A/N Here is another chapter and oh look it's only taken me since...err...January! *Looks on horrified* Oops! What can I say except I am heartily sorry. I had issues. One of which was the almost loss of everything, due to my clumsy attempts at juggling, whilst trying to talk to the kids and carry everything down the stairs, resulting in a broken laptop needing emergency surgery! Luckily all is not lost but it was a bit hairy for a while.
Many thanks once again go to Doberler for not only her patience and understanding when her own edited chapters were thought to be nothing more than scrambled bits of file on a broken hard drive, but also for editing and also adding this extra Arwen scene, she writes romance like no one else I know. Thank you my friend.
Screaming
Chapter 7.
The knights could be heard all the way down the other end of the corridor, so loud was the ribbing they were affording their latest victim. There was nothing quite like a room full of boisterous knights, even in the midst of crisis, for teasing, hazing and horseplay, that could quite easily get out of hand.
He hurried a little faster, catching up to the serving staff hauling the evening meal he'd requested, just before they reached the guards stationed at either side of the double doors of the new council chambers. They made to announce him and he shushed them with a gesture.
The large studded oak doors were open and Arthur paused at the threshold just observing his men. Even in the darkest hours they still managed to pull every minute increment of enjoyment from life. They had to, their lives were fraught with danger and it was rare for any of them to actually reach an age old enough to retire from active duty. As knights they had to come to terms with the fact they would probably die young. Arthur had to come to terms with it, too. He knew these men, inside and out. He knew how they thought, how they acted and how they felt was always linked to their knowledge of their own mortality.
It was how Merlin acted, how had he never seen that? That goofy grin hid a multitude of hurts. All those times he had seen the pain hidden deep within and had never known the cause. Had never been able to extract any rationalization for it, nor assign any grounds to the inexplicably fraught silences seen only in those fleeting moments Merlin believed all eyes to have dispersed away from him.
His three knights, now laid alongside the rest of his people had also seemed isolated, reticent even, not sharing in the laughter as much and always seeming more serious than the usual. He'd just put it down to their particular personalities, just three men out of an entire contingent, there had to have been some with a different mental makeup. But now, armed with his new knowledge it made far too much sense.
Had they known each other's secrets? He tried to recall who their friends were, who they went drinking and relaxing with but couldn't seem to remember anyone. Had it been deliberate? They knew they had magic and made sure if they were ever found they would not take their fellows with them to the pyre? Had deliberately kept their heads down and never sought the kind of exalted glory within the ranks their counterparts were rather famous for?
It must have been such a delicate balancing act, to seem almost like their fellows in temperament and outlook to avoid suspicion, but without the prideful arrogance characteristic to the breed. To stay away from anything that might garner them the slightest amount of unwanted attention, keep their heads down in sombre duty and give up the relative freedom they could have found elsewhere. He couldn't envisage his being able to do so, nor even most of his other knights.
He could imagine Merlin had actually had an easier time, being a servant and out of the public eye as much as was possible, more than they could ever be really. When he was the personal manservant of the Crown Prince and then King, they were the highest stations within the serving ranks but he'd never been classed as important enough to be noteworthy, servants may be seen occasionally, but never heard.
And though Merlin had been involved in many victories, his name had been kept out of it. God forbid a servant should outmatch Camelot's finest! No, fame and fortune for his deeds had never seemed important to the man and Arthur had admired him in an abstract way for it. In fact, his heroics had become so commonplace, the issue of his not taking any credit and his easy going nature had to a great extent been taken advantage of. He had in a word been overlooked. Even then, it must have been a somewhat dicey situation, working for the man who would be honour bound to turn him over if he should ever see the means by which he helped out. He was, after all, in his company every single day, was closer than any other man, in fact, and had been for years.
Those four men had all been employed by the crown in positions of great trust and responsibility, some for even longer than Merlin's nine years of service, and had never once turned against them. If they had, he was damned sure he would not be here now and the kingdom would now be either decimated or ruled by someone else, someone more sympathetic to magic. And he could also tell that person would not be Morgana.
