Author's Note: My thanks, as ever, for your kind thoughts on the previous chapter. It was a strange one in the sense that though it was difficult, it also almost wrote itself. Once Uther got going I couldn't shut him up! In a weird sort of way the series was the inspiration. Throughout the series of Merlin we were guided to believe that Uther was a bad man, a bad father, a terrible husband and an all-out villain, but then we would see things that contradicted those ideas, especially in relation to Uther and Arthur. As much as Uther might never win Father of the Year, there is no doubt in my mind that he loves Arthur, even if he has a funny way of showing it. This isn't the place for my view on how Uther perceived Ygraine in the series, whether she was a means to an end or whether he did love her, or whether he knew that using magic to conceive a child would cost her life, but for me the comparison with Uther in the series and Uther in this is pretty clear. Circumstances, and the way those circumstances have been dealt with, have made Uther what he is. In this the comparison between Uther and Arthur and Guinevere is obvious in that unresolved grief has done a lot of damage, which was the whole point.
Now, onwards.
It took Arthur a few days to come to terms with everything that had taken place between him and his father and all the things he now knew. Arthur's mind still reeled when he thought of how much his father had said, how much he had opened himself up, not only about Arthur's mother, but also about his own childhood. Arthur could hardly take in the terrible things his father had witnessed when he was a child. Arthur was honest enough with himself to know that nothing justified the way Uther had overlooked him when he was young, leaving him to be brought up by nannies while he focused on his work, but he also now understood what Gaius meant when he told said that Uther struggled to show his emotions for a reason. Arthur wondered if Gaius had any idea how true those words were.
The one thing that did worry Arthur about what his father had told him was his grandfather. Arthur knew he was being irrational; if his grandfather was still alive he would be an elderly man by now, probably around eighty, he reasoned. He wouldn't be in much of a position to cause trouble. Yet, in quiet moments, when Guinevere was in bed, safe and sound, Arthur couldn't rid himself of the thought that if his grandfather was alive, he could take it upon himself to look for any family he might still have, if he was out of prison. With Guinevere as she was, Arthur knew he couldn't take any risks with her safety. In the end he knew what he needed to do. Once he'd put Guinevere to bed one night, he phoned his father. He knew he couldn't call during the day, when his father was at work. Uther had kept his secrets for so long, Arthur instinctively knew that he wouldn't take kindly to discussing his private life in the office, where anyone could overhear.
After being surprised to hear Arthur's voice on the line and asking after Guinevere, which still caught Arthur off-guard, Uther listened to what his son had to say. When Arthur finished speaking there was a long pause.
"Father, are you there?" Arthur checked, thinking the line had cut off for some reason.
"Yes, I'm here. I just – I meant to tell you, I'm sorry." Arthur could hear how tense his father sounded.
"You meant to tell me what, father?" Arthur tried to be patient, but inside he wondered what other revelations were to come.
A long sigh came down the line. "Your grandfather was sentenced to ten years imprisonment for beating your grandmother that last time," Uther said, his voice sounding tight and strained, the memory of that time clearly still difficult for him. "I found out later that it was clear from the injuries on her body when she was found that she had been assaulted many times, but the police could only really prove that last attack. She also had injuries, internal injuries, which were the result of being ra…..being forced by that man to….."
Arthur closed his eyes. "It's all right father, I get the idea," Arthur said softly, his heart going out to the woman he'd never known, but also to his father. It was an odd feeling.
"Anyway," Uther went on, collecting himself with a sigh. "He was sent to prison for that. The police realised straight away that he was responsible for my mother's suicide, but they couldn't charge him in relation to that."
"Why on earth not?" Arthur demanded. "She obviously killed….did it because of him, so…."
"Because under British law assisting a suicide is a crime, but causing one is not." Uther's voice was filled with bitterness. "If my mother had been ill and my father had helped her to end her life he could have been sent to prison for life. As it was, he effectively caused her death, and though he was punished, the sentence was nothing compared to what he deserved."
Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing. The injustice of it made him angrier than he could express. He'd never known his grandmother, but suddenly Arthur felt an intense feeling of kinship towards her. He couldn't believe how unfair life had been to her.
Out of nowhere Uther's voice suddenly brightened. "He got what he deserved though Arthur, believe me."
"How, what happened?" Arthur couldn't understand why his father was suddenly so cheerful.
"Halfway into his sentence, my father decided to pick on the wrong person," Uther said, his voice calm and emotionless.
"What happened?" Arthur's brows furrowed in confusion.
