Love Like a Blanket

by Prydwen Magic

Queen Igraine created a blanket for her son, but he never received it. Instead it was left in the care of Igraine's friend's daughter – Guinevere. This is the story of how that blanket brought the two youngsters together.

Title: Love Like a Blanket

Theme and/ or Prompt/s: Beginnings, Arthur and Gwen talk about their mothers.

Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Author: prydwen_magic

Rating: Pg-13

Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Guinevere, Igraine, Merlin.

Spoilers: Series 2 Episode 2 (The Once and Future Queen)

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise.

Summary: Queen Igraine created a blanket for her son, but he never received it. Instead it was left in the care of Igraine's friend's daughter – Guinevere. This is the story of how that blanket brought the two youngsters together.

Author's notes: 8250 words – A bit longer than I expected :) Originally written for the 1st One-shot Challenge at ag_fics. This won first place – thanks to everyone who voted! :)

"If you are cold at night, let the promise of my love cover you like a warm blanket." (Matthew White)

As Queen Igraine wandered through the streets of Camelot, the people bowed graciously, honest smiles on their faces – for the Queen was loved. Throughout the land, the wife of Uther Pendragon was renowned for her kindness and gentleness to people of all stations. It was not uncommon to find her roaming the lower town, visiting the bakers and blacksmiths, butchers and weavers – her curiosity and determination to help was never satisfied.

She usually took her walk without escort, knowing she would not be alone for long – the people were her friends. The only times she had company whilst leaving the castle where when she convinced her husband, the King, to join her. While his parents had instilled a belief of superiority in Uther, and he had little patience with the peasants, Igraine could, on occasion, convince him to show benevolence – knowing that a Kingdom who loved their King was greater than a Kingdom living in fear. It was her strong belief that she and Uther were as much the people's servants as the people were them.

However, now heavily pregnant, the Queen was not permitted to walk alone. After several protests from Igraine, Uther had dismissed the knights who had originally been ordered to guard her, and allowed her to keep just Gaius, the court physician, as her companion. Gaius was a kind man, and a good friend to both Uther and Igraine. As much as she would like to walk alone, she was glad for Gaius' company – honestly she was scared about her pregnancy, many women did not survive child birth, and Igraine was past her best childbearing years. For a long while she and Uther had believed she was barren, yet when she told Uther of her pregnancy he had not seemed surprised – she soon dismissed this however, when she saw the happiness on her husband's face. Uther had craved a child as much as she had, so she was proud and overjoyed to grant him his deepest desire, an heir to their kingdom – and though she knew Uther loved her truly, she could not tell him of her fears, she did not want him to worry needlessly.

When she had confided her fears in Gaius, he had told her of a young seamstress, Isobel – wife of Tom the blacksmith – who was also heavily pregnant. So for the last few weeks Igraine and Gaius had made regular visits to Isobel's home – allowing Gaius to be sure everything was well with the seamstress, and giving the women time to talk, both about the joys and fears associated with pregnancy, and also stories about everyday life and general gossip. Isobel, and much to his amusement and horror Gaius, now knew more about the King than any peasant ever had the right to. Uther and Tom had been the source of much amusement between the two friends, for that is what they had become. Isobel was a woman of infinite kindness, and Igraine was eternally grateful for her benevolence and understanding – for she felt, without Isobel she would have given into the fear within her – even Gaius, a physician, was still a man, and could not possibly imagine what Igraine was going through. She suspected even Isobel did not fully appreciate her terror, for surely this fear was unreasonable, unnatural even? She was carrying a child within her, the child she had always wanted to bring into the world – so why did she feel a strange sense of doom?

Isobel was also the best of her craft, a remarkable seamstress, with work so fine not even the work of the royal seamstress could rival her. That was why, on this particular day, Igraine carried with her a small red blanket, into which she had woven the Pendragon crest. Weaving and sewing had never been Igraine's favourite activities – but as an expecting mother she was determined to make something for her child, something for him to remember her by, should anything happen to her. However her inexperience showed, and the blanket was imperfect – the dragon's wing was wonky, and the edges were frayed terribly – she hoped Isobel would be able to help her fix it – Uther would never accept anything less than perfection for his son.

The Queen and the Physician made their way to Isobel's small home, only to find it empty. Undeterred they headed for the forge, suspecting Isobel would be with her husband. Tom was a pleasant man, Igraine had had very few conversations with him, but he seemed kind, if quiet.

Suddenly the clanging from within the forge stopped, and they heard a male voice cry out. Immediately Gaius hurried towards the building, while Igraine followed as quickly as she could, given her rounded stomach. When she finally made her way into the forge she saw Gaius and Tom huddled over Isobel, who was laid on the floor, clearly in pain. Igraine desperately wanted to crouch beside her friend and comfort her, but her swollen belly would not allow it.

"She's having the baby." Igraine spoke; it was not a question but a statement.

