Summary

Presiding over court as Camelot's fledgling queen, Gwen contends with subjects' petitions and an absent brother, while Arthur answers the ominous mystery around the kingdom-saving harvest restoration.

Chapter 34 The Queen's Ruling, The King's Dictates

In the great hall, Gwen sat erect upon the throne as one petitioner bowed before the dais and departed, and another advanced forward. Elyan was expected as her guardsman along with Sir Galahad and several other knights, but Ranulf had reported in his stead, relaying that her brother had not checked in for duty this morning – that his quarters appeared to be vacated. Gwen had to clasp her hands tightly upon her lap to keep them from shaking with this news delivered, as well as contain the overwhelming prospect of ruling alone that roiled her insides. But when the first petitioner stepped forward with her humble plea, Gwen set her worries over Elyan and Arthur's absences aside and listened to her subjects with earnest.

That's fourteen –

She sighed ever so slightly now, arms resting on the chair's carved wooden armrests, trying to suppress the building anticipation as every minute trickled by.

Still no toll – no Arthur—

"Queen Guinevere, observe!" snapped the portly master cloth merchant, Wyatt Underwood, a man whose stalls Gwen knew well from her days toiling as a seamstress. He threw down bolts of silk – their once vibrant hues faded and dull. Tarnished crimson and muted gold spilled careless across the floor, threads thinning to translucent. "This deceitful silk peddler knowingly sold me diluted dyes and receded threads!" Master Wyatt nudged the lackluster piles in disgust. "Look how the colors run murky when wet? Any finery made with silk this shoddy would be a shame to the crown's adornments!"

His lean accused seller stepped forward, equally incensed. "I am Tibbins, your highness – Haberdasher's Guild." He bowed low before responding, "And yet this swindler grows fat luxuriating on fine wine that our coins pay for!"

Gwen raised a hand for patience and regarded the seller sternly. "The fair dispersion of justice fairly matters more than anyone's supposed virtue, Master Tibbins," she said, her father's sense of evenhandedness guiding her. Her eyes roamed over the bolts of cloth, her discernment honed by years of humble life experiences and an innate sense of equity for the common people. She knew fabrics well – and to her practiced eye, the cloth was deeply flawed.

"Master Tibbins, we will have these fabrics thoroughly examined. And if it is revealed you did indeed deceive your buyers, you will compensate them directly for their injuries. Should you refuse or lack the means to do so, the Crown will ensure they receive amends. However, any costs we must front will then be recouped from you."

Murmurs rippled through the court at Gwen's measured path towards resolution. She had seen Arthur, once dismissive of counsel outside his elite circle, gradually transform into a king who genuinely listened and valued the varied perspectives of Merlin, his knights and advisors. Yet her father Tom, a humble blacksmith, had embodied an open ear to his customers' diverse needs and viewpoints to an even greater degree through his life's work.

Gwen's own clandestine study of ethical philosophies over the years, facilitated by Arthur's support, had reinforced the importance of considering issues from multiple vantage points before reaching a reasoned verdict. The sovereign duty was to uphold the legitimacy of diverse claims, guiding people toward compromise rather than subjugating dissent through force alone.

"Master Tibbins," Gwen added as the criticized textiles were gathered and hauled away, "should impartial review verify your silk proved less than the quality claimed, understand further trade in Camelot may be denied until consumer trust is restored. Inform your guild that this decree affects them all."

Murmurs swelled anew at the proclamation signaling the queen's commitment to accountability and marketplace integrity as Gwen held the uncertain peddler's eye unflinchingly.

"But let us first await examination by an expert. The Crown shall deliver fair judgment regardless where the truth may lead."

"Your highness is fair and gracious," replied the Master Wyatt, bowing and smiling with gratefulness.

Master Tibbins bowed too. "Fair and gracious…" he droned crestfallen, his expression somewhat concerned as he backed away.