"He picked a fight with someone who could fight back, unlike my mother, who he had beaten into submission a long time before she…..My mother ended up frightened of her own shadow before her death, but in prison my father must have tried to play the big man once too often. He was attacked by another prisoner. During the fight he fell, breaking his leg. Most other people would have got over his injury, but years of drinking and abusing his body took their toll. He died from a blood clot a few days later. It seems the clot was near the break, but it moved to his heart and….."
Arthur was stunned. "Father, I…." He stopped talking abruptly, not certain of what to say.
"Please don't say you're sorry," Uther said coldly. "I wasn't and I'm still not. As far as I'm concerned that man killed my mother as sure as if he'd put a knife to her heart or a bullet to her head. As far as I'm concerned he got what he deserved."
Arthur heard the bitterness in his father's voice and couldn't bring himself to argue. "I understand father, of course, and I'm sorry for making you go over it all again."
Uther sighed heavily. "It's all right Arthur, really. It's in the past now, finished. I really did mean to tell you the other night, but…"
"There was just so much to say," Arthur stated. He knew how his father felt. That night had left him reeling. It had been hard enough to listen to what had happened to his grandmother and his mother. His father had lived through it. Arthur couldn't even begin to imagine what that was like, though the shock of Gwydre's death did give him some idea.
"That's it, exactly," Uther said. Arthur couldn't mistake the relief in his voice. "I didn't go to the funeral," Uther went on, his voice dropping. "Part of me wanted to, to make sure he was dead and gone more than anything, but I'd met your mother by then and we were just getting closer. I told her about what had happened, your grandmother, all of it. I told her that if I was to go to my father's funeral I would end up dancing on his grave, so she persuaded me not to go. She said if I did that, if I celebrated my father's death, it was giving him a reaction, even if he wasn't there to see it, so I stayed away."
Arthur spent a few more minutes on the phone with his father. It was strange, he thought to himself as he put the phone down. His father was becoming easier to talk to. Arthur knew the years his father spent keeping people at arms length, including his son, wouldn't disappear overnight. He knew very well that Uther would probably still be controlling at work, reluctant to hand over any control of his precious business, but Arthur could see that his father telling him about Ygraine and about his childhood had changed something.
A few days went by. Arthur spent the time looking after Guinevere, who still seemed trapped in a world of her own three weeks after Arthur had picked her up from work and brought her home. She was no worse, which Gaius did say was a good sign when he called in to see how she was, but she was no better. Gaius said it was as if she'd locked the door on the world, leaving herself shut off from everything. The challenge, he said, gazing at Arthur with his deep, wise eyes, was to find a way of breaking through the walls Guinevere had built around herself. When Arthur asked how he could do that, Gaius shook his head. He had no idea.
One morning Arthur was just getting Guinevere up when the front doorbell rang. It was one of the few days since Guinevere had become ill that Sefa couldn't come around and help, so Arthur had to get her up, feed her and get her ready for the day. Arthur didn't mind doing all of it, but three weeks since he realised the level of care that Guinevere needed, there were things that he still found difficult. Dressing Guinevere was one of them. Arthur never knew where to look and worked hard not to expose any more of her body than he needed to. He was careful about how he touched Guinevere, not wanting to hurt her, but also not wanting to touch her too intimately while she was so unaware of what he was doing. It didn't seem right. Consequently, dressing Guinevere took time.
Arthur had dressed Guinevere and fed her. He was walking her through to the living room when the doorbell rang. He walked with one arm around her waist, taking some of her weight. He crossed his free arm over his body and held Guinevere's nearest hand to him, guiding her as she walked, and reassuring her with a gentle touch.
"Just a second," he called in the direction of the front door. "I'll be right there."
Guinevere became slightly agitated with the sudden noise; she flinched and made an anxious sound in the back of her throat. "Shhh, it's all right love, it's probably just the postman or something. Let's get you comfortable first and then I'll go and see what it is, all right?"
Arthur led Guinevere through to the living room and sat her down on the easy chair she used during the day. "There we are my love," Arthur said tenderly, "you're all right there now, so I'll just go to the front door. I'll just be a minute."
Arthur turned on his heel and went to the front door just as the bell rang again. "Can't you hear?" he said crossly as he opened the door. "I asked you to wait a moment. Can't you have just a bit of patience?" He glared at the postman, a tall young man, probably in his early twenties, with short, spiky blonde hair that stood up in all directions. The postman was standing on the doorstep looking like he wanted to be just about anywhere else. He had a parcel in his hand which was wrapped in brown paper.
