A/N: There we go, a nice and sweet/vaguely fluffy chapter. Sort of. Fun fact: I wrote this chapter, as well as the last two in one marathon writing session. Also, my total word count for these stories was significantly higher than I thought, so this chapter puts me at 93,757 words total. That's a lot of words! Also, Many Returns is at 52,547 words, and I'm pretty sure that means it's the longest thing I've ever written. I should hit 100,000 words in the next few days, so I'll be sure to let you guys know (even if you don't actually care!)!
As always, reviews are not only welcome, but food for my soul. Please let me know what you think/thought/thunked. I'm very tired.
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Most everyone had left the tavern after the commotion, heading back for the barracks. Ban and Pellinore had stayed, as had Galeschin, Lamorak, Aggravaine, and Morgause. Vanora had disappeared to put her baby and toddler to bed, leaving Branwyr and Dagonet with the Sarmatians in the dining room. Olwyn was rocking Rhience, who had woken up and started crying, while Culhwch and Dagonet lingered near the door in case Lucan made a run for it.
Morgause had cleaned the small boy's cuts with water and rags that Bran had brought her from the kitchen, then bandaged them as well as she could with torn strips of cloth. "They should be treated better, but this will do until we can get to the infirmary tomorrow, once your brother is a bit less busy. We'll stay out of his way for now." She smiled gently at the boy. "How do you feel? Do you need anything? Are you hungry, or thirsty?"
Lucan shook his head numbly, still refusing to speak. Morgause didn't push him, but finished cleaning the blood from his face and carried the bowl back towards the kitchen. As she stepped into the dining room, Cymbeline entered through the front door.
All conversation in the tavern ended. Cymbeline's hands were red with blood, and there were a few smears on her tear-stained face, as well as up her forearms. Slowly, she made her way over to Lucan and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. Lucan's chin dropped to his chest and his shoulders shook with mighty sobs. After a moment, Cymbeline pulled him into a tight hug, trembling in her own grief.
Gawain wasn't long behind Cymbeline. He was even more covered in blood than she was; Lucan's blood was smeared across the shoulder of his tunic, and his arms and hands were coated as well. He stopped to speak to Dagonet and Culhwch before continuing into the tavern, passing Cymbeline and Lucan as he headed for the cluster of younger knights, Olwyn, and Morgause.
"Griflet is dead," he said, and Morgause could hear sorrow in his flat voice. "He was Bedivere's younger brother. He and Lucan had gone north with their father, Jorah, to help him win back sovereignty of Clan Cunobelin. As far as we can tell, they were attacked by Woads in the service of Morgana and Nimue on their way back. Griflet was killed instantly and his horse badly hurt, but when he fell, his foot got caught in straps from his saddle, and the horse dragged him back here before dying as well. Jorah has been badly injured, but I don't know…" his voice trailed off.
Rhience's wails rose even louder, and Olwyn shushed him, bouncing him in her arms. She looked up at Gawain. "Do you want to take him?" she asked gently.
Gawain looked down at his blood-covered hands. "I can't," he said, his voice breaking.
"Of course," Olwyn nodded. "I didn't think." She paused. "Culhwch and I can watch them tonight."
Gawain nodded. "Thank you."
Olwyn nodded again and turned her attention back to the baby, starting to walk around the tavern as she bounced and shushed him.
Gawain looked back down at his hands. "I should go…" he murmured.
"Do you need help with the boy?" Morgause said softly, resting her hand against Gawain's arm.
Gawain glanced back at Lucan and shook his head. "Cymbeline and I can take him home," he said. "We'll stay there tonight, at least until Bedivere is done."
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain and Cymbeline took Lucan back to the little apartment above the infirmary. Lucan vanished into one room, while Cymbeline led Gawain into the other room. A smile flickered across his face as he saw the three bassinets set up along the one wall. "You've been staying here?"
"When they were first born, and would wake up every few hours and cry to be fed, I needed the extra hands," Cymbeline replied. "It's always helpful to have at least one extra set of hands with the three of them. Beds and the boys were very patient, even when they hardly got any more sleep than I did, and when Rhience had colic." As she spoke she pulled her sweater up and over her head, then shed her skirt so that she stood in her leggings, undershirt, and knit socks. She through her bloody clothes into a haphazard pile at the foot of the bed.
Gawain followed suit, peeling the still-damp clothes away from his skin until he stood bare-chested, faint smears of blood on his shoulder and up his arms.
"Beds usually keeps water out here," Cymbeline murmured, slipping back into the main room of the apartment, then returning with a bucket and a bowl. She filled the bowl, then carried the bucket back out while Gawain started to wash the blood from his arms. Cymbeline helped when she returned, the two of them silent as the water slowly turned more and more red. Once the blood was gone from their skin and the water was nearly the color of wine, Cymbeline crossed to the chest at the end of the bed. She pulled a shirt and trousers out of it and tossed them to Gawain. "You smell like you've been on a horse for the past month," a smile hitched the corner of her lips.
