But gentle sleep shall veil my sight
And Psyche's lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
Thou dost renew thy vows to me.
- Oh, come to me in dreams, my love, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Winter had truly set into Camelot, the near-constant snows blanketing the countryside in a white shroud. The harvest had been bountiful, allowing the populace to retreat to their homes and huddle by their hearths assured they had enough to see them through until spring. The city itself was bustling with life, filled to the brim with visitors who had come to celebrate the solstice and the birth of their new prince.
Every room in the castle was therefore occupied - even Merlin's, even though he had not returned from his travels. In light of the limited space, Elena had insisted on giving her quarters to a travelling family and said she was quite comfortable in Merlin's, one of the only people Gwen could trust not to disturb his possessions or snoop through his magic books.
Still, his absence wore heavily on her heart. Gwen did not think it was possible to feel so lonely when surrounded by so many people, but despite worrying for him out there traversing the freezing countryside, she also missed him terribly and that longing was not quite filled despite still being among friends.
Gwen held court during the day as she had always done, hearing petitions, accepting introductions, and considering requests. Most were not too much trouble, often simply an excuse for the visitors to have a face to face audience with their Queen, and after the recent troubles many were anxious to praise her leadership and pledge their loyalty. She accepted it with good grace, but left the nobility to their own devices in the evening with their feasts and entertainments, her only decree that they also be open to the people and visitors of the lower town.
But she held court of a different kind in her quarters, choosing to share her evening meal and the time afterwards with those she trusted - Elena of course, the druid woman Valeda, and Hunith, who had finally arrived from Ealdor. Gwen was happy to hear that the village had settled following the battle, and they had welcomed being brought under Camelot's rule. It was not so in other parts of Essetir - Percival and his men had taken up residence in Lot's castle on her behalf but had sent word of loyalists scattered throughout the kingdom. But no warlord would dare try and take it back - word of the storm and lightning Merlin had conjured from the sky to decimate Lot's forces had spread far and wide, and none wanted to risk meeting the same fate.
In the spring she would make her way to Essetir herself and try and win over the people - to show them that they were not being occupied, but would share in Camelot's bounty. But first they must all get through the winter, and Gwen could only content herself with making plans as she sat by the fire, keeping her hands occupied with her embroidery. She had been sewing ever since she could hold a needle, learning the trade at her mother's knee, and she had always found it calming, a way to organise her thoughts as if following the pattern.
"Oh, how beautiful!" Elena marvelled over her shoulder - she was ever wandering the room, full of boundless energy and distaste for sitting still. "Are they violets?"
"Bluebells." Gwen lifted the garment to show her the bend of the stalk and the tiny concave blossoms.
"Oh, of course. I love bluebells." Elena straightened and resumed her aimless wandering. "The sap is great for fletching arrows."
Hunith, curled up in an armchair leafing through a herbalist's book Gaius had lent her, looked up. "In Ealdor we use them to aid in sleep." She idly turned the page. "I should tell Gaius, so he can add it to this book."
"You should write your own," Gwen suggested. Valeda, huddled close to the fire, turned to Hunith with piqued interest.
"I am unaware of this remedy," she said, "bluebells are poisonous, are they not? That's why we say that the faeries may steal children who get too close, to keep them away."
Hunith nodded. "I sew them into a pouch - placed under a pillow they are quite harmless, but their aroma is calming."
"Very interesting." Valeda gave her an open, appraising look. "I would be happy to learn more of your methods."
"I would be happy to," Hunith gave a broad smile, "I am sure there are many remedies we can share."
"Poison, stolen children," Gwen said idly as she pulled her needle through the fabric. "Perhaps they weren't the best choice for this garment." She lifted it to show them a baby's cap intended for her son.
"Do faeries really steal children?" Elena asked. "From bluebell groves I mean," she added hastily, for while she had not been stolen, the sidhe had turned her into a changeling when she was still an infant.
"I have not seen it," Valeda shrugged. "But one should never underestimate faeries."
"Are they the same as sidhe?" Gwen asked, resuming her needlework, recalling that Merlin and Gaius seemed to use that name rather than faerie.
"Different branches of the same tree." Valeda folded her hands together and learned back in her chair. "The Triple Goddess seeded the world with many of her children - you may have heard of Mazoe, queen of the sidhe, Mab, spirit of the forest, or Sulis, mistress of the waters."
"Do you think Merlin is like them?" Hunith asked, her eyes downcast, as if afraid of the answer.
Valeda regarded her for a few moments, then lay a hand on her arm. "No, I do not think so. Your son is powerful, but he draws his strength from this world, while the fae draw theirs from the other realm."
"Avalon." It still pained Gwen to say the name of the world where Arthur rested.
