Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.


Scribe Notes:

Calliann: You bet, he is a sweet boy, and very thankful. I am glad you like him! He really reminds Cerys of someone, and that endears him even more to her. Here is your update, thank you so much for your enthusiasm for chapter 22! I was unsure of how to play out their meeting, and I rewrote it three different ways. The posted chapter obviously won, but... I have some backups in my pocket for future ideas. The joys of creativity!

Sokorra Lewis: Your excitement for my story humbles me. You make me happy when you tell me how much you like my words. Star Wars is good, but the actor who playsAnakin, I find him rather dull. I will of course go see it in theatres. I do love Ewan MacGregor. Rowr...

LovelyHeidi: Mint in wine is very nice, I like it in Sangria too! Back then, wine was rather harsh and potent, not like our lovely "art creations in a bottle" today. If you ever get a chance, try mulled wine with some spices. It's delicious! I am glad you like Brinn. He is an integral part of Cerys' life now. Thank you again for your kind words of encouragement!

Ailis-70: I loved Ganises accent in the movie, he was so cockney! I had to try and bring it out in words. Wouldn't you love to get a hand on the script to see how they wrote that line he gives Arthur about his arse slapping the ground? (I think, he's got such a thick accent to catch every word) It makes me roar every time I hear it.

Galahad calls the fort home now because he has more than just a duty there. He has friends, freedom to choose, and Dory! You will understand more about this soon, I promise.

I drive an hour one way to work every day, and I also get excited when I am on the home stretch. I remember driving long distances to visit boyfriends, and being excited when I neared their home, and again when I neared my home, when I returned. Home should be a place to make you happy to be alive, as this place is for our Knights.

Their friendship is going to speed up now a bit, and I will attempt to keep my smut tasteful and exciting. You bet everyone else sees it. Isn't that always the way?

Thank you again for your wonderful reviews. Here are two chapters for you! Enjoy!


Chapter 23: King's Confidantes

The next few days had been utter chaos as the wagons and troops had made it home, as well as Octus and his small band. Cerys had been run off her feet fetching food, bedding, seeing to re­pair work, storing of wagons for the winter. Some of the men were injured and Dafydd was as busy tending to cuts and wounds that had festered in the long walk from Dewyr to the fort. He also treated as many blistered feet as an army could produce. The older healer spent his short breaks massaging his own back muscles from bending over footbaths to peel layers of skin off heels, dirt and gravel out of the bottoms of soles.

Cerys had assigned some of the younger boys to help the healer with more regular tasks, and Bors was lucky enough to have his own wounds bandaged by two of his children. During htose moments, Lorina and the rest of the brood would lcear out of the rooms, lest Bors' swearing reached all their ears. It was the source of much teasing from the men, for Bors.

Cerys had stopped into her rooms quickly to change into some dry woolen socks; hers soaked through from the new snow that had fallen that morning. She sat for a moment on the bed and rubbed her tired face.

Dinner that first night had been cut short by the arrival of the rest of the men, and they had not stopped their work to celebrate since. In truth, she had not even had time to speak with Arthur, or spend much time with anyone for that matter. Octus was a kind man, but he was very Roman, and he and his men had hogged the baths since they arrived, and been very demanding guests. She hoped that they would settle in to the way of life here before too long, or it would be a long winter, cheek to jowl with these extra men.

She thought on how wonderful it would be to soak in the hot baths water, to ease some of the tiredness in her muscles. At that thought, she flopped back onto her bed, her hands above her, her eyes closing. If just for a moment, it felt good to not move.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Arthur was in his rooms with his wife, leaning back on the wall beside the bed, alternately watch­ing her sew one of his tunics and flipping through a book about aqueducts.

He was thinking of trying to build one across the small river close by so they could use the farm­land on the other side, and perhaps help to divert some irrigation into a new channel he planned to dig for their existing farmland. So much planning for next summer, he hoped that he would be able to spend time at home to over see it! Perceval had an eye for architecture; perhaps he should put him in charge of construction. Or Galahad, he could be good for motivating people. He got lost in thought for a moment, dreaming of peace and his friends being able to share it with him.

He blinked and rubbed his forehead, putting the book aside. He could not concentrate after what Guinevere had told him about Cerys and her hands anyways. The daft woman had gone and worked herself so hard that she had collapsed with hands so blistered she could not even pick up her own tally sticks! He only saw that kind of behaviour in soldiers who were battle worn and catatonic while marching. He would see bloody stumps of feet on some of them, not real­izing they were walking on raw flesh, their sandals long since worn away. They truly stopped feeling, their spirits giving up after long battle and long walking, their goal of home or their death the only thing driving them forward.

What had she been thinking?

Guinevere's tongue stuck out, her brow furrowed as she knotted the string. Guinevere's skill was not at sewing, but she was trying to please her husband and to keep her hands busy while they rested.

"So you're saying she just collapsed?" He said, frowning.