"Parcel for Pendragon," the postman said blankly, chewing incessantly as he spoke. "You'll need to sign for it." He held a pen in his hand and a slip of white paper, which he shoved in Arthur's direction.
Arthur assumed the parcel was for Guinevere. Glaring at the postman again as he shook his head, he took the pen and paper and scrawled his name quickly before handing the pen and paper back. He glanced at the name and address on the parcel as the postman handed it over and realised it was for him. He wondered who might be sending him parcels.
Taking the parcel, which was fairly heavy, rectangular and just an inch or two bigger all the way around than a sheet of A4 paper, Arthur stepped back into the flat and shut the front door. He noticed how tightly the parcel was wrapped and went into the kitchen. He got a knife from a drawer and cut some of the tape around the parcel, and then he carried it through to the living room.
Guinevere was still sitting where Arthur put her, in the easy chair. She didn't acknowledge Arthur's presence in the room in any way when he walked back in from the kitchen. She sat in the chair and gazed into space, as if her mind was somewhere else, a long way away.
"It's a parcel love," Arthur said lightly. Ever since he brought Guinevere home he'd tried to talk to her as much as possible when he did things. Gaius had told him it was a good idea, because Guinevere would be reassured by it. Now it had become a habit. The only thing he hadn't got used to was the lack of a response when he spoke to her. He didn't want to get used to that, knowing that if he did it would mean he'd given up on Guinevere ever getting better, and he knew he couldn't do that.
"Okay then, let's see what this is," Arthur said, still talking to Guinevere as he sat down on the sofa with his parcel in his hands. He pulled the remainder of the thick, brown parcel tape from around the parcel and began to slide the contents out, finding that whatever it was was wrapped in two layers of plastic bubble-wrap. Catching a few of the protective bubbles in his fingers, which popped loudly in the quiet room as he opened the parcel, Arthur could just make out what was beneath. He realised that whatever it was had a glass front and was surrounded at the front and back by wood. A photograph frame, Arthur thought. He wondered who might send him a photo.
When the first layer of bubble-wrap was free, Arthur jumped slightly as something slipped from inside the parcel. A white envelope with his name on fell to the carpeted floor. Arthur reached down and picked the envelope up. He put the parcel down on the sofa beside him and slid his finger along the envelope. He found a small piece of paper inside and opened it up.
I thought you might like this. The note said, in a curly, elegant style of handwriting that Arthur recognised immediately. I hope I've done the right thing and that it doesn't upset you. I've stored this and others away at home, but now I've decided to display a few again, so I thought you would like one of your own. I picked this one for you because you are in it, in a way. Father.
Arthur took a deep breath. Reading his father's note, he knew what he was about to see. His heart began to thump softly and he found his hands shaking as he freed the photograph frame from the remaining bubble-wrap. When it was free, Arthur saw a lightwood frame with a bevelled edge about an inch deep. A stand on the back of the frame stood out, poking Arthur's leg as he held the frame. He turned the frame to the back and eased the stand back flat. Arthur found three small screws on each side of the back, which, with the use of some string, would enable the frame to be wall mounted. Then, carefully, Arthur turned the frame around again, ready at last to look at the subject of the photograph. Arthur looked at the old photograph, studying every detail. The picture was of a young woman with pale blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes and small, delicate features. She was sitting on a swing in what appeared to be a park. She was wearing a white dress that had a small floral pattern. On her feet she wore some comfortable flat shoes. The woman's feet just reached the black tarmac beneath her as she sat on the edge of the swing, holding on to the chains that supported its flat wooden seat with one hand. However, what drew Arthur to the photograph was the look in the woman's eyes. She seemed to be glowing with happiness. A slight smile adorned her lips, but her eyes shone brightly, illuminating her face. Arthur could barely take his eyes off the woman's face, but found himself looking at her dress, the way it stuck out over her stomach, as if she was concealing something beneath it. The hand that wasn't holding on to the swing rested on the bump of her stomach almost tenderly. Arthur swallowed hard as a lump rose in his throat.
Arthur gazed down at the photograph in his hands for several long moments as time seemed to stand still. Holding the frame in one hand, he ran a shaky finger down over the woman's smiling face. Without thinking, he smiled in return, as if he was seeing the woman in the flesh, not as just an image on a photograph.
