Fic: Alone With You - Rough Waters
Title: Rough Waters
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, Leon, OCs
Word Count: 3337
Disclaimer: Still on the wishlist; still not mine.
Summary: Things can turn in an instant.
A/N: The latest installment of ’Alone With You.’
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Gwen laughed until she was left breathless, chest heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks. She whimpered and gasped for air, and when she tabbed her eyes dry with the sleeve of her dress and regained her breath, one look at Arthur sent her into a fit of giggles again.
He looked up at her, eyes bright and grin wide. He was down on the floor, on the far side of the room just incase the experiment’s smell set her going; Gwen’s nose had become extra sensitive in recent weeks, and it had taken a great deal of work on Arthur’s part to wear her down enough to agree. A breeze through the open windows offered little relief.
She wondered just how much Arthur had taken on this endeavor in earnest, and how much he was seeing it through for her amusement. From the look of things - how could he be enjoying this? - led her to believe it was more the latter.
When the tournament ended a few weeks prior, Arthur rode out with Olaf, to the edge of Camelot’s border with the elder king’s territory, in order to finish discussions of the private commitments between their two houses. Gwen had assumed the ride - and his brief stay in Olaf’s castle - would’ve been uneventful, boring even. Ever since the tourney years back, the relationship between Olaf and the Pendragons remained better than ever, not least because Arthur had spared the king’s life. There was nothing new to broker in the way of diplomacy.
But Arthur returned to Camelot exhilarated, perhaps in light of his newest possession.
Guinevere wasn’t sure what to make of the puppy Arthur returned with. She knew he plenty of dogs of his own, but he’d never treated them with particular affection, or given them too much interest. They had been trained by someone else, and were primarily used for tracking and hunting, not kept as pets.
But when she greeted him, he presented her with a little black thing, a puppy with dark eyes and the same brown markings on its face that Arthur’s other dogs had. The puppy had done its best to reach her face - to get one good lick - and given how pleased Arthur seemed, she could hardly object.
The nameless puppy took to following the king everywhere, and Arthur soon enough had trained him to sit and stay … though ‘stay’ still had an ‘optional’ quality. The first few nights, Arthur tried to convince her to let it sleep in their bed. Gwen compromised by placing a small pillow in the corner nearest the door.
And now …
“Enjoying this, are you?” piped up Arthur.
Gwen sighed through the fog laughter had left her in. Reclining against the pillows, she drew her knees up against the swoop of her stomach. “Very much so,” she replied, singsong.
He rolled his eyes, and the puppy - sensing his opportunity - made a valiant attempt to escape Arthur’s clutches. He jumped out of Arthur’s arms and bounded toward Gwen on the bed. Arthur flung himself after it, kicking the pail of water and splashing water up his backside as he caught the little dog by the hindquarters. It yelped in protest.
They were already a half hour into the bath. Arthur had managed to get the back half of the puppy into it before - with front paws scratching at the metal, howling indignantly - it began giving the king a run for his money.
“You know better than that,” grunted Arthur, presumably at the dog. And with a little effort he brought the little animal back toward the water. After much splashing and a little sputtering from Arthur, the poor thing gave in.
Guinevere’s laughing gave way to a small smile as she watched the little dog, and consequently Arthur, relax. His legs were spread wide, the bucket between them, and when the puppy finally calmed down, it took to the water, tail wagging and making his bath froth over the side and into Arthur’s white tunic. For a moment, shocked at this first glimmer of success, Arthur seemed at a bit of a loss. But he rolled up his sleeves, reached in and began to scrub the little dog. His movements were awkward at first, Gwen supposed he had little experience wrangling a little wiggling animal that would not heed his begging or threats, but he settled into it eventually with astonishing focus and thoroughness.
When he was finished washing, he looked around, eyes searching. “Damn.”
Gwen propped herself up to slide off the bed. “I’ll get you a towel.”
