AU. Arthur is King, and Merlin's magic is known and accepted. Gwen and Arthur have (so far) shared adventures but nothing more.
The Dread King has wounded Arthur, who lies in bed unable to walk. Merlin has been sent for news of the enemy and does not know how perilous is Arthur's condition.
He is immobile in bed, his bad leg strapped to his good one, a ridiculous arrangement which makes everything impossible. He can sit up - must sit up, because lying flat puts pressure on his spine, and the physicians are worried that he has damaged his spine, perhaps permanently. So his arms have more or less free rein, but the rest of him must be as stone.
He can still sign things, put his seal on a dispatch, do everything a bad king can do. "When you are well enough, we can bear you around on a litter," said the chief physick.
"When I'm well enough," said Arthur, "I will bloody well get up and walk."
The doctors exchanged glances, and Arthur knew then that they thought he might never get that much better. He dismissed them, and lay back on his pillows, and watched shadows of swallows outside his window, thrown onto his ceiling by the afternoon sun.
He had challenged an undead warrior. He had struck at enchanted spiders, one hand clutching the cliff, the other his sword and the remedy for his oldest friend. To save Camelot, he had drunk poison without hesitation, and to rescue his friends he had dared enter the Dread King's own castle.
But now, facing the possibility of a crippled life, the life of a half man and a useless king, he was terrified.
He closed his eyes. The swallows dived and soared in the free air, and never knew their good fortune. And until yesterday, he had never appreciated his.
"I've brought some soup," said Gwen's voice, close to the bed, making him jump
"Why is it always soup? It's my leg that's broken, not my jaw," said Arthur, ashamed of being surprised, and of the tears on his pillow.
She had seen nothing. She set the bowl on the table beside him. "If you send it back, the doctors will know you're not making progress."
"Damn them," said Arthur, but he held out his shield hand for the bowl.
She smiled, and placed it carefully in his palm. "Do you want my help?"
She had the tact to know not to ask about need. And he realised that yes, he did want help. Not from just anyone - but from someone he could trust, someone who would never abuse his horrible weakness. He nodded.
She took up the spoon, and sat on the other side of the bed. He rested the bowl in his lap, and she spooned soup to his lips. "You have to stay still," she said. "Bones are like just-welded iron. Until it's tempered, it's brittle."
"You can't plunge me into a water bath to temper me," he said. Soup dripped onto his chin.
She passed him a handkerchief. "No. And I can't melt you to a new shape either. The shape you are now, that's the metal I have to work with."
He dabbed his mouth and chin, crumpled the cloth, tossed it onto the floor. "You?"
"I'm saying that you mustn't move. That's all."
"All right, don't bite my head off."
She smiled into the soup bowl.
"When's Merlin back? I need an enchantment for the pain." And preferably a cure, but Arthur could not say it. The hope was too raw to voice.
"Tonight, they say," she said. The bowl was empty. "Shall I bring more?"
"No. I - " More soup would be inviting trouble. It was a nuisance to do everything, including relieving himself.
"The pot's under the bed," she said. "When you need it."
"Guinevere!"
But she would not flap. She remained, settled on the edge of the bed in front of him like an owl in its nook above a granary: still, steady-eyed. This was the woman who had been terrified, but still played her part in their escape from the Dread King, the woman who had fought, and run fugitive with him into the woods, who had cooked him rabbit and finally, tended his wounds. The woman he had kissed, for show, to distract the guards. Not that the plan had worked.
"Well," he said, aware of sounding ungracious, "are you going to entertain me with news of court? Story and song?"
"The knights want to come and visit you."
"No. Out of the question." His men must not see him wrapped up like an invalid, like a hopeless case.
"Various princesses have sent gifts and letters."
"Oh God. Burn them," said Arthur.
"The princesses?"
"The gifts!" He batted at her, mock-scowling, and cursed as movement sent flame down his neck to the base of his spine and then his shredded leg.
"Don't move!"
"I know!" The tears were back, but not, this time, of self pity. It felt like he was crying pain itself, as if excruciation was distilling to salt water, rising through his leg and chest and running out of his eyes. He had to hold his breath not to moan aloud.
"Sorry. That was my fault." Gwen reached instinctively for his hand to comfort him, then remembered who he was. Even now, she still forgot.
"Yes it was."
"You should try to sleep."
"No. I am not slightly tired."
"It's the best thing. The body heals during sleep."
He raised his eyebrows. His cheeks were still wet but he dared not move to wipe his face this time.
"Merlin told me that," she said.
"Oh? And where is he now? This expert?"
"He's coming. As soon as he hears -"
Arthur knew. Merlin would fly here, to help if he could. That didn't mend anything right now though.
