Born to Blossom, Bloom to Perish
-Gwen Stefani, "What Are You Waiting For"
Arthur rose to sit on his cot. Soon the sun would peek out above the horizon and overtake the stars' lights in the sky. He stared at the remedy still in its place on the table where the sorcerer had left it. It shone whenever the darkness inside of the tent was interrupted by the opening of the flaps and the draft of wind would make the candlelight flicker.
He looked at it jealously and wished now for the peace it would offer him; but it was too late. He and the few knights he had taken with him for protection must ride at the first signs of the new day if they were to make it back to the castle without camping for another evening. All night there had been a twisting knot in his stomach.
Merlin's last words: 'Your son is coming'. Which one he thought? The one that seeks to destroy me? In all of Merlin's dreams there had always been two, Llacheu and another yet unnamed. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what their faces looked like.
A frustrated sigh left his body. The King returned his belt and his sword to his waist and pulled one leather glove over his fingers. The others will have to ride without me, he said above a whisper to the nothingness of the room.
He exited the tent. One lone guard was posted outside. Merlin's doing, he thought.
"I am returning to the castle." He slipped the other glove over his hand. "See to it that the camp leaves before noon."
"Your Majesty," he said not questioning the wisdom – or lack their of – of the King riding by himself.
Arthur walked over his horse.
"You are stubborn." The voice came from behind him.
"You've always known this," he replied, mounting his steed. He sat and waited for his friend and counselor to join him. Merlin nudged his horse to stand next to his. "I am glad that you have returned to us Merlin." He dropped his head and continued in a quiet voice, "It will make her happy to see you again."
"Nothing makes her more happy than to see you Sire."
The man inside of the King smiled briefly; head still hung low he commanded his horse to speed to the city.
"Your Majesty," Geoffrey interrupted his hand wringing. The King did not respond. "Your Majesty, Sir Lancelot Du Lac is here as you requested. Should I ask him to wait Sire?"
More hand wringing, but still there are no words. The Minister of Records stood inside the threshold, eyes searching for any sign of affirmation or a dismissal, at the least an acknowledgment. Yet he waited non-the-less as this summons came from the King only moments prior.
Arthur had returned with the sorcerer in time to be told that the Queen was with the midwife. Too early for the child to come but too late for him to see her, one of her ladies told him. Now he is relegated to his meeting room while others around him attend to urgent chores.
Finally, the monarch nodded his head, sat back and brought his elbows to the arms of the chair unwinding his hands. The old man moved quickly and Lancelot entered.
The door shut them inside the room, made bright by a few stray candles that had been lit by Justus, his servant since he had promoted Merlin to his council. The advancement had seemed odd to all in his court but soon the young King removed the laws against magic that his father had written and once tales of the war returned to those left behind at the castle, everything became clear. Merlin's deeds have since become legend and where he was once treated as a nobody, he was now feared and revered by all.
"Your Majesty," the dark haired man spoke.
His King raised his eyes to meet his. More controlled now than in their last meeting, Arthur asked, "Do you love her Lancelot?"
The man cleared his throat. "Yes Sire, I do, with all of my heart," he stressed.
"And my wife?"
"Your Majesty, Guinevere is the Queen. I have pledge my life to her in service of my King." Arthur scoffed in his mind at the thought of this man calling him his King. "Our chance meeting all those years ago cannot be changed but even then it was clear that she loved only you. It is why she burnt my letter and why my father's emissary return with the ransom he was given to acquire her. I had no real opportunity of ever winning her affections beyond friendship despite the way I felt for her then. My Lord, I would not have returned to serve you had I felt otherwise."
Arthur always knew Lancelot was a better man than he was. He remembered the words of the emissary, the description of the unknown man who sought to take his Guinevere before he knew her importance to this kingdom. Lancelot was just as he had said he was: a noble man; a humble man; a King, literally among men.
"Forgive me Lancelot. My friend. I should not have doubted your fidelity." Or the love of my wife, he thought. "I know you only wished to protect me but I must ask you as my brother and my knight that you keep no further secrets from me."
"On my life Your Majesty."
"Her father entrusted her happiness to me before he died. I have seen the joy you have brought her. You have my blessing to marry Princess Elaine. You are a good man. I know her father loved you and would have been pleased that you've won her love."
The knight greeted his words with another of his customary deep bows. Of course he would be so gracious and precise in the execution of the act; as the first born son of a powerful Duchy and the self-exiled heir to the throne of all of Francia, he would know the proper way to address a King Arthur thought. He still wondered how Lancelot could have abdicated his throne to serve as a knight for not one but two Kings, both of whom ruled kingdoms of less wealth and stature than the one he had forsaken to the now Duke of Rouen, his brother.
The question came back to Arthur again and again: Could he have given his father's kingdom away to his younger brother, had he had a brother? He turned his head and stared at the hearth in his meeting room that had no fire roaring in it. It had been too warm a day for it and now as the evening crept along there was no purpose for it behind the stone walls of the castle.
