(no subject)
Title: Perfect Moment
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Morgana, OCs
Word Count: 2545
Disclaimer: Don’t own it! Would break it.
Summary: What time is the right time?
A/N: Part three of the tale of Guinevere’s pregnancy. The truth comes out. What to do with it is Gwen’s decision.
Part One
Part Two
I hope you all enjoy. <3
Gwen hardly slept through the night. She wasn’t foolish. Much of her time in the castle had been spent in the company of older women, mothers, who talked - often to excess - of pregnancy and childbearing and all those things about which Gwen knew next to nothing. Though she had never intimately bared witness to such a thing, she knew the common symptoms and their remedies, the joy and the heartbreak and the simple labor of such a feat.
Nerves frustrated her every attempt to rest. In the dark, she detangled herself from Arthur’s protective arm and extricated herself from the blankets, too hot and uncomfortable and worried about the next morning’s visit with the physician.
It was not that Gwen had never considered children. She knew as Queen it was her duty to produce an heir to the throne, a duty she would see through to the best of her ability. More than that, she deeply desired to become a mother, and had for a very long time. She had supposed, long ago, that it had something to do with her mother’s absence. Eleanor passed away with Gwen was only eight, before she had a chance to share her wisdom on love and duty and men and children and all those things Gwen found she knew nothing about as she’d grown older. Things Tom had been reluctant to talk about, and Gwen hadn’t pressed for. When faced with her first heartbreak - at twelve, to a young man who had been fairly annoying in retrospect - Gwen resolved to be there to guide her child as her mother had not been able to.
It was simply that in the picture in her mind, she and Arthur had been a lot … older when this responsibility cropped up. They’d have had a bit more time to wrap their minds around the whole concept.
When day broke the next day, Gwen sent for the physician as promised. She was grateful - though she wouldn’t admit it - that Arthur had duties to attend to. When he kissed her forehead and exited, Gwen let out an audible sigh of relief.
Morgana, who had promised to remain at her side throughout the visit, fixed her with an unreadable look. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” mumbled Gwen in response, watching her sister-in-law cross the room toward her to take a seat at the foot of Gwen’s bed.
Morgana paused, then let out a dramatic impression of Gwen’s sigh. Instead of laughing, Gwen focused on quelling the defensive swell of annoyance in her chest. She folded her hands carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hardly put off, Morgana only smiled, which made Gwen feel even moodier. Morgana was capable of things Gwen could not conceive of, she had long known, even though the raven-haired woman rarely wanted to talk about it. The power to the see future, events unanticipated, dreams of prophesy. But the way she seemed to see right through Gwen at the moment made he question just how much Morgana could read about the present.
She was still smiling, and reached out to place a hand in Gwen’s lap. “You were happy he left.”
Gwen huffed, but didn’t deny it. She wasn’t much of a liar.
So Morgana continued. “You can tell me, Gwen. You’ve always trusted me.”
She glanced up at her friend. Morgana’s face was open at that moment, imploring. Gwen found it difficult not to share.
She shrugged a little and looked away as she spoke. “I was … a little embarrassed, yesterday.”
“About dinner?” Gwen gave a little nod, and Morgana chuckled lightly, patting Gwen’s arm. “Arthur’s about as thick as they come. You running off to get sick won’t put him off.”
Gwen blanched. “Arthur told you I got sick?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?”
Another wave of nausea washed over her, and Gwen took a shaky deep breath. Whatever this was, she willed it to pass quickly. When she opened her eyes again, Morgana had scooted closer to her on the bed, and placed a gentle arm around Gwen’s shoulder, which only made Guinevere feel a little closer to tears. She’d be damned if she cried - yet here she was, willing the tears not to fall as her heart raced a little faster.
“Oh, Morgana,” she said softly, daring to look up. “I …”
She stopped herself short. Concern - very real concern - was evident on the other woman’s face. Gwen was shocked too; she was uncertain where all of this was coming from inside her, but it was troubling that she did not know, and that she had so little control over it. But doing her best, she took another breath and put on a small smile. “I just want a little mystique to remain in my marriage,” Gwen explained softly, taking a turn to be reassuring. “That’s all.”
