Pale, beyond porch and portal,

Crowned with calm leaves she stands

Who gathers all things mortal

With cold immortal hands

- The Garden of Proserpine, Algernon Charles Swinburne

She had felt the quickening.

That morning's council had been held at the round table rather than in the council chamber, and she had been listening to Sir Leon's report of suspected sorcery in the lower town. Over three months had passed since Arthur's death, and while Gwen was resolved to lift the ban on magic she heeded her council's advice not to do so immediately. Change of such magnitude, they argued, could not be brought about so quickly when the populace still held magic in suspicion and fear. The reveal of Merlin as a sorcerer and his promotion to chief advisor may give some cause to wonder if she had been enchanted.

No, Gwen had agreed to take matters slowly, to consider all possibilities and form the best plan for the return of magic. It did however leave her with a legal and moral quandary - technically sorcery was still outlawed so they were bound to investigate any allegations or suspicious activity. But she could not in good conscience enforce a law she had every intention to repeal.

Therefore if use of magic had been discovered but was benign in nature, Gwen's unofficial position was to consider it unable to be proven, and the practitioner set free.

Thankfully, there had been no use of magic considered threatening, and she was relieved to hear Leon's report that the allegations of sorcery by the potter had simply been mischief by some local urchins in over-stoking his kiln.

That was when she had felt a slight fluttering in her belly that she at first mistook for hunger pangs, since she hadn't been able to face breakfast that morning. But when it happened again she realised that the sensation was too low, more akin to the cramping of her monthly blood and for a moment she feared something was wrong, that she was losing the baby as she had before. But it was not the sharp, tearing pain she had felt in the past; it felt like life stirring inside her, rather than withering away. Still, she wasn't about to take the chance.

"Excuse me, my lords." She'd risen from her seat, cutting Leon off mid-sentence. "I am feeling slightly unwell," she added, resisting the urge to place a protective hand over her belly, not wanting any of them to worry. It would not be the first time she'd needed to excuse herself from the privy council, and they would assume she was again troubled by morning sickness.

"Merlin," she turned to her friend where he was seated by Arthur's empty chair. "Perhaps you could attend me?"

She'd left Leon to run the privy council in her place and hurried to the physician's chambers. Although Merlin had been granted separate living quarters, he'd chosen to remain working at Gaius' side, claiming his own corner in the room where he had set out his sorcerer's books and instruments. It was there she sat while he crouched down and examined her, long fingers splayed across her ever so slightly rounded belly, whispering the old words. His eyes lit up momentarily and although she'd seen it before, it took some getting used to to fight against the instinctive aversion to magic. But she trusted Melin implicitly, and knew he would never do her harm.

"You're fine Gwen." He looked up at her and grinned. "So is the baby. You're both perfectly healthy."

"Thank the gods." She breathed a sigh of relief. "You must think I'm silly."

"Of course not." Merlin pulled up a stool to sit before her. "It never hurts to check."

"I'm lucky to have you to help me." She took his hands. "Otherwise I think I'd go mad with worry."

"We'll do this together," Merlin promised. "Well...obviously not everything, you'll be doing all of the hard work of course…" He glanced at her belly, and it made her smile to see him fluster.

"But I'll, you know, fetch you drinks," he added, "and whatever you want to eat, and listen to you complain...it will be just like being Arthur's servant again." He laughed, but it died quickly, and his gaze slid away from hers. It had been the pattern of the past months; one of them would mention Arthur fondly, only for their grief to intrude and sour the memory.

Gwen squeezed his hands. "I wish he was here to share this with us."

Arthur had longed to be a father, and been terribly grieved when she'd miscarried. He'd tried to remain strong for her, take care of her, had held her in his arms and soothed her anguished cries, kissed her forehead and brushed the tears from her cheeks. Later, when he thought she'd drifted off to sleep, she heard him crying softly with a grief he could not let show. He'd wanted to be her comfort and take her burdens for a change, but that meant he'd suffered alone.

"I fear I'm a poor replacement," Merlin said, drawing her attention back.

"No, don't say that," she admonished him. "I'm so grateful to have you here with me, and not to fetch me drinks!"

"Still, it's not the same, is it? I..." Merlin's voice was soft. "I grew up without a father. I would not wish it on anyone."

"We will tell this child of their father," Gwen promised to herself as much as anyone. "You and me, who knew Arthur best. We will make sure his son or daughter knows him through us."