After a while, Arthur looked up from the photograph. He stood and moved over to Guinevere's seat, where she still sat, staring into the space in front of her. Arthur knelt by her side, the photograph frame still in his hands. He reached towards Guinevere with the photograph. "It's my mother Guinevere," Arthur said, his voice filled with emotion. "Father has sent me a photograph of my mother. She was obviously pregnant with me in the photograph, what do you think of that?" Arthur rested the photograph on Guinevere's knees carefully. Taking one of her hands in his, he slid it down the photograph, letting Guinevere touch it as he had done. Guinevere didn't react. She continued to stare into space, oblivious to anything going on around her. "It feels weird to see her after all these years," Arthur sighed. "It's good though, isn't it? Sometimes, as a child, I used to wonder what she looked like, if I looked like her at all, because I just couldn't remember. Well, now I know."
Arthur got back to his feet after a moment. Opening the stand on the back of the photograph frame again, he stood the photograph on the coffee table. "Maybe we'll find somewhere more permanent for that at some stage, hmmm?" He pushed away a thought that if the divorce ended up going through, he would be forced to display the photograph somewhere else.
Another couple of days rolled by. Sefa had been around that morning. She helped Guinevere to have a bath and had washed her hair. She dried it gently, rubbing it with a towel to get the worst of the water out, and then letting it dry slowly until it was dry enough to tie up, and then she helped Guinevere to dress. Sefa was just leaving, waved off by Arthur, as a black taxi pulled up in the road outside the flat. The driver got out and walked around to the door on the side of the big black taxi, to help his passenger to get out. Arthur looked on as the passenger paid the driver and then the driver got back into the taxi and drove away. Arthur was sure no one else was visiting that day, but something told him not to shut the front door. He watched as a familiar shape suddenly came in to view. He quickly went inside and made sure Guinevere was all right, and then he went back out, walking the short distance to the road.
"Tom, what on earth are you doing here?" Arthur exclaimed as his father-in-law stood on the pavement, resting his weight on the wooden walking stick in his hand. "You should have phoned," Arthur went on, taking Tom's arm and beginning to walk back towards the flat with him. "I would have come and picked you up, or I would have asked Gwaine or Leon to come and get you. Taxi's are so expensive Tom, you shouldn't have gone to the expense of..."
Tom Leodegrance shook his head. He stopped walking and turned to Arthur. "I decided to come this morning. I've been sitting in that house worrying about my daughter for days now, and I decided this morning to do something about it, so here I am."
There was no hint of anger in Tom's voice, but Arthur suddenly felt guilty. "I'm sorry Tom," he began, meeting the concern in Tom's eyes, facing the man he hadn't seen for months and had only spoken to briefly since Guinevere became ill. "I know I haven't been in touch often. There's no excuse except that I didn't realise how busy every day would be. Honestly, even with Sefa, Guinevere's friend from work, helping, there never seems to be enough time in the day. By the time Guinevere is up, fed, either washed or bathed, or by the time she's had lunch and a nap, there always seems to be something else that has to be done. I'm really sorry Tom." Arthur forced himself to look into his father-in-law's eyes, "I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. I know how much you love Guinevere, and..."
Tom reached out and patted Arthur on the back. "Don't you worry about it son, I'm here now, that's all that matters. I know that looking after someone isn't easy. I did it for years for Guinevere's mother..." Tom's eyes grew distant as his memories went through his mind. He shook himself after a moment and looked Arthur up and down. "Anyway, long time, no see, how are you son?" He reached out a hand which Arthur shook, returning Tom's firm grip and warm handshake. "You look tired, are you looking after yourself properly. You'll do no one any good if you don't take care of yourself you know, and Gwen wouldn't expect you to run yourself ragged."
The two men went inside the flat. Arthur shut the front door and then turned to Tom, helping him take off his coat. "I'm all right Tom," he replied. "Sefa has been brilliant. I wouldn't have managed without her, but..." He broke off, uncertain of what to say.
"But what, Arthur?" Tom spoke softly, watching as Arthur hung his coat over the top of the edge of the living room door.
Arthur sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, I just...I wish she would talk to me Tom, even if just to tell me to get lost."
Tom Leodegrance nodded and patted Arthur gently on the back again in a paternal gesture of comfort. "I know son. It can't be easy for you, seeing her so unlike herself, being unable to do anything for her. I know how that feels Arthur, believe me. It wasn't the same of course, but it was close enough. My Maisie was ill for years really, but when she deteriorated and was less able to do things for herself, and less able to do things with Gwen and Elyan, I used to wish things could be like they were before."
