Chapter 26: Heart and Hand
Gwen surveyed the room with a mix of curiosity and disgust. How can I help? she'd asked, as soon as she'd washed and eaten breakfast. The senior attendants had hemmed and hawed reluctantly, and finally had sent her here, to clean and rearrange as she so desired.
The prince's bedchamber.
He hadn't slept there, she knew, in a couple of weeks. The remaining hours of the night he'd spent in the infirmary with the others. None except Lancelot seriously injured, she understood; even the wound in his back was never life-threatening, though it would take time to heal. Odd to think that not even a fortnight ago, she'd have fallen over herself volunteering for nurse duty, sitting sighing at his side, daydreaming and wishing.
She shook her head at the thought, and began with the bed Arthur had not slept in, folding the velvet cover away from the sheets before loosening them into a bundle for the laundry. Perhaps the closeness that group of men had shared, through the strident chaos of battle, through the silent hours of rest, would linger. But tonight, she thought, Arthur would want his own bedchamber, reclaimed from the disorder it was in.
Gwen glanced about at the strewn and splintered furniture, the scattered and broken ornaments. Clothing and bedding torn and littering the floor. She wondered who had thrown the tantrum in this room – Morgause? Agravaine? Even Morgana, or Uther? and in what kind of mood?
She turned from the bed to push open the window and inhale the morning sunshine. It was different here, than in Lionys. It would take some getting used to.
"You don't have to do this, you know," a female voice spoke from the doorway, and she turned to see Morgana, Arthur's sister.
She still looked pale, and tired, but her hair fell in sleekly dressed waves down her back in a manner Gwen envied. She was dressed in a shimmery white gown, simple yet elegant, and so opposite from the black she'd worn the previous night – in mourning for her loss? – Gwen guessed the wardrobe choice was deliberate. In any case, it made her feel self-conscious in her trousers and blouse, though her garb was more practical for cleaning and tidying.
"You're a guest here," Morgana continued, coming into the room. And maybe there was curiosity in her green eyes. "You should let Camelot serve you."
"Oh, no," Gwen said quickly. "Everyone is so busy already, it would be selfish of me to ask them… and anyway, I'm perfectly capable of helping with whatever needs doing."
"Lady Guinevere de Gransse," Morgana mused. "I must say, you're not exactly who I would have expected my brother to choose."
Gwen's backbone stiffened – but then again, this woman might someday be a sister-in-law to her. So she only smiled ruefully and confessed, "He was not exactly what I had in mind, either."
"Love is funny like that," Morgana observed. "Are you going to marry my brother, then?"
Gwen shrugged, clasping her hands behind her back. "Unless he changes his mind."
"He won't." Morgana seemed more confident of the fact than Gwen herself, but she didn't elaborate on the reasons. "Then someday, you will be queen." Gwen tried to smooth the look of surprise quickly from her face, but wasn't entirely successful. Morgana gave her a mockingly self-deprecating smile. "Yes, I've officially abdicated the throne. My father is king –" the expression slipped a bit, heavy sorrow darkening the princess' eyes – "but it's likely that Arthur will be named Regent." Her lips quirked again. "As soon as he can be persuaded to accept the title."
"I'm sorry," Gwen said; at the other's surprised look, she amended, "For your father. I know it can't be easy. If there's anything I can do…"
Morgana arched one eyebrow at her slightly. "I rather think you'll have your hands full dealing with Arthur," she said, "if he keeps his kingdom in the same way as he keeps his bedchamber."
"Oh, no, this isn't –" Gwen stopped the protest, feeling a sudden recognition of a sisterly jibe covering real fondness and concern, and instead gave the other girl a genuine grin. Before she added, "What will you do?"
Morgana's gaze left hers to rove about the room. "My sister will live," she answered indirectly. "Though we can only guess at the extent of… permanent damage, at this point. I suppose that's justice of a sort. My father… we don't know if he'll ever fully recover, either. Arthur has offered an escort of knights to return Morgause to the isle as soon as she can travel. I –" she glanced at Gwen with a momentary hesitation, "I will be staying here. I cannot go back with her, not after… all this. Arthur has you. And Merlin will be too busy to teach magic for quite some time. I suppose I will go back to being Camelot's princess for the rest of my life." The sarcastic tone and the toss of her head almost covered a longing that Gwen only glimpsed.
"Perhaps you will marry," Gwen offered. As it was a subject much on her mind lately, she was ready to share the particular joy of a good match.
"Who would have me?" Morgana said cynically. "A princess with magic? And my father would not approve…" She paused.