"Oh." Merlin gave a nervous laugh. "I can tell you if you like. Which one it is."

Gwen was taken aback, drawing back her hands and pressing them to her belly. "You could sense it?"

Merlin shrugged. "I hope you don't mind, when I was...checking everything was alright. It was kind of unavoidable."

"Go on then," she promoted him with a smile. "I can't have you knowing when I don't."

Merlin's smile widened into a grin. "It's a boy," he told her. "A new Pendragon prince."

Rather than happiness, Gwen felt a surge of unexpected sorrow. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could protect the child inside from the world and all its weights and expectations. A boy would always be compared to his father, and Gwen had known how heavily that burden had fallen on Arthur, how it had made him second guess his instincts and doubt his heart. The expectations on her son would be even greater, for Arthur had been beloved where Uther had been only feared, he had united a fractured kingdom and had given his life for the sake of his people. The first Pendragon king had been a conqueror, the second a true ruler, and only time would tell what the third may be.

"Gwen?" Merlin touched her arm lightly. "It will be alright, you are past the most dangerous time now."

She rose and turned away. "There will never be a time this child is not in danger." Her chest felt tight and she put a hand to her throat, willing it not to close over.

"It didn't quite feel real until now," she added. "I never...made it this far before." Her previous pregnancies had all failed long before the quickening, she had never felt a child stir inside her, that fluttering in her belly that meant it had taken root in her womb.

"I understand." Merlin rose but seemed unsure as to whether to move forward and embrace her.

"Assassins and enemies, jousting, other lords challenging him to prove a point." How many times had Arthur's life been in danger from such things? At one point it seemed every week there was a new threat to be faced. "Not to mention all other harms that could befall him - illness and injury, magical creatures and beasts…" That was, if she made it through childbirth, which was never certain.

"He'll have me to protect him," Merlin promised. "And I won't have to hide my magic, so maybe it will be easier. I mean, I can't stop him from stubbing his toe or anything like that, but I think I'll have most things covered."

Gwen laughed, her tensions easing. She could always count on Merlin's irreverence to lift her spirits - in many ways he was still that boy in the stocks almost enjoying getting pelted by vegetables.

She looked around the room; it had changed little in all the years Merlin had occupied it with Gaius. When she had still been Morgana's maid she would often bring her sewing and sit beside Merlin at the main table as he'd polished armour, she working her needle on her lady's fine dresses, and he his scrub brush on his lord's metal and plate. It had often been a companionable silence, the simple pleasure of another's company as they carried out their respective duties.

Sometimes she would hum in time to the swish of her needle, and he would join her even if he didn't know the tune, but somehow they would end up singing in harmony. Other times they would share court gossip or the details of their day, often ending up in fits of laughter that eased their labours.

"Do you remember," she asked him, "when were still servants?"

Merlin laughed and tugged at the neck of his brand new tunic. "Well, it wasn't that long ago for me."

"Sometimes I miss it," she said wistfully, running her fingertips along the well-worn tabletop. "It wasn't easy work, but you always knew what was required of you, what your duty was."

"And now you're required to decide the duty of others," Merlin nodded.

" We must decide," she corrected him. "We're partners, Merlin, in this business of running the kingdom."

"We always were, in a way." Merlin took a seat at the table, and Gwen sat down beside him where she always had. He had no armour to clean and she no mending to be done, and yet it did not feel so very different.

"You would always be in a flurry," she remembered warmly. "On the verge of some disaster or another, needing my help with your schemes."

"And you always helped me." Merlin put an arm around her shoulders. "Even if sometimes you didn't know why."

"I trusted you," she said simply, leaning into him. Whatever secrets he'd kept and excuses he made for strange behaviour, she'd never doubted his good intentions or that he had good reasons for asking something of her.

"Trust me now." He kissed her temple and squeezed her shoulder. "Share your good news with the kingdom, and we'll face whatever dangers come one day at a time."

Day had not yet dawned, but already Gwen sat on her throne, giving court to the dark and empty chamber. She always wore her gown of Pendragon red for ceremonial engagements, and the coming day would be no different even though it meant abandoning her mourning black.

Arthur had loved the dress, particularly the wide, daring neckline that exposed her shoulders. Whenever she wore it he joked that no one could possibly pay attention to him while she was in the room, and kissed her bare shoulder with a warmth sure to linger on her skin while they gave he'd insist on crowning her with circlet of ruby and gold he'd had made after her coronation, to mark Guinevere out as his consort even on less formal occasions when her full crown was not appropriate.