The two men stood in the hallway, Tom leaning heavily on his walking stick and Arthur with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Arthur suddenly rolled his eyes. "Tom, sorry, come and sit down in the living room. Guinevere is in there, I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."
Tom followed Arthur through to the living room. Guinevere didn't move when her father walked into the room. "Hello sweetheart," Tom said, looking down on his daughter. "I thought I'd pop in and see you for a change, all right?" Guinevere carried on staring into space, oblivious to her father's presence.
"Sit yourself down Tom," Arthur said, guiding Tom towards the sofa. "I'll make us a drink."
Arthur went to leave the room, but Tom stopped him by grabbing one of his hands. "Come and sit down for a bit. Tell me how things are going. What does the doctor say?"
Arthur looked at Guinevere as she sat in the easy chair. It was as if she was there, but not present. She gazed off into the distance with no apparent awareness of anything around her. Arthur had never discussed the state she was in while she was in the room. It didn't feel right somehow. It felt to him like he would be talking behind her back in a way, even though she was right there. Arthur looked at Tom, taking in the concern in his eyes, the anxiety he must have felt when he didn't know what was going on. Arthur was suddenly transported to another time, when he was sitting with Guinevere at the hospital on the day Gwydre died. Deep down, Arthur admitted to himself, he'd probably known what was going to happen when they saw a doctor. Tears had been running down his face since he found Gwydre, cold and grey in his cot that morning. He made no attempt to stop them. When they arrived at the hospital Gwydre had been rushed off to a room somewhere and they hadn't been able to go with him. A nurse with big, compassionate eyes had steered them to a waiting area and sat them down. She disappeared for a moment, and then came back, holding two plastic cups in her hands. The cups contained hot, weak coffee. Arthur remembered sipping his, almost burning his lips on the hot drink. He didn't care. His heart pounded, feeling like it had jumped from his chest to between his ears, and all he could think about was Gwydre. Guinevere sat beside Arthur, holding her coffee in hands that trembled. Looking back, Arthur wondered if he could have done something then. Could he have said something to comfort Guinevere that day? He had no idea. All he knew as he thought of that day was that the wait for news was unbearable. As much as the outcome was probably inevitable, Arthur knew that now, the wait was agonising. Every time a door to one of the big treatment rooms in the accident and emergency unit opened, Arthur's heart sank. Every moment they waited increased the chance that bad news would come, but also presented the possibility of hope. Then, just as Arthur was thinking that they'd been forgotten, a young doctor, who seemed to be barely out of his teens, appeared. He walked up to Guinevere and Arthur, who both instinctively stood as he approached. He told them to take a seat again and pulled an empty chair that was beside them out, to sit just in front of them. He took a seat. Struggling to find the right words, the young doctor broke the news. Somewhere in the distance Arthur heard a splash as the doctor finished speaking, telling them that the baby would have to have a post mortem. With tears still flowing, Arthur looked down. Guinevere's coffee, which must have gone cold in the time she'd held it in her hands, had fallen, and was all over the floor.
"I think Gaius is starting to worry," Arthur said, glancing towards Guinevere again, pushing his memories away. She took no notice. "He hasn't said it in so many words, but I think he's starting to be worried about how unaware she...Guinevere, is."
Tom looked at his daughter and sighed heavily. "I told you before, when we spoke on the phone" he turned his attention to Arthur, "I was worried about her. I knew she wasn't right, I knew she was detached and I was sure she wasn't eating properly, but it never even occurred to me that things would go this far. She looks better physically though, so that's something I suppose."
Arthur nodded. "She's eating a bit better now, which Gaius said was good. I'm still feeding her, if I give her a spoon or a fork she just sits there, holding it in her hand, as if she doesn't know what to do with it, so I feed her, but I never know how much notice she takes of what she's eating."
Tom sighed again. "It reminds me so much of when Maisie was ill. Gwen was so brave then, or so I thought. She did almost everything for Elyan, getting him up in the mornings, keeping him occupied. She was only two years older than him, but you would have thought it was ten years. Instead of focusing on how much she must have missed her Mum, Gwen put all her energy into helping me and looking after Elyan. If I'd known then that she was just pushing her own feelings aside and that it would become a habit, I would have..." Tom stopped speaking, unable to express himself any more.
"What happened to Maisie, Tom?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't seem nosy. He knew he was changing the subject. Tom obviously felt responsible for the way Guinevere had learned to deal with grief, but Arthur still couldn't shift the feeling that Guinevere might have been all right now if he hadn't left her alone. Guilt pierced him, but he forced it away. "Guinevere told me her Mum died when she was ten, but she's never really told me much else."
