Chapter II: The Arrivals from Essetir
It felt like years and years since Gwen had last laid eyes on Camelot.
This feeling was erroneous for two reasons. First, she'd only fled her home late last summer, when Uther ordered her executed, returning only to recruit Tristan and Isolde as her guards. (While she'd been back, briefly, for Arthur's coronation, visitation had taken place in just the throne room. It didn't count.) Second, she'd repeatedly seen the citadel's pale walls and high-turreted castle in Morgana's dream-world. It had been there for three weeks, now, looming over the four of them like a promise unfulfilled. Not even Morgana had been able to go through the gates (she tried at least once per meeting), but whenever they got close enough, they could hear the murmur of conversation, the harshness of shouts, the roar of cheers.
Gwen greatly preferred the citadel to the other omens that had manifested in her friend's prophetic dreams. They all knew—or at least they thought they did—what Camelot's appearance meant. It was the site of the Great Conference of the Kingdoms, the place to which they would all go. The place where they would finally meet again in the waking world, not just the strange land of dreams.
The other omens were more mysterious and less heartening. A snare woven of multicolored threads. A scroll striking the ground, setting the grass on fire. A man in a lion mask with strings tied around his limbs. (Morgana was convinced that there was some connection between the masked man and the snare. She was probably right; the strings looked similar enough.) Golden leaves blowing in the wind, some landing in irregular piles. A great circular table.
There was also a familiar sword sticking out of a rock, which Merlin and Morgana insisted was nothing to worry about. Arthur had not been pleased to discover that his warlock had stuck Excalibur into a stone for 'safekeeping,' and he was even less pleased that they'd given Morgause the responsibility of returning it without even explaining to him how she intended to do so. Apparently that would not only 'ruin the surprise,' it would make his reaction less believable and 'damage what we're trying to accomplish with this stunt.' They hadn't told Gwen either, assuring her that she'd be back in Camelot for Excalibur's return. They wanted as many witnesses as possible.
Upon hearing this, Arthur and Gwen had exchanged looks of utmost horror and silently vowed to put a stop to it. Alas, they'd had no success so far. They had, however, heard a wide variety of rumors cropping up in the waking world concerning a sword in a stone. Its appearance signaled the dawn of an age of prosperity, it could only be drawn by the long-prophesied ruler of Albion, it had been crafted by the gods themselves from the heart of a fallen star. That sort of thing.
But that afternoon, riding back to her home among King Loth's retinue, Gwen wasn't thinking about the dream-world or the facsimile of Camelot that it contained. She was craning her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of more than pale walls, but the trees blocked her view.
"Homesick, are we?"
Gwyar and her daughter Clarissant occupied a strange space in the Essetiri party. Though Gwyar was Loth's daughter, she wasn't considered a princess in the same way as, say, Mithian of Nemeth. She'd nearly been disowned after refusing to remarry as part of a scheme to regain the Essetiri throne. Only the interference of her brother Lot had kept her in the family, and a bitter chill had descended between Loth and his daughter's line. When Loth had returned to his ancestral homeland, Gwyar and Clarissant had remained behind in the Orkneys, control of which Loth had granted to Lot's younger son Gareth. The party from the Orkneys had arrived in Essetir two days before their departure to Camelot, and Gwyar and Clarissant had spent much of that time avoiding their kin.
They didn't avoid Gwen, though. Quite the opposite. She'd seen Gwyar's other child, Gwaine, more recently than either disgraced princess. They'd listened to Gwen's stories about his adventures in Camelot, Gwyar with worried silence, Clarissant with rude commentary.
"Yes," Gwen admitted. "I know that it hasn't been long, but it feels as though it has. Does that make any sense?"
Gwyar nodded, her dark curls swaying. "Like when you're very tired and can't go to bed for another hour."
"Something like that, yes. Before this, I'd only left Camelot—the city, that is—a few times, and only for a few days. I'd only left the kingdom once. It feels strange to return."
"And when you return, everything will somehow be both the same and different."
"I know it will be different," Gwen admitted. "Better. Remember, I left at the height of Uther's reign of terror. By now, King Arthur has restored peace and order."
