Summary
Gwen and Arthur finally spend personal time alone outside the castle walls – a day's respite for two weary monarchs.
Chapter 49 The Light of Camelot
Gwen and Arthur followed a winding path that led deeper into the royal forest, ancient oaks and beeches towering above them, their branches forming a verdant canopy. An hour's journey from the castle had brought them to this secluded glade, where a crystal-clear brook murmured its way towards the distant Entwash River. Gwen felt the tension in her shoulders ease, releasing her burdens—at least for today. Despite her anguish over her brother and the kingdom's plights, she refused to taint this idyllic setting Arthur had planned. Their souls, battered by recent events, craved this private respite.
She delighted watching water dance over the smooth stones and butterflies flit from blossom to blossom, realizing how long it had been since she'd immersed herself in nature's beauty and serenity. Her world had shifted dramatically just before Arthur became king and begun courting her openly, reshaping her daily routines. Even back then, invisible expectations and responsibilities had mounted, forcing her to leave her simpler life behind.
Gwen was thankful Arthur had insisted on this brief escape, appreciating his foresight during this period of transition—not just her adjustment as the new queen, but their shared journey as husband and wife. Recent weeks had seen exhaustion or duty claim their evenings, leaving little room for intimacy beyond a tender embrace before sleep. And Arthur usually rose before dawn, his side of the bed cold by the time she woke. They might as well have retired to their separate chambers for all the time they had together.
Now, clasping his hand, Gwen gazed up at her beloved. Arthur's eyes crinkled when he caught her looking, his smile as warm as the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Gwen giggled too, a sigh of contentment escaping, this simple connection filling her heart. When he met her gaze, she blushed, realizing she never tired of admiring his handsome features – his eyes especially, now alight with mischief and affection. His Pendragon-red linen shirt, peeking from beneath his long coat, accentuated his fair complexion. As they walked, she appreciated not just how his broad shoulders cut a striking figure against the woodland backdrop, but the warmth of his presence beside her.
Gwen inhaled the wildflowers' sweet perfume, a cool breeze caressing her, the last shadows of her royal duties melting away. "It's perfect," she sighed, her gaze drifting to the brook.
Arthur's eyes scanned their surroundings, contentment and mild frustration crossing his features. Tilting his head towards the tree line, he pouted, a hint of amusement in his voice, "It could be better – if Merlin and that soldier weren't skulking behind those trees."
As if on cue, Gwen's eyes met Merlin's apologetic gaze through a gap in the foliage. They shared fleeting shrugs and knowing looks, acknowledging the necessity of the royal protection. And while their presence was reassuring, they cast a faint shadow over any moments of intimacy she and Arthur might share.
Then Arthur nodded in the opposite direction. Gwen followed his gaze, catching sight of a knight's red cloak as he patrolled the far bank on horseback. "And if our mounted sentry wasn't circling like a hawk," he muttered, his pink lips puckered. "We couldn't be in a safer place than my forest."
She knew Arthur understood their need as well, yet still couldn't help giggling at his light-hearted complaint. But the sound caught in her throat as he suddenly pulled her close, his eyes burning with desire. She swallowed, her pulse quickening like the current of the stream.
"Because, before we leave this glade, my queen, I intend to worship you properly," Arthur murmured, his voice low and rich with promise. "Guards or no." He leaned in, his lips seeking hers with fervent devotion.
Desire surged through Gwen's veins like wildfire, her body responding hungrily to his passionate embrace. His kiss, familiar and thrilling at once, ignited a delicious heat blooming in her core. Propriety be damned, she thought, her fingers digging into his shoulders, relishing the firm muscles beneath her hands. She didn't want to wait—guards or no.
But Arthur drew back, his gaze now holding that special tenderness, kindling a warmth in her heart that rivaled the sun's glow. Beneath the love in his eyes, Gwen caught a flicker of something else—a shadow of melancholy that hadn't been there before. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to pull him back into a searing kiss, while a whisper of concern brushed her mind.
"You're the light in my world, Guinevere," he breathed, his words a gentle caress. "Every beat of my heart echoes your name. I love you with every fiber of my being, now and always."
