(no subject)
Title: ‘Morning’ Sickness
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: light PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, OC
Word Count: 2402
Disclaimer: Don’t own it! Would break it.
Summary: Some signs are too plain to ignore.
A/N: Part two of the tale of Guinevere’s pregnancy. Part one can be found here.
I hope you all enjoy. <3
Something was fluttering along the exposed skin of Gwen’s inner arm, warm and light, like a whisper, and she could not help the slight upturn of her lips at the familiar, intimate touch.
“Enjoying yourself?” she teased gently, turning into her pillow for a better view.
Blue eyes peered up at her from beneath the shag of blonde hair by her hip. “Absolutely,” Arthur murmured into her skin, bringing a hot hand to hears and turning her palm upward. He pressed a kiss into her life line, and Gwen let out a breathy giggle as he dropped another on her wrist, yet another at the skin on her inner elbow.
Gwen sighed contentedly, rolling all the way onto her back as Arthur settled down beside her. “Good day?” she asked, raising her hand to lace her fingers his hair.
He grunted in response, turning his mouth once more to catch the pad of her thumb as it grazed her skin. “I’m knackered.”
She yawned in agreement. “I’ll bet …” Gwen shifted as he pulled himself up beside her, on his side, head propped up by his elbow. “Trade agreements, riveting stuff.”
Arthur grinned openly, and Gwen wondered if he’d ever stop having that effect on her … the heart racing, stomach dropping, head dizzy devastating effect. “You know those days,” he lamented, though a smile continued to play upon his lips as he allowed his hand to drift along Gwen’s cheek, “Those days … when you decide, before breakfast is even finished, that nothing is going to get done?”
Gwen merely raised an eyebrow, and Arthur barked out a laugh. “Of course you don’t,” he continued, dropping his head to kiss the bridge of her nose, “You’re you.”
She pretended to pout, “Well, I can imagine.”
He moved south, mouth on her neck, and Rosaline - who had been hanging Gwen’s dressing gown - graciously exited the bedroom, along with Arthur’s man Gregory. “What about you?” he asked as Gwen’s eyes drifted closed.
“Me?” she breathed, pressing a hand to his shoulder.
“Yes, you,” he chuckled, kissing along her collarbone.
Gwen half-shrugged, feeling a little warm. “Um …” was all she managed, more than a little distracted, and not entirely sure of the question.
Arthur laughed outright and propped himself up to see her. “Guinevere.”
She met his gaze, a little put out at the sudden break in contact. “Arthur.”
“How are you?”
“Oh,” she paused, and then stretched, like a cat. “Tired …”
When she opened her eyes again, smiling because she felt her husband’s presence hovering above her now, she was surprised to see not the mischievous glint there … an invitation for a pre-dinner romp, but rather a darkened look of genuine concern. “What?” asked Gwen, pausing mid-stretch with her arms high above her head, in the pillows.
Arthur didn’t say anything, held his lips in a tight pout the way he did whenever he was trying to sort her out. Suddenly defensive, Gwen furrowed her brow. “What is it?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you’re well?”
A little annoyed, Gwen placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back enough for her to sit up. But he gave very little, and so they sat only inches apart.
She turned her face away. Arthur was just another name on the list of questioning faces … Gwen wasn’t certain where all this worry was coming from, from Morgana and Hannah and Rosaline, even Merlin - who could be as obtuse as Arthur sometimes - seemed to be asking about her health an abnormal amount these past two weeks.
“I’m fine,” Gwen mumbled, shaking her head.
He raised a hand to her chin, turning her to look at him. “You just seem … tired.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You have been, for a while.”
Gwen frowned. “If there’s something I’m not doing for you-”
Arthur smiled, and his voice was not teasing, but rather compassionate. “My queen,” he interrupted softly, “I am most satisfied.”
And before Gwen could grow any more cross, his hands - and mouth - were at her exposed collar bone again, breath hot on her skin. He eased her back on the blanket, his left hand drifting down to her hip. And just as Gwen felt her annoyance giving way to that glorious feeling of anticipation …
“Ow, ow, ow-”
The sound escaped her lips, and Arthur froze before she knew what had happened. “What is it?” he exclaimed, holding himself above her, forearms flexed on either side of her body.