"Yes." Gaius replied, his no-nonsense physician's voice taking over.

Within an hour the harsh screeching of a new born filled the room. Gaius quickly cleaned the baby, and realised, that since they were still in the forge, there was no blanket. Without hesitation Igraine, who had remained by Isobel's side the entire time, handed over the Pendragon blanket. She quickly dismissed Isobel's weak protests, saying practically that the baby could not be allowed to get cold. Then she rushed to take the little girl from Gaius, quickly but gently wrapping the thick blanket around her. The child had Isobel's dark, soft ringlets and Tom's caramel skin. As she gazed down at the small, doll-like human-being in her arms, for the first time she looked forward the birth of her baby. Then she carried the girl over to her smiling parents and placed her in Isobel's arms.

"She's beautiful." Igraine told them, and the proud parents could only nod in agreement. Gaius moved forward to glimpse the child, held safe within the Pendragon blanket in her mother's arms. Then the little girl opened her eyes for the first time, and gazed up at the Queen with wide, chocolate orbs. Isobel gasped in surprise, her little daughter was beautiful.

"What will you call her?"

At the Queen's question Isobel turned to Tom, who nodded smiling.

"Guinevere." Replied the beaming mother, then, glancing up at Igraine, "Guinevere Igraine Leodegrance – If that's okay milady?"

Igraine felt tears well up in her eyes, "Of course it's okay my dear friend, I'm honoured." She and Isobel smiled at each other. The men moved away, murmuring something about finding water and food.

"Thank you for the blanket Igraine. Is it the one you've made for the baby?"

"Yes, I was hoping you'd be able to help me fix it, it's a little messy." Igraine admitted blushing.

Isobel smiled, "Of course I'll help you with it. I was planning on making a blanket for little Gwennie here, but with her being so early, I haven't had the chance."

"Then you must keep this one! At least until you have a new one."

Isobel began to protest.

"No Isobel listen. I won't need it for another month or so, until the baby is born. That will give you enough time to create a new one."

Igraine smiled encouragingly at her friend, "Don't worry, I won't tell Uther. He doesn't know about it yet, I was worried it would be terrible, and you know he won't accept anything less than perfection for his heir."

Isobel laughed, "Igraine this truly is fine work," she fingered the blanket delicately, "It just needs touching up a little to be up to the King's standards." She gave Igraine a knowing look, and they both laughed, thinking of the King's obsession with order and perfection – he would not accept flaws in a blanket anymore than he would accept flaws in his Kingdom.

"If you really don't mind me keeping it, I will finish the edges for you, and return it before the baby's birth."

"Of course I don't mind, and thank you my friend."

"No, thank you Igraine."

Igraine and Gaius stayed for a little while longer, but soon left the new family in peace, leaving the little girl with the Queen's blessing.

For the next few weeks Isobel worked tirelessly; taking care of her baby, creating a new saffron blanket, and putting the final touches to Igraine's blanket. She never complained, she loved her daughter and enjoyed her work.

Then one day, she heard news that the Queen had gone into labour. The Pendragon blanket was now finished, so Isobel made her way to the castle – the new heir to the throne would need his mother's blanket. But as soon as she entered the palace, she knew something was wrong. There was a deathly silence in the air, which was suddenly punctuated by the chiming of bells – announcing a death. Isobel stopped, and turned to flee towards Gaius's chambers. She waited for hours, but eventually he returned bringing the news that Igraine had delivered a healthy baby boy, Arthur, but had passed away moments later.

Tears were shed, and as Gaius tried to comfort her she could see his hands shaking. She held the blanket close, as though trying to cling onto her friend. Suddenly she rose.

"The Prince should have his blanket."

"No – Isobel you can't." Gaius told her softly, "Uther has decreed that all of Igraine's possessions be locked away. Keep the blanket – she would have wanted you to have it."

Isobel would never understand the King, but she listened to Gaius. The blanket was kept neatly folded in a closet in her house for the next few years. She told stories to her daughter, Gwen. She told her how the blanket had been created by her friend, Queen Igraine, for Prince Arthur; and how the Queen herself had wrapped Gwen in the Pendragon blanket on the day of her birth. Isobel also told her daughter, that one day, when the Prince was old enough to know his own mind from his father's, she would return Igraine's blanket to him – for she knew it was what Igraine would have wished.

When Gwen was eight years old, Isobel was struck down by a severe fever; eventually dying surrounded by the three she loved most – Tom, Gwen, and Gaius.

But Gwen remembered the stories, and she knew that one day she would keep her mothers promise; she would return the blanket to Prince Arthur.

Guinevere Leodegrance wandered happily through the streets of Camelot; she clutched a small bunch of flowers in her small hand. At the age of nine she knew that soon she would need to find work, whether that was helping her father in the forge or applying for a position in the palace kitchens, and she was determined to enjoy the remainder of her free time.