The latter was what she wore now; in full regalia that felt like armour for the serving girl queen.

She didn't much care for it, the crown made her Camelot's queen and her circlet simply Arthur's. But she also understood the value of tradition, and bearing the crown worn by all the queens of Camelot before her.

Her predecessor of course, being Morgana. It was the desire never to let Gwen wear the crown she considered rightfully hers that had turned her old friend against her. It was a wound still fresh even so many years later, to know that a mere vision of Gwen on the throne had pushed Morgana into such a jealous rage she'd tried to have her killed. Her lady, who had always loved and championed Gwen, would have happily watched her burn at the stake to safeguard what she saw as her own birthright.

It made Guinevere want to tear the crown from her own head and cast it into the sea.

But before Morgana, the crown had been Ygraine's, and she could never reject such a precious heirloom. Arthur had so little of his mother as remembrance, and she'd discovered long ago how deeply he cherished those few tokens.

She knocked quietly on the door to Arthur's chambers, half hoping he wouldn't answer.

"Come," returned his voice quite clearly so she had no excuse, and steeling herself, Gwen pushed open the door and entered.

She'd only been in Arthur's room a few times before, most notably as nurse when he'd been wounded by the Questing Beast. But that was before he began to look at her as anyone other than Morgana's maid, before he'd kissed her, before he'd dared wildereen caves to save her...before he'd made it clear that nothing could ever happen between them.

Clutching the plate she carried, Gwen's eyes scanned the room and found Arthur seated at the desk to the rear of the chamber, in front of the great windows. Only a moment she allowed her gaze to linger, the afternoon sun alighting the golden crown of his hair. But sorrow invaded his handsome face as he stared into the middle distance, his thoughts clearly far from the parchments before him. He leaned on the desk with one elbow, right hand lightly clenched near his face as his thumb twisted a ring around his forefinger.

Gwen crossed the room to where he sat, but he didn't look up even when she stood directly before him.

"Sire?"

He lifted his gaze and started. "Guinevere."

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said quickly.

"Quite alright." He sat up to attention, shuffling the parchment on his desk and picking up a quill as if it would give the impression he had been busy.

"Merlin asked me to bring your lunch," she indicated the plate in her hand, "I'm afraid he was detained."

Arthur scoffed. "Where is that layabout off to now?"

"He didn't say." Gwen shifted the plate to one hand and with the other moved the freshly shuffled parchment to clear a spot on the surface of the desk. "But he was keen to stress that it was not the tavern."

She put the plate of food down in front of him and checked the silver pitcher on the desk. Seeing it still half full, she poured wine into his goblet as Arthur watched her and grimaced.

"Well wherever he is, he shouldn't have asked you to do this."

"Why not?" she said, feigning ignorance. "I'm a servant, just as he is."

"You're not the same at all." Briefly his gaze flittered over her and she felt warm. "I mean," his eyes snapped back to her face. "You're Morgana's...companion. Not mine."

"I'm her maid," she corrected him, slightly annoyed. Was it so shameful for him to be attracted to a servant that he had to reframe her position in his mind?

"Right." He looked down at his food, and then back up at her. "Thank you Guinevere"

Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel a tug in her heart whenever he said her name. She'd always said she was Gwen to her friends, and yet somehow it had meant so much more when Arthur had abandoned that familiar name for her full, formal one. But from his lips, in that tone of voice, it seemed anything but formal.

"I'm sorry Merlin wasted your no doubt valuable time, and trust me, he'll hear about it later." He threw down his quill, rose and walked to the open window. "I'm afraid I'm just not very hungry today."

That was her cue to leave - a clear dismissal and her chance to escape. And yet there was something about the sorrow that hung around him; she so desperately wanted to give him comfort for whatever was causing him pain.

"Is everything alright, my Lord?"

There was a visible tensing of the muscles in his back and shoulders as he continued to stare through the casement. He did not answer, but gave an unconvincing nod which made Gwen move to stand beside him. She looked up at his profile; the sun must be stinging his eyes but he did not blink, nor acknowledge her presence beside him. His arms were half-crossed, and he was twisting his ring again, a three-tiered band of silver and gold.

"That's a beautiful ring," she observed. "I've always thought so."

Arthur looked down at his hand and grimaced, folding his arms so the ring was hidden in the crook of his elbow

"It was my mother's."