"Rest," said Gwen.
"Stay here," Arthur said. He tried to make it a command and not a plea.
"As long as you want, sire," she said. She moved to sit in the window seat.
He shook his head very slightly. "No. Not sire, now. Just Arthur. And don't wander around. " He flexed his sword hand on the blanket. She placed hers in it. "Yes."
It was so hard not to nod, gesture, move around.
"It will get better," she whispered.
"And if it doesn't? I'm useless. Better to kill me, throw me in the moat and let me sink."
"No." Her small hand clenched his.
"I mean it. I'm no good without my fighting arm."
"You still have that," she said. "And your courage. And your - love of your kingdom. These things make a king. Walking is lower down the list."
He said nothing. Looked up at the ceiling and willed tears not to spill over.
"I love you." She said. "Everyone does. Whether you walk or not."
"Not good enough." Hold on. She what-
"What was that?" Gwen's hand slipped from his. "Outside the window-"
"Give me my sword," said Arthur.
A noise like armour being thrown down the stairs filled the bedchamber. "Go. Now," said Arthur, struggling to sit up, to wedge his leg so that he could hold his sword.
The blackened creatures of the Dread King beat at the windows. "Guinevere," said Arthur. "Run."
"You can't fight them!"
"Just go -"
"I'm not leaving you here!"
The window shattered. Glass flew towards Gwen, who scrambled back, gasping. She stumbled and fell, inelegant on her back. And then the evil creatures were in the room, were reaching for her with poison talons, their beaks snapping.
"Hey," said Arthur. "Here!" He waved his sword.
As one the creatures turned. Their eyes blinked twice.
Gwen stood, scrambled up, but the fiends were between her and the door. She darted towards Arthur and cowered against the bed as the creatures screeched across the room, wings flapping hollowly. And they turned back and tore at her with their metal claws. She screamed, blood dripping from her sleeve, and Arthur roared.
The curtains around the bed swirled, then disintegrated in the creatures' claws. The sorry rags thrashed in the wind from the broken windows. "Stay on my shield side," yelled Arthur. He cut at the fiends and speared one, which enraged the rest.
Gwen caught up a jug and hurled it at them with little effect. She grabbed Arthur's dinner knife and jabbed, but he said, "The table, a shield." So then she held the side table between them and the demons. White-faced he sliced at the fiends, his sword humming in the air, but the creatures' fury only increased as their number was diminished. Gwen reached out from behind their makeshift shelter to find the chamber pot, mercifully empty. She banged it with a broken chair leg, over and over like a pitiful bell. Surely someone in the castle had heard?
"I can't protect you," Arthur said. "Like this , I'm good for nothing." He heaved his sword aloft, skewering a fiend. It dribbled off the end of his sword and Arthur flung it aside, wincing at the wrench. "I can't protect Camelot. I can't lead when my kingdom can give me only pity." He pulled Gwen to him as another creature aimed its claws at her face. "I'm weak and useless-"
"Arthur! You're the strongest person in this kingdom!"
"You just want that to be true!"
"It is true!"
He looked at her then, her face smeared with dirt and blood, her arms shaking with the effort of holding the shield. "But-"
Her eyes, wide with fear, stared back at him. "It's true," she repeated. "You can do anything." And he saw through her fear of these foul demons, to her calm certainty that he would defeat them.
When the knights broke in, Arthur was fighting upwards, his sword in one hand and the other arm covering Gwen's head. The shield table was splinters on the carpet. Gwen was spattered with black blood and red. And Arthur was white with sweat and pain.
In moments it was over and the knights hurled the fiends' remains over the balcony.
"Get the doctors," whispered Gwen, and the men left.
Arthur lay back on his pillow. His arm was still clenched around Gwen's shoulders. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
"Your spine," she said, easing herself from his protection. "You mustn't move!" But he had been upright, thrusting with his sword, lunging at the fiends. "What if -"
What if he could never stand again?
Arthur forced a smile. He touched her cheek. "Worth it," he said. "Damn things didn't even knock."
She laughed, sobbed, sank to her knees beside the bed. "Sire," she said, taking his shield hand. "Arthur. You are truly a good king. And a good man."
"Hah," said Arthur, indicating his useless legs.
"Yes." She gazed seriously at him and saw it all in his eyes, pain, sweat and something more tender there too. She kissed his palm. "I wrench your arm and you barely flinch. But when you think of failing Camelot you weep. That's not weakness. That's strength."
The doctors arrived in a flurry then, and Gwen had to release her King's hand, but she had felt his fingers caress her hair, and knew her words had been heard.