Suddenly she was shook out of her reverie by a loud splash sounding from a few feet away. It would be a lie to say she wasn't startled, but when she saw a mop of blond hair emerging from the moat, she wasn't surprised. After all, this was becoming a regular occurrence. Prince Arthur was the same age as Gwen, and about the same small height, much to the amusement of the older boys who had already begun their knight-training. It was well known to the townspeople, and the noblemen that the older boys bullied their Prince. The only person in Camelot who seemed unaware of the situation was the King: the nobles did not want to get their beloved sons in trouble with the fearsome King, and the townspeople would not dare make such allegations against the upper class – to do so would be both very naïve and possibly dangerous. Gwen couldn't fathom why the Prince himself did not inform his father, but for what ever reason he appeared to suffer in silence.

"Come on, let's get him!" A voice called from the other side of the moat. Gwen took one look at her Prince, his young features filled with fear – he looked so vulnerable. Gwen had had enough.

As Arthur frantically scrambled to the banks, desperately trying to haul himself out of the water before his tormenters arrived, Gwen rushed to meet him. She held out her small hands to help him. Blue eyes met brown, he was suspicious and afraid, but on seeing the kindness in her face he took her hands in his and together they managed to pull him out of the water.

"Quick, come on!" She kept a hold of his wet hand and began running, dragging him along with her. Feeling his reluctance she turned to smile comfortingly at him, "I know somewhere you can hide."

Arthur smiled slightly and began keeping pace with her. She no longer needed to pull him along, but still she held his hand tightly in hers. Together they raced through the streets of Camelot, droplets of water flying around them from Arthur's clothing, until finally they arrived at Gwen and her father's empty home. Quickly she pushed him inside, closing the door forcefully behind them.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you." He replied, albeit a little breathlessly, evidence of his tears still apparent in his eyes – though they were made less obvious by the droplets of water dripping from his straw like hair, onto his face, down his cheeks, and onto the floor. His clothes were drenched and sagging under the weight of the water, and now they had stopped running, Gwen noticed he was shivering.

"Oh! You'll freeze to death like that; let me get you a blanket." Since her mother died Gwen had begun to take care of her father, and their small home. Therefore she knew how to look after someone when they were sick, or cold, as her father often was after making journeys to the outlying villages to deliver goods and collect the materials needed for the forge. She had tried to dissuade him from going last winter, which had been particularly cold, but he said they simply could not afford to lose trade because of the weather, so he had left for a week, leaving Gwen with Gaius. She had learned a lot from the kindly physician, but had fretted constantly about her father – who had returned with a nasty cold.

She turned to the cupboard where the blankets were kept and reached for a tattered but clean white cover, when a flash of deep red caught her eye. It was only now that she realised who she had dragged into her house, she hadn't really thought about the consequences of bringing the Prince home before, only seeing a vulnerable boy in need of help. But even now, she could not think of the trouble she could be in – after all Tom was at the forge, and the King was hardly going to appear at her door – but perhaps, she could do what her mother had wanted? She remembered Isobel's stories, remembered the promise her mother had made to the Queen – neither woman was alive now, so it was down to her to return the Prince his blanket. Mind made up she seized the soft blanket, the fabric warm beneath her fingers. Then she turned and rushed towards Arthur, gently draping it around his shoulders. He smiled gratefully at her, as she motioned for him to sit next to her on her small bed – the comfiest seat in the small house.

They sat in silence for a few moments; Gwen pondered over how to approach the subject of their mothers, while Arthur concentrated on trying to warm up – and trying to stop crying, he could not be seen to be crying in front of his subjects – and a girl at that – his father would be furious if he could see him now. He shivered involuntarily at the thought. The girl turned to him;

"Are you still cold?"

"No, I'm okay."

She smiled gently, "I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen."

He grinned back, "I'm Arthur, but most people call me Prince."

She laughed. He did too. He rather liked that, this girl was laughing with him, not at him. He thought of the older boys again and his smile faded. Then after a moment, "Why did you do that? Help me?"

"They were being mean…and I thought someone should help…and no one else was, so…" she shrugged, blushing slightly as she avoided his gaze.

"Oh, thanks."

He fiddled with the blanket, not knowing what to say to this strange girl, Guinevere. That was when he noticed the Pendragon crest embroidered on the thick, scarlet material – which, now he came to think of it, was surely to fine for a commoner.

"Where did you get this blanket?" he asked quietly.

"That…" she began nervously, "Is a long story."

"Well I'm in no hurry to leave, not with that lot after me."

She smiled slightly – "It involves my mother…and yours."

He sat up straighter, looking excited and at the same time apprehensive.

"Go on – please." His sapphire eyes pleaded with her, and she felt a wave of pity surge through her. At least she had had eight years with her mother, Arthur had nothing – Isobel had told her how the King had purged all memory of his wife, along with the magic that had once thrived in the kingdom.