Of course, she should have guessed - he wore it on the same finger as a woman wore her betrothal ring. Gwen felt painfully awkward for having asked - rumors had been flying around the court for days about a fight in the council chambers between the King and Prince Arthur. Some had said the prince wanted Uther to grant him a regency and sought to prove his claim through single combat, others dismissed it as a mere sparring session, albeit in an unusual location. But Gwen had overheard some of the palace guards saying that Arthur had blamed Uther for his mother's death, and had tried to kill him. Gwen hadn't given it any credence, but now was not so sure and regretted intruding on a private matter between Arthur and his father.

"I'm sorry," she said and took a step back, "if I spoke out of turn."

"You did, but don't be sorry." He gave her a smile that made her heart flutter. "I never seem to mind it when you do."

Gwen bit her lip, trying to clamp down on the sudden rush of feeling and reminding herself yet again that she couldn't let herself read anything into Arthur's sweet words; no matter what was said, or felt, nothing could come of it but a broken heart.

He turned back to the window and the moment passed. and Gwen was about to leave when he spoke again.

"Morgause showed me a vision through magic, and claimed it was my mother."

Surprised and pleased by his cantor, Gwen took a step towards him again. "A vision?"

"She said...that my father had sought the assistance of magic when she could not conceive a child. That...her life had been given in exchange for mine."

Gwen was shocked, her own father's death had been in part due to sorcery, and he too had been innocent. She put a hand on Arthur's arm in comfort and solidarity.

"I could have killed him," Arthur's voice shook. "I was going to kill him. I had my sword to his throat...until Merlin helped me see that it was all a lie, a trick by Morgause to sow discord between is."

She squeezed his arm lightly, and he turned to her and started as if he'd only just realised what he'd said.

"I shouldn't have told you that. Guinevere, I…"

"I won't tell a soul," she promised him, squeezing his arm again. "So your father…"

"Denied everything," Arthur said firmly. "He...almost wept when he told me of his grief over her death."

"He must have truly loved her," Gwen mused. "All these years later, and he never remarried even though I'm sure he was advised to."

It was never spoken about, that the king had only one son to succeed him, a son whose life was in near constant danger. For Uther not to marry again in hopes of siring more heirs spoke to Guinevere of a love that was deep and abiding. Whatever else the king was, he had that one virtue.

"Trolls excepted," Arthur said with the quirk of a smile. "But yes, I think his grief would not allow him to love again."

"Except you," Gwen pointed out and drew slightly closer. "I think he sees her on you, Arthur. I once heard Gaius say once that she was very kind, and beloved of all."

"I don't know," Arthur said glumly. "I never knew her, and my father...well it pains him too much to speak of her." He looked out the window again wistfully. "At least I got to see her."

But Gwen saw the flaw in his words. "I thought…" she paused, but found she could not hold her tongue. "I thought you said this vision wasn't real?"

"I…" Arthur's voice faltered, his brow creasing. "I don't know what the truth is anymore."

She wondered if on reflection the vision hadn't been so easy to dismiss, and couldn't absolve his father of responsibility despite his love for the former queen. But if so it seemed Arthur's anger had also cooled and he found himself unwilling to pick up his sword again, finding ease in ignorance.

Or perhaps indecision was what was causing his consternation.

"You wouldn't have killed him," Gwen said, in case it was. "Even if it had been the truth. You are a good man Arthur, you wouldn't strike another down in hate or revenge, even if they had wronged you."

He gave her that warm look again, the corner of his mouth turning up. "It wasn't so long ago you had a different opinion of me."

She flushed and ducked her head. "I've always thought you were a good man."

"Just arrogant, stuck up," he counted them off on his fingers, "rude, pig-headed-"

"I'm sure I never said pigheaded!" Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, that's right, it was that I sounded like a pig…"

Flooded with embarrassment, she chewed on her thumbnail in what had always been a nervous habit. But he was grinning, no doubt enjoying making her nervous. Well, she wasn't about to let him get away with that.

"Well.." She looked up at him coyly. "You did."

He laughed heartily, taking her hand away from her mouth. She could feel the cold metal of his ring against her bare fingers as he stared at her for a few long moments, his gaze lingering on her now unobstructed lips.