Gwen understood immediately. If Arthur was regent… he'd allowed Morgana to attempt the healing of her sister, an obvious enemy of Camelot. He'd surely be liberal where his sister's heart and hand and future was concerned. "Perhaps you'll meet someone," she said generously. Someone who wouldn't mind the magic and would be respectful of but not overawed by the rank. Someone whose personality might complement the princess' reputed impetuosity and passion without trying to dominate her. Someone who Arthur would be glad to call brother…
"Perhaps," Morgana said, shrugging. "In the meantime, maybe you could tell me a little more about our other visitors from Lionys?"
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur hated to see his father like this. Curled on one side, small in his massive bed, childishly vulnerable. Careful of his broken rib, bandaged now thanks to Gaius' untiring ministrations, he leaned forward into his father's line of vision. Uther did not so much as blink; Arthur sighed. Their father hadn't reacted at all to Morgana's presence, either, her tears or her whispered apologies, the kiss she'd dropped on his lined face in farewell only moments earlier.
Gaius had said it would take time for the king to recover mentally. There was no simple magical remedy this time, it would be a gradual process, the physician had guessed, and might halt entirely at any point. Whether he would be capable of dressing himself, feeding himself, carrying on a conversation, comprehending a report or composing correspondence, attending meetings or holding audiences or making solid choices or wielding his own sword, remained to be seen.
"I'm not dead, Father," he said, very softly, but there was no answering focus in Uther's gray eyes. "Merlin defended me, saved my life. That report was false… Agravaine was mistaken." How much did he want to say aloud? How much would his father understand? "He paid for it with his life." Not a flicker of comprehension.
The remains of Lord de Bois would be interred at his estate. As he was family, Arthur would not treat him as a traitor deserved, stripping him of title and recognition of honor, even in death, denying him so much as a marked grave or honorary pyre. But because he was a traitor, he would not be given any ceremony whatsoever, his body simply shut away in the crypts, the date recorded dispassionately.
"There isn't a de Bois heir," he added. "I've considered granting his estate to Sir Leon – only, as he's marrying Elena, he'll be heir to Godwyn's estate already. Maybe Sir Lancelot then – he's Lord de Gransse's captain of the guard –" Arthur choked on the impulse to say, you'll like him when you meet him, and when he blinked, a tear escaped his eye. "I know you always told me, no man is worth your tears," he whispered, wiping it away with the cuff of his sleeve. But maybe a father is?
When he left Camelot, he didn't think he was ready to marry. And now – he didn't think he was ready for this, either. You can do it, Merlin had said, you have your knights, your queen… Kilgarrah had told him, Trust those who gather around you now, include them in your rule, and it will be strengthened beyond compare…
On the bed beside him, his father rolled a few inches from his side toward his back, his gaze traveling up Arthur's bandaged left arm to his face. And though Uther still looked haggard and haunted and old, there was recognition there. Faint and faraway and unsurprised, as if the father believed the son a shadow or ghost.
"I'm sorry," Uther whispered, and the words held the weight of years, referring to – what? Anything said or done he now regretted. However much of the current situation he understood – or misunderstood.
Arthur eased from the chair to kneel by the bed, and put his hand on his father's shoulder, his forearm resting on Uther's arm, almost an embrace. "You're safe now, Father," he said softly. "I'm home. No more nightmares."
Uther held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded like a child, as Arthur had done long ago, reassured there were no monsters in the wardrobe. Then the old king closed his eyes.
He remained in Uther's bedchamber another half of an hour, but the invalid never roused again. And there were things he needed to see to – the council meeting to officially acknowledge Morgana's abdication, to wrangle the legal course of transferring power. Though he'd prefer not to take the regency yet…
Perhaps, it had been delicately proposed, Arthur wished the council to approve his regency? For the good of the kingdom, of course.
Perhaps, he allowed, in the private core of his mind. But not right away. The citizens of Camelot would not be reassured by so many changes in so short a time. He needed time. Uther needed time. And the people… But if the council would not rescind its vote to replace an incapable King Uther, there would be no other choice.
And there was the matter of the mercenaries contracted by Agravaine. Morgana had advocated a forcible removal of the hired troops. Arthur had decided it would be far more sensible under the circumstances simply to pay and dismiss them, advising them to seek employment outside Camelot's borders.
And of course there was the cleaning and reorganization of the citadel to see to… his new knights, and his guests.
He closed his father's door behind him, and turned to see Merlin leaning against the corridor wall, waiting for him. The younger man straightened as Arthur jerked his head in invitation, and they ambled slowly down the hall.
"How's your father?" Merlin said.
Arthur didn't lift his gaze from the toes of his boots. "I don't know," he said honestly. "All this…" He sensed rather than saw Merlin's nod of understanding.
