Summary
As Arthur's vision toward unifying Camelot continues to unfold, Gwen wrestles anxieties over concealments and curses surrounding her secret pregnancy.
Chapter 21 Secrets of Councils and Bloodlines
One more day, Gwen thought, a dusking breeze lifting her locks as she strolled through the royal gardens, Fredrick beside her. Celebrations concluded tomorrow, guests and visitors to commence their journeys to their own soil, and normal operations of the castle would resume come Monday.
What did that mean for her though – as sovereign queen?
As the sunlight cast its final rays upon the florals, Gwen gently inhaled the wild mix of fragrances, tickling her nose. She refused to let the crown on her head weigh her heavy. Though somewhat terrified and exhilarated by her readiness, she still glanced over her shoulders – wondered what was keeping Arthur as she was anxious for his comforting presence.
Torches began to light up around the garden, marking paths, creating an enchanted luminescence to the air, the floral colors, easing her back into calm. She always loved the beauty and wonders of flowers – picking them, studying their remarkable designs, pinning them in her hair. She and Leon had learned many of their names when they were younger and she serving his household. To have access to such variety, the abundance supplied her with ample joy and peace of mind. Yet, she was guiltily selfish – impatient for fewer patrons roaming her sanctuary made available to all visiting royalty and nobility.
The crunch of heavy steps caused Gwen to turn and see Arthur and Percival approaching. Dressed in his formal crimson cloak and a blue high-collared tunic, she was pleased he wore less of his chain mail. Besides the attire elevating his already perfect features and physique, embracing him had become more comfortable and less destructive to her wardrobe. He kissed her tenderly, his hand tangling in her hair.
"I missed you," she said sweetly.
His lips spread to that endearing smile, warming her. "Apologies, my love. Final business."
Slipping an arm in the crook of Arthur's elbow, she greeted Percival, though still sensing disquiet behind his calm. "You are well, Sir Percival?"
His smile small, he nodded humbly. "All's well, Queen—"
"Don't you dare," she said with a wry grin, eyes narrowing.
He chuckled. "Yes, Gwen."
Arthur laughed too. Yet, despite his smile, Gwen knew storms raged beneath the calm surface, the burdens of leadership, the costly decisions solely on his shoulders, internal battles that he sometimes shielded her from... sometimes….
They had talked through the midday feast about Viscount Pierrefonds and his son, Lord Badawi's impending arrest, Percival's opposition, and Merlin's devotion. Captivated in conversation, they had unintentionally overlooked some well-wishing guests, reassuring each other through their hushed conversations and conflicting emotions.
But Arthur must learn that not only he shouldered the burdens of leadership – he was not alone, as she shared in them. Gwen was not as unaware as he may believe. Ominous troubles stirred within Camelot, discord simmered around the realm, and embitterment raged inside her brother. Lord Badawi caused more harm than good, and lawfully silencing him – even temporarily – was the best thing to smooth some rippling waves. And Elyan, well – he had ignored her requests for an audience, so she must trust that he would come to her in time. Though… perhaps, too much time would let resentment fester, sowing seeds for dire things should healing be delayed. She would seek him out soon herself.
Arthur guided her to a bench by the crimson petunias as Merlin and Sir Galahad approached. Fredrick drew closer, the men flocking around them.
"Are you prepared?" Arthur asked, standing behind her, hands comfortably, reassuringly on her shoulders.
"Yes," Merlin replied. "On Monday – an hour before daybreak – we'll ride to the old millhouse and then teleport to the locations we scouted earlier. I'll work the western edge of the fields, Galahad – the north. That positioning will allow us to channel the spell in symmetry."
Glenmill. The old millhouse. Arthur gently squeezed her shoulder when it was mentioned and Gwen smiled softly, sweet memories flooding her – she and Arthur having met there in secret over the years romancing the sword and each other.
Galahad nodded, his dark curls stirring in a sweeping breeze. "We'll summon the magic nearly simultaneously," he said. "It must pour into the earth as one."
She didn't know Sir Galahad well nor his noble family in Clarwick, but she knew he had magic finely-tuned enough to mentor Merlin. His efforts and unwavering loyalty have made him friend to all.
Merlin added, "I'll conjure a mist to conceal the fields until well past the morning bell."
Arthur stiffened, she too understanding the implications. "No prying eyes until the appointed hour," she said.
"Clever idea staged to manage the reveal," Fredrick added.
Merlin's glance flicked between Arthur and her. "The dissipation of the mist is to give Arthur as much time as possible to complete the council with Escetir's envoy."
"Very well," said Arthur, worry now pinching his voice. He pulled a breath behind her. "How long will it take the restorative spell to take affect?"
"Right away," said Galahad. "Though the true rate of the magic spread on so vast an area is uncertain."
"It'll be spectacular," Merlin beamed, his eyes glinting knowingly, an ancient sorcerer's profound awareness lurking within his youthful features.
"I can imagine," said Gwen, forcing a steady tone. Magic for good deeds. Her pulse raced, fingers rubbed the side of her skirt, hope and fear swelling.
