"In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art." -Rumi
The sight of Queen Guinevere walking past the training grounds with a basket has become quite a familiar one for the knights. She always has a kind smile for the men and will blow a kiss to King Arthur when she catches his eye.
"What is she always up to with that basket?" Sir Bors wonders aloud one day.
"She'll be headin' to the gardens," Sir Gwaine answers, moving a bit, looking as though he is trying to get a better view of the young queen. "She collects herbs and flower petals to make little pouches for her wardrobe to keep her clothes smelling nice. I'm sure she does other things with them, too. Probably."
Bors looks sideways at Gwaine. "You seem to know a lot about it," he says.
"Ah, well, we've happened to cross paths a few times, and I always offer to carry her wee basket for her," Gwaine says, turning back towards Bors now that Guinevere is out of sight. He glances over at Lancelot for a moment and adds, "I am an honorable man and a knight of the realm, and as such, I must always offer my services to any lady, be she queen or peasant." He raises his sword, then slices it through the air with a swoosh, preparing to spar again.
"Yes, well you may be an honorable man, but your skirt tells me you're nothing more than a little girl playing with her da's sword," Bors taunts with a grin.
"It's a kilt, you boggin gobshite," Gwaine returns. He snorts. "Look at you, throwin' around insults like a big man when you're barely weaned from your ma's teat. Tell me, when do ye start shavin' then?"
Bors circles, biding his time. "When you learn to stop flapping your pie-hole," he says, and attacks.
Gwaine laughs as he ably defends himself, then quickly and easily defeats the young knight.
"Less work on your banter and more on your footwork," Arthur says as he passes, helping Bors to his feet. "Keep your movements deliberate and your expression neutral," he adds. "I could read you like a banner, and I was clear over there."
"Yes, Sire," Bors says.
"And you," Arthur turns on Gwaine, "stop showing off. Save the fancy stuff for tournaments; no one is impressed here."
Gwaine purses his lips, then nods. In the two months since he and Lancelot have joined the ranks, he has yet to defeat the king a second time. Though not for lack of trying.
xXx
"…Finally, the repairs to the road through the lower town are progressing well, and should be completed by the end of the week," Sir Leon finishes his report and sits. Those gathered at the Council meeting try not to let their relieved sighs be too obvious.
"Thank you, Sir Leon," Arthur says. He looks over his parchment a moment. "That appears to be our last order of business. Unless anyone has anything else they wish to address?" He looks around, noting the anxious looks on most of the faces seated at the table. He knows most of them are thinking Please, no one say anything because that is what he is thinking as well.
Then Lord Agravaine clears his throat.
"Lord Agravaine, you have something you wish to say?" Arthur asks, inwardly cringing. He sees Guinevere shift in her seat beside him, clearly feeling the same way.
"Yes," Agravaine says. "Well… it is a… a delicate matter, and I only bring it up because I know several of my fellow lords have been wondering this same thing, and…"
"Your point," Arthur prompts. He is tired and wants to have a bath and a moment's peace before dinner.
"Well, my lord," Agravaine begins, "It has been… about four months since you and Queen Guinevere have wed?"
"Yes," Arthur tightly answers, his stomach twisting as he realizes where this conversation is going.
"There has been some concern about an heir, my lord," Agravaine finally gets to his point. "People are beginning to fret that the queen may be barren. Begging your pardon, my lady."
Arthur glances at Guinevere and sees that while she has made her face into a mask, he is able to see how upset she is beneath her façade.
His eyes narrow as he looks at his uncle. "Tell me, Lord Agravaine, how many months were you and Lady Vivienne married before she became with child?" he asks. It is a blunt question, but effective. Agravaine mumbles an answer. "What was that? I don't believe I heard you." Arthur already knows the answer, but he is making a point.
"It was three years, my lord," Agravaine nearly spits.
"And my parents were married more than a year before I was conceived," he says, his anger flaring. "The queen and I—"
"May I say something?" Guinevere suddenly asks, her voice clear and steady as she decides she will not sit in silence and let them discuss her as though she isn't there. All heads turn in her direction, faces surprised and, in a few cases, very curious. The queen has attended several Council meetings, but this is the first time she's spoken up.