"Probably because I've been on a horse for the past month and someone didn't give me time to go and change before dragging me off to meet our children," Gawain teased gently.
"Well, you can change now," Cymbeline began to shed the rest of her clothes. "I'm not sharing a bed with someone who smells like a horse."
Gawain smiled, but acquiesced, changing his trousers, although he opted to leave his chest bare so his skin had a chance to dry, despite the chill of the room. Cymbeline pulled an oversized shirt over her head—Gawain was almost positive that it was one of his—and a pair of short, loose breeches that were hardly longer than the shirt, then sat cross legged on the bed, her back to the wall behind it. Gawain joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. They sat in silence for long minutes, staring at the shadows cast on the opposite wall by the moon shining through the window near the foot of the bed.
"It didn't work," Cymbeline mumbled, half-asleep.
"What?" Gawain looked down at the top of her head.
"You still smell like horse," Cymbeline grumbled.
Gawain laughed softly, the movement shifting Cymbeline's head on his chest.
"Like horse, and sweat, and… dirty hair," Cymbeline grumbled, moving to lie down on the bed, pushing all of the blankets into a pile at the opposite end.
"I'll go to the baths tomorrow," Gawain promised, laying down beside her. He pulled the blankets up over them, then wrapped an arm around her ribs and pulled her close.
Cymbeline pressed herself as close to Gawain as she could, a slight shiver running through her body. He flinched as her cold feet tucked against his legs, but didn't protest. Her small fingers interlaced with his on the hand that rested against her stomach.
"I've missed you."
The whisper was so soft that Gawain almost missed it. He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath, catching a hint of the soap she had used last time she washed it. "I missed you too," he murmured. He pulled his hand away from hers and started to trace the bare skin of her stomach where the shirt had ridden up. "These are new," he said, tracing marks along the lower part of her stomach, just above the waistband of her breeches.
"A gift from the triplets," Cymbeline said wryly. "What's left of where the skin stretched so they'd fit inside of me." She took his hand and moved it lower, to a long, ridged bump on the side of her thigh, a few inches above her knee. "That one's new too," she said. "I caught a knife while I was on horseback a few weeks ago. She moved his hand back up and pulled the collar of her shirt aside so that he could feel the knot on her right shoulder. "An arrow, when Ysbadaddon attacked us," she explained. "And I'm guessing you noticed this one," she moved his hand to her forehead to feel the long mark across it. "From the same night. The same blow that took off Dagonet's hand made this one."
Gawain let his fingers learn the new mark on her skin before moving his arm to drape over her stomach again. "I don't have any new ones to show you," he laughed softly.
"Good," she mumbled sleepily.
Gawain smiled and kissed her on the temple. "Sleep now," he whispered, even as he felt her breathing start to slow as she drifted off. Pulling her close again, he settled himself down to sleep and quickly drifted off.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Even with the babies gone, Cymbeline didn't get to sleep through the night. Only a few hours after she fell asleep, she woke as a small hand gripped her arm and shook her gently.
"Cymbeline?" Lucan's voice whispered.
"What is it?" Cymbeline mumbled, pushing herself up onto her elbow. "What's wrong?"
"I can't sleep," Lucan was shaking, and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. Cymbeline doubted that he had any tears left at this point.
"Come here," Cymbeline sat up. She gave Gawain a shove, rolling him onto his back. "Wake up."
Gawain groaned, opening one eye to glare at her.
"Move over," Cymbeline pushed him again, and he obligingly scooted up so that his back was to the wall.
Without a word, Lucan crawled between them, his back to Gawain. Cymbeline pulled the blanket up over the boy's shoulders, brushing his hair back from his face. Within moments, his breathing evened out, his eyes drifting shut as he fell asleep. Cymbeline sat for a few more moments, watching to make sure he was actually asleep before settling back down herself, facing the boy and ignoring the fact that it felt like she was halfway off the bed. She brushed a stray curl from his face before squirming into a comfortable position and pulling what was left of the blankets up around herself and nodding off once again.
.*.*.*.*.*.
In the morning, Gawain was thoroughly confused to find Lucan wedged firmly between himself and Cymbeline, both of the others still sound asleep. As quietly and as gently as possible, Gawain eased himself out from the back of the bed and climbed carefully over the foot. He found a shirt that was probably his in the chest and padded out to the main room as he pulled it on. There, he found Bedivere sitting at the table in the center of the room, head in his hands.
"Beds?" Gawain said softly, resting his hand on the young healer's shoulder.
Bedivere raised his head and looked up at Gawain with red-rimmed eyes. "Kei told me about Griflet," he said dully. "Where's Lucan?"
"In there," Gawain nodded towards the room behind him, "with Cymbeline." He paused. "What about your father?"
"I think he'll be alright," Bedivere mumbled, letting his head drop back down into his hands. "I can't be sure. We'll know within the next few days."
Gawain nodded, taking a seat across from Bedivere. "No matter what, you did everything you could."
"I know," Bedivere mumbled. "But it might not have been enough."