They held no love at all for her policies, and had all stood firm against her even as others fell under her charismatic spell, he knew that much at least. They had all seemed more vitriolic about her methods and her fall from grace than any other. Now he could perhaps see why.
How had they been spared her particular brand of hate? They had just as much reason to turn against them all as she had, perhaps more, since she had been the pampered ward of his father and he couldn't see Uther killing her no matter her faults. She was after all his own daughter, an unacknowledged one yes but still cared for even so.
And then he remembered, dark bruises around wrists and throat. An uncharacteristically subdued Morgana drifting pale and quiet through the halls for days after speaking out once too many times. And he acknowledged that yes maybe she did have reason to think she would never be heard above the scream of insanity the word magic engendered within his father's mind, the scream that would signal her death knell. But if she would be kindling for the fire and had turned so bitter and vengeful as a result, why had these four specifically not succumbed to the allure of ridding themselves of Uther's threat when they had been so close as to do it with hardly a thought?
They never had and that alone showed him that not every magic user in the kingdom was out to get them, add in the rest of his subjects laying in the hall and he gained a picture of people just trying to fit in, to find a place they belonged and get on with life in spite of being told they were evil and worthless, just like everyone else. And yet they did so in the full knowledge they would never be seen, would never be acknowledged, and would burn if they ever dared show any talent in the art of sorcery. His father had caused a civil war and he had pursued the same goal, mindlessly, and without thinking of any consequence. Just what had they all done to their own people?
He was ashamed to call himself Pendragon to be honest. And Morgana? Morgana had good reason to be bitter, having magic and being Uther's bastard daughter. He now wondered how and why the knights and his servant had not gone the same route, joined her in her bid for freedom, and taken them all down to hell for the nightmare their lives had become.
How did the kingdom ever deserve such loyalty if such was the case? They had done nothing to earn it, but it hadn't seemed to matter to them. They had donned the cloak and mail regardless and done their duty as they saw fit, protecting those who would otherwise never thank them.
It would fall to him, to his duty and his honour to acknowledge such dedication. He just had no clue how to pull off such a feat that would not signal yet more conflict between his countrymen.
He needed to speak to them all. Surely, they had some idea of what they could all do to allow for a peaceful coexistence since they all seemed to have more idea of how to do that than the rest of his citizens. But that would have to come later, when they had brought them out of this magic-induced stupor and given them back their reason. Now he still had to prepare for their departure and that meant orders. Without further ado, he stepped into the chamber and all eyes turned in his direction, as the ribbing of his newest knight ceased abruptly.
The regal nod was ingrained as he returned theirs though it was never necessary amongst his knights. "As you were, gentlemen." The knights scrambled for their chairs looking nothing more than reprimanded children, shamefaced and blushing. Arthur couldn't help but be amused for the barest of moments as he, too, took his seat.
"I'm sure you are all wondering why I have called this meeting, especially considering several of you were present for the earlier council session. Just to be clear gentlemen the council have not been told the whole matter." Careful glances made the rounds between the men, and Arthur could hazard a guess they had been discussing the same subject amongst themselves long before his appearance.
"And you are trusting us now, sire?" Arthur's eyes met those of Sir Brennic. Old guard, one of his father's but loyal to the hilt, though less vocal in his father's time.
"What I need to say is more a military matter, not something the council needs to be aware of at this time." More looks exchanged between the men, especially by those present at the council meeting earlier.
"I'm sorry, my lord, I don't quite follow. How is this a military matter?"
"It has been brought to my attention that the people targeted by this mysterious phenomenon are potentially those who might be essential in a conflict and that an enemy may be using them to gain the upper hand in an upcoming battle. Even as I remain rather sceptical about such a motivation, I will not leave anything to chance. Whilst I and a select group make the journey for the recovery of our people, I need the city fortifying in case there is any substance to these speculations." More surreptitious glances swept the room this time, ones of relief. Although it could be said that any battle was not something to be anticipated with any degree of joy, at least these men now had something to focus on and a possible explanation for the Fallen.