"They say the lands of Faerie are infinite," Valeda told her. "Avalon is but one."
But a memory had been flagged in Gwen's mind. Merlin had told her of Queen Mab, the fae who inhabited the Impenetrable Forest and had foretold Elyan's death; a malevolent spirit who had nonetheless helped him navigate the woods and find a way through to the Dark Tower.
Her chest felt tight, and Gwen felt a chill despite the heat of the room. Her needle stilled as she almost thought she heard the distant scream of the mandrake, the drip drip drip that had haunted her dreams. What if Mab's grim prophecy had not been about Elyan at all, but herself? What if a part of her was still in that tower, in that dark room with only spectres for company, without anyone to save her?
There was a knock on the door and Gwen hastily pushed those dark thoughts aside to bid the visitor entry. It was Constance, her personal maidservant.
"The Lady Cartigern to see you," she said, bobbing into a curtsey.
"Send her in." Gwen set her embroidery aside and rose to her feet, grateful for the distraction. Nella walked nervously into the room, twining her hands together and her eyes down on her feet.
"Nella," Gwen moved to embrace her before the girl could complete her curtsy. "I'm so happy to see you."
"I'm sorry I not did not come sooner." Nella blushed and pulled away. She nodded to Elena and Valeda, who greeted her warmly.
"I do not think you have met Hunith," Gwen took Nella's elbow and guided her to the fire. "Merlin's mother, recently arrived from Ealdor."
"Very nice to meet you, Lady Cartigern." Hunith put aside her book and rose, reaching out her hand to shake, as was the custom in Essetir.
Nella took it somewhat tentatively. "Are you a sorcerer too?"
"Oh no," Hunith laughed. "Merlin's father was the one with the magic - he was a dragonlord."
"Really?" Nella's eyes widened, her unease melting ever so slightly. "I didn't know they really existed."
Uther's propaganda at work, Gwen thought wryly, and shared a look with Hunith. It must be a relief for her to speak of it openly after keeping the secret for so long, but brought with it bitter memories too.
"I'm sure Hunith can tell you all about it someday." Gwen linked her arm in Nella's and led her away. "But for now I wish to speak with you."
Constance brought a chair and placed it next to Gwen's so they could speak without being overheard. Hunith returned to her book, and Elena her pacing, as Valeda sat close to the fire as was her want, staring into the flames as if reading them.
"I have been worried about you," Gwen said quietly, and Nella looked abashed. "I know you said that you didn't hate me for what I did to your father, but you have every right to be upset."
"It's not that, my lady." Nella lifted her gaze, a deep crease between her eyes. "I know you had no choice."
Gwen took Nella's hand. "In life we always have a choice," she said softly. "Perhaps no good outcomes, but always a choice."
They were words she had always lived by, and could not leave behind now that they were more important than ever. Perhaps they were poor consolation to the girl, but Gwen had no others to give her.
"Sir Ector tells me you're still struggling," she prodded instead, seeking a cause to the girl's malaise other than grief over her father's death.
"Oh, I'm fine," Nella assured her. "Do not worry yourself my lady."
"Has anyone mistreated you?"
"No, it's not that," Nella shook her head, but then hesitated. "Everyone has been very...respectful."
Gwen knew all too well that respect among the lords and their families often meant cool politeness and little else - Nella could be shunned even with a smile.
"They," Nella mouth twisted slightly. "They call me Lady Cartigern."
"You are your father's heir," Gwen pointed out. "It is appropriate to refer to you by your family name and title."
"But I don't want it. My father...I want nothing to remind me of him."
The sins of the father, Gwen mused, the curse of the Pendragons. She had no solace for the girl, but resolved to think on it and see how she could make life more comfortable. But Nella's grief was still too fresh to be eased, as Gwen knew all too well.
"Oh, that is beautiful," Nella said, pointing to the cap with half-embroidered bluebells. "He will make a fine prince in that."
"I only hope I can finish," Gwen stroked her belly. "I felt pains this morning, but the midwife assures me it is not yet time."
She glanced over at the amber dragonstone in the mantelpiece - but it had not flared up since Merlin's departure - they'd had no contact with him at all. He'd warned her that his focus would be on travelling north, stopping only to sleep so he could make it to Kilgarrah in time, asking her not to worry if he did not send word.
"Merlin will return before the babe comes," Hunith assured her. "You have some time to go, Gwen, your belly has not even dropped."
But Gwen feared the time was passing too quickly. "Pictland is a long way," she said, resuming her sewing. "And the journey is arduous."
"He will have the protection of the Druid tribes," Valeda said, rising from her chair and drawing closer to the fire. "Our nation stretches all the way up to the Hebrides, and our northern brethren live alongside the Picts."