“No, no,” sighed Arthur, though he remained frozen in place, hands hovering above the bathwater. “I should do it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he replied instantly, indignant look barely masking a smile. His attention turned back to the puppy. Gwen remained perked up, and moved so she was sitting cross-legged with her dress draped across her lap, a newly discovered comfortable pose. “Oi,” he began, and the little dog turned back to face him, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “You. Stay. Do you understand?” Arthur stood, then bent over at the waist once more to catch his dog’s gaze. “Do not move.”
Satisfied with his commands, Arthur dried his hands on his trousers and looked around the room for an available towel. Gwen gave a little nod in the right direction, which he pointedly did not acknowledge. “Ah! I’ve discovered them … on my own, no less.”
“Right,” scoffed Gwen. Arthur blushed.
It was already too late. Arthur snatched up a free towel and turned back to the puppy. But before could move another step, his dog clamored over the side of the pail and leapt toward him, splashing all over the floor. Gwen gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as she watched the puppy barrel into Arthur’s legs, drawing back only briefly to shake wildly, spraying the king with bathwater. It reared back on its hind legs and pressed tiny paws into Arthur’s knees.
For his part, Arthur could only stare in disbelief.
His eyes eventually found Gwen, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her body shaking from the effort of containing herself. He pursed her lips. “Well … out with it.”
She shook her head and drew a deep breath. “Perhaps … twelve weeks is still too young for ‘stay.’”
“He knows,” sighed Arthur, looking down at the puppy, now donning a mask of absolute innocence. “You know. Why’d you do that?”
Arthur crouched and patted its body dry while Gwen continued to look on. Not bad for a first bath, she thought to herself, taking in the mess in front of her. Half of the water had been emptied onto the floor, a brush he’d found to scrub with somehow got flung to the other side of the room and was soaking a small rug in front of the fireplace, and a chair had been turned over in the initial struggle. Her husband was soaked, but the puppy was clean … and already running out the door of their chambers to roll in the mud somewhere, doubtless. It did smell a little like wet dog - wet everything - but it was still warm enough to sleep with the windows open.
He stood before her at the foot of the bed, expectant, a toothy grin on his face. She couldn’t deny him this success. So she smiled. “Excellent work, my lord.”
“A baby couldn’t be much harder than that,” replied Arthur with a remarkable degree of certainty, jerking a thumb at the abandoned bath on the floor.
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Are you comparing our child with the dog?”
“Only the bathing part,” he laughed, and before Gwen could protest, he was on the bed crawling toward her, clothes dripping on the bedspread.
She drew back against the pillows, bringing her knees up against her as best she could to avoid him. Gwen knew the look in his eye at that moment well, and tried to look as stern as she could. “Don’t you do it, Arthur,” she warned.
Unflinching, Arthur continued his advance. “Do what?” his tone innocent, but his grin continuing to betray him.
Gwen moved even further back knocking one of the pillows off the bed. “You know what.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Yes,” insisted Gwen, “You do.” But it came out a lot less firm than she’d have liked. He leaned over, catching her lips in a kiss, wet strings of his tunic grazing her bosom. And as the space between them grew a little hotter, the smell of wet dog seemed suddenly irrelevant.
***
Gwen reached up to twist her hair into a simple knot at the nape of her neck. Almost immediately, she felt a second pair join her there - Rosaline’s no doubt - threading in a small clip to hold it all in place. The sun was beating down on her back, especially warm for August, and she felt heavier and hotter than ever even in this simple yellow gown.
Still, Gwen determinedly hid her discomfort behind a neutral face. She had business to attend to.
The line of petitioners wound around the perimeter of the courtyard, and beyond its opening, such that Gwen couldn’t see the end. It culminated where she stood, near the center and beside a wagon full of clay, tools and supplies.
Before they knew it, summer would draw to an end, giving way to heavy rain and inclement weather. That day, citizens of the town were invited to come to the castle and lodge whatever work needed to be done to their homes before the season turned, and to receive the necessary materials or go on record as needing help. When Gwen insisted that she was up to the task, he placed her in charge of overseeing it.
