A/N: This is something I thought of last night and had to write straight away. If anyone is waiting for the next chapter of 'On the Other Foot', I'm working on it...honest.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin – the BBC does.
Warnings: This is about Arthur's birth so it obviously involves Ygraine's death. Nothing too graphic though.
She loved this feeling. The left side of her face was hot from the fire, outside the rain was falling, streaking the glass of the window and creating a multitude of rivulets between the cobblestones of the courtyard, and inside, deep inside, her precious child was stirring.
It was early and the sounds of the castle were just beginning to penetrate the peaceful still of her chambers. Although she couldn't make them out clearly through the rain-blurred glass, people were beginning to move about in the square below, the drab colours of their clothing and their hunched stance against the relentless rain giving them a sombre and dismal appearance. Inside, though, was rosy and warm.
Books were stacked on the table next to her, the fire crackled, baskets of fruit and sweet treats from Uther lay untouched on the table. The thick covers of her bed were scrunched and haphazard – neither Maida nor Ailith had been in yet to attend her – and they spoke to Ygraine of peace and serenity. If only they – and her – could be left alone. Left to lie where they fell.
But that wouldn't do. She was Queen and disorder was not to be abided. Soon they would descend on her; the maids, the physicians...Uther. She would be made presentable, told how to relax, forced to make her face smile out-of-time with her heart. Uther would surreptitiously scan her choice of reading material while he stroked her hand and spoke soft words to their child, words which made her uneasy and anxious. Moments after his departure, a smiling maid would slip into the room and remove the meatier and more thought-provoking volumes from the pile. She shouldn't be taxed.
No unkindness was intended. The condescension was well-meant. And although she often felt stifled and controlled, in her heart Ygraine was content. This was all she had wanted, this rolling, fidgeting, never-stay-still child within her womb. While the physician's had fussed and the older women of the court had chatted away, full of 'helpful' advice and stories of childbirth, she had been able smile to herself as her baby hiccupped softly, over-excited after a particularly energetic spree of summersaults. Right from the beginning of her pregnancy, when realisation had brought joy to her soul that she had never knew existed, she had placed her hand over the child and known with absolute certainty that she had achieved the very thing she had been born to do.
That knowledge had been hard to explain and she had long since given up trying. Of course, the highest honour of any woman's life was to bear sons for her husband. In that, all women were united. And for a queen, especially for one who had long been rumoured to be barren, the possibility of a male heir would naturally cause delight. But this was different.
When Uther spoke to her of his plans for after the baby, his "son and heir" (he was so confident, so completely assured), was born, Ygraine smiled and said nothing. That didn't bother Uther – he had grown to expect to be listened to rather than spoken to and this had always been the way with them – and he had gone into detail, outlining the royal progress the three would make when the boy was deemed strong enough, throughout Camelot. The whole Kingdom would want to meet its prince. He had even spoken of other children; of their growing into old age assured that the Pendragon dynasty would go on long after they had passed from this world. Ygraine's smile hadn't wavered but she had known that it would never happen. None of it.
She could picture this child clearly. Her child would have a crown of golden locks and would walk with confidence and poise. Her child would grow to command respect and be a leader of men. Her child would have the humility and compassion which had always escaped Uther and, therefore, would be loved in a way the King never would. Oddly enough, she was sure the picture she had of her child didn't differ much from the one Uther held in his mind's eye. Only one thing stood out, one thing Uther would no doubt consider a betrayal if he knew the truth: Ygraine prayed for a girl.
"You're already up, My Lady!"
Ygraine was drawn from her thoughts and smiled thinly at the maid who stood in the doorway. She had not been prepared. She had not taken the time to steel herself against the coming day.
"Yes, Maida." Her voice was warm despite her weariness. She placed both hands on her bump. "This child does not like to sleep. I gave up trying."
Maida, a woman some ten years older than the queen, tutted as she swept into the room, walking straight to the disorderly bedclothes and beginning to tug them into position. "We'll soon put an end to that," she announced. "We'll get the darling swaddled up tight and he'll have naught to do but sleep."
Ygraine's smile barely faltered but inwardly she cringed. As if the child had heard, understood and taken exception to the comment, a cramped wriggle was followed by a sharp kick to Ygraine's ribs. She hoped this child's spirit was too strong to be broken by the upbringing that was planned for it. An upbringing she suspected she had no place in.