"She had a heart problem, a defect she was born with," Tom replied. He looked at Guinevere as he talked, watching over her with an air of paternal protectiveness. "She was never really well, even when we first met, but she was stubborn. She never gave in to it, not for a second. She carried on with her life, doing normal things, so much so that I eventually almost forgot there was a problem. When we got married we were warned that Maisie probably wouldn't be able to have children. They said pregnancy might be dangerous, because of the extra strain on her body. They said that if she was to become pregnant, childbirth could be fatal." Tom still didn't take his eyes off Guinevere as he talked.
"What happened?" Arthur asked, realising why Tom adored Guinevere so much. Arthur knew Tom loved both of his children, but it was obvious that he worshipped Guinevere and thought of her as special. Arthur could see why now.
To Arthur's surprise, Tom laughed softly. "Maisie ignored them. I think she took what they were saying as a challenge. I tried to reason with her, of course, telling her that I didn't care, that I would be perfectly happy with her even if we didn't have children, but Maisie wasn't having any of it. Within a year she was pregnant. I was scared to death Arthur, I don't mind telling you, but Maisie took the whole thing in her stride. She stunned the doctors by sailing through the pregnancy, and she made it through Gwen's birth safely. I remember thinking that we'd stop at one. We were lucky, Maisie dealt with Gwen's birth, but I was convinced we would be pushing our luck if we had another one, but Maisie didn't want Gwen to be an only child. Elyan was born two years later, and then, over the next few years, Maisie started to deteriorate. By the time Gwen started school Maisie was too ill to take her every day. I used to take her, and then I would pick her up at the end of the day. When we got home she would always have something for her mother, a picture she'd drawn or something she'd written. She would come in, sit on her Mum's knee, and tell her about all the things she'd done at school. Maisie used to absorb every word, as if each one was vital to her. Maybe it was, in a way."
Arthur listened as his father in law spoke, picturing Guinevere as a child in his mind. He could imagine her looking after Elyan and doing anything she could to help Tom after her mother died. It was exactly the sort of thing she would have done. "How is Elyan?" Arthur asked, changing the subject again.
Tom smiled brightly. "He's all right, doing well actually. He's just heard he's been promoted. He went for the job a while ago, but they only told him this week. Elyan wants to know if he needs to come over though Arthur, what do you think, do you think he should come over and see Gwen?"
Arthur thought about it for a moment, then he met Tom's gaze. "I don't know Tom, I honestly don't." Arthur glanced over towards Guinevere and considered. "I just don't see what Elyan could do if he came, so it seems silly to drag him over here." Then Arthur made a decision. "Tell Elyan that if he wants to come he's welcome, but I just don't see what he can do just now. Tell him I'll drop him an e-mail or something when I get a moment." Arthur sighed heavily. "Since...well, since I left, I haven't been in touch with Elyan at all. To be honest I was a bit worried about how he would react."
Tom nodded. "Elyan's protective of Guinevere, there's no doubt about that. He'd never say, but he's well aware of what she did for him when they were kids. He does understand though Arthur; he knows what you've both been through. He adored Gwydre like he was his own, but he knows how hard it's been on the pair of you. Elyan wouldn't blame you for what has happened."
"He doesn't need to." Arthur muttered, almost under his breath.
"You can't still be blaming yourself Arthur," Tom said, hearing what Arthur said. "Look, I don't know what I can say to convince you, but maybe this would have happened with Guinevere anyway, even if you had been here. Gwen has put her own feelings aside all her life. Maybe there comes a point where it becomes impossible to bottle things up any more. Maybe Gwen has reached that point."
Arthur listened to Tom's words, grateful to the older man for his kindness. He wanted to believe that he wasn't responsible for Guinevere's state, but he couldn't convince himself. All Arthur thought about, especially in quiet moments, was that he'd left Guinevere alone just when she needed him the most, and nothing could persuade him otherwise.
Tom stayed for about an hour with Arthur and Guinevere. He spent the time talking to Arthur, but he chatted to Guinevere as well, hoping to get through to her somehow. When Tom was ready to go, Arthur called him a taxi and, as much as Tom protested, paid for it too. He waved Tom off, promising to keep in touch more often and assuring him that he would be in touch if there was any change in Guinevere.