Lancelot stood watching him. The subtle movement was his Lord's way of sending him away, letting him know that their business had concluded but he seemed fixed to the spot where he was standing.
"How is the Queen, Your Majesty?"
"The midwife tells me she is well, but it has been hours since it started. Llacheu was already born by now, I'm almost sure of it." Arthur could feel his chest open and his breathing becoming more even. Saying the words, out loud to someone else brought him some measure of comfort. That they were said to his friend was more of a reassurance.
Lancelot repeated his bow and started for the door.
"Sit with me," the King said. These words came pouring out of his mouth inside of the tears that were welling in his eyes.
His faithful knight did as he was instructed.
But the two men spoke no further words in the dim silent air of the room.
Arthur stared down at his wife in the darkness as she slept. The midwife, her maids, everyone it seemed to him, had not allowed him near her chambers until it was over. It was not any different with the first child, but somehow he could never grow comfortable with it.
He sat in the chair next to her bed, thinking and watching. He had told her favorite maid, Helewys, to apologize to his wife on behalf of the King. Arthur prayed that she had been given the message as he had ordered but the young maid's expression was not a particularly welcoming one to her King or his command. With cool eyes and tight lips she had simply nodded and returned to the Queen's chambers. The maid loved him as a loyal subject should, but she loved Guinevere far more.
I must have wounded my wife deeply, he thought. Their last encounter was not a heated exchange but it was no less cruel than if he or she had shouted and thrown stray objects at the other. He had behaved with a vindictive scorn which years before he had sworn to himself – and to her – that he would never do again.
"You look as tired as I am Your Majesty," she said and touched his face. The cool feeling of her fingertips forced opened his eyes to look at her again. "You never sleep anymore."
"How could I sleep? I am sorry Guinevere. Tell me you forgive me."
"Always Arthur," she said.
"She is beautiful."
"Like you. She has your hair."
He smiled and held on to her hand. They could use his warmth he told himself. "The midwife tells me you are well but that you must rest. You will not leave the bed, I command it. Tell me you will not defy me in this."
"I will do as you say."
"Go back to sleep now. I brought you a gift, but I will only give it to you when you wake again." Her lips parted into a thin smile, they were parched and not their usual soft pink color. He kissed her hand as she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep. He returned his head to the bed just beside her, refusing to let his eyelids fall but the relief of it felt too sweet. He had ridden all day and he even before last evening, rest had eluded him for weeks for the sake of worry. Sleep's release came swiftly now that he was home again with her, although its grip seemed too fleeting.
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty," the soft voice of Helewys quivered in his ear. "Your Majesty you must leave," she said louder.
"What is the matter?"
"Please Sire, you must leave the room now."
Arthur looked down at the bed, his wife looked pale. His hand slipped from her damp fingers as he was suddenly wrested away from her side by the Queen's guardsmen.
There was still warmth in her hands, but only just the faintest traces of it. Was the heat he felt from his hand alone, he thought in a frightful instance?
"Release me." The order left the King's lips sounding frail and seeming to fall to the ground instead echoing off the walls and down from the ceiling. The knight's insistent arms grabbed at his shoulders and chest as he struggled against their grips. His body showed more conviction than his mouth could muster.
"Arthur…" the warlock's voice came from beside him as if he had only just emerged from the shadows "…it will only make matters worse if you stay. Please, you must go now."
"Merlin," he clutched at the man's robe. The guards held their King but no longer fought against him. He pulled the sorcerer's face close to his as he spoke his name again, softer, more timid. "What is this?" He pleaded.
"She is not well. She has not stopped bleeding. She is dying Arthur."
His eyes widen and he grabbed at him once more, both hands grasping at the flesh and cloth about the neck of his emerald cloak cutting at the sorcerer's skin. "No! Save her," he commanded him finding his regal voice again.
"I will do my best Arthur."
"No, you will save her. She cannot die. She cannot die."
The guard's arms began to tighten and with a quick nod to them from Merlin, the King was once again being pulled out of the room against his will and all his might.
Arthur slammed his open palm upon the locked door, cheeks stained with tears, his body limped its way down the wooden surface. The two guards that he had put in charge of his wife's safety, his advisor Marcus, Helewys and Justus, the royal family's most trusted servants, stood in horror and watched the sight of the great man as he wept against the door. Their King was gone, leaving a shattered man in his place.
A/N: Okay, this posting is bittersweet because I had this written a couple of weeks back, but held it for some tweaking and although I like it, it kills me because after reading it again it feels a lot like episode 3x10 to me (in some places) and that upsets me greatly (Howard Overman get out of my head). And another thing, my next chapter is entitled 'The Sorcerer's Council' which is also quite similar to 3x11 entitled 'The Sorcerer's Shadow' therefore I may feel compelled to change my title.