That piqued Elena's interest, and she also moved closer to the fire. "What are the Picts like?" she asked. "Father told me they fought with his forebears against invaders."
"They were fearsome warriors," Valeda placed a hand on Elena's arm and smiled. "It was the last time all the kingdoms of Albion fought side by side - the Picts and Caledonians, the Iceni led by their warrior queen, the Brigantes of the mid-north, the Catuvellauni of the east, and of course the kingdoms of Camelot. It took many years, but the invaders were finally driven from our shores."
She sighed ruefully. "Of course, without a common enemy to fight these great kings and queens turned on each other, their nations were broken up and divided into the scattered collection of realms we know today."
It had been Arthur's fondest wish, Gwen recalled, to once again unite Albion in peace and alliance like the Auld Kings of Camelot. That was a secret she kept locked in her heart, but felt comfortable enough to share other stories he had told her.
"Arthur spoke of the war once." Gwen kept her eyes on her needlework, not trusting herself should she raise her gaze and see their pity. "His great-grandfather Constantine first came here as part of the invading army. One night he had a vision of a dragon who told him his future lay not with his own people, but those he was fighting against. He helped repel the invaders, and took the dragon for his name and sigil."
"Truly?" Nella's eyes were wide - clearly her father had never bothered to share the story with her. "Do you think it was the Great Dragon that appeared to him?"
Gwen patted her hand fondly. "It might just be a story, Nella. For all we know Constantine fell in love with a woman and changed sides for her sake." She'd heard that story too - more popular among the common folk, with some claiming that the woman had been the Iceni queen herself.
"Myth making," Valeda shook her head ruefully. "Kings must sell themselves somehow."
But thinking again, Gwen saw the value in Nella's assumption. Uther had after all once conquered Camelot with the help of Nimue and her ilk, it was not far-fetched he'd once sought the advice of Kilgarrah - perhaps the dragon had seen something with his foresight that gave him interest in Constantine's bloodline, the scion of which was currently residing in her womb.
Gwen pressed a hand to her belly again, feeling the baby's answering kick. What if the reason Kilgarrah had called Merlin to him was not because he was dying, but something to do with her son?
Putting her embroidery aside, Gwen rose to her feet and arched her back slightly, supporting herself with both hands. Sitting for too long made her uncomfortable, and Elena hurried over, looping one arm through Gwen's so they could walk the room together.
"Have you thought of names Gwen?" Hunith asked, and although the question was conversational, Gwen stiffened slightly. Elena gave her a look of concern, but she smiled and rubbed her belly, passing it off as another strong kick.
"In truth I've not given it much consideration," she said evenly. "I think I'll know when he is born."
"That is the druid custom," Valeda said. "One cannot know what suits a child until you look into his eyes."
The truth was that sometimes Gwen wasn't ready to believe that her child would be born until he was actually placed into her arms. Until then he was a dream, a hope, a great desire, and one did not give such things names lest they be cruelly taken from her once again.
Arthur would have wanted to be ready, were he still with them. He would have been armed with a wealth of options - strong kings who had come before, brave heroes from legend, names that carried great weight and meaning. Perhaps they would have sat around the fire arguing over the choices, laughing at the ones made in jest, but eventually settling on one that was just right.
Feeling a great wave of sorrow pass over her, Gwen pulled her arm from Elena's.
"I'm sorry," she said, pressing a palm to her forehead. "I'm feeling rather tired all of a sudden."
"Are you alright?" Hunith rose to her feet. "Should I have Gaius prepare a draft?"
"No, no," Gwen waved her hand. "I just need rest."
"Of course." Elena put a hand on her shoulder. "But you'll let us know if you need anything?"
Gwen gave her most convincing smile. "Of course."
Only Nella seemed fooled, but the others could not question a queen in such matters within her own bedchamber, and so bid her goodnight. Constance appeared from wherever she had been - an industrious girl, she always kept herself busy while the women talked, wanting to be useful and not to intrude.
"I will turn down your bed, my lady," she said. "It's rather cold out there, would you like the fire left lit?"
"Yes," Gwen told her, a familiar dread settling in the pit of her stomach. "I think I will need it tonight."
It was dark, and cold, and Gwen was more afraid than she had ever been. She had faced brigands and magical creatures and cruel kings, but nothing had prepared her for the Dark Tower.
She was locked in the pitch black, hearing screams echo in the silence, but even they were preferable to the cold drip of the mandrake that froze her skin where it landed.
Morgana was right - no one was coming for her, no one cared. Just like her banishment, when all those brave men she thought were her friends stood by as she was cast out. No one spoke in her defence, no one believed she was incapable of such betrayal - not even her own brother.