Gwen winced. Her hand was resting on the tender spot his chin had merely brushed moments before: the rise of her breast, where the skin was exposed and tender.
“Was it me?” he asked, eyes peering down into her cleavage.
She laughed, still pained and rubbing gently, at the sight of Arthur ogling her so openly … like a teenage boy. “I guess so …”
“But-” he stammered a bit, then looked back up at her face, making Gwen laugh a little harder. “But, I didn’t do anything.”
She sighed. “I know. I don’t know what it is.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to look put out, and he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, a little dismayed that the moment was over. Gwen had to admit that it was odd, but there was really nothing she could do about it. So she sidled up to him sweetly and kissed his cheek. “I promise to go to the physician in the morning,” she murmured.
Arthur reached for her hand and squeezed it, then kissed her firmly on the lips before standing. “Shall we go to dinner?”
Honestly, Gwen was feeling a bit ravenous, but the bed was so comfortable … and she was still feeling a small headache. But, given the look on Arthur’s face, she didn’t want to give him any more cause for concern. So she put on a bright smile and took the head he offered her. “Are Morgana and Merlin joining us?”
“Of course.”
“Arthur!” scolded Gwen, as he helped her up. “You were going to just let us … lay there?”
He laughed. “They would’ve understood.”
***
“He sort of reminded me of an owl,” mused Merlin.
Gwen rolled her eyes, but Arthur leaned over his dinner, gesturing with his fork in agreement. “A crow,” he offered, and Merlin took it right up.
“Yes, that’s what I meant. A crow. A crow with a huge beak-”
“I never thought of crows as having huge beaks,” offered Morgana thoughtfully, but Merlin rambled on.
“A crow, with a huge beak and sort of wiry limbs-”
“Like yours,” she supplied once more.
“Not like mine!” exclaimed Merlin, offended.
“A little like Merlin’s,” Arthur continued, “And a most peculiar smell.”
Gwen clasped her hands in her lap. “Now really-”
“Gwen, you have no idea,” Merlin interrupted, and he shoveled a little more food in his mouth before continuing. Behavior hardly becoming for the king’s right hand wizard, and Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. “Imagine you’re stuck in an old wardrobe full of mildewy, wet old cloaks.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure,” she replied sweetly. Arthur smiled and squeezed her hand under the table, but Merlin rambled on.
“… And you’re stuck in there, in this closed space for hours and hours and hours, and one of the rotten cloaks is rambling on about … potato exchanges.”
Morgana snorted in an unladylike manner.
“Is that what you were talking about all day?” Gwen raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who merely shrugged.
Merlin looked between the four of them. “Well, maybe? I dunno, I sort of … drifted off eventually.”
Gwen laughed as the conversation rambled on, predictably about nothing. She was happy to be in the company of her loved ones, but she was beginning to wish she’d stayed in bed for the evening instead of forcing herself to eat dinner. Initially she thought a little food might’ve given her the energy she needed, but it felt as though she’d waited too long … and now all she could do was push the remaining three quarters of her meal around on her plate, like a child.
What she had eaten was not sitting in her stomach well. She had no taste for wine, but the cook had made her favorite dish - lamb with mint sauce and vegetables coming into season now - so she’d tried to force a little down. With every bite,she felt more nauseated, and was finding it even more difficult to cover that feeling up.
Though Arthur was happily bantering with Merlin and Morgana, his hand remained in Gwen’s lap, holding on reassuringly, and Gwen was ever thankful for something to hold onto. Her free hand was getting rather warm - and a little sweaty.
With a deep breath, she let go of Arthur and reached a shaking hand for a drink of water. And trying to reengage in the meal, she took a bite of asparagus.
… And near instantly regretted it.
Gwen’s mouth formed an unusually tight line as she swallowed the sudden, and pressing, urge to wretch.
She smiled, tightly, at Arthur and pushed back from the table. “Excuse me,” was all she could manage, before she was up and striding toward the door, painfully aware of all their eyes on her.