Mystery and the unknown were never good bedfellows for such practically minded men and not having any explanation as to why everyone just collapsed had made the tensions within the citadel build exponentially. Those tensions, that stress, now had an outlet, and the rest of the meeting was spent in planning, assigning work details, and delegating duties to the various knights.
It came as no surprise when the two-hour long conference was winding to a close and the only people not given posts within the city itself were what Arthur always dubbed the Round Table. It was an unstated but well-known fact these were the men Arthur would always pick to go with him on any outbound quest. No matter that Sir Leon, as Arthur's First Knight, would traditionally stay and oversee the defences. Arthur had already broken so many traditions in his short reign it had come as no shock that the older knight, Sir Anwhn, was given the delicate task instead.
"Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Leon, you're with me. I need you to find out who the volunteers are from amongst the families to look after and drive the carts of the Fallen. They know they need to choose and are working it out between themselves.
Elyan, will we be ready for tomorrow morning? We need to get them to help as soon as possible. There is no telling how long they have left before they start to deteriorate."
"We should be ready, Arthur, if we work through the night."
"I'll make sure there are plenty to help. Anyone who assists tonight will be rewarded as per their contribution."
"I need to supervise the outfitting but if you'll allow, I'm sure there's room in one of them for me to get a little rest." Arthur sent him a look of both gratitude and amusement.
"Done!"
"Then with your leave, I'll see to it?"
"Go, Elyan, and thank you. I think we are just about finished here anyway. Gentlemen?"
Nods and murmurs of ascent all around concluded the gathering and all left in a better frame of mind to their various tasks. Arthur debated with himself whether to tell his chosen men of the suspected magic now or later once they had set off. In the end, the thought of any form of procrastination was simply too tempting under the circumstances, plus he really didn't want to hold such a delicate and potentially explosive conversation where the walls had too many ears. The woods it would have to be and hope they didn't have too much dissent on their hands when it all came to light.
He left for his chambers weighed down with the true enormity of what they were undertaking and feeling twice as old as he had just that morning.
It came as no surprise that Guinevere was waiting for him when he stepped through his chamber doors and suddenly his guilt for leaving her to dine alone again, the evidence of one serving still on the table, left him even wearier. She deserved better, and he should give her more. They would be apart again and for much longer than his last mission this time. He'd only been back from the Druid encampment a day at best and that had been filled with councils, counsellors, and nonstop preparation for yet another departure.
He was leaving her alone again.
But she knew him, knew what came first during a crisis, knew where his attention was needed to truly focus. She could always anticipate his needs long before he knew of them himself. She knew the kingdom always came first, that she must stand aside and be second at times and he hated that she felt that way, that it was even needful. He adored her, cherished her with equal fervour to this damned kingdom, more perhaps than even his subjects, but they were his to protect. They were his to care for, to nurture, and to love even. More so now than ever before.
They were hers too, her sacrifices not unnoticed by him, her willingness to accept his duty and long absences with strength and grace, her only admonishments on the dangers he faced and the prospects of losing him. His safety was her utmost concern every time. He was precious to her.
Arthur could only stare at her as he took a deep breath, a smile on his lips and adoration in his eyes. Scented oils filled his nostrils, frankincense and lavender he was sure, the aroma alone practically shedding the tension from his body, the long anticipated promise of the soothing touch and much-needed embrace of the woman he loved. He came toward her and she helped to close the distance with a saunter and sway of her hips. His wife was a teasing minx when out of the public eye and he loved every naughty inch.
"Gwen."
"Shhhh…" She also knew his weaknesses. Sometimes, he wanted to be ordered about, to give up the duty and leave someone else in charge, even if only in the intimate privacy of their shared bedchamber.
She did not say a word as she removed his belt, outer tunic and boots, all the while meeting his eyes with desirous provocative glances every now and again. She took her time, deliberately dragging it out in sensuous torture, Arthur catching a whiff of her hair as she leaned closer, as she brushed against him, each of her actions causing his body to react, blood coursing through every vein. All he could hear was his heartbeat whooshing rhythmically and his hitching breaths.
