"Do you have everything?" Elyan asks, suspiciously eyeing the cart holding his sister's belongings.
"Certainly hope so," Guinevere answers. "Maybe I should go check my rooms—"
"You've checked three times already, Gwen," he laughs, grabbing her hand to keep her from dashing inside yet again. "I shouldn't have asked."
"Sorry. Just nervous," she replies, chuckling with him. She pats her hair and smoothes her skirts, her hands needing something to do. "All right. No point in delaying the inevitable," she says.
A handful of people have come to see her off, and she takes a few moments to bid farewell to them. She hugs a crying Sefa and wishes her well, telling her she will try to visit, and when she does, she will make sure to see her. She warmly clasps the hands of a few acquaintances before stopping in front of Annis' youngest daughter, Princess Elena.
"I know you're really here to see Elyan off," Guinevere says with a smile.
"Only partly," Elena responds. "Your calm, kind demeanor is a comforting presence in court, and you will be missed." She smiles brightly and adds, "I have few people I can consider friends, and am pleased to count you among them. I'm going to miss you, Guinevere."
Guinevere hugs the princess and says, "I'm going to miss you, too. Take care of my brother."
Elena squeezes Guinevere's hands. "You know I will."
Guinevere steps aside to allow her brother to bid farewell to Elena. She sees him give her a chaste kiss and whisper something in her ear that colors her cheeks. It makes Guinevere smile, but also makes her a bit sad, remembering the better times she had with Lancelot.
"I will see you tomorrow, my sweet," Elyan says, then turns to his sister. "Shall we?"
"The longer we wait, the later it will be when we arrive," Guinevere answers. "And I'd prefer not to travel in the dark."
"Indeed," her brother agrees. He assists her up onto the cart before climbing up himself, twitches the reins, and begins the journey south.
xXx
They arrive in Camelot at dusk. Once they crossed the borders, Guinevere found herself on high alert, wondering if someone was going to leap out at them from behind the trees. She could feel Elyan's posture shift beside her from casual to highly-alert-but-appearing-casual and knew he was taking in every detail though he said nothing.
When they reach the town, Guinevere starts to pay close attention. It doesn't look that uncivilized. The town is quaint, but pleasant enough. Women are walking in the streets, unescorted and unmolested. Children run about, laughing and playing. There is noise from a tavern, but the taverns in Caerleon sound no different. She sees the vendors in the marketplace packing up their carts for the day, and finds she is looking forward to exploring it soon, wondering what wares may be available here that don't make it as far north as Caerleon.
They enter the castle courtyard and see two men standing at the top of the stairs leading inside. They begin descending when they spot Guinevere and Elyan.
"The tall one is Sir Leon. He is the First Knight of Camelot. Arthur's right-hand man in battle," Elyan explains.
"Is that King Arthur then?" Guinevere asks, indicating the other man. He certainly doesn't look like a great warrior. Tall but not as tall as Leon, rail thin, with shiny black hair and ears like pot handles, he looks like a man who is more comfortable surrounded by books than armaments.
"No," Elyan answers, almost laughing. "I don't know who that is."
Guinevere is a bit disappointed that the king is not meeting them, but tries not to let it show. "I'm sure the king is busy with affairs of state," she says, her words sounding feeble.
"Right," Elyan agrees, his tone indicating he truly feels the same as his sister about Arthur's absence.
"Welcome to Camelot, Lady Guinevere," the black-haired man greets them. He looks up at them with startlingly blue eyes and smiles warmly. "I am Lord Merlin, King Arthur's advisor. This is Sir Leon, First Knight of Camelot." He nods towards his companion.
"My lady," Leon lightly bows, his russet-brown curls flopping in his face. "Welcome."
"The king sends his apologies as he is busy with affairs of state at the moment," Merlin explains. Guinevere nods, but hears Elyan stifle a quiet snort beside her.
"Thank you, Lord Merlin," she replies.
"My lady, if I may?" Leon is at the side of the cart, offering his hand.