She had been happy to - was happy to - except that she noticed, to her chagrin, that she seemed to be impeding the day’s progress all together. Every few minutes someone was offering her water - of which she had plenty - or insisting that she go take a quick rest in her chambers, which she adamantly refused to do. That, and each person who approached seemed more keen to talk on Gwen’s growing waistline than matters of necessity.
The man before her bowed swiftly and stepped to the right to collect the small quantity of wood it would take to repair his doorframe, and Gwen turned her gaze upon the next person in line. A woman approached stiffly.
“My lady,” she curtseyed.
Gwen nodded her head in greeting. “Hello.”
The woman’s gaze fell immediately upon Gwen’s stomach, and Gwen’s hands twitched at her sides, resisting the urge to shield it from view - as though that would suffice.
She settled for clearing her throat a little loudly, drawing the woman’s attention back to her. “Was there something you needed?”
“Oh …” Her gaze flicked to Gwen’s stomach and back to the queen’s face once more. “No, your Majesty.”
Guinevere sighed and tamped down another swell of frustration. “You may go, then.”
The woman who stepped up from behind her was, blessedly, a little more serious. After curtseying respectfully, all of which still made Gwen feel a little awkward, she clasped her hands in front of her. “There are cracks throughout the front of my house,” she began, voice strong but eyes a little watery. “It would not trouble me very much, but I am sure it will be bad for my children.”
“What sort of cracks?” piped up the young knight seated to Gwen’s right, assigned the task of scribe for this undertaking.
The woman shrugged a little. “Just … cracks. Big ones, in the wall.”
Gwen nodded sympathetically. “Do you know what caused them?”
“The floor, years ago … but they’ve gotten worse with time. My husband said he’d fix them, but then he passed-” She hesitated, looking from seemingly skeptical knight to her compassionate queen. “I tried to fix them myself, but a breeze still comes in. And one of my boys has an affliction with his breathing. Winters are hard for him.”
Reaching for her hand, Guinevere nodded. “Someone shall be sent to help you. There’s no need for this task to be put off any longer.”
“Thank you, my lady-”
Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen caught the glimpse of billowing green fabric, and pale ankles. She squeezed the woman’s hand. “Answer his questions, and we’ll complete the task.”
Morgana was rushing toward her, purposeful stride carrying her quickly down the stone steps out of the castle. Gwen looked to Sir Raphael. “Continue,” she instructed. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Gwen hurried toward Morgana, moving a good deal slower than her friend, careful no to trip as she held up the hem of her dress. Even in the midday sun, her friend looked more fair than ever, and a little drawn, as though she hadn’t slept the previous night. Her hair was loose and wild, her eyes wide. It had been years since Gwen had seen her lady, the seer this way - security in her identity lent her a calm, if distant air. But not now.
She reached out her hands toward Gwen, and Guinevere clasped them, dropping the fabric of her dress. “Morgana, what ever is it?”
She was shaking, penetrating gaze focused on her. Gwen reached up and touched her friend’s cheek. “Morgana …” she repeated, softly.
At the sound of her voice a second time, she stilled. Her eyes flicked over Gwen’s shoulder. She, too, turned to see, but Morgana grabbed her wrists tight. “It’s beginning now,” she murmured, her voice so low Gwen barely heard.
“What’s beginning?” Gwen whispered.
She only nodded past Gwen’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”
With timing that still managed to shock Gwen, the sound of a horse galloping across stone appeared as though out of thin air. Guienvere turned again in time to see a young horseman startle more than a few of the people in line, slowing just enough to throw himself off his steed just feet in front of Gwen.
Two guards were at her and Morgana’s side before she had a chance to blink, between them and the thin, startled stranger draped in the russet-red robes of the druids. A few feet away, Sir Raphael drew his sword.
If the horseman was frightened, he did not show it. Instead, his eyes sought out Morgana’s, then Gwen’s.
Though breathing hard, his voice was clear as day. “I seek King Arthur.”
“What business do you have with him?” asked Gwen, taking a cautious step forward.
The guards tensed as he moved a few steps closer to the queen. “I have a message for him.” He paused, and eyed Gwen’s defenders. “I am to give it to him personally, but it is from an old friend.”
