A/N: The song Dinadan sings in this chapter is "Hawthorn Tree" by Heather Dale. You can find a version with a lyric video here: !youtu!.be!/7KihSuUpE5E (take out the !). The song is actually about Merlin's demise at the hands of Vivienne-who is also known as Nimue, but keep the lyrics I used in mind, as they're going to be relevant to this story later on (as will some of the gist of the story of Merlin and Vivienne/Nimue).
Also, I'm not sure if anyone even noticed, but I changed the title of this story within like an hour of posting the first chapter. I still might change it a little to encompass both halves of the story, but we'll see.
Disclaimer: The story disclaimer can be found in Chapter 1. I do not own the song "Hawthorn Tree" or it's lyrics; those belong to Heather Dale.
.*.*.*.*.*.
The mood under the open pavilion that served as the tavern during the warmer months of the year was considerably darker than usual. Vanora had been met first with a practically bounding Lancelot, who had informed her that he was going on his first long mission with the other knights before whirling off with one of his youngest siblings. Yannick and Corentin, the newest knights-in-training under Cymbeline and Kei, had been just behind him and had filled her in on a few of the details of what sounded like an incredibly strange table meeting.
It wasn't until Bors had come in and pulled her aside that she got the rest of the details. As many of the other knights began to fill several of the tavern's tables for the evening, Vanora and her working girls started to get busy, but the redhead kept an eye on the arrivals throughout the evening. Kei was the first that she noted; he looked so angry that it was impossible not to. Vanora sent Katell his way; she had the best rapport with the Celt and was generally the best at calming his fiery temper.
Dinadan was next, appearing, for all intents and purposes, as chipper and bright as normal. However, as soon as he arrived, he settled onto his favorite stool and began tuning his woodharp, trying to charm Olwyn into singing with him. Vanora sent the girl to join him when she asked permission; it was her first night back after giving birth to her second son six and a half weeks previous, and there was no sense in exhausting her immediately. She settled onto a stool beside Dinadan, the new baby in a sling across her chest, and the two were soon chatting about what songs they should sing.
Cymbeline was next, heading straight for the enclosed room of the tavern that housed the knights' children during the days, and served as the tavern in colder months. She brushed of Vanora's questions when she passed, and vanished through the door.
Gawain and Galahad came next, walking side by side, neither of them looking particularly happy. Gawain offered a noncommittal grunt in response to Vanora's greeting.
"Have you seen Cymbeline?" he asked.
"She went into the tavern," Vanora nodded over her shoulder. "Your mother's keeping an eye on the littlest ones in there with Helaine."
"Thank you," Gawain immediately made for the door to the room.
"Dindrane?" Galahad sighed, glancing around the pavilion.
"She's around somewhere," Vanora patted him on the arm. "Might be in the kitchen, actually."
"I'll check, thank you," Galahad turned to head for the kitchen, then paused and looked back at Vanora. "Would it be alright if I borrowed her for a few minutes?"
Vanora smiled and nodded, and Galahad was off.
Branwyr and Bedivere were the last to arrive, walking slowly and hand-in-hand both looked serious, and separated reluctantly when they reached the pavilion, Bedivere heading for the other knights while Bran went towards her mother.
"Are you alright?" Vanora asked softly, reaching out to pull her oldest child into a hug. "Your father told me what happened."
"I'm fine," Bran sniffled slightly. "I kind of wish I was going along, though. I'd feel better if I was there to watch his back, and Lancelot's."
"They'll be alright," Vanora said. "If I understand your father right, there's no guarantee Morgana will even be on this island anyways. They could go and not find anything, or anyone, and be back perfectly fine in a few weeks."
Bran smiled wanly. "When was that ever our luck, mother?"
.*.*.*.*.*.
Vanora would have been grateful for the quiet night in the tavern, if it hadn't been accompanied by such a dark mood. Most of the patrons had settled for listening to Dinadan play his harp and Olwyn sing for much of the evening before wandering off to their homes. The few people who were left were primarily the knights she and her family were closest to: Gawain and Cymbeline with their children, Culhwch and Olwyn with their sons, Bedivere, and Galahad. Morgause, Dindrane, and Evaine were finishing the clean-up from the night, while Elyan and Vanora's oldest three children helped with sleeping babies that hadn't been taken home to bed yet.
Dinadan slowly plucked out a final tune on his woodharp, singing softly. Vanora wasn't paying enough attention to note any of the words past the refrain he repeated:
Hawthorn tree,
Your body burns away the winter's cold.
Stand by me,
And shade me from the sun.
My eyes are old, but still can see.
As Dinadan finished the song, his voice trailing off into silence, Cymbeline stood abruptly, adjusting the sleeping toddler she was holding in her arms. Gawain stood as well, bending down to take one of his sons from Galahad, then silently followed his wife out of the tavern. Culhwch and Olwyn left after them, each carrying one of their sons. Bedivere kissed Branwyr on the cheek and brushed a hand over little Jennie's forehead before waking Lucan up to take him home.
As the other knights trickled out, taking their respective children with them, Vanora breathed out a deep sigh. She took one of her youngest babies—she half-heartedly cursed her husband for getting her pregnant with, somehow, their fourteenth and fifteenth children—from Elyan when the girl woke up and started crying, shooing the older children and their little burdens off to bed in the part of the tavern that had once been an inn but now served as a home for her and Bors's massive family.