Gwen's knees weakened, her breath quickening. Once, Arthur had confessed his struggle to express deep emotions. Now, with her, he seemed to have mastered the art of ardor, his affection flowing as naturally as a spring. Yet, there was an urgency to his words that spoke of more than just passion, hinting at something she couldn't quite place. She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palms.
"You're my home, my everything, Arthur," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. "I've never stopped loving you, and I never will. Whatever comes, I'm here for you. We face it together."
His lips found hers once more, this time with sweet reverence, her skin tingling from his touch. As he slowly pulled away, his expression, filled with adoration, left Gwen breathless, as if he were etching this moment into his very soul.
He gently released her, and they continued their exploration of King's Woods, Arthur pointing out landmarks with a nostalgic gleam in his eye. "See that gnarled oak?" he ask, gesturing to an ancient tree with twisted branches. "I used to climb it as a boy, much to my father's dismay."
Gwen smiled at the normalcy of a parent's angst and a child's adventurous nature, imagining a young Arthur scrambling up the massive trunk. She could almost see Uther's scowl, torn between pride in his son's daring and fear for the future king's safety as Arthur climbed ever higher into the sky.
They walked on, deeper into the woods, Gwen stooping to pick wildflowers every few paces while Arthur's stories flowed freely, some of royal history or his knightly exploits, most of childhood adventures. "Over there," he said, nodding towards a small clearing, "is where I killed my first boar during a hunt. I was twelve and terrified, but couldn't show it, of course." He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.
Gwen listened, offering her own insights and gentle teasing about his youthful swagger, select blossoms in her hand. As Arthur spoke, she still sensed there was something deeper he wanted to discuss. A shadow of worry flitted across his expression intermittently, like some dreadful thing hovering on the edge of his tongue, but he held it back, swallowing the words before they could escape.
Was it Elyan, she wondered? Her brother who'd inflicted wounds on them both? She'd noticed how Arthur had avoided mention of him during some of his knights' tales.
Or perhaps it was something broader in scope, yet just as dire: the looming threat of war with Escetir. The rival kingdom's recent provocations were concern for Camelot's future. Could their realm withstand another conflict so soon after the Southron invasion? Gwen wondered if Arthur's decisions regarding Escetir's aggression were the source of his unspoken worry.
Weaving the flowers she collected into a small garland, Gwen offered it to her husband. "For you, my love," she said, tying it around one of his wrists, hoping to lift the pensive mood that settled over him between his recollections.
"Thank you," he replied, a sweet smile forming as he admired the delicate arrangement, momentarily masking his sober expression.
"What is it, Arthur?" she asked gently, her eyes searching his face as he guided her back to their picnic spot near the brook.
Arthur hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's just that… well…" he started, helping her settle onto the blankets, offering a reassuring smile. "These past months, so much has been reshaped in our world, the very order of things upended," he mused, shrugging off his long coat and joining her. "The return of magic... It's shifting Camelot's very foundations." With careful attention, he arranged a small feast of bread, cheese, and grapes on two plates, serving Gwen before attending to his own.
Between bites, Arthur continued voicing his thoughts. "Merlin's secret revealed to all the world," he reflected, shaking his head in disbelief. "And that bloody petition with the sorcerers—I don't know what he was thinking, but I never saw that one coming." His gaze, filled with solemn admiration, found hers. "But you, I meant what I said yesterday. You've been an unshakeable pillar of strength, Guinevere."
She reached out, her touch gentle on his hand. "I merely follow your lead, Arthur. You carry burdens that would crush lesser men, yet you persist in your quest for a just and mighty Camelot." She bit into a piece of cheese as she studied him closely, noticing his lowered eyes. "But that's not what you really need to hear, nor what's truly on your mind, is it?"
Arthur considered her question, his expression familiar—one she'd seen many times when he wrestled with a problem. He seemed on the verge of denial again, but then he looked her squarely in the eyes. "Gwen, when we lost Camelot to Morgana and the Southrons, I… I lost track of you." His voice wavered slightly. "I feared the worst."