"Perhaps we're heading for a new time," the young sorcerer suggested, softly and seriously.
Not like the few council members had done, worried for their own concerns within a kingdom whose leadership was in question. And not as though he'd spent one moment considering what Arthur's change in status and role and authority might mean for him, for good or ill. But as though he fully comprehended the weight of duty Arthur felt, the doubts he tried never to reveal.
"You may need to take charge, become…" Merlin hesitated, looking at him with pride tempered by concern. "Become king," he finished.
Arthur remembered when it had felt an undeserved responsibility and an unbearable burden, to contemplate becoming a prince. Much to accomplish, establishing Camelot, balancing the magic both present and returning, building alliances toward a golden age of peace for all of Albion…
Keep the hope, await the king…
"Who knows what the future will bring," he said only.
Merlin's glint of encouragement brightened. He didn't have to say, We'll do it together. He didn't have to say, I'll go with you.
"But you," Arthur added, "what are you doing out of the infirmary? Does Gaius know where you are?"
Merlin's smile became a bit impish. "Sort of," he allowed. "He sent me to get some supplies from his chambers."
Arthur stopped walking. "The king's quarters are not on the way from the infirmary to the physician's chamber," he said.
Merlin kept going, his lanky stride only slightly slower than normal. "I know," he returned with a grin, and disappeared around another corner.
He inhaled, then let it out slowly. Perhaps he still felt unready and undeserving, but Merlin's trust and faith – I believe in you, sire, I always have – held him up. Gave him strength to try to deserve it.
Arthur found the door to his chamber open, and heard someone within, before his eyes fell on Guinevere, bending to lift a chair to an upright position, next to the table.
"You don't have to –" he began.
"Don't even say it," she told him, her cheerfulness taking any sting out of her words, and instead making it seem a pleasure to be scolded or commanded by her. "I've already heard it from your sister and at least a dozen scandalized servants." Her hair had been braided down her back, but soft curly tendrils had already escaped around her face. She'd removed her knee-length fur-lined tunic, and worked in dark trousers and her creamy embroidered blouse, belted at her waist.
He marveled at his incredible good fortune, to have found such a woman – a lady with character and grace and humility – so quickly. That he had not had to endure months of polite tolerance of giggling and small-minded self-centered chatter before finally having to choose the least offensive mate. He moved closer to her and reached out to smooth one unruly curl back from her temple.
She added, a little breathlessly, "It will take some time."
He didn't know what she was referring to – the re-organization of his room, his life, the palace, of the kingdom… their relationship? He opted to assume the simplest explanation, glancing about the room and saying lightly, "Merlin can take care of it. One glance, or a wave of his hand…"
She tried to give him a reproachful look, but her amusement at his joke at the young sorcerer's expense showed through anyway.
Arthur's realization in that moment was like a drop of water onto the still surface of his heart, noninvasive and cooling, the ripples soothing what they disturbed.
He loved her.
Yes, she would be a good queen, skilled in administration and not lacking in care for the people. Yes, she would fit very well into life in Camelot, friends already with Leon and Merlin – understanding and valuing them, and he had no doubt it would be the same with Gaius, with Morgana, with Uther.
But he had to say with Tristan, if he lost every last one of his worldly goods, still he'd be a rich man if he had his Guinevere.
"I don't ever want to lose you," he said, and the surprise in her eyes made him realize how abrupt his words must have sounded. Well, her father had advised him to wait until the investigation into the assassination was concluded; as far as he was concerned, he'd done so. He reached to take her hand, roughened by haphazard living the last week, small and brown and perfect, and cradled it against his heart. "Will you marry me?" he said simply.
For a moment she only stared at him – a chill of uncertainty brushed his heart – and then she smiled, so happily her dark eyes shone and a rare dimple appeared. "Yes," she said, and it was the best word he'd ever heard. "Yes, with all my heart."
He slipped his right hand under her elbow to rest it against the small of her back and drew her to him, lowering his head to kiss her. She returned it without hesitation, taking her hand away from his to slide both up his shoulders, around his neck. He kissed her again and again, gathering her carefully close – he could squeeze her harder later, when his ribs and his arm had healed. She felt so warm and so soft and so real against him, he decided he was never going to let her go.
She laughed breathlessly against the side of his neck, sending cool little shivers into the core of his being, to rebound in faster fierier sparks spreading outward. "The room won't clean itself," she whispered, pulling away.
And he let her go.
But, he told himself – feeling a grin that Merlin would mock, and he wouldn't even care – not for very long.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Freya felt warm and cozy and lethargic, waking up. There was silence, and peace, and sunshine, she felt, waiting for her when she opened her eyes, but still she delayed. She could smell him, still, as she could when she'd relaxed into the bed sometime in the small hours of the morning. Like pine, and magic. If magic had a smell. She cuddled into the blanket, scrunching the pillow to provide greater padding for her head.
