The Wife 7/?
Title: The Wife 7/?
Author:tudor_rose445
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings:Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana, Uther, Merlin, Gaius, Arthur/Guinevere,
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".
Summary: AU. As the wife of the prince Gwen knows that she is destined to one day rule beside him. Yet the road to the throne will not be simple. Talks of an heir looming above her, the growing worry over Morgana, Uther's ill health, and her confusion over her spouse will not help in the slightest. Yet her trials are nesecary to grow into her title as 'wife' to one of legend's most famous kings. The second entry in "The Once and Future" series.
Chapter 7:
The couple starts the long road to healing.
Author's Note:
I've been very happy with the reception that I've gotten from the last chapter. Thank you all for sticking through that with me.
And for later in the chapter...Welfed is Welsh for 'velvet'.
Carefully Gwen placed a gathering of the last flowers of the season upon the cold stone effigy. She pressed three fingers to her lips before resting them upon the check of the stone figure. With less grace than was expected of her, she found herself collapsing in a heap of skirts and fabric beside the tomb. What would Igraine say, to see her this shamed?
The queen that she had looked up to had never lost a child, despite only having two children. The babes that she had birthed had been healthy and lived into adulthood. Her first child had been a son, which had made her even more loved and respected.
Guinevere couldn't see herself carrying that blessed woman's mantle having failed already.
She wrapped her arms about her middle, knowing that the life that had been residing there three weeks earlier was gone, and closed her eyes.
Three weeks.
It seemed liked yesterday, truly.
She had been allowed another day to heal, both physically and emotionally, before returning to court. There she had endured pitiful looks and barely hidden sneers. There was no official announcement of what had happened yet it was clear to everyone what happened to her child.
Even the king, her one-time guaridian, bestowed upon her looks of pity. Yet beneath his sympathy lay the unspoken question: 'What did you do to kill the baby?'
The only good thing that had come out of the tragedy was that she herself was unharmed, at least physically. It could have been much worse, Batilda had reminded her, as she could have actually had to pass the dead child through the birth canal. It had done little to cheer her.
On the orders of Gaius both she and Arthur refrained from spending their nights in their usual way. At the physician's recommendation she was to abstain for at least two weeks, in order to allow herself to settle back in. There was no tearing or such in her lower region as it had simply been blood that had leaked from her. But she figured her long time friend was concerned about her mental capacity to handle such intimacy.
Arthur had been understanding and had not pushed her, despite it being past the time that Gaius had requested. Instead he had been content to sleep beside her, brushing his hand along her head to lull her to sleep the first few nights after the incident. She had found herself sleeping much longer than usual which to her relief Batilda allowed. She forgot, sometimes, that the elderly woman was no longer in charge of her well being. If anything Arthur would be the one to dictate her life where Batilda had left off.
She hated this feeling of being tired all of the time. Despite it being the last few days that one could walk about outside comfortably in increasingly colder weather, she didn't wish to budge from the bench below her bedroom window most days.
She hadn't expected to have had such a reaction. She knew that most women became distraught after miscarriages yet she hadn't even entertained the idea before. The woman had truly believed that her baby would survive.
Gwen wiped at her face, stemming back her tears.
There would be other children, she knew, but there would be no getting back this child.
And Arthur.
She exhaled harshly before toying with the edge of her hem.
She had thought that he had the feelings for her that one had for a childhood friend, which may have graduated into lust overtime.
But loving her?
Even if he did not say it, his actions spoke louder than any words he could say.
Any other man could have easily scolded her for having let their baby die, even though she knew not how it had happened. Yet instead he had held her, allowing his tears to mingle with hers.
And what did she think of that?
She wasn't sure herself.
True, there was a warm fluttering in her stomach whenever he looked at her. She grew rather jealous when she saw other women watching him, wanting him. But that was natural, right? To feel protective of what was hers?
He was hers, after all.
Carefully she stood before brushing off her skirts. She wiped at her eyes, cleared her throat, and gave one last look of farewell to the tomb. The princess stepped into the dimly lit corridor beyond the tomb before mounting the stone steps that would lead to the side hall off of the chapel. As she looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sun-lit corridor, she caught sight of the edge of Gaius' robe as he turned the far corner.
For a moment she made to follow him.
She had often helped him in her youth and as of late had had less time to assist him.
Her duties as wife and first lady of the castle kept her far busier than she wished.
She halted her steps, listening as the physician's steps began to drift away.
There was too much for her to do this afternoon than visit with Gaius.
Gwen turned in the other direction from her old friend toward her chambers. She stepped into her sitting room, taking notice of the cluster of her women chattering there. A quick nod toward the door had all four women curtseying before her and leaving her in silence.
Only when they left did she allow herself to sigh.
She hadn't talked to any of them about what had happened, except for Batilda. Although they knew -everyone knew- they were kind enough to not bring the incident up.
Settling herself before the polished table at the center of the room, she pulled forward a stack of parchment that had been delivered to her earlier that morning. The Court Treasurer submitted a detailed account of the spending of the Crown each month to her as it was her job, as Lady, to look over the citadel's accounts. She was reminded each time she poured over the numbers that Igraine's decision to stress the importance of mathematics lessons had been a blessed one.