But she couldn’t stop - determined to make it out of the doors of the hall … desperately looking for a dark corner, a passage way out, and Oh, no, were those Arthur’s foot steps behind her?
As best she could, hand clasped to her mouth, she jogged out the door - without tripping over her hem, thankfully - and left into the nearest alcove.
It was out before she had a chance to regain some semblance of control. Beats of sweat were forming on Gwen’s forehead, and she was instantly overcome by the heat of shame for throwing up … really, anywhere, but especially in such close proximity to Arthur. Horrified, she brought her wrist to her mouth and turned to see whoever it was that was so close behind her.
She’d never been so grateful for Rosaline, who’d apparently also taken off behind her mistress. “Oh, my lady,” she murmured sympathetically, taking two steps toward Gwen.
Gwen shook her head violently. “The king!” She managed, before leaning against the wall, trying to regain her breath.
Rosaline nodded once and turned, steeling herself in position to stop Arthur from running around the corner and seeing Gwen in such a state.
She’d have to remember to get Rose a very special gift for her next birthday, for her show of such bravery in facing down the king.
As predicted, Arthur barreled around the corner not a split second later, and nearly collided into Gwen’s handmaiden. “I’m sorry, my lord-”
“Guinevere!” he interrupted, moving to step around the young lady. But Rosaline dared to step to the left to block him, and Gwen wished she could see the look on her face.
“The Queen begs you to excuse her-”
Arthur spoke over her, “Move. Now.”
“She’d like a little privacy-”
“That’s an order!”
“I’m sorry, sire-”
“I’ll put you in the stocks!”
“Arthur,” Gwen called out, and she heard him strain to see around the corner, “Please go.”
“But-”
She sighed, wiping the back of her forehead, exhausted now. She was ready to collapse, but wouldn’t budge until he was gone. “Just … please.” She paused, then in her best reassuring voice, “I’m fine.”
There was a full minute of silence before he silently stalked off.
***
Rosaline was near shushing her mistress by the time she got Gwen washed up, changed and into bed. It was odd how - after rinsing her mouth a few times - she felt absolutely fine, almost well enough to rejoin Arthur and the others (had she no shame). Of course, she knew it wasn’t wise … she was obviously ill and needed some time to recover.
“I cannot thank you enough,” murmured Gwen from her place against the pillows, and Rosaline smiled down at her.
“Please, my lady,” she replied gently, “You have! Too much, even.”
She squeezed Gwen’s hand - as Gwen often had when serving Morgana - and excused herself with the promise of staying close by lest Gwen need anything else.
But she was certain she wouldn’t.
Gwen closed her eyes and tried to sleep, perking up again when she heard the door creak open. “Roseline,” she began to admonish, “I told you, I’m all right.”
“Obviously not.”
Gwen froze, watching for a hint of anger in Arthur’s expression. But there was none to be found.
He closed the bedroom door behind him, hesitant. For a minute, they both waited at a loss, Gwen red from embarrassment, and Arthur, unreadable.
Before she could muster up the nerve to make some joke about what transpired, he lifted his hands, bearing a small silver plate of fruit and biscuits. “I brought you something,” he managed awkwardly, and Gwen offered a small smile in thanks. Truthfully, she didn’t even want to smell food at the moment, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
That smile seemed to be all the permission he needed. Placing the snack down on a nearby table, the lowered onto the mattress beside her.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Gwen began.
He shook his head slightly, and she paused. She knew he wasn’t quite sure what to say - nor she, after all - so instead she reached out and took his hand. “Arthur …” she continued softly.
“You’ll go to the physician in the morning,” he replied, meeting her eyes. It was there she could see; it wasn’t a command, it was a plea.
She nodded. “I promise.”
Arthur nodded again and sighed, though little tension escaped his shoulders. “I wanted to help you-”
Gwen sat up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself into his back, willing some of his anxiety away. She was certain nothing was really wrong. Maybe her cut off meat was off … or something.
“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she replied honestly. Then, with a teasing tone, “You’d never kiss me again.”
She didn’t have to see his smile; she could feel it. “Guinevere,” he chuckled. “I will always want to kiss you.”