Moistening his lips, he resumed his telling, "And then seeing you in Ealdor, I scarcely believed it at first. Not until I held you." He paused, his eyes questioning hers. "How on earth did you ever end up there?"
She flinched mid-bite, and he hesitated when he saw it. Setting their plates aside, he gently clasped her hands, squeezing them as if reassuring her of his presence. "Guinevere," he said softly, "I know this is not easy for you. But I cannot deny I've often wondered about your ordeal away from Camelot. Please tell me what happened."
An involuntary shiver careened across her scalp, causing Gwen to tremble, the serenity of their picnic suddenly extinguished by memories of their separation and the ordeals of that time. Of all the subjects she thought might be troubling him—Elyan, his father's legacy, Morgana even—this was unexpected. Had this worry over her time away lingered with him all along?
Uncertain how to navigate this delicate territory, Gwen glanced away. She thought their reconciliation had been settled, forgiveness granted, the wounds healed. Yet, unspoken history was still a shadow between them, his question reopening a door she'd believed firmly closed.
"It's a selfish request," Arthur remarked softly, his tone reflecting guilt and hope. He gently caressed her chin, turning her face back towards him. Clasping her hands, his touch conveyed both apology and support. "But I want to understand, Guinevere. Everything you went through... because of my decision." The last words were barely audible, laden with regret.
She realized then that while the new life growing inside her had provided a comforting veil, Arthur was still seeking his own resolution. "It's… difficult," she admitted, her body quivering. "I… I…"
Arthur's blue eyes filled with a kind of necessity – a need, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her knuckles. "Every part of your story matters to me, Gwen. I want to know... if you're willing to be open about it."
She held his gaze for a long moment, Arthur's invitation to be vulnerable piercing her heart, breaking through that barrier erected around this pain. She let out a slow breath, steeling herself.
Drawing courage from his touch and the secret she carried, Gwen understood the importance of this deep emotional moment for both of them. The protective cocoon her pregnancy had woven around her feelings was unraveling, allowing her to truly face her experiences. Sharing her journey with Arthur could offer him the peace he sought and give her the opportunity to process and heal from wounds she'd only masked, not mended. This was their chance to close this chapter completely, together.
Her voice soft but resolute against the backdrop of the gurgling stream, Gwen straightened her shoulders and began her story.
"Fredrick, Erwan, and I journeyed to Longstead," she recalled. "We encountered trouble several times, Arthur, and I've been grateful for their presence and bravery to this day. But it took closer to a fortnight to reach the settlement, with poor Basil, struggling along the difficult terrain." She paused, wondered what became of her pack mule not for the first time. "When we arrived, John and Mary were kind enough to allow us to occupy two cottages left empty after the Dorocha attacks."
Gwen's hands instinctively covered her mouth, a complex amalgam of emotions spiraling through her—pain, guilt, confusion. Arthur's gaze dropped to the ground, the memory of Lancelot, a tangle of sacrifice, betrayal, and manipulation, a matter neither dared unravel.
She took a shaky breath, willing herself to continue, gently squeezing Arthur's hand and drawing his troubled eyes back to hers. A silent understanding passed between them—the wounds inflicted by Morgana's machinations were made raw once again, affecting them in ways they may never comprehend.
"We worked to sustain ourselves," Gwen imparted, pushing past the momentary darkness, her voice steadier now, "but there just wasn't enough labor for the three of us in the small village. That's when Fredrick decided to ride to Clarwick to petition Lord Gregory about starting a forge." A faint, determined smile touched her lips. "There's always a need for a blacksmith no matter where you are, and I knew I could manage that with the two men."
Arthur leaned in slightly, his body angling towards her, silently encouraging her to go on.
"While we waited for Fredrick's return, Erwan and I continued to work on nearby farms, doing whatever tasks were needed. But then..." Her voice faltered; the sting of tears tingled on her lids, but they didn't fall, and she continued. "Helios and the Southrons invaded. Mary and Erwan... they didn't survive the attack. They were good, innocent people, Arthur."
