her softly. She holds still all the while. As she does Arthur takes no offense. The past few days have been grueling for her no doubt. Morgana’s capture. Elyan’s death. It’s been a nightmare and it’s shown on his wife’s face ever since. If he tries to get her to talk about the capture, she politely declines from answering. If he wants to help her with her grief, she says she needs time to deal with it on her own. So he allows this bit of distance they have from each other now, even if it kills him some bit by bit.

Gwen moves to her side of the bed, hearing as Arthur does the same for his. She watches him get into the bed. Then slowly she does too, turned away.

Arthur lets out a long sigh, bringing his arm over his wife’s waist and stomach. “I love you Guinevere.” He presses a kiss against her cheek gently, whispering, “I know you are hurting very much so now. I just want you to know that I am always here for you. And…I love you.”

Gwen grimaces at that, bringing her arm down over where his blanketed one is. She holds on and whispers back. “I know you do. I know that Arthur.”

Days ago she would have said the same, but once again with what she’s been through, it’s no wonder that she doesn’t now. He brings his other hand up, under her hair, soothing there some. “You’re safe now, alright? Morgana can do you no more harm. I promise. I’ll never let her near you again.”

Gwen lets out a sound.

Is it disagreement? Arthur wonders. “What was that?”

She frowns steadily in the darkness, before shaking her head, pressing a kiss against his hand. “Nothing. I know now that no harm can come to me. I know in your arms…in this bed…everything will be fine.”

She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t speak more than a whisper. It’s low and devoid of much emotion. Almost strange. But he tells himself again, no reason to wonder why. She simply needs to heal. He will make sure that she has that time, and that she recovers from this fully.

“Good night Guinevere.” He kisses at her hairline one more time.

There is silence for a long while. And then,

“Good night Arthur.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

She opens the door to their chambers, slowly, carefully. She looks across to the bed, seeing that he is still sleeping soundly. His head down so far on the bed, his body all cocooned within the covers, she stares at him silently.

You love him. A misting voice states.

Gwen’s brow wrinkles furiously. She looks around the room anxiously. “Who said that? Who’s here?”

Don’t be alarmed. Child of mine.

Gwen looks to the fire in the hearth. To beyond. Seeing a glowing shadow. A too familiar one. “Mother?”

Yes Guinevere, it is me.

Gwen stares in amazement. The only memories she has of her mother are from when she was just past being a baby. Her mother died soon after, but there are these little glimpses that still linger in her heart. She can visualize her…exactly like she appears now.

“I-I’ve missed you so much.” She tells her shakily.

The ghostly form of her mother takes a step forward. And I, you, Guinevere. Now listen. We don’t have much time. The spirit world only allows these kinds of exits for a few precious moments. I want to tell you a story. I want you to listen well.

Gwen frowns, confused. “A story?”

Yes. A true one. Of you. Come here. Her mother’s hand invites. Gwen walks forward cautiously, surprised when she can actually hold it. But when she goes to hug, her mother’s form grows more shadowy. The elder woman counsels, her dark curls of hair so almost perfectly like her daughter’s.

No. No closer than this. Hands only.

Gwen pulls back, nodding her head, and listens to her mother’s teaching voice.

When I married your father, and I was with child, with you, I surprised your father. I told him we should name you Guinevere; he didn’t see why.

“What do you mean?”

Guinevere was a name of nobility, used many years ago, and never since. It was esteemed in history. And then left alone, its importance forgotten I would surmise.

“But you used it. Why?”

That was what your father wondered. Why use such a name?

“Yes. And?”

Her mother squeezes her hand just a bit before letting go, the action once again causing her form to fade a bit during the contact. Because Guinevere, I knew the first time I saw you, I knew even a little before you were in my arms, that there was something very special about you. That with such a name you would go on to do great things, be a person of fervid importance. And I was right. You are Queen. Married. Happy.

Gwen says nothing, a small stubborn frown upon her face.

Her mother looks around, almost as if someone is watching them. She clasps her daughter’s hand. Guinevere, you must fight it. That voice telling you to do wrong. I fought with your father enough in the early days, but I knew when I married him that I married a good man, a loving man. Oh, he had his silly ways at times, but he was a fine husband. And a good father. You’ve married yourself the same. And I can see it in your eyes. You love him.