And he did.
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: light PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, OC
Word Count: 2402
Disclaimer: Don’t own it! Would break it.
Summary: Some signs are too plain to ignore.
A/N: Part two of the tale of Guinevere’s pregnancy. Part one can be found here.
I hope you all enjoy. <3
Something was fluttering along the exposed skin of Gwen’s inner arm, warm and light, like a whisper, and she could not help the slight upturn of her lips at the familiar, intimate touch.
“Enjoying yourself?” she teased gently, turning into her pillow for a better view.
Blue eyes peered up at her from beneath the shag of blonde hair by her hip. “Absolutely,” Arthur murmured into her skin, bringing a hot hand to hears and turning her palm upward. He pressed a kiss into her life line, and Gwen let out a breathy giggle as he dropped another on her wrist, yet another at the skin on her inner elbow.
Gwen sighed contentedly, rolling all the way onto her back as Arthur settled down beside her. “Good day?” she asked, raising her hand to lace her fingers his hair.
He grunted in response, turning his mouth once more to catch the pad of her thumb as it grazed her skin. “I’m knackered.”
She yawned in agreement. “I’ll bet …” Gwen shifted as he pulled himself up beside her, on his side, head propped up by his elbow. “Trade agreements, riveting stuff.”
Arthur grinned openly, and Gwen wondered if he’d ever stop having that effect on her … the heart racing, stomach dropping, head dizzy devastating effect. “You know those days,” he lamented, though a smile continued to play upon his lips as he allowed his hand to drift along Gwen’s cheek, “Those days … when you decide, before breakfast is even finished, that nothing is going to get done?”
Gwen merely raised an eyebrow, and Arthur barked out a laugh. “Of course you don’t,” he continued, dropping his head to kiss the bridge of her nose, “You’re you.”
She pretended to pout, “Well, I can imagine.”
He moved south, mouth on her neck, and Rosaline - who had been hanging Gwen’s dressing gown - graciously exited the bedroom, along with Arthur’s man Gregory. “What about you?” he asked as Gwen’s eyes drifted closed.
“Me?” she breathed, pressing a hand to his shoulder.
“Yes, you,” he chuckled, kissing along her collarbone.
Gwen half-shrugged, feeling a little warm. “Um …” was all she managed, more than a little distracted, and not entirely sure of the question.
Arthur laughed outright and propped himself up to see her. “Guinevere.”
She met his gaze, a little put out at the sudden break in contact. “Arthur.”
“How are you?”
“Oh,” she paused, and then stretched, like a cat. “Tired …”
When she opened her eyes again, smiling because she felt her husband’s presence hovering above her now, she was surprised to see not the mischievous glint there … an invitation for a pre-dinner romp, but rather a darkened look of genuine concern. “What?” asked Gwen, pausing mid-stretch with her arms high above her head, in the pillows.
Arthur didn’t say anything, held his lips in a tight pout the way he did whenever he was trying to sort her out. Suddenly defensive, Gwen furrowed her brow. “What is it?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you’re well?”
A little annoyed, Gwen placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back enough for her to sit up. But he gave very little, and so they sat only inches apart.
She turned her face away. Arthur was just another name on the list of questioning faces … Gwen wasn’t certain where all this worry was coming from, from Morgana and Hannah and Rosaline, even Merlin - who could be as obtuse as Arthur sometimes - seemed to be asking about her health an abnormal amount these past two weeks.
“I’m fine,” Gwen mumbled, shaking her head.
He raised a hand to her chin, turning her to look at him. “You just seem … tired.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You have been, for a while.”
Gwen frowned. “If there’s something I’m not doing for you-”
Arthur smiled, and his voice was not teasing, but rather compassionate. “My queen,” he interrupted softly, “I am most satisfied.”
And before Gwen could grow any more cross, his hands - and mouth - were at her exposed collar bone again, breath hot on her skin. He eased her back on the blanket, his left hand drifting down to her hip. And just as Gwen felt her annoyance giving way to that glorious feeling of anticipation …
“Ow, ow, ow-”
The sound escaped her lips, and Arthur froze before she knew what had happened. “What is it?” he exclaimed, holding himself above her, forearms flexed on either side of her body.
