THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS
By TIPPER
CHAPTER FIVE: THE PROPOSITION
Merlin helped Gwaine with his armor in the morning, while both Elyan and Sir Clay watched from their pallets, the two bearing deep frowns of disappointment. They, and a handful of others, were staying behind to be tended by Hildy.
Gwaine almost wished he were staying longer as well, only so that he could put off this reunion. He still wasn't sure what Clara was going to say to him, or what he was going to say to her. She was the only family he had left, though, and, if he was being honest, somewhere deep inside, he desperately wanted to repair what he'd done.
But what if she didn't want the same? What if…what if she hadn't changed? He wasn't sure he could take it if she rejected him and he lost that piece of himself again.
Merlin seemed to understand, because he had spent part of the last evening polishing Gwaine's armor while he was asleep. Seeing as the servant had needed rest himself, and Gwaine would never have asked him to do it, he was initially annoyed….but, inwardly, when he saw how much nicer the armor looked, he was also grateful. He held Merlin's arm for a long moment in thanks, before leaving him with the others to follow Clara's serving girl into the main castle.
Arthur walked with him for a time, not saying anything, just keeping him company as they walked from the outer bailey to the inner courtyard. It wasn't until they reached the steps of the keep that the king stopped.
"This is the quietest I've ever seen you," Arthur said casually as Gwaine started up the steps. "It's a little worrying."
Gwaine paused mid-step, and turned to give him a sly look. "You saying you're starting to like my 'mindless chatter'?"
Arthur snorted. "I didn't say that. But…" He shrugged. "I might miss it if it were gone."
Gwaine snorted a laugh. "Knew I'd grow on you, Princess."
The king flashed a smile. "Oh, and one more thing."
"Yeah?"
He threw a thumb back towards the outer bailey. "Don't forget we're all just back there."
Gwaine studied him a moment, knowing what that really meant. He inclined his head to show his understanding. "Thanks."
Arthur returned the nod and turned to leave. Gwaine sighed as he watched him walk away—wishing he could join him. When he finally turned and resumed climbing the stairs, he found his legs had grown a little heavier, and the pain in his chest a little sharper now that he was alone. That old part of him, the one that used to run from anything that reminded him of the family he'd lost so long ago, was screaming at him to do so now.
The girl had stopped at the top, and was waiting for him. When he reached her, she turned and walked into the keep, leading him through a series of narrow halls and up several sets of circular stairs, winding them deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle. Eventually, she pushed through a pair of doors into what was clearly the keep's Great Hall. It was rather plain, with rugs on the walls and thin windows nestled in dark alcoves with little adornment. This was a castle meant for battle, not for beauty.
Clara was standing at the far end of the hall, her back to him, looking up at a painting on the wall. Like yesterday, her blonde hair was curled perfectly around her head, but her dress this day was darker, almost a blood red. It matched the dark painting she studied. As he got closer, he could see it was a faded painting of Thiernan, sitting astride a large black horse in full Mercian battle armor, gazing out over a field of men in blue awaiting his command.
He snorted. "Still as ego-driven as ever I see, your husband."
Clara's head dropped, and Gwaine swore inwardly. Damn it—he was supposed to be patching things up with her, and he just insulted her missing husband? What kind of an ass was he?
"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean that. That was a stupid thing to say."
She turned then, and he frowned, expecting to see anger on her face, or tears, or pride. Instead, she seemed almost…apathetic.
"Can I offer you a cold drink?" she asked. "The weather is turning humid; it will be an overly warm day by all accounts."
Gwaine's eyebrows lifted. "Uh….sure, that'd be nice."
She moved away from him to a small table, on which sat a pitcher of water and several glasses. She poured two, and took a sip from one of them before walking over to hand the other to Gwaine. He took a sip of the tepid water. Frowning slightly, he took a deep breath.
"Clara, I—"
"Clara," she breathed, repeating the name softly. "I haven't been called that in years."
Gwaine pursed his lips, uncertain whether her reaction meant his nickname for her was welcome or unwanted. Just in case, he went with the latter. "Clarissant," he tried again, "I wanted to tell you that—"
"Stop," she said, holding up a hand. "Before you go any further, would you please turn around?"
He frowned, but, seeing no reason not to, he did as she asked. He found himself looking at the sidewall, on which hung another painting. This one was newer, and it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. The likeness of his sister was fairly poor—he'd seen better portraits at Camelot—but it was obviously meant to be her. She sat on a chair, with Thiernan standing behind her, older than how he was portrayed in the other painting, but still proud. He had a hand on her shoulder, and another….on a tall, thin blond boy. There was also a young blond girl sitting at Clara's feet. Children?
