What Matters More
by misscam
Summary: Uther receives help from an unexpected quarter, but not for his own sake. [Uther, Gwen/Arthur, Merlin]
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Taking the events of 312 and going AU from there. References to the events of 310 as well. Thanks to clevermonikerr for beta.
II
Irony can make even a king cry.
He has condemned many to the dungeons, young and old alike, and never did he feel pity for them. Never did he think that one day he, Uther Pendragon, would be at the mercy of someone as pitiless as himself.
Morgana Pendragon. Queen Morgana now, crowned before his eyes. No king should have to watch his successor claim the throne, but then, perhaps he is no longer a king.
He is dead in all but deed, and Morgana is only prolonging it to see him suffer for all the crimes she has laid at his feet.
She has not mentioned her own, but he has no illusions that she would let Arthur live. His son. Her brother. The rightful heir.
The cell has a single window, and he watches the dark night outside, the view as despondent as he feels.
He turns briefly when he hears keys in the lock, but it is merely a guard letting a servant girl through. Not Morgana or Morgause to torture him more with words and facts, then.
"I have brought you food," the girl says. He throws a look at it, noticing it is peasant food, and knowing it is another attempt from Morgana to humiliate him.
"I will not eat it," he says, as much a royal command as he can manage. He will starve, if needed. He will not submit to humiliation. He would, and will, rather die.
"Sire..."
"I will not."
"Sire," the serving girl says insistently. Gwen, he remembers. Morgana's servant. The one Arthur was enchanted to be in love with. "Uther."
Something in her tone makes him look up sharply, and he can see the guards outside are sleeping and the girl is motioning him to follow her.
"What is this?" he asks, feeling a brief surge of something like hope.
"Your failed escape if you do not come now," Gwen says, and he has half a mind to caution her about her tone then and there, but he bites it back as he steps out of the cell.
"My son?" he asks eagerly.
"He lives," she says, and her smile is luminous. "He maintains a camp within the forest. I will take you to him."
He exhales, feeling almost light. Arthur lives. His son lives.
"Gaius supplied the sleeping draught," Gwen goes on, as he follows her through the halls. "He would not be trusted to come down here even if he still remained in Camelot, but I am trusted. Morgana's faithful maid."
"Your allegiance is not to Morgana?"
"No," she says, and he feels almost proud that he has inspired such loyalty in a subject. Though it is as it should, of course.
She beckons him into an alcove that holds several bags, digging into them for clothes. When she gives him a wool shirt, he realises they are for him.
"I am to dress in the manner of a peasant?"
"You are," she says, her voice strangely commanding. She bites her lip a moment later, but she holds her head high nevertheless. "It is a disguise, my lord. We must get to the woods beyond the castle."
How unlike a servant, he thinks, following her suggestion (he will not think of it as an order) to change while she keeps her back turned. The clothing itches and smells, and no one would ever think Uther Pendragon would dress so.
This does seem rather organized, it strikes him.
"Whose plan is this?" he asks.
"Mine and Merlin's," she says lightly. "Arthur would never allow me to take such a risk, so Merlin has not told him yet. I will walk up now. You must wait a minute and then follow me. Try to look a servant, my lord. Your life may depend on it."
A servant giving orders like a queen and a king taking on the manner of a servant, Uther thinks.
He never thought he'd live to see such a day.
II
Arthur's father is the least servant-looking king to ever dress like a servant, Gwen is convinced. Maybe except if Arthur tried it when he becomes king. (And he will. She will not entertain other notions. Will not.) But still, the guards are seemingly as unable to think as they are to die, and do not notice who are walking among them with lowered heads.
When they exist the citadel, Gwen draws in a breath she didn't realise she was holding. So far, still alive, but they do not have long now, she knows. If they linger, Morgana will have both their heads.
Morgana. Uther's daughter, as it turns out, and with the same cold heart to prove it. As much as it pains Gwen, she knows she cannot merely stay and hope Morgana would keep sparing her. Not when she knows what Morgana has done and is capable of doing in the future.
Not when Arthur is out there.