Gwen turns back, looks down upon the bed, to the form of Arthur sleeping, huddled mostly underneath the covers, as he is akin to do more-so than she. Just a draft in the castle, and Arthur is cold, whereas she has grown up in humbler dwellings and doesn’t catch a chill as easily.

Another image, a contrasting one, forms inside her mind, and pulls at her to do its bidding.

Don’t listen to it. Gwen turns back to her mother, seeing her strong dark eyes, conviction and concern rolling in them. It’s not what you really feel. It’s not the truth. I know you miss your brother, another of my children I am so proud of, but it is a lie, Guinevere, what you think is veracity. Guinevere, answer to your name.

Gwen looks back to the bed for another handful of seconds. Then, “But mother-

And gasps. No one is there anymore. The shadowy form of the woman who is her mother is gone. Her last bit of advice, what had that meant?

Gwen pushes her hands through her hair. Since coming back to Camelot her feelings have been so conflicted. So twisted tight. Turning around, she removes her cloak and stands at the window, peering below. So lost in thought, she doesn’t realize that the bed has movement, until hands are touching her shoulders. She gasps at them, turns around rapidly.

“Sorry.”

It is there in his eyes. Such sorrow. Such concern. She stares. What her mother said. Contrary to what Morgana said. To her feelings of hate and-

Hate…since when did she hate anyone?

Not even Uther Pendragon when he took her father’s life.

Hate, now?

“Guinevere…”

He calls her it softly like her mother did. But his way has its own intimate slant. Arthur always stresses the first part to make it sound like Gwen-i-vere. She stares up at him, feeling his hand on her arm and then his body coming against hers. His chest touching hers. His hands opening to take her into his embrace. Part of her wants to resist. Part of her needs it. She distances the hold with her hands, pushing at his shoulders, but does not push him away entirely.

Odd wetness forms in Arthur’s eyes. He tries to push it away as he strokes his wife’s hair. “Guinevere, I’m here, alright? Please know I’m here.”

She looks past his shoulder, thinking of something. “But you always ride off.”

Arthur pulls back to give her a questioning look. “What?”

She nods her head, telling him with a quiver to her brow. “It is true. Every time there is some mission, some obstacle of some sort, you ride off with the knights. You leave me here alone. You expect me to always be waiting. To be strong. And yet when I needed you-

“What do you mean?” He stares at her, not getting it.

Tangles in her mind. Knots in her heart. She grasps his shoulders, shaking her head, whispering. “Kiss me.”

Arthur feels even more confused. He tells himself it’s her grief. And does it. With no entre needed. For he loves her so solidly, has missed her so much. His lips part, descend, play around the edges of hers. Tease just a bit.

He licks at them for a moment. Wets them. She can feel the warm dampness against her skin and then finally they are upon her mouth.

Arthur’s fingers go to his wife’s hair. He holds there firmly, his mouth a dance of emotion.

She presses into his tunic, keeping him close. Keeping the wet fiery wonder of him.

He can hear his pained moan as he pushes her against the wall. It’s too fevered, but he can’t stop it. The pain that swallowed his heart when he thought he lost her. He grits his teeth, pulling away, whispering against her shoulder, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She raises her hands to his hair, tangles her fingers into it. “You’re not.”

He looks into her eyes, sees pain, but it’s not from his kiss. It’s from something else. Grief. So tight. So enveloping. “I’m sorry. About Elyan. If I could have…Guinevere you must know…”

A few tears swim at her eyes, but she swallows them away, her fingers pushing at his mouth. “No. Don’t. Just. No.”

He lowers his head again. Ashamed.

She told Morgana that he thinks he’s won. Why? Is this winning? Has he? Has she?

“Arthur…”

Her whisper tears at his soul. Soft. Sweet. He looks up to her face, clutches at her cheek. And kisses her again. His mouth a spring of love and warmth. Passion of feeling the fire. He never wants to let her go.

She doesn’t push him away this time, until the end, her hand thrusting itself against his shoulder, her head shaking.

Arthur moves away from her, seeing how he has forced her fully into the wall. But she seems to be no prisoner. Just oddly watching him. He wants more. He wishes for more. A man’s wishes. Man’s desires. But love’s fuller. Arthur reaches for his wife’s hand. “Come. Come back to bed with me.”

She stares down at his hand.

He tips her chin. “Dreams. I’m imagining that’s what got you up. The knights had them too. You can talk to me about them. It could help.”

