Lessons with the boys started out fine. Reasonably fine. Fair.
Guinevere knew twelve-year-old Llacheu would be a bit of a challenge. As first born and heir to the throne, he is generally unaccustomed to anyone apart from his father telling him what to do. Unaccustomed and resistant, as it turns out.
Gwydre, age nine, wasn't much of a problem. Often overlooked, he doesn't have the self-confidence of his older brother or the precociousness of his younger brother, and is hungry for attention.
She wasn't expecting Amhar to be difficult, but the five-year-old seemed to be intent on testing her patience every chance he got. If he wasn't constantly asking "Why", then he was dismantling something.
Still, she finds she likes the boys and tries not to let their initial behavior discourage her. When Amhar isn't trying her he is very sweet. Gwydre's hunger for attention is only surpassed by his hunger for knowledge. And Llacheu, while arrogant like his father, is occasionally compassionate and thoughtful, especially in regards to his youngest brother.
Llacheu is quite clever and, while he argues with her, Guinevere must admit he is very good at it. At least until he loses his temper. But he clearly has an aptitude for politics, if he can learn to keep a calm head. Guinevere hopes he can. She hopes she can help him.
Gwydre is remarkably smart. Guinevere immediately discovered that the middle Pendragon boy reads as well as, if not better than, Llacheu. He is very interested in history and science, and is good with his numbers though he doesn't much enjoy them. Guinevere tries to remember to give him enough attention and praise so he doesn't feel like the ignored middle child.
Amhar has a unique talent for mechanics. He can always reassemble or repair the things he has dismantled (though grudgingly sometimes), and seems to enjoy figuring out how things work. He is just starting to learn his letters and numbers, but Guinevere would like to help him explore his natural talent as well, and makes a mental note to find puzzles so he has plenty of opportunities to exercise it.
After the second week, Guinevere is exhausted. She wouldn't call her lessons successful yet, but they haven't been failures. She simply needs to find a way to reach the princes. Find out their true capacity for learning and the potential they each have. She knows it is a daunting task, but doesn't feel she can accomplish much until this is achieved. She lies down on her bed and closes her eyes, grateful for the next two days off. Time to rest and prepare for the beginning of the following week.
xXx
"I am the Crown Prince of Camelot and you cannot tell me what to do!"
The sound of Llacheu's yelling rings through the castle corridors. It's been going on for several minutes, finally prompting Arthur to slam his quill down on his desk and stalk out the door of his chambers. He pretends he doesn't hear Merlin muttering "About time" as he exits the room.
He strides towards the school room, still listening to his son rail on about how he is Lady du Lac's better and is therefore allowed to do as he pleases.
The fact that Arthur does not hear Guinevere's raised voice at all is not lost on him, and deep down, he is impressed with her self-control. He pauses outside, takes a steadying breath – his eldest is so like him that he has found he easily loses patience with the boy – and opens the door.
The scene that greets him is… interesting. Llacheu is standing in front of Guinevere, his face red. Lady Guinevere appears composed, but Arthur can tell she is frustrated by the way her hands are bunching her skirts and the proud set of her chin (he recognizes that posture because he saw it aimed his way during their first meeting).
Amhar is sitting at a small table, a long piece of wood in one hand, some sort of wooden contraption in the other, and there are colored wooden beads all over the table and floor. He looks triumphant, in a mischievous way.
Gwydre has moved into a corner, hiding behind a book, and Arthur's heart momentarily goes out to his quiet, bookish son, knowing how much he hates yelling of any kind.
Arthur clears his throat, and everyone freezes as their eyes turn to see the king standing there, his expression stormy.
"Llacheu. Lady Guinevere is your tutor and you will do as she says," he declares. His tone is quiet but very clearly not to be argued.
"Yes, sir," Llacheu answers, dropping his head.
Arthur turns towards Amhar, pointing at the mess around him. "Clean this up. Now."
"Sorry, Father," Amhar says, suddenly on the verge of tears. His little fingers start scrambling for beads.
"I am not the one who requires your apologies," Arthur snaps, addressing both boys. He turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the door behind him. He stands just outside the doors for a moment, listening. He immediately hears Amhar apologize, but doesn't hear Llacheu. Just as his hand is about to touch the door handle, he hears a low mumble followed by the voice of Lady Guinevere thanking him for his apology.
Arthur clenches his fists for a moment, embarrassed and still a little angry. Instead of returning to his rooms, he goes to the training grounds.
xXx
Late that same afternoon, Guinevere makes her way to the throne room, looking for King Arthur. She seems to recall he often holds Audience during this time, and hopes to be able to speak with him.
She can hear his voice through the doors and gives a questioning look to the guard outside. He gives her a slight nod, then quietly opens the door just enough for her to slip inside.
She stands at the back of the room, watching with interest as an old couple nod respectfully and slowly walk to the back of the room and stand, leaning against one another. Guinevere is unable to see if they are pleased or disappointed, so she turns all of her attention to the next petitioner.