Leon, Gwaine, Percival - men she had known for years, who she thought had known her, casting her aside the moment her friendship was no longer useful. They were Arthur's inner circle now, loyal to him alone. And Elyan...Elyan who she had cared for since he was a babe, who she had protected and clothed and fed, now laughing at her. He to had taken advantage of her kindness, and she had been a fool ever to believe it could be otherwise.
They gathered to jeer at her - peasant Gwen, foolish Gwen, to believe she could ever be so loved, that she was anything more than a toy of Arthur's whims, to draw close or cast aside at his discretion.
Merlin appeared, beckoning her to him and she felt a sliver of hope - Merlin, her erstwhile friend, of course he would find a way to help her escape. But then his face twisted as he lunged for her with a terrible screech, his form defouled, his humanity stripped, just another creature of the darkness.
But no. Gwen shut out their voices and vile, pale faces twisted with so much hate. She covered her ears to the screams and closed her eyes to the dark, cowering at a spot on the floor free from the drip of the mandrake.
And finally came Arthur's voice, so soft it made her weep. She didn't believe it at first, not after all of the other cruel spectres. It was a trick, to tempt her into turning around so the cruel barrage could begin all over again - Arthur had not come for her, how could she expect him to, when it was so clearly a trap?
Despite herself she reached for him, only for his face to twist and a cruel laugh to escape his lips. The mandrake dripped, the laughter became a cacophony of jeers she could not block out no matter how hard she tried, and the darkness closed in around her until Gwen was certain she would die.
And then came her reprieve - Morgana entering the room, the light driving away the shadows and silencing the spectres. Morgana, the only real thing in the room of ghosts, folding Gwen into her arms, soothing her and stroking her hair, promising that she would not leave her alone again.
Morgana, who had always been her friend and champion. It had been Morgana - or so she reminded her - who had defied Uther for Gwen's sake, who had once tried to have him killed to avenge her father's death, who had favoured her and cared for her and protected her when no one else had.
It was Morgana who loved her, and Gwen had turned her back on her, chosen the wrong side. She saw the truth all too clearly - Morgana was all she had in the world, the only person who cared, where Arthur and his men had lied to her, betrayed her, and banished her. Gwen hated him for that - she hated them all.
Her blood turned black, the rage settled into purpose, and when Morgana said they all must die, Gwen begged to be the one to do it.
She awoke breathing heavily, drenched in sweat. The fire had burned down not even leaving embers and it was so dark she began to panic, scrambling out of bed to light a candle with shaking hands, and then another, and another, until the chamber was bright. Then she searched every corner of her room to make certain that the ghostly spectres had remained trapped in her dreams - or rather, her memories. When satisfied she was alone Gwen crawled back into bed, drawing the covers tightly around herself but eyes remaining open, fixed on a burning candle to reassure herself it would not go out.
After she had been cleansed of Morgana's dark enchantment she'd had trouble sleeping. For weeks she begged Arthur to leave their chamber lit, and if she awoke in the night and the candles had burned down she would panic, and it would often take all night for him to calm her down.
He would hold her in his arms and talk to her until his voice was hoarse, and it would soothe her battered heart, remind her that he was there with her and not a spectre, that he had come for her in the Dark Tower - that he would always come for her.
They would lie awake together until she felt ready to brave sleep again, often discussing the years they had been apart to pass the time, to replace her dark memories with those of happiness. They shared all the secrets they had kept so close before, reconnecting in those night hours to remind themselves of the deep and abiding love that bound them together.
" When did you first love me?" he asked her once, brushing the hair back from her forehead.
"Do you mean when did I know I loved you?" She smiled, gazing at his face illuminated by candlelight, hair adorably mussed from sleep. "I think I loved you a long time before I admitted it to myself."
"Tell me both," he asked softly. "I want to know."
She took a moment to consider, casting her mind back to their unorthodox courtship and the years they'd spent dancing around each other. There was one moment she could pinpoint as the end of her denying her true feelings - at least to herself.
"I suppose - when you were enchanted to love Vivian." She could look back on that time without pain now, even if Arthur grimaced.
"I waited all night for you, until the candle burned down and I had to accept that you would not come." She lay her hands on his chest, toying with the collar of his nightshirt. "I had been doing so well, pretending that my feelings for you had been fleeting and resolved, but I'd felt such joy when I received the note, my hopes raised only to be utterly dashed. I knew the pain I felt could only be born of love, and I could deny it to myself no longer."
"Yet you sent me away," he said, stroking her hair. "When I said that I loved you."
"Well if you remember you didn't exactly say it outright," she teased.
But Arthur grimaced again at the memory. "And you didn't say it at all."
"How could I?" She shifted slightly in his arms. "I thought it could never be, so why make the pain worse by admitting it?"