Guinevere nodded, fingers pulling up on thread, then pushing down through the soft cloth. She pricked her finger and yelped.

"Yes... the poor girl had worked herself to exhaustion, not eating, not sleeping." She said, finger in mouth. She pulled it out and continued her line of stitches, knotting the string once more. She sighed in frustration and put the tunic aside, brushing hair out of her face.

Arthur shook his head and sighed also, his hands steepling and pressing to his lips. "What am I to do with her? She tries to run this place single-handedly; she is so stubborn I can't reason with her. I need her but..."

"Arthur, she nearly died. It is no longer a matter of her being stubborn."

His head came up with that statement and he met his wife's eyes, alarmed.

"Died?"

"Yes. If we hadn't gotten to her hands to stop infection, and given her willow bark to ease her fever, another day and her hands would have been septic."

He swallowed hard, moving his eyes from his wife to the window in their rooms. Dead.

His cousin. She was his only blood family left. He could feel a lump in his throat starting, and his chest tightening. He could witness countless deaths by his own hand on the battlefield, yet her death made him scared beyond what any sword could. He felt a hand on his arm, and Guin­evere settled herself up on the bed beside him.

"All is well now. Since, she has been more relaxed. I think she is afraid of letting herself feel." Guinevere said, her body now cuddled against his, the heat from her warming his side.

He sighed and put an arm around her, pulling her closer onto his lap. Guinevere was such com­fort to him. He bent his forehead to her, resting it on the top of her head.

"She throws herself to work while you and the men are gone. She does so to block out her thoughts. She is afraid to let herself feel lonely and... well, afraid to let herself feel what we all feel, at least outwardly." Guinevere added, her hand coming to rest on his chest, playing with his tunic strings.

"And what is that, wife?" He asked, his eyes opening to regard her through her hair. She shifted slightly so their foreheads met, her eyes close to his.

"Helpless to know whether you will ride home triumphant, or under a cloak dressed for burial."

He grimaced at that and held her tighter. He knew how hard it was for her to watch him leave each time, not knowing. He could see the evidence of her temper with the dented covers on his books, the neatness of their rooms that she would tidy over and over again. His heart broke each time, yet he was as helpless to ease her pain as she was to stop him from leaving. He forced his own emotions down. He would speak with Cerys later.

"My books bear the brunt of your feeling then?" He said, wanting to lighten their mood. There was time later to talk on this; he wanted to enjoy his wife, to see her smile. Truthfully, her close­ness to him at that moment reminded him of how much he desired her, and how wonderful it was to have her close to him again.

She giggled under his gaze, her hands coming up to his face. "I had hoped you would not notice if I stacked them neatly."

He slowly lowered her to the bed, his elbows resting on either side of her head, his hands in her hair, stroking softly. He kissed her, their eyes never leaving one another. He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, to her ear, breathing softly on her skin. Her hands came to his hair, tan­gling softly behind his head as she held him closer and moaned softly.

"I always notice. I do not mind." He whispered.

He looked to her eyes again, and she then reached up and kissed him. He took the invitation. It was so very good to be home.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

A hand on Cerys' shoulder woke her with a start.

"Cousin, are you unwell?" Arthur's deep voice, soft and concerned echoed to her. She blinked and looked into his eyes, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Arthur! No, I am fine, just a rest that, I think, lasted longer than I wanted. What hour is it?" She replied, sitting up, rubbing at her eyes. The room was dark, sounds from the common echoing off walls. It was evening; she had slept for most of the afternoon!

He smiled and pulled up a footstool to sit, and gestured with his hands for her to sit as well, as she attempted to rise. Concern gave way to a smile, and he rested, his huge bulk barely fitting on his seat, his knees touching elbows. Cerys thought he looked rather funny sitting on such a small thing and she giggled.

"I can remember when you would be dwarfed by the other boys. You grew into such a big, strong man." She patted his arm, then tucked her legs under her on the bed.

He shifted on the seat and made a face to her, fully aware her comment was to that of his large frame folded on the footstool. They chatted then, a bit on the day's activity. They discussed set­ting a schedule for the baths, and how to ration the stores a bit better. Cerys had already dele­gated Guinevere and herself as key holders, to make sure that what they had would not get spread unevenly amongst the people. Arthur asked her opinion on building the aqueduct, her thoughts about Perceval being good for the job echoing his.

Cerys relaxed. It was good to have the men home, and she had missed so much these chats with her cousin. He seemed happy and relaxed this evening. She was glad for it.

"Cerys, Guinevere told me about your hands." He said suddenly, his eyes dropping to her lap, her hands resting amongst her skirts.

Cerys looked at them, wiggling the fingers. Only her middle finger on her left hand would not move, but she had feeling, so it was a matter of the tendons healing fully and she would be able to wiggle it again as well. She sobered, and folded them back to her lap.

Damn... here it would come, the lecture. She had been waiting for this, and she was thankful it was while they were alone, and not amongst company. She had already had chastisement from Bors, Perceval, Gawain... She supposed she deserved it, being so foolish, she thought. She sighed.