Arthur's expression hardened as her heart crushed, his features seeming to carve themselves from stone. The warmth in his eyes cooled to a steely glint, and for a moment, she glimpsed not her husband, but the warrior king, shoulders set as if readying for battle.
"I was captured," Gwen stressed, her voice hollow, Arthur's shoulders visibly tensing as she continued with her story. Gwen swallowed hard, the memories of conflict, pain, and trauma fresh and hurting all over again. "Forced into hard labor, beaten, humiliated..."
She reflexively caressed the cheek the whipmaster had sliced open after she had defiantly disarmed him of his weapon, the agony just as searing and hot. Gwen couldn't stop the tears from falling this time, but she would not disregard them. "Helios... intervened. His sorcerer healed my wounds. He would have—" the words stuck, yet she knew it was true. "…had he the chance," she finished quietly.
Arthur's features darkened, a storm of emotions sweeping across his face, mirroring her own inner turmoil. His jaw clenched so tightly she could almost hear his teeth grind. The muscles in his neck corded, and for a heartbeat, she saw raw anguish flash in his eyes before it was swallowed by a wave of fury. When he spoke, his voice was rough, as if the words were being torn from his throat.
"Guinevere, I had no idea..."
She shook her head, reassuring him while allowing the hurt to manifest. "The physical scars are gone, Arthur. Each day, the pain lessened. And one day, I hope, the memory of their cause will fade entirely." She paused, her burning eyes meeting his. The next part was not any easier. "By the time I escaped, the horde was much closer to Camelot and I tried to reach you..."
She left the thought unfinished, but covered her thigh where Mithian's bolt had unwittingly struck her. Quickly redirecting the gesture by smoothing her skirt, she added, "That's when Merlin found me instead."
The words had barely left her lips when she saw the color drain from Arthur's face. A sickly pallor overtook his fair skin, as if he'd been stricken by a sudden illness. His eyes, wide with dawning realization, told her he knew exactly how he fit into this part of her tale.
Gwen pressed on, her voice gentle, the tears mercifully subsiding. "It was his idea for me to go to Ealdor. He helped me."
Surprise flickered across Arthur's face before he glanced toward the tree line where Merlin kept watch. "Merlin never told me that part either," he murmured.
When Arthur turned back to her, his lips thinned with remorse as he took in the moisture on her cheeks. "I knew little of your hardships, Guinevere," he soothed, drying her tears with a gentle brush of his thumb, "though I should have anticipated them. I... I'm so sorry for everything you endured because of me."
Composing herself, Gwen offered a small smile. "Our past is part of who we are; and as terribly difficult as that time was, in a way, perhaps it was meant to be." Her voice quavered slightly even as she felt the last echoes of fear, shame, and hurt ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace she hadn't expected. This sharing, she realized, had mended something within her that, deep down, she knew had still been broken.
"Look at who we've become," she consoled, her voice growing stronger. "We're fortified in our love to each other and in our duty to our kingdom. That's what matters."
Without another word, Arthur drew her into a deep, passionate kiss. Gwen responded with equal fervor, her fingers weaving through his golden hair. Everything blurred around them—the brook's song, the whispering leaves, even their distant guardians faded away. Only they remained, their bodies pressed together, hearts beating in unison.
Arthur's hands roamed the contours of her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the fabric of her dress. Gwen arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips, the layers between them doing little to dampen the heat of his caress. Their kisses grew more urgent, days of longing and separation fueling their passion.
Arthur's gentle touch eased her onto the blanket, his body covering hers. She welcomed the familiar weight of him, their limbs entangling as any thought of decorum fled her mind. Their need for connection overwhelmed everything else. She barely registered Arthur deftly removing their minimal clothing, focused instead on the sensation of him joining with her. The rustle of fabric against fabric was punctuated by their labored breaths.
Whispered words of love and promise reached her ears, each one filled with an intensity that made her heart swell. She responded in kind, her voice blending with his and the sounds of the forest around them. Their rhythm grew more urgent, breaths quickening, until they reached a shared moment of blissful release, their cries of ecstasy muffled against each other's skin.