And so she smiled, and leant back, leaning against the wall, telling him to get comfortable. He complied, copying her posture, and even sharing the blanket with her. For this she was grateful, the blanket may have been for Arthur, made by Igraine, but it reminded Gwen too of her mother, and made telling the story much easier.

He listened intently, spellbound as her melodic voice retold the tales she had heard so many times before. She knew the story word for word. She told him how their mothers had met through Gaius, how they had been pregnant at the same time, and how Igraine had come to Isobel for help finishing the blanket she was creating for her unborn son. Gwen noticed how, at this point, the hand furthest from her instinctively clutched at the blanket, but she said nothing, knowing it would embarrass him. Instead she continued with the story, telling of her birth, how the Queen had wrapped her in this very blanket, and how her parents had named her "Guinevere Igraine." Now his left hand touched hers softly, still she said nothing, as the Prince clung to the only two reminders he had of his mother. Finally Gwen finished her tale, voice growing even more soft and gentle, so he had to lean closer to listen. When she came to the part about the Queen's death his hand tightened on hers, and she gave it a comforting squeeze.

"So my mother decided she would give it to you when you were old enough, but…"

"But what?"

"She died last year." Gwen whispered, almost inaudibly, but Arthur had been so enthralled in her tale, such a rapt listener, that he heard.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." She replied simply, she had long since stopped crying for her mothers loss, preferring to remember the happy times they had spent as a family.

"You can keep the blanket, it's yours" She told him as he began to leave, knowing his father would be worried, and angry, by now. "But you can't tell your father." This he knew – Uther would not even speak of Igraine, he would not allow Arthur to keep the blanket in the castle.

"Will you keep it?"

"What?"

"My father won't allow it; can you keep it here safe?"

"Okay." She was hesitant, but also relieved, the blanket helped her feel close to her mother, and although she knew it rightfully belonged to Arthur, Gwen did not like to see it go.

"Could…" he looked at her nervously, "Could I come and see it, sometimes?"

"Of course!" She nodded furiously. "Just – when my father's working. He doesn't like me hanging around with boys, especially the Prince." She blushed – truth be told Gwen had never had much time for boys either, as far as she was concerned they were rude, mean and immature. But Arthur was different. Besides, she knew her mother would have approved.

"Okay."

He looked around the door, nervously making sure the coast was clear, then he made to leave, but before he could Gwen asked "Why don't you tell your father about the other boys?"

Arthur stopped, once again fighting back tears, "He'd think I'm a coward." Then he was gone, leaving Gwen holding the blanket delicately in her arms, hoping that one day, things would be different for Arthur – that one day he could do as he wished, without the King judging him for it.

Arthur became a regular visitor to Gwen's house. They would sit together, wrapped in the blanket, Gwen telling her mother's stories while Arthur revelled in her company, and the knowledge that some people did remember his mother and acknowledge her existence.

After a while they began to discuss other things, simple, childish things. Their fathers, their favourite games, his nursemaids, her friends, his aspirations of being a knight, her wish to be a seamstress like her mother. She knew she would have to get some experience first, probably working as a kitchen maid or the like.

When they were ten, King Uther adopted the Lady Morgana, and Arthur was quick to suggest Gwen apply for the role of her handmaiden. He somehow managed to ensure the Lady spoke to the blacksmiths daughter before anyone – knowing as soon as anyone met Gwen they would instantly like her.

The bullying stopped once Morgana arrived, for Arthur could spend time with her, and therefore Gwen, although the latter did not speak to him often in front of her mistress. He didn't mind, the talking occurred when he arrived at her home, on the rare occasions her father was working while she had the afternoon off.

He knew exactly where she stored the blanket, on the top shelf of a closet near her door, ready to be removed should he request it. Soon Arthur realised that less and less he asked to hold the blanket, though he still visited Gwen on a regular basis, enjoying her company.

But then, at the age of thirteen, he began his knight's training, and all visits to Gwen stopped. He simply didn't have the time. And now forced to spend time with his old tormenters, he was faced with a decision – let the bullying start again, or simply become friends with them. He knew they were not true friends, but while he kept up the pretence he was safe. Safe from the physical hurt they could provide, and safe from the mental hurt of his father's disappointment. And while he missed Gwen; he convinced himself it was for the best. He was growing up, he was going to be king, and King's didn't need safety blankets – did they?

How had she got herself into this mess? Oh yes, Merlin. Sometimes, Gwen wondered why she was friends with the clumsy servant from Ealdor, for he was always getting her into tricky situations. But then she would catch sight of his cheerful disposition, or his willingness to help others would bring a smile to her face, and all of a sudden, she would remember how lucky she was to count him as a friend – most of the time.