She hoped that a few hours' sleep would do Merlin good, even though it wasn't in his own bed, in his own humble corner of a room. Pale and vague with exhaustion, he'd crawled onto the first cot in the infirmary he'd seen and fallen asleep immediately, both feet and one arm hanging over its edges, his head half-off the pillow.
The prince had exchanged a worried look with the court physician, a stoop-shouldered old man with a long blue robe and a brusque manner that she found strangely comforting. He was wise and he was caring, she could see, and rather appreciated his no-nonsense orders for the care of his patients.
Everyone else, she noticed, for the first hour when things were still rather hectic, had done the same thing. Glance at the young sorcerer absolutely motionless on the cot, then met each other's eyes for comfort. Gaius had left Merlin to himself, after a cursory inspection for pulse and temperature, which might have been more reassuring if he hadn't himself stopped to look over at his apprentice half a dozen times.
How many did he transport from the cave? the old physician had asked her. Twice, as though she might have been mistaken the first time. Three of us, she answered. And the last of the Medhiri, evidently. Gaius had stared at her, then shuddered. Then checked his unconscious apprentice one more time.
And the high priestess had been placed as remote from the group of recovering fighters as possible, shielded from sight with a screen. Only the Lady Morgana and the physician had ventured behind it. No one asked, but after Arthur had spoken privately to both of them, Freya had overheard a murmur that Morgause would live. Whether she would be mentally diminished or ever fully recover could not be known.
Freya rolled to her back and blinked at the warm dusty golden glow of the room, thinking of how she'd imagined Merlin's life in Camelot to be. And what he'd told her of the reality – I sleep in a storeroom. Humble, indeed. She rather agreed with Arthur that it might have been better for everyone – even Morgana – had the blonde sorceress died instantly. But watching the gentle, even rise and fall of Merlin's worn brown jacket on the cot in the infirmary, remembering the melancholy and despair he felt even to kill the Collins', she was relieved for his sake that he need not wake to consider himself accountable for one more death.
A wisp of movement at the window caught her attention, and she decided she had the energy after all to move from his bed to greet the day. Barefoot, she moved to the window, leaning on the narrow table – but the window was small, and high, and she couldn't see much through it.
So it was that when she heard the sound of the door open, she had to duck out of the window opening, and he caught her standing on his table. She watched him turn from an instinctive glance at the bed – and maybe surprised that it was empty – and couldn't help smiling at the way his eyes and smile lighted to see her. He was looking much better.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Thank you for letting me use your room," she said, by way of permission. "Gaius told me it would be all right?"
He shrugged, crossing the room in a few long, lazy strides. "It's fine; he told me you'd be here. I was worried I'd wake you."
"No, I was admiring your view," she told him, gesturing out the window. "Camelot looks incredible from here."
"It's your home now, too," he said lightly, and her heart skipped a beat. Until he added, "Gwaine being one of Camelot's finest now, I mean."
"Yes," she said, dropping her gaze away from the amazingly intense blue of his. "I suppose so." She stepped to the edge of the table, preparing to drop back down to the floor, and he moved forward, his hands reaching for her. Then she met his eyes, feeling a faint flush of surprise, and an inexplicable hesitation. "I saw Aithusa also, flying, a good ways away, but… How does your back feel this morning?" she asked.
An innocent smile didn't quite cover his initial startled reaction. "My back is fine," he said, as if it had been fine all along.
She remembered the prince saying, No I'm fine – see? showing his unmarked palm.
"I was right next to you, Merlin," she reminded him softly. "When Aithusa healed Isolde, I felt it. But it wasn't just Isolde, was it?"
Merlin's smile twisted wryly. "I didn't ask him to," he said only.
She remembered how he'd responded to Morgana's plea that he heal her sister, I can't. And then later, aware that Morgana had attempted the healing spell herself, with only moderate success, she wondered aloud, "Could Aithusa have healed Morgause?"
He looked past her out the window. "Dragons don't really… forgive," he said. "He could have, but he only would have if… I'd ordered him."
Freya thought she understood. It was much the same as Arthur and Merlin making the decision. The prince would not order his sorcerer's magic to perform or to withhold against his conscience, valuing the relationship more than the result. Merlin reached up for her again, and she leaned down to place her hands on his shoulders.
He caught her waist as she hopped lightly to lower her to the floor.
