"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." -Shakespeare

Arthur tried not to let his uncle's words take hold, but over the next few weeks, every time he saw Gwaine near Guinevere, he found himself on high alert.

He wanted to say something, to discuss it with her, but he could never find the right words. He didn't want to simply openly accuse Gwaine of misconduct, but he cannot deny the fact that the knight is, in fact, quite friendly with his wife. So he chose to continue watching and waiting, hoping that Guinevere wouldn't notice any change in his demeanor.

He knows he can trust her. It's Gwaine about whom he isn't certain. And, ideally, he wants to gather all the facts before he acts.

Then one autumn afternoon, Arthur is walking through the courtyard, having just left the stables. A foal that was born earlier in the year had recently taken ill, and he went to see how the creature was faring.

He sees Guinevere walking, wearing a cloak to protect against the slight chill in the air. Sir Gwaine is with her, carrying her basket. They are chatting companionably, and then Gwaine says something that makes her laugh, and she touches his arm.

"Guinevere." Arthur calls to her before he's taken a chance to fully think it through, and his feet are already taking him in their direction.

"Oh, there you are," she answers, giving him a charming smile before tilting her cheek upwards for him to kiss.

He does so, then asks, "Where are you going?"

"To the marketplace," she answers. "Sir Gwaine volunteered to be my escort and bodyguard."

"My lord," Gwaine nods.

Arthur pauses a beat before saying, "Sir Gwaine, I would like a word with you."

"Is this something requiring immediate attention, or can it wait until we return?" Guinevere asks.

"I'm sorry, Love, but I'm afraid it cannot wait," Arthur says, looking around. There are several knights milling around the courtyard, and he sees Leon, Lancelot, and Bors a short distance away. "You lads!" he calls. "The queen requires an escort to the marketplace."

Leon opens his mouth immediately, but Lancelot steps forward and volunteers before the senior knight can speak. "It would be my honor to escort the queen," he quietly says.

"Sire, I really think—" Gwaine tries, watching Lancelot walk over. The other knight keeps his gaze on the king.

"I am not interested in what you think at the moment, Sir Gwaine," Arthur interjects. Guinevere looks over at Arthur, surprised at his tone.

"My lord," Lancelot says with a bow. "My lady." He lifts the basket from Gwaine's arm, and Gwaine holds it just long enough to catch his friend's eye and give him what he hopes is a very stern glare.

"Arthur," Guinevere quietly says, tugging her husband's elbow, "is everything all right?"

His face softens when he looks down at her. He kisses her forehead and says, "I just need to ask Sir Gwaine a few questions, that's all. I'll tell you all about it later. Have a good time at the marketplace."

She nods, then steps over towards Sir Lancelot. She can feel some strange tension between the two knights, but chalks it up to Gwaine's disappointment over not getting to go to the market. She promised him she'd help him choose a nice gift for Morgana, and now they'll have to do it another time.

"Sir Gwaine," Arthur says, his demeanor stony again.

"Sire," Gwaine replies, gives Guinevere a worried glance, then follows the king into the castle.

xXx

"Does the cold not bother you, Sir Lancelot?" Guinevere asks, trying to make conversation with the quiet knight. They had been walking silently for several minutes.

"Not very much," he answers.

"Aragon has a warmer climate, does it not?" she prods, trying to get more of a response.

"Sí, mi reina, it is, but not as much as you might think."

"What does that mean, 'mi reina'?" she asks, curious.

He stops and turns to her. "It means 'my queen', florecita." He pauses and moves closer, explaining, "That means 'little flower'. For you are the most beautiful flower in the land."

She steps back. "Sir Lancelot, it is not appropriate for you to say such things to me."

He moves closer still, catching her hand in his when she reflexively raises it to keep him at a distance. "Guinevere," he huskily says, kissing her hand as he addresses her familiarly, "Te adoro. Te necesito."

She pulls her hand away and tries to back further away, only now realizing he's somehow led her into a small, secluded street. There is no one around. "Step back, sir," she tries, keeping her hands under her cloak, hoping they stay hidden. "I did not give you leave to address me by name."