"Thank you, Sir Leon," she answers, taking his hand and allowing him to assist her down. Once on the ground beside the knight, she notices just how tall he truly is, lifting her face to look up at his, a foot higher. "Thank you," she repeats.
"My pleasure," he nods. "Sir Elyan, it is good to see you again," he greets the other knight, clasping forearms with him.
"Sir Leon, nice to see you under pleasant circumstances for a change," Elyan says with a laugh.
Leon chuckles, clapping his fellow knight on the shoulder before turning to Merlin. "Lord Merlin, allow me to present Sir Elyan Leodegrance of Caerleon."
Merlin's eyebrow raise. "Your brother, I presume?" he asks, and Guinevere nods. "It is an honor and a privilege," Merlin greets, shaking hands with Elyan instead of clasping forearms, confirming Guinevere's suspicions about the Royal Advisor. He is a diplomat, not a soldier.
"The honor is mine, Lord Merlin," Elyan replies.
To their surprise, Merlin laughs. "Nonsense. You've never heard of me before this evening," he says.
"True," Elyan replies, joining his laughter. "But you are the advisor to the king, so you are deserving of my respect."
"Can't argue that," Merlin replies, but he says it in a way that is neither boastful nor arrogant. "Come," he says, turning towards Guinevere, "we will show you to your rooms." He waves to some servants and they set about removing her belongings from the cart to bring them in.
Merlin offers his arm, and Guinevere takes it. Leon and Elyan follow, chatting quietly.
"Great hall is that way," Merlin points, "throne room over there… kitchens, laundry… not that you'll need to go there…"
Guinevere listens while Merlin chatters away, knowing that she won't remember any of this right now. She finds she already likes Merlin. He is affable and seems to be genuine. So many nobles, especially those in positions of power, are high-handed and put on airs, but Merlin appears to be neither of those things.
"…And here we are," Merlin concludes. "The king's chambers are down that corridor to the left. The princes' rooms are to the right."
She nods, wondering why he thinks she needs to know where the king's chambers are. I very much doubt I will ever need to go there. "Thank you," she says with a smile.
"Sir Leon, will you take Sir Elyan to the blue guest room?" Merlin asks. Leon nods and he and Elyan walk a few more doors down the same corridor. One servant follows with Elyan's bag. He opens the door to her rooms. "You must be hungry," he says, stepping aside to allow her to enter.
"A bit, yes," she says. In truth, she is very hungry, but doesn't want Merlin thinking she is a glutton.
"I will have dinner sent up within the hour for you and your brother," he says. "I apologize again for the king's absence," he adds, looking genuinely contrite.
"Thank you, Lord Merlin, you've been very kind," she says. "When… when will I meet the princes?" she asks, thinking if she can find that out, she might also learn when she will meet the king. It is more important that I acquaint myself with the children, but I should like to find out what the king expects of me as well.
"Likely tomorrow, I'm afraid," Merlin says. "It will depend on Arthur's availability."
"So I'm to wait on the king's convenience then?" she asks, then immediately apologizes for her impertinence. "Forgive me, Lord Merlin. I should not question the king's intentions. I am merely tired and hungry from the jour—"
"It's all right, Lady Guinevere," Merlin says with a smile, holding his hands out in an apologetic gesture. "You need never be afraid to speak your true thoughts to me. I may be the king's advisor, but I am not a sycophant." He snorts a chuckle. "In fact, no one argues with him more than I do."
"Oh my!" Guinevere exclaims, covering her mouth to hide the laughter that wants to escape. She decides that she definitely likes Merlin. "Does anyone argue with him apart from you though?" she asks, still smiling.
"Ha," he exclaims. "Not really." He gives her a sheepish grin, then says, "Right, I'll leave you to unpack. I will tell Elyan about dinner on my way to the kitchens."
"Thank you again, Lord Merlin. For everything," Guinevere says.
"Please, call me Merlin," he says.
"Well, in that case, please call me Guinevere," she replies.
xXx
Dinner is quiet and pleasant, held in Guinevere's rooms with just her and her brother dining. A very efficient servant called George attends them, and the food is much higher quality than either of them were expecting.