Her eyes lingered on Lancelot as he carried five-year-old Llamrei off to bed, and a pang of worry rose in her heart.
"He'll be fine," Bors materialized at her elbow, carrying the other baby. "Tristan went north in a smaller party when he was much younger than Lance is now, and he was fine."
"Tristan and Lancelot are very different boys," Vanora huffed. "Lancelot most definitely does not think things through like his brother does, nor is he as cautious or thoughtful as Tristan."
"So, essentially, he's as much like his namesake as Tris and Dag are," Bors chuckled deeply.
Vanora couldn't help but laugh as well, and the baby in her arms cooed in protest at the motion.
"Maybe this mission will be good for him," Bors suggested as they made their way around the side of the tavern for the door that led to their apartment, the original set of rooms they had tried to cram their huge family into before giving up and moving into the inn—and knocking a hole into the upstairs wall where the two sections joined. "Maybe it'll teach him how to think things through."
Vanora scoffed. "You've been a knight for over twenty years now and you still haven't learned to think things through."
"I think things through," Bors protested. "Just not always until I've already started doing them."
.*.*.*.*.*.
Cymbeline settled Rhience into bed and turned to find that Gawain had already done the same with the less-fussy Lot and Bella. Without a word, she spun on her heel and went out into the main room of the apartment. She and Gawain had moved out of both the small set of rooms above the infirmary and the barracks—where they had bounced between for several months—before the children's second birthday. Now, they lived in a little three-room apartment two streets over from the tavern. Admittedly, the third room, which they had taken as their bedroom, was hardly big enough to be called a room, but the apartment was generally referred to as cozy rather than cramped. This might have been some wishful thinking on their part, but the only time things really seemed cramped was when all three toddlers crawled into the couple's already small bed in the middle of the night, often leading to at least one parent waking up on the floor in the morning.
When Gawain left the children's room, he found Cymbeline gone and the door to the apartment open. A glance outside found her on the landing of the rickety set of wooden stairs that led up to the apartment, her forearms resting on the splinter-ridden railing. He took a moment to look at her; she'd let down her hair at some point and it now blew in the night's gentle breeze, the long chestnut curls tangling around one another. Her loose linen tunic fluttered in the breeze as well, now that her leather chest piece had been removed, and he thought he saw her shiver slightly in the chill of the night.
With a sigh, he joined her on the landing, copying her posture on the railing. The breeze smelled like rain and was colder than he had expected, and he felt a chill go down his own spine, even though his clothes were heavier than Cymbeline's.
"You know I have to go," he said finally, his voice soft.
"You have to?" she repeated bitterly.
"Arthur has been my commander since I was ten years old. He's been my king as well for nearly a decade. I can't just ignore his orders. Would you?"
There was silence for a long moment.
"I don't know," she admitted at last.
Silence fell again as they watched the wind ripple through the tops of the distant trees of the forest. In the other direction, they could see the vague outlines of guards patrolling the great Wall, while the streets below them remained empty of everything except the odd stray dog or cat.
"It just feels like… you're so eager to leave us," Cymbeline said with a sigh, turning so that her lower back was leaned against the railing and she could see into the apartment.
"I'm not eager to leave," Gawain turned to look up at her, truly shocked at her words. "It's the last thing I want to do. I missed so much of them—I wasn't here for their birth, or the first half year of their lives. I couldn't be here for you, or for them, and it breaks my heart every time I think of it. If there were anything I could do to change that, I would—but there isn't. Every time I leave, they've changed so much when I come back. I feel like I'm still missing half of their lives, and yours."
Cymbeline hastily wiped away a hot tear that spilled down her cheek. "I do too," she murmured. "And every time you go away, I'm so afraid that this is the time you won't come back, and I don't know how I'd live if you didn't." She sniffed loudly, hardly able to hold her tears back any longer. "They need their father," she murmured finally. "And I need you."
Gawain swallowed the lump that had formed in his own throat and reached out to pull her into a tight hug, cradling the back of her head with one hand while the other pulled her as close as possible. He felt her shake as she began to cry quietly, her face pressed against his chest, and buried his face in her thick hair. They stood like that for long minutes as the rain began to fall softly around them. As the cold droplets began to roll down exposed skin, Cymbeline pulled away, sniffling one last time and wiping away her tears.
"I'll come back," Gawain lifted her chin with a finger, staring deep into her eyes. "I promise."
"You'd better," Cymbeline nodded.
With a smile, he moved his hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. "I will."
Cymbeline sighed shakily, but smiled and lifted a hand to catch his and pull it away from her cheek. "Come on. I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed."
Gawain laughed and let her pull him inside, shutting the door behind them. In their room, she shucked her leggings, kicking them away like they had offended her, and awkwardly unfastened her breastband, tossing it after the leggings, as Gawain pulled off his shirt. They settled down to sleep, Cymbeline's back pressed against her husband's chest. It didn't take long before they both began to drift off, their breathing slowing to a pace that almost matched each other.
"You'd better come back," Cymbeline mumbled drowsily, long after Gawain thought she'd drifted off. "If you don't, I'm going to track you down and kill you myself."
He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Don't worry. I'll come back." One way or another, I'll come back.