"If he dies, then it's because nothing could have been enough," Gawain said. "And that's not your fault."
Bedivere nodded slightly, but didn't speak. They sat in silence for a moment. "Bedivere, go get some sleep," Gawain said finally. "You've been up all night, and Lucan will need you when he wakes up."
Bedivere didn't reply, so Gawain stood and pulled the younger man to his feet, then half-carried, half-dragged him into the second bedroom. He sat Bedivere on the bed and pulled the blankets back, then lifted his feet onto the bed and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. Wordlessly, Bedivere pulled the blankets tight around himself and rolled over so that he faced the wall.
Gawain left as quietly as he could, pulling the door shut behind him. After glancing in at Cymbeline and Lucan, he pulled on his boots and tunic, wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, and slipped out of the apartment.
It had snowed during the night—a surprisingly late snow, even though the sun was already starting to melt it away—and Gawain left footprints in the still-white carpet as he walked. Many people were sleeping in after the celebrations of the night before, so the small city was quiet, what sound there was muffled by the snow.
In the tavern, Gawain found, to his surprise, his entire family. Dindrane was helping Vanora with the youngest children, and he caught glimpses of Morgause bustling around the kitchen through the back doorway.
"Good morning," Pellinore greeted him gruffly.
"How's Lucan?" Grav asked, looking up from the meat he was cutting for Corentin.
"Sleeping," Gawain sat down across from his brother. "Beds too; he was up all night."
"Cymbeline?" Grav returned his attention to the plate in front of him, making a final cut before passing it to Corentin.
"Asleep," Gawain said.
"Arthur took Galahad, Kei, Bors, and Dagonet out to see if they could find out what happened," Grav said.
Gawain nodded. "I was hoping to catch them before they left. I wanted to go along."
"They left just after dawn," Grav said. "I only know because Galahad ran into his door on his way out, he was so tired. The sound woke me up."
Gawain smiled slightly. "That sounds like him."
"Culhwch and Olwyn still have your children, as far as I know," Grav added.
Gawain nodded. "I should probably go around there and see if they need any help."
"Looks like they beat you to it," Grav pointed towards the door, where Olwyn was bustling through, a baby in each arm, followed by Culhwch, who carried Rhience.
"Here you go," Olwyn handed Bella to Gawain without prelude. "They actually slept pretty much all night, so they should be fine. I'll get you some oatmeal for them." She passed Lot to Pellinore and headed towards the back.
"Thank you," Gawain called after her.
Culhwch sat down beside Gawian, Rhience asleep on his shoulder. "He screamed for about an hour before he wore himself out and slept the rest of the night," Culhwch yawned.
"Sorry," Gawain winced.
"Oh, it's fine," Culhwch shrugged. "That's not why I'm tired. Olwyn's been tossing and turning all night every night for the past few weeks and she keeps kicking me. I guess it's only fair since the baby's kicking her, but I still wake up every time."
"Olwyn's pregnant too?" Gawain asked.
"How have you not noticed?" Culhwch laughed. "I mean, don't tell her I said that, she'll kill me, but still. It's starting to get obvious."
"I've hardly even seen her since I got back yesterday," Gawain laughed. "I just hadn't noticed."
"Yes, this year has been very… productive all around, it seems," Culhwch joked. "Vanora, Cymbeline, Guinevere, and now Olwyn. In another few months, those five will be running around, and then mine and Olwyn's will be after them a few months later. They'll be unstoppable."
Gawain laughed as Olwyn returned, skillfully balancing several bowls of oatmeal on a round tray. She passed two each to Gawain and Culhwch, one to Pellinore, and kept one for herself. "Now, do you know how to feed a baby?" she teased Gawain and Pellinore.
"I might be a little rusty; it's been a few years since Llamrei and Amr needed help with their food," Gawain laughed, "but I think I can manage."
"It's been a few more years than that for me, but I'm sure I can figure it out," Pellinore said gruffly, holding Lot very stiffly with one arm while he mixed the oatmeal with his free hand.
"Well, if you need any tips, feel free to let me know," Olwyn smiled winningly. "And watch out for that one; he likes to spit his food out."
The warning came too late as Pellinore fed Lot his first spoonful of oatmeal. He had barely moved the spoon away from the baby's mouth before the oatmeal shot back out in a sticky projectile that splattered all over Pellinore's opposite arm.
Gawain stifled a laugh at the look that crossed Pellinore's face, somehow shocked, offended, and horrified at the same time. That quickly changed to a look of firm resolution and he scooped up another tiny bit of oatmeal to feed to the child.
By the time breakfast was over, almost the entirety of Pellinore's sleeve was covered in oatmeal, and the old knight looked thoroughly defeated. Eventually, Olwyn took pity on him and took Lot; as soon as he had been relieved, Pellinore stood stiffly, straightened his tunic—managing to smear oatmeal down the side of it—turned, and stalked out of the tavern.
"I think he's taken to grandfather-hood rather well," Grav said.