When Uther's servant arrived in the great hall, which now served as a makeshift infirmary and morgue, Gaius was struggling to staunch the flow of blood from a knight's wounded head. Seeing that it was hopeless, he asked two men from the village to move the knight to among those who needed no more care. He turned to the next wounded knight, his flesh badly burned. Merlin and Arthur had returned with news that the great dragon had been vanquished; almost immediately, they had set out again, with as many men as they could muster to tend to the dead, and search for survivors and wounded and bring them back to Camelot. Since then, Gaius had seen to each of the wounded in turn; and there were others in need of care, still injured from the dragon's three night siege. Throughout it all, Guinevere was at Gaius' side, doing what she could to assist him--boiling water, preparing bandages, and acting as a second set of hands where needed.
So the arrival of Uther's servant was an unwelcome distraction. "Master Gaius, the king requires you," the servant sputtered, as he took in the carnage around him. "The pain that troubles him has returned. He said to tell you that he suffers greatly."
"Surely, he can't expect me to abandon my duty to these knights. The king's pain will not kill him, but many of these men may not live to see morning if they do not receive immediate attention," the old physician said aloud in exasperation, to no one in particular. He called Gwen to his side, "You must go and see to the king."
"Gaius ..." her voice came out in a panic; her worried eyes pleading her case.
He had worked elbow to elbow with her for days now, tending the wounded. He knew that she had seen bodies burned, and torn by the claws and teeth of the dragon, and yet she had not panicked. What was it that made her so: fear of discovery, or hatred for the man responsible for her father's death? Either way, Gaius did not have time to ponder. "Gwen, I cannot leave these men to tend to the king. You must go. Listen closely ..." And so as quickly as he knew how, he instructed her as to what she must to do for the king, even as his hands worked to save the knight before him.
*****
Gwen followed Uther's servant through the castle corridors to the king's chambers. The corridors seemed cool and fresh after the close, heated hall that reeked of smoke, sweat, and blood. She could see at once the dismay in Uther's eyes as she was ushered into his presence. His chambers were richly appointed, befitting the king, and very masculine, as one would expect from a man so long without a woman in his life. Gwen took it in with a sweep of her eyes, before bringing them to the king himself.
Uther sat beside a window. A candle on the table next to him was nearly burned down all the way, evidence of the long hours he'd spent waiting for news. If one needed any more evidence, his haggard, drawn face provided it. His leather coat was open, as was his shirt underneath. For all the times she'd seen the king, she had never seen him thus.
"You know, this is unprecedented ... Guinevere, isn't it?"
"Yes sire. Though most call me Gwen." Guinevere curtsied deeply before him.
"Never before have I been attended by other than the court physician ... and a woman, at that," Uther looked down from his seat at the figure before him; her curls mostly restrained, save a few that framed her face. When she rose, he saw that she wore a dress of pale lavender; the stains of her work at Gaius' side, were an unformed pattern on her apron. "Gaius must be busy indeed to refuse my summons."
"Sire," now she rose and met his eyes full on, "Gaius asks your indulgence, sire. There are many still wounded; some in need of immediate attention." She went on, "He also asks that I hurry back, if I can, to aid him."
"I understand that Gaius trusts you. By all accounts, you worked beside him to comfort the dying, and tend to the wounded, my son among them," here he bestowed a shrewd and knowing look on her, for though he had become increasingly isolated, Uther still had ways of finding out what happened in his kingdom.
"Your son is extraordinarily brave, sire, befitting the crown prince of Camelot," she observed mildly.
"Yes, brave, and headstrong too. Don't you agree, Guinevere?"
"I could not say, sire. But his bravery is known to all," she responded.
"And admired by many," he parried.
She took a step closer to the king and turned the subject, "With your consent sire, Gaius asks that I take the measure of your ailment before I prepare your draught."
The king's eyebrows shot up in astonishment, "Does he indeed?" Her only response was a small bow of her head. After a long moment of consideration, he relented, "Very well."
Gwen approached the king and took his wrist in her hand as Gaius had instructed her. Using her fingers, she felt for the spot Gaius had shown her, where a man's blood pulsed in his veins, providing proof of life when needed, and other signs of health or illness in those who obviously lived. She found it with ease, as the past nights had provided too many opportunities for practice.