"Not for long," interjected the ever-pessimistic Clarissant. "It's easier to destroy than to create, easier to stoke a fire than to put it out. Takes longer, too."
"As long as no one is being hunted down and murdered in the streets, Camelot is in better condition now than when I left it."
"I suppose," Clarissant allowed.
"I think I see a pennant," Gwyar exclaimed, standing in her stirrups. Gwen followed suit, and sure enough, she could make out flashes of red and gold flashing in the breeze.
Almost home.
The next hour dragged on like a snail. Possibly a drunken snail, assuming that snails could become drunk. But then they were rounding the last curve, and then they were at the gates. The red-cloaked guard kept shooting surreptitious glances at Gwen (and less surreptitious glances at Isolde, who ignored them with the ease of long practice), but he let their party through without issue. Her horse took a step, another step, a third, and then Gwen was within the city walls.
Four knights waited for them beyond the gate. Percival, Lancelot, Leon, and Elyan sat astride matching warhorses, resplendent in their armor and cloaks. Gwaine was conspicuously (at least to Gwen, who knew that he spent most of his time with this group) absent. Arthur must have decided to not risk an altercation the moment they arrived.
Gwyar sighed quietly. Clarissant muttered something under her breath. Gwen beamed at her brother, who beamed right back at her as Leon gave the standard welcoming speech, which Loth listened to with badly concealed impatience.
To no one's surprise, Elyan fell into step beside his sister. "Gods, it's good to see you again," he laughed.
"You too."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Knight," Gwyar interrupted, "but do you know my son, Sir Gwaine?"
"Yes." Elyan lowered his voice. "King Arthur wanted to let you reunite with him in private."
Gwyar glowed. "How kind of him."
"He's a good man."
"Yes, Lady Guinevere made that very clear. I take it that you're her brother, Sir Elyan?"
"That I am." He gave a little bow from horseback. "You're Gwaine's mother, Princess Gwyar?"
"Just a lady, I'm afraid, but yes. I am Gwyar."
"Gwaine wasn't exaggerating when he said his family all looked the same. You look very much like him."
They kept up their small talk all the way to the castle. Arthur was waiting for them at the door, a bit stiff from stress but more handsome than ever. He caught Gwen's eye and smiled; she grinned back. Then the king launched into another little speech about strengthening their kingdoms and the bonds between them, improving the lives of their subjects, and other things like that. A pair of servants came forward to lead everyone to their chambers, and a third led Gwyar (almost vibrating with excitement) and Clarissant (significantly less excited) away to reunite with Gwaine. Gwen silently wished them—not to mention the rogue knight—luck.
Gwen would be staying in the castle for security reasons. She would really rather stay in her own home, but that left her too vulnerable to the inevitable backlash, so she and her retinue would be staying in a small suite here in the Pendragon fortress.
The servant leading Gwen's group was one she recognized. The former maid smiled. "Niclas! How lovely to see you again."
Niclas's shoulders went rigid. For a moment, Gwen thought that she'd gotten his name wrong. She and possibly-Niclas had been acquaintances more than friends, exchanging brief greetings in the hallways but not much else. How utterly mortifying.
"Lady Guinevere," the servant said stiffly. "Thank you." A moment's hesitation, then, "I am flattered that you remember me."
"As well as I remember anyone," Gwen replied, still not entirely certain if this fellow's name was Niclas or not. "Well, anyone at our level of acquaintanceship, at least." She wracked her brain for more details. "You have a sister working in the kitchens, don't you?"
"Yes, my lady."
A gulf stretched between them, a distance imposed by status and made worse by unfamiliarity. Servants weren't meant to be friendly and familiar with the nobility, and they certainly weren't meant to become ladies. Then there was the bit where Gwen was dear friends with the two most notorious spellbinders in Camelot and sometimes suspected of having her own magic. No wonder Niclas was so uncomfortable.
"Oh," replied Gwen, her voice small, more because the silence was getting awkward than anything else. "Well—I'm glad to see you're doing well, and I hope your sister is too."
"Thank you, my lady." They'd reached their destination. With an air of relief, Niclas announced, "Your chambers."
"Thank you, Niclas."