A few days after Tom's visit, something did begin to change. Guinevere had slept quite well while she'd been ill. Arthur had got into a habit of checking on her in the night, especially if he had to get up to go to the toilet. Each time, he would go to master bedroom, moving quietly so as not to startle Guinevere. When he checked, he would find Guinevere asleep, looking more peaceful than she ever looked during the day, when a frown of anxiety lined her brow. At night she looked relaxed, almost normal. Arthur knew he could happily watch her sleep for hours. He would watch her, glad that she could find some peace at some point, even if she still wouldn't speak to anyone during the day, until the need for sleep claimed him and took him back to the spare room. However, a couple of days after Tom's visit, halfway through the third week after Guinevere's breakdown, Arthur woke in the night, sure he'd heard something. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, fighting off the drowsiness of sleep. He listened carefully for a moment and heard someone moaning, just softly.
Arthur got up. He ignored his dressing gown, which was on a hook on the back of the spare room door, and wore a pair of pyjama bottoms. Gwaine had popped in that day, bringing Arthur the few items, including his dressing gown, which he'd left at Gwaine and Leon's flat when he came home to look after Guinevere. Arthur knew he was effectively moving back in when he had all his things back, but he wasn't naive enough to think that it meant anything. If Guinevere didn't want him when she recovered, he would have to move out again, it was that simple.
Arthur crept in to the master bedroom and realised what he'd heard. Guinevere lay in the middle of the bed, tossing and turning, moaning softly in the back of her throat. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping, but she pulled on the quilt over her again and again, as if it was a weight hanging over her body.
Arthur made his way to the bed quietly and leaned over. "Hey, shh, it's all right," he whispered. He reached over slowly, afraid of waking Guinevere, stroking her hair. "It's all right Guinevere, you're all right, I'm here love," he soothed tenderly, wanting to comfort her somehow. Arthur knelt down and edged closer to the bed. He continued to talk softly, stroking Guinevere's hair, until the moaning stopped and she stilled.
The same thing happened the next night, except Arthur was woken with a start. Guinevere had cried out in her sleep, loud enough to drag Arthur from his slumber, his heart racing. He went in to Guinevere, and was stunned to find her sitting up in bed on her own. It was the first time she'd moved by herself for ages. Her eyes were wide with fear and she was making the same noise she'd made the night before in the back of her throat. It took Arthur over an hour to calm her. He lay her back down and talked to her softly. He stroked her hair as he talked, desperate to give her some comfort from whatever was causing her such distress
Arthur went to get up when he was sure Guinevere had gone back to sleep, but no sooner had he stood, but she was becoming anxious again. In the end, telling himself it was a bad idea, Arthur sat on what had been his side of the bed before, when they were happy, before the baby died. Arthur sat beside Guinevere on top of the bedclothes and held her hand until, eventually, she drifted back off to sleep. Arthur forced himself to stay awake. He sat there for the remainder of the night, his head against the headboard, listening to Guinevere's steady breathing.
Guinevere still seemed anxious the next day. Sefa came round that morning. She was going to help Guinevere to have a shower and dress, but Gwen seemed so agitated that Sefa was concerned.
"I just can't seem to get through to her at all today," Sefa said to Arthur, after they made a joint decision that giving Gwen a quick wash and helping her into a clean night dress and dressing gown would do for once. "On most days I've been here she's cooperated with me, even if she hasn't really been fully aware of what's going on. Today she just doesn't seem to want to know."
Arthur stood in the kitchen with Sefa, busying himself with making a drink. "She's been disturbed for the last couple of nights too. I ended up sitting with her in the end last night. I don't know what's going on, but she seems so upset with something. I'm thinking of giving Gaius a call, just to see what he thinks."
Sefa nodded and took a cup of tea that Arthur offered to her. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to get an opinion."
Sefa left at lunch time. Arthur was alone again with Guinevere, who was in the living room in her easy chair. Arthur went through to her. He looked at her closely, trying to see if there was any indication of why she might have been so upset on her face. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but she still seemed anxious. Even as she sat in the chair, she seemed on edge. Her shoulders were tense and stiff. Her hands were clasped in tight fists that turned the skin over her knuckles a creamy white.
Arthur went over to the TV and put it on quietly. Some sort of daytime drama was on, but Arthur knew Guinevere probably wouldn't take any notice of it.
"Do you fancy some lunch love?" he asked Guinevere, turning to her. He didn't expect a reply. "I'll go and make you a sandwich or something, all right?"
Arthur went through to the kitchen and gathered the things he would need to make Guinevere a sandwich. As he worked he could hear the sound from the TV distantly. If he listened closely he could hear the odd voice and the sound of a baby crying, but he didn't give it any thought. Guinevere hadn't taken any notice of the TV since she'd been ill. Arthur didn't think for a moment she would notice it now.