It's a woman, shabbily dressed. She attempts to curtsey but has difficulty because of the three young children clinging to her skirts.
"Please," Arthur says holding up his hand, "that won't be necessary. What is your petition?"
"Sire," the woman speaks. Her voice is so soft Guinevere can barely hear her. Arthur leans forward to better listen. "My husband… died… two months ago… there was an accident…" The woman speaks haltingly, going on to tell the king how she is having difficulty feeding her family and cannot make much money because she has no help looking after children. "I had a cart in the marketplace… but I can't bring them along and still sell my wares…"
Arthur gently holds his hand up again. "Your husband was the one caught in the accident with the cart?" he asks. Guinevere has no idea what happened, but if a healthy young man was killed, it must have been awful.
The woman nods, then tugs sharply on the hand of one of her children who suddenly decides he wishes to leave.
"Lord Merlin," Arthur says, and Merlin materializes at his side. Guinevere hadn't even noticed he was there. "Please exempt this woman from having to pay taxes until further notice. See that she is given rations enough for her children and herself from the stores to last her through the winter."
"Yes, Sire," Merlin answers. He makes no notes, but Guinevere has learned the king's advisor has a remarkable memory.
"What did you sell in the marketplace?" Arthur asks her.
"Cheese, Sire," she answers. "I have goats."
"See if you can find her some customers that are willing to go to her house to make their purchases, Lord Merlin," he says, but looks out over the faces assembled there, making sure they know to whom he is truly addressing.
"Yes, Sire," Merlin repeats.
"Thank you, Sire," the woman says, her voice thick with emotion. "Bless you."
"We will do everything we can to see that you are able to take care of yourself and your children," Arthur says.
Now the woman does curtsey despite the children, and when Arthur nods, she turns to leave.
Guinevere watches Arthur this time, noting the carefully schooled expression on his face. She is dumbstruck at this display of compassion and understanding from him. She hasn't seen much of him since she met the princes, but that is largely because she's been avoiding him. Now, seeing him interact with his subjects for the first time, seeing him bestow kindness and charity on a widow—
Widow. He has empathy for her because he lost his wife. The realization hits her like a bolt of lightning. Three children, too. Maybe I've underestimated him. Guinevere wonders how much of it is empathy, because he didn't seem terribly empathetic when he met her.
Sir Leon steps forward and announces that the young mother was the final petitioner. The guards open the doors in the back and the people file out, nobles first, then commoners.
Guinevere lingers, standing half in shadow near a pillar. She can see Merlin and Arthur engaged in quiet conversation, and doesn't wish to interrupt them.
Their voices begin to raise and sound a bit more agitated, so she decides to try another time. She turns to leave, her skirts swirling around her.
"Lady Guinevere." Arthur's voice stops her. She turns back to face him. "What are you doing here?"
He doesn't look happy to see her. She takes a cautious step forward. "I…"
"Eavesdropping?"
Her brow furrows. Eavesdropping? To what end? "N-no, my lord. I didn't hear a thing. In fact, I had just decided that perhaps now was not the best time—"
"Oh, you decided?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Arthur…" Merlin quietly tries, earning him a dismissal from his master. He bows, gives an apologetic look to Guinevere, and silently slips away.
"You do not get to decide when we meet, Lady Guinevere," Arthur continues.
"Yes, Sire," Guinevere tightly answers, lifting her chin a fraction.
"Why did you wish to see me?" he asks, his tone dismissive.
"I merely wished to thank you for supporting me this morning, Sire. That is all," she answers, drops a half-curtsey, then turns to leave again.
"I did not dismiss you."
She stops again and turns around. "Sire?"
"I supported you this morning because I was tired of hearing how poorly you have been able to handle my sons," he says.
Guinevere bristles, her irritation quickly turning to anger. "I have only had a few weeks with them, Sire, and I a—"
"You should only need a few days to become acquainted with them. They are only children, after all," he cuts her off. "Or are you that incompetent as a tutor?"
Stunned, she stares at him. Really looks at him. Something in his face, his eyes, contradicts his words, but she's not sure what it is.
When she doesn't respond, he leans forward in his seat. "Perhaps Queen Annis was mistaken in sending you here. She said you were a 'kind, educated woman' who 'has great compassion and will do a wonderful job teaching the princes'. I've not really seen any evidence supporting her claims," he says, his voice dripping with derision.
How dare he! "Perhaps you have been mistaken in the correct way to raise your sons," she blurts. "Are you even aware of how arrogant and difficult Llacheu can be? And do you know how desperately he wants to please you? Do you know that Gwydre is actually brilliant but he feels ignored? And that Amhar can take anything apart and put it back together, better, but the one thing he wants he can't have, so he misbehaves?" Her voice steadily rises while she talks, and when she finishes, she realizes her feet have brought her to stand directly in front of him. She can see his shocked expression and before she can stop herself she adds, "Have I just given you new information about your children or is this simply how you've raised them to be: Arrogant, ignored, and out of control?"