It sounded like an acceptable answer, and it was at least partially true. Morgana, however, remained skeptical. But before she could counter what Gwen offered, the door opened and a relative stranger that Gwen knew to be the court physician entered. Wiping her face, the young queen steeled herself for what was to be the most uncomfortable hour of her life.
***
In moments like these, Gwen desperately missed the comfort Gaius used to offer before his passing a year ago. She wished he had been here to give her the news that increasingly became the obvious explanation every minute the appointment continued.
There was a lot of poking and prodding, questions being answered, and a few concoctions administered. And at the center of it all was a rather embarrassing exchange - regarding bleeding and urine and other unpleasantness - that Gwen bore like a soldier, with a stiff upper lip and a resolution to ’Keep it together, Gwen!’
Through it all, she was thankful as ever to Morgana for sitting through it, making the requisite teasing faces and squeezing Gwen’s hand encouragingly when she had to talk about things that most ladies would rather keep private. She was also thankful to her ladies, Hannah and Rosaline, for keeping her entertained with idle gossip and sweet, encouraging words while they waited as the physician tinkered about at a table in the corner with items brought from his quarters.
There was no way to prepare for hearing the words aloud, though.
The old man, finally returned to them, hands behind his back and gaze fixed on Gwen. He cleared his throat over Rosaline’s laughter, and silence immediately enveloped the four women. Gwen raised her chin a little higher.
“My lady,” he began, “Perhaps you would like to speak privately?”
Hannah and Rosaline immediately moved to stand, but Morgana did not budge, hand still clasping Gwen’s.
Gwen gave a little shake of the head. “No, they may stay.” She hesitated, eyes flicking past him to his work. “What did you find?”
“I believe you are to bear a child, my lady.”
There was silence. Morgana tamped down whatever reaction she may have felt, squeezing Gwen only a little tighter. Hannah, a mother and the eldest of the women, remained stoically silent. But Gwen could feel - and hear - Rosaline struggle to suppress a squeal at her right.
Guinevere, for the moment, first felt only the pounding in her chest. Upon hearing the words, she immediately knew them to be true, and that struck her as very strange.
She would not kid herself to believe that the fear - that had been what it was - that encompassed her so fully through the night and morning had gone. It was there, more now than ever, as she considered this new insight.
Truthfully, she had little experience with children on her own. They existed only in the periphery of her life. As a servant, many of the women she worked with day in and day out had been mothers. And when she had the time, she visited their households and offered a little help with the chores, or the mending or the cooking. But she had never been alone with a child, dependent on her for protection and comfort and love.
Of course, she’d share this responsibility with Arthur. But that knowledge did not diminish the fear she felt at it.
Still. Beneath all this, deep in her heart - or in her gut - she felt unequivocal joy. A warm, protective feeling. Perhaps pride. And wonder.
She could not help the hand that drifted to her abdomen. Nor could she help the smile that formed on her face.
Rosaline could no longer help herself.
***
Gwen was both shocked and grateful that she did not hear even a whiff of rumor about her pregnancy over the course of the week that followed. Though she trusted each woman with her life - Morgana above all - she made each swear to make no mention of her pregnancy before she had a chance to tell Arthur herself. Of course, she promised to do so immediately … and then failed to see that through.
Which accounted for her further inability to sleep. She scheduled another appointment with the physician to further discuss the important matters, but with a set of general guidelines, dismissed him to take a nap. That proved unsuccessful, as did that night’s sleep, and the next, and the next.
When Arthur asked what the physician had told her, she was allusive in her typical stammery way. Gwen was certain he saw through it, but when pressed, she simply made a mad dash from the room to tend to whatever nonsense she could cook up. She excused herself from dinner twice, and when she finally came on the fourth night after her discovery, Morgana kept giving her really obvious looks from across the table or asking her leading questions that sent Gwen into coughing fits.
Merlin probably thought she had gone mad. And she had no idea whether Arthur suspected.
She had every intention of telling him. But she was looking for the ‘perfect moment,’ and each time one seemed to present itself, Gwen would get tongue tied like she was a teenager again, back before she and Arthur really knew each other and she was always tripping over her words.