"We'll need to get you dressed for the day, My Lady," Maida continued, brisk and efficient. "The King will be attending you shortly before he leaves for the hunt."
Ygraine nodded, although she doubted her input was required. Her second maid, Ailith appeared with a loose gown, suitable for confinement but embroidered with golden thread in order to make it also suitable for a queen. In minutes they had her eased to her feet, dressed and brushed and returned her to her chair. She was no longer comfortable. The neck of the dress scratched at her skin whenever she moved and the blanket she had brought with her from the bed in the early hours of the morning had been replaced by a finer and less warming one. However, where once she would have felt irritation rising in her chest, she now felt nothing. Her hands moved in circular motions over her stomach.
"My Lady?"
Maida's insistent voice drew her attention. She'd obviously missed something as the servant was watching her with a questioning expression. "The physician is here, My Lady," she repeated.
A more genuine smile graced Ygraine's face and she looked around the edge of her chair to the doorway. "Gaius."
The two maid servants ducked discretely through the door, leaving the queen and the physician in privacy. Ygraine drew comfort from the warm hand Gaius dropped on hers as he sat down on the stool before her.
"I hear your have been disobeying my instructions regarding sleep, Queen Ygraine," Gaius began in mock reproach, his eyebrow quirked in that peculiar fashion which was all his own.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Ygraine asked. "I sometimes honestly feel as though if I were to scratch my nose one moment, the entire castle would know about it the next."
"Only the castle, My Lady?" Gaius queried. "I would have thought that momentous enough news to make it all the way through the lower town as well."
Ygraine's lips curled into a smile. "You might be right," she agreed. "This morning, however, was not my fault. If you have stern words to impart, Physician, they might be best directed at the young royal before you rather than the old one."
It was Gaius' turn to smile. "If you qualify as old, My Lady, I fear for myself. Please, do not make us old before our years."
Ygraine inclined her head in agreement, her lips still puckered into a smile.
"So, it's this little newcomer who's disrupting things, is it?" Gaius asked, pausing with his hands outstretched before receiving a nod of permission from Ygraine and beginning to gently move his hands over her bump.
"Yes. I do believe my little one knows it is destined for bigger things and is impatient to begin," Ygraine laughed, watching as Gaius' trained fingers probed her stomach.
"Well, it won't be long before that chance is here," Gaius murmured. "The baby is well positioned. I doubt you or it will have to wait much longer."
Ygraine's smile slipped and, as Gaius withdrew his hands, she replaced them with her own.
"You look anxious, My Lady," Gaius observed after a small silence. "Is it the birth that troubles you?"
The Queen shook her head slightly and looked back at Gaius. He looked as kind and concerned as ever, his slightly greying hair framing a face which wore the same curious frown as it always seemed to.
"It's not the birth, Gaius," Ygraine found herself confiding. "It's just that I sometimes...I sometimes find myself wishing that this would never end."
Gaius' frown deepened but he said nothing.
"This baby is very, very precious to me and part of me would like to always keep it here with me...where it's safe."
"I should think that's perfectly natural, My Lady," Gaius assured her. "Especially in this case, perhaps, when so much depends on the child and such an important role lies in its future."
Ygraine nodded slightly and let her eyes travel to the window again where the rain was still falling, laying its cold shine on a dismal grey morning.
"I worry about how much is expected of this child. It seems unfair that it should be born with the weight of such expectation already on its shoulders. Such a small child...I'm finding it hard to face having to hand it over to the world after such a short time."
She knew she had said too much by the look on Gaius' face. He didn't understand. How could he? The belief that she would not survive the birth of this child had been something which had grown on her over time and there was no logic behind it. While she could picture her child and the life it might lead, she had never been able to imagine herself as part of it. She knew she would not be able to protect her child as she wanted to, that her beloved baby would face every challenge without her help or care. She knew she would not watch this child in its successes and failures or ever meet the adult she knew it could be. But she was at peace. Even she could not explain it, so how could anyone else ever understand?
Gaius was smiling warmly, his hand back on hers. "This baby will be yours for a good while yet, Ygraine," he assured her quietly. "Uther might not be able to stop talking about the warrior prince he seems sure he has begotten upon you, but, even if it is a boy, it's going to be born wanting his mother, not a horse and a sword!"
Ygraine forced a smile at the words she knew were intended to be comforting. Gaius, she realised, was one of the few she might be confident would watch over her child once she was gone.