She stares further for a moment, before shaking her head. “No.” Visions swim too fiercely. Laughter. Dry. Uncaring. “No. I just want to go to sleep.”

He nods, holding tight to her hand.

Each climbs back into the bed.

He goes to his side.

She to hers.

Arthur wraps his arm around her waist again, pressing the kiss to the back of her head. “If you need me I’m here. Always. Forever here.”

“I know.” She states. Waits.

He is weary…

Moments later he is asleep. As she lies awake, clutching his hand against her breast, looking down at its ugliness. Its beauty.

How can she be so conflicted? Why did she meet with Morgana in the wood?

Because this is her new mission. Beyond being Queen.

Opening the throne for the new one. The rightful one. Morgana told her that she will never be alone again. Never neglected again. Never afraid again.

Of laughing images. Of screams in the dark.

And yet. This arm that holds her near, the hand that touches her hair above, there is something so strongly gentle about it. So fiercely caring.

Guinevere. Her name. Can’t forget.

Can’t let herself be claimed.

She must fight.

Only Gwen fears that the fight has just begun.

That soon nothing will be able to stop her…

Hate. Oh so strong hate. Welling. Burning.

Nothing…

From killing the man she loves.

Letting him die

Like he let her brother die.

~~~~~~~

The tower is dark. Gray black viciousness. It sucks at life. Its vulgar tongued doorway disintegrating happiness. In the background the screams plague her ears. But even more-so prevalent is the moan from him, which echoes her gasp of horror.

In shock she runs forward, catches at all the silver metal. It’s the one true ugliness of armor plates and rings of chainmail. They hinder, making it hard to touch the body. It’s so awkward, but she manages to catch his fall, to hold him upon her lap. He is hurt. He is bleeding, trickles seeping out of his armor. This hard thing he wears, why couldn’t it have protected him enough? Why is he bleeding now?

Dying in her arms.

It’s only a few whispers of pride for each other. Love for each other. And then he’s gone. Her dear brother, Elyan, is gone.

They rush in. Too late. He runs forward, but the time of saving is over. Her heart feels like an anchor is tugging it from her body, wanting to succumb it to nebulous pools of slime. Pulling. Grasping. Wrenching it away. It aches. Oh God, how it aches.

Not her Elyan. Not her dear baby brother. No more of this. First her mother. Then years later her father. And now…

No family. No one. No-

She can hear the voice in the back of her head. Drowning out the screams. The men’s murmurs of sympathy. The breathing of her husband who sits kneeled nearby. The female voice whispers in her head to hold on. That she is not alone. That everything will be alright. Just play the part. Let them win their glory.

She doesn’t care about any glory though. Her body just wants to take her brother away from it all. Hold him. Keep him safe forever. Never let any harm-

“Guinevere.”

It’s a soft whisper, a warm hand coming over hers. “Guinevere.”

She heard that voice in the room upstairs. Where those awful black slimy things hung all around. It taunted her. It laughed at her. And now that ugly voice is trying to be so gentle. But she knows the truth. His fault. His-

“Guinevere. We need to go. We need to-

“No.” She clutches her brother’s body harder against her lap. His dead lifeless body. “No.” She insists, protecting him from that voice. “No I’m not leaving him. I’m never leaving him again.”

Something touches her chin. That warm hand. She is forced to look into his eyes. Stained by tears. His look so gentle. So pained. Shaking of the head. “We won’t leave him Guinevere. I promise you that. We’ll take him with us.

Right?” He looks to the men standing behind.. She does too for a moment, noticing how they nod their heads vigorously. Not enough. She lowers her body more, holding Elyan tighter in her grip. “Won’t leave him.” She murmurs. “Won’t leave him.”

A shaky breath comes out next to her. There is the sound of material. It is draped over her shoulders. She peers down at the crimson Pendragon cape with fascination and disgust. Red. Like blood. Like the blood upon his hands. Should have been-

“Guinevere. Come on. Come with me.”

His voice is so soft. It’s flooded with emotion. And then it’s firm. “Guinevere, we need to go. You need to release him. Look…Percival will carry him. We’ll get him out of here. Come on…Guinevere my love…come on.”

He whispers it against her brow, for only her to hear. She looks up to him with surprise. Confusion and fear. “Arthur?”

He nods, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Her hands touch him. “Arthur?”

“I’m here.” He grasps her waist. The body is being pulled from her, but she pulls back. “No! Leave him be! Leave him with me. No.”