With the outer layers discarded, she slowly removed his undershirt, her fingers sometimes taking a moment to admire a scar or two. She kissed the one where the dragon had sunk its claw into his shoulder when he'd tried to outrun it to save her. Arthur dipped his head to kiss Gwen, but she glided away from him with a scorching smile as she removed her evening robe, the white satin nightgown hugging places that he wanted to—hug. He swallowed hastily in a mouth gone suddenly dry.
Her hair hung loose down her shoulders, the curls free of braids and wild, untamed, the dignified queen still slightly in evidence but her fiery passion now rising to the fore. She stretched her hand out to him in silent invitation and he walked to her in euphoric stupor, he knew it, and he didn't care. These were the moments he could shed his kingly persona and just be a man with his beautiful wife.
He hadn't even noticed the tub of steaming water, his senses already filled overwhelmingly with Guinevere until his breeches were removed and she was guiding him to it. He didn't want the bath and stopped her progress with a quick twist of his wrist to bring her into his arms. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed by his kiss, slow but deliberate at first, then hungry and passionate as her arms wrapped his neck and her fingers entwined in his silk, smooth golden hair. He could feel every part of her through the sheer fabric and his grip coiled around her even tighter. It wasn't enough though. What she had started now threatened to consume him in a flaming conflagration of want and need. Guinevere trembled in his arms, clearly feeling the same.
He broke the kiss and lifted her into his arms. "Come here, my lady." His voice was raspy and deep with desire, his blue eyes darker than ever.
"Arthur, your bath…" It was silly and futile at this point, she knew, but she said it anyway. Her grand plans to be attentive to him first interrupted in the best of ways.
"Later." For the rest of the evening, he let everything else melt away, and it was just the two of them.
For a time, nothing else mattered.
Morning brought clouds scudding swiftly across the blue, though the air was still warm enough they didn't fear the rain that may have accompanied them. All was still chaotic out in the courtyard, more so now they had horses hitched to the braces. Sleepy-eyed castle staff set the finishing touches to their arrangements and Elyan already tucked up asleep despite the din in a bedroll on top of the folded canvas of the tents, his horse standing patiently behind the same cart, bridle already tied to its backboard.
Arthur took one look at him and shook his head. That man could sleep practically anywhere and through just about anything. It wouldn't surprise him if he managed to stay asleep all the way through their departure.
They had at least three days of travel between them and their destination, carts being considerably slower than just horses could manage. With any luck, they would see no trouble along the way and arrive in good time. He both dreaded and blessed the delay. He needed to talk to them all, Merlin especially, but the days they would be away would bring their own problems with too much time to think, to dwell and to deal with a mass of relatives who may or may not be aware of their loved ones' secrets. He could not imagine the pain they might endure at being told of it, and no less from a monarch they had every reason to believe would put them to death for their supposed crimes against the crown.
And there was the rub. Holding magic was a crime, and yet the three-year-old now just being laid down tenderly by an anxious mother amongst a cart of other children could be considered in no way a criminal to his own mind. How had he overlooked such a fundamental flaw in his father's reasoning? In his own? They, as a kingdom, had made these people criminals and he was expected to punish them for it. He could not do that to them, not and keep his honour intact. He hoped when he explained this to the parents, wives, husbands, sons now sitting on the driver's seats that he could convey how deeply this had affected him, tell them they had nothing to fear and have them believe it.
They were all finally ready. The last of the preparations having taken place as he was lost in his reverie. And with one last long lingering kiss to his beloved Guinevere, many admonishments on both parts to be careful and keep safe, he swung into the saddle and made the signal to depart.
This journey felt so much tenser than the last. There was such a feeling in the air of something huge building. He couldn't put a name to it, couldn't decide if it would prove monstrous or perhaps the best thing to ever happen to the kingdom. But either way, change was coming, and it would mayhap be up to him as to what form it would take.
Despite the company of well over eighty people, and the last glimpses of the streets thronged with his citizens to see them off, he'd never felt so alone than in that moment.
If only he could bottle last night and take it with him…