She reached blindly for her quill and moved to dip it into the ink well beside it. Frowning she caught the sound of the tip scraping against the empty well. When had that run out?
She bit her lip, remembering quite well then that she had finished the ink with her last letter to Gore.
Grumbling to herself she stood, annoyed with already being disturbed, and padded across the room to the door leading to Arthur's sitting room. If anything he would have a well, along with a spare somewhere in his room. As his father's heir he often handled quite a bit of paperwork when the king was unable to; he would need to have extra supplies.
Having heard no movement in the next room over she didn't bother knocking upon the door.
“Arthur.”
He looked up in surprise, having been seated before his own table as she had been, at her intrusion. A stack of papers was pushed off to the side, clearly forgotten in that moment.
A smile settled upon his lips.
“Don't let that old woman see you, or she'll be scolding you about your manners. You've been taking after Merlin.”
She rolled her eyes, feeling a smile come to her face as he teased her for bargining in.
“Well, you had best hope that Batilda never hears you refer to her as 'old'. She'll make your life quite miserable.”
He rolled his eyes before beckoning her closer.
“And what is it that I can do for you?” he inquired, having seen the look of expectation on her features.
She closed the door behind her absentmindedly, walking until she was just before his chair.
“I would like to borrow an ink well from you,” she asked, resting her hand on the chair on the left of his.
“I want to finish checking over the ledgers.”
He nodded and gestured toward the well beside his fallen quill.
“You'll get more use out of it than I will.”
She glanced quickly at the half formed letter resting atop the pile of discarded parchment.
“I can help you if-”
She leaned over him as she spoke, reaching for the ink jar, yet never made it to her target.
With an 'whoosh' of air she found herself haphazardly laying in Arthur's lap.
For a moment she thought that she might have tripped over herself and fallen into him, which would be terribly embarrassing.
Yet by the way that his arms were wrapped around her back and the sly grin upon his lips she knew that he had been the cause of her tumble.
She went to playfully slap his chest as she tried to stand.
Yet as she moved to right herself he pulled her back.
“Arthur?”
His lips connected with hers, causing her to forget all about the papers and ink that had clouded her mind only moments before. Numbly she felt him adjust her position in his lap so that she straddled him. The only thing she could think about - concentrate upon- was his lips and the fire that was igniting.
But at the back of her mind a niggling of anxiety began to form. Her chest tightened, whether from her worry or lack of air as he kissed her.
She knew that it was wrong to deny her husband, but the thought of what they were to do next was slowly starting to cool her off as much as his kisses had ignited her. This could lead to a possible pregnancy which.....
What if it ended in tears again?
Having been caught up in her thoughts she hadn't seen him untie his trousers. Yet his warm hands upon her stocking-clad thighs, where he was removing the garters and trying to pull aside her undergarments, awoke her to what was happening.
With a gasp she broke away from him, startling him enough to pause his actions.
His eyes were dark as he fought to catch his own breath, staring at her blankly as she stared back at him.
The two remained in silence for a beat more before he tried to resume their embrace.
“No.”
The word, having never been spoken to him regarding this martial activity, startled him.
“What?”
She felt her face flush as she glanced away.
“I cannot.”
Awkwardly she made to stand once more yet found herself tugged to his lap despite her efforts. She barely withheld a shiver of what she identified as desire at feeling his hardened length against the fabric of her inner thigh.
No: she had to keep a clear mind.
Her husband, far more knowledgeable about her body's reactions regarding him than she was, smirked at her small shiver.
“Are you worried about someone seeing?” he questioned, his tone low as his hands snaked up her legs once more.
“No one will come in; they know that I'm working.”
Working, was it?
He kissed the side of her throat, right below her ear where he knew caused the most interesting sounds to come from her.
She bit her lip in order to keep herself from making any of the mentioned noises.
“It's not that.”
Even if she had been willing to do the marriage act, she still would have protested at being out in the open. It was Arthur's private chamber, but servants still went about in order to clean.
And it was daytime! Did he not realize that?
His head moved away from her neck as his mouth fell into a small 'o' of realization.
Finally...
“It's because we've never done this before, haven't we?” he questioned, not needing to explain the position they were currently in.
“You'll like it; don't worry.”
She shook her head, feeling a blush creep up her neck.
His right hand drifted up under her skirts once more, brushing against the linen of her pantalets. She inhaled sharply through her teeth as his knuckle ghosted along the flesh just below the intimate curls through the fabric.
“It isn't that.”
Hurriedly she made to stand, causing him to retrieve his hand, and took a few quick steps backward in order to create a gap between them.
She focused on fixing her garters as he laced his trousers back up with a sigh.
He raised his gaze to her, still not understanding why she had flatly told him 'no', and found the barely hidden anxiety in her eyes.
“Gwen...”
She fumbled with her hands, wringing them as he stood and approached her.
He enfolded them within his own, sword hardened ones.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the side of her fingers gently.
“I thought...”
She shook her head before clearing her throat.