"You're welcome." With that, he walked away as quickly as possible.
This was the third supper feast they'd had in a row, and it technically honored three kingdoms. First and foremost was Essetir, ancient homeland of Loth's house. Second was the Orkney Islands, whose crown Loth retained and which were being ruled over by his absent grandson Gareth. Third was Amata, whose young king had just emerged victorious from a civil war.
Protocol dictated that if two kings arrived on the same day, the senior monarch was to sit at the host's right hand, with the junior at his left. Thankfully, Claudin was mild-mannered and difficult to offend, a stark contrast to prickly, (justifiably) paranoid old Loth, who enjoyed making passive-aggressive comments about the time Uther had invaded his kingdom. Thankfully for Arthur, Rhodor of Nemeth and Caerleon of Caerleon (he still had no idea why the man's parents had given their heir the same name as his future kingdom. Truly, it was a mystery for the ages) were also at the high table, holding yet another loud, laughter-filled conversation about their shared grandson. This, combined with Claudin's carefully timed courtesies and observations, kept Loth's grumblings to a minimum.
Tomorrow, barring unfortunate weather or some other emergency, would see the arrival of not just two but five reigning monarchs (and their families, and their retinues, and their horses): Bors of Ganis, Evaine of Benwick, Bayard of Mercia, Godwin of Gawant, and Alined of Deorham. If Arthur was lucky, one or two of them would arrive in the morning so that he could fête them at lunch instead of supper, but he didn't trust his luck.
Despite Loth's quiet dislike, that evening's feast was reasonably enjoyable. Still, Arthur would rather not have been there, and he wished that it wouldn't last so long. Guinevere had come home, and he wanted to see her.
Naturally, the feast dragged on forever. When it finally ended, Arthur said his goodbyes and fled to the small meeting room that he and his favored knights had slowly taken over.
Guinevere was there, and her retinue, and Arthur's knights, and a casket of something alcoholic and delicious.
Tension drained from his shoulders as he slipped into the room. Gwaine was talking animatedly to a couple that Arthur recognized as Tristan and Isolde, as well as an unfamiliar woman who must be Sefa. Guinevere and a fellow who had to be Gilli were chatting with most of the other knights, while Percival and Blanchefleur watched both groups from the center of the room. His lady's face lit up when she saw him, and Arthur felt his own expression trying to morph into something embarrassingly soppy. He settled for a wide grin that widened further when Guinevere sprang up and dashed into his arms.
(There were at least two people missing from this tableau, but that was unavoidable. They'd be back in Camelot soon enough.)
Tristan raised his mug. The color was high on his cheeks; he'd definitely been hitting the cask. "A toast for the happy couple and their engagement!" Isolde smacked her tankard against his, and they threw back their heads to drink.
The entire room whooped. Even Lancelot, who had once courted Guinevere himself, cheered.
"When are you making the announcement?" Elyan asked when the applause died down. Arthur and Guinevere settled in next to him.
"We haven't actually discussed it," Arthur admitted. He supposed that this was a good a place as any to talk the matter over. "What do you think, Guinevere?"
She refrained from immediately answering, weighing her options. "It seems like a bad idea to announce it during the Conference," she concluded. "There's too much chaos here already, too many things that could go wrong. I don't want to wait long after that, though."
"Maybe wait until your father moves back into the city," Leon suggested. "Give him a day or two to settle."
"Reasonable," Arthur agreed.
"Gwen?" Elyan was alarmed. "What's wrong?"
Arthur turned. His fiancé was covering her mouth with her hands. Her dark eyes were perfect circles. "Guinevere?"
"…I don't think I ever told Dad."
"What?" said Elyan.
"What?" choked Arthur.
"That's not good," Lancelot observed.
"He's right, it is very not much good," Leon agreed.
Guinevere looked ready to start banging her head against the wall. "Oh, gods," she groaned. "I remember thinking that I didn't want to overwhelm him back when I told him that Morgana and I were helping magic—not that he wasn't already overwhelmed, I just didn't want to make it worse—but I remember thinking, 'I can tell him when things settle down,' and then we'd barely gotten to the Isle when it was attacked, and then we were just getting used to Listeneise when I left." She hid her face. "How could I have done something so stupid?"