At dinner that Sunday, Gwen felt a familiar queasiness and restricted herself to mashed potatoes and water. Arthur watched her pick over her plate and raised his eyebrows, but Gwen tried to smile reassuringly.
She resolved to tell him that night.
***
Guinevere knew Arthur had reports to finish reading before tomorrow morning’s meeting with the council, and that he’d choose to finish them in his study rather than their room as he always got … distracted when he brought his work to bed with him. But she was determined to see telling him through and resolved to wait up for him.
After dismissing Rosaline for the night, she changed and brushed her hair, blew out most of the candles and took a seat on her side of the bed. After waiting aimlessly for a while, she tried her hand at some of her embroidery - which she didn’t entirely enjoy, but was a more appropriate alternative in court to mending her own dresses - and then that grew boring, rearranged her own flowers. When that was through, she looked over the handwritten instructions the physician had left her over and over, until she’d memorized them line by line.
She waited. The candle on her bedside table burned down until it was only a small stump, flickering in the breeze that came through the open window. She sat there, with her knees drawn up like a child, waiting patiently for her husband to return.
Just as she began to doze, with her head resting against the headboard, the door creaked open.
Arthur closed the door behind him quietly, considerate of the fact that she’d likely be sleeping. Gwen couldn’t help the sleepy smile that formed on her face as she watched him quietly change into his sleeping bottoms and discard his tunic.
By the time he turned to the bed, she’d lifted her head again and met his eye.
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing up?”
She gave a little shrug. “Waiting for you.”
He shook his head and padded barefoot around to her side of the bed. “I’m sorry … I thought I told you I’d be working-”
“You did, but I wanted to wait.”
He leaned over to blow out the candle. Without hesitation, Gwen reached out and caught his hand, drawing him closer to her. Arthur needed little prompting; one hand reached out and cupped her cheek as he drew close to kiss her gently.
Gwen’s kiss was insistent though. She reached over his bare shoulders and pulled him down toward her, close. He crawled down, placing his hands on either side of her as he returned her kiss, moving his mouth over hers and down to her jaw.
Her heart began to race as lips roamed down to her neck. “Arthur?” she breathed.
He made no reply, only a soft grunt. His heat hovering just over her body threatened to derail her every intention. “Arthur,” she repeated, drawing a deep breath. “I have to talk to you.”
“Can we not talk later?” he raising his head just high enough to catch her eye.
He lowered his mouth again, and Gwen’s breath hitched in her throat. Out with it, Guinevere! she scolded.
“I’m going to have a baby,” she blurted.
That earned her the reaction she wanted. His whole body stiffened, mouth on her clavicle. Even in the dark, she could clearly make out one very wide blue eye.
Gwen sighed and inwardly smacked herself for the inelegant revelation. His silence made it obvious; she should’ve gone with more lead in.
Urging him to sit up, Gwen leaned back until he found it in him to move. As he did, she redirected her gaze to the blanket between them.
“We’re having a baby,” she corrected softly, now feeling very foolish.
Pause. Then, “Come again?”
Gwen’s face was burning hot, and her heart was pounding. “We’re having a baby,” she whispered.
Arthur’s silence was deafening. She exhaled slowly and felt a small stab of pain. Surely he wasn’t upset with her … though he’d have every right to be, Gwen held onto this information for at least a week … longer, had she had the sense to check her intuition.
When she chanced a glance at Arthur’s face, it was as unreadable as ever. His eyes were wide and his mouth was drawn into a line - very serious - and he seemed to be breathing very deeply. Gwen looked away again.
Suddenly, warm hands were upon her face, thumbs grazing over her cheeks. "Guinevere," he murmured, his voice shaking, "Look at me."
She looked up to meet his gaze, piercing and maybe a tad terrified, just as he leaned in to crush his mouth against hers.
She let out a small whimper of relief against him. And for a long while, there were no words between them, only need and pleasure and deep gratitude as she clung to him.
Later, when they held each other beneath the blanket, her bare back pressed against his chest and his arm draped over her waist, she knew she’d chosen well.
***
A/N: Thanks for reading! Your thoughts are truly appreciated.
