She looked like a sweet, little old lady...
It has been 60 years since the Battle of Camlann. 60 years since Guinevere found herself the lone queen of Camelot, in control of a kingdom in which she was born a peasant.
60 years is a very long time. She has watched Camelot change and grow. Gaius has long since died. The last two men that she thought of as "her" knights, Leon and Percival, are gone. Leon to illness and Percival to old age, dying peacefully in his sleep just two years ago. Merlin, gone. Never returned from Camlann either, yet no one knows if he yet lives.
Yet Guinevere remains, if for only the two things Arthur left her: Camelot and a rather unexpected child.
She stepped down from the throne on her 70th birthday, passing the royal seal officially to her dear Llacheu. Llacheu has done both his mother and his father proud in every way.
Gwen, the dowager queen, spends much of her time now in the gardens or doing needlework in her quarters, lately awaiting the imminent arrival of her first great-grandchild. She is still widely respected and many yet seek her counsel over that of the king.
87 years is a long time to live. 60 years is long time to live without your one true love.
Today she sits in the throne room, beside and a little behind King Llacheu and Queen Susana as they hold court and grant audiences.
The doors open in the back of the room and an old man strides in, his hair and beard long and white, dressed in dark robes. He strides forward on long legs, remarkably spry for one so ancient.
Guards hurry after the man, trying to stay him, trying to stop him from approaching their sovereigns.
But the old man's eyes are fixed on Lady Guinevere as he strides forward.
She watches him. He is familiar. His eyes… such a deep, bright blue. The prominent cheekbones, the tall lean stature…
She stands and steps forward, and he notes that she seems to have gotten even smaller as she's aged, her curls now a white tumble down her back rather than the rich mahogany he remembers.
"Mother?" Llacheu says. She waves him off, walking to meet this strange…
…old friend.
Gwen and Merlin stand, face to face, for the first time in 60 years. She looks up at him, her face impassive, he looks down at her, his face expectant. Apologetic.
Then she balls her small, knobby hand into a fist, rears back, and punches him hard in the stomach.
Merlin doubles over, and as the guards step forward, she holds her hand up, stopping them. Then she places a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder.
"I suppose I deserved that…" he croaks once he can breathe again. He stands up again, and Gwen pulls him into a tight hug.
He holds her, feels her breath hitch, and realizes that there are tears rolling down his own face, soaking into his beard.
She leans back, releasing him. "60 years, Merlin? 60 bloody years before you decide to come back?"
"I'm sorry, Gwen…" he says, reaching up to wipe the tears from her still-beautiful face, which is still surprisingly smooth, with just a few wrinkles. "You look amazing… I would never guess that you were…"
"Do not try flattering me, Merlin. And you look awful. Why are you here?" she demands.
"I can't discuss it here," he says.
Hours later, Guinevere, the queen who brought Camelot to glory, who united the lands of Albion, settles in for the night. She sighs, thinking of her son, her four grandchildren, and the tiny babe that she now knows she'll never have the joy of holding in her arms.
"A girl, born two days hence. They will name her Guinevere, after you."
Thinking of her Arthur.
"It's time, Gwen," Merlin had told her. "I saw in the crystals that I needed to come to you on this night."
She huddles into the blankets, reaches over to Arthur's pillow like she does every night, places her hand in the center of it, and whispers, "Goodnight, Arthur." Like she does every night.
"I'll see you very soon."
Gwen closes her eyes and lets herself drift off to sleep, strangely content, despite knowing that she will not wake up the next morning.
Her heart will stop beating in the middle of the night while she slumbers.
Everywhere it is white. And gold. And green. The colors of all things new. Gwen looks down at her hands. They are young and smooth. She lifts a lock of hair. Brown, not white. She touches her cheeks. Firm, smooth and plump. Her waist is slender, her hips rounded, her breasts firm.
"Guinevere."
That voice. His voice behind her. It beckons and she turns.
The look on his face is worth the wait, worth dying to see again.
"Hello, Arthur," she says, and her voice is that of her young self. "I've missed you."
"And I, you," he answers, holding his hand out to her.
"Come."
A/N: Yeah, so this one turned in a direction that even I didn't expect…