He doesn't move; in fact, he presses closer, carelessly tossing the basket aside. "You cannot know true love, true pasión, in this… arranged marriage of yours," he says, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Allow me to teach you, mi amor, mi vida." He lowers his head and murmurs, "Quiero que seas mío, amorcito," his lips hovering just over hers.

xXx

"Sire, I must protest," Gwaine finally speaks once they are inside the great hall. Arthur would neither look at nor speak to him as they walked, and the knight didn't want to have the discussion he is afraid they are about to have out where others could hear them.

"You protest?" Arthur asks, spinning to glare at him. "You? The man who is trying to commit treason by wooing the queen?"

Gwaine closes his eyes, then looks at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It is not me who you should be questioning," he answers, trying to maintain his composure.

"And yet I am," Arthur replies. "Because it is you I keep seeing with my wife. Acting the proper knight, coming to the aid of a lady in need. Don't think I haven't seen the attention you've been paying her."

"I am merely—"

"I do not wish to hear your lies and excuses!" Arthur interrupts, raising his voice. He deliberately moves his hand to rest on his sword. "All I want to know is the truth. I want to know if you are attempting to seduce Queen Guinevere."

xXx

Guinevere ducks her head out of Lancelot's path. Her small dagger clutched in her hand, she jabs him in the thigh through her cloak.

"Ai! Puta!" he hisses, anger flashing across his face, turning his handsome features cruel and ugly. She attempts to flee and he grabs her elbow, holding it out and yanking the dagger from her grasp. "You are not going anywhere, Reina," he says, practically spitting the word at her now. He throws the knife.

She pulls against his painful grasp. "Let go of me!" she yells, hoping someone hears her.

"You will be mine, one way or anoth—ai!" He yells out in pain again when she stomps on his foot, high on his instep, where Arthur showed her. His grip slips on her arm and she unclasps her cloak to get away.

Once again, he is too fast for her, grabbing for her again. His fingers catch the bodice of her dress, but she pulls with all her might, leaving him with a scrap of material in his hands and her with a ruined dress.

She runs.

He is smart enough to not follow.

xXx

"Do you know why Lancelot left Aragon?" Gwaine asks, trying to keep his cool. In truth, he is more worried about Guinevere than himself right now.

"I'm not interested in Sir Lancelot," Arthur snaps. "But since you mentioned it, I am interested in why you left Armagh."

"Well, you should be interested in Lancelot," Gwaine replies.

"Tell me why you left Armagh," Arthur demands.

Helpless, Gwaine shrugs. "I left because I am the youngest of six sons, and my two oldest brothers already have sons of their own. There is nothing for me in my home except boredom and possibly the prospect of marrying the youngest or plainest daughter of another lord," he answers.

"Right," Arthur coldly states, scoffing. "You would leave your family, your home, and your birthright to wander the country like a… a peasant? By choice?" His voice rises as he speaks. "You expect me to stand here and believe—"

"Arthur, stop!" Guinevere's shout has the desired effect, and Arthur immediately ceases yelling, struck by his wife's outburst. He's never heard her raise her voice before – no one has – and it shocks both the king and the knight into stunned silence. Both men turn to see her standing in the doorway, looking rather unwell. A concerned-looking Sir Leon can be seen just behind her.

"Sir Gwaine is above reproach, Arthur!" she exclaims, her voice still shaky. She walks towards them. Leon hesitates a moment, then when Arthur dismisses him with a wave of his hand, he closes the doors, giving them privacy. "First of all, I would never so much as look at another man… I love you, Arthur. Only you." She pauses, wringing her hands. A few tears slip from her eyes and she adds, "I… I know now that Gwaine's friendship has been his way of protecting me. He was preventing Sir Lancelot from… from attempting to commit treason!"

The break in her voice makes Arthur finally notice his wife's disheveled appearance and he rushes to her. "What. Did. He. Do?" he asks in low, measured tones, his hand gently coming up to touch her chin, angling her head this way at that. "Did he touch you?" His voice is quiet and his touch tender, but the other two can see the rage simmering just below the surface.