"I don't know," he said, fingers running lightly through the loose curls that had escaped her braid. "That kiss you gave me made it all worthwhile."
Gwen blushed. "I was rather forward, wasn't I?"
"I liked it," he assured her, the corner of his mouth flicking upwards. "The memory of it kept me going through many a lonely night."
She laughed lightly. "I suppose it was only right that the first time I kissed you surprised you as much as I was the first time you kissed me." Gwen drew closer to him, fingers splayed across his chest. "I've always wondered about why you did it."
Arthur's gaze was warm. "Wasn't it obvious?"
"I mean…" She thought back to that moment, the leap in her belly when his lips touched hers, but then the bewilderment that followed. "I was shocked, but it seemed like you were too."
"Ah." He nodded in understanding. "I told myself to kiss your cheek only, in gratitude," he admitted, his fingers tracing the side of her face. "In the moment I was...overcome."
"Overcome?" she laughed again. "Before that day I wasn't even sure you knew my name."
"You know that's not true," he admonished her, "I always took notice of you."
"But only as a servant," she pointed out, "like any other."
"No," Arthur shook his head. "I always…" he sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the canopy. "Alright, when we first met I saw you only as a maid of the household." He was careful not to mention Morgana's name. "Albeit a very pretty one."
Gwen didn't quite believe him, but propped herself up on one elbow to watch him reminisce, drawn in by the soft look in his eyes as he turned to look up at her and the timbre of his voice as he spoke, hardly believing there was ever a time when she did not adore him.
"It wasn't long before I saw how kind and loyal you were," he said, "but when you were arrested for sorcery after your father recovered from that sickness, I felt responsible. I had been the one to alert the guards and search your home. When my father ordered your execution...I told myself that it was a natural reaction to the injustice of it, that it was because of…the distress of others, or my own guilt. But looking back, I think it was something more."
Gwen was surprised. "That early?"
"I think it was in Ealdor, when you were telling me off, that I truly took notice." Arthur smiled, reaching up to touch her face. "And I admit after I was injured by the questing beast I used to dream about you….what did you call it?" He raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Tending to my fever."
She flushed. "Really?"
"Hmm." Arthur's fingertips travelled lightly down over the side of her neck and across her collarbone. "I remember when you started wearing that purple dress, with the tight bodice and the lacing…" his fingers trailed down her sternum "...just so. It made your-"
"Arthur!" She smacked his hand away and laughed.
He shrugged, eyes lingering on her chest. "Isn't a man allowed his fantasies? I dismissed it as just that, but of course, when I spent time in your home..."
"And I told you off again," she smiled, settling down beside him. "I'm sensing a pattern."
"You told me what I needed to hear," Arthur said, eyes searching her face. He leaned over, his lips lightly brushing hers and then pulling back only slightly to look for permission. She gave it by closing the space between them once again, and for a moment Gwen revelled in the warm feeling of his mouth, the soft caress of his hand down her hip, the weight of his body against hers.
But then the taste turned bitter, and Gwen pulled away. They had not been intimate since her healing, and she could see he was hurt by her rejection even if he covered it with a smile, cupping her cheek softly. She leaned into his touch, desperately wanting to be close to him but her body was reacting against her.
"So, when I first fell in love with you," she returned to his original enquiry, and safer ground. "That's more difficult - I thought you were an arrogant bully for many years."
Arthur withdrew, sighing deeply. "Well you weren't wrong."
Gwen took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "But I'll always remember after my father died...you came to me and were so kind."
"I didn't know what to say," he admitted. "I didn't know how to help you."
"You gave me my home," she pointed out. "Not just empty platitudes. You had given thought to my comfort even though I was just a servant, the daughter of a traitor to whom you owed nothing. But you said you were sorry as well - that stuck with me Arthur. I've never forgotten it."
"All I knew was that it unsettled me to see you in pain," he said softly. "By then I was beginning to see the flaws in my father, how his intransigence could hurt good people like you."
Gwen held his hand clasped in hers against her chest. "By the time of your injury by the questing beast I knew I felt more for you than was proper, even if I didn't know quite what it was. That's why I was so embarrassed you'd heard me, I feared I'd let something slip. And then when you stayed with me...Merlin talked me into it, but I was excited, and nervous. I…" She gave a self-deprecating laugh, "wore flowers in my hair that I'm sure you didn't notice."
"You were so accommodating," Arthur shook his head, "and I was a selfish brute."
"And I overreacted." She squeezed his hand. "My anger was mostly at myself, for...feeling for you when it was clear you thought of me as any other servant to make your bed and fetch your bathwater."
Arthur looked pained at the memory. "You walked all the way down to the well."