She hears agonized sighs. And then. “Guinevere, I promise, we’re going to get Elyan out of here, but you have to let them take him. You can’t carry him alone. Come on…come with me.”

His voice is like she is a child now. Percival peers down at her with a gentle smile, but his face too is streaked with tears. “You will take care of him?” She asks. “You will keep him warm?”

His voice is stricken. “I will. I promise Gwen.”

She nods, slowly letting go, feeling her husband’s hold on her waist, on her arm.

He lifts her to her feet. She can feel the heaviness of her face, the wet against it. And the screams in the back of her ears. The voice telling her to go. She won’t be alone for long.

Arms suddenly clasp her, a shuddering voice letting out. “My God, I thought I might lose you.”

She is boneless within them, saying nothing. He pulls back, clasps her cheeks. “Guinevere?”

She shakes her head, saying nothing. Voices are all around. Telling him they have to go. As he asks. “Morgana, Guinevere what happened to her?”

She shakes her head again and he seems to reproach himself. “Stupid of me to ask. Wherever she is she can’t hurt you anymore. You understand…we’re getting out of here.”

Gwen says nothing, letting him hold her waist and pull her to the steps. The screams. The black hanging slimy things. The dark dark walls. The voice she must heed.

Hate them. Oh…hate them…

The tower merges to the wood. It is night. Arthur’s arms surround her, but she does not move. Her tears are dried on her face. She has not cried anymore since leaving the tower. Seated on the ground, with the cape wrapped around her, in his tight hold, she hears him whisper words of love.

But she holds still stoically. There is no passion left in her. No feeling. His kiss upon her brow, her cheek, and a gentle one to her lips do nothing to bring warmth. She is boneless still.

Emotionless.

Beyond, he lies. A corpse.

A metal gleaming corpse.

“AH! NO! STOP!"

Gwen screams and screams. Her hands reach for something, anything to help. There is fuss nearby. There are strong hands and arms gripping her body, telling her in a firm voice that it’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. She is safe. She is home and she is safe.

She looks upon the man she loves.

The man she hates.

And twists her fingers into her hair.

Over. She just wants it all over. The pain. The screams. The confusion. The agony.

Over.

Arthur is shocked and concerned. He’s never heard his wife scream like that, with such terror in her voice. He holds her, strokes her hair as he sees her fingers grip at it. Gently he pushes them away, feels her give up the fight and go boneless in his arms. Part of him is relieved, the other disappointed. It’s been like this for days now. She remains so locked up, not telling him anything. Just saying she needs time. But he is a restless man and his anxiety is growing.

Gwen stays unmoving, until she sees it. She sits up a little more, locking her fingers on his shoulder. She strains some, until she gets a good view. He said it had no tie to her. Maybe he lied.

She knows that hold. She knows it so well. The crafting of the iron ore and carbon into steel. In her hands it was so familiar. So it must be. Her husband has lied to her. She grips his shoulder harder, fingers digging into the white material of his sleep shirt.

Digging so hard that-

“Ah-

Arthur pants, whispering with a hiss, “Guinevere…too tight.”

“Oh.” She lets go quickly. Shakes her head. What was she thinking? Of bringing that sword down, the one he prizes so much? And doing what with it?

Slash through his heart.

“Oh.” She moans.

Arthur reaches for his wife’s cheek. He tenders it with his fingertips. He can’t take much more of this, seeing her so pained and so far from who she really is. Maybe he’ll ask Gaius for a sleeping draught in the morning. “Guinevere…”

She won’t look at him so he holds both her cheeks firmly in his hands.

His grip is tight, but not abusive. She looks up into his eyes finally, seeing fervent resolve there.

“Let’s get away.” He suggests. “For a day. Just leave Camelot for a bit. Go out into the wood. Have a picnic.” His brow wrinkles. His face fills with emotion as he bends down, kisses her neck softly, looking up after. Absorbing her eyes with his own. “Together. You and me.”

Had she nearly just pierced his heart? Desired it? The screams. Black hanging things. They’re everywhere. He’s there, Merlin, and even her brother, laughing. Taunting. Hanging. Dripping. Those things, they keep dripping. Soiling her face. Her clothes. And it’s dark. It’s so dark. There’s no light. But when they come. Those who taunt her. He’s one. Morgana says don’t listen. Pretend. He is the enemy.

No. No that’s wrong. He’s my husband. He loves me.

Screams. Ah. Stop. Stop.