"Yes. I... It was a hard harvest, and we all worked much too hard." She finally said.

He nodded, and took her right hand in his, looking to her face and catching her eyes. She saw concern come back again, and he tightened his grip slightly, clearing his throat.

"You are never allowed to work yourself so hard again. When Guinevere told me of your col­lapse, and your hands being so... so hurt..." He grimaced and stopped, his throat working, his eyes looking away from her.

"Arthur?" She asked, leaning forward, her left hand going to his chin, raising it up again. She could see pain in his eyes and it made her heart lurch. "Arthur! What is it?"

Arthur blinked. Arthur was about to cry.

Cerys did not know what to do. Why was he so upset? Her hands would heal, she was able to work... She raised herself off the bed and came towards him, kneeling to be closer her cousin, her friend, her family for so long. She wished to do anything to stop his pain.

"Cerys, I cannot carry all this on my own." He croaked, his eyes suddenly watering, his hand coming out to gesture in the air. "I have my wife, I have my closest friends, I am a king, what­ever that means... but I cannot handle any of it if you are not here to guide me."

She reached both hands to his cheeks, her small fingers splaying out across the fresh stubble. She looked to his eyes once more, and she forced a small smile. They were just blisters… Nothing more. She wished she could help him understand.

"I am not going anywhere." She said, gaining conviction. "I have healed, and I will be by your side no matter what."

He covered her hands with his, and he shook his head slightly. "You mean so much to me Cerys, you are all my family. I cannot bear to lose you as I have lost so many..."

"And you will not! Arthur, you should not worry so! They are just blisters!"

"Cousin, I love you. I pray that you will be more careful. Guinevere told me that they worried for your life, you were fevered! I cannot think about burying you out in our cemetery as I have done so many others."

Cerys nodded at that. She knew that he had indeed buried so many of his fellow knights, his parents, her parents. He had seen so much death, so much needless waste of life on the battle­field. They all had. She wondered how the knights handled it sometimes. Her thoughts flitted to Gawain and his nightmares, Tristan and his silence, Lancelot and his carousing. Some of their coping abilities she did know, she supposed.

She wrapped her arms about him.

"We have all buried too many loved ones. Please... Arthur, I am fine."

She could feel his strong arms fold about her as he too dropped to his knees, bringing his large frame level with her smaller one.

Arthur's emotions broke with their embrace.

His pent up tears flowed freely, soaking her shoulder as they kneeled. Cerys rocked him slowly, her hands rubbing small circles into his back. Agan, she was reminded of him as a young boy. She remembered how she had held him when his father had died, for hours as he cried, her own tears falling softly onto the top of his shiny black hair, her own grief resonating with his. Now, his grief reached so far beyond hers, she knew he had held in so much, for so long.

Arthur rarely shed tears, rarely let himself show weakness. In that, they were so much alike. Perhaps, as she learned while she was healing, he too could learn to be more aware of his need to grieve. She thought now was not the best time to discuss, so she pushed the thought out of her head.

He broke the hug, his eyes clearing. He brushed them with his tunic sleeve, a rueful smile now playing to his lips. He sat back on his thighs and began to rise.

"I am sorry cousin."

"Sorry? For what? Arthur, you know never to apologize for needing my comfort." She said soft­ly, standing with him and straightening her skirts.

He nodded. A hand on her shoulder told her all she needed to know. Her hand came and rested on top of it.

"But you are never allowed to work yourself so hard again. Guinevere was quite adamant that I speak with you about it."

Cerys laughed at that. Guinevere or Arthur? she thought to herself.

"I have been unable to get out from under her or Lorina's ministrations since. Brinn has been my assistant in carrying things; Nimli will not let me lift... You have no worries Arthur."

He smiled at that and winked. "Then I shall let them be my eyes."

Cerys wrinkled her nose at the comment and decided to change the subject. Enough talk about injury and death. She wished to think on lighter things.

"Dinner should be started soon, and I am quite hungry. Are you as well?"

Arthur nodded and moved to open her door. She stepped towards the opening, pausing as she did so. She wrapped her arms about his waist as she loved to do, her chin resting on his chest to look upwards.

"You really have gotten much too tall you know." She giggled, squeezing.

He truly smiled then, his humour returned. He put his arm about her shoulders and they walked towards the hall arm in arm.


Dear Reader:

I really wanted to try a scene with Arthur's thoughts, and Cerys and Arthur dealing with her hands. I also wanted Arthur to open up a bit, Irarely see that in the other stories. He is a passionate man, but he holds it all in. The dam burst when he thought of Cerys dieing.

I hope it worked, and I was able to show the level of familiarity that Arthur has for both his wife and his cousin, both in different ways, of course. And can you not just see Clive's green eyes full of desire? Yum.

On to the next chapter, which is much less heavy, and much more fun. I promise. I was in a good mood while writing it, I hope that it shows through!

Cardeia