Gwaine's mouth fell open, his heart clenching in his chest. Did that mean…?
"You're an uncle, Gwaine," Clara said. "My son, Gregory, and my daughter, Anne."
He couldn't help it—he grinned. When he looked again at his sister, he was almost laughing—he was an uncle! There were kids in his family again!
"That's so wonderful!" he said, jogging over to embrace her tightly, ignoring the stiff way she accepted it. "Sister! You wonderful thing! They're beautiful!" He let her go, turning to look at the painting again, moving closer to look at it more carefully, to see their faces more clearly. "Look at them! I'm an uncle! She looks just like you! And he…he looks just like Gaheris! How old are they?"
"Eight and four."
"May I see them?"
"No."
Gwaine's smile faltered as he studied the two children in the painting, and he remembered why he was here. The trepidation he'd felt before was gone—instead, he was determined to make this work no matter what she wanted. He wasn't going to miss out on being an uncle. Turning, he saw that she was walking away, heading over to sit in one of the small, dark alcoves, on a bench under a window. He glanced at the painting one more time, at the faces of the two children, and then strode swiftly over to join her, sitting opposite her on the bench and grabbing her hands, holding them tightly in his own.
"I don't know exactly why you wanted to talk to me, but…but I'm glad you did. Because I need to tell you something." He drew in a deep breath. "I was an idiot. A huge, huge idiot. What I did, cutting you off, it was stupid and childish and wrong. And though I know there is nothing I can say that can make up for what I did, I swear, if I could go back, smack my teenage self upside the head, I would." He frowned. "I don't expect you to forgive me, not easily, but…Well, can you?"
Her eyes darkened, and she pulled her hands back to her lap. "You think it's that easy?" she asked.
Gwaine shook his head. "No, no, of course not," he said, trying to keep the hope in his chest alive as she stared at him so coolly. "Obviously, there's more that needs to be said. And done. But I…I really do want to reconcile—"
"And why would I want to reconcile with a liar?" she asked tartly. "One who became the very thing he so devoutly swore he would never be? The thing he most despised." She gestured to his armor. "One of them?"
Gwaine nodded, understanding that fully. He'd called her terrible things when they'd last spoken, words he was ashamed of now, and all on the basis of self-righteous certainty that he would never be a knight.
"I know this looks bad," he said, meeting her gaze. "But it isn't what you think. Arthur isn't like the others."
She snorted, turning her back on him. "I thought they were all the same," she snarled. "Isn't that what you told me?"
"He's different."
"Of course he is. How convenient for you."
"And…" Gwaine pressed his lips together as he considered his next words. "And because I was wrong about one prince, it's possible I may have been wrong about others." He moved closer, reaching to touch her arm. "I may have been wrong about your husband."
As his fingers touched her, she flinched and stood up, turning her back to him.
"Don't," she hissed. "Don't."
Gwaine drew his hand back. "Please, Clara, I—"
"How can you say that about him? That you were wrong?"
"Because, hard as it may be to believe, I'm not a kid anymore, Clara. What I thought about him when I was a teenager…. You were right, I never gave Thiernan a chance. All I saw was his title. I didn't listen to you, didn't read what you wrote about him after you left. But I'm willing to give him that chance now."
She stiffened. "And…and how do I know you're not lying to me?"
Gwaine stood. "Because, everything I have ever done, I have never lied to you. I may have changed my mind on some things, but I have never and will never lie to you."
She sighed heavily, the motion stretching and relaxing the dark red fabric across her back.
"That," she said finally, "I might believe."
"Then let me—"
"You weren't wrong about him," she whispered. "About Thiernan."
He frowned at the sudden change in her mood, tilting his head slightly. "What?"
"You and mother never read any of the letters I sent," she continued, her voice shaking now, "did you?"
Gwaine lowered his gaze to the ground.
"The letters," she continued, her voice so low now it was almost inaudible, "in which I begged you to come and get me? To save me from him? Where I begged my brother, my proud, brave brother, to come and rescue his sister from the evil she had fallen into?"
He looked up, eyes widening slightly. "What?"
She was facing him now, moving closer to the wall, leaning against it.
"I wondered," she said, her voice weak. "I wondered how you could have been so cold. But if you never read them—" She looked up at him, and this time there were tears in her eyes. "It makes more sense now."
He just stared at her, unable to move, feeling almost like he couldn't breathe.
"But you can fix that," she said, straightening up again. "You can make up for it, just like you want." She walked over and took his hands, as he had done to her before. "You can save me now, me and my children."
He blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"You were right about Thiernan. He was what you said he was." She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around herself. "Crazy. But not just unstable, he was…he is violent and vicious. I learned pretty quickly to accept the beatings, to let him ride his anger out, but when he started to threaten the children…."