A moment later, Arthur heard a sound, an anguished cry. He jumped out of his skin, almost dropping the sandwich he'd made, which he'd just picked up on a tea-plate to take through to Guinevere. He heard footsteps from somewhere, frantic footsteps, running across carpet. He put the sandwich down on the kitchen worktop and rushed in to the living room. He looked at Guinevere's chair, but she wasn't there.
Arthur's heart began to pound. "Guinevere?" he called, wondering where she was, and how she'd moved on her own. "Guinevere, where are you?"
Arthur started to look around the flat for Guinevere. He checked all over the living room, making sure Guinevere hadn't got up somehow and then fallen, but she was nowhere to be found. He tried the master bedroom, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that there was no way Guinevere would have walked that far in the state she was in. He tried the bathroom, finding the door unlocked and the room empty.
Arthur had a thought. There was one room left to check. It was a room where the door was closed all the time and had been for months, because the room had barely been touched. Since he moved back in Arthur had been telling himself to go into the room, but he hadn't found the courage. Gathering himself now, he went to the nursery door and opened it. He couldn't believe the sight that greeted him. Guinevere was in the nursery, turning the whole room upside down. Drawers were flung open, the wardrobe was in a complete mess. The bedding on the cot had been opened and lay in a heap. Even the pictures on the walls had been knocked and lay at an angle. In the midst of the mess, Guinevere was breaking her heart.
"Guinevere?" Arthur said, struggling to make sense of what was happening. He fought back a wave of emotion. "Guinevere, what are you doing, what's going on?" He didn't expect a reply.
Suddenly Guinevere looked up. She faced Arthur and glared. "Where's my baby, what have you done with my baby? He's crying for me and I can't...I can't find him, where's my baby?" Guinevere's voice was weak at first due to not being used for so long, but with every word she uttered it strengthened, until it was steely and cold.
Arthur was stunned to hear Guinevere's voice. He could hardly believe it. "You're...you're talking," he said, knowing it was obvious. "I can't..." He didn't know what he was saying.
"Where is my baby?" Guinevere demanded, beginning to pace and yank things out of the pulled out drawers.
Arthur's head cleared. He stepped into the room further as his heart raced. He took a deep breath, giving himself chance to think. "You know where he is, don't you?" he said at last, his voice shaking. "You know he's gone."
"Where is he? I want my baby!" Guinevere cried, her face full of pain. "I want my baby, please!"
Arthur edged towards Guinevere. Tears began to fill his eyes, but he tried to blink them away. "Gwydre's dead Guinevere, you know he is, don't you? I'm so sorry, really I am, but he's dead." Arthur hated himself for saying the words, but he knew it had to be done. Gwydre was dead, and Arthur knew it had to be faced.
As Arthur approached, Guinevere turned away. She turned to the cot, gripping the wooden side in her hands tightly. Her head dropped and her eyes closed. "Gwydre's dead Guinevere," Arthur repeated. "I know it's hard, believe me, but we both have to face it now. He's gone and there's nothing we can do about it." Arthur started to weep softly.
Guinevere suddenly made a sound. Arthur jumped when what sounded like an animal cry filled the room. He watched as Guinevere's shoulders began to heave violently as sobs began to wrack her body. Arthur wanted to reach for her, to hold her in his arms, but something told him not to. Somehow he knew that Guinevere needed to go to him.
Suddenly Guinevere turned again. Still sobbing, her face filled with agony, Guinevere reached out a shaking hand. Uncertain, Arthur didn't move. Guinevere looked up, looking Arthur right in the eyes. Arthur could see her pain in the dark pools of her eyes, it broke his heart.
"Help me!" Guinevere cried, her whole body shaking under the weight of her grief. "Please help me!" Her hand reached out towards Arthur, her thin fingers spread out and trembling.
"Oh, Guinevere!" Arthur exclaimed, tears flowing from his eyes at last. He took two steps and reached out, drawing Guinevere against him. He gathered Guinevere in his arms and held her shaking body against his. He held her close, supporting her weight as she leaned towards him and her legs almost gave way. A moment later he felt Guinevere's arms around him, her hands spread outs against his back as she continued to shudder with sobs, and a wave of relief overwhelmed him.
"It's all right," Arthur said brokenly as Guinevere continued to cling to him. "We'll be all right now, you'll see."
Arthur Pendragon prayed that he was speaking the truth.