Next up: Trouble in paradise.
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Morgana, OCs
Word Count: 2545
Disclaimer: Don’t own it! Would break it.
Summary: What time is the right time?
A/N: Part three of the tale of Guinevere’s pregnancy. The truth comes out. What to do with it is Gwen’s decision.
Part One
Part Two
I hope you all enjoy. <3
Gwen hardly slept through the night. She wasn’t foolish. Much of her time in the castle had been spent in the company of older women, mothers, who talked - often to excess - of pregnancy and childbearing and all those things about which Gwen knew next to nothing. Though she had never intimately bared witness to such a thing, she knew the common symptoms and their remedies, the joy and the heartbreak and the simple labor of such a feat.
Nerves frustrated her every attempt to rest. In the dark, she detangled herself from Arthur’s protective arm and extricated herself from the blankets, too hot and uncomfortable and worried about the next morning’s visit with the physician.
It was not that Gwen had never considered children. She knew as Queen it was her duty to produce an heir to the throne, a duty she would see through to the best of her ability. More than that, she deeply desired to become a mother, and had for a very long time. She had supposed, long ago, that it had something to do with her mother’s absence. Eleanor passed away with Gwen was only eight, before she had a chance to share her wisdom on love and duty and men and children and all those things Gwen found she knew nothing about as she’d grown older. Things Tom had been reluctant to talk about, and Gwen hadn’t pressed for. When faced with her first heartbreak - at twelve, to a young man who had been fairly annoying in retrospect - Gwen resolved to be there to guide her child as her mother had not been able to.
It was simply that in the picture in her mind, she and Arthur had been a lot … older when this responsibility cropped up. They’d have had a bit more time to wrap their minds around the whole concept.
When day broke the next day, Gwen sent for the physician as promised. She was grateful - though she wouldn’t admit it - that Arthur had duties to attend to. When he kissed her forehead and exited, Gwen let out an audible sigh of relief.
Morgana, who had promised to remain at her side throughout the visit, fixed her with an unreadable look. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” mumbled Gwen in response, watching her sister-in-law cross the room toward her to take a seat at the foot of Gwen’s bed.
Morgana paused, then let out a dramatic impression of Gwen’s sigh. Instead of laughing, Gwen focused on quelling the defensive swell of annoyance in her chest. She folded her hands carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hardly put off, Morgana only smiled, which made Gwen feel even moodier. Morgana was capable of things Gwen could not conceive of, she had long known, even though the raven-haired woman rarely wanted to talk about it. The power to the see future, events unanticipated, dreams of prophesy. But the way she seemed to see right through Gwen at the moment made he question just how much Morgana could read about the present.
She was still smiling, and reached out to place a hand in Gwen’s lap. “You were happy he left.”
Gwen huffed, but didn’t deny it. She wasn’t much of a liar.
So Morgana continued. “You can tell me, Gwen. You’ve always trusted me.”
She glanced up at her friend. Morgana’s face was open at that moment, imploring. Gwen found it difficult not to share.
She shrugged a little and looked away as she spoke. “I was … a little embarrassed, yesterday.”
“About dinner?” Gwen gave a little nod, and Morgana chuckled lightly, patting Gwen’s arm. “Arthur’s about as thick as they come. You running off to get sick won’t put him off.”
Gwen blanched. “Arthur told you I got sick?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?”
Another wave of nausea washed over her, and Gwen took a shaky deep breath. Whatever this was, she willed it to pass quickly. When she opened her eyes again, Morgana had scooted closer to her on the bed, and placed a gentle arm around Gwen’s shoulder, which only made Guinevere feel a little closer to tears. She’d be damned if she cried - yet here she was, willing the tears not to fall as her heart raced a little faster.
“Oh, Morgana,” she said softly, daring to look up. “I …”
She stopped herself short. Concern - very real concern - was evident on the other woman’s face. Gwen was shocked too; she was uncertain where all of this was coming from inside her, but it was troubling that she did not know, and that she had so little control over it. But doing her best, she took another breath and put on a small smile. “I just want a little mystique to remain in my marriage,” Gwen explained softly, taking a turn to be reassuring. “That’s all.”
