The Wife 11/?
Title: The Wife 11/?
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 11:
A new family member is introduced.
Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoy this one! :)
“"We won't be going too far."
Arthur moved to cup her cheek, the coolness of the leather doing little to relive neither her worry or her flushed skin. He smiled at her beneath the August sun before pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
"If anything should happen…"
He glanced down at the bump at her waist, grown so big that she hadn't even wished to make the short journey down from her lying in chamber to see him off, before giving her an encouraging look.
"If our child decides to make an appearance, it won't take me too long to return to you," he finished, brushing aside a stray curl that had escaped the neat twist at the back of her neck.
She rested one hand over the fingers brushing her hair and nodded. She didn't have to voice the concern that was nagging at the back of her mind, as she knew he held the same worry. For both were worried about the health of the infant who would shortly be delivered into the Pendragon dynasty. And also, by the thinly veiled look of anxiety within Arthur's gaze, the health of the mother.
Women oftentimes died in childbirth. Some women were just not strong enough to bring their child into the world. Others contracted the dreaded puerperal, or childbed, fever that sent the woman into deliriousness before finally extinguishing her life. And still, more dreadfully, was death due to birth complications. She had heard stories of children being in the wrong position for birthing that had to be extracted in such ways that it proved fatal for the infant. Or equally worse, tales of where the woman was cut open to retrieve the infant. Death followed quickly for the female that had to go under the barber's knife in such a situation.
Yet Batilda, along with her midwife, insisted that everything would be fine. Gwen was a healthy girl, strong after years of horse back riding. The nearly toothless old midwife had told her her strong thighs would come in handy when she was crouching over the birthing stool.
But all of their assurances couldn't put her mind to rest. And when the king had announced that Progress would go forth as usual she had panicked even further. What was she to do if the labor pains arrived and her husband wasn't there? Men were forbidden from the birthing chamber yet she would be comforted knowing that he was anxiously waiting in the corridor with the other nobles.
Or if she died? She would have liked to see those blue eyes one last time….
Feeling a shiver of dread rush down her back she quickly moved to embrace him. He responded, trying his best to hold her despite the bulk in between them. Silently he placed his hand upon the bulge, pressed a kiss to her forehead, before gently letting go of her.
"I'll write," he insisted, mounting his palfrey once Merlin appeared with the animal.
"And I'll make sure he does," Merlin chimed in, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the head by the prince's boot as he mounted.
Gwen smiled, moving to pat the gelding's neck.
"I trust you'll badger him until he picks up a quill," she teased, watching as the young man grinned.
She reluctantly stepped away from the blonde rider as the call for the travelers to begin was sounded. The king was at the front of the party, yet his son remained toward the rear to be by her for a few moments longer. Already she had said goodbye to Uther who also assured her that the shortened route of Progress this year wouldn't take them too far from her.
If it had been earlier in her pregnancy maybe she would have been able to accompany them. But at around nine months there was no way she could even lift her leg high enough to step into the stirrup without hitting her belly.
Gently she rubbed at the bulge beneath her gown, feeling her child kick.
"Your Da will be back soon," she whispered, watching as the group rode out of the courtyard.
She would hate for him not to be there to meet their child when he first arrived.
Her brother's warm hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. He coaxed her toward the stairs, taking her arm to help her climb them. She at first had felt bad that Elyan was staying behind with her and her household instead of going off with the king. But her brother had insisted that it had been his choice, as he didn't wish to leave her alone at such a crucial time.
Smiling at her brother she allowed him to help her back into the slightly cooler castle, not before giving the dust kicked up by the riders one last glance.
0o0o0
A week later found her in her lying in chamber, still heavy with child. Each day she had woken in bed alone, quite certain that this would be the day that her child was brought into the world. Yet each night she was faced with her pregnant belly and no babe in her arms. It was growing frustrating being such a large size, and in the insufferable heat of August. She was growing overly emotional and was upset by the slightest things, as she had at the beginning of her pregnancy.
It had only been yesterday when she had accidentally dropped a piece of sewing cloth and hadn't, due to her size, been able to pick it up off the floor.
Eleanor had found her sobbing her heart out when she returned with a glass of milk for the noblewoman.
Yet despite her discomfort and wanting to hold her child in her arms, part of her also wished to delay the birth.
For one Arthur was not yet back from his trip about the kingdom.
And second, she was terrified of the pain that birthing would bring.
She had been taught since an early age that one of Eve's punishments was for all women to suffer in childbirth. She had grown up hearing tales of pain that accompanied birthing. Of the feeling of being seemingly ripped apart. She had suffered scrapes and bruises as a child. She'd been thrown off her horse a handful of times, nicked with training swords, and cut herself on arrow tails.
Yet the pain of childbirth wouldn't hold a candle to anything she'd ever experienced.