Then one week in the middle of spring, thanks to her happy-go-lucky friend, Guinevere found herself in the trickiest, most awkward situation imaginable. The Prince was living with her. It had been many years since she had had a conversation with Arthur – they had spoken on odd occasions of course – but with none of the familiarity they had once shared. Gwen had noticed the two of them becoming a little closer over the past few months, since Ealdor, but nothing earth shattering. She was only just getting used to going about her daily life without missing her old friend, and suddenly he was staying in her house!

When he had first arrived, she noticed him peer into her cupboard – the cupboard where she kept their blanket. A slight smile washed over his features, before he quickly hid it and turned back to Merlin. This little action pulled at her heart strings, he still remembered. In that moment she had convinced herself that maybe having him stay with her wouldn't be so bad – then he had stolen her bed, and all thoughts of friendship were forgotten. Not only did he steal her bed, but he also demanded a bath, treated her like a servant in her own home – and Gwen lost her temper.

After her rant she was terrified to look him in the eye, but, when she did, she was shocked to find him gazing at her apologetically and, most confusingly, with a hint of adoration. For a few moments they were children again, friends, and he was listening to her, treating her as an equal – it took her breath away. Then he was guiding her towards the door, holding her gently by the shoulders, telling her he would be cooking dinner.

To claim she was shocked would be an understatement to say the least. It was a pleasant, and welcome, surprise to have someone do something for her – and the Prince at that! However, she couldn't help but acknowledge the worry in the back of her mind that she was going to return to a disaster site – after all, how would Arthur know how to cook? … And if he had Merlin help him… Gwen groaned in horror. She would trust Arthur and Merlin with her life, with the future of Camelot – but with her kitchen? Never. Still, he had insisted, and she could hardly deny the Prince.

As it turned out, the meal was actually extremely enjoyable – even if it later transpired that it was not Arthur who had made it, but the palace kitchens. However, it was not the food that Gwen would remember in years to come – it was the conversation.

They found themselves engaged in deep discussion about how things had changed in Camelot since Merlin's arrival. Gwen discovered what she had always suspected; the Prince really did care for his servant – even going as far as to consider him a friend. She, of course, promised not to tell anyone this. They discussed Morgana, and the knights, and Arthur's increased responsibilities. Arthur opened up to her in a way she had never imagined or expected, not after all these years. Even Arthur himself could not explain it – he still trusted her more than anyone, still valued her counsel. Some how, he found himself bringing up memories he held close to his heart.

"Do you remember when I used to come and visit you?"

"Yes of course." She smiled back at him gently, and it struck him how beautiful she was. "We used to curl up under the blanket and tell stories." They shared a fond grin at the memory, both sets of eyes sparkling with happiness. "I saw you looking for it before."

"I couldn't resist." He admitted blushing. A moment of comfortable silence passed between them, during which they gazed into each others eyes, studying each other, each trying to gage how much the other had changed – surprisingly, both found they could still see their childhood friend deep down.

"You do know," Arthur continued slowly, almost nervously, "that the blanket was just an excuse?" She gazed at him questioningly, knifes and forks lay on their plates, now completely forgotten.

"I mean, it wasn't at first, and I did like seeing it. But it was also an excuse, to see you." He was blushing fiercely now, but Gwen smiled comfortingly at him, trying to ignore her racing heart "I know."

He nodded, and after a moment started eating again, an action she copied instantly. After a few awkward minutes she added quietly "You never need an excuse to come here Arthur." He looked up at her soft voice, smiling tenderly, a gesture she graciously returned. His blue eyes held her brown ones for a few seconds, before they once again turned back to their food.

They ate in a companionable silence for several moments, each immersed in their own thoughts, lost in memories of lost friendships and renewed hopes. Then Arthur decided to broach conversation again, "So, do I have anymore annoying habits you wish to tell me about?"

They continued to have an amusing discussion about his snoring, but the laughter soon came to an end when Gwen noticed the royal seal on the plates. Typical. She thought, there I was, thinking perhaps, just perhaps, there was a slight chance he wasn't the arrogant Prince he seemed to have become. Then he had to do this. Gwen hadn't expected him to cook, she had expected to come home to a destroyed kitchen, and she wouldn't have cared – really. It was the fact that he had lied to her – she thought she could trust him.

They had argued, and then he grabbed her arm, pulled her towards him, implied he cared about her. Then Merlin burst in, bringing news of an assassin.

As Gwen lay in bed that night, (actually in her bed, for Arthur had insisted he sleep on the floor - she pretended not to notice the mattress), she tried to get a hold on her emotions. She was scared for Arthur's life, she was confused by their conversation, she was angry at herself for letting him go all those years ago – all those wasted years of friendship. But most confusingly of all, she was happy. She knew she shouldn't be, Arthur's life was in danger, and nothing had changed, he was still a Prince – but now she knew he was also still her friend, and after what he said earlier – possibly more. No. Gwen thought, he's still a Prince, you can't forget that.