It sounded like an acceptable answer, and it was at least partially true. Morgana, however, remained skeptical. But before she could counter what Gwen offered, the door opened and a relative stranger that Gwen knew to be the court physician entered. Wiping her face, the young queen steeled herself for what was to be the most uncomfortable hour of her life.
***
In moments like these, Gwen desperately missed the comfort Gaius used to offer before his passing a year ago. She wished he had been here to give her the news that increasingly became the obvious explanation every minute the appointment continued.
There was a lot of poking and prodding, questions being answered, and a few concoctions administered. And at the center of it all was a rather embarrassing exchange - regarding bleeding and urine and other unpleasantness - that Gwen bore like a soldier, with a stiff upper lip and a resolution to ’Keep it together, Gwen!’
Through it all, she was thankful as ever to Morgana for sitting through it, making the requisite teasing faces and squeezing Gwen’s hand encouragingly when she had to talk about things that most ladies would rather keep private. She was also thankful to her ladies, Hannah and Rosaline, for keeping her entertained with idle gossip and sweet, encouraging words while they waited as the physician tinkered about at a table in the corner with items brought from his quarters.
There was no way to prepare for hearing the words aloud, though.
The old man, finally returned to them, hands behind his back and gaze fixed on Gwen. He cleared his throat over Rosaline’s laughter, and silence immediately enveloped the four women. Gwen raised her chin a little higher.
“My lady,” he began, “Perhaps you would like to speak privately?”
Hannah and Rosaline immediately moved to stand, but Morgana did not budge, hand still clasping Gwen’s.
Gwen gave a little shake of the head. “No, they may stay.” She hesitated, eyes flicking past him to his work. “What did you find?”
“I believe you are to bear a child, my lady.”
There was silence. Morgana tamped down whatever reaction she may have felt, squeezing Gwen only a little tighter. Hannah, a mother and the eldest of the women, remained stoically silent. But Gwen could feel - and hear - Rosaline struggle to suppress a squeal at her right.
Guinevere, for the moment, first felt only the pounding in her chest. Upon hearing the words, she immediately knew them to be true, and that struck her as very strange.
She would not kid herself to believe that the fear - that had been what it was - that encompassed her so fully through the night and morning had gone. It was there, more now than ever, as she considered this new insight.
Truthfully, she had little experience with children on her own. They existed only in the periphery of her life. As a servant, many of the women she worked with day in and day out had been mothers. And when she had the time, she visited their households and offered a little help with the chores, or the mending or the cooking. But she had never been alone with a child, dependent on her for protection and comfort and love.
Of course, she’d share this responsibility with Arthur. But that knowledge did not diminish the fear she felt at it.
Still. Beneath all this, deep in her heart - or in her gut - she felt unequivocal joy. A warm, protective feeling. Perhaps pride. And wonder.
She could not help the hand that drifted to her abdomen. Nor could she help the smile that formed on her face.
Rosaline could no longer help herself.
***
Gwen was both shocked and grateful that she did not hear even a whiff of rumor about her pregnancy over the course of the week that followed. Though she trusted each woman with her life - Morgana above all - she made each swear to make no mention of her pregnancy before she had a chance to tell Arthur herself. Of course, she promised to do so immediately … and then failed to see that through.
Which accounted for her further inability to sleep. She scheduled another appointment with the physician to further discuss the important matters, but with a set of general guidelines, dismissed him to take a nap. That proved unsuccessful, as did that night’s sleep, and the next, and the next.
When Arthur asked what the physician had told her, she was allusive in her typical stammery way. Gwen was certain he saw through it, but when pressed, she simply made a mad dash from the room to tend to whatever nonsense she could cook up. She excused herself from dinner twice, and when she finally came on the fourth night after her discovery, Morgana kept giving her really obvious looks from across the table or asking her leading questions that sent Gwen into coughing fits.
Merlin probably thought she had gone mad. And she had no idea whether Arthur suspected.
She had every intention of telling him. But she was looking for the ‘perfect moment,’ and each time one seemed to present itself, Gwen would get tongue tied like she was a teenager again, back before she and Arthur really knew each other and she was always tripping over her words.