Uncertain, Gwen looked back at Morgana, who looked stricken. Wordlessly, she turned and began to run toward the steps. She looked to the guards. “We should all go,” she said simply, filled with sudden anxiety about their present circumstances.
The guards and messenger followed Morgana away into the darkness of the castle entrance, but Gwen couldn’t pretend she could run after them. With her burden, she’d still have to take her time.
“My lady!” breathed Rosaline, hurrying toward her at Raphael’s heels, “What’s going on?”
She shook her head and began to walk toward the steps. “You stay here. Continue.” Gwen glanced at the knight just two steps behind her. “You too, Raphael. If the king needs you, he will let you know.”
She took the first stairs two at a time, and willed the baby to stop kicking.
***
Gwen arrived several minutes later, Sir Leon on her heels. He’d run into her half way to the throne room, striding in the opposite direction, and the manner in which he’d wordlessly turned on his heel to follow, her very tall shadow, led her to believe that Arthur had sent him in search of her.
She refused to let the exhaustion the sudden rush of taking so many steps at a jog brought about show. Guinevere entered the hall with her head held high, anxiety and adrenaline coursing through her.
Arthur stood before his throne, arms crossed and mouth drawn tight. Merlin was beside him, head cocked toward Arthur as though listening both to the man and the king’s thoughts at once. A few feet below stood the messenger, with his back to Gwen. At his side, tense and erect, waited Morgana.
Arthur’s gaze jerked up at the sound of the doors shutting once more. More than a few pairs of eyes turned to watch her take the long walk across the room to take her place beside the king. She did so with what she hoped was dignity, and more than a little urgency.
As she passed by, the messenger began speaking again. “We were outnumbered, five to one. They slaughtered without hesitation, and without discretion.” He turned to face Morgana. “Women and children, included.”
Merlin offered Gwen a hand up to the spot beside him, and Leon fell into place at the bottom of the steps.
“What enemies do the Druids have in the north?” asked Arthur, clearly searching his mind.
The messenger’s shoulders fell, and he cast a dark glance toward Morgana. After a pause, he answered. “We do not know.”
“You do not know your enemy?” repeated Gwen, surprised.
To her surprise, Morgana interrupted. “It does not matter,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “You have to send reinforcements, Arthur.”
More than a little shocked at Morgana’s sudden and open anger, Guinevere looked at her sister-in-law. “We do not know what manner of enemy this is.” Then, to the messenger: “Do you?”
“They were not magical folk, nor did they bear the flag or sign of any house.”
Arthur crossed his arms, distressed. “Have we received word from the riders sent to meet Alined’s men?”
Sir Leon shook his head. “No, my lord. But the ride is treacherous, at least three days long. If they encountered no trouble-”
“If they have,” interrupted Morgana once more, stepping between the messenger and Arthur, “Then they will take longer. You cannot wait for them.”
Gwen suddenly felt hotter in here than she had outside; unsteady on her feet, as she listened to Sir Leon say what she already knew. “Our resources are thin without them. Owain led the party of eight.”
“Then you will have to go,” said Morgana sharply. She did not look Gwen’s way.
Tense silence settled over the room, and for a full minute there was only the sound of the messenger’s heavy breathing, and a high pitched ringing in Gwen’s ears. She knew her king’s duty, and would will Arthur to do no less than what was right. But she could not help the fear that came upon her then - what such separation might mean. She settled trembling hands on the underside of her belly, holding herself up stiffly.
Arthur glanced up at Merlin. “What do you think?”
“The Druids are our allies now,” began Merlin, though he, too, seemed unsettled by Morgana’s fervor.
It did not matter. Morgana shook her head. “Women and children, Arthur.”
The king nodded, and looked to Sir Leon. “We’ll set out at sunset.”
“That is not enough, Arthur-”
“It will have to be enough,” he replied firmly. With a fleeting glance in Gwen’s direction, he started down the steps, past Morgana and the messenger, Merlin and Sir Leon on his heels. The guards parted and opened the door for Arthur’s brusque exit.