She had been put up in her chambers from childhood which seemed to be entirely foreign to her, despite not having been away from them for that long. The windows were normally kept covered, although she had prodded Catherine to take off the coverings for at least a few hours of the day. If not, the room was even more stifling than the August sun outside her window. The midwife had chided her for ignoring the rules of the lying in chamber, yet for perhaps the first time Gwen pulled her rank to get what she wanted. How could delivering a child in a dark, stifling room be healthy for both mother and babe? Gaius had told her quite a few times his feelings of the lying in room, and they lined up with her opinion. Alas, Gaius could do little to help her; birthing was in the female sphere, not the male.
Reclined in her chambers she was constantly reminded of the imminent birth. Already a cradle had been brought in along with the supplies needed to bring the child into the world; swaddling cloths, rags, a wash basin. The dreaded birthing chair had made its appearance as well, although it was generally kept out of sight. She hated the idea of sitting on that odd looking stool, with the majority of the seat cut away, to push her child into the world. Some women gave birth lying down but she had been advised against such a thing by Beatrice. She, as well as Batilda, had given birth to all of her children with the stool and claimed that it was easier on the mother.
Gwen thoughts differed. She'd rather be in comfort instead of balancing on her seat bones.
"Your Highness, the nurse is here," piped up Eleanor after peeking her head from behind the curtain separating Gwen's bedchamber and sitting room.
A smile formed on the tired princess' lips.
"Send her in, please," she instructed, watching as Eleanor nodded.
"And send for a flagon of cold ale and some sweetmeats."
Her visitor had traveled for quite a bit, from Ealdor, and would be in need of a cool drink and refreshment from her journey.
She had been stumped on who to choose for her child's nurse and had delayed the choice for quite some time. Not from neglect, but from her inability to choose her child's caretaker. She and Batilda had a relationship akin to a daughter and mother, and she wished for her child to also have a close relationship with their nurse. Of course she didn't want this woman to eclipse her role as mother, yet she wanted someone that her child would consider to be part of the family.
She had expressed her worries to Merlin nearly two months earlier in passing, yet the young man had remembered her concern. Not too long after he recommended his own mother. She had no other children to look after, as Merlin was an only child, nor any other family. At first she had been hesitant to hire a woman she had never met for such an important role in her child's life. Yet after speaking with Gaius, who knew the woman well, she was persuaded to write to the woman. After all, she had raised Merlin who she counted as a good friend. She could hardly be a terrible mother if she raised the charming boy.
The worst that could happen was that the woman either denied her request, or turned out to be unsuitable for the job and taken from the list of candidates.
Yet after a series of letters sent between the princess and Hunith, neither happened.
Gwen found her from her writing to be rather charming and humble. She expressed interest in the position and it was arranged for her to arrive in Camelot in time for the birth.
Now, for the first time, she was meeting the woman face to face.
Catherine showed the older woman into the princess' bedchamber and left with a careful curtsey.
Gwen sat up a bit more from where she was resting in bed to better observe the woman.
She was much older than herself, but not nearly as old as Batilda.
Her hair, tucked beneath a cloth, was lighter than her son's. Yet she saw something of Merlin in the woman's cheekbones and eyes.
The woman in the homespun cloth curtseyed before her.
"It is an honor to meet you, my lady," she said, her voice soft and gentle.
Gwen smiled, gesturing for the woman to sit up.
"As it is for me to meet you," she said, patting the chair beside her bed.
The woman seemed a bit surprised to be asked to sit before royalty but didn't voice her concern in fear of insulting the princess. Instead she took up the cushioned stool beside the bed and placed her hands into her lap.
"Your journey was not too challenging, was it?" she asked as Eleanor reappeared with the refreshments requested. The lady-in-waiting poured a goblet of chilled ale for both women before silently departing.
"Not at all, my lady," Hunith replied, a smile forming on her lips.
"Except for the hot sun, yet nothing can be done about such a thing."
Gwen chuckled lightly after sipping from her ale.
"My chambers consist of the same temperature outside it seems," she said, casting a rather scornful look upon the window coverings.
Hunith's eyes followed her gaze, a small frown resting upon her lips.
"I've found that birthing in such a dark, dry place does little to help the babe. Most women of my village thrust the windows open, weather permitting, for the sunlight to greet their child."
She blushed, realizing that she had spoke aloud.
"Forgive me, I know you didn't ask-"
"No, no," Gwen insisted, reaching over to pat the woman's free hand.
"I feel the same, honestly. Yet tradition is something that is rather hard to defy."
Perhaps after she had successfully birthed a few children she would have the power to change things.
Quite pleased that the woman held the same opinion as her, Gwen relaxed against the pillows once more.
"I'm sorry that your son was unable to greet you; he is still accompanying my husband."
Hunith smiled before taking a sip of the ale.
"I will see him when he returns. I am so delighted, my lady, that he was awarded a position in the royal household. Perhaps it is a mother's bias, but he truly is a sweet boy. And he holds Arthur in such high esteem."
Gwen nearly spewed her ale back out at that comment, knowing quite well of the eye rolls that Merlin shot at her husband behind his back. Yet the two had formed a type of camaraderie over the past few months. She wouldn't count them as the best of friends, but there was some friendship brewing there.