"I'm meant to be fetching things for Gaius," he confessed, and she noticed that the tips of his ears were red. She realized he hadn't let go of her waist yet; he didn't seem to realize it, though. "They're bringing food to the infirmary, if you want breakfast – I'll walk back with you. Or do you want to wash up first?"
Then she realized something else. Oh, for goodness sake. Well, she didn't know why it mattered, anymore, him seeing her in just a shift. She pulled away gently, hurried back to the dress she'd left folded over the bedside table. "I have something for you." She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the small gray pebble; he smiled as she returned to his side.
"Don't you want to keep it?" he asked her.
"Hasn't the spell worn off?" she said, surprised. "I mean, it will eventually, won't it? And if I'm to live in Camelot anyway, I could just take an extra quarter-hour to come up here and find you if I wanted to talk."
The blue of his eyes was bright. He took the pebble in his own palm, and blue flared briefly to gold before he handed it back. "There," he said, satisfied. She breathed a sigh of relief as well, seeing the evidence of comfortable performance of magic again. Then he added, "Now it'll last forever."
"Forever?" she echoed, stunned.
"Yep. Wherever you are, I'll be able to hear you."
Forever. She smiled down at the stone he tipped into her hand. Sooner or later, Gwen had said.
"Merlin Emrys," she said softly, and his smile was so boyishly pleased she couldn't help looking quite obviously at his mouth for a moment. Or for a year.
Forever, maybe? a little voice that sounded a lot like Isolde murmured. Freya blushed and looked down again.
"I'll wait for you just outside," he told her, going to the door and giving her another bright smile before closing her inside his bedroom again.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
It was quiet in the physician's chambers, the sounds Freya made in the back bedroom somehow relaxing. Merlin seated himself on the middle stair going down into the main chamber for a moment just to breathe in the scents, the atmosphere, and feel the peace, so unlike the last two times he was here. Quiet then, too, but the tension of threat and danger so unsettling. Sunlight came in the open shutter, its rays touching the rough wooden tabletop.
There really was no rush with his errand. He'd been asleep almost before he was able to sprawl across the cot he'd chosen because it was closest to the infirmary door. When he woke that morning, he'd learned that Gaius had already stitched the long but shallow slash across Lancelot's back as well as the wounds in Arthur's arm and Elyan's in the infirmary. That Percival had been sent to the kitchen, that Arthur hadn't slept long before leaving again. That Tristan, Leon, and Gwaine had been kept awake for observation, until Gaius proclaimed them free of conditions worse than headaches. The three and Elyan had all been snoring in their own cots when he'd left.
Merlin smiled, listening to Freya hum a snatch of song, exclaim in soft annoyance at some detail of dress or preparation she found uncooperative. She'd volunteered herself by her actions as Gaius' assistant, last night in the infirmary; he wasn't sure how long she'd stayed.
And this morning, he'd arrived before she'd woken up, listening at the door for several moments. He wished to check on her without disturbing her, if she was sleeping or… if she was not. He heard nothing, and eased the door open.
The shutter on his window had been open as well, and the morning light spilled across the room, not quite touching the foot of the bed. His bed, where she slept on her side, her dark hair a curly tangle across his pillow. She looked peaceful as well, and he'd smiled to himself as he drifted to the foot of the bed to watch her breathe for a moment, his blanket tucked up under her chin, her arm bare to the shoulder so that he'd almost reached out to draw the back of one finger along her skin. Before she'd drawn in a deep breath and shifted, beginning to wake up, and he'd retreated so he wouldn't alarm or offend her. He'd taken his time gathering what he needed into a bundle on the work-table as quietly as he was able, before attempting to enter the room again.
To find her standing on the table and looking out the window. He'd very nearly said, teasingly, Oy, didn't your mother teach you about standing on the furniture? Except that she'd been in her thin white undergarment again…
The protecting feeling wasn't new to him. Since he was a child, learning from the druids that caring for someone or about something meant you protected them or it, with your life or with your magic. His mother, his camp, his people. He'd gone to Dinas Emrys to protect other young druids from the blood ritual.
And then Arthur – always Arthur. By extension, Arthur's family, Arthur's knights, Arthur's Camelot.
But there was something new he felt when he looked at Freya. Possessiveness entered and mingled with the protectiveness. It was more than wanting her to be happy; he wanted to be actively involved in making that happen, as often as possible.
She was special, unique. And yet seemed to view herself as unimportantly ordinary. He shook his head, still couldn't understand that.
Thinking of Freya made him think of Gwen. He was glad of her, glad for Arthur. His prince needed a lady like that, he felt, now more than ever. Arthur's life would be changing kind of a lot, he suspected. And his, Merlin's, not so much. He was always willing to give, to help, good with the magic and the crisis and maybe advice once in a while. But he guessed that Arthur would need someone sympathetic and feminine, with whom he would feel comfortable unburdening himself at the end of the day, to a depth that he himself could not share for his prince.