***
Thank you for reading, as always!
Author: Rachel Marie
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, Leon, OCs
Word Count: 3337
Disclaimer: Still on the wishlist; still not mine.
Summary: Things can turn in an instant.
A/N: The latest installment of ’Alone With You.’
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Gwen laughed until she was left breathless, chest heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks. She whimpered and gasped for air, and when she tabbed her eyes dry with the sleeve of her dress and regained her breath, one look at Arthur sent her into a fit of giggles again.
He looked up at her, eyes bright and grin wide. He was down on the floor, on the far side of the room just incase the experiment’s smell set her going; Gwen’s nose had become extra sensitive in recent weeks, and it had taken a great deal of work on Arthur’s part to wear her down enough to agree. A breeze through the open windows offered little relief.
She wondered just how much Arthur had taken on this endeavor in earnest, and how much he was seeing it through for her amusement. From the look of things - how could he be enjoying this? - led her to believe it was more the latter.
When the tournament ended a few weeks prior, Arthur rode out with Olaf, to the edge of Camelot’s border with the elder king’s territory, in order to finish discussions of the private commitments between their two houses. Gwen had assumed the ride - and his brief stay in Olaf’s castle - would’ve been uneventful, boring even. Ever since the tourney years back, the relationship between Olaf and the Pendragons remained better than ever, not least because Arthur had spared the king’s life. There was nothing new to broker in the way of diplomacy.
But Arthur returned to Camelot exhilarated, perhaps in light of his newest possession.
Guinevere wasn’t sure what to make of the puppy Arthur returned with. She knew he plenty of dogs of his own, but he’d never treated them with particular affection, or given them too much interest. They had been trained by someone else, and were primarily used for tracking and hunting, not kept as pets.
But when she greeted him, he presented her with a little black thing, a puppy with dark eyes and the same brown markings on its face that Arthur’s other dogs had. The puppy had done its best to reach her face - to get one good lick - and given how pleased Arthur seemed, she could hardly object.
The nameless puppy took to following the king everywhere, and Arthur soon enough had trained him to sit and stay … though ‘stay’ still had an ‘optional’ quality. The first few nights, Arthur tried to convince her to let it sleep in their bed. Gwen compromised by placing a small pillow in the corner nearest the door.
And now …
“Enjoying this, are you?” piped up Arthur.
Gwen sighed through the fog laughter had left her in. Reclining against the pillows, she drew her knees up against the swoop of her stomach. “Very much so,” she replied, singsong.
He rolled his eyes, and the puppy - sensing his opportunity - made a valiant attempt to escape Arthur’s clutches. He jumped out of Arthur’s arms and bounded toward Gwen on the bed. Arthur flung himself after it, kicking the pail of water and splashing water up his backside as he caught the little dog by the hindquarters. It yelped in protest.
They were already a half hour into the bath. Arthur had managed to get the back half of the puppy into it before - with front paws scratching at the metal, howling indignantly - it began giving the king a run for his money.
“You know better than that,” grunted Arthur, presumably at the dog. And with a little effort he brought the little animal back toward the water. After much splashing and a little sputtering from Arthur, the poor thing gave in.
Guinevere’s laughing gave way to a small smile as she watched the little dog, and consequently Arthur, relax. His legs were spread wide, the bucket between them, and when the puppy finally calmed down, it took to the water, tail wagging and making his bath froth over the side and into Arthur’s white tunic. For a moment, shocked at this first glimmer of success, Arthur seemed at a bit of a loss. But he rolled up his sleeves, reached in and began to scrub the little dog. His movements were awkward at first, Gwen supposed he had little experience wrangling a little wiggling animal that would not heed his begging or threats, but he settled into it eventually with astonishing focus and thoroughness.
When he was finished washing, he looked around, eyes searching. “Damn.”
Gwen propped herself up to slide off the bed. “I’ll get you a towel.”