Gwen believed her principles shone as steady as the North Star today, none to dispute her resolutions. She knew justice must stand untethered to vulnerability, for here resolve must overshadow her inner storms – remaining strong in duty when anguish raged within. She must be the impartial rock they needed, unshakable in crisis' swirling currents. And yet had any observed her visible sorrow before court had begun today?

The bells then tolled. Gwen's shoulders stiffened – Ranulf and Galahad flanking closer as Sefa took timorous steps to come stand beside her. The throne room buzzed with excitement, wonder. Courtiers and petitioners muttered nervously to each other, speculating about the meaning.

"Your majesty…?" Sefa asked, unease in her lilting voice, fingers worrying the side of her skirt.

"All is well," she responded. Gwen rose with grace and poise and swept her eyes across the vast chamber. She supposed that inwardly she was as apprehensive as her maidservant.

"The bells sing joyous news," she reminded them, her steady voice carrying through the great hall. "Let us await word calmly to see what it heralds."

Turning from the people, she glanced knowingly at Ranulf and Galahad, drawing them closer about her, yet careful to keep Sefa far enough away to converse privately with them. "At last," she whispered under her breath.

"You have done well, my queen," returned Ranulf softly, leaning towards her, arm still in sling.

Galahad stepped nearer, his pride shining through awe. "Your justice and fortitude through the storm inspire us all, Queen Guinevere. Now we witness the fruits flourishing long nurtured through hope."

"Thanks to you and Merlin," she said with thoughtful gratitude. "I hope your deeds inspire many towards the potential of – peace … and harmony."

That vision of peace and harmony felt so distant from their present reality that Gwen feared nothing could heal the hearts of those who simply did not desire it – her brother Elyan's troubled face flashing poignantly in her mind's eye. Her hand strayed unconsciously to her midsection, a small comforting gesture she often found herself making lately. How many others bore gaping emotional wounds still, she wondered with a pang, their anguish and pain scarcely concealed by the kingdom's tentative calm?

The imposing double doors flung open, and Arthur strode in, the indomitable sovereign returning to stand alongside his queen. Gwen's eyes landed solely on him, scarcely registering Merlin and the accompanying lords and advisors in his wake, so overwhelming was her relief at his presence. A radiant smile played across her lips, and she nearly drifted towards him as he advanced down the aisle, his gait brimming with vigor and command. Yet she maintained her regal bearing, tempering the impulse to rush into his embrace through sheer willpower.

His nearing visage projected confidence and reassurance, steadying her tides of emotion. Arthur bowed deeply before his queen, their gazes locking as he rose, his cerulean eyes sparkling into hers. A wordless conversation passed between them – of fortitude persevered, challenges conquered, and an unbreakable bond that had weathered separation's trial. With a subtle nod, she conveyed her fortress of resolute leadership had never faltered, even through the tumult inside her.

As Arthur then mounted the dais steps to stand at her side, they turned together to face the energetic hall. Gwen noticed his lit expression tempering – joy and trepidation teetering equal measure on his face. The chambers grew quiet, all focus now fixed upon them before he spoke.

"There has been a report that our harvest in the western and northern fields has been – revitalized, restored." The room droned with chatter – Gwen could feel the excitement, the hairs on her arms raising in unison. Arthur lifted a hand immediately and silence fell. "Our patrols and watch have verified this report."

"Sorcery!" someone shouted, shocked gasps echoing through the hall, hands flying to cover mouths in astonishment.

"That is no doubt," Arthur said. "And it must be the deed of the wizard Emrys, yet that is nothing to fear. Many of you know my stance toward regarding him. I see him as friend – as ally, and I believe he views Camelot as such. We should thank him, his gift ensures our stores will be replenished for a plentiful summer, and our fields made fertile again for the crucial autumn planting season."