"He beat you?" Gwaine repeated softly, his mind reeling, the desire to kill Thiernan immediately coming to the front of his mind.
She swallowed. "I have found ways to keep the children hidden, out of his way. But Gregory is clever—he'll soon understand what I'm doing, what I'm protecting him from, and he'll start trying to intervene. I see it in him." She looked at him. "He's like you. And Thiernan will kill him, I just know it. And until yesterday, I thought there was no hope."
"No hope?" Gwaine said, frowning. "Clara, if he has been beating you, why haven't you just run away? Taken them and run? Especially if Thiernan is missing as everyone says, then—"
"I can't."
"Sure you can. There are places to hide—many of them. I know them well. I could—"
"No," she said. "You don't understand. I can't just run."
"Why not? Is it because your children are nobility? Who cares! We hide you well enough, no one will-"
"It's not just that! It's…it's more than just that."
"Then explain it to me."
She bit her lip, the look of it so familiar it was like looking in a mirror.
"I have a proposition," she said, "for King Arthur."
He frowned. "A proposition? What has that to do with-"
"Because I can't just leave!" she said quickly, cutting him off. "I can't just go to some village with my children and hide—I won't go back to that life, the life we had before I married Thiernan. I won't let them grow up like that, scorned and debased, to live in squalor after living like royalty. But your Arthur, he could find us someplace to stay, somewhere with servants and a small income." She smiled thinly. "I'm not greedy. I just—"
"You want Arthur to be the one to help you escape, and to hide you?"
She nodded, moving to take his hands again, pulling him closer. "When I saw you, saw how close you were to Camelot's king, I started to think I had a chance. A way to start a new life. You could approach him on our behalf, explain the situation…"
Gwaine shook his head, pulling his hands free. "Clara, no. I'll help you any way that I can, but I can't involve Arthur. You know he can't be party to such a thing. If Bayard found out that the King of Camelot helped his daughter-in-law run from his son, and took his grandchildren as well? If that doesn't start a war, I don't know what will. He's already under suspicion for your husband's disappearance."
She shook her head, backing away from him. "He might agree," she pressed, "if I had something to trade for it."
Gwaine just shook his head more. "No, nothing is more important to him that preventing a war."
"Even if the information I have could save Camelot from being destroyed?"
He just stared at her. "What?" He felt like he'd been saying that a lot lately.
"I have information about an attack on Camelot," she said. "One the kingdom will not survive, not without forewarning. I can tell your king who is behind it and how it will happen but…." She licked her lips. "Only if he promises to get me and my children out of here, and set up somewhere safe, far away from Thiernan and Mercia."
Gwaine frowned, and snatched at her arm, gripping it tightly. "If you have information that could prevent an attack on Camelot, you need to tell me now."
She set her jaw stubbornly. "Not until I know my children and I will be safe."
"And they will be. I promise you," Gwaine vowed, "I will get you out of here. And I'll support you, find us a home far from anyone's eyes. I'll quit Arthur's service so that I can help you bring up the children. On that I swear, sister. But you have to tell me what you know."
"That's not good enough," she said, pulling her arm from his grip. "And if you won't help me…." She lifted her chin. "I will go to the king myself."
"Clara, no, please, I can protect you. You just need to let me…"
But she was already walking away, heading towards the doors. "Too late," she snapped, the anger from earlier back. "I should have known better than to look to you for help. How am I supposed to rely on you, put my children's safety in your hands, after what you did?" She spun around. "I should have known you'd let me down."
"Clara, please!" He started after her. "I am not letting you down. I can get you and them out of here. Please. I will help you, I just can't involve—"
"Then I'm on my own," she hissed. She turned again, walking so fast towards the doors she was almost running. "As I always have been." She reached the threshold and turned to face him. "And I will rescue myself. I don't need your pi—"
The doors suddenly burst open, and Clara jumped back with a yelp, just avoiding being hit. Gwaine jogged up to her side, taking her arm protectively as a fully armed Prince Thiernan strode into the room, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries.
"Thiernan?" Clara gasped. "Where did you-?"
"My love," the prince said, dark eyes boring into his wife, "I've been told you're talking treason under my roof."
"What? No, I—"
"Enough!" Thiernan snarled, and Clara instantly backed up, cowering, the image making Gwaine feel sick. But before he could act, he found Thiernan pointing a sword at his throat.
"Hello, brother." The prince sneered, pressing the sword forward and forcing Gwaine back a step. "How very disappointing to see you again. I'd really hoped you were dead."
TBC…
Yeah. This is not a happy reunion.