“No, no,” sighed Arthur, though he remained frozen in place, hands hovering above the bathwater. “I should do it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he replied instantly, indignant look barely masking a smile. His attention turned back to the puppy. Gwen remained perked up, and moved so she was sitting cross-legged with her dress draped across her lap, a newly discovered comfortable pose. “Oi,” he began, and the little dog turned back to face him, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “You. Stay. Do you understand?” Arthur stood, then bent over at the waist once more to catch his dog’s gaze. “Do not move.”
Satisfied with his commands, Arthur dried his hands on his trousers and looked around the room for an available towel. Gwen gave a little nod in the right direction, which he pointedly did not acknowledge. “Ah! I’ve discovered them … on my own, no less.”
“Right,” scoffed Gwen. Arthur blushed.
It was already too late. Arthur snatched up a free towel and turned back to the puppy. But before could move another step, his dog clamored over the side of the pail and leapt toward him, splashing all over the floor. Gwen gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as she watched the puppy barrel into Arthur’s legs, drawing back only briefly to shake wildly, spraying the king with bathwater. It reared back on its hind legs and pressed tiny paws into Arthur’s knees.
For his part, Arthur could only stare in disbelief.
His eyes eventually found Gwen, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her body shaking from the effort of containing herself. He pursed her lips. “Well … out with it.”
She shook her head and drew a deep breath. “Perhaps … twelve weeks is still too young for ‘stay.’”
“He knows,” sighed Arthur, looking down at the puppy, now donning a mask of absolute innocence. “You know. Why’d you do that?”
Arthur crouched and patted its body dry while Gwen continued to look on. Not bad for a first bath, she thought to herself, taking in the mess in front of her. Half of the water had been emptied onto the floor, a brush he’d found to scrub with somehow got flung to the other side of the room and was soaking a small rug in front of the fireplace, and a chair had been turned over in the initial struggle. Her husband was soaked, but the puppy was clean … and already running out the door of their chambers to roll in the mud somewhere, doubtless. It did smell a little like wet dog - wet everything - but it was still warm enough to sleep with the windows open.
He stood before her at the foot of the bed, expectant, a toothy grin on his face. She couldn’t deny him this success. So she smiled. “Excellent work, my lord.”
“A baby couldn’t be much harder than that,” replied Arthur with a remarkable degree of certainty, jerking a thumb at the abandoned bath on the floor.
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Are you comparing our child with the dog?”
“Only the bathing part,” he laughed, and before Gwen could protest, he was on the bed crawling toward her, clothes dripping on the bedspread.
She drew back against the pillows, bringing her knees up against her as best she could to avoid him. Gwen knew the look in his eye at that moment well, and tried to look as stern as she could. “Don’t you do it, Arthur,” she warned.
Unflinching, Arthur continued his advance. “Do what?” his tone innocent, but his grin continuing to betray him.
Gwen moved even further back knocking one of the pillows off the bed. “You know what.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Yes,” insisted Gwen, “You do.” But it came out a lot less firm than she’d have liked. He leaned over, catching her lips in a kiss, wet strings of his tunic grazing her bosom. And as the space between them grew a little hotter, the smell of wet dog seemed suddenly irrelevant.
***
Gwen reached up to twist her hair into a simple knot at the nape of her neck. Almost immediately, she felt a second pair join her there - Rosaline’s no doubt - threading in a small clip to hold it all in place. The sun was beating down on her back, especially warm for August, and she felt heavier and hotter than ever even in this simple yellow gown.
Still, Gwen determinedly hid her discomfort behind a neutral face. She had business to attend to.
The line of petitioners wound around the perimeter of the courtyard, and beyond its opening, such that Gwen couldn’t see the end. It culminated where she stood, near the center and beside a wagon full of clay, tools and supplies.
Before they knew it, summer would draw to an end, giving way to heavy rain and inclement weather. That day, citizens of the town were invited to come to the castle and lodge whatever work needed to be done to their homes before the season turned, and to receive the necessary materials or go on record as needing help. When Gwen insisted that she was up to the task, he placed her in charge of overseeing it.
