"Another day or two, I'm afraid, before you'll be able to ride or wield a sword," Gaius, the court's physician announced as he continued his examination of the prince's wounded shoulder.
"Surely that can't be. I feel fit now," returned the prince, though his gingerly movements contradicted his words.
"You are healing well, but it's important to give yourself sufficient time," Gaius began.
"You've no idea how ready I am to resume training and riding."
"Difficult to believe Arthur, but even I was young once," the physician invoked the wise tone he so often used on his young ward, Merlin. By now, he was changing the dressing on the wound, assessing it for any signs of putrefaction--such was a physician's life.
"Gaius?" Arthur began as he watched the older man's serious face as he worked, "How do you think Guinevere is adjusting to life without her father?"
Gaius stopped what he was doing, and looked thoughtfully at Arthur before replying, "As one would expect, she feels the loss daily. Tom was the cornerstone in her life. Why do you ask?" His hands resumed their work, as though they functioned independently of his mind.
"I feel I own some responsibility in a way," the prince told him gravely.
"You? I hardly see how ..."
"But it was my father ..." Arthur began.
Here Gaius stayed him with a gentle hand on the prince's good arm, "Arthur, you will make plenty mistakes of your own. There's no need to take on your father's as well." Gaius went on, "Besides Gwen is strong and principled beyond her age and experience. That will always serve her well. Arthur, Gwen does not blame you for what happened to her father."
"No, and yet, it troubles me still." The prince grew thoughtful and quiet, as the physician finished his work.
"There, all done. Now, heed my advice, a day or two will see you right again."
"Gaius, my only complaint is how difficult it is to sleep. If the arm bothers me at all, it is at night."
"That I can help with. I'll prepare a draught for you. I'll bring it myself or send it with Merlin," Gaius was already moving toward the chamber door, "if he ever turns up," he added with annoyance.
*****
"Here is Prince Arthur's draught. It should alleviate the pain and allow him to sleep soundly tonight," Gaius handed the small apothecaries' jar to Gwen.
"Are you sure that Merlin can't take it to him?" she asked rather more plaintively than she intended. She had stopped by the physician's chambers to bring some cuttings of rosemary he'd requested, but not to take Merlin's place as errand boy, and certainly not to visit the prince.
"Arthur has him hip deep in muck in the stables, followed by tending to his horse, and then to his armor. So, in short, no he can't." Gaius turned to the best form of persuasion available to the aging physician, putting his hand low on his back, "I would take it myself, but after the day I've had ..." he began in a voice so pitiful Gwen could not help but interrupt him ...
"No Gaius, you rest. Of course I don't mind taking it to him."
As Gwen made her way from Gaius' rooms to Prince Arthur's, she felt a wave of nerves rise within her. She had seen little of the prince during his recovery from the bite of the questing beast. She was grateful for it. She hoped that in the intervening days, he would forget the words she'd spoken to him as he lay gravely ill ... and that he would forget the sentiment that lay behind them.
Once at his rooms, Gwen knocked and waited for his reply. "Come in," he commanded from beyond the door. Gwen steadied herself before entering.
The prince was seated at a table in an alcove of his apartment, the remains of his evening meal on the table beside him. Although his back was nearly full toward her, she could see that he still bore one arm in a sling. She had not known what to expect, save that Arthur still felt the pain of the bite, and had difficulty sleeping, for Gaius had told her as much. But now to see it for herself, she found herself overwhelmed with sympathy for the man she knew would much rather be active--training and fighting, than sequestered and convalescing.
"Merlin? Gaius?" the prince called, without turning to look.
"Sire," she began ...
"Guinevere?" and now he turned to look at her.
He seemed genuinely pleased by her presence. "Sire," she began again, "Gaius asked me to deliver your draught." She held it out for him to see.
"Well, come in," he ordered; there was something welcoming his in eyes. Gwen shut the door and moved cautiously to the alcove where he sat.
When she stood fully in front of him, she removed the stopper from the jar and handed it to him. "Gaius says to drink it all."
She watched as he raised the small jar to his lips, but before he drank, he recoiled a bit and made a face full of displeasure. "It smells vile!" Then to Gwen, "Pour me some water ... please," he added as an afterthought.
She did as he asked, filling a goblet from a heavy pitcher on the table. She watched as he drank the draught, shuddering from the taste; he then lifted the goblet to his lips and used the water to chase away the bitterness. Gwen curtsied quickly, ready to leave.