As their passion subsided, Gwen lay in Arthur's arms, breathless and flushed. The warmth of his body, even through their clothes, was a comfort she had sorely missed. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, their partially disheveled state a reminder of their hasty union. After a moment, she made to rise, but Arthur's gentle touch held her close.
"Just lie here," he murmured tenderly, reaching for a soft cloth they had brought for their picnic. "Let me take care of you."
With gentle hands, he tended to her, cleaning away the evidence of their lovemaking. Gwen moaned softly, unbidden, savoring the intimacy of the moment. Despite their surroundings, she found herself untroubled by thoughts of Merlin and the guards nearby. Arthur had promised to worship her, and this last intimate act, so profoundly personal, fulfilled that vow in an unexpected way. As he cared for her, Gwen felt their connection deepen even further, transcending the physical into something truly sacred.
Once done, Arthur settled behind Gwen, his body curving around hers protectively. He pulled her close, their garments rumpled but tidied. One arm draped over her waist, his hand resting on the blanket before her. With his other hand, he idly played with her curls, his fingers weaving through the soft tendrils.
Gwen nestled back against him, her head pillowed on his outstretched arm. The soft linen of his shirt, wrinkled from their fervor, cushioned her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, drinking in the moment with all her senses—his familiar scent enveloping her, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the taste of his kiss still on her lips, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. A contented sigh escaped, a whisper of pure bliss.
In this moment, she felt complete. Arthur's strength, his tenderness, his very presence always filled a space within her. He was her world, her everything—lover, husband, king, and soon-to-be father. With him, she felt as though her heart could want for nothing more.
Their breathing slowed, falling into a harmonious rhythm, a perfect synchronicity that attested to their unbreakable bond. Gwen wished the afternoon would never end, but made a silent promise to herself that before they left this glade, she would share the joyful news of their impending parenthood. For now, she savored the peace of their shared companionship, the whisper of the stream, and the promise of a bright future ahead….
…Waking from a light slumber, Gwen became aware that Arthur had slightly shifted his position, she now pressed against him as he partially lay on his back. The crook of his shoulder a pillow for her, his other hand rested gently on her abdomen. She turned just enough to see him gazing at the sky, lost in thought, idly twirling a lock of her hair. The golden afternoon light bathed his features in warmth, highlighting the contentment etched on his face. Gwen's heart swelled with love, grateful for this moment of peace amidst their often-tumultuous lives.
Arthur's hand on her abdomen seemed to radiate warmth, and Gwen's thoughts drifted to the child nestled there. In eight months, their lives would transform as they became a family of three. The prospect of even more children in their future filled her with quiet excitement. These wouldn't just be heirs to a mighty throne, but the cherished offspring of their deep love.
A smile played on her lips as she imagined their future—a brood of golden-haired, blue-eyed children with her curls and Arthur's mischievous grin. They would be raised with love, compassion, and the wisdom to rule justly.
Lulled by Arthur's gentle caresses and the peacefulness of the moment, Gwen drifted back into a blissful sleep. Her last conscious thought was of the joy that awaited when she finally shared her secret with her husband….
…A sudden change in Arthur's posture jolted Gwen from her slumber. The warmth of his body, so comforting moments ago, now radiated tension.
"Gwen," he urged, an edge to his voice. Her eyes fluttered open to see him sitting upright, his relaxed demeanor replaced by alert vigilance. The tenderness in his touch vanished as he roused her with one hand, his other reaching for something beyond her view. "Wake up, my love."
Before Gwen could fully shake off her drowsiness, she heard the thunder of galloping hooves encroaching upon their tranquil moment, the sound, so at odds with the peaceful afternoon. As her mind raced to comprehend the sudden shift in atmosphere, she became acutely aware of the intrusion into their private world.
In one fluid motion, Arthur sprang to his feet, pulling her up with him. Excalibur was already in his hand, but he held it with the tip pointing down, more a symbol of authority than a raised threat. He partially blocked her with his body, protective but not yet defensive. His posture radiated controlled tension rather than outright aggression, befitting a king whose private moment had been interrupted rather than a warrior anticipating immediate danger. Gwen could sense his irritation at the intrusion into King's Woods, Arthur's personal sanctuary, but also his restraint as he assessed the situation.