She had been happy to - was happy to - except that she noticed, to her chagrin, that she seemed to be impeding the day’s progress all together. Every few minutes someone was offering her water - of which she had plenty - or insisting that she go take a quick rest in her chambers, which she adamantly refused to do. That, and each person who approached seemed more keen to talk on Gwen’s growing waistline than matters of necessity.
The man before her bowed swiftly and stepped to the right to collect the small quantity of wood it would take to repair his doorframe, and Gwen turned her gaze upon the next person in line. A woman approached stiffly.
“My lady,” she curtseyed.
Gwen nodded her head in greeting. “Hello.”
The woman’s gaze fell immediately upon Gwen’s stomach, and Gwen’s hands twitched at her sides, resisting the urge to shield it from view - as though that would suffice.
She settled for clearing her throat a little loudly, drawing the woman’s attention back to her. “Was there something you needed?”
“Oh …” Her gaze flicked to Gwen’s stomach and back to the queen’s face once more. “No, your Majesty.”
Guinevere sighed and tamped down another swell of frustration. “You may go, then.”
The woman who stepped up from behind her was, blessedly, a little more serious. After curtseying respectfully, all of which still made Gwen feel a little awkward, she clasped her hands in front of her. “There are cracks throughout the front of my house,” she began, voice strong but eyes a little watery. “It would not trouble me very much, but I am sure it will be bad for my children.”
“What sort of cracks?” piped up the young knight seated to Gwen’s right, assigned the task of scribe for this undertaking.
The woman shrugged a little. “Just … cracks. Big ones, in the wall.”
Gwen nodded sympathetically. “Do you know what caused them?”
“The floor, years ago … but they’ve gotten worse with time. My husband said he’d fix them, but then he passed-” She hesitated, looking from seemingly skeptical knight to her compassionate queen. “I tried to fix them myself, but a breeze still comes in. And one of my boys has an affliction with his breathing. Winters are hard for him.”
Reaching for her hand, Guinevere nodded. “Someone shall be sent to help you. There’s no need for this task to be put off any longer.”
“Thank you, my lady-”
Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen caught the glimpse of billowing green fabric, and pale ankles. She squeezed the woman’s hand. “Answer his questions, and we’ll complete the task.”
Morgana was rushing toward her, purposeful stride carrying her quickly down the stone steps out of the castle. Gwen looked to Sir Raphael. “Continue,” she instructed. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Gwen hurried toward Morgana, moving a good deal slower than her friend, careful no to trip as she held up the hem of her dress. Even in the midday sun, her friend looked more fair than ever, and a little drawn, as though she hadn’t slept the previous night. Her hair was loose and wild, her eyes wide. It had been years since Gwen had seen her lady, the seer this way - security in her identity lent her a calm, if distant air. But not now.
She reached out her hands toward Gwen, and Guinevere clasped them, dropping the fabric of her dress. “Morgana, what ever is it?”
She was shaking, penetrating gaze focused on her. Gwen reached up and touched her friend’s cheek. “Morgana …” she repeated, softly.
At the sound of her voice a second time, she stilled. Her eyes flicked over Gwen’s shoulder. She, too, turned to see, but Morgana grabbed her wrists tight. “It’s beginning now,” she murmured, her voice so low Gwen barely heard.
“What’s beginning?” Gwen whispered.
She only nodded past Gwen’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”
With timing that still managed to shock Gwen, the sound of a horse galloping across stone appeared as though out of thin air. Guienvere turned again in time to see a young horseman startle more than a few of the people in line, slowing just enough to throw himself off his steed just feet in front of Gwen.
Two guards were at her and Morgana’s side before she had a chance to blink, between them and the thin, startled stranger draped in the russet-red robes of the druids. A few feet away, Sir Raphael drew his sword.
If the horseman was frightened, he did not show it. Instead, his eyes sought out Morgana’s, then Gwen’s.
Though breathing hard, his voice was clear as day. “I seek King Arthur.”
“What business do you have with him?” asked Gwen, taking a cautious step forward.
The guards tensed as he moved a few steps closer to the queen. “I have a message for him.” He paused, and eyed Gwen’s defenders. “I am to give it to him personally, but it is from an old friend.”