Still, Gwen found herself getting out of bed and making her way over to the closet, where she pulled out a thick, warm, red piece of material. She held the blanket close for a minute, remembering how she had snuggled under it as a little girl. Then she carefully carried it over to where Arthur slept, his snores assuring her the mattress had ensured he got some sleep. She gazed down at him lovingly; he looked so innocent, so childlike in his sleep. She even had to laugh at his mattress, which was in sharp contrast to the old, ripped, olive blanket slung over his stomach, not even totally covering him. She knew that his mothers blanket would not be big enough either, so to ensure that his feet would not be cold, she pulled the olive blanket down to the lower half of his body. Then she carefully placed the Pendragon blanket over his chest, resisting the urge to tuck it under his chin. She sighed, with his mattress and the rich blanket he truly looked like a Prince, he didn't belong in her home. But he looked peaceful – and Gwen wondered idly if he wore the same dreamy expression of bliss when he slept at the castle. She guessed she would never know. She smiled once more at his unknowing features before returning to her bed, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When Arthur woke the next morning he found a warm, scarlet blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He sat up slightly, taking the blanket in both his hands, smiling when he caught sight of the Pendragon crest. The knowledge that Gwen had thought to throw this blanket over him made his heart beat a little faster, she was always more caring than anyone he knew. He had been to nervous to ask if she had another blanket the night before, suspecting she may not want him to use his mother's, for he knew it reminded her of her mother to. Truth be told, it was wonder he fell asleep at all under the thin, dark green cover she had originally given him, which was much to small – not that the Pendragon blanket was much bigger, but it was warmer. He wondered briefly where the olive blanket had gone, but his question was soon answered when he tried to stand up, and fell rather ungracefully back to the ground due to a green flash of cloth tangled around his feet. Arthur was eternally grateful that Gwen was still asleep, so thankfully had not witnessed his fall.

Gwen awoke to find Arthur sat at her table, gazing at her thoughtfully. She blushed slightly, but returned the soft smile he sent her way.

"How long have you been awake?" She muttered hazily, blinking sleep from her eyes as she sat up.

"Not long." He stood, surprising her by moving over to pour her a drink. While he was doing this, she moved to sit at the table. He came back to sit opposite her, handing her the drink.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, then added "thanks for the blanket." She blushed once again but nodded in acknowledgement, turning her eyes to the cup she held in her hands.

The rest of the morning passed quietly, Gwen prepared them some breakfast and they ate in companionable silence, though the knowledge that this was their last day together hung in the air between them – he would be leaving before dawn the next morning, and neither was quite sure how they felt about it. Then Arthur prepared to leave for the final joust, fastening his cloak slowly, as though trying to delay leaving – he didn't like to admit it, but he would miss Guinevere once he left. Unknowingly to him, Gwen felt the same. She clutched a small piece of white cloth in her palms, nervously wondering if she had the right to give it to him, then she remembered their conversation the previous night, and decided she would do it anyway.

Arthur looked up to see Gwen making her way towards him, suddenly stopping directly in front of him, close enough to touch - he felt his breath catch in his lungs. He realised, not for the first time, how beautiful she really was. He drew his gaze away from the tempting curl which hung gracefully down her cheek to meet her sparkling brown eyes.

"I thought you might wear it…for luck."

He looked down at what Guinevere was offering him, a small white cloth held delicately in her hands. He took it from her, shivering as his hand brushed hers, noticing with a strange sense of delight that she had a similar reaction.

"Thank you." Arthur wasn't just thanking her for the token, but for the blanket that morning, for her hospitality, for her friendship. Then he was kissing her. He didn't know when he decided to lower his mouth to hers, only that it seemed the right thing to do, and that Guinevere seemed to agree, given the way her head followed his as he pulled away. He took in her surprised expression for a moment, he could see the questions in her gaze; Why? Do you regret it? What now? He could also see the affection in her eyes, and it brought a flutter to his heart. But he couldn't answer her questions now, he needed to figure it out himself, he needed to think, and he needed to get to the tournament.

"I must go."

Gwen did not understand why Arthur had kissed her, she could not begin to understand or acknowledge her feelings for the Prince, but none of that mattered when she saw the lance pierce his armour. All she knew was that she needed to get to him, to know he was okay. She felt physically sick at the sight of his blood, pouring out of the wound at a dangerous rate – but being as stubborn as he was, Arthur continued to joust. She had never known relief like that she felt when he won, and when he offered the glory to William, she felt a surge of pride rush through her. They jubilantly cheered on their new friend, and the two of them, plus Merlin, walked slowly back to her home. While William was most probably spending his evening celebrating up at the castle, the real champion celebrated with his friends. Arthur personally felt that he had the better end of the deal, especially when he found himself seated next to Gwen, his arm gently brushing hers with every movement, her soft laughter ringing pleasantly in his ears.