How many times had magic cruelly intruded into her life, crushing spirit, honor, and dignity? Father, Elyan, herself – all profoundly touched in some way. Trial by fire to endure, she supposed, quelling rising resentment that served no purpose – preparing her – forging her into something new. She had reconciled her fear of magic, Morgana, and of the horde with the hope of the future and Merlin. She must hold fast.
Gwen smoothly slid a hand to her stomach. And with the hope of a new life borne of love and magic with Arthur. Her cycle missed now four days past, she knew for certain she carried his child and must share the news with him… soon...
She rose and went to stand beside Arthur, her knees wobbling.
"Return to Camelot right away," Arthur ordered them. "I want you both here with witnesses when the alarm sounds – especially if it still rings premature..."
Gwen glanced at him. If the restored harvest was discovered in the dawning hours and the bells tolled before they returned, accusations could swiftly turn volatile without their voices to temper fears. The fragrant garden aromas suddenly grew cloying with uncertainty for Gwen. Yet both sorcerers nodded, stood straighter, sharing a solemn yet exhilarated glance that belied their youth.
Then Merlin met Arthur's gaze, no youthfulness in his features nor his voice. "The first steps are the hardest on any long road, Arthur" he said. He glanced at each of them then, his eyes alight with conviction. "But the true test lies in persevering once vigor fades." He landed on Arthur once more. "We'll return as swiftly as possible."
Then they blinked, her shy friend and valiant knight emerging once more, courage steeling them for first strides toward destiny. In their eyes shone the gravity of elders who had long awaited this hour – torchlight could not dim the blaze kindling Merlin's smile nor dampen Galahad's proud shoulders. Gwen knew then nothing would stop them nor hinder their return, come what may. Their faith in Arthur's vision proved as steadfast as in themselves.
"Merlin, you and I will be in council with Escetir's emissary." Arthur turned her to him, rubbed her arms gently. "When the bell tolls, you will reign on the throne during my negotiations. The court will look to you. Are you ready, Guinevere?"
Gwen nodded, exhaling softly though her hands shook. She did not think the day would come so soon when she would rule from the throne alone, but she gained strength meeting his gaze. "I am," she said.
Arthur smiled solemnly with a nod as his arms dropped. Steadying himself with another breath, he squared his shoulders as he retrieved a scroll from his belt and handed it to Percival. Gwen clasped his hand, subtle reassurance against the apprehension clouding the giant knight's eyes. She wished there was another way. Guilt stabbed at the consequences for Percival's conscience and Lord Badawi's fate.
"Arrest Lord Badawi before he departs for the Northern Plains – at first light tomorrow." All eyes turned to Arthur and then to Percival.
"Yes, sire." Percival bowed his head. But hesitancy clung to his posture as he shifted his weight.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, tensing in Gwen's hand.
"The soldiers guarding the vault were found unconscious at shift change," Percival confessed.
Arthur frowned. "There was a note about guards sleeping on duty in Ranulf's morning brief," he recalled, then focused his gaze sharply on Percival. "That perturbed me. It lacked any real details."
"I thought it odd as well. It took time, but I discovered that they cannot recall anything beyond a bright flash beforehand. Their relief say it took some effort to rouse them – no physical or visual damage to their persons could be seen."
The cool air prickled Gwen's skin, quickening her pulse and eyes darting to Merlin. So did Arthur's.
"The vault?" Arthur asked, flicking back to Percival.
"No signs of entry – door still locked; keys accounted for."
"Maybe Galahad and I should take a look," said Merlin. "See if there's any magical residuals."
Arthur's mouth twitched but a little. "Very well," he said after a beat. "Let us know what you find. Fredrick, inform Geoffrey to inventory the vault contents to be certain nothing was taken. It was catalogued after we liberated Camelot, so we should have an accurate accounting."
"Yes, sire," Fredrick said.
Arthur took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, looked at everyone squarely. "We're here, men; we've arrived; there's no turning back after tomorrow."
She felt the tension heighten between them – the anxious glances at one another. Gwen's heart raced too. There was nothing left to be said about the journey they now embarked. Veiled intrigue orchestrated from the highest level of the power, secrets of the crown – she an accessory.
Arthur nodded, his expression solemn, then all dispersed except for her shadow, Fredrick.
"Fredrick, after speaking with Geoffrey," Gwen said, clinging tighter to Arthur's elbow, "enjoy what's left of the celebrations in the towns if you can. I think we can manage from here."
"My queen." With a reluctant tilt of his head, Fredrick departed, leaving them alone in the gardens.
Arthur exhaled, drawing Gwen into his arms and holding her tightly. She relaxed in his embrace, absorbed comfort from him as well as he from her.
Pulling back, he smiled and then kissed her, his mouth sweet and warm, his lips soft. Here, under the cover of darkness and little torchlight, for the briefest of moments, it was just them. His body warmth permeated into hers. Her knees weakened and Arthur's grip tightened around her.
Withdrawing, staring into each other's eyes, uncertainty still lingered in his.