"It is you I'm worried about at the moment," Gaius continued. "You're paler than usual and this lack of sleep is not ideal. I have a tonic prepared which might help."
Ygraine dutifully took the small vial Gaius had pulled from the leather bag by his feet. "Is it magic?" she asked.
Gaius face crinkled into a smile. "Of course."
Ygraine sipped down the pale pink liquid, which tingled against her tongue and tasted a lot better than any conventional medicine she had even been given.
"Nimueh is still gone from court?" she asked, as she passed back the empty vial.
Gaius nodded. "She's still on the Isle of the Blessed. Something seemed to be troubling her before she left, though I don't know what."
Ygraine pushed her shoulders back in her chair and tried to stretch her body to allow the child within her womb a little more space. "I hope it's nothing serious. Send her to see me once she returns, won't you?"
"I shall, My Lady."
The companionable moment was broken by the sound of a sharp and familiar stride along the passageway which came to a halt at the door.
Uther's head appeared around the side of the door, a youthful exuberance shining in his eyes that reminded Ygraine of so many wonderful moments in their past. He looked immediately to the bed and didn't seem to notice the two sitting on the other side of the room by the fire.
"My love?" he called out. "Are you here, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Sire," Gaius answered before Ygraine had a chance to open her mouth. "How can I help you?"
Uther walked into the room with a set of raised eyebrows to match Gaius' own and Ygraine let out a light laugh as she looked across at Gaius, who had risen to his feet, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Do you think it's possible, Gaius, that I might have been addressing my beautiful, radiant wife rather than you, you fool?"
"The thought hadn't occurred to me, Sire," Gaius answered, solemnly. "Although, now you mention it, I did think you were being perhaps a touch too familiar."
Uther shook his head disparagingly and reached out a hand to clap the physician a little roughly on the shoulder. "Not to worry, my friend. I'm sure there must be someone out there who's willing to refer to you with such terms of endearment. I did hear tell of a creature residing in a swamp in the far reaches of Mercia with the body of a woman and the head of a slug...perhaps if I put in a good word for you?"
"Thank you kindly, Sire, but I can assure you I do very well with the female swamp monsters without any assistance from you."
"Glad to hear it, Gaius," Uther grinned. "Glad to hear it."
Ygraine shook her head at the antics of the two men before her. Their relationship was a strange one and there were many who wondered how the physician got away with the irreverent manner with which he addressed the King. Gaius had risen to his esteemed position with surprising speed and, while Uther was open to council from many quarters, it was Gaius he turned to first. Gaius seemed to have an uncanny ability to speak to the light and reasonable side of Uther's character and bring out the best in him.
"Now, if you've finished your tomfoolery," Uther went on. "Might I enquire as to the health of my wife?"
Gaius smiled broadly down at her. "Queen Ygraine is doing very well. I've given her a magical remedy which should help her regain some of the energy she has lost through lack of sleep. I believe the baby will be with us very soon."
Uther grinned broadly and sank down onto the stool which had been recently vacated by the physician. He reached out both hands and gathered up one of Ygraine's. "That's good news," he murmured earnestly.
Ygraine smiled down at him. Her handsome husband. Her knight. Her King. At moment's like these, when the court was out of his mind and no one was pleading for his help, his time or his money, she remembered why she loved him so much. Sometimes, like when he walked out from between the castle gates at the beginning of a tourney, his head held high and his helmet grasped under one arm, calm and focussed despite the shouts and cheers from the crowd, she thought she could hardly bear the pride. He worked so hard to govern fairly, and humbled himself enough to seek wise council - for they both knew that being King did not come naturally to him.
He had been a good enough warrior and leader to conquer Camelot when he had been a young man barely grown, but once that was achieved he had been at something of a loss. The people did not love him, though she believed he had their respect, and she knew it hurt him to see the way they opened their hearts to her, his queen, but not to him. His tendency was to severity over leniency, insensitivity over generosity of spirit, but he had the character to acknowledge that (to her at least) and do his best to overcome his weaknesses. And so it was that when he spoke again she had love enough in her heart to forgive him his petty egotism.
"I am so looking forward to meeting my son," he said softly, his face looking up at her warmly. "I know he'll be everything I imagine."
Ygraine pursed her lips and while her displeasure went unnoticed by the King, Gaius sighed loudly.