Guinevere has never seen her husband so angry. "He… he tried… I resisted… I tried to get away, and he…" she pauses again, her voice shaky as she tries to collect herself. Arthur gathers her in his arms, his concern for his wife overshadowing the rage she knows is bubbling just beneath it. "I had to use my dagger," she hoarsely whispers.

"Is he still alive?" Arthur asks, stroking her hair. She is trembling and he can feel her breathing coming in erratic bursts. He holds her for several minutes, letting her answer when she is ready.

"Yes," she finally replies, her voice muffled from where it is buried in his tunic. Her breathing has evened out and she is no longer shaking, but she doesn't feel completely settled yet.

"He's going to wish otherwise when I am through with him," he darkly replies. He gently pulls away from Guinevere, smoothes her hair away from her face, and brushes the tears from her cheeks. "Are you all right?" he softly asks, noting her torn bodice and disheveled hair. There is a bruise forming around her elbow that would surely match the size and shape of Lancelot's hand. Guinevere sees her husband's jaw twitch when his eyes take note of the mark, and she knows he is really struggling to contain his anger for her sake.

"I will be fine. I'm just… quite shaken up," she answers.

Arthur kisses her forehead, then drops his head against hers for a second. "Sir Gwaine," he says.

"Sire," Gwaine steps forward. He had dropped back to allow his king and queen a semblance of privacy.

Arthur lifts his head and looks over Guinevere at the knight. "I apologize for my accusations and for not believing you. It won't happen again."

"Thank you, Sire."

"Please look after the queen. I need to have a few… words… with Sir Lancelot," Arthur says, passing his wife's hand to the knight before his hand again falls to the hilt of his sword. "Where did you leave him?" he asks Guinevere.

"Under the bridge to the north of the smithy," she answers.

"You won't find him anywhere in the citadel, mate," Gwaine volunteers, tucking the queen's hand into the crook of his arm and giving it a soft pat. "He likely lit out as soon as the queen escaped his grasp, knowing she would be coming straight to you. I doubt he even took the time to come back to his room and collect his things."

"Thank you, Gwaine. I'll gather a search party. He can't have gotten far," Arthur replies with a nod.

"Arthur," Guinevere calls as he strides away. "Don't… don't take his life." The king stops cold, as though the concept of not killing Lancelot was the farthest thing from his mind. "I could not bear that weight," Guinevere explains in a whisper, her eyes large and watery.

Arthur turns, his face softening as he looks at her. "If that is your wish," he finally says. "For your sake, he may have his life. But if he should ever step foot in Camelot again, his punishment will be final."

"I understand," she whispers, and he turns and strides away.

xXx

Arthur returns to the royal chambers just over an hour later, looking tired, an equally-tired Merlin accompanying him. Guinevere is reclined on the bench by the window, attended by Sefa. Sir Gwaine is still there as well.

"Did you find him?" Guinevere asks.

"Yes," Arthur answers. "Don't get up," he says, seeing her start to rise. "He's in the dungeons." He hands Guinevere's torn and soiled cloak to Sefa, who reluctantly takes it. She loves her mistress and was quite upset by what happened to her. She doesn't even want to touch the cloak that the so-called "knight" sullied with his touch.

"I thought you were going to banish him," Gwaine comments, clearly speaking the thoughts of everyone in the room.

Arthur hands his sword to Merlin, then takes Guinevere's dagger, which he found, out of his belt and sets it on her vanity. He sits on the bench, lifting Guinevere's feet onto his lap. "I could not, in good conscience, allow him to just roam the land and continue to menace other innocent women."

"That is very wise of you," Gwaine says. "I have been telling the queen about why Lancelot left Aragon."

"You tried to tell me," Arthur regretfully replies. "I am guessing 'fled' is a more appropriate word than 'left', based on what I now know."

"Aye," Gwaine nods. "He disgraced his family and himself, not to mention what he did to that poor señorita."

"What are you going to do with him?" Guinevere asks.

"I don't know," Arthur admits, absently rubbing his wife's feet. "I don't want him here, but I can't set him free."