"I can't imagine where Merlin has got to," Arthur began, delaying her departure.
"I believe he mentioned something about the stable, your horse, and your armor," she replied.
"The wonder of Merlin is that sometimes it takes him no time at all to accomplish many tasks and other times it takes him all day to do what another servant could accomplish in a few hours." When she did not reply, he went on, "But seeing that it is the latter today, will you assist me?"
"Would you like me to go and find him, Sire?" Gwen asked as she moved toward the door.
"No. Just help me into bed."
"Sire?"
Although he relished seeing her color rise with her embarrassment, he laughed and added, "I meant, will you help me out of my boots? You've no idea how difficult it is to get on with use of only one arm."
"Really," she replied under her breath, thinking of all that Merlin did for the prince.
He sat at the edge of the bed, and she went to help him. It came naturally to her, as she had helped father in a similar way many nights when he returned from the forge. Once he was out of his boots, she made ready to leave again. But before she could, he asked, in a particularly needy and helpless tone, "One more thing ... would you fluff the pillows?"
Gwen looked blankly at him for a moment, schooling her eyes not to seek out the ceiling, but did as he asked. She moved to his side and gently fluffed the pillows, where his highness' head would soon rest. As she did, he noticed that she smelled of clover and berries--at once sweet and strong.
When she was done, he lay back among the pillows, drew on the coverlet, but did not close his eyes. She looked down at him, and cocked her head to one side. "I will go now, sire," she said it affirmatively, as was her intent.
"Don't go Gwen. Stay awhile."
"I can go and find Merlin to stay with you, Sire," she began nervously.
"I do not want Merlin. I want you to stay."
She looked around nervously for something to occupy her. She went to the table and began tidying it.
"Gwen ..."
"Sire?" she responded but continued her nervous movement about the table.
"Guinevere, that's not what I meant. I want you ... to stay and talk with me as the draught takes effect. I want to hear your voice as if in a dream once again."
His words stopped her mid-motion. Then she collected herself enough to ask, "Talk to you about what? I hardly know what will be of interest to you, Sire." She feared his response, lest he remind her of her own impassioned words.
The smile on lips told her he thought of the same. "Indeed?" he asked pointedly. "Very well," he said, retreating from that which evidently made her so uncomfortable. "Tell me all the gossip from the halls of Camelot. I've been confined away from court too long. Who is conspiring with whom? Who is visiting whose bedchamber? Those who wait on us know everything."
"Perhaps, but we do well to keep it to ourselves."
"And why is that?" he challenged her.
"Because if we do not, we would not be worthy of the trust placed in us," she said simply.
"Fine, tell me what you find to converse about with Merlin. You two always seem to be sharing some private communication."
"True, but they would not be private communications if I were to share them with you," she smiled at him.
"Very well, tell me what you think about as you are out gathering flowers to adorn Lady Morgana's rooms," he said, more in exasperation than expectation. But this final topic alone she thought suitable for sharing with the prince. She sat in the chair he had vacated.
"I can't hear you from there. Here," he said, patting the bed beside him with his good arm.
"Sire, I ..."
"You did so to nurse me, so why not now?"
She struck a compromise, moving the heavy chair so close beside his bed that her knees rested against the coverlet. Now she noticed that the color was returning to his face. He looked more like the Arthur of old. She began to tell him what she thought about as she picked flowers for the Lady Morgana's rooms. She told him how she more than just admired fresh blooms, but rather made a study of them. She knew which blooms to expect when and where, which were fragrant, which were merely decorative, and which had healing properties all their own. She told him how the fragrances could be used to induce a mood or a feeling--some were stimulating, others calming and soothing. At first, Arthur had listened with a slightly bemused expression, that Gwen found bordered on the infuriating. But occasionally he asked well reasoned questions of her. Still, his eyes struggled against the draught.
At last, he closed his eyes. His breathing seemed deep and heavy, so she made to leave again. She stood as gently as she could, lest she wake him, but to no avail. "Guinevere," he said opening his eyes and fixing them on her. Extending his hand and catching the folds of her gown between his fingers, "Stay awhile longer. There are many other things to speak about."
****
When Merlin arrived later that night to check on Arthur before retiring himself, he found the prince asleep, propped among the pillows. Nothing unusual about that, but there beside him sat Gwen, also sleeping soundly, the prince's hand resting on hers. Merlin marveled at this, to his mind, odd scene. One had to give Gaius his due; he was certainly a crafty old man, even without using sorcery.
~the end~