Pairings in this chapter: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: M, R. Consummation, wenching, horror aka 15+
Disclaimer: Merlin and all the characters belong to the BBC etc. I do not own them. The resemblance of this written scene and the one in the new Merlin episode are coincidental! I was going to not upload this because of how similar they were but I want to continue the story.
Notes: "Dañsal a blij deoc'h?" is Breton and means 'Do you like dancing?". I wrote this chapter a few weeks ago, so the resemblance to the scene in the new Merlin episode isn't...copying. I'm quite sure banquet scenes and Merlin collapsing in them have been written since the one in the first series, so it's not like it hasn't been done before! I just thought it fit this chapter.
The hall was filled with the sound of laughter and music. Courtiers danced, knights flirted, and bards sung in high, keen voices. The wine flowed freely, and the cheeses, meats and fishes were colourful and bright. He had made sure that the servants were allowed their pick of the feast, because it showed that all were equal in the kingdom of Camelot. And after all, the woman sitting at the dias with him had been a servant once. He couldn't deny her a show of his faith and love for her.
It was three months into their marriage, but people were still congratulating them. Tristan of Cornwall had sent him a fine destrier horse, and Guinevere a chest of damasks and colourfully dyed wools. The Dukes of Brittany had sent fine gold clasps and rings.
The Druids had given him a hunting spear, and they had given Guinevere a green cloth embroidered with a triple spiral symbol. A symbol of fertility.
It had hit a nerve with her. Three months after the wedding night, and she should have been pregnant. Merlin had quite bluntly informed Arthur that he was so fertile that even looking at Guinevere should have gotten her pregnant. But his virility aside, people would begin to talk. Why wasn't she with child? What if she couldn't provide him with an heir? Selfishly, he had thought to his father and mother. Uther had been so desperate for a son that he had caused his wife's death. Was it a curse upon the Pendragon males to marry women who were barren? No…no. It was just circumstance. He loved Guinevere with every fibre of his being, and she was simply growing into their marriage. The stress of it all was slowing things down. And she knew that he would never go to such selfish lengths as his father had to produce a son. If the worst came to pass, they would foster a noble from a different court and raise him as their own.
His hand extended to take hers in his, and he squeezed tightly, bringing it to his lips to kiss with a loving indulgence "Are you well?" he looked at her through his lashes, and she arched a brow.
"Yes, thank you Arthur. I was the last time you asked me, which was two minutes ago. Contrary to the thoughts of the court, I'm not a shy little doe. It's just that time of the month, I'm not dying. Now come, we have dancing to do, and nobles to smile at before we retire for the evening. Be a good boy for me, and get this all over with quickly" she leaned in and grinned a tiny bit.
Arthur smirked. God, this was why he loved her so much. She was lovely, wonderful. But sometimes her world weary irritation came to the surface and caused her sarcasm to flourish. She squeezed his hand and they both stood at the same time, and walked down from the dias. Everyone in the room hushed. The bards stopped singing, and the instruments ceased. He inclined his head to the room, and Guinevere bobbed a humble curtsy, and within a few moments the instruments were being plucked and tapped again for them. Time to dance.
Merlin watched them from his table in the centre of the room. Arthur insisted that he take the centre, despite his adamant protests. He wore his court attire – tunic, hose, and a belt. Druid robes made him look like a dodgy peddler, and drowned him like a rat. His pale skin and dark hair made it so everything he wore in court made him look shady and strange.
Apparently without the neckerchief he looked almost his true age, a solid twenty four.
His fingers were wrapped around a goblet of wine, and he observed people with a keen eye. Everyone was happy, dancing and celebrating. Everything was going as it always did – Knights flirted with everyone, servants gossiped across tables, people left the hall for more private accommodation. It was the festival of Beltine, and the veil between the worlds was making everyone a little more…..lustful than usual. Everything was about fertility and dancing, and the joining of skin and lips.
When Arthur and Guinevere stood and descended from the dias and silence fell, he pushed himself up from his seat and rose his goblet in a toast. Arthur gave him a side glance and a mischievous little smile, and began to dance with his Queen. Music erupted again and he grinned widely, drinking his wine. Odd to think about that one time they'd kissed. A spur of the moment, when she had thought he might die.
A young woman walked past him slowly, and brushed a hand over his arm, slanting a gaze up at him from beneath thick lashes. She spoke in Breton, low and suggestive. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Servant? A girl from the lower town? Her clothes were undyed, and she looked a little tired.
"Dañsal a blij deoc'h…?" he turned to answer her, but at the periphery of his vision he caught sight of a tall, dark shape. It shivered and twitched, but made no sound. It had only darker shadows for eyes and a mouth, and they were too large for it's face. Her could hear the Breton girl speaking now, but the sound was muffled. The dark figure began to moan, a long and deep sound that made his jaw tighten. He stared, and the sound grew louder, and higher. It began to ache in his chest and stomach, and he frowned.
The sound grew louder, and every time it grew louder and higher, the ache became worse.
It was a warning from the Gods, from the powers that be, and he knew it wouldn't be pretty.
A flash inside his head. A child fresh from a womb, covered lightly in blood, wailing and screaming. It caught at his body like a knife thrust into his flesh, and he doubled over in pain. The Breton woman had lurched forward and was talking rapidly about the wine, or the food. Her concern fell on deaf ears, the room was muffled and quiet, as if he was underwater. He could still hear the baby crying in his head, and the dark shape flew towards him, through the tables and the oblivious people. It left trails of itself behind like molasses, and it smelt like death. It's mouth and eyes were gaping and melting and it screamed so loudly that he thought all of his insides would rip open and gush forth.
As it reached him, the smell became so strong that it made his eyes and nose sting. Merlin choked with a nauseating wave in his stomach. There was a sharp, warm pain as blood began to trickle from his nose and the corners of his eyes, and he crumpled to the floor.