Guinevere had been Queen for a little over five years.

The burden of her duties of serving alone had taken its toll on her in such a short amount of time. She'd found a couple of gray curls in her striking raven hair not a couple days before, though she was still young and healthy. Her eyes were the same deep chocolate, but they had lost their spark, though the hope in her soul still grew by the day. She had many reasons to keep that hope alive, even if all of the things that threatened to drown it were numerous.

It was late at night, after she had stripped down from her dazzling jewels and heavily decorated dresses and changed into her simple white shift that made her feel like her old self-the young serving girl that was deeply in love with the Prince of Camelot. She'd been feeling odd and exhausted since the moment she'd woken that morning, but now she couldn't even shut her eyes, she was so awake and aware of her surroundings.

Huddled beneath the warm covers of her bed, she tried to force down the weird feelings turmoiling in her gut. It was like she had some sort of radar inside of her, and she didn't know why it was going off exactly. She didn't feel ill, or even close to it. Her forehead was cool and free of sweat, and she'd eaten a large meal at dinner, so she wasn't hungry.

But the things that bothered her the most were the memories.

Gwen could see his handsome face so clearly, and hear his deep, rough voice like he was whispering in her ear. I love Guinevere with all my heart. She shivered. He'd been gone for what felt like a thousand years, each day dragging on longer than the last. And though she had stopped crying herself to sleep at night, her soul still ached with each minute that passed without Arthur. He was all that she'd had left, and he'd been taken from her as well. All of the good in her life, besides the wonderful prosperity of Camelot, had been swept out of her grasp as soon as she'd had a grip on it. First, her father had been executed. Then, her brother had died saving her from Morgana. Then, her husband.

The more her stomach churned, the harder the memories were to resist. Soon, she couldn't stand it any longer and decided to talk a walk around the grounds to clear her head and hopefully tire her out. Gwen threw back the covers, grabbed her candle and lit it with the strike of a match, and tugged her cloak over her mostly bare shoulders. She left her boots behind and settled for her own bare feet.

Taking walks at night like this had become a ritual for the Queen. Not only did it clear her mind, but make her feel closer to her King. She tiptoed past half-conscious guards, nodding along the way. They didn't ask her where she was going or what she was doing anymore.

Gwen passed Merlin's chambers. She wanted to knock and see if he was awake, but she decided differently and continued on. Too many nights had she burdened her grief and worries upon her friend. Tonight would not be one of those nights.

As she came closer to the gates of the palace, her stomach seemed to begin roil even harder. She clutched at it beneath the folds of her cloak and wondered what in the world could be making her feel this way. She suddenly felt dizzy and out of breath, as if she had been running for miles and miles. Electricity buzzed under her skin like tiny lightning shocks.

She used to only feel this way around Arthur.

No, she choked on her tears and pressed a hand to cover her mouth from letting out a sob. Don't think about it. Don't think about him.

Gwen stayed still, holding both her stomach and her mouth, until she had calmed down enough to continue on to the gates and turn back without bursting into tears. Her stomach didn't calm, and she continued to feel worse and worse as she headed towards the gates. Something was drawing her there. Something was calling to her.

The closer she got, the more her skin felt like it was crawling with electricity, like it was on fire from the inside out. She heard the low tones of the guards speaking, and then another voice replying. The guards sounded frantic and uncertain, but the stranger they spoke to sounded calm, reassuring, and almost . . . regal.

She knew that voice.

Her heart started beating faster, like a bird beating its wings against its cage.

The guards' voices were getting louder. They sounded angry now. The stranger's voice was rising as well. In the dim lighting beneath the torches, Gwen could make out a shock of disheveled blonde hair over the guards' shoulders. She stepped forward and sppke loud enough for the guards to hear her all the way across the courtyard.

"What is happening here? Who is there?"

The tall, skinny guard turned only slightly. He dipped his head in respect. "Good evening, my Lady. It is nothing but a trespasser claiming . . . " He glanced to his fellow stocky knight and shuffled his feet nervously. He didn't finish his reply.

Gwen ambled closer, trying to peek around the guard's shoulders, but the other one was blocking her view. "Claiming what?"

The guard opened his mouth, but another voice came out of it, obviously not his own.

"Guinevere."

Her heart stopped dead in her chest.

The guards still didn't move.

"Move aside!" she ordered impatiently, implying the authoritative tone she rarely used. "I want to see who it is!"

The guards, their eyes wide, shuffled out of the way as quickly as possible, and Gwen had to stop herself from gasping at the sight of the figure before her.

He was dripping wet from the evening rain, his hair messy, his clothes torn and he was barefoot. His shirt was bloody at the ribcage, and he seemed to have made a makeshift bandage with a bit of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. His blue eyes shone brighter than any stars, any moon, any sun.

He was the most beautiful thing Gwen had ever seen.

Her breath came back to her in a rush around one word, his name.

"Arthur?"