“Guinevere…” He can hear his own voice shaking as Arthur holds his wife’s arms, begging her to listen to him, to come away from whatever horror Morgana put her through. “Guinevere…a picnic, what do you say?”

Go. Take care of it there. End it there.

No. Gwen lifts her hands, touches her husband’s cheeks. “Arthur.”

“Yes?”

So much in his face. So much dread and hope and ugliness and beauty. “Stay with me.”

He shakes his head, frowning. Not understanding anymore. He’s with her already. What does she mean? Why won’t she answer? “Guinevere, I am with you. You’re home. In our chambers, the ones that belong just to you and me, Guinevere, my love…I am with you. Always.”

Answer him. Answer. Don’t let him guess. Keep it up.

I don’t want to hurt him.

You have no choice.

Now do it.

She leans forward, kisses his lips, feeling his breath, shaky, needing. “I think a picnic is what I need with you.”

He smiles finally. She does too. Holding onto it. Just happy that the screams are fading away.

He holds her waist, brings her down on the bed with him, and whispers into her ear. “Okay. We’ll go then. Now. Sleep.”

When she is lying down, him behind her, she feels his arm wrap around her stomach again. The other hand goes under her hair once more. She holds to each hand. Feeling warmth.

And the screams start once more. The black hanging things pierce her vision. She shivers.

Arthur holds her closer, whispering into her ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re not alone. You’re never alone Guinevere.”

Never alone is right. The voices, the screams are always there. Her voice. Morgana’s. Urging her.

So she waits. Waits for him to sleep…

Soon enough he does with her hand doing what it’s done since they first married, stroking him to slumber.

She gets up from the bed, looks up to the shelf. Swallowing, she reaches for it. His precious sword. She fingers it. Once again feeling it. She knows it. Knows every inch of it too well. He lies.

She moves to the bed with it in her hand. Lifts it. But it stays only in the air. His face is like a child’s in sleep. Content. Trusting.

The voice tells her to do away with him. But she cannot heed. She won’t.

No. I love him. He loves me.

She fights the voice with her heart, thinking of what her mother told her. Feeling the hate swelling, but lurking underneath are the last bits of love.

She puts the sword back, feeling cold. Feeling empty. Climbs back into the bed, returning his hands to where they need to be. Under her hair. Around her stomach.

The blackness is hanging over her. She shrieks inwardly at its closeness. Trembles at the voice that orders her.

And yet defies it by lifting his arm and kissing his hand with her mouth. Holding his palm there to her lips, not letting him go.

Lies. The sword is familiar.

She fights the voice, again and again. Needing to hold onto a piece of what she was before all this happened, straining to remember exactly what that was. Maybe the sword is familiar. But she doesn’t want it.

Kill him.

No. Stop.

End his life.

No. The black slimy things are everywhere. Screams in her head. She tries to fight it though. She-

Tear his heart into pieces.

God no.

Not my sweet Arthur.

He’s a liar.

You will heed.

Or it will be everywhere. In the air. On the floor. In this bed. In your soul.

No. She pleads, holding his hand tighter, hearing him sleepily murmur,

“Guin…”

She kisses his hand. Keeps him near, rubbing it to put him back to sleep.

But not to death. Never that.

It’s his fault Elyan is no more.

No.

It’s his fault.

No.

Hate. Love. Passion. Disgust. Take. Give. Leak. Dry.

They will drip all over you if you don’t listen to me.

You’ll be consumed by them.

Kill. Save.

Screams.

She is in purgatory.

And only one thing can save her.

Save him.

More than an enchantment. More than a thousand dripping mandrakes. More than a dark tower of nightmarish illusion.

One thing.

The antithesis of boneless stoicism.

The shield that parries hatred.

The emotion that capsules the flame of passion.

The feeling that no magic, not even the darkest kind, not even a twisted vile enchantment, can succumb…

Love.

~

Shared Chambers: Completion

2012-11-12T23:24:47Z

Title Shared Chambers: Completion {Make sure you clicked on the title, not the heading so that the font/html is not askew.
Rating R
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 2,674
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.06 {I only list 5.06 because it inspired me more. That’s all. Nothing from the episode really.} / some inexplicit mature matter
Author’s Note The episode,5.05, had wonderful A/G scenes, but after 5.06 especially I wanted to write a little for the end, an extension maybe of A/G after they retreated to their private chambers. Hence, this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shared Chambers:Completion