Gwen winced. Her hand was resting on the tender spot his chin had merely brushed moments before: the rise of her breast, where the skin was exposed and tender.
“Was it me?” he asked, eyes peering down into her cleavage.
She laughed, still pained and rubbing gently, at the sight of Arthur ogling her so openly … like a teenage boy. “I guess so …”
“But-” he stammered a bit, then looked back up at her face, making Gwen laugh a little harder. “But, I didn’t do anything.”
She sighed. “I know. I don’t know what it is.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to look put out, and he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, a little dismayed that the moment was over. Gwen had to admit that it was odd, but there was really nothing she could do about it. So she sidled up to him sweetly and kissed his cheek. “I promise to go to the physician in the morning,” she murmured.
Arthur reached for her hand and squeezed it, then kissed her firmly on the lips before standing. “Shall we go to dinner?”
Honestly, Gwen was feeling a bit ravenous, but the bed was so comfortable … and she was still feeling a small headache. But, given the look on Arthur’s face, she didn’t want to give him any more cause for concern. So she put on a bright smile and took the head he offered her. “Are Morgana and Merlin joining us?”
“Of course.”
“Arthur!” scolded Gwen, as he helped her up. “You were going to just let us … lay there?”
He laughed. “They would’ve understood.”
***
“He sort of reminded me of an owl,” mused Merlin.
Gwen rolled her eyes, but Arthur leaned over his dinner, gesturing with his fork in agreement. “A crow,” he offered, and Merlin took it right up.
“Yes, that’s what I meant. A crow. A crow with a huge beak-”
“I never thought of crows as having huge beaks,” offered Morgana thoughtfully, but Merlin rambled on.
“A crow, with a huge beak and sort of wiry limbs-”
“Like yours,” she supplied once more.
“Not like mine!” exclaimed Merlin, offended.
“A little like Merlin’s,” Arthur continued, “And a most peculiar smell.”
Gwen clasped her hands in her lap. “Now really-”
“Gwen, you have no idea,” Merlin interrupted, and he shoveled a little more food in his mouth before continuing. Behavior hardly becoming for the king’s right hand wizard, and Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. “Imagine you’re stuck in an old wardrobe full of mildewy, wet old cloaks.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure,” she replied sweetly. Arthur smiled and squeezed her hand under the table, but Merlin rambled on.
“… And you’re stuck in there, in this closed space for hours and hours and hours, and one of the rotten cloaks is rambling on about … potato exchanges.”
Morgana snorted in an unladylike manner.
“Is that what you were talking about all day?” Gwen raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who merely shrugged.
Merlin looked between the four of them. “Well, maybe? I dunno, I sort of … drifted off eventually.”
Gwen laughed as the conversation rambled on, predictably about nothing. She was happy to be in the company of her loved ones, but she was beginning to wish she’d stayed in bed for the evening instead of forcing herself to eat dinner. Initially she thought a little food might’ve given her the energy she needed, but it felt as though she’d waited too long … and now all she could do was push the remaining three quarters of her meal around on her plate, like a child.
What she had eaten was not sitting in her stomach well. She had no taste for wine, but the cook had made her favorite dish - lamb with mint sauce and vegetables coming into season now - so she’d tried to force a little down. With every bite,she felt more nauseated, and was finding it even more difficult to cover that feeling up.
Though Arthur was happily bantering with Merlin and Morgana, his hand remained in Gwen’s lap, holding on reassuringly, and Gwen was ever thankful for something to hold onto. Her free hand was getting rather warm - and a little sweaty.
With a deep breath, she let go of Arthur and reached a shaking hand for a drink of water. And trying to reengage in the meal, she took a bite of asparagus.
… And near instantly regretted it.
Gwen’s mouth formed an unusually tight line as she swallowed the sudden, and pressing, urge to wretch.
She smiled, tightly, at Arthur and pushed back from the table. “Excuse me,” was all she could manage, before she was up and striding toward the door, painfully aware of all their eyes on her.