"Magic," Uther says distastefully. "Morgause. She is behind this. She has enchanted Morgana's mind, she has poisoned her heart, she has used magic to do all this."
He does not quite believe it, she can tell. Even if the words are angry, they are also desperate.
"Come," she says, tugging at Uther's sleeve when he hesitates, his eyes still on the castle walls.
"I did not wish for this," he says, all anger emptied out and only grief left, and she feels something akin to pity for him. Wasted probably, since Uther would not want pity and certainly not from her.
"You cannot right it dead," she says, and he looks at her, properly looks at her for once.
"You are right," he says, and follows her as they hurry through the narrow streets. Just as they turn a corner, the bells ring out. More time than she feared and less than she'd hoped for.
"They will begin to search for us," she says in a low voice, knowing where they will start.
"We can use that to our advantage," Uther says, and she looks at him. He is almost smiling, and for a moment, something in his face reminds her of Arthur. "Cenred's men just gained two new recruits."
II
As it turns out, the now emptied barracks (with every soldier heading out at the alarm) has just what they need; a servant and a peasant enter, and a pair of guards exit.
It is a good thing it is dark and that Cenred's men are too much in a frenzy to look closely, Uther reckons, because while he might pass for a soldier, Gwen does not as much. (Not helped by her ample bust, which he is noticing to be rather fine.)
But she takes to it with absolute sincerity, keeping a posture even when the helmet almost falls off her, and for a moment she reminds him of Morgana, determined to wield a sword the moment she saw Arthur with one.
Everything Arthur wanted, Morgana desired, and usually got. Even the throne, as it turned out.
He have not felt such heartbreak in over a decade. Not since he lost a wife and gained a son, but then he at least he had some joy to cling to. Now he must cling to something far darker, and he's not even sure he can.
How do you want revenge on someone you have loved so deeply?
"It is far too easy to escape the Camelot dungeons," he says to Gwen in a low voice, as they pretend to be sternly searching an outhouse, while a group of soldiers are ransacking the main house.
"Are you complaining?"
"No," he admits, and she smiles fleetingly.
The group has finished their search and hurry on, as do Uther and Gwen, just in the direction of the gates. As they near, Gwen spots something and comes to complete still. When he follows her gaze, he sees it is a house, flames eating at it with great joy.
"It is merely a house," he says.
"It was my house," she says. She stares at the flames, looking downcast, and he wonders at the strange urge he has to say something comforting.
"You will be given a new one after this," he says. "You will be rewarded for your loyalty."
"I do not want your rewards," she says, almost angrily. "I am doing this for Arthur."
"Arthur?" he says, and looks at her intently. Her voice holds affection, and familiarity, and he wonders.
"It does not matter," she says with a voice that makes it clear that it does matter. "We must hurry."
II
They hurry on.
The gates are under orders not to let anyone through, but Uther runs at them screaming about the king and his knights over there, over there and pointing vaguely in the direction of the city. It creates enough havoc and running towards the castle that no one really watches the two guards going the other way.
Gwen does not allow herself to think them out of danger yet, but at least they are outside the walls. She has to admit Uther is surprisingly good at improvising during an escape, but then, he did fight his way to the throne.
If only it will stay dark enough that they can sneak all the way to the forest's edge unnoticed, then it will be a successful escape.
"You hold no love for me," Uther says after a while, as the forest's edge looms ever closer.
"No, my lord," she agrees. She does not. He killed her father and nearly her, and there is not much love to be gained from that.
"For Arthur," he says. A statement, not a question. "The enchantment still holds."
The only reason that would occur to him, she thinks bitterly.
"I did not enchant him," she says, her voice steel. "It was the work of Morgana, trying to get me executed and Arthur heartbroken."
He stands completely still for a moment, then bows his head almost like a mourner at a funeral.
"But the warlock..."
"I do not know who he was, but he chose to take the blame," she says. She has wondered about that often, and while she knows at least one that would love her and Arthur enough to do such a thing, he is not old.
"This will not change anything. I will not allow you to marry my son."
"I am not doing this to change your mind," she says irritably.