Gwen heart began to beat faster; he was going to kiss her, a determined, purposeful kiss this time, not the spur of the moment impulse he'd had in her home. And not only was she was going to let him, she was going to return it rather than standing there stunned, and find out if there was more to the tantalising leap in her belly she'd felt last time before he'd pulled away.

He was so close, Gwen could feel the warmth radiating off him as he leaned in, and she lifted herself slightly on her toes to breach the final distance...

But the door slammed open and Gwen jumped back, looking fearfully across the room. If anyone found them…

"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed at the intruder. "Get out!"

"Trust me, whatever you're doing this is more important." Merlín crossed the room in flurry and fluster, before he caught sight of them and stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh."

Gwen took several steps back, hands pressed to her burning cheeks and trying not to look at either of them.

"Well," Merlin grinned. "Maybe not more important…"

"We weren't doing anything," Gwen looked at the floor. "II was just leaving." She went to the table to retrieve the plate, but realising it was still full put it back almost immediately. Feeling foolish, she looked around for something else to take with her.

"Guinevere, don't go." Arthur's voice was an entreaty, but she dared not look at him.

"No, no, I've errands to run." Gwen backed towards the door wringing her hands. "And Merlin says he's got something important, I'm sure it needs your attention."

Merlin shot her an apologetic look, no doubt intending to tease her mercilessly later ("I only asked you to take him lunch, Gwen, not be his lunch!") but his jitters indicated that he did indeed need Arthur's attention, so Gwen retreated quickly, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart and reminding herself that it was for the best.

Guinevere twisted her own betrothal ring around her finger, interlaced knotting engraved into the simple silver band. Arthur had designed it himself, and told her that he felt their hearts were intertwined in the same way, stronger together, and unable to be separated. Even in death, it seemed, for every time she saw it on her finger she felt the care he'd taken with it, the very symbol of his steadfast love.

Ygraine's ring that Arthur had worn so reverently was locked away with Gwen's other treasures. Should she give it to her son when he was old enough, so he could wear it and think of his father as Arthur had thought of his mother?

But Gwen vowed the child would have more than a single keepsake. She would not be like Uther, jealously guarding her grief so she was unable to share even the memory with the son that would never know him. No, her child would never have to wonder, as Arthur had, would never need to hide his own yearning for his mother's sake. Uther had tried to forget; Guinevere only wanted to remember.

Sir Leon entered the throne room as the sun crested the distant mountains, first light gently warming the cold stone. The even place of his boots echoed through the chamber, and as he approached Gwen noticed he too was formally dressed in gleaming chainmail and best red cloak.

"My Lady," he stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne and bowed. "Your maid said you have been here for hours already."

"I wanted to prepare," she told him, bracing her elbows on the armrests of her throne and looking out into the chamber.

"All will be well," he assured her. "The nobles will be overjoyed with your news."

"No doubt." She gave a brief glance to the empty throne beside her own. "But I have another announcement to make, and it is only fair to warn you this time."

"That you're lifting the ban on magic." Leon did not seem surprised. "I think that is wise my Lady."

Gwen smiled, pleased that he had not made the expected arguments. "You think so?"

"They have to be told eventually, so why not at the same time as news that will bring great joy?" he nodded. "It is clever, and therefore exactly what I would expect from your Majesty."

It still felt odd for Leon to address her so, she'd grown up in the service of his mother's household, so she felt the elevation of status over him more keenly than with the others. But she'd given up trying to persuade him from using such titles, for above all he valued loyalty, duty, and protocol.

"You don't think I should have discussed it with the council?"

Leon cleared his throat, glancing towards the round table at the rear of the chamber. "I hope you value our advice, my Lady. It is good and worthy to seek the opinion of others, to sit at that table where each voice is equal, and listen to arguments from all sides."

He gestured to her throne. "But when you sit here, you are the Queen, and the decision is always yours. You must also show your people the strength of your convictions."

"Uther certainly knew that well enough," she mused. "He decreed that sorcery be outlawed, and so it was done." All that pain and suffering, the purges and slaughter, the oppression and persecution, all because he struck a bargain for what he wanted most and cried foul when the price wasn't what he'd expected.

"It was because of Queen Ygraine, did you know that?" She looked down at Leon, needing to shed her burdens a little. "Uther wanted a son, and her life was the price - although he didn't know that until afterwards."

"I was but a child." Leon said, slowly climbing the steps up to her throne. "But I have heard rumours."

"It was grief for Ygraine that made Uther decide to remove magic from Camelot." Gwen twisted her ring again. "And my grief for Arthur that made me decide to bring it back."