He watches her from the doorway, silent reverie upon his face. They’ve been married now for just a little past three years. He can still recall what it felt like that night to enter these chambers and close the door, her hand sliding against his waist. She kissed him then with little shyness, Her lips brushing across his own with currents of long held away desire. So, he too felt his, after their time apart during the banishment.

All that feels so long ago. Now the chambers that were once his alone, have a woman’s touch. No longer is everything about practicality, but also beauty. Dressing furniture adorns the sides of the bed. The linens upon the mattress are no longer so deep red and gold, but tempered too by the rose of flowers. The changing screen has moved from the corner to the side of the bed. Basically beyond that point, is their private area. He likes now that he can laze upon the bed and watch her change out of her attire with no hindrance. His wife’s body, although petite, is filled with luscious curves and dips. Her curls when they fall against her henna hued skin is one of the most enticing things ever.

Now she is dressed in her nightgown. It’s a soft shade of cream and milky white, sprinkles of flowers. Its flowing material bounces against her hips with luscious life. Her body cambers there quite nicely. Her fingers are reaching for the bottom of her hair, twisting the ends. He’s always a little bit fascinated when she does this. After all, her dark hair is filled with ringlets of wonder that his fingers quite love. So why all the fuss?

She’s humming softly. She’s humming one of those medieval tunes the minstrels play at their occasional banquets, celebrating a conquered feat of Camelot or a holiday of recognition. It is softly lyrical. Since marrying her, he has learnt that his wife’s voice is tuned to song very well.

Her body turns slowly, before her eyes face him. She smiles with slow gradual splendor. He smiles the same, closing the door behind to give them privacy. He’s wearing his red tunic, so he unbelts it from his waist. Then he pulls it away from his chest. Her fingertips still right at the ends of her hair, she gazes at him with silent appreciation and a tiny flickering frown.

Being a warrior king means a muscled body. It also mean a collection of scars. No new ones now, but still whenever she sees the line of them, her smile breaks for a bit. He’s told her often enough it is the price of being a man in these times, a ruler of kingdom. So she’s accepted it with just a hint of disapproval. He looks around and sees it on the edge of their bed as she returns to the twisting of the bottom sections of her hair. He pulls the thin material over his chest, the white tunic molding the sinew of his toned build. He walks further into the room and sits down on the side of the bed, observing as she moves closer to the window, still faintly humming as she continues the weaving of her nebulous curls.

“Why do you do that?”

She turns around at the question, raising her eyebrows some. “What?”

Arthur points forward. “You do it most every night, except those when sleep is far from our minds.” His blue eyes look to her suggestively.

She returns the gesture with hint of excitement.

“Why do you bind your hair? It’s not like you could get it to curl anymore.”

She laughs softly at that, walking toward him. He watches with appreciation how the nightgown bounces against her full swaying hips. He loves her womanly cantor. Her knees bump against his as she comes in front. He lifts his hands to her waist, presses his fingers into the feathery folds. He feels her hand lift to his face, brush across his hair.

“I don’t do it for that reason, Arthur. I bind it to keep it from tangling in the middle of the night so it is no fuss in the morning. That is why my husband.”

“Oh…” He answers with new understanding, pulling at the nightgown’s material, hearing her flutter of laughter as he gets her to sit upon his lap with silent physical command. “I never knew that.”

His lips tinker with her cheeks. Soft and wet against her skin. He loves how she tastes, clean, flowery, no doubt from the floral scented soap she prefers to use. His head pushes against her chin, his hair raising against her face. She sighs, not protesting at his closeness.

The Disir took him away from home for a week about. Before that was everything with Mithian. The one thing he doesn’t like about those kinds of adventures, is that they mean days and nights away from here. Their private chambers. His wife’s closeness. Before he was married, sleeping in the wood was not such an ordeal. Now, even though he is silent about it, he often finds himself missing the sweet pressure of having her lie beside. Even if she is fully on the other end of the mattress, it is her presence that makes him calm. And those nights when they enjoy the physical aspect of being married, he loves the way her naked glistening skin feels against his. Their bodies ever so supple to each other’s in those moments.