Gwen's eyes, still adjusting to the bright afternoon light, caught sight of the mounted knight on the other side of the stream, moving to intercept two approaching riders. The warhorse trotted ahead, the knight's hand raised in greeting to the newcomers, his urgent words for them to halt carrying on the wind. Gwen felt unease knot in her stomach observing the knight's cautious approach, and noting how Arthur's grip had shifted on Excalibur's hilt. From the tree line, she glimpsed Merlin standing rigid, his hands already aglow with a soft blue magical energy. The other soldier hurried to his horse, and after mounting it, rode fast to join the knight.
The strangers raised their hands slowly, returning the knight's gesture of greeting. Then, with horrifying speed, multiple blasts of magic erupted from them, spiraling across the landscape. Gwen watched in stunned disbelief as the air itself seemed to warp and twist. Two sickly green projectiles formed, striking almost simultaneously at the knight and the soldier. A third, more potent-looking stream of crimson energy, shot towards the tree line where Merlin stood.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Merlin discharged two powerful streams of energy that had been simmering in his palms, lancing towards the attackers. As they flew, his eyes flashed brilliant gold, and a shimmering, translucent shield materialized before him, barely in time to intercept the incoming crimson attack. The collision of spells created a deafening boom and a blinding flash of light that forced Gwen to shield her eyes for a moment. She gasped, still unaccustomed to such raw displays of Merlin's power.
The spells that struck the soldiers resounded with a thunderous crack that Gwen felt in her bones. The mounted knight was thrown violently from his saddle, his body suddenly engulfed in an eerie, pulsating light. He arced through the air, trailing wisps of arcane energy, before crashing into the river with a sizzling splash. The attackers' horses thundered past, trampling him mercilessly.
Gwen didn't see the second soldier go rigid, but she heard his gargled cry, distorted by the lingering magic. She watched him topple face-first from his horse into the stream. A faint green mist rose from his motionless form, blood blossoming in the water around him like a macabre flower. Her hands flew to her mouth, smothering a scream of horror.
The assailants reined in their mounts sharply, bringing them to a skidding halt. With fluid grace that belied their deadly intent, they dismounted, their boots barely touching the ground before they turned to face the tree line. Both attackers conjured protective shields to deflect a volley of magical energy, their horses whinnying nervously and backing away.
Gwen looked to see Merlin striding purposefully forward from the tree line, the air around him rippling and distorting with crackling energy, closing the distance between him and the strangers. Streams of blue and purple light erupted from his fingertips, colliding midair with the attackers' own red and orange spells. The clash of magical forces sent shockwaves through the clearing, causing the ground beneath Gwen's feet to tremble. She watched in awe as Merlin skillfully wove barriers of shimmering silver, repelling the stranger's relentless onslaught with ease. Between protective spells, he launched his own barrage of lethal magic, forcing the attackers to split their focus between aggression and self-preservation.
Arthur crouched for combat, his jaw working as he watched the magical duel unfold before them. He held Excalibur firmly at the ready, the blade angled slightly forward, poised for both protection and swift action. "Get to your horse, Gwen," he urged, his voice taut with concern. She saw the conflict in his eyes—the calculating step towards the melee—torn between shielding her and aiding their friend. "Please, you must flee!"
She shook her head vehemently, grasping his arm to halt his attempt to join Merlin. While she knew Arthur was an exceptional warrior, the sight of such powerful magic left her terrified for his safety. "I'll not leave you!" she replied, instinctively covering her belly, a silent promise to protect both her loves.
Suddenly, a bolt of sickly green energy shot towards them from one of the attackers. With the practiced precision of a seasoned knight, Arthur swiftly raised Excalibur. The magical energy struck the blade, sending sparks flying as it deflected harmlessly away. Gwen's eyes widened in amazement and relief—perhaps Arthur wasn't as defenseless against magic as she had feared.