"Write to his family," she suggests after a moment. "Surely they are looking for him. Write to Don Santiago and tell him what Lancelot has done. Tell him we have him in our dungeon."

"Guinevere, that is brilliant, Love," Arthur says, leaning over to kiss her. "But will they come for him?"

"They will come fetch him; I know it," Gwaine says, nodding. "Some of his father's men came close once. I helped him avoid them, not knowing why. After, I forced him to tell me. Once I knew, I hated myself for helping him."

"Why did you stay with him then?" Arthur asks.

"To keep him in line," Gwaine simply replies. "People tend to see me as the threat – yourself included – and think he is nothing but a quiet, charming knight. I have used that to my advantage more than once. You were simply the first person who was successful in separating us long enough for him to act on his despicable impulses."

"I basically handed you to him on a platter," Arthur says, dropping his head into his hands.

"Arthur, this isn't your fault," Guinevere says, touching his shoulder. "You couldn't have known."

"I could have listened to what Gwaine was trying to tell me," he counters.

"Nah, you couldn't have," Gwaine assesses. "You were in no state to listen to anything I had to say."

Arthur sharply looks over at the knight, his anger flaring for a moment before he realizes his statement is correct. "True," he says, deflating. "Please forgive me, Guinevere," he says to his wife, taking her hand and kissing it.

"You have done nothing needing my forgiveness, Arthur," she replies. "Lancelot knew what he was doing. He knew how to play the unassuming, noble knight."

"He's had plenty of practice," Gwaine mutters. "And I, too, have already begged forgiveness from our good queen," he adds, giving her a small smile. Then he looks at Arthur. "I tell you, mate, if you were plannin' on killin' him, I'd happily help ye."

Arthur huffs a dry chuckle, then says, "I assume this is why you were hesitant to stay."

"Aye," Gwaine nods. "I had already seen the looks he was givin' the queen. He wanted to stay. He promised me he would behave himself. Swore it on the memory of his abuela – his beloved grandmother. Said this is the life he has always wanted and would be able to reform if he had something like this – being a Knight of Camelot – to occupy his time and energy."

"Empty words," Arthur darkly says.

"I think he did intend… or thought he could… but, well… ye can put fancy clothes on a pig, but underneath, he's still a pig," Gwaine says.

"Indeed," Arthur agrees. "How are you feeling?" he asks Guinevere, suddenly looking very tired.

"Better, thank you. Sir Gwaine is actually a fascinating – and honorable – knight," she says with a smile. "He's been telling me stories from his childhood in Armagh."

"Thank you, my lady," Gwaine answers, bowing with a surprising amount of flourish given that he is seated.

Arthur raises an eyebrow and give Gwaine a sideways glance. "I'm not certain I wish to know," he says.

Guinevere smiles, then her face goes thoughtful. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course. Unlike some other people, I have nothing to hide," he answers, grinning.

"You understand what Lancelot says when he speaks his native tongue, correct?" she asks.

Gwaine's grin falls. "A fair amount," he hesitantly answers.

"I don't remember all of what he said, but he did say one thing right after I stabbed him…" she ventures.

"My lady, I am not certain this is…"

"What does 'puta' mean?" she asks.

"Um," Gwaine clears his throat. "I would rather not say, my lady."

Guinevere nods and glances at Arthur, who looks a bit befuddled. "That's what I thought it meant," she replies, and realization dawns on her husband's face.

Gwaine stands. "You are an observant and intelligent woman, my lady. More so than many," he says. "And I am sure the two of you would like some time alone, so by your leave, I'll be taking my exit."

"Thank you, Gwaine," Guinevere says.

"Yes," Arthur adds. "Thank you. I won't forget this."

xXx

Guinevere had changed clothes when she returned to their chambers, but what she really wants is a bath. As soon as Arthur learns this, he sets Sefa and Merlin to the task, and the queen's bath is ready in a short time.

He remained in the room as she changed and slipped into the hot, fragrant water, and when Sefa moves to see to her mistress, Arthur steps over. "I will tend the queen," he quietly says.

"Oh… yes, my lord," a surprised Sefa replies. She places the cloth in his outstretched hand, bobs a quick curtsey, and scurries from the room.