After dinner, Elyan begs her forgiveness but explains he had been invited to meet with the rest of the knights.
Guinevere gives him a wry smile. "Of course. 'Meet with'. Have fun at the tavern," she says.
Elyan opens his mouth, then closes it. "I won't drink too much. I do need to make the journey home tomorrow, you know."
"I know," she allows, standing when he does. "Thank you," she quietly says to George, who hurried over to pull her chair out for her. "Go easy on them with the gaming, too," she adds.
"I'll try not to take too much of their coin," he chuckles. Elyan excels at reading people during games of chance and is therefore frighteningly good at them. No one in Caerleon will play against him. He leans down, kisses his sister on the cheek, then exits.
George quietly clears his throat.
"Oh. Yes, George, you may clear this away," Guinevere says.
"Do you require anything further, my lady?" he asks.
"No, thank you," she replies.
"I will send one of the maidservants to attend you presently," he says, then sets about clearing the dinner dishes.
"Very good," she responds. She assumes this maid will not be her permanent maidservant, given his choice of words, and briefly considers asking him about it. She decides he is probably not the right person to ask, and holds her tongue.
Laden with his tray, George bows as best he can, then leaves her alone.
xXx
A soft knock sounds on Guinevere's door just over an hour later. She closes the doors to her wardrobe and goes to answer it.
"Lord Merlin," she greets, smiling. "Please, come in."
"Thank you, Lady Guinevere," he replies, stepping just inside the doors. "The king sent me to see if there was anything you required."
"I do not believe so, but thank you," she says. "Merlin, may I ask…?"
"You may ask me anything, Gwen."
"Did Queen Annis mention something about a maidservant for me in her message to the king?" she asks.
"Did King Arthur fulfill her request to find you a maidservant, you mean?" Merlin says with a grin, knowing what she is really asking.
Guinevere smiles and looks down. "Yes. I did not want you to think I was questioning the king's honor."
"Of course not, and it is a fair question. We have found a suitable maidservant for you, but she was unable to be here until tomorrow morning," he explains. "Forgive me; I should have told you before now."
"Thank you. Daralis attended me this evening and was quite satisfactory, but I knew she would not be my permanent maidservant."
"I am pleased you were happy with her, and will pass that along to Mary, our head housekeeper. Daralis is her daughter," Merlin explains. "Is everything to your liking in the room? If you prefer a different color scheme or would like the furniture rearranged, please let me know and I will make certain it is done."
Her quarters are beautifully appointed, finer and larger than her room at home in Caerleon. The drapes and upholsteries are in shades of red and gold, Camelot's banner colors. Guinevere favors purples and blues, but she can tell someone went to a great deal of trouble to dress this room for her, and she appreciates the effort. "I will let you know if I find I would like to change anything, thank you," she answers.
"Understood. You need time to settle in first," Merlin replies with a nod. "I will leave you to your rest. Good night, Guinevere."
"Good night, Merlin."
xXx
Guinevere is finally summoned after lunch. She spent her morning walking the corridors of the castle, getting her bearings, and hoping for glimpses of the princes.
After lunch, she decides to organize the things she brought along for the boys' lessons, knowing they will be needed at some point. If the king ever deigns to see me, she can't help thinking. She is just pulling some books out of a bag when Merlin's knock comes. She can already recognize it.
"The king requests your presence," he informs.
"All right," she answers, setting the books down. She is far past being nervous about meeting him now. He's made her wait too long and she's become closer to being annoyed.
Merlin escorts her to the throne room. "Are you nervous?"
"No," she answers. "Not anymore."
He chuckles, understanding. "For what it's worth, I am sorry he made you wait so long," he says. He tried to convince Arthur to see her after dinner the previous night, but to no avail. He tried to convince him to see her after breakfast, but he said he had to oversee training. Then he hinted that Arthur was just doing this to assert his power over an innocent widow he hired to educate his sons, and was told to "Get out". A fairly routine morning for Lord Merlin.
The throne room doors open and Merlin turns towards her. "Wait one moment," he quietly says. He steps inside and announces, "My lord, allow me to present Lady Guinevere du Lac of Caerleon."