Someone he could trust with his vulnerability and weakness and pain…
Merlin remembered sitting on the parapet of Freya's house in Lionys, trying to prepare himself to accept the end of his life, to summon the courage to leave the city and everyone he cared about behind, to order the dragon to destroy him, cursed as he was, before he could do something unforgiveable. She had come to sit beside him, to listen, to comfort in silence, a companion who could come closer than just a friend. He remembered how it felt to kneel over her as she clung to him and wept out her fright and relief, both, there in that first alley, baring both pain and strength in a rare show of trust.
He realized that the sounds in his bedroom had stilled, and turned to see her standing in the open door, braiding her hair over her shoulder, looking down at him with a whimsical expression.
"Ready, then?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet.
"Thank you again for letting me use your room. I suppose Gwaine and I will have to find some place to live," she said, coming down the stairs behind him. "Someplace with a garden, I hope."
He gave her a grin of pure happiness over his shoulder as he headed for the work-table. "And Gaius will send me to collect motherwort and sorrel and chamomile and mint, and I'll come to get them from you instead of wandering the woods alone." He lagged a few steps, and as she stepped beside him, he took her hand playfully.
"We could wander the woods to-" She stopped, dropping her eyes in embarrassed confusion.
"Together?" he finished her word enthusiastically. "I haven't forgotten my promise to show you where to find rosemary and bluebell and hawthorne. We just – have lots more time now." She drifted closer to rest against him absently, fingering the material of his shirt. He couldn't help envisioning leisurely walks, working companionably to uproot the plants she wanted, pack them carefully in order to transplant them. "If you still want to," he added.
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked.
"You're practically a lady now," he reminded her, and at her arched eyebrow he clarified, "I mean, the sister of a knight. Perhaps it would be beneath you to be seen with me." Mostly teasing. Hoping to be contradicted. Please, don't change? She leaned back in his arms – and when had he put them around her? he didn't remember doing it.
"Almost you offend me, Merlin," she said. "Don't you know me better than that?"
"Do I?" he said softly.
For a moment, it seemed to him that her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he had a ridiculous urge to lick his lips, because suddenly it mattered if they were dry or rough. And before he knew he intended to, he was looking at her mouth, how her lips curved into a smile so sweet, he wanted to feel them against his own, and perhaps even taste…
He looked into her fathomless dark eyes again, wondering how to word such a request without making her laugh or slap him, and her fingers were bunching the material of his shirt and her chin was lifting and then he was bending down to her.
Freya smelled wonderful and tasted even better. And in the tentative curious darkness when she responded, shifted to kiss his bottom lip and his top lip separately, he felt her fingers slide into his hair below and behind his ear. His magic stirred within him, and he felt an echo of hers, a spark of brightness and hope in the vast unknown. Memory nudged him, as though he was more familiar with her mouth than he was consciously aware… but it was lost in the moment.
He pulled her closer, tighter, and she felt like heaven against him, like they were breathing together and their hearts were beating in tandem and her cheek fit smooth and soft and perfectly into the palm of his hand. She sighed as he allowed her to complete the kiss, and the upward sweep of her eyelashes as she looked into his eyes from only inches away almost knocked him off his feet.
"I don't think any slapping will be necessary," she told him, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
He didn't understand, but it didn't matter. "No, ma'am," he said. And couldn't help placing one more quick light kiss on her sweetly-curved mouth.
…..*….. …..*….. Six Months Later …..*….. …..*…..
There were butterflies in Gwen's stomach. She couldn't sit still. Well, stand then, Enid had allowed. The taller girl could still reach to threat the slender stems of the tiny white flowers through Gwen's black curls. And the long train of the gorgeous purple satin dress kept Gwen from pacing.
"Are you ready?" her maid said sympathetically.
"I don't know," she said blankly, suddenly afraid to look in the mirror. Who would she see? "Am I ready?"
Enid gave her an understanding smile, drawing her to the door. "Freya said almost everyone was assembled in the hall, and that was nearly a quarter-hour ago. Lord Lionel and Sir Elyan are in the corridor, waiting to accompany you."
"Where will you be?" Gwen asked, delaying a moment longer. Not ready to be at the center of so much attention all at once. "If I get nervous, I'll look at you and then –"
"If you get nervous, look for Isolde," Enid advised. "She's wearing a dress today – you won't be able to help smiling."
Gwen felt a nervous giggle try to rise in her throat at the odd picture the words Isolde and dress in the same sentence conjured in her mind. No, that wouldn't help – she couldn't be hysterical, after all, but calm. "But where will you be?"