A shimmering barrier suddenly materialized before them—Merlin's doing, she realized. Even while battling the assailants, his magic stretched to protect them, leaving her in awe of his capabilities and now of Arthur's skill with Excalibur.
"Gwen… please," Arthur pleaded again, maintaining his protective stance, Excalibur humming a strange new melody in his grasp. She was about to argue further when a stream of flames erupted from one of the intruders, engulfing Merlin in a swirling inferno.
"Merlin!" she cried, her voice raw with terror. Arthur's arm shot out, now restraining her from charging to their friend's aid. To her dismay, the other attacker raised his hands, adding his own torrent of fire to the conflagration. The combined assault created a terrifying spectacle of magical fury, the flames roaring with unnatural intensity.
Arthur's face was a mask of horror and disbelief, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he watched his closest confidant be consumed in flames. For a heartbeat, they both stood frozen, helpless in the face of such devastating magic.
The fire raged around Merlin, its heat palpable even from where they stood. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the flames extinguished, leaving only ashes fluttering to the ground where Merlin had stood moments before.
"No," Arthur whispered, the single word laden with shock and grief. His grip on Gwen tightened, whether to steady her or himself, it wasn't clear.
Gwen's scream caught in her throat, trapped by shock and disbelief. The acrid scent of magic and ash filled her lungs. She clung to Arthur, part of her praying this was a nightmare from which she'd soon awaken. But the remorseless approach of the bandits, their arms outstretched like weapons, confirmed the grim reality.
Mere seconds after Merlin vanished, so did the protective barrier before them. The clearing itself fell eerily silent, as if nature itself mourned Merlin's loss. His absence felt like a final, crushing blow, and they exposed and achingly vulnerable.
As the attackers drew nearer, fear gripped Gwen, manifesting in an uncontrollable trembling. The intensity of her reaction startled her, for she had faced danger before. But the loss of Merlin and the threat to her unborn child left her shaken to the core. Arthur's presence was both comforting and concerning; he was her protector.
"I'm Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot," Arthur declared, his voice tight. He held Excalibur aloft, the blade gleaming in the sunlight, poised for immediate action. As his words rang out, Gwen felt her racing heartbeat slow, her breath steadying despite the looming threat. The familiar command in Arthur's tone, a reminder of his strength and leadership, shone like a beacon through her terror. He was her light, even in this darkest moment. "I order you to stand down."
"You're not our king," the shorter assailant replied, his face shadowed by his hood. His voice, young and unsettlingly familiar, sent a jolt of recognition through Gwen. She frowned, trying to place where she had heard it before.
"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, his words sharp with contempt. "What do you want?"
Magical energy crackled on the palm of the taller assailant's raised a hand, dark eyes intensely raking over Arthur. "I want you to pay for your crimes against my kindred, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot."
Her heart lurched at these words, Arthur's name seeming a curse on the man's lips, his ominous tone making Gwen's blood run cold. She edged closer to Arthur, clasped onto his shirt. Despite her inner turmoil and quaking knees, Gwen found her voice.
"Magic has been freed," she interjected, surprised by the steadiness in her tone. She clung to this fact like a lifeline as truly as she held onto Arthur, hoping against hope that it might sway their attackers, might save Arthur's life.
"That is so, Queen Guinevere, but it doesn't pardon him for his crimes of the past," the assailant responded, his voice cold and unforgiving. "My people deserve retribution."
The world seemed to tilt around Gwen, her vision narrowing to a tunnel. The man's words echoed in her mind, each syllable making her skin prickle. His threat against her husband, her king, the father of her unborn child suddenly made the danger feel more immediate, more personal. Her mind grappled with the sense that these were no mere assailants driven by greed, but twisted executioners fueled by a thirst for vengeance that no amount of reason could sway. The realization churned her stomach, a bitter taste rising in her mouth.
Arthur stiffened beside her, his jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on Excalibur's hilt, the sword's magic thrumming in response to his anger. "You have no right to judge me," he growled, anger simmering beneath his words.
Gwen noticed a flash of recognition cross Arthur's face, his eyes narrowing as he studied the tall assailant.