A slight smile plays across Arthur's features. "Of course," he immediately answers.
She stands. "All this talk about my… my fertility," she stresses the word, knowing it will make most of the men seated around her slightly uncomfortable, "is not only premature, but disrespectful. Yes, we have been married four months. But it has only been four months. How many of you have children?" She looks around at the table and sees most of the men's hands raised. "And how many of your wives became with child on your wedding night?" One hand remains up. "Furthermore, how many of you would enjoy the notion of the entire court, nay, the entire kingdom essentially discussing your marital activities? None, I would wager." There are more than a few heads nodding sheepishly around the table. "I suggest we keep gossip out of Council meetings before you all begin to sound like a bunch of… fishwives."
"Very well said, Guinevere," Arthur agrees, glaring at Agravaine, who looks like he is sucking on something sour.
"You will forgive my early departure from this meeting," Guinevere says. She has not sat back down yet. "I seem to have developed a headache," she adds, her tone rather icy.
Arthur takes her hand and kisses it, then looks up at her, hoping she can see how proud he is of her. She grants him a small smile before striding from the hall, her head held high.
xXx
Arthur immediately heads for the royal chambers after the meeting, Merlin trailing behind him, barely able to keep up despite his legs being longer than the king's. Agravaine had attempted to catch Arthur's attention for a private word, but the king ignored him, being in no mood to hear anything further from his uncle.
He pushes open the doors to find Morgana sitting with Guinevere, the two women talking quietly together. The queen's eyes are dry and she no longer appears upset.
"Guinevere, I am so proud of you," Arthur says, walking over to her with his hands outstretched.
She takes his hands and stands. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.
"There is no excuse for my father's behavior," Morgana says, clearly as upset as they. "I am positively mortified."
"Thank you, Morgana," Arthur says. He often wonders how his cousin can stomach living with her father, but has never asked.
"Morgana saw me leaving the meeting early and had to come and find out what happened," Guinevere explains, stepping out of her husband's embrace to sit back down. Arthur sits beside her.
"She didn't want to tell me at first," Morgana explains. "But I eventually convinced her. I, for one, think this whole business about the queen only being good for making princes is rubbish." She pauses. "I also know my father is a fool."
"A milder word than I want to use, but it works," Arthur says. "And I agree with you. Guinevere knows how I feel about the queen's role in the kingdom," he adds, taking her hand.
"And how is that exactly?" Morgana asks, intrigued.
"He wants an equal, someone who will rule with him. If he does something I feel is wrong, I should tell him," Guinevere answers.
Arthur nods. "And that is a very large reason why my father's interference in Guinevere's upbringing was a problem."
"A mess, that's what it was. You aren't him at all," Morgana observes. She shakes her head. "Aunt Igraine was a strong woman, and Uther loved her. She wasn't subservient at all. I can't imagine why he thought this would be a good idea."
"The man he became after my mother's death was not the man he was. At least, that is what I am given to understand," Arthur says. "In any case, my beautiful queen showed the council who she is today, and I could not be happier about it," he says, beaming proudly at his wife.
"Yes, I think it's wonderful that she spoke up," Morgana agrees. "Keep doing that," she adds, giving Guinevere a nod.
"Especially with my uncle," Arthur says with a smile. Then he takes her hands and asks, "Honestly though… are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine now," she answers. "I was quite angry. I felt shamed… humiliated. I decided I couldn't sit by and let him cast aspersions in my direction, to my face no less. Thank you for defending me, but… I felt I should speak up in my own defense."
Arthur nods. "I'm glad you did. And you were right to do so. I think you've certainly given some of those old lords something to ponder on their rides home."
"Good," Guinevere replies.
"Which reminds me, I need to find Sir Gwaine and say goodbye before father and I leave," Morgana says.
"You won't be staying for dinner?" Arthur asks.
"I would love to, but I think it would be best if we go home," Morgana says, standing. "Father has done enough damage for one day. And I can't imagine you would be relishing his company this evening anyway."
"Ha, probably not," Arthur chuckles. He steps over to his cousin and hugs her. "Thank you for being there for Guinevere when I could not," he says.
"My pleasure," Morgana says, then turns to hug Guinevere as well.