Arthur patted her on the back. "If it makes you feel better, I forgot to tell the knights until November."
She peeked up through her fingers. "You had the weight of a kingdom on your shoulders," she reminded him.
"And you were fleeing for your life," Arthur retorted.
"As long as you don't just offhandedly mention who you're engaged to right before a daylong series of meeting with half the guild leaders in Camelot, you'll do better than he did," Elyan assured his sister, shooting a brief glare at Arthur. The king rolled his eyes. Even after all these months, his knights still wouldn't let him forget that gaffe. Elyan and Gwaine would probably give him grief about it when they were all old men, and he feared the day Merlin learned of it. "I spent hours trying to figure out if I'd actually heard him right or if I was going mad. You can just… sit Dad down and tell him." A grimace. "And yes, I recognize the irony of me giving you this specific advice. At least Arthur's not—an arse."
Guinevere lowered her hands. "That is what Dad cares about," she stated, each word weighty with a history Arthur had never learned. He could guess, though. Elyan must have fallen in love with an unworthy woman, and Tom had reacted badly when he learned. Perhaps that was why Elyan had left. He'd never gotten the story out of either sibling.
"I know that," Elyan grumbled with the air of someone who very much did not want to continue the discussion. Guinevere inclined her head, gracious as always.
"I think that Tom will respond very reasonably," Leon cut in. "He might need a day or two to adjust, but once the shock wears off, he'll be thrilled you've found someone you can marry."
"I'm more worried he'll be hurt I didn't tell him before," she sighed.
"Blame Hunith," Arthur advised. That had the desired result of startling a laugh out of her. "She's the one who kicked you out of Listeneise before you could tell him."
"I might just have to do that," she chuckled. Then, returning to the original topic, she suggested, "Perhaps we could wait to announce it publicly until Dad's had… let's say three days… to adjust?"
"Three days," Arthur agreed. "Just don't tell Morgana. I've already got something like fifty speeches in my desk, I don't need her writing three more."
"Weren't you supposed to be using them at your public forums?"
"I have." Sort of. He'd memorize portions of them the day before a meeting, then deliver them when the opportunity arose. His sister's writing had improved by leaps and bounds over the season, but she tended to pontificate for longer than Arthur liked (unless one asked her specifically for something short, if Merlin was to be believed. Then again, the warlock had been able to plead that he'd never been trained to memorize speeches like Arthur had). "Most of them are her earlier attempts."
"Ah."
"I'd rather use my own words to announce our engagement."
Guinevere smiled that beautiful smile of hers. "I look forward to it."
"So do I."
"You know what I wish?" blurted Tristan, who had come up behind the couple without anyone noticing (except Percival, but he'd kept mum). "I wish we could see Meleagant's reaction to Lady Guinevere's engagement." He cackled. Isolde and Gilli joined in, and Sefa fought back giggles. Guinevere grimaced.
"Who's Meleagant?" Gwaine demanded.
"A nuisance," Arthur answered sharply. There was a reason he'd never told them about the obnoxious bandit.
"Oh, you shouldn't have said that to him," Lancelot murmured. Sure enough, Gwaine's mischievous smile only widened. He made a do tell sort of gesture at Tristan, who obligingly launched into the ridiculous tale of the Dyffedi highwayman who'd developed a shine for Guinevere. The entire room listened in, with other members of Guinevere's retinue occasionally offering details that the smuggler had forgotten.
The get-together didn't last much longer. They were all tired after a long day of preparations and reunions and travel, and they had several long, exhausting days ahead of them. They needed their sleep and likely couldn't do this again until the Grand Conference was over. Quite frankly, they probably should have gone to bed earlier, instead of sitting around drinking and gossiping. But sometimes, a person needed companionship as much as, more than, base physical requirements. This was one of those times.
Besides, the extra alcohol would help them fall asleep. Sure enough, Arthur was gone as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Gwen Realizes that She Might Have Goofed a Bit"
Next chapter: May 27. An affectionate parody of one of the most common motifs in Arthurian legend. (It's Morgause's idea, and Arthur is not amused.)