Merlin stayed late into the night and, by the time he left, both were extremely tired, knowing they needed to be awake a few hours later, so they had no chance to discuss what had happened that morning. They wished each other goodnight, before both retired to bed.

The next morning Arthur once again woke first, before the crack of dawn. He pulled the blankets off him, folding both over the screen in the back of the house before preparing to leave. As he fastened his cloak he looked down at the sleeping girl before him, and smiled as she sighed gently in her sleep. There was no need to wake her, as she didn't have to be up for another hour or so, and he knew she deserved her sleep; she worked so hard during the day.

Arthur moved to open the door, taking one last look at Guinevere, but then he frowned as she shivered slightly due to the breeze. He re-entered the house, and quickly pulled the Pendragon blanket from its resting place. He gently covered her with it, hoping she would be warm enough now with two blankets, and he couldn't help but notice how well the royal Pendragon red suited her. He quickly shook the thought from his head, but before he left, he bent his head slowly, hesitating only for a moment, before he pressed his lips to her temple.

"Thank you Guinevere." Then he left silently, just as the dawn broke, casting a warm glow over the sleeping girl wrapped tenderly in her royal blanket.

Despite their initial attempts to deny their feelings, over the next few months and years, the two became closer. It began with longing glances; their eyes would meet constantly, blue to brown, seconds would feel like hours, but it was never enough, they always wanted more. Then there was the comfort they offered each other, when Morgana left they clung to each other, each trying to convince the other that they weren't alone; when they discovered Merlin's secret they discussed the news with each other, both trying to dismiss their fear and prejudice; and when Arthur found out the truth of his birth, it was Guinevere's counsel and comfort which carried him through. When he needed advice she was there, when she needed comfort, he would give it. They gave each other faith, but both feared there was no hope for their relationship. That didn't stop the jealously. Gwen struggled to cope with the surge of noble women queuing to be Arthur's bride, while Arthur found his competition in Lancelot, who returned several times over the years - constantly breaking Gwen's heart with his honeyed but false words – before eventually becoming a knight of Camelot once Arthur was King.

But they always got through their jealously, in fact, in made their relationship stronger; and of course, Lancelot wasn't the first peasant to be granted a higher status during Arthur's reign. After the dragon's attack on Camelot, Arthur and Guinevere had realised they could not bear to be apart any longer, so they began a secret relationship. It wasn't easy, but Merlin and Gaius helped them spend a few precious moments together, and it was the only option available to them at the time. Hurried conversations in alcoves, stolen kisses, moonlight trysts – this was the way they lived for almost two years, before King Uther became seriously ill. Together they sat by his bed, Arthur as the worried son, Guinevere as the physician's assistant. Her gaze would hold his, trying to pass him a silent comfort through her eyes, hoping she was some help. When Uther finally passed away Gwen held her blond haired lover close while he cried: cried for his father; for the responsibility now resting on his shoulders; for the tragic irony that meant only now, after he had suffered this pain, could he openly accept the greatest joy in his life – Guinevere.

The wedding was a grand affair, for not only was it a royal wedding, but also a joint coronation. Arthur wore clothes even finer than his usual attire, and Guinevere was robed in a dress more beautiful than anything she had seen in her life. The soft, flowing, material was encrusted with jewels which reflected the sunlight beaming through the stained windows of the great hall, and her hair hung gracefully down her back, one curl hanging faithfully down her cheek, a simple reminder that she was still the same person, she was still Gwen with the stubbornly untameable hair. But when they placed the Crown on her head, she felt stronger, more confident, more beautiful than Gwen had ever felt – she felt like a Queen. And when Arthur gazed at his stunning Queen, he knew he had made the right decision. The crown on his head, heavier than that of a Prince, reminded him that he was King now, but somehow he wasn't scared. He had Guinevere to help and guide him, and they had Merlin who had become a close friend and advisor to them both.

Over the next few years Camelot became a strong and wealthy kingdom; magic was returned to the realm, under the strict guidance of Merlin the High Sorcerer. King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table were already becoming well known symbols of virtue across Albion. The people were happy and the monarchs were loved, so when Queen Guinevere announced her pregnancy five years into their reign, the festivities were rich and joyful affairs shared by the people. Guinevere would never forget the shocked expression on Arthur's face as she told him the news, before he swept her off her feet in a loving embrace, both of them laughing with joy, before he carefully put her down on her feet and joined her in a passionate kiss. From that day forth, her well being was his first priority, he was understandably worried, so she allowed the majority of his over protective measures – though she drew the line when he tried to prevent her from entering Merlin's chambers, assuring him that Merlin would not let her in there if there was any magic which may cause harm to the baby, and therefore she was not going to avoid said baby's godfather.

Eventually, after months of cravings, mood swings, preparations, and over protective fathers and warlocks, Guinevere finally felt the first pains of labour.