But she couldn’t stop - determined to make it out of the doors of the hall … desperately looking for a dark corner, a passage way out, and Oh, no, were those Arthur’s foot steps behind her?
As best she could, hand clasped to her mouth, she jogged out the door - without tripping over her hem, thankfully - and left into the nearest alcove.
It was out before she had a chance to regain some semblance of control. Beats of sweat were forming on Gwen’s forehead, and she was instantly overcome by the heat of shame for throwing up … really, anywhere, but especially in such close proximity to Arthur. Horrified, she brought her wrist to her mouth and turned to see whoever it was that was so close behind her.
She’d never been so grateful for Rosaline, who’d apparently also taken off behind her mistress. “Oh, my lady,” she murmured sympathetically, taking two steps toward Gwen.
Gwen shook her head violently. “The king!” She managed, before leaning against the wall, trying to regain her breath.
Rosaline nodded once and turned, steeling herself in position to stop Arthur from running around the corner and seeing Gwen in such a state.
She’d have to remember to get Rose a very special gift for her next birthday, for her show of such bravery in facing down the king.
As predicted, Arthur barreled around the corner not a split second later, and nearly collided into Gwen’s handmaiden. “I’m sorry, my lord-”
“Guinevere!” he interrupted, moving to step around the young lady. But Rosaline dared to step to the left to block him, and Gwen wished she could see the look on her face.
“The Queen begs you to excuse her-”
Arthur spoke over her, “Move. Now.”
“She’d like a little privacy-”
“That’s an order!”
“I’m sorry, sire-”
“I’ll put you in the stocks!”
“Arthur,” Gwen called out, and she heard him strain to see around the corner, “Please go.”
“But-”
She sighed, wiping the back of her forehead, exhausted now. She was ready to collapse, but wouldn’t budge until he was gone. “Just … please.” She paused, then in her best reassuring voice, “I’m fine.”
There was a full minute of silence before he silently stalked off.
***
Rosaline was near shushing her mistress by the time she got Gwen washed up, changed and into bed. It was odd how - after rinsing her mouth a few times - she felt absolutely fine, almost well enough to rejoin Arthur and the others (had she no shame). Of course, she knew it wasn’t wise … she was obviously ill and needed some time to recover.
“I cannot thank you enough,” murmured Gwen from her place against the pillows, and Rosaline smiled down at her.
“Please, my lady,” she replied gently, “You have! Too much, even.”
She squeezed Gwen’s hand - as Gwen often had when serving Morgana - and excused herself with the promise of staying close by lest Gwen need anything else.
But she was certain she wouldn’t.
Gwen closed her eyes and tried to sleep, perking up again when she heard the door creak open. “Roseline,” she began to admonish, “I told you, I’m all right.”
“Obviously not.”
Gwen froze, watching for a hint of anger in Arthur’s expression. But there was none to be found.
He closed the bedroom door behind him, hesitant. For a minute, they both waited at a loss, Gwen red from embarrassment, and Arthur, unreadable.
Before she could muster up the nerve to make some joke about what transpired, he lifted his hands, bearing a small silver plate of fruit and biscuits. “I brought you something,” he managed awkwardly, and Gwen offered a small smile in thanks. Truthfully, she didn’t even want to smell food at the moment, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
That smile seemed to be all the permission he needed. Placing the snack down on a nearby table, the lowered onto the mattress beside her.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Gwen began.
He shook his head slightly, and she paused. She knew he wasn’t quite sure what to say - nor she, after all - so instead she reached out and took his hand. “Arthur …” she continued softly.
“You’ll go to the physician in the morning,” he replied, meeting her eyes. It was there she could see; it wasn’t a command, it was a plea.
She nodded. “I promise.”
Arthur nodded again and sighed, though little tension escaped his shoulders. “I wanted to help you-”
Gwen sat up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself into his back, willing some of his anxiety away. She was certain nothing was really wrong. Maybe her cut off meat was off … or something.
“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she replied honestly. Then, with a teasing tone, “You’d never kiss me again.”
She didn’t have to see his smile; she could feel it. “Guinevere,” he chuckled. “I will always want to kiss you.”
And he did.