"That's why I was so hurt when you lied about making dinner," she admitted. "That I was simply to be placated rather than truly cared for."
"I did notice the flowers," he said absently, touching her hair. "They were white - you wore them that day we had the picnic in the forest too."
"Right before Uther caught us and tried to have me burned at the stake," Gwen said idly. "And you were badly injured in that jousting tournament. Perhaps they boded ill."
"No, you wore flowers in your hair the day we were married," Arthur said. "And last Beltane, when they crowned you Queen of Summer."
"Gillyflowers." Her heart suddenly felt leaden. "You hung them around our bed when I was…" She turned away, curling in on herself. The memories came back to her like a curse, every sickening detail vivid even if the actions had not truly been her own. Plotting Arthur's death, slipping poison into his ear, stabbing the stable boy who had only ever been her friend.
She began to cry. While it had not been her own mind, her hands had grasped the dagger and plunged it into soft flesh, her cruel words had placed the blame on Merlin, almost ending in his death.
"Guinevere," Arthur reached for her. "It wasn't you."
She jerked away. How could she let him touch her when her mind brimmed with images of him touching her , the shade Guinevere? He'd taken her to bed when she'd held only hatred in her heart for him, and she couldn't bear it.
Her breathing quickened, chest feeling tight, like she was being smothered. Gwen cast the bedclothes aside and rose, escaping Arthur's searching arms. The floor was cold on her bare feet but she barely felt it, hand clutching at her throat as if that would stop it closing over.
"Guinevere!" Arthur called out in anguish, rising from the bed but holding back, not wanting to force an embrace. Gwen sank down to the floor, hands clutching the silk of her nightgown, breaths coming in heaving sobs unable to be brought under control.
Arthur knelt in front of her, arms almost reaching out but holding himself in check. "Guinevere," he said softly. "Please look at me."
But that was what his spectre had said in the Dark Tower, and Gwen reflexively pressed her hands to her ears, not daring to lift her head.
"Gwen, please."
His rare use of that name jolted her enough to look up at him. Gently reaching out, Arthur took her hands away from her ears and she didn't resist.
"Breathe, Gwen," he said, and then took a deep inward breath. She mimicked him, drawing air deep into her lungs and holding it there. When Arthur exhaled she did too, watching his mouth so they drew breath in tandem, over and over until she was calmed. It was an old exercise he'd learned from a sword master, to centre himself and steel his nerves before battle. She'd watch him do it many times, but had never needed it herself until the Dark Tower.
"It wasn't you," he said again, reaching for her.
"But it was," she said, rising to her feet and backing away from him. Her panic had ebbed, but the core distress remained and could not be overcome so easily.
"There must have been some part of me that..." Fresh tears started to fall as she withdrew further, shaking her head. "Some sliver of doubt that Morgana was able to exploit, to turn my heart against you, and I am sick with myself."
Her rear hit the desk and she reached behind to steady herself, fingers brushing against a sheathed dagger. Closing her fingers around the hilt, Gwen held it out to show him.
"I remember holding this dagger and wanting to plunge it into your chest." The memories assaulted her, laying beside him in their bed watching him sleep and thinking if only she could end it all then.
"But you didn't," he pointed out, approaching her slowly. "You had every opportunity to kill me Guinevere, but something stopped you."
It was true she had stayed her hand, aware that suspicion must not fall on her, but her machinations had twice over almost resulted in Arthur's death and could not absolve herself.
He drew closer to her, and Gwen held out the dagger reflexively - how could she ever trust herself to be near him, to be held in his arms knowing the darkness she had held in her heart?
"Don't," she cried out in anguish. "I have betrayed you twice now - bewitched against my own heart and reason. How can you know I won't be turned again?"
Arthur hesitated for a moment, searching her face and then stepping closer. One hand closed over hers on the hilt of the dagger as he used the other to unsheath it, keeping the blade turned towards himself. Then he pulled aside his shirt at the neck and aimed the tip of the dagger at his heart, pressed against his skin.
"If you think there's any dark part of you that would see me dead, do it now." He looked deeply into her eyes, removing his hand from the hilt, arms falling to his sides, offering himself up to slaughter. Gwen's hand was shaking, the tip of the dagger held to Arthur's chest, waiting for the shade to remerge, to again hear that insidious voice ignited with bloodlust.
"But I know you won't," he said softly. "Because I trust you, Guinevere, with my life."
Her hand still shaking, Gwen gently lowered the dagger, everything inside of her screaming that she could never hurt Arthur, or let any harm come to him. The dark shroud of the mandrake was gone - he was not a spectre, but flesh and blood. Her husband, who she had forgiven for his past wrongs, as he had forgiven her. The shade was gone, and Gwen's heart was so full of love for him she realised there was no room left for fear.