Eyes widened as uncertain glances darted around the room. Nervous titters broke out amongst lords and ladies. Gwen now spotted Merlin standing rigid among the restless courtiers, her friend's face drained of color. But his eyes glinted with – apprehension? Pride? She wasn't sure. Nevertheless, she felt as assured as Arthur in their path even with the seeming impossible challenges ahead.

"Fetch the horses, George," Arthur ordered. "I'd like to witness this for myself."

Arthur extended a hand to Guinevere, his gaze steady before flicking his eyes to Merlin, comprehension dawning between the three of them as they proceeded out of the hall.

The rhythmic thud of hooves along the trodden King's Road stirred nostalgic memories within Arthur as he led the cavalcade at a measured trot. This very path had been traversed countless times during his formative years, accompanying his father Uther on royal progresses across the kingdom. Each bend and rise held familiarity, evoking recollections of wide-eyed wonderment he'd fought to suppress as a fledgling prince.

In those tender days, even the simple act of riding at his sire's side inspired an exhilarating swell of pride within his youthful breast. Yet any overt displays of unfettered emotion frequently drew Uther's stern rebukes – the formidable king demanding his heir maintain an inscrutable, regal mien befitting one who would someday inherit the throne.

So Arthur had learned to modulate his boyish zeal, donning an impenetrable mask concealing the rapturous currents surging just beneath. Only in stolen moments on the trail, when his father's hawkish gaze drifted elsewhere, could Arthur's face openly crease with unguarded delight at the freedom and adventures this road promised.

Now, firmly established in his role as Camelot's sovereign, he allowed himself a faint, wistful smile as the retinue of knights, nobles, and commoners – numbering no fewer than a hundred by his estimate – followed his lead along the familiar King's Road. But several leagues on, Arthur guided them to divert from that well-trodden path, steering their mounts onto the narrower tracks and common byways that would take them directly to the fields rumored revived by sorcery's hand.

He glanced at Guinevere, riding comfortably upon her horse beside him, though she smiled little now. Her deep and meaningful counsel this morning had sent his world spiraling. It had taken the fiery, brutal words of a loved one and Guinevere's deep distress to shock him into a reality they had not foreseen, nor did they see a way out of this darker reality – at least not at the present. Upon returning to the castle, they would have to speak with Merlin. He must become aware of this haunting revelation that affected him and his kin so profoundly.

But their future had already turned darker, and Arthur's thoughts drifted to Escetir's territorial demands, another grave concern that made his insides churn. His generous counter proposal to the emissaries had not deflected their aim from desiring the Forest of Ascetir. Perhaps prisoners from Cenred's war – combatants captured who hadn't drunk from the cursed cup offered by Morgause and sentenced hard labor in Camelot's mines instead – Lord Gregory had proposed this concession. Or as Geoffrey had suggested, include a few of his prize horses and cattle. Would ten years of tribute in gems instead of only five had made a difference? Did he have anything else of value left to offer his enemy?

And yet, would it have mattered? he wondered. The Balor territory seemed to have sparked some interest in Sir Bernewyn, but he'd quickly shifted back to the forest demand with his usual hostility. Arthur drew in a steadying breath. He'd just have to await King Lot's official response, but in his heart, he knew it would likely not bring glad tidings – perhaps serving as an omen of disastrous consequences to come.

It wasn't too long before he could see green dotting the landscape that before was soot, burned foliage, and rotten produce. Further north, he wondered if the grains stood tall and buds bursting, ready to be harvested. Arthur slowed his horse. The others riding with him did so also, voices of astonishment rising as they reached their destination.

"Good Lord," he said, catching his breath. Despite orchestrating this clandestine mission for several weeks with Merlin and Galahad, the sight of rebirth struck him profoundly. So much green and color – trees heavy-laden with fruit ready to be harvested.

"This is a miracle," Gwen whispered, she too awed by the sight.

"Our summer is saved," Percival said, genuine belief in his voice.

"It's a blessing," breathed Lord Godfrey.

