xv.
The calm. Arthur knew it well by now. The silence that swept through the castle halls after the last feast. The stillness that burrowed into his heart, an acceptance of the journey and trials he would face the next day and beyond. The very fact of it made him uneasy. No good would come from resigning to violence. But he had no other choice now.
He put down the inventory review that he had long since stopped reading and dragged his hands down his face. He trusted Gwen to do all this in his absence. He was just stalling. The end of the work day meant the start of sleep, which meant nightmares and exhaustion and marching out at first light.
He found Guinevere in their bed chambers, combing her hair out of its braid with ill results. He leaned against the doorframe and bit back a smile as he watched her struggle with the frizzy curls. Her reflection in the mirror betrayed her aggravation, face cinched and lips pressed into that disapproving line that sent servants scurrying to rectify their mistakes. But even the Queen of Camelot could not submit her hair to obey.
Her eyes caught his a moment later and her face smoothed. She put down the comb self-consciously and turned to greet him. "I was about to send someone to fetch you. It is late and you have an early morning." His smile widened. Her eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"Always so responsible, my love." He could not stop the corner of his mouth turning his smile into a smirk. She closed the distance between them only to slap his chest lightly.
"One of us must be!"
He curled his arms around her at the opportunity, jerking her body tight to his own. "I sent someone to fill the bath. It may be my last for a while. Will my queen join me?"
Guinevere leaned her weight into his chest, puckering her lips in fake thought. "I don't know… what benefit shall I receive from it?"
Arthur smiled at her coyness, kissing those lips. They softened under his own. "Do not tempt me to vulgarity with such useless questions," he murmured into her mouth. He felt her smile. It fell seconds later and she pulled away from his attentions. He chased after her lips for a brief moment before sighing and leaning back to see her.
"I know how tired you are," she said. "Would you not rather sleep while you have your own bed?"
"I would not," he laughed. "You must know by now that I would not choose my bed over my wife. Least of all tonight." He didn't wait for her response, taking her hand and leading her to the back room where a basin had been set between their bed and the fireplace. He tested the water and finding it agreeably warm, stood to untie Gwen's shift. He placed a soft kiss on her smooth dark shoulder as the linen slid to the floor.
"Be careful," he said, gripping her hand as she stepped into the tub. She cast him a warning look. He knew Gwen hated his paranoid caution; she felt it was futile at best and patronizing at worst. But he could not stop himself. If anything happened to her that he could have prevented, he would never recover.
He knelt and Guinevere gripped the front of his shirt. "It's warm by the fire," she said, and left it at that. He smiled and obliged, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. He had forgotten about his forest escapades.
"Arthur!" Chilly fingers went to his side and he flinched away from her, gripping them. "This scar…" She knew it hadn't been there before, and that no scar would have had time to form between now and the last time she'd seen his torso.
He could not make an excuse for it. He decided to feign ignorance. "What about it?" he asked, moving behind her and pressing close so she could not see. The ceramic tub was warmed by the water in it, and Gwen's bare skin felt chilled in contrast.
"Where did it come from?" She turned her head, still trying to see.
"A battle, most likely," he commented mildly, lifting a cloth off the side and soaking it in the water to drag up her arm. She gripped his wrist, her wet hand slippery but her grip firm. He could see only the side of her face, but the suspicion in it was clear to him.
He reached his other hand around and pressed it between her legs. Her breath caught and she tensed, her fingers tightening around his arm. "Why is a scar suddenly a worry for you?" he asked, keeping his voice sweet and carefree. "You ought to be more worried about yourself in a situation like this. It's too easy for perverted men to take advantage."
"Arthur," she said, helpless in her amusement, but her laughter caught in a shaky gasp as he moved his fingers against her. "The water is clean," she admonished, but he knew her reluctance was forced.
"The servants can heat up more," he said into her shoulder, the words vibrating against her skin as she gasped again.
They finished washing in the cold water, then shivered into their bedclothes. It was late now, likely past midnight. Arthur hugged Gwen tight to his chest. Usually she complained until he let her go so she could sleep, but tonight she only traced her fingers along his shoulders and hummed an old song until he fell asleep.
He woke to a pressure on the bed beside him. The room was dark, and Guinevere's warmth was still wrapped in his arms. He held his breath, calculating how quickly he could detangle himself from her and reach the knife under his pillow.
"Arthur." The voice gave him both relief and immediate anger. Merlin leaned farther over him and his silhouette blocked what little light came from the window.
"Hold on," Arthur muttered, and slower than molasses he pulled his arm out from Gwen. She sighed in her sleep and turned to her other side. Finally letting himself exhale, he sat up and slammed his elbow hard into Merlin's chest. The fairy grunted and fell back almost off the bed. "What are you doing here?" he hissed under his breath.
"Giving you this." He pushed a warm trinket into Arthur's hand. He held it up to the light, squinting to see it.
"Is this soapstone?" It was carved into a symbol Arthur couldn't recognize.
"Yes. It's called an anchor. Keep it on you, and I will be able to fly to your side no matter where you are."
"What if I'm in the middle of battle, Merlin?" he tossed it back into the fairy's lap.
"I won't come unless you call."
"You can hear through this thing, too?"
"No. Tell the nearest tree you need me and they'll get the message to me." He tossed it back to Arthur, who caught it in reflex.
He sighed. "How ridiculous."
"I appreciate the gratitude, Your Majesty." He could not see, but he knew Merlin's insufferable grin was across his face. Then the fairy was gone and the room was clear. Arthur rolled his eyes and fell back against the pillow, holding the 'anchor' up again and turning it over in his hands. After a moment, he tucked it under his pillow and rolled over to hug Guinevere again.
He kissed her goodbye one last time in front of his men, not caring a wit if they saw. Guinevere tucked her chin, and Arthur knew her cheeks would be pink if her dark skin allowed. He kissed her nose anyway. "I leave Camelot in your capable hands," he said.
He left her standing there, his council kneeling with heads bowed behind her, and hoisted himself onto his white mare. "Onward march," he called across the lines of knights and infantry, and led the way from the city gates.
Guinevere watched until the last man marched past the gates and the portcullis was drawn down.
"Your Majesty," an advisor pressed gently from her side. She tore her eyes from the portcullis and allowed him to escort her back to the castle.
"Find Merlin," she told him as soon as they were up the steps. He dipped his head and hurried off.
The greeting hall seemed so big and empty without the throngs of people that had milled around there for days. Only a few servants scurried in it, and those just to cross to another door. Guinevere stood, thinking of all the responsibilities that now fell to her, and the fact that she was doing none of them. It felt like far too long before a guard came with Merlin trailing behind.
Gwen waved the guard away and gesturing for Merlin to follow, led him into the empty council chambers. She closed the door and turned to him, crossing her arms. "You aren't who you say you are."