"Thank you," she echoes. "Have a safe trip home."
"You're welcome," Morgana replies. "I may be having a few words with my father on the way," she says, lightly smirking. Then she turns and exits.
Arthur wraps his arms around Guinevere, just holding her for a minute. "Merlin," he says at length, and the servant appears from the other side of the room.
"Did you still wish for a bath, my lord?" Merlin asks.
"Yes. No. Perhaps," Arthur slowly answers.
"I don't mind," Guinevere says. "I'm fine now, honest." She knows he was looking forward to a nice soak and doesn't want him to deprive himself because of her.
He kisses her, then says, "Yes, Merlin. I would like that bath." Merlin nods and heads out to start preparing the water.
"I am due to meet the royal seamstress anyway," Guinevere comments. "The weather will be turning cold soon and I will be requiring a few more items."
"The seamstress should be coming to you, not you to her," Arthur says.
"Well, she cannot really do that if you are having a bath, can she?" she asks, tilting her head at him.
He chuckles, then smiles. "One more then," he says, leaning down to kiss her again before she leaves.
xXx
Despite Arthur's best efforts, Agravaine still succeeds in catching him for a few words before he departed. He knocks on the doors to the royal chambers after seeing Guinevere walking through the corridors, and Arthur, thinking it is Merlin or one of the pages with the beginnings of his bathwater, opens the door without first checking to see who is there.
"Uncle," he says, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice.
"Arthur, I would like a private word before I go," Agravaine says, pushing his way inside.
"As long as it is not about the queen," Arthur replies, closing the door.
"Well, it may be… indirectly," Agravaine says.
"Tread carefully," Arthur warns. "My patience with you is quite thin right now, and while you are my uncle, I would like to remind you that I am your king."
"Of course, my lord," Agravaine obsequiously replies, deliberately addressing Arthur by title. "I just wished to caution you about one of your new knights."
"Which one?" Arthur asks, already knowing the answer.
"The Celt," Agravaine says. "Keep a close eye on him."
"Sir Gwaine has been an excellent and well-behaved knight since his arrival here," Arthur protests, confused. "Yes, he is a bit unconventional, but he has not broken a single rule or violated the Knights' Code in any way."
Agravaine's lips press into a tight line. "Yes, well… I've heard rumors about that so-called 'knight', from both within the kingdom and without," he comments.
"What kind of rumors?"
"The man has loose morals. Why do you think he had no home before he came here?"
Arthur looks at him, debating the believability of his uncle's words. He knows Gwaine is fond of Guinevere, but all the knights are. He knows with every fiber of his being that any one of his knights would lay down their life for her. As would he. "What, exactly, are you insinuating, Uncle?" he finally asks.
"All I will say is: Keep a close eye on the attention he pays to your queen. She is beautiful and young, and to a man like that, she is nothing but temptation," Agravaine says. "She is spirited though, which we saw earlier, but I'm afraid spirit is no match for a man trained in battle who is twice her size."
Arthur narrows his eyes at his uncle, extremely skeptical. "Thank you for your counsel," he vaguely says, reaching for the door handle. "Safe travels," he adds, opening the door.
Agravaine nods, then exits. In the corridor, a slow, sly smile creeps across his face.
Arthur leans against the door, thinking a moment. He has seen Gwaine accompanying Guinevere on several occasions, often carrying her basket or assisting her with some task. Lancelot is often present as well, but he usually keeps to himself. He doesn't recall seeing anything alarming or inappropriate between his wife and the knight, and no one else has felt the need to make mention of their friendship.
The door shifts, someone clearly trying to open it, and Arthur moves away from the it. Merlin enters, followed by some pages with buckets. "Merlin," Arthur calls, and Merlin stops, waiting to see what his master needs.
"Yes, my lord?" he asks. "I just saw Lord Agravaine looking smug; am I correct in assuming he was here and said something that irritated you?"
Arthur nods. "Have you seen any inappropriate behavior between the queen and Sir Gwaine?" he asks.
Merlin's brow furrows a moment, his expression incredulous. "No," he answers. "I think he is fond of her, but no more so than any of the rest of us. Present company excluded, of course."
Arthur nods. "That's what I thought."