"Arthur?" Guinevere asks, watching as he sits down on the low stool Sefa uses to aid the queen in her bath.

"I hate that he touched you," Arthur admits, lightly running the cloth over the bruise on her arm. "I hate that he hurt you… that he left marks on your beautiful skin… I hate that he frightened you."

"He didn't do any permanent damage," she replies, lifting a wet hand to cup his jaw. "Nothing you won't be able to erase." She strokes his cheek with her thumb. "Nothing we won't be able to erase," she amends.

He leans in and kisses her, not caring one bit about getting wet. "You are so strong," he murmurs. "Stronger than I am, in some ways."

"I don't know about that," she answers.

"Don't you?" he asks, guiding her to sit forward so he can wash her back. "You have been so composed, so… graceful through this whole ordeal, and all I want to do is… punch something."

"That isn't weakness, Arthur. We all deal with things in different ways. And believe me, I was very upset and unsettled. I couldn't fall apart out where the people could see me; I had to hold myself together until I was safely in your arms," she says, reminding him that she did just that while in his embrace. "And if punching something will make you feel better, go right ahead and do that," she says. "Just… perhaps choose your target wisely."

He chuckles. "Well, I will admit that I already landed a few very satisfying blows to Lancelot's face, but I have no further plans to punch anyone," he says, leaning her back again. "And it's getting a bit late to go to the training grounds. Spending this time with you is helping."

"It's helping me, too," she agrees. "I like this. You taking care of me." She smiles up at him.

"I would love to wash your hair," he says, gently tugging an escaped curl. "Though I think it is a task beyond my skill level."

"It is a task beyond my skill level," Guinevere says, and Arthur chuckles again. "It does not need washing today anyway."

"Very well," he says, lifting a small foot out of the water and seeing to it instead.

They fall quiet for a bit, and she closes her eyes, enjoying her husband's attentiveness.

As he grows a bit bolder with his touches, running the cloth over her stomach beneath the water, then her breasts, something she said earlier finally registers. "You… you love me?" Arthur suddenly asks.

Guinevere stiffens slightly, her eyes opening. "Yes," she quietly admits, keeping her gaze downcast, worried that he does not feel the same.

He lifts her chin, but she still avoids his eyes. "Guinevere," he says.

She feels the word low in her belly, like a warm glow spreading to her most sensitive areas, and it compels her to look up.

He kisses her lips and says, "I love you. I'm fairly certain I have for a while."

"You do?" she asks. "You have?"

He nods. "I don't know why I didn't tell you… I guess I didn't want to overwhelm you."

She smiles. "I… I was waiting to hear you say it first, but… it just came out."

He returns her smile and nuzzles her nose with his. "I'm glad it did."

"I'd like to get out of the bath now," she quietly says.

"I'll summon Sefa," Arthur says, kisses her, and begins to stand.

She grabs his hand. "I didn't say anything about getting dressed, Arthur."

xXx

Arthur gently runs the towel over Guinevere's body, carefully drying every beautiful curve and plane. He wraps her in the cloth and kisses her once, then carefully pulls the pins holding her hair up. He runs his fingers through the mahogany curls, coaxing them down over her shoulders. He kisses her again, his hands wrapped in her hair.

"When did you realize you loved me?" she softly asks, reaching down for the hem of his shirt.

He gives her a slightly goofy half smile and answers, "I think it was that day at the stream." Then he helps her remove her shirt.

"That early?" she asks, sliding her hands over his chest.

"Mmm," he hums, nodding. He guides her hands to the ties of his trousers. He had already shed his boots, so he easily steps out of them when they fall to the floor. "What about you?" he asks.

"It's difficult to say," she answers. "I think… yes, the joust. When you were injured. I wanted to rush off to be with you, to make sure you were all right, but I couldn't. Morgana had to make me stay. But it was the fear of possibly losing you that made me realize that what I felt for you was, indeed, love," she says.

Arthur was guiding her to the bed while she was speaking, her towel dropping away as they went. He yanks back the covers, then guides her to the bed. "That didn't sound difficult to say," he says, feathering kisses over her cheeks and closed eyelids.