Leon had reached her throne and knelt down on one knee before her, as always adhering to the necessary protocol.

"So is my decision as blinded by sorrow as his?" she looked to Leon for answers.

"Don't second-guess yourself my Lady," Leon said softly. "Uther sought retribution, and you, I believe, seek rectification. One is a decision made from hate, and the other love."

It was as close as Leon had ever come to criticising his former King, and Gwen was touched by his words and faith in her.

"Some would argue that one is the decision of a strong king, and the other a weak woman." She trusted her knights, but what of the populace, what of the nobility, some of whom still sneered at the peasant playing at being queen?

"Then they would be wrong," Leon told her firmly. "Arthur knew the strength you have, my Lady. That's why he trusted you with his kingdom."

She wanted to embrace him for his kindness and faith, but knew it would only embarrass him. So instead she held out her hand, and he gently grasped it to give her a kiss of fealty.

"Thank you Leon," she said when he hand was returned to her. "I'm ready now."

The bells outside rang, and the city gates were opened. It wasn't long before Camelot was teeming with people, far more than would ever fit inside the castle, let alone the throne room where she was to give her audience. Rumours had spread of the Queen's proclamation, and there was excitement brewing throughout the city wondering what it could be. Gwen was glad Percival had suggested revels and other entertainments, so the people could celebrate once they heard the news. She could only hope there was still cause for it once she made her second announcement.

The nobility entered the chamber in their finery, and took their positions near the front. But Guinevere did not wish to be Queen for the rich alone, and so had invited a selection of common folk from the lower town, as well as guests from villages throughout the kingdom, that they might act as messengers back to their homes and spread her good news quickly.

Of course many of the nobles seemed to take their presence as an affront, and it amused her to see the dark looks and whispered discussions towards the crowd behind them. She had also extended an invitation to those the nobility would likely find even more distasteful, but they had yet to appear.

Gwen craned her neck to see to the rear of the chamber. "The Druids?" she asked Leon, who was standing next to her throne in his formal position.

"I'm sorry my Lady." He dipped his head so as not to be overheard. "We sent envoys and promised safe passage, but they did not come."

Gwen nodded and straightened on her throne. "Disappointing, but hardly unexpected."

She took a few moments more, scanning the crowd one final time and gathering her nerve. Her knights flaked her, and she took heart in Percival's reassuring nod. Merlin and Gaius were in the front row, the former in the new red tunic she'd had made for him, with the Pendragon sigil she'd sewn into the fabric herself. Even he didn't know about her secret announcement, but he gave her a small wave that made her smile and eased her nerves.

Guinevere turned to her herald, a middle-aged man who took great pride in his role, and whom she had always found rather endearing in his pomposity. She nodded and he gave an elaborate bow before climbing to steps to stand beside Arthur's empty throne.

The trumpets sounded and the crowd fell silent, their attention now on her and her herald. The man milked the moment, smoothing down his tabard with the Pendragon sigil, before unrolling the parchment and clearing his throat.

"Her Grace Guinevere Pendragon," he read. "Wife and consort of his Majesty King Arthur Pendragon, of blessed and glorious memory; Queen of the kingdom of Camelot and all her territories, Supreme Liege Lady of the Knights of the Round Table, her most exulted Majesty…"

Gwen fought to urge to keep a straight face - the Herald seemed to have taken it upon himself to embellish the wording she'd given him.

"...is hereby pleased to announce the expectation of an heir to her throne, of her own body, the sire her beloved and sovereign lord King Arthur Pendragon. Her Grace expresses great joy and anticipation, and bids all those present to go forth and share these glad tidings throughout her Kingdom."

The Herald rolled up his parchment, gave Guinevere a deep bow, and then returned to his place by the wall. The buzz of conversation filled the room, and she allowed it for a few moments, studying the reactions that seemed to range from unbridled joy (an older woman was beaming at her and began to weep, other collections of nobles were smiling and talking excitedly), to resentment (Lord Catigern, a distant cousin of Uther's who resented her accession, had a sour expression). But a cheer started from the back of the room; a unity in joy from those lower born like herself, and it was a relief to see the majority of the nobles join in to hail her.

Guinevere stood, clasping her hands in front of her but kept her elbows pointed outwards, and straightened her back. It was a stance that gave her confidence, and she looked over her people with gratitude for their kind words.