"Front row," Enid promised, reaching to adjust one tiny flower over Gwen's right temple minutely. "I told Gwaine I'd stand by him. But you won't get nervous."
Won't I? Already am. "You watch out for Gwaine," she told her maid. "I've heard stories…"
Enid only smiled serenely. "The reputation is useful for discouraging the sort of girls he's not interested in," she told Gwen. "The ones with matrimonially-minded mothers. But he can be serious, and sweet – just ask Freya sometime."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Gwen said, as her maid opened the door.
"You'll be fine; I'll see you later," Enid said, giving her a proper curtsy and backing away, before leaving her to her father and brother.
"You're so beautiful," Lord Lionel murmured, kissing her cheek. "I wish your mother was here; she'd be so proud of you."
"Thank you," she whispered, blinking back tears. It helped to turn to Elyan, who shrugged a bit self-consciously.
"Better you than me," he said.
It was a relief to laugh, as her father tucked her hand into his elbow with a benign glare for Elyan, and began to lead her toward the great hall. "You mean, marrying Arthur?" she teased her brother over her shoulder.
"Marrying anyone at all," he said, with a doubtful grimace.
Lord Lionel was unperturbed. "It'll be your turn, someday, Elyan."
Before she was ready, they were at the double doors, flanked by two crimson-clad guards-of-honor. She took a deep breath to compose herself as they pushed the doors open with reverential decorum.
It was packed with people, all turned to stare at her.
The butterflies became hummingbirds.
"We're just behind you," her father said softly. "All the way, Guinevere."
She focused on the warm glow of polish on the wooden floorboards as she stepped forward, the gleam of the new window shedding rainbow light over the guests in the hall, the trumpet fanfare from the gallery announcing her progress. She was sure she was going to trip over her own shoes, or the train of the purple dress, or faint, or –
Why on earth had she thought herself capable of marriage, much less the responsibility of committing to a kingdom? And one day to be queen? Why hadn't someone shaken her awake before now? Perhaps she should turn and flee – so many strangers –
She lifted her eyes to the dais. Geoffrey of Monmouth was central, happily officious in his patient waiting for her arrival. Behind him were two thrones, ornately but elegantly carved, comfortably padded. Waiting also – and one for her. Ye gods, someone had made a mistake somewhere…
Two more thrones, placed to the sides and a pace or two back from the others. One for the Princess Morgana – beautiful in a green gown that Gwen knew would complement her eyes, her black waves of hair sleek under a royal circlet for the occasion, smiling contented encouragement to her, turning the smile on someone else in the front row of the audience. The sister she never had, maybe, and Gwen was glad to take a sister's place with the princess. In the other sat the king, dressed in reserved black-and-charcoal, one medallion hung around his neck, smiling also, but rather vacantly, remaining comfortably in the background.
It worked for several steps to concentrate on her father-in-law-to-be. He'd improved a great deal in the past months, and needed only two servants now. He was able to care for himself, hold a conversation, delighted to remember her from one visit to the next, but lived, Gwen privately thought, in a world of the senses, rather than the mind. Enjoying the sights and sounds and tastes of the world around him, without any desire to engage in his role – he would not be bothered with choices or decisions or meetings at all. Gwen thought that it suited Arthur now, after he'd grown accustomed to the changes in his father. As Prince Regent, he held full ruling authority, but in her opinion, it was a consolation to him to think he could depend on his father the king if absolutely necessary, he only chose not to. Gradually he would come to depend on the men around him, and gradually each would be at ease with as well as honored by the arrangement.
As he'd depend on her, maybe, ask her questions, expect… expect an heir. And oh, what if she disappointed him? He never doubted his choice of her, and she thought he would never voice his disappointment, but what if…
The hummingbirds were acting more like bats now. And perfect, if she was sick all over the polished floor and the beautiful gown and why the hell was this room so long?
Then she saw him.
At the foot of the stair of the dais, to the side of Geoffrey, dressed in full ceremonial finery – chainmail, flowing crimson cloak embroidered with the gold rampant dragon of Camelot – a fringe of his light hair falling over the prince's circlet on his head. The one ring on his finger the only other ornament he wore. He looked serious, solemn, nervous.
She longed to be at his side already, to smile the worry from his eyes – and then he saw her. The grin that spread across his face was uninhibited and beautiful and it made her feel beautiful and confident. He loved her, and she loved him. She trusted him, and he'd chosen her. And right now, nothing else mattered.
Gwen floated the last few yards to the stairs, and took the hand he offered to steady her. He didn't let go.