Arthur is fuming. He's fuming because she's absolutely correct. He's fuming because she's correct and has the fortitude to stand there and tell him what he's done wrong. He stands, towering over her. "And what would you know about it, Lady du Lac? You don't even have any children," he coldly says.
Something he's never seen before crosses her face. It looks like he's physically stricken her, and he almost apologizes.
But she turns and flees the room before he can say anything. Before he can see the tears forming.
I haven't underestimated him at all.
xXx
"Merlin," Arthur says, dropping into one of the chairs at the long table in his quarters.
Merlin, who had been waiting there for him, walks over from the king's desk and sits beside him. "Arthur?"
"Lady Guinevere. She seems to like you. What do you know about her?"
"Why do you ask?" Merlin asks, puzzled. Arthur looks rather unhappy. Not mad, but… guilty?
"I may have said something very… unkind. What's worse, is that she did not deserve it. Worse still, she did not say anything to me that was not true," Arthur admits, rubbing his hand over his face.
"What happened?"
Arthur tells him what occurred in the throne room, and Merlin listens with his characteristic stoicism, taking everything in before giving anything away about how he's feeling.
"You want to know if I know why she doesn't have any children," Merlin concludes.
Arthur nods.
"Well, that's not really something that just… comes up in conversation," Merlin replies.
Arthur reaches for the pitcher on the table and pours some wine into a goblet, downs it, then pours another.
"Why are you so upset about this?" Merlin asks. "I mean, I know she's likely quite upset as well, but this isn't really like you."
"I don't know," Arthur admits. "I've felt off balance ever since she arrived here. I barely see her, but her presence feels like a disruption."
"It's a change, and it has only been a few weeks," Merlin reasons. "Give it a little more time and pretty soon it'll feel like she was always here."
Arthur shrugs lightly, then takes another drink of wine. "I was expecting her to be a lot older," he says, as if that explains anything.
"Because she is a widow."
Arthur nods, pours wine into a second goblet, and slides it over to Merlin. "I knew she was married to a du Lac, but since Lord Piers and Lady Margarethe are so old…"
"She was married to their great-nephew, who was a knight. He was killed in the battle between Caerleon and Odin. He was close to your age, I would wager," Merlin reminds him, taking a drink.
"I know that now," Arthur says. He sighs. "You know what stings the most? She wasn't wrong."
"About the boys?" Merlin asks, and the king nods. "I could have told you the same thing."
"Yes, but I don't listen to you," Arthur replies. They both know it isn't true, but he continues on, saying, "I don't know why I'm letting her words bother me so much…"
"Because you know she's right and you want to do better than your father did," Merlin says.
"My father… tried," Arthur says. He knows it sounds weak.
"Your father was a tyrant who was only interested in you when it came to matters of grooming you for the crown," Merlin replies. "You can do better than that." Arthur shoots him a look, but Merlin isn't worried. He's the only person who is brave enough to be completely honest with the king. Maybe not anymore, he wryly thinks, thinking of Guinevere. Arthur actually respects his advisor for this, so why should Lady Guinevere be any different?
"I have been trying."
"Yes, and you just said that's what Uther did," Merlin reminds him. "You need to do more than merely try. Hiring Lady Guinevere to tutor the princes was a good idea, Arthur. A very good idea. You don't want people to think we are a barbaric, uneducated kingdom anymore, and this is an excellent first step."
"I have to adapt as well," Arthur concludes, staring into his goblet. "Or I'm no better than my father was."
"Right," Merlin agrees.
He downs his goblet, but does not refill it. "What do I do about Lady Guinevere?"
"You might try apologizing," Merlin suggests.
xXx
There is a knock on Guinevere's door. She stopped crying long ago, but her anger is still simmering a bit. Logically, she knows there is no way Arthur could know how deeply his comment cut her, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. It doesn't change the fact that it was a thoughtless, callous remark made with the sole intent of hurting her. She checks her appearance in the mirror and walks to the door, figuring it is Freya with her dinner.
"Oh," she exclaims, seeing the king's manservant standing there with his hands behind his back. "George." She steps aside and motions for him to enter.
"Excuse me, my lady. The king has sent this with his apologies." George steps inside and places a vase of flowers on her table. They are lovely, clearly from the royal gardens.
"Thank you, George," she says, shocked. She knows Arthur didn't pick them – George probably did – and it would have been more meaningful if the king had delivered them himself, but she can't expect miracles.
George bows. "My lady." Then he exits. Before she can close the door, Freya appears with Guinevere's dinner.
"Thank you, Freya," Guinevere absently says. She looks around and under the vase to see if there is a note, but finds nothing. She chides herself for thinking there might be anything else when she already received more than she would have ever expected.
"Beautiful flowers, my lady. Do you have a secret admirer?" Freya asks with a smile, setting her dinner out.
"They're from the king," Guinevere quietly says. Freya drops a spoon on the floor. "I know how you feel," Guinevere adds.
She stares at the flowers as she eats, her head spinning. Whenever she thinks she has the King of Camelot figured out, he surprises her yet again.