She turned away, gently placing the dagger back down on the began to flow again, but this time more from relief than sorrow, and Gwen pressed her hands to her face.
"Guinevere," Arthur's voice was plaintive, and she could hear his desperation. "Will you…will you let me hold you?"
They were both still for a moment, the silence of the room palpable as the world shrank around them. But then Gwen lowered her hands from her face, turning around to face him, to trust him with her pain. She reached up to touch his cheek, realising that she didn't need the candles lit when he was with her. Arthur was her light.
With a great exhale she stepped forwards, burying herself in his chest. Arthur's arms closed around her, enveloping her in his strength and warmth, banishing the darkness from her mind.
Gwen wiped tears from her face at the memory, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. It had been several weeks after that before they were intimate again - Arthur was affectionate but patient. There was nothing he did not do for her comfort, from arranging breakfast in bed and ensuring he was always there when she woke up, to pleasant rides and picnics in the woods, far from the bustle of the city and prying eyes. At night he would just hold her, whispering his love and waiting until she slept in his arms before allowing himself to rest.
In the end there was no grand revelation, no definable healing moment, just one night when her longing for him was more powerful than the memory of the shade Gwen, and she reached out for him, pressing her lips to his and leaving him with no doubt that she was aching to be with him once more.
But even that memory brought sadness, for it was mere weeks afterwards the chain of events started that would lead to Arthur's death. Enough time to conceive a child, but not to truly enjoy one another after everything they'd been through.
Gwen cupped her full belly; the child had awoken too, and was moving. She began to cry in earnest, the acute sadness that was always mixed with joy as she thought of her son, longing for Arthur to share the moment with, to feel his large strong hands press against her belly and feel their child stir within. To see his smile of exquisite joy, love shining out of every pore for the life they had created together.
But Arthur was no longer there to hold her, to talk to her and brush away her tears with calloused thumbs. He had once promised never to leave her but the vow had proved impossible to keep, and now her life stretched before her. A life without Arthur, but of long nights in the dark without him beside her.
Merlin was gone too, and she had no idea whether he would return, or if he was even still alive. Both men were gone; the two constants of her adult life. She was alone, like in the Dark Tower, abandoned by those she held most dear. But this time, no one was coming to rescue her.
As the candles burned down Guinevere wept, certain that her sorrow had grown too great to bear, and she would soon drown in her tears.
Nella waited outside Guinevere's chamber, shifting from one foot to the other in agitation, clutching her gift wrapped in fabric to her chest. Almost a week the Queen had been within, taking the notion of confinement far too literally. She did not eat in the grand hall, she did not take audiences in the council chamber, she did not even sit in the garden as she used to. No one was permitted entry except for her maid Constance and Sir Leon, but neither gave any indication that anything was wrong, the latter forcefully clamping down on gossip that the Queen was ailing.
But Nella was worried - she'd dined with Princess Elena several times and could see that she too was concerned for her friend. However when she'd tried to broach the subject Elena had dismissed it, patting Nella's hand and telling her not to worry, that queens need to be left alone sometimes or they would be overwhelmed. She'd sought Valeda's counsel as she'd helped the druid woman gather herbs in the woods, but she'd said that the baby was probably causing Guinevere discomfort and so all she wanted to do was lie down. Nella had only recently met Hunith, but found the woman kindly and so felt bold enough to also seek her advice. Unlike the others, Huinith had not tried to placate her, but taken her hand and given her a kindly look.
"Grief is not the work of a moment," she had said. "But of a lifetime, and often despair catches up with us. Sometimes it is best shared, and sometimes it is a sorrow we seek to bear alone."
Hunith squeezed her hand, and Nella had understood. Her own heartache for her father was complicated, and she had tried not to think about it - but the Queen had been so burdened the past months, so now things had settled down and the birth of her child imminent, how lonely she must feel. And Arthur had been the best of men, it was only natural for Guinevere to have lasting sorrow and profound grief.
So every day Nella had gone to the Queen's chamber and asked to see her, and every day had been turned away. She fully expected the same as she once again waited outside the door, but when Constance appeared there was a small smile on her lips.
"The Queen will see you now, Lady Cartigern."
Nella flinched at the name, but smiled gratefully and followed Constance into the chamber. A fire burned brightly in the hearth and the drapes had been opened, letting in the light. Guinevere was seated at her desk before the windows, writing a letter.
"Take a seat Nella," she said, "I'll be with you in a moment."
Nella sat and placed her gift lightly in her lap, waiting for the Queen to finish her letter. Her quill scratched against the parchment, producing neat, looped, writing.
"It's to Sir Percival in Essetir," she said without looking up. "It seems I have a great deal of correspondence to attend to."