Guinevere steps inside and curtseys. She takes about six steps forward before she really gets a good look at the King of Camelot.
He is young; Elyan's assessment appears to have been correct. She would indeed estimate him to be about the same age as her brother. And he is surprisingly handsome. She isn't surprised that he is handsome; she is surprised at exactly how handsome he is. He's remarkably handsome as he sits on his throne, one hand thoughtfully stroking his chin, studying her as she walks forward.
"Du Lac," he says, his voice a smooth, pleasant baritone. "A du Lac from Caerleon. I was always under the impression that the du Lacs are from Nemeth."
"Yes, Sire. My late husband was recruited by King Caerleon at a young age," Guinevere says. She doesn't know any more details other than King Rodor allowed Lancelot to join Caerleon's ranks instead of his own.
"Your husband was related to Lord Piers du Lac then?" he asks, but it doesn't sound much like a question.
Guinevere blinks, surprised at his interest in this matter. "Yes, Sire," she answers. "Lord Piers is my late husband's great uncle."
"Hmm," he nods noncommittally. "I have always wondered how a man from Gaul rose to become a lord in Nemeth."
"I'm afraid I am unable to shed any light on that matter, Sire," she replies.
"I did not ask you to do so," he tersely says.
"Yes, Sire," she says, looking down.
"I trust the new maidservant I found for you is satisfactory?" he asks after a pause.
"Yes, Sire. Freya is quite capable and I like her ver—"
"Good," he cuts her off, clearly not caring whether or not she likes her maid. "I must say I was surprised to hear you were not bringing your own maidservant."
"My former maidservant is promised to be married, Sire," she says.
"And?"
She looks up, meeting his eyes for the first time. "And I had no intention of taking her from her betrothed," she answers, successfully keeping the irritation she is feeling from her voice. I know he is the king, but such arrogance!
"And who is her betrothed? He must be someone of great importance for you to place his desires higher than your own. Or indeed, mine," he says.
"He is the butcher's son," she answers. "And the butcher has recently taken ill, so he is needed in Caerl—"
"I don't care," Arthur interrupts her again, waving his hand dismissively. "The personal matters of commoners are of little interest to me, even less so when they are taking place in someone else's kingdom."
Guinevere's mouth drops open, but she immediately clamps her jaws shut again. Perhaps his reputation is accurate after all.
"I see you disagree with my point of view," he comments, angling his head slightly.
"How you choose to govern you kingdom is no concern of mine… Sire," she hesitantly answers, now knowing she will have to choose her words carefully around this man. He may be a supercilious bully, but Elyan is right. He is no fool.
Arthur leans back in his throne. "That is correct," he pronounces. "You will do well here so long as you remember your place."
"Yes, Sire," she answers, keeping her chin up, refusing to be cowed by this man.
He nods once, seemingly satisfied. "You will meet the princes in one hour. Lord Merlin will come for you when they have finished their training," Arthur says. "You are dismissed until then."
"Thank you, Sire," she replies. Merlin appears, escorts her to the doors, but does not accompany her to her rooms.
Merlin closes the doors and walks back over to the king. "Was all that really necessary, Arthur?"
"What?" Arthur snaps, turning his stony eyes on his advisor.
"All that 'I did not ask you to do so' and 'remember your place' nonsense," Merlin says.
"I am the king," Arthur insists.
"Yes, Sire. You've certainly made that clear."
xXx
Exactly an hour later, Merlin knocks again. Guinevere is ready, excited to finally meet the boys, and quickly opens the door.
"Ready?" Merlin asks, smiling at her eagerness.
"I am," she answers.
Merlin wants to apologize for Arthur's earlier behavior, but he knows the king feels no remorse over it. She won't believe me anyway if I try.
Guinevere has a hundred questions about the princes, but decides not to ask them since she will be meeting them in a few minutes. Mainly she finds she is hoping that they have taken after their mother. I never met Queen Mithian, but she can't have been as rude as King Arthur.