That troublemaker's grin appeared, pulling back his rosy, full lips. She caught sight of the one mar in his smile: one canine turned slightly outwards endearingly. That grin that she had memorized over the years, in and out of her dreams. He didn't look any older than when she had last saw him.

"Gwen."

"Arthur."

"Gwen, I'm here. I'm back," he breathed. The guards had left them to inform the others, but neither of them were concerned about it.

"I see," she whispered. Then, neither of them could stand it a moment longer. He closed the short amount of distance between them, and she jumped into his arms. Their lips collided midair. His hands dug into her back desperately, with no corset in the way. She plowed her hands into his hair and relished the feel of it, wondering if this was a dream or a cruel figment of her imagination. His lips were as soft as she remembered, and warm, and tasted like saltwater.

When they broke apart, she clutched him to her, and her to him. Their bodies both shuddered with relief and overflowing love. They heard the guards shouting that the King had returned to his home, to his Camelot, but they didn't budge from their embrace. Her head fit perfectly against his chest, and she realized that, as her trembling stopped, that he was shivering uncontrollably.

"Arthur?" she whispered, still terrified that it was not reality. "Are you okay? Are you ill?" She pressed closer. "Is this a dream?"

He chuckled and rubbed her back. She trembled once more. The gesture was so familiar, that she recalled all of the times he had done it before, and parts of her heart burned with sorrow.

"I am real, Guinevere," he murmured in her ear, pressing his stubbly cheek against hers. "I'm never going to leave you again. I'm yours forever and ever more."

As the sound of the footsteps reached them, she raised her face to his and felt his mouth press against her forehead.

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming? You're alive?" She poked his chest and pinched his arm hard. "You're breathing? You have a heartbeat?"

Arthur grinned, brushing a curl behind her ear. His callused fingers were tender and gentle, as if he were afraid he were to break her.

"My dear Guinevere, how I have missed you."

And as soon as those words graced her ears, she knew that she was wide awake still, and that her King had come home.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she took Arthur's handsome face into her hands.

"Welcome home, my King," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. She rested her forehead against his. "I love you."

The guards reached them, shouting and laughing with happiness, when Arthur kissed his wife one more time and said, "I never stopped, Gwen. I never stopped loving you."

On their way back into the castle, as the moon was rising, and Gwen didn't dare to let go his hand, she realized that her stomach had stopped hurting.

Maybe it really had been a type of radar. A message from the heavens above that all was right in her world once again.

The Queen glanced up at the sky. The clouds from the rain had cleared away, and the moon shone on her face with favor. Her King was home. Her love was safe, and some of the good in her life had been restored.

The guards took their sweet time with leaving. After they had helped the exhausted-and famished-King to their shared chambers, the knights lingered with big, goofy smiles on their faces. No one could believe it. They all had known that this day would eventually come, but not so soon. More and more knights pushed through the chamber doors, hoping to catch sight of their newly returned ruler. The King greeted them respectfully, but Gwen could tell that he was close to passing out with exhaustion.

"I am sorry to disturb this wonderful reunion, truly I am," the Queen finally spoke up, getting the group of knights' attention. "But, as you all can see, my husband is very tired from his journey, and would like to rest. You may all visit him as soon as he is available tommorow."

"Yes, my Lady," came the chorus from the knights. They all bowed their heads and quickly exited. Merlin had been the first in, and the last to leave, shutting the door behind him with a giant grin on his face. The reunion between servant and King, or best friends, had made Gwen tear up again. She hated crying, but seeing the relief and joy in Merlin's eyes when he caught sight of his friend had made her eyes burn until she had let the tears flow.

"Alone at last," Arthur mused from a chair, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes," Gwen sighed. Her eyes flitted to his wound. He was breathing shallowly, and seemed to be smiling through the pain. "Arthur, I probably need to take a look at that. I wouldn't want it to get infected. And we need to get you out of those wet clothes. You'll catch pneumonia."

"Well, I do need a bath rather badly," he said. "We can kill two birds with one stone, eh?"

She blushed. Though she had seen her husband in the nude before, it had been years, and she'd always felt bashful when it came to the thought of any piece of clothing missing. She breathed a laugh. "I'll draw you a bath. Wait here."

It took a little while before the tub was full, and warm enough for the shivering King. Gwen helped him out of his shirt, because it seemed to hurt to raise his arm, and blushed again when she had to help him out of his breeches. After handing him a towel to cover himself-and receiving a chuckle and a tempting kiss-she pulled his undergarments off and tossed them aside to be washed.

Gwen helped Arthur into the warm water and waited until the soap bubbles obscured his lower half before looking at him again. He continued to laugh at her, chiding her for her bashfulness. "Oh, Guinevere. You haven't changed a bit. Still scared of seeing me naked?"

She swallowed thickly. "I'm just not used to it, is all." She knelt down by the tub and picked up a washcloth and began to scrub furiously at the dirt on his face and neck. "I haven't been around you in five years, remember?"

Suddenly, Arthur's large hand enclosed around her wrist gently, stopping her. His voice had lost its teasing edge when he murmured, "Is that how long it's been, love? Five years?"