"If you'll excuse me, Your Highnesses," he announced, "I'd better go and organise someone to start sharpening the Prince's sword."
Gaius left the room with one heartfelt glance for the Queen and Uther rolled his eyes.
"He's in a particularly argumentative mood today," he observed, watching the door close behind the physician. "I sent for a potion to relieve a headache this morning and it came with a note attached suggesting I might be advised to 'lay off the mead' as a preventative measure."
Ygraine smiled indulgently and reached out to stroke the side of Uther's face, willing herself to regain some of that affection she had experienced only moments before. "Perhaps it's good advice?"
"Perhaps," the King agreed. "But why bother with prevention when you can have magic as a cure-all?"
Ygraine's gaze broke from his and once again returned to the rain-streaked window. "I wonder if it is a cure-all?" she murmured quietly, more to herself than anything. "Magic can be of great use, but I worry that reliance on it might distort the natural way of things?"
Something of the peace in Uther's expression left him and he sat up abruptly, taking his hands from hers. And there they were again. Ygraine saddened and ponderous, Uther nursing his own self-indulgent worries and both so very isolated.
"You shouldn't worry yourself about such issues," Uther said, a little sharply. "It's not good for your condition. You have not just your own health to consider but that of the future King of Camelot."
'Or Queen,' Ygraine silently corrected. Outside, the rain began to ease and a few rays of pale yellow light broke through the thick clouds.
She could feel his eyes on her but she did not turn to meet his gaze. The minutes stretched out and neither one could find their voice. Ygraine let out a long, steady sigh.
"I must leave you, Ygraine," Uther announced eventually, rising to his feet. "It's a foul day but the only one I have free for now. Sir Algar and Sir Godric are waiting for me in the courtyard."
"You'd choose to spend your free time hunting animals in the rain?" Ygraine asked, looking up at him.
Uther shrugged. "One day I'll be old and I will stand at a window watching my son ride out to hunt. But for now I am young and so I choose adventure over signing papers. Do you begrudge me that?"
Ygraine's heart snapped shut. "Of course not, My Lord. I wish you good luck."
Uther took the hand his wife offered him and dropped a kiss on the white skin. Then he turned on his heel and strode towards the door. His hand was on the handle when his wife's voice caught him by surprise.
"Tell me, My Lord; is it true that Gorlois was recently in court?"
She saw him stiffen before she looked away. He could not hide it.
"Yes. He was."
"He did not come to see me."
"It was not appropriate. Not while you are in your confinement."
"No. Of course." She paused while she struggled to find the courage for the next words. "Is he well? And Vivienne?"
"He is very well," Uther replied, his back still to her. "And Vivienne, I believe, is well also. He left yesterday to get back to her."
Ygraine's voice remained deceptively calm. "Is he pleased with the child? A girl, isn't it?"
"Yes." And for a long moment that's all Uther could seem to get out. "Yes. A girl."
"What did they name her?"
"Morgana," Uther supplied, tonelessly. "At least, I think..."
"Morgana," Ygraine repeated, letting the name sink into her memory, never to be forgotten. "Thank you, Uther. That's all I wanted to know. Enjoy your hunt."
Uther stood motionless by the door for a little longer. Eventually he turned to look at his wife but she had turned back to the window and would not meet his eye. Pulling on the handle, he opened the door and strode out of the room.
Ygraine sat by the window in silence, her left hand motionless on her protruding stomach. She thought of the baby miles away in a large stone house, wrapped against the cold and being held by her mother. By Vivienne. For once, her own baby was still.
Hours later, when the still of the night had replaced the busy castle sounds of the day, Ygraine lay in her bed, staring at the canopy above her and gritting her teeth through the second surge of pain in as many minutes. On the table next to her bed, alongside the candle, lay a bell. She paid it no mind at all. She didn't want any of them there. Not yet.
She curled her fists around handfuls of blanket and felt the tightening pain in her back and abdomen peak, then let out a long, slow groan and the wave began to subside. But when the contraction died away the sharp pain which had been searing through her middle to her pelvis since the day before remained. She could feel the blood on the sheets between her legs. She was colder than she remembered ever being before.
Soon she'd reach for the bell and bring the maids and physicians running. Nimueh wasn't yet back at court but Ygraine wasn't sure she could make any difference if she was. She would have liked her to be there, though, for the baby's sake. At least Gaius would be there. Gaius would care for her child.