"I first suspected that I might love you when you went to yell at your father," she explains, her voice growing soft and breathy.

"Oh?" he somewhat absently murmurs. "That is earlier than our picnic," he points out, lifting his head.

"I know," she replies. "But I wasn't certain if…" she pauses, momentarily distracted by his lips on her neck, "if I truly loved you of if… mmm… if I merely thought I did because I felt I was supposed to. Because I… I didn't know anything else. It's difficult to explain."

"I think I understand." He kisses her collarbone and lifts his head again. "But I had to suffer an injury for you to make your decision?" he asks, grinning at her.

"Well…" she says, "that simply helped… clarify my feelings. I wish it had been something less traumatic, but we cannot always choose how things happen."

"I know, Love," he says, resuming his earlier activities, kissing a path down her chest. "Just the thought of what could have happened to you today…"

"Shh," she soothes, stroking his hair. "It didn't," she whispers. "Thanks to you." He rests his head on her chest a moment and she adds, "Without the instruction you gave me – and my little dagger – things could have ended very badly. But they didn't, and we should be grateful for it."

Arthur wraps his arms around her and holds her close, soaking in the feel of her skin against his. He opens his eyes and finds himself looking straight at her bruised elbow. He lifts his head and gently kisses the purple blotch.

"Arthur," Guinevere whispers, "remove his touch from my memory; replace it with yours."

"With pleasure," he says, moving back up to kiss her lips. His kiss is soft and tender, showing her how much he loves her.

She returns his ardor, and they both realize that they've been wordlessly showing one another their love for some time now, and had they paid attention, they would have seen it.

He takes his time loving her, lingering over his favorite spots, lavishing attention on her favorites, and making sure she feels not only utterly loved by him but completely safe. His lips whisper words of adoration between gentle kisses; his hands wipe away any lingering remnants of the afternoon's trauma. He is careful and attentive, fully aware that she has suffered a fright and may suddenly turn him away.

But she doesn't. His brave, beautiful wife welcomes his affection, sighing with pleasure when his tongue darts between her legs, embracing him tightly when he delves into her, her fingers in his hair and his name in her mouth.

They are unhurried, smoothly moving together until the sensations grow too much and overflow. She cries out his name and he buries his face in her hair, groaning, as they reach their peak together.

They cling to one another for several minutes after, until finally he rolls them, still holding her.

"I love you so much, Guinevere," Arthur says.

"I was told to expect fondness at best from you, and only after years of marriage," Guinevere replies. "So I never dared to hope that you would truly love me… and I never expected to love you as thoroughly as I do."

He kisses her, a long, deep kiss meant to show her how wrong her tutors were. "How could I not love you?" he asks, looking into her lovely brown eyes. "There is nothing un-lovable about you, Wife."

She touches his cheek. "I thank the gods every day that Lady Nimueh and Sister Lydia were so completely wrong about you," she replies, smiling.

"I—" He is cut off by a very timid knock at the door. "Who the hell…?" he mutters. "Go away!" he yells.

"Sire, Gaius would like to examine the queen," Merlin says through the doors. He is the only person brave enough to defy the king this way, especially now. But he wouldn't do so if it wasn't important, and Arthur knows this.

"It's only a bruise. I don't think that's necessary," Guinevere says.

"I do," Arthur insists. "Please. For me," he says, kissing her.

"Very well," she assents.

"Just a minute," he calls.

Guinevere gets out of bed and pulls her nightdress on. She contemplates her dressing gown, but knows Gaius will need to see her elbow and the long, thick sleeves will only get in his way. So she climbs back into bed to better cover herself.

Arthur has pulled his trousers and shirt on and, once he's certain his wife is decently covered, opens the door.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Sire," Gaius says. "But I only just returned from seeing some patients in the lower town. Merlin told me what happened, and I wished to make certain that the queen is uninjured."

"Of course," Arthur agrees, walking with the physician to the bedside while Merlin begins cleaning up the remains of Guinevere's bath.