Gwen nodded. A lump was forming in her throat that had become all-too familiar to her over the past half-decade. She tried to push it aside. She'd had enough of her own sobbing for that night. "Yes, Arthur. It's been that long."

"Oh, Gwen," he sighed. His hands moved to encircle her jaw, and her pulled her into a long, lingering, apologizing kiss. "I am terribly sorry, love, for everything I have put you through. I hate to make you worry so."

She shook her head. "After a while, I stopped worrying. I missed you so much, though, Arthur. More than you'll ever know."

He rested his nose against hers. "I didn't know it had been that long. Please, forgive me."

Without meaning to, she scoffed, years of grief overriding her. "For what? Dying?"

But he didn't take it wrong, though, she slapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words had passed her lips. He smirked and kissed the tip of her nose. "The water's growing cold, dear. Help me finish bathing and then we can talk more."

She nodded and picked up the forgotten washcloth. They both remained silent as Gwen finished scrubbed his chest and arms and shoulders. She handed the cloth over to him to scrub his lower half and averted her gaze until he was done. She scooped a pitcher into the water and he closed his eyes as he dumped it over his soapy hair.

Soon, the water had lost its warmth and Gwen helped her husband stand and dry off. He winced when the towel brushed over his open wound.

"Let's have a look at that," Gwen said softly. She grabbed of fresh pair of undergarments and breeches from his cupboard, which was dusty and creaked with years of unuse. She busied herself with the task of helping her husband to distract her from the thought of his prolonged absence. But she couldn't banish it from her mind no matter what she did. Then again, who could?

After helping him dress, she guided him to the bed and laid him down on his back on top of the rich red velvet covers. He was breathing heavily and his eyelids were drooping. His wound was obviously paining him, though he tried to hide it. Gwen, having known him for so long, knew when he was faking.

Gwen bent over his ribcage and carefully prodded the wound. He hissed out a breath through gritted teeth. She frowned. "I may have to call for Gaius. He can give you something for the pain and see if it's infected."

"Is that old badger still alive?" Arthur gasped out a chuckle and snagged her wrist before she walked away. "It's fine, Guinevere. Really. It's just a little cut. Nothing more."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Arthur. You and I both know that it's not just a little scratch. I don't want you to get sick." She bit her lower lip. "I don't want to lose you. Ever again."

They stared at each other for a solid, tense moment, before he finally let her go. "Hurry back, love. I don't want you out of my sight for long."

And hurry back she did. Gaius brought a simple mixture that would dull the pain and keep away infection. After checking the wound thoroughly, he said that it wasn't very deep, merely a flesh wound, but would need a couple of stitches. Merlin joked with Arthur during the process and Gwen settled onto the bed and took ahold of her husband's hand.

Gaius sewed it up quickly and had to practically drag Merlin from the King and Queen's chambers, for the young warlock didn't want to lose sight of his friend for a moment.

Finally, they were completely alone.

Once again, silence blanketed them. Gwen reclined on the bed next to him as he played with her fingers absentmindedly.

"What was it like?" She blurted, when she couldn't stand the quiet any longer. "Being . . . dead, I mean."

He stilled and his fingers went limp against hers. He didn't answer right away.

She gulped. "I'm sorry. You do not have to speak-"

"Guinevere," he said gently. "There is nothing wrong with what you asked." He paused. Out of the blue, he rolled to his side, wrapped an arm around her waist, and buried his face in the side of her neck against the pillows. She froze. His warm breath fanned across her skin as he pulled her even closer, until their bodies were molded against each other in the most familiar way, like they were made to fit like puzzle pieces. Hesitantly, she raised her hands to his messy blond hair and stroked his temples to the nape of his neck. They both shuddered at the same time and held the other tighter, their eyes glassy and breath all choked up.

"But I am not ready to speak of it right now. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day. But not right now." He twisted one of her curls around his finger. "Maybe not ever."

She nodded slowly, careful not to disturb the peace between them. "I understand completely."

They were quiet again, for a long while. His breathing became heavier and more even, until his arms relaxed around her waist and he pressed a line of warm, sloppy kisses against her throat. Gwen held back another shudder.

"I love you," Arthur murmured.

Gwen held him tightly even as he let go. "Sleep well."

As he drifted off, and sleep came to claim Gwen too, she touched his face with tender fingertips and cried silently and openly. She couldn't believe that he was back. She couldn't believe that she was holding him in her arms again. Gwen traced his serious brow and full mouth, his long eyelashes and strong cheekbones. She swore that he smiled in his sleep when she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Love you always."

They slept entwined in each other's embrace, with no nightmares, no dreams, and no memories to haunt either of them for the first time in half a decade. They never let go of one another, for the fear that they would be snatched back into their haunted pasts. Even when the sun rose and the maids came to awake and serve them, the couple did not rise. They held onto their sweet slumber while they could, not daring to face the troubles that were sure to come.

But not only troubles were in their intertwined futures.

For the best times of Camelot were yet to come.