"May I, sire?" Next, she reached for his neck. She pulled wide the collar of his shirt, and gently felt his neck on either side. Gaius had told her that if ever she failed to find the pulse in the wrist, it could also be found in the neck. But now, she felt his neck, not for the pulse, but to assess whether or not he had a fever. Gaius had taught her to feel for the warmth of the skin or if the skin felt moist; either could indicate a fever. Uther did not feel feverish.
"And the pain, sire?" she asked. "Where and how great?"
He took her hand in his with suddenness and authority, that made her inhale a surprised breath. "Here," he said, firmly holding her hand on a spot just below his breastbone, "and great, very great." He narrowed and fixed his eyes on her startled ones. She held his gazed, knowing that to look away would surely confirm what he appeared to already know.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand, and took a small step back. "Then, it is as Gaius suspected -- the return of a familiar ailment."
"Yes, I believe so."
She turned to leave, "I'll return shortly, sire, with a compound Gaius says will provide you relief."
"Very well. Oh, and Gwen? Do hurry, for I would not have called for Gaius tonight if the pain was not great," and he emphasized the point by placing his hand where hers had been a moment before, pain flickering in his eyes.
She curtsied briefly and was gone.
*****
Once inside Gaius' chambers, Gwen went immediately to compound the draught exactly as Gaius had instructed her. As she assembled the needed ingredients on his workbench, she noticed that Gaius' supplies ran low, and lacked his customary orderliness. She would help him restock and organize them when all of this was over. She knew that Merlin could help Gaius, but she also knew that he would be needed at Arthur's side as they began the process of setting things to right after the dragon's reign of terror.
She tried to work quickly with excited but steady hands. Gaius had briefly explained the properties of each ingredient, which helped her understand the consequences of making an error. As she measured and mixed, her mind drifted to a conversation she'd had with Merlin that seemed like a lifetime ago now. He'd asked her, in the wake of her father's death by order of the king, if she would kill Uther if she had the chance. How ironic that now that such a chance presented itself, she stood to gain so much more that simple revenge. Now she stood to gain her heart's desire. But now, as then, it remained wrong, ugly and repugnant. It would be a betrayal of all that her father had taught her, a betrayal of Gaius' trust, and a betrayal of the man she loved. Yet the conversation, the memory of it, crept across her mind now. She pushed the thought away, and added the final herbal tincture to the compound. Finally, she poured it carefully into an apothecary's jar, and sealed it securely with a cork. In haste, she left things as they were, but silently promised to return and tidy Gaius' workbench before he returned to his chambers to rest.
*****
The king's manservant opened the chamber door and ushered her in without ceremony or unnecessary words. Uther looked worse than when she left him. He'd removed his coat altogether and sat splayed in his chair. The candle flickering on the table beside him. He seemed very pale; in the dim light, his eyes seemed distant, perhaps unfocussed, seeking only he knew what, beyond the window.
"Leave us," he barked at his servant. The man bowed low, nearly running from the room, but shut the door noiselessly from years of practice.
Gwen approached the king and placed the apothecary's jar in his hands. In spite of his pallor, his hands were warm and dry against hers as they received the jar. She watched as he removed the cork stopper and raised the jar to his lips. He paused for a moment just as the jar touched his lips. His eyes sought hers. What was it she saw in them? Fear, suspicion, and frustration warred with one another. In the end, angry resignation won out. He drank it as though it was an act of surrender, and allowed his eyes to close for a moment, perhaps in anticipation of relief.
"They think me a coward for not riding out to meet the dragon," he whispered.
Gwen searched for an appropriate response. No one who saw him now could doubt--it was not cowardice, but rather a lack of resolve, a loss of faith. Yet he had watched his son, his only son, take up the faith that failed him, and ride out to meet an uncertain fate. "Sire, I believe Gaius is correct when he says that pain and want of sleep are poor companions for the king."
Seeing the candle flickering so low, Gwen crossed the room to the shelf beside the great fireplace in the king's chambers, and brought two fresh candles back to the table. She lit the first one from the dying flame. As she went to light the second, she felt her hand stayed by the king's powerful grip. "More than one is a waste. Don't you agree Gwen?"
"Sire," she bowed her head to him.
"Already the pain subsides ... and for the first time in many nights, I feel sleep would be welcome. But do tell Gaius, I expect him to attend me in the morning."
"Yes sire," her words were laced with a deference she didn't feel. She curtsied low and took a final look at the king. He was still powerful in body, mind and voice, still formidable, still the king ... and yet he was diminished. She struggled to keep from her face the one emotion she knew he would hate above all else ... pity.