"You're the ones who attempted to free Morgana during the Southron executions," he maintained. He glanced at the short aggressor.
She followed his gaze, found herself staring at a hooded figure – slim frame, clothes unkempt. Still, there was something about the voice, a vague memory stirring in her mind...
Then Arthur uttered dangerously, "Mordred."
Memories flooded back—a young boy they had once helped, now grown into a teenager standing before them as an enemy. Gwen's mind raced, recalling Mordred's failed attempt to free Morgana during the Southron executions, an event she'd narrowly missed witnessing. More recently, Merlin had placed him at her coronation feast, linked him to the theft of magical artifacts from the royal vault. The realization left her reeling, the situation suddenly more complex and unsettling than she could have imagined.
Without warning, the intense green light flared in the tall assailant's raised hand. A distortion in the air, like heat rising from sunbaked stones, streaked from his palm towards Arthur, faster than a blink. The spell's speed defied natural limits, striking Arthur before he could deflect it with Excalibur. His body jerked backwards, surrounded by a faint green glow matching the assailant's hand. Excalibur was torn from his grasp; Arthur was hurled through the air, crashing against a tree trunk with such force that bark splintered around him. An agonized cry escaped his lips upon impact, quickly altering to pained grunts.
"Arthur!" Gwen's scream tore from her throat.
Pinned there by what appeared to be glowing, ethereal chains that pulsed with a sickly light, Arthur gasped for air. His face twisted as the invisible force constricted around his throat, his body. Gwen could almost see the magical energy crushing his chest, leaving ripples in the air with each labored breath he took.
She lunged for the fallen Excalibur, but a wave of energy struck her mid-motion, hurling her backward. She hit the ground hard, vision dimming as she struggled for air.
"Subdue her!" the tall assailant snarled, his command guttural and menacing.
"No!" Arthur choked out, helplessly bound to the tree, his face contorted in anguish.
A shadow fell across Gwen's face as she fought to remain conscious. To her horror, she also found herself paralyzed, unable to move. Through blurred vision, she saw Mordred's figure looming above her, a short sword glinting ominously in his hand. His face was still obscured by his hood, yet Gwen could feel his cold gaze upon her.
"Mordred, don't—!" Arthur's desperate plea was cut short by a vicious blow across his cheek administered by the other assailant, now standing beside him. Arthur wheezed, fighting for each breath. "Don't—touch—!"
"Mordred," Gwen whispered, her voice weak but imploring. "I beg you, do not do this… I'm with child…"
For a heartbeat, Mordred's silhouette seemed to waver, his body shifting almost imperceptibly. The sword in his hand trembled ever so slightly, a fleeting moment of hesitation.
Then, as if steeling himself against her plea, Mordred plunged the weapon into her. A searing, white-hot pain—like liquid fire—erupted in Gwen's side, coursed through her veins. Tendrils of icy coldness seemed to spread from the point of impact, numbing her limbs and clouding her mind. She gasped in shock, her body shuddering as darkness encroached on her vision.
"Guinevere!" Arthur's agonized cry tore through the air, raw with desperation and helplessness.
Mordred's shadow retreated as Gwen fought to cling to consciousness. Crimson blossomed across her bodice, trickling over her skin in rivulets. The fabric grew heavy and wet as life ebbed away. Her thoughts, fragmented and fading, turned to the child within her—a life barely begun, now surely lost. A desperate, waning hope flickered through her mind: that Arthur might somehow survive this brutal attack, even as she felt herself slipping away.
As the world dimmed around her, Gwen's mind flashed in rapid succession: Merlin consumed by magical flames, Arthur's face contorted with anguish, the unborn child he would never know, the future they had dreamed of now unraveling like gossamer threads…
"Arthur…"
Tears leaked; senses dimmed, and Gwen succumbed to the inexorable pull of oblivion's cold embrace.
End Note: Hey, my Fanfiction peeps! The last chapter with Morgana and the dragons was the penultimate climax before the demise of the power trio in this one. The board is set, and we start our march towards the conclusion. So, what do you think, my friends? Got a kind word or two for the old writer here? Thanks!