“I just wish for a little more time. Please.”
She glanced up at him, finding understanding in his features.
He nodded silently before gently patting her clasped hands.
He parted from her, returning a second later with the ink she requested.
Giving her husband a half-smile she took the jar before exiting the room, feeling that she had disappointed him once more.
0o0o0
It was nearly three days after her husband's thwarted attempt that she started to notice the strain that was forming.
He wouldn't outright comment on their lack of intimacy but it was clear in what he thought was hidden glances that he was missing their nights together. And it pained her to have to deny him.
Yet she couldn't get the image of blood on her hands from her mind...her pregnancy gone.
She threw herself into her duties instead and avoided him if at all possible.
Re-reading a letter that she had written to the head steward of Cameliard, she glanced up at the sound of the door to her sitting room opening. She had allowed her women to go off to get an early supper in anticipation of turning in early, which would allow them to have the night to themselves. She honestly couldn't stand the looks of barely hidden pity they were sending her anymore; it was all she could do to not call them out on it. She knew that they were concerned yet she wished to simply forget that the incident had ever happened.
Elyan had tactfully refrained from bringing up the subject whenever he came to see her. It had become a habit for the two to take their midday meal together if Arthur and the king were running about. It almost felt as if her brother had never left.
Her husband entered her sitting chamber, a small smile on his face as he approached her.
She forced a matching one to her own lips.
“My lord,” she greeted, setting down her quill which she had been absentmindedly twirling in her hand.
He couldn't mean to retire now? True they had already shared supper with the king, but he often went to speak with his knights or finish up any leftover business for the day before going to bed.
He moved around the table to where she sat and, to her surprise, went to his knees.
Although endearing, the action made her feel rather flustered. A man with such a rank as Arthur had never done so to her before which made her feel awkward, but it was that Arthur was doing it that made her feel even weirder. Husband kneeling before wife? Absurd.
He took her small hands into both of his, encasing them gently.
“I know that you have been troubled,” he began, carefully speaking around the subject that had been on both of their minds.
“You're a good person, Gwen; its natural for you to feel this way. I think about-”
He paused before changing the track of his speech.
“I wish to bring the smile back to your face once more. Would you accept a gift from me?”
She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as his lips split into a grin.
“A what?”
A sharp bark from the next room over had her halfway out of her chair.
Merlin popped in a moment later with a squirming mass in his hands. The pup wriggled in the young man's arms in order to view those in the room before emitting another high pitched cry.
“Oh!”
Instantly Gwen was approaching the servant and dog, her hand gliding over the smooth fur.
“He is magnificent!”
The pup nosed into her hand, licking her palm as she laughed.
“Let me hold him,” she requested of Merlin who obliged her by passing the now increasing squirming animal to her, barely hiding a look of relief upon his features as being able to pass on his squirming burden.
She held him securely against her as her right hand, wrapped around his torso, rubbed his back gently.
“Is he truly for me?” she asked, spinning to see her husband a foot or two behind her.
Arthur smiled, brushing aside her hair as he watched her fawn over the animal.
“If you would like it,” he answered, inwardly relieved to see an emotion other than grief upon her features.
She smiled brightly, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.”
She returned to her chair, placing the pup in her lap.
“Does he have a name?” she asked, glancing up after she had finished scratching behind one of his ears.
Merlin shook his head, clearing his throat.
“The Master of the Kennel did not name any of the litter, Your Highness,” he answered, twirling the twine that had been tied to the dog's leather collar.
“He was bred from a new damn that my father had ordered, sent all the way from Italy,” Arthur elaborated, coming to stand before her once more. He petted the pup's soft head as he spoke.
“He's a bit different from the hounds of our court; smaller and slimmer. Faster. He'll be good for picking up small game if you choose to let him hunt.”
She lifted the pup so that his large, brown eyes were looking into her own.
She had never before had a dog all to herself. There had been an elderly hound that had lived in the kitchens of Cameliard, keeping away any rodents or animals that had been attracted by the smell of the food. But that dog had never actually been hers. Many members of the court had dogs of their own, whether they be lady's lapdogs or men's hunting hounds. Why, Arthur had at least four he kept in the kennels to follow the hunt.
But this gray haired, yapping little hound would be ideal for her own personal dog.
“I'll keep him from the hunt,” she announced, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “If he will be of small stature as you say, I do not wish for him to be crushed beneath the horses' hooves.”
She tucked him into her arms once more.
“And he'll need a name.”
She observed the animal, by now tired of the confines of her arms, and let him down onto the wooden floor.
Gwen managed to give him one last pat against his hair, soft as velvet, before he tore off across her sitting room bent on exploring.
“Welfed,” she announced, liking the sound of it.
“That will be his name.”
The pup paused, almost as if he had heard her talking about him, before nosing his way into the basket of wool that one of her ladies had forgotten to clear away.
She laughed as Merlin darted across the room, attempting to bring the dog away from the basket despite the animal already having a mouthful of the wool.
“Thank you, truly,” she turned her head to Arthur, reaching for his hand.
She squeezed it gently, seeing a bit of relief in her husband's eyes.