His lips climb. Travel. A sensuous journey up her chin. Past her cheeks. Landing on her temple. Finding her eyebrows, lids. Kissing. Dining upon love. He can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose her momentarily. To not have her close. His hands, have since marriage, found possession of her body whenever they can. They covet every inch. Womanly breasts. Tempestuous hips. Sexual locking thighs. Even her delicate gracious hands. He knows his wife’s divine constitution intimately. But still when they shed it all and she opens herself up to him, and he enters, his mind turns to carnal delirium. She is his everything in this world.

“I love you…”He breaks from all his affections, whispering upward, peering into her dark eyes. “I love you…so so much Guinevere.”

She caresses his cheeks with her tender enamored fingers. How can there be so much pleasure in them? How they touch him. How he feels his body tighten. His manhood growl. Her eyes. Calescent splendor. She is his. And he hers. When they make love sometimes he thrusts so hard to be outside of his body, to soar inside her.

It’s not just man’s hormonal need for sex mind you. It’s more. He had those kinds of drives when he was younger, had infatuations with a princess here or there. He had a young man’s urges then. That’s not what this is. Never has been. Swears, fell in love with Guinevere’s mind before her body. Or maybe it was a little of both. Maybe it was just so intermingled he can’t even classify it. Because that was what falling in love with her was like. Losing his control of mind so viciously that his heart and fever of feeling took over.

Now he has more control of that. Now he’s not some lovesick fool. But still when she looks upon him like she is now, he is too blissfully happy, too feverish, too abandoned of sense, too in love.

“I love you too Arthur…” Her sweet hands caress him, coil into his hair, and express their feeling on his skin. He catches at her hair, feels where she has yet to braid it entirely. He wants to assist. “Teach me.”

“What?” She smiles just a bit.

“How to braid it. Your hair.”

So she shows him, how to part it, how to get it into three sections. Then how to twist. So he begins to follow the lead. She is a divine teacher. He tangles it up a few times, but then starts to get the hang of it. He loves the task because even though Guinevere’s hair is full of ringlets, it’s actually quite soft too while quite thick. It’s like a man’s play. He’s so deep into it when she whispers something that surprises him.

“Merlin seemed troubled when you came back.”

He sighs, letting out, “From the Disir you mean?”

“Yes.”

Well he had wanted a little more of the mundane before his mind turned to jelly, which it can with her, so now he gets it. Guinevere is a passionate woman, but also notices when anyone at all, especially those they are closest too, is not at usual. It’s something for him to love about her for sure. “I noticed too. But every time I try to talk to him he clams up. Maybe you should try. You’ve always had a good friendship.”

She lets out a sigh. “Yes, tomorrow I will.”

He finishes the braiding and turns her around with his hands. “Good. Now that we’ve dealt with that…”

He means it. Merlin is more than servant no matter how much Arthur does not admit it out loud. He is his friend too, probably the best one he’s ever had.

But at the moment, looking into his wife’s eyes again, seeing how the braiding exposes her beautiful neck, he is far from thoughts about friendship. His hand gripping her waist tightly, he presses kisses along her neck. Before pressing into it more profoundly. His tongue slides out. Slides over. Warm wet sweeps of predilection. Mindset concentrated on just this. Loving her. Loving this poetically lush skin she inhabits. And that makes him let out some dry laughter.

She pulls away from his tittering lips. “So now I amuse you?”

He captures her head, possessing her cheeks. “No. Not that. Just, hadn’t told you yet. Seemed silly to. When my father’s ghost was around…”

Her brow furrows. Her chest rises with reaction.

“Oh.” He rubs his hand over her arm comfortingly. “It’s a funny moment of it I swear. Doesn’t include him.” Arthur loved his father all his life. Still does. But he realizes now too that his father’s love was quite twisted at times. And just ruined by all his fears. They made him cruel far too often. Especially what his ghost did to his wife. So Arthur understands her troubling look right now.

“Leon found Merlin and me. Wondering what we were up to. And so Merlin, idiot, tells him he was teaching me poetry.”

“Poetry?” Gwen questions, before letting out a round of laughter.

He laughs with her, his smile full. “Yes.”

When Guinevere recovers she touches his cheeks. He looks up to her grin. “You are good at many things Arthur. But poetry is not one of them.”