Arthur was sat, leaning against the wall opposite his and Guinevere's chambers, rhythmically banging his head against the stone behind him, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to block out his wife's cries of pain, which seemed to echo off the stone walls surrounding him.

Merlin paced nervously in front of him, obviously just as worried for Gwen as Arthur, but Arthur was to tense to be concerned about that now, and testily snapped at the warlock to "stop pacing, you're making me anxious." Merlin obeyed the order, not bothering to point out that Arthur's anxiety had nothing to do with him.

When the room finally went silent, Arthur froze, if possible his posture becoming even tenser. Merlin looked carefully at his friend and stood, indicating for Arthur to copy the motion. The two men stood in silence outside the heavy wooden door, waiting for the news. Suddenly they heard new cries, but these caused Arthur's heart to beat a little faster, for they were the first cries of a new born babe. Merlin grinned, but Arthur held back on his joy – he had to know that Guinevere was okay first.

Then the door opened, revealing a smiling, middle aged woman who was Gwen's midwife.

"Is she…?" Arthur said hurriedly, stepping forward, trying to see around the woman.

"Mother and baby are fine My Lord." The kindly woman moved aside, smiling comfortingly at him, while Merlin let out a whoop of celebration. But Arthur ignored them both and hurried through the door. On the opposite side of the chamber, he could see Guinevere's beautiful brown curls, damp and in disarray, but she was sitting up, which was a good thing. Then his eyes skimmed the room for the source of the crying, and tracked it to a young maid holding a small bundle in her arms. The girl moved towards him smiling, gently offering him the tiny figure "You have a son my lord."

Arthur was speechless as he took his son in his arms, and child apparently felt the same, for he immediately ceased crying. The boy was tiny, and rather red Arthur thought idly, the flush on his skin in deep contrast to the tuft of curly, brown hair atop his head. The King could do nothing but stare down at his son in awe, and eventually, it was the voice of his wife that brought him out of his reverie.

"Arthur?" She sounded exhausted, and when Arthur looked up, he saw that she looked it too. But the smile on her face lit up the room, and he was, not for the first time, captivated by her beauty – he knew she would disagree, probably thinking that she looked a mess after the stressful night, but the fact that she had gone through so much to give him the beautiful baby in his arms only made him love her more.

"Guinevere." He beamed at her, carrying their son over to her side, carefully placing the Prince in his mother's arms.

"He's beautiful." She murmured, staring down lovingly at their child.

"He is." Arthur agreed, then added "So are you." He placed a tender kiss to the top of her head, sitting down gently on the bed beside her, one arm around her shoulders, the other gently pulling the blanket back from his sons face to get a better look.

"He looks like you." Guinevere decided thoughtfully.

"With your hair." He smiled, glancing at the mass of curls atop her head that he loved so much. "What shall we call him?"

"I was thinking…Llacheu?"

"It's perfect. Prince Llacheu Pendragon, of Camelot." They both smiled at that, and then gasped as Llacheu slowly opened his eyes, staring back at them through familiar, startlingly blue eyes. Gwen sighed happily, before turning to Arthur.

"It's in the closet, top shelf." He looked at her, confused for a moment, before his face broke in to a wide smile and he hurried to retrieve what she wanted.

When he returned, Arthur carefully took his son from Guinevere, gently removing the crisp white sheet the child had been wrapped in, replacing it immediately with the thick, scarlet, Pendragon blanket. The child now looked every inch the Prince, and both his parents immediately thought of his grandmothers, who they knew would be smiling down on the child.

Arthur once again passed the young Prince to his mother, resuming his place next to her on the bed, noticing that his son had fallen into a gentle sleep. The King and Queen sat for a long while in silence, contently watching their son, Gwen's head was laid gently against her husband's shoulder, he knew she would need to sleep soon. Eventually they turned to each other smiling, and their lips met in a tender kiss.

"I love you, my Queen."

"I love you too Arthur."

Then, in unison they turned to their son, wrapped so snugly in his royal blanket, created by two people from very different circumstances, of very different stations, almost a representation of Llacheu himself. This irony was not missed by the proud parents, who in turn bent down to place a kiss on their son's forehead, whispering their love to his sleeping form.

While Guinevere rested, Arthur looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, his fingers playfully thoughtfully with the edge on the blanket. He wondered, if his mother had not decided to weave such a gift for her son, would he now have his beautiful wife and child? He sighed, gazing down at the two people he loved more than anyone; I never thought I'd be indebted to a blanket he thought wryly.

Arthur Pendragon never met his mother, as a babe he was never wrapped in the blanket she created for him, but even from beyond the grave Igraine blessed him. He had once told Merlin that he would give anything for the vaguest memory of his mother, but now he realised, he didn't need it, because she had given him the two most important people in his life. Igraine and Isobel's legacy lived on, through Arthur, through Guinevere, through Llacheu.