As she tried to steady her breath and calm her body before the next wave built up within her, Ygraine imagined what this baby would look like when it came into the world. She prayed she would have a chance to hold it, to take it in her arms and will it to never forget it had had a mother.
She gasped as the needle-like pain seemed to burn straight through her, building until she found it hard to breathe. Another contraction was beginning in her back and she wasn't sure how she would cope. Her eyesight began to blur.
Let it be a girl. Please, God, let it be a girl. Let Uther have a daughter and let him see me in her. Let him be kind. Let her live her own life. If it's a boy his life will never be his own. If it's a boy...
The contraction builds and this time she can't restrain the cry. She hears herself shriek and it sounds like the cry of a madwoman. The door opens; there are voices, shouts, hands upon her. The pain is a wrenching agony within her and she forgets how to breathe. She's lost in the pain. Her mind rests.
It's a whispering voice from within which wakes her, telling her that this is her chance, telling her she'll miss it if she doesn't find some strength from somewhere. She pushes her eyes open. There is candlelight and movement on the edges of her vision. The pain is still there but she doesn't seem to register it the same way as she did before. Like Uther's betrayal, it has stopped mattering to her.
She realises the baby is still within her. Voices urge her to push and she does. She feels a wave approaching and, though it's as if this is something happening to someone else, she pushes. But the contraction doesn't last and she's left there in limbo, waiting and trying her best not to slip away. Kind words sound in her ear and she sees Gaius above her, fear in his eyes, as he wipes away the sweat from her forehead.
Let it be a girl. If it's a boy Uther will never let him go. His life will be defined by his father's ideals and ambitions. And if he ever manages to live up to Uther's expectations it will only bring out bitterness and envy in his weak-willed father. She knows her husband too well. She knows he could not bear to be outshone by his own son. For both their sakes, let it be a girl.
There are voices outside the door. Shouting and demands. Uther. Gaius leaves her side and moments later the King is quiet. How much longer with Gaius be able to handle him? How long until a dead wife and his own guilt turn his despair into anger?
If it's a girl, Uther might be consoled. He knows how to love a girl; he could protect and adore her. He would never be threatened by her. He would never push her away.
The pain is rising again and Gaius is back by her side. He speaks to her again but she only hears the encouragement and respect in his tone; his words she cannot take in. She pushes. The baby is so close. She can feel her life flooding out of her, but the baby is so close. Cries of excitement from the women in the room. A sudden bustle at the foot of the bed. She feels herself sink back into the pillows.
"It's a boy!"
The words break through her foggy mind and her eyes open. It's a boy. A boy. Uther's deception has given him what he wanted and it will be the end of him.
She forces her eyes to focus. A bundle wrapped up in sheets is being held by a woman whose name she can't remember. One of her ladies is gazing at it in adoration. Gaius is paying them no mind. It occurs to her that he is trying to save her life. He is wasting his time.
"Give him to me." Her voice surprises her and, evidently, the women too. They look to each other in consternation. They waver.
She doesn't have time for this. Her life is slipping away and she wants to hold her child. Her son. "Gaius. Please."
The physician looks up from his work and seems to understand, on looking at her face, that he cannot win the battle he is fighting. He cannot save her. He stands and reaches out his arms for the baby.
"We should take him to the King," one of the women murmurs.
Gaius says nothing but takes the baby from her. He's at her side in moments.
"My Lady," he whispers.
He places the baby in the crook of her right arm, high enough on the pillow that she can see his face, and pulls back the wrappings slightly. He's perfect.
"My baby," she whispers. "My baby."
There's an expression of surprise on his face. His eyes are dark and wide. His little mouth opens wider than she would have thought possible. Uther will name him Arthur.
"I wish I didn't have to leave you," Ygraine manages.
She forces her left arm to move and strokes his impossibly soft cheek with one finger. He looks suddenly cross. A tiny, red-faced vision of fury and determination. She knows everything she predicted for him will come to pass. He will eclipse his father in every way. As her vision begins to dim, he is like a bright light in the dark. She won't be the last one who will be willing to die for this Arthur.
"I love you," she whispers, her voice breaking.
The rest of the room is gone to her. She can see only her tiny son. She prays that Uther won't break him. She prays that someone will be sent to protect him and help him become the man she knows he was born to be.
As her vision fills with a sudden light she is unsure whether it is death greeting her or the brilliance of her son.
With Arthur in her arms, she quietly gives up her life.