He has to begrudgingly admit. Years ago he wrote her some as an apology after that crazy love enchantment with Vivian. It wasn’t until after he left her tiny home that she read it. And would later tell him it made her cry and laugh at the same.

He decides something, in his spontaneous manner, grasping her waist and lifting her from his lap. She protests, ‘Arthur’. But he ignores it and moves to the table. There he finds two glasses and the bottle. He pours the contents into just one and returns to the bed, scooping her back up into his grasp and getting her to be seated upon his lap again. A small kiss of her lips, and then, “Wine.”

“Mmm…” She murmurs. Guinevere does not care for Ale or anything such, but like him she does indeed enjoy a bit of wine’s velvety taste. Lifting the glass to her lips, he watches as they part to drink. Then he takes the glass for his own enjoyment, before putting it down near their feet. He gazes upon her mouth. It’s just a bit redder now. Just a bit wetter.

Arthur plunges, letting everything mingle. His taste. Hers. Then he just looks into her eyes, feeling the excitement of being married, of being loved, of being desired. So sumptuous is this feeling. So passionate and open. He grasps her closer, hearing her tiny shudder, hearing her even stronger moan. He looks away for a moment, brings his hand down. Reaches for the glass. Still some left.

He dips his fingers in, lets the velvety liquid dabble onto them. Then seeing her watching his actions, her eyes full orbs of erotic wonder, he kisses her, fingers pressing the warm wetness against the opening of her nightgown, down to the curve of her breasts. And she pants against him. She heaves. Like the beautiful passionate woman she is. Like the wife he feels zealously fortunate to have.

Oh yes. A man’s most voluble fortunes she is. Everything in these private chambers she gives him. Now as she grips him close. Urgently presses her fingers almost painfully against his thigh, up higher to his manhood. And when he pulls her away some, her eyes, oh her eyes, like calescent balls of fire. All for him. All this is greedily his. And all he wants to covet back. Show her. Always.

He presses into her nightgown. Feels her push at his pants. He pulls the feathery material away from her body. Feels her pull off his trousers. Bodies exposed. He can’t stop kissing with his lips. Even more can’t stop giving protracted sweeps of his tongue. That make her vibrate against him. Make her fingers claim so persistently. So ardently.

Naked, in between all the movement, the red and gold silken covers, sheets tease so profoundly he rolls against them, against her. Heaving, the friction so almost impossible to take. She’s open. Her eyes exuding libertine desire. So he pushes forward with her passionate permission. Impels into his wife all he so salaciously feels. And as he does, he feels her clinging. He feels her holding tight to the rocking of their bodies. He feels not only her strong beautiful love, but his own, pulsing, throbbing, and thrusting. It’s in every piece and fiber of his body. Love.

Love of wine they share.

Love of caring for friends.

Love of kingdom.

Love of duty.

And this.

Love of

Each other.

Of being bound to each other.

Of being inside her. Of she seizing him within so for the moment there is no escape. None he entreats.

Love.

Calescent. Dripping. Crown of completion.

~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later he is sleepy and he can feel so is she. It’s a bitterly cold evening, whereas even with body warmth they will feel the chill in the morning, so she wears her nightgown again and he’s in his sleepwear too, thin trousers, and white tunic. Murmuring, he presses against her, holding his wife’s waist, feeling the feathery material under his fingers. It’s what he misses most when away from Camelot. Her warmth. Her softness. The curls of her hair. He presses himself into it all now, kissing her neck tenderly.

“Good night Guinevere.”

He can feel her smile as his fingers graze over her mouth and she kisses them. “Good night Arthur. May your dreams be sweet ones.”

He smiles at that, letting out a bit naughtily, “And licentious ones?”

She laughs a bit, before nudging her teeth against his finger.

“Ah.” He reacts.

And he feels her hold his hand to her breast as she whispers. “Only if they are of me.”

He reacts rapidly, with fervor of feeling. “Who else would they be of. You’re my only desire.”

Her smile again as she lifts his fingers for him to feel it. And that makes him smile before he lets out another murmur, closes his eyes. “The sweetest of dreams to you too my love.”

Warm, pressed around and into her, he feels his mind let go. Within their private chambers he has all he has ever truly, of heart, needed, within his arms.

Thus…

Sleep is so eased.

So blessed.