"Why else would you do this?"
"I am not doing it for you at all," she says. "I am doing it for Arthur. Do you know what it is like to love someone enough that you would do anything for them, no matter the cost to yourself?"
"I thought I did," he says distantly.
"I will not let Morgana use you against Arthur," she goes on. "She would use me too, as she has before. She doesn't care what hurt she causes, as long as she thinks the cause is just."
Like you, she does not say. Like Arthur will not be.
They duck down in the grass as they see a bright line shine out from Camelot, almost like a sun for a moment. They can hear horses too, and it seems likely the search is no longer confined to the castle.
"Come," Uther says, taking her hand rather surprisingly, and she follows him as they walk crouched through the grass. They inch closer and closer, and as they step in between the trees, Gwen exhales. Even though they are still at risk here, because Morgana and Morgause will not stop looking. Still. It feels like a small victory, and she'll take all the small ones she can get. It might add up.
She risks one last glance at the castle, wondering why leaving it feels like losing a friend. After all, Morgana has been a friend lost a long time. This merely makes it feel final.
She hears the arrow a moment before it buries itself in the tree next to her. She clutches the sword as she stands up, only to see it is Elyan and Gwaine and Arthur and Merlin standing before her, all looking like they're about to attack her.
Oh, right.
Hurriedly, she removes her helmet as Uther does the same.
"Guinevere?" Arthur says in disbelief, staring at her before taking four steps forwards and kissing her almost desperately. She can't get a word in edgewise, his lips tugging at her bottom lip until she parts hers, his tongue brushing against hers and his head tilting to get an even better angle.
When he does break the kiss, she nudges his shoulder to look over it, and he finally does, after one more brief kiss.
"Father?" he says, and she steps out of his embrace, keeping her head high even as Uther looks at her briefly, his eyes dark.
"Son," Uther says, embracing him even as Arthur still looks befuddled, but as the confusion fades and is replaced by a look of such powerful relief she wants to cry, then it was all worth it.
II
Uther clings on to his son for a long, long time, feeling almost alive again. When he finally lets go, he turns to Gwen, who is smiling at them both with tears in her eyes.
"For your loyalty to the true crown, I pronounce you Lady Guinevere of Camelot," he says, and he can see her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion.
She is no fool, he thinks.
II
"You did well," Merlin tells her as he sits down on the rock next to her. They've set camp somewhere Merlin has assured her will be safe, though she wonders how he could possibly know that (and why she trusts it, too).
A little further ahead, Arthur and Uther are still talking. Uther probably has a lot of explanations, and she can tell by Arthur's expression that they are not well received.
"We are still all in danger and hunted by an immortal army," she points out.
"There is always a way," Merlin says with certainty. "I will find it."
She watches him, his expression so determined and caring.
"Merlin, do you know anyone crazy enough to pretend to be a warlock to get two friends out of trouble?"
"I don't know," he says softly. "Do you?"
"I think I do," she says, touching his hand briefly. "I just don't know how."
"Does it matter how?" he asks carefully.
"Not to me," she says, and he inclines his head.
"As you say, Lady Guinevere."
"Don't start," she says irritably.
"Don't you know what this means? You're noble by royal decree. You can marry Arthur now. Uther would approve it."
"This is not Uther's way of approving. This is Uther's way of subverting it into something acceptable to him, if he cannot prevent it by other means."
Merlin considers it for a moment, then shrugs. "Does it really matter?"
II
It is the light of day when Arthur walks over to her, taking her hand and kissing it as he would a woman of noble blood. She almost wants to yell at him for it, but then he leans his forehead against hers and the formality is gone.
"Thank you for helping my father," he says. "I know you hold no love for him."
"Not for him," she agrees, kissing Arthur lightly. She can tell Uther is watching with a certain displeasure, and that does matter, a little. Like the loss of her house matters a little, and the loss of Morgana certainly does.
Everything else just matters more, and that's what she'll cling to. What matters more, all things considered.
And so she hugs Arthur while the sun is warm at her back; it is another day come and they've all lived to see it.
FIN