At dinner that Sunday, Gwen felt a familiar queasiness and restricted herself to mashed potatoes and water. Arthur watched her pick over her plate and raised his eyebrows, but Gwen tried to smile reassuringly.
She resolved to tell him that night.
***
Guinevere knew Arthur had reports to finish reading before tomorrow morning’s meeting with the council, and that he’d choose to finish them in his study rather than their room as he always got … distracted when he brought his work to bed with him. But she was determined to see telling him through and resolved to wait up for him.
After dismissing Rosaline for the night, she changed and brushed her hair, blew out most of the candles and took a seat on her side of the bed. After waiting aimlessly for a while, she tried her hand at some of her embroidery - which she didn’t entirely enjoy, but was a more appropriate alternative in court to mending her own dresses - and then that grew boring, rearranged her own flowers. When that was through, she looked over the handwritten instructions the physician had left her over and over, until she’d memorized them line by line.
She waited. The candle on her bedside table burned down until it was only a small stump, flickering in the breeze that came through the open window. She sat there, with her knees drawn up like a child, waiting patiently for her husband to return.
Just as she began to doze, with her head resting against the headboard, the door creaked open.
Arthur closed the door behind him quietly, considerate of the fact that she’d likely be sleeping. Gwen couldn’t help the sleepy smile that formed on her face as she watched him quietly change into his sleeping bottoms and discard his tunic.
By the time he turned to the bed, she’d lifted her head again and met his eye.
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing up?”
She gave a little shrug. “Waiting for you.”
He shook his head and padded barefoot around to her side of the bed. “I’m sorry … I thought I told you I’d be working-”
“You did, but I wanted to wait.”
He leaned over to blow out the candle. Without hesitation, Gwen reached out and caught his hand, drawing him closer to her. Arthur needed little prompting; one hand reached out and cupped her cheek as he drew close to kiss her gently.
Gwen’s kiss was insistent though. She reached over his bare shoulders and pulled him down toward her, close. He crawled down, placing his hands on either side of her as he returned her kiss, moving his mouth over hers and down to her jaw.
Her heart began to race as lips roamed down to her neck. “Arthur?” she breathed.
He made no reply, only a soft grunt. His heat hovering just over her body threatened to derail her every intention. “Arthur,” she repeated, drawing a deep breath. “I have to talk to you.”
“Can we not talk later?” he raising his head just high enough to catch her eye.
He lowered his mouth again, and Gwen’s breath hitched in her throat. Out with it, Guinevere! she scolded.
“I’m going to have a baby,” she blurted.
That earned her the reaction she wanted. His whole body stiffened, mouth on her clavicle. Even in the dark, she could clearly make out one very wide blue eye.
Gwen sighed and inwardly smacked herself for the inelegant revelation. His silence made it obvious; she should’ve gone with more lead in.
Urging him to sit up, Gwen leaned back until he found it in him to move. As he did, she redirected her gaze to the blanket between them.
“We’re having a baby,” she corrected softly, now feeling very foolish.
Pause. Then, “Come again?”
Gwen’s face was burning hot, and her heart was pounding. “We’re having a baby,” she whispered.
Arthur’s silence was deafening. She exhaled slowly and felt a small stab of pain. Surely he wasn’t upset with her … though he’d have every right to be, Gwen held onto this information for at least a week … longer, had she had the sense to check her intuition.
When she chanced a glance at Arthur’s face, it was as unreadable as ever. His eyes were wide and his mouth was drawn into a line - very serious - and he seemed to be breathing very deeply. Gwen looked away again.
Suddenly, warm hands were upon her face, thumbs grazing over her cheeks. "Guinevere," he murmured, his voice shaking, "Look at me."
She looked up to meet his gaze, piercing and maybe a tad terrified, just as he leaned in to crush his mouth against hers.
She let out a small whimper of relief against him. And for a long while, there were no words between them, only need and pleasure and deep gratitude as she clung to him.
Later, when they held each other beneath the blanket, her bare back pressed against his chest and his arm draped over her waist, she knew she’d chosen well.
***
A/N: Thanks for reading! Your thoughts are truly appreciated.
Next up: Trouble in paradise.