"I fear I did more injury to Lancelot than he did to me," Guinevere says.

Gaius' eyebrows rise. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I merely have a bruised elbow, while Lancelot has a stab wound in his thigh and likely a decent bruise on his foot as well," she explains, watching while Gaius gingerly prods the purple blotches.

"I shall check on Sir Lancel—"

"Just Lancelot," Arthur corrects, his tone clipped. "He no longer deserves his title."

Gaius nods. "I shall check on the prisoner then," he says. As a commoner, he does not feel right not addressing nobles by title, even disgraced ones. "My lady," he continues, returning his full attention to Guinevere, "he did not touch you in any other way?"

"No. He tried." She goes on to tell him exactly what happened. It's also the first time Arthur hears the full recount. He hadn't asked her yet because he didn't want to make her relive it so soon. But her voice is quiet and level as she gives the details, almost as if she has already managed to detach herself from what happened.

"It sounds like you handled the situation very well, my lady," Gaius says.

"She did. I am very proud of her," Arthur agrees.

"I would not have known what to do without your tutelage," she says, smiling at him. "Arthur has been teaching me how to defend myself," she explains to Gaius.

"That is excellent," Gaius nods. "I have some balm for your elbow," he says, withdrawing a small jar from a pocket in his robes. "Do let me know immediately if anything changes. Injuries can sometimes remain hidden for a time. However, based on what you've told us, I think it highly unlikely."

"Thank you, Gaius," she says, holding her arm out to allow him to apply the medicine to it.

"Sire?" Merlin asks, walking over.

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Shall I bring up some dinner?"

"Yes, thank you. We will dine here tonight," Arthur answers, glancing at Guinevere, who nods.

"I thought as much," Merlin replies, then nods and leaves.

"Get some rest, my lady," Gaius says and stands. "Sire."

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur replies.

xXx

"You know you really had nothing at all to worry about with Sir Gwaine," Guinevere says, curled against his side in bed later that night.

"I know," Arthur replies, kissing the top of her head. "You always had my trust. I just wasn't so sure about him."

"Arthur," she says, lifting her head up, "he's quite smitten with Morgana."

"What?" he asks. Then, "Oh…" as realization dawns.

"What is it?" she asks, confused.

"My uncle is a low, scheming cur," he growls. "He was the one who planted the seed of suspicion. I tried not to let it take hold, but… I'm afraid I have quite a jealous streak where it comes to you. Every time I saw Gwaine with you, I could just hear Agravaine's voice in my head, saying, 'Keep a close eye on the attention he pays to your queen.' I should have known better. He just…"

"Morgana said he likes to stir up trouble for no other reason than his own entertainment," Guinevere says.

"Oh, he definitely had a reason this time," Arthur remarks.

"Do you mean he… tried to get Gwaine banned from the kingdom – or worse – to prevent him from courting Morgana?" she asks, her dislike for her husband's uncle growing with each minute.

"That's exactly what he did," he replies. "It would serve him right if Morgana eloped with Gwaine and the two of them ran away together."

"Why does he dislike Gwaine so?" she asks, settling back against him.

"Because he's brash and unconventional… never mind the fact that he follows the rules. He probably doesn't like Gwaine because he's a Celt, too."

"That's ridiculous and small-minded," she says.

"That's Agravaine," Arthur responds, and Guinevere snorts an indelicate laugh.

"Sir Gwaine has been asking me for advice about courting Morgana," she says. "That's another reason why he was spending so much time with me. I was to help him choose a suitable gift for her this morning in the marketplace."

"So he's in earnest then," he comments, nodding thoughtfully.

"Quite," she answers. "You probably should have a serious discussion with your uncle."

"Oh, at the very least. I doubt very much he'll be showing his face here for a while though, considering his plan did not work."

"You could summon him. You are the king after all," she suggests.

"I am, but I also do not wish to see his ugly face any time soon," he sighs. "I will deal with him at an… opportune moment."

"You mean when Gwaine asks permission to court Morgana," she asks, lifting her head.

Arthur chuckles and kisses her, saying, "You are a perceptive woman indeed, my love."