"What is it?" Gwen asked.
"The guards – the magic...was it Mordred…?" He breathed deeply; worry flickered in his expression.
Gwen's brow creased. Discovering Mordred so close to them last night was another item added to Arthur's catalog of escalating concerns. Now the possibility of thievery only heightened his pressures tremendously. What was taken, if anything? And why? What was so important to risk capture by prowling their halls?
"We'll have to get used to more incidents in the kingdom – even for nefarious reasons. If items are missing, we'll worry about it then. Let us handle this one thing at a time."
His hands gently slid up and down her arms, his gaze calm and warm.
"You are wise, Queen Guinevere." He pulled her into a deep hug, his head resting on her shoulder, his breath on her neck. "I love you."
"Sweet words to my ears and heart, Arthur. I love you." Loving him this morning flooded her thoughts, stirred her desire for him – his hard body's rhythm matching hers, strong hands roaming sensual places, his mouth thirsty, whispers of her name, his moans of pleasure. She shuddered with a deep breath, yet knowing Arthur provided so much more for her than just physical needs.
He was the anchor keeping her grounded in these uncertain times and there had been so little spent together with duty demanding separation – Gwen saw him less than when she was a servant. So she cherished rare moments like these with her husband and hoped things would settle somewhat within eight months so he'd have more time with … them. Don't be naïve, her echo reminded. A hand went to her belly and suddenly she felt chilled, shivering slightly.
"Whatever happens—" he said to her, lifting her chin "—we're in this together."
"Together," she said, a small flutter suddenly stirring deep within – a different sensation than her desire for passion.
She pressed a hand to her stomach reflexively, felt another pulsating flash – stronger this time. Gwen tensed; her breathing increased.
The flutter exploded into spasms spearing through her belly. Gwen's body trembled, her knees suddenly buckled, the gardens tilting around her. Arthur caught her before she collapsed, gripping her tightly.
"Guinevere!" He clutched her with strong hands, pulling her to his chest, color draining from his face.
"I'm all right," she gasped, leaning into Arthur, breathless. "I'm—"
He scooped her in his arms. Onlookers glanced their way as Arthur carried her inside and deposited her onto a marble bench near the arched doorway. People were gathering closer, but kept a discreet distance.
Arthur knelt before her, concern covering his expression, his cloak pooling below him. Firmly supporting her to sit upright, he searched for something deep in her eyes that she wasn't ready to reveal.
"Guinevere…?"
"Fine—I'm fine," she mumbled, pressing a hand to her forehead, her stomach, Arthur's firm grip still holding her.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "What happened? How do you feel?" His forehead creased with worry as he bombarded her with questions of concern.
Gwen shook her head gently to clear the heavy fog, a hand holding fast to her middle as the sensation passed. "The fragrance of the flowers… more overwhelming than my senses could take." That was part of the truth. But Gwen almost believed the child rebelled against holding tight her secret. She choked back a failed smile, her mouth dry.
Arthur's lips thinned, concern etched on his features. "I want you to see Gaius before he leaves on Sunday."
Gwen looked at him sharply, though fleetingly wondered why he hadn't recommended Merlin. Perhaps due to his inexperience with anything concerning women, but Arthur's desire for physician intervention and his imposing stare pricked her skin. Was he commanding her to do something against her will? Could she disobey her king on this matter? Gwen averted her gaze downward. What if Gaius imparted ominous tidings?
"I have duties to attend as demanding as you, Arthur. There will be time for that later."
"Guinevere—"
"I'm not a damsel in distress," she snapped. Arthur recoiled slightly, his lips in a thin pout. Self-reproach pierced immediately, her eyes floating away from his.
"The aroma of the flowers was overpowering," she said hesitantly. "Everything in full bloom. Please believe that."
After a moment of studying her, he stood, pulling her up with him and steadying her with a strong arm around her waist. They walked in awkward silence, Arthur's boots resonating in steps as loud as the guilt in her heart. He watched closely, though, glancing at her every few paces or so.
Her stomach fluttered anxiously again, Morgana's dreaded curse resurfacing in her thoughts.
"Your seed is empty," she had told Arthur while imprisoned in their dungeon.
Gwen shivered. Could she believe the words of a witch with no power? What if it were true? What if no child ever quickened within her and this was all just her imagination? Her deepest desire manifested in heart-breaking illusion?
Arthur slowed to hesitant steps as he felt her uncontrollable trembling, glancing at her with profound sadness and disapproval, his lips in that pout. Avoiding his gaze, she stayed focused on their torch-lit path ahead, urging their steps forward through shadows reminiscent of her heart.
No, Gwen thought to herself, her quivers subsiding. The pain she felt was real. Its presence was felt though just an inkling of a child right now. Gwen pressed a hand to her still-flat belly. How long should she wait before sharing the news with Arthur?
Not until signs proved that Morgana was wrong would she dare speak of it, even to Arthur. Not until she felt steady kicks or saw her womb swell. To give voice to it now might empower Morgana's hex upon their hopes for heirs.
She would wait. She had no choice.