Each pondering their own thoughts, they walk in silence to the throne room. This time Merlin opens the door and ushers her inside with no announcement. "Please, this way," he quietly says, guiding her to a spot in front of the dais and off to one side.
"Prince Llacheu of Camelot," a voice announces, and the doors open again. A tall boy, thin but showing the beginnings of manhood, strides in. He is a physical copy of his father, as far as Guinevere can see.
Llacheu stops in front of Guinevere, and she curtseys. "My lord, it is an honor to meet you," she says. When she straightens up, she sees that Llacheu is nearly as tall as she and his eyes are a rich brown instead of his father's blue.
"Lady Guinevere," he simply states, his voice steady but still that of a boy. His expression is carefully neutral, almost as though he has been practicing looking neither amused nor annoyed in a mirror.
Guinevere tries a smile, which has no effect. She thinks about commenting on his resemblance to his father, but decides he probably hears that quite frequently. "I look forward to getting to know you, my lord," she settles on.
The prince impassively regards her for a moment, then steps over beside his father. Arthur puts his arm around his eldest son's shoulders, causing Llacheu to straighten and stand a little taller.
"Prince Gwydre of Camelot," the voice declares, and another boy walks in. Gwydre is quite thin, with wide, serious blue eyes under light blonde hair that sticks up in a few places. He is long-limbed and graceful, and appears to see every detail yet be completely absorbed in his own thoughts.
"My lord," Guinevere curtseys again. Gwydre offers his hand. Guinevere smiles and takes it, shaking it, matching the firmness of his grip. His hand is fairly large, and Guinevere's eyes automatically drop and notice his feet are also large. He is going to be tall.
"Hello," Gwydre says. His voice is quiet and surprisingly low-pitched for a boy his age.
"Hello," Guinevere answers. Then he dashes away to stand on his father's other side. Arthur ruffles his hair, surprising Guinevere with his open affection.
"Prince Amhar of Camelot."
Amhar steps forward, hesitantly walking on stout legs, a carved wooden dragon clutched in one hand. He is clearly nervous and Guinevere glances at Arthur to see if he is encouraging his youngest boy.
Arthur gives his son a small nod, and the young boy's steps gain a bit of confidence. Unlike his brothers, Amhar has chestnut brown hair and seems to have a fairer complexion than his brothers, who have both inherited their father's golden coloring. He must heavily favor his mother, Guinevere notes, and her heart clenches a little at the realization of how that must make his father and brothers feel when they look at him.
Guinevere curtseys to the young boy, then drops to her knees in front of him. "I am very happy to meet you, my lord," she says.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because I am looking forward to teaching you all sorts of wonderful things," she says, smiling.
"Oh," he answers.
"I like your dragon," she says, pointing to the toy in his small, dimpled hand.
"You can't have him," he says, holding it to his chest.
"I wouldn't dream of taking him from you," she replies, making her voice as earnest as possible. "I was merely commenting on how handsome he is. Does he have a name?"
"Kilgarrah," Amhar answers.
"A fine name for a fine dragon," Guinevere declares with a nod.
"Amhar," Arthur's voice is quiet but authoritative, and the youngest prince walks up to join his family.
When Guinevere stands, she is surprised to see King Arthur holding his youngest son in his arms. He smiles at the boy and tells him something she cannot hear.
She watches them curiously. Clearly he loves his sons very much and they seem to feel the same about him.
Lost in her thoughts, she jumps slightly when Arthur speaks.
"Lessons will begin tomorrow morning at nine," he announces. "Merlin will show you the room."
"Yes, Sire. Thank you," she answers. Merlin offers his arm to her and ushers her from the room. He pauses to speak to the guard at the door for a moment, and Guinevere takes the opportunity to look back at the royal family again.
Arthur is tickling a squirming Amhar. Gwydre makes a comment which prompts Arthur to poke him as well. Llacheu is trying unsuccessfully not to laugh, and Guinevere notices the softness in his eyes as he looks at his youngest brother.
Then, Arthur laughs, and it rings throughout the throne room.
Guinevere follows Merlin out, no longer sure what to make of this human side of the man she had just an hour earlier written off as an arrogant tyrant.