Geoffrey began the ceremony, "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen of Camelot and Lionys, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Arthur Pendragon and Lady Guinevere de Gransse." The blue of Arthur's eyes was perfect, and she had never felt so calm or so sure in all her life. Eager, almost. "Is it your wish, Prince Arthur, to become one with this woman?"
"It is," he said, and she could see that he was fighting the same sort of deep inner joy that she felt, to retain the gravitas necessary to the occasion.
"Is it your wish, Lady Guinevere, to become one with this man?"
For one second she remembered everything that becoming one entailed, and felt a flush sweep through her. One steadying breath, and she said firmly, "It is."
Arthur lifted their joined hands so that Geoffrey could begin to twine a length of flowering ivy around them. "With this garland, I do tie a knot, and by doing so, bind your hands and your hearts for all eternity."
Eternity. She quailed, briefly, watching the greenery hide her hand, and his. That was a long time. What if he changed his mind? Grew tired of her, bored of her, met someone else? What if she could not give him a son to raise to the throne?
His fingers pressed hers, and he said quietly, "I, Arthur Pendragon… I shall not seek to change thee in any way." His words were not repeated by rote, but spoken from the heart, and for her ears alone. "I shall respect thee, as I respect myself…"
She spoke before Geoffey could prompt her, answering the prince's promise. Doubts didn't matter. No one could know the future, or the heart of any other person – but she knew her heart. "I shall not seek to change thee in any way, I shall respect thee as I respect myself."
Geoffrey said, "I now pronounce you to be husband and wife."
Briefly she marveled, that was easy. Why was I so nervous? Then Arthur took her hand and turned her to face the crowd, and her heart lurched with uncertainty again. Crowd. And kingdom. So many people looking at her with such expectation.
Until she looked at the front row of guests.
Sir Leon and his own new bride, the charmingly unpolished Elena, her blonde hair a curly cloud around her head, beaming sunshine and joy and newlywed bliss on everyone around. Beside them, also hand in hand, the still-cynical Sir Tristan with his lady, her blonde braid still over one shoulder, her arch smile in place. Then Sir Lancelot, back from his estate on the western border, guarding Camelot from Odin, as perfectly beautiful and proper as he ever was – and looking right past her, as he always had. At a certain green-eyed princess, Gwen thought, with amusement and no jealousy. Then Percival, blocking the view for those behind him and grinning like a schoolboy. Gwaine – and Enid, as she'd said, the knight leaning over to whisper into the maid's ear. At least he wasn't whooping or whistling – and Enid blushed, giving him a smile that was closer to a grin than the calm-natured girl had worn within Gwen's memory.
Then Merlin and Freya. And she couldn't help smiling at the two. It wouldn't be long, she thought, before she and Arthur were applauding for them. They were so in love, a love uncomplicated and sweet and generous, yet still so calm and patient and sure. She and Arthur had discussed accompanying the young sorcerer on his annual later-autumn visit to his mother in Ealdor, but Gwen expected that Freya would be going with Merlin this year, and so perhaps she and Arthur would wait til another time.
To the other side, her father and Elyan standing a few paces out from the crowd, respectfully separate, as befit their rank. Her father hadn't minded – much – hearing of Elyan's joining Arthur's campaign to retake Camelot, and his wounding. She thought he considered it useful experience, and perhaps even approved of Elyan's increased confidence and directness in the administration of Lionys as well.
As the applause swelled, she felt Arthur tug on her hand, and glanced to see him smiling at her, turning to her as she to him, reaching to draw her into his arms, bending unhesitatingly for a kiss as she unreservedly lifted her mouth to meet his.
And what pleasure there was in kissing someone who enjoyed kissing her, too. There was love and longing and teasing there, in the way his lips moved on hers. And promise.
This is only the beginning, after all.
…..*…..
A/N: So there you have it! Hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed telling the story… Thanks to everyone who was supportive, in every way!
November is almost over, and I've crossed the NaNoWriMo finish line! 50 thousand words. But the story i'm telling is only about 1/3 finished. So. I have an idea for this Merlin A/U, to jump about 10 years into the future when they're all married with young families, but the Saxons start to invade (deal with Morgause, bring Cenred back into it, maybe the druids, Aithusa's destiny to fight the Saxons, maybe even Alator and Finna and that prophecy)... but I won't start any new Merlin stories until after my NaNo original story is finished. Which may not be until spring. If/when I do this, I'll add the first chapter of that one here, so everyone who's following can get that notification…
In the meantime, I'm probably going to start a different Merlin story arc, way A/U, adapted from an original I wrote years ago... in a few days…
And… Some dialogue from ep.3.12-13 "The Coming of Arthur," and 4.12-13 "The Sword in the Stone."