Uncertain, Gwen looked back at Morgana, who looked stricken. Wordlessly, she turned and began to run toward the steps. She looked to the guards. “We should all go,” she said simply, filled with sudden anxiety about their present circumstances.
The guards and messenger followed Morgana away into the darkness of the castle entrance, but Gwen couldn’t pretend she could run after them. With her burden, she’d still have to take her time.
“My lady!” breathed Rosaline, hurrying toward her at Raphael’s heels, “What’s going on?”
She shook her head and began to walk toward the steps. “You stay here. Continue.” Gwen glanced at the knight just two steps behind her. “You too, Raphael. If the king needs you, he will let you know.”
She took the first stairs two at a time, and willed the baby to stop kicking.
***
Gwen arrived several minutes later, Sir Leon on her heels. He’d run into her half way to the throne room, striding in the opposite direction, and the manner in which he’d wordlessly turned on his heel to follow, her very tall shadow, led her to believe that Arthur had sent him in search of her.
She refused to let the exhaustion the sudden rush of taking so many steps at a jog brought about show. Guinevere entered the hall with her head held high, anxiety and adrenaline coursing through her.
Arthur stood before his throne, arms crossed and mouth drawn tight. Merlin was beside him, head cocked toward Arthur as though listening both to the man and the king’s thoughts at once. A few feet below stood the messenger, with his back to Gwen. At his side, tense and erect, waited Morgana.
Arthur’s gaze jerked up at the sound of the doors shutting once more. More than a few pairs of eyes turned to watch her take the long walk across the room to take her place beside the king. She did so with what she hoped was dignity, and more than a little urgency.
As she passed by, the messenger began speaking again. “We were outnumbered, five to one. They slaughtered without hesitation, and without discretion.” He turned to face Morgana. “Women and children, included.”
Merlin offered Gwen a hand up to the spot beside him, and Leon fell into place at the bottom of the steps.
“What enemies do the Druids have in the north?” asked Arthur, clearly searching his mind.
The messenger’s shoulders fell, and he cast a dark glance toward Morgana. After a pause, he answered. “We do not know.”
“You do not know your enemy?” repeated Gwen, surprised.
To her surprise, Morgana interrupted. “It does not matter,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “You have to send reinforcements, Arthur.”
More than a little shocked at Morgana’s sudden and open anger, Guinevere looked at her sister-in-law. “We do not know what manner of enemy this is.” Then, to the messenger: “Do you?”
“They were not magical folk, nor did they bear the flag or sign of any house.”
Arthur crossed his arms, distressed. “Have we received word from the riders sent to meet Alined’s men?”
Sir Leon shook his head. “No, my lord. But the ride is treacherous, at least three days long. If they encountered no trouble-”
“If they have,” interrupted Morgana once more, stepping between the messenger and Arthur, “Then they will take longer. You cannot wait for them.”
Gwen suddenly felt hotter in here than she had outside; unsteady on her feet, as she listened to Sir Leon say what she already knew. “Our resources are thin without them. Owain led the party of eight.”
“Then you will have to go,” said Morgana sharply. She did not look Gwen’s way.
Tense silence settled over the room, and for a full minute there was only the sound of the messenger’s heavy breathing, and a high pitched ringing in Gwen’s ears. She knew her king’s duty, and would will Arthur to do no less than what was right. But she could not help the fear that came upon her then - what such separation might mean. She settled trembling hands on the underside of her belly, holding herself up stiffly.
Arthur glanced up at Merlin. “What do you think?”
“The Druids are our allies now,” began Merlin, though he, too, seemed unsettled by Morgana’s fervor.
It did not matter. Morgana shook her head. “Women and children, Arthur.”
The king nodded, and looked to Sir Leon. “We’ll set out at sunset.”
“That is not enough, Arthur-”
“It will have to be enough,” he replied firmly. With a fleeting glance in Gwen’s direction, he started down the steps, past Morgana and the messenger, Merlin and Sir Leon on his heels. The guards parted and opened the door for Arthur’s brusque exit.
***
Thank you for reading, as always!