For that entire day, Gwen's words echoed in Merlin's head. That night, her door would be open to him and it was only just beginning to sink in, the levity of what he'd agreed upon. If anyone had court learned of their plan, he'd be lynched for sure. He knew he must've had a death wish, but the way Gwen had confided in him, the way that she'd dropped every pretense she'd managed to build up over the past several years; she needed his help. And he pitied the situation that she'd been thrust into.
Gwen had intended on living out her days, dying a blissful, old woman, with Arthur by her side. In so much as a moment, her entire life, everything she knew to be eminently true, was ripped from her. She was left with a kingdom which she did not particularly want, a court she did not particularly trust, and a child she did not particularly wish to bore.
All the same, Merlin realized that she trusted him enough to confide all of these things and that, in turn, he would be willing to do whatever it took to make her happy. It was in this vein that he found himself standing in front of her chambers, a candle lighting the path.
To his surprise, a guard did not stand watch at her door, rather several yards down the hall, allowing him easy entry without the aid of magic. He knocked softly on the door, before sneaking in, shutting and locking the door behind himself.
"Gwen." Arthur called into the cavernous room, not entirely sure he would receive a response or not. There was the ultimate possibility that she had fallen asleep in his absense.
"Come in, Merlin." she whispered, her voice low.
He entered the room nervously, feeling as small as a mouse. Realizing the room was entirely too black for his liking, he rekindled the dying fire with no more than a flick of his wrist.
"Thank you." she murmured, her eyes falling to the floor. Her distress was evident on her face, as were the tear stains from what could've only been moments ago. There they stood, one facing the other from opposite sides of the room, neither entirely sure what to say to the other.
Finally, Merlin plucked up whatever courage he could and stumbled, sputtering and shaking, to her bedside table, "Can I pour you some water?"
"Yes, thank you." she responded, wrapping her shrug tighter yet around her shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. She could scarcely tell that Merlin wasn't doing much better.
"Are you nervous?" he questioned, passing her the cup.
"Not at all." she lied between her teeth, "Are you nervous?"
"I haven't decided yet." he shrugged, pacing around the room like a trapped animal, "Are you sure this is the right thing? Surely there are more suitable -"
"Merlin, I've thought this through more than you can possibly imagine. I've battled the moral dilemma - what is right by Camelot - what Arthur would approve of - and this is the solution."
He nodded reluctantly, "You're still in mourning, Gwen. I think this could make it worse, when you end up regretting it later."
"It doesn't matter what I care or what I think, Merlin. This is what Camelot needs, whether I like it or not. They need an heir, and I'm prepared to give them one."
"I'm not worried about the kingdom, Gwen. I'm worried about you." He continued.
"I've made up my mind, Merlin. There isn't a thing you can say to stop me." she insisted, steeling herself to any emotion she may have felt. She didn't appear to be sad, but she also didn't appear to be particularly thrilled. In fact, she held no expression whatsoever.
"As you wish, my Queen." He murmured, and with nothing more than a look in it's general direction, the lock on the door clicked shut. It was only then that he realized that, yes, he was nervous.
He knew he should've told her no. He could've forced her to see reason. However, it wasn't until sometime later, as she laid curled up in the fetal position and Merlin stood, pacing the room, that he knew this was never going to work. Nothing about their situation was right.
Guinevere lay in a sobbing pile, her hair askew, her arms covering what her bed sheets could not. Merlin came to kneel beside her, brushing tendrils of hair from in front of her eyes, trying to console her. Silent tears rolled down her face, as she forced herself to look anywhere but at him.
"What can I do?" he whispered, his own features contorting in sympathy for her, "Tell me how to fix this."
"Please leave." She countered, trying with all of her might to keep her tone even, "Just go." She had no words to describe how disgusted she felt with herself. Of course, she didn't blame Merlin – for all he did was follow what could've been perceived as an order. She, however, should've known better.
And so the next several weeks came and went. She would leave the door open. He would leave hours into the night. Once he was gone, she would wail, pleading for her late husband to forgive her sins. And in the morning, she and Merlin would be good as new – best friends in public – lovers behind closed doors.
She continually told herself she was doing these things for the love of Camelot, but at some point, even that didn't seem like a fair reason anymore, for by the time she'd decided to put an end to the torture, it was too late. Her fate had been sealed.
A/N: Don't forget to leave a comment. I personally felt like this was a little bit weaker of a chapter, but I want to know what you all think! Opinions? I'll continue soon!