"Thank you all," she said as the cheers died down. "I hope you will find my second announcement as pleasing. It is a matter of great importance, so please forgive me for speaking for myself."

She looked to the Herald, who was obviously scandalised, and clamped down on a smile. She was nervous, grateful she'd asked her maid not to tie her stays too tight, since she no longer needed to hide the slight swell of her belly. In fact, she turned slightly and clasped her hands under her abdomen, pushing her dress back to emphasise the bump in a bit of theatrics she'd thought up that morning.

"This child, so longed for by myself and the King, brings me more joy than I can express. I wish for a peaceful and just kingdom for his heir to be born into, and while I have the greatest respect for tradition and the laws decreed by those who ruled before me, I cannot in good conscience continue with all of them."

Mutterings began in the crowd, and so she raised her voice to quiet their speculation.

"I am speaking of the law against magic," she said. "I have come to believe that the ban encourages only suspicion and fear, and punishes the innocent together with the guilty. This must stop."

Guinevere took a deep breath, and stared down the crowd. "Henceforth, magic shall be welcome in Camelot, and no one will face persecution for its use unless it breaches our other laws. This is my decree, and all shall be bound by it."

She took a seat on her throne again as the room erupted into chaos - there were some cheers, but most of the voices were raised in anger or fear. She looked to Merlin, who seemed happy despite his surprise, and Gaius, who gave her an approving look. Her knights had turned to the crowd, some dispersing between the people to quell any urge for violence. Percival looked threatening at the base of the steps, hand on his sword just in case.

"My Lady." Lord Catigern stepped forward, but kept his distance from Percival. "This is madness, the King would never have allowed this. You abuse the power he has vested in you!"

Gwen gave him a hard look. "I think I would know better than you what my husband would have wanted or allowed." She twisted her ring again, drawing strength from Arthur's faith. "I have no doubt that were he still living, Arthur would have been making this decree rather than myself."

She rose from her throne again. "He trusted me with his kingdom," she repeated Leon's words. "He trusted in me, and all I ask is the same from you."

Cartigern looked like he wanted to argue further, but was tapped on the shoulder by another. It was old Lord Pellinore, the patriarch of an ancient noble family that had called Camelot home even before the Pendragon conquest. He was greatly respected and revered, and Cartigern shrank back into the crowd to make way.

"My Lady." Pellinore gave a deep, smooth bow despite his advanced age. "I know you are goodly and kind, I have no doubt this decree is made with the best intentions. You grew up in the shadow of the Great Purge, you have only ever been taught that the use of magic has evil. I must conclude, therefore, that you have experienced something profound in order to change your mind."

"A wise...person once told me," he looked to Merlin and smiled, "that there is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men. I know the truth of this; I have seen it, I have lived it. I will rule a kingdom where those with good hearts will thrive, and cast out those touched by evil. But that cannot be determined based solely on whether one has magic, it must be by one's own actions and intent."

Pellinore was inscrutable, and the nobles in particular waited for his reaction - Gwen knew that if she had the old man on her side, the others would fall in line. She fought the urge to make her case further, to explain that she would listen to counsel and ensure an easy transition. But she knew she must be resolute, she must not beg for his approval so not to make herself dependent on it.

"I see you are resolved," Pellinore said, taking a step forward before looking up for her assent.

Guinevere nodded that he was permitted to approach, and he climbed the steps to the throne on slow, faltering legs. Leon went to help the old man but Gwen held up her hand, knowing that he would not want assistance.

The room seemed to hold a collective breath as Pellinore finally stood before her, holding Gwen's gaze for a long moment. Then he slowly dropped to one knee, and with relief she held out her hand for him to kiss.

He pressed her lips to her knuckles and then looked up and gave her a wink. Gwen grinned; the wily old man had made quite a show of his indecision, when he'd been with her all along!

"I pledge to you, Queen Guinevere," he said. "My fealty and constant obedience, with hearty and humble affection, from this day, until my last day."

One by one the other lords approached to kiss her hand and give their own oaths, although Cartigern looked murderous as he did so. Then the commoners followed, and some of them she was able to single out by name, her neighbours and friends from when she had lived in the lower town. She'd passed the first test, and didn't delude herself that the hardest part was yet to come, but allowed herself the pleasure of victory, if only for a moment.

"Hail, Queen Guinevere!" One of them started a rallying cry which soon echoed over an over through the room.

"Long live the Queen!"