George, his mouth open, asked, "Can this truly be?"

Arthur dismounted and went to aid Gwen. She smiled warmly, but he noticed restrained weariness now visible in her eyes. He kissed her forehead.

"This will be over soon," he promised, gazing at her with affection. "We'll talk more about Elyan upon our return."

Gwen smiled, nodding appreciatively as Merlin came beside them, vibrating with restrained exhilaration. Arthur suppressed a grin as onlookers advanced toward the restored harvest fields, a buzz of excitement filling the air, prickling the hairs on his neck and arms.

Arthur led Gwen into the grove, tenderly grasping her hand. It was truly spectacular to behold. Never had he laid eyes on a harvest so bountiful, the fruit bursting with vivid colors, plump and falling from the trees. Surely, the people would see this magic as a symbol of good will on behalf of a sorcerer. Plucking a shiny red apple, he started to bite into it.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, his voice taut with alarm, his lean frame advancing towards them. Arthur gazed at him, his brow creased. "It could be tainted, sire." He extended his hand. "Let me taste it first."

There was something in Merlin's eyes that Arthur knew the fruit was safe to eat, but he surrendered it to him, a thin knowing smile on his lips.

Merlin swallowed as he studied the apple, then took a bite, juice spilling on his chin and the fruit in his hand. He chewed, and like Arthur, everyone waited in tense silence. After swallowing, Merlin smiled, and then took another bite.

"It's safe," he said, his mouth full. Cheers roared as people celebrated with hugs and laughter.

Arthur thinned his lips, his mouth watery for a taste of the delicious looking apple. He forced a stoic expression and turned to speak to the crowd. Knowing how fast news traveled, whatever he said now would spread faster than a rash of poison oak.

"We must find Emrys," Arthur proclaimed, almost choking on the lie, not fully transparent about the deeper layers and complexities around their roles and this deed. "The people of this kingdom can rest easy knowing that there's food here that will be on their tables. We can also return provisions to our allies before they have time to stable their horses in their own kingdoms."

"What will you do with him—Emrys?" asked Merlin, wiping his mouth with a sleeve and discarding the apple core, playing his part that he knew all too well.

"Emrys has saved the kingdom once more," Arthur said pointedly, staring at Merlin with earnest, though he knew he must maintain this difficult façade regarding the true nature of this event. He faced his people. "I will thank him – that is what I will do." The cheers were less boisterous than before, but they still came, and that pleased Arthur too.

Arthur wrapped an arm around Gwen's waist, smiling down at her. This time, her smile was warm and sincere, her eyes tired, but there was a brightness to them.

"This is a great day, your majesties," said Lord Gregory, amazement still in his voice as he approached them, a few apples in his hands.

"For us all," replied Gwen, leaning into Arthur's embrace.

Arthur turned to Percival. "Inform the reeve, the hayward, and the granger to muster the farmhands right away. I want the fields harvested and goods distributed to the homes and surrounding villages as quick as it can be done."

"Very good, sire," his first knight responded, summoning Ranulf and a few other knights with just a imposing look before departing with haste towards his horse.

"George, bring me the inventory of the provisions given to us by our allies and let the bailiff and castellan know to increase the return by five percent if possible. I want everything recompensed within a fortnight."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur snatched two apples from the tree and winked at Merlin before he assisted Gwen onto her horse.

"My lady," he said tenderly as he handed her an apple. She giggled in that way that always made his heart pound when she received it.

As he mounted his own steed, apple in hand, a troubled shadow crossed Arthur's features. He knew that beneath the golden glow of the harvest's bounty, today's triumph would prove fleeting. For the united kingdom he dreamed of creating, even greater challenges loomed on the horizon. But would the web of lies he was weaving ultimately ensnare him? Arthur feared if that facade crumbled, it could likely collapse the whole of his carefully constructed plans – his very vision for ushering in an era of unity and peace left in ashen ruins.