"Oh." Nella was unconvinced that was the reason for Guinevere's seclusion - she could see how pale and wan she was, with dark circles under her eyes. "I hope you are not overtaxing yourself, my lady."
Guinevere looked up from her writing. "What are people saying?"
"They are just worried," Nella assured her. "They fear you are ailing."
"I see." Guinevere sighed and put down her quill. "I am well now," she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her belly. "But I feel the baby may be close and we still have no word from Merlin."
"I am sure he will be here," Nella said with certainty. "He promised, didn't he?"
Guinevere smiled, but didn't seem to share Nella's faith. "You seem to be in better spirits," she said, deftly switching the focus of conversation.
"I am," Nella confirmed, happy to talk about whatever the Queen wished. "Sir Ector's son Kay has been showing me the lower town - they sell the most delicious sweets in the market!"
"Old Sal," Gwen said fondly. "Her honeyed plums are the best I have ever tasted."
Nella made a mental note to go buy some for her. "Sir Ector had also asked me to summer at their estate in the Forest Sauvage," she added. "I've heard it's beautiful there, but I think I will want to stay here in Camelot, to help you with the baby."
"We'll see when the time comes." Gwen gave her an appraising look. "Kay is a fine boy, from what I understand - I'm glad to hear he's been a friend to you."
Nella ducked her head and blushed. She enjoyed his company very much, and he had been so kind to her - as had his father, but she knew that was because Sir Ector had made a promise to look after her, where Kay's friendship was genuine.
"I have a gift for you." Nella took the fold of linen from her lap and placed it on the desk before the Queen. "I finally finished it."
"Oh, how kind." Guinevere smiled broadly, unwrapping the fabric to reveal the swaddling Nella had worked on for many weeks, the linen embroidered with a large red dragon in the centre and gillyflowers around the edge. Nella was extraordinarily proud of it, to include not only the Pendragon sigil but also Guinevere's favourite flower, the child to bear a symbol of both of his parents. But when the Queen touched the embroidered flowers lightly, a strange, almost pained look crossed her face.
"I know it's nothing compared to your work," Nella said nervously, fearing she had overstepped. "But I did my best, and I think I am getting better."
"No, it's beautiful," Guinevere assured her as she looked up, although there were tears in her eyes. "I love it, thank you Nella."
"Oh, I'm so glad." Nella was buoyed by the compliment, but could see that Guinevere was still deep in her grief and her gift may have unintentionally reignited the sadness that had plagued her the past days.
"My lady, I hope you know how many people love you," she said haltingly, hoping her words would soothe the Queen's battered heart. "No one could ever replace the King - or Merlin. But you…you are not alone."
"Thank you, Nella." Guinevere touched her hand to her heart, and gave a smile that seemed to diminish her sadness. "I do know that…but it's good to hear all the same."
Nella was so relieved, a broad grin spreading across her face as Guinevere returned her attention to the swaddling, removing it from the fabric and laying it flat on the desk. She traced the embroidered head of the dragon lightly with her fingertips.
"I have been thinking about what you said," Guinevere spoke softly, "not wanting to be Lady Cartigern."
Nella hadn't realised the Queen had given her unease more than a passing thought. "Oh, I was just being silly," she said, embarrassed over the complaint when there had been so much else for Guinevere to worry over.
"I don't think you were," she gave her a knowing look. "I've been giving the matter some thought, and you are Arthur's cousin, the great grandchild of Constantine Pendragon the same as he. You could take that name, if you wish."
Nella sat for a few moments in shock. "That name?" she repeated with confusion. "What, Pendragon?"
"Only if you want to," Guinevere stressed, folding her hands together on the desk. "A name doesn't mean anything, Nella, except what you choose to make of it."
She understood what the Queen was saying, but there was a part of her that still believed it did matter, that the name Cartigern was forever tainted and she would feel shame every time she heard it.
"I do want to," she said, twisting her hands together as tears of happiness welled in her eyes. "You don't know what this means to me, my lady. Thank you."
"Lady Nella Pendragon," Guinevere smiled and rose to her feet. "I will have Sir Ector draw up the writ."
Nella stood as the Queen walked around the desk, taking her hands and squeezing them lightly.
"I have one condition," she said, "and that's if we are to share a name, I really must insist you call me Gwen."
"Oh." Nella blushed again - that name was so familiar, she had only heard a select few people use it - Merlin and his mother, Princess Elena, and she hardly thought herself among such company. But if Guinevere insisted, how could she refuse?
"If you wish it, my la-" she bit her lip, and let out a nervous laugh. "Gwen."
It felt strange on her tongue, but Guinevere smiled. "I do," she said, drawing her into a tight embrace. "After all, we are family."