"They are quite the pair," she commented before setting down her goblet upon her side table.
"And I must thank you, my lady, for offering me such a position. It's been years since I've held a babe in my arms. I truly hope to make you proud as your child's caretaker," the older woman added, earnestly clear in her eyes.
Gwen smiled before passing the small platter of sweetmeats to the woman.
Her tone was soft, her voice gentle. Her actions were respectful.
This would work.
"I think you are well on your way to doing so, Hunith."
0o0o0
The afternoon sun of the twentieth burned as hot as Gwen could ever remember. She had had, after much arguing, the window coverings removed from her chambers in order to garner some fresh air or a hint of a breeze. She had nearly taken off the casing herself before Batilda had given in.
After the birth she would apologize for being such an emotional mess, but now she was too hot and pregnant to care.
She counted Arthur as lucky that he was still on Progress, or he would have had to face her pregnant wrath as well. He and the rest of the traveling party were at the last location of Progress, at an estate about ten miles from the city. They were scheduled to return sometime tomorrow evening.
She was rather glad that her child had held out until now. At least he would be here when she birthed-
A discomforting sensation shot through her.
Gwen moved to stand up from the chair that she had been resting in by the open window and felt a sudden rush of liquid. She stared down at the damp patch of her dress, eyes wide, as she was reminded of her miscarriage.
But the difference this time was that her baby was fully formed, and ready to join the world.
"It's….it's….He's…"
Why couldn't she put together a coherent sentence?
Instead, in her excitement and panic, she gestured down to her lower half once Beatrice and Catherine rushed in from the sitting room. The youngest gave something of a strangled yelp as she realized that the heir was coming, while the elder woman remained calm.
"Fetch the midwife and Batilda," Beatrice ordered, having to physically prod the stunned other woman into action. Eleanor, having heard the commotion, appeared a moment later. Her cheeks paled as she realized what was happening.
"The….the stool," she said, nearly tripping over her skirts in order to retrieve it from the corner.
Had Gwen not been panicking about the life ready to burst forth from her, she might have noticed the thinly veiled annoyance of the older woman at the actions of the younger ladies.
"Leave the stool and alert Lord Leodegrance and the council. Tell them to send a message to the king," she said, still the picture of calm as she went toward the chest of drawers opposite the bed.
Without a word Eleanor darted off, repeating her instructions aloud to herself.
Beatrice withdrew a clean shift from the cupboard before approaching Guinevere.
"My lady," she said, her tone gentle as she tried to calm the young woman.
Gwen's eyes snapped up toward her as the pain slowly ceased.
"It…stopped," she said, realizing how simple she must sound.
"It will come and go," the older woman commented, moving to unlace the princess' gown. Numbly Gwen stepped out of it and into the clean shift.
A flurry of activity caught her attention as Batilda entered with the midwife straight behind her.
"My lamb!" the old nurse exclaimed, pushing Gwen's head into her bosom as she murmured words of encouragement.
The princess noted that her chemise was being hiked up and someone's cold fingers pressed on her-
"What?" she exclaimed, extracting herself from Batilda's suffocating hold to see the midwife checking her nether regions.
"You've got time," the elderly woman commented, straightening up as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be checking someone's private parts.
There was much too much going on to her and around her for Gwen to handle. Blindly she sought out the chair she had abandoned moments ago to allow her head to stop spinning.
Yet rest would not be gifted to her.
The next two hours consisted of her being walked around the room, a lady on either side of her to assist, and hoping that the birth canal widened enough for her to safely deliver the baby.
It was only after the third time of the midwife's 'checking of her' that it was explained that the babe would wreak damage if the birth canal had not widened enough. It would take time, she had been told.
Yet by the third hour she was ready to physically pull the child out herself.
She gritted her teeth as a wave of pain washed over her. Gwen grabbed onto the nearest person's hand, which happened to be Catherine, and held on in order to ride it out. The lady-in-waiting dutifully allowed her hand to be near mangled by her mistress before helping her complete another circuit about the room.
Her husband and father-in-law would be back by now. She had seen the messenger herself bolt from the courtyard on the fastest horse in the stables. Yet despite the encouragement that her best friend and husband could bring her, he was denied access from her chambers. Even Gaius, who had treated her since she had been a child, was not even allowed within her sitting room. She was in the hands of women and would be until her child entered.
This time as the midwife checked her she refrained from jumping, much too tired after walking for hours to object.
"Get her onto the stool," the no-nonsense woman ordered as she herself dragged the birthing stool toward the princess. "The pains are coming fast enough where she can push 'em out."
Fear seized her heart as Batilda guided her onto the contraption.
Her chemise was rucked up nearly to her waist as every woman in the room waited for the next contraction with bated breath.
They needn't have waited long, as the next pain followed shortly after she had gotten situated.
"Push!" the gruff woman insisted as both Batilda and Beatrice's hands moved to hold Gwen's shoulders back in order to anchor her onto the stool.
With all her might she tried to push, yet felt little movement.
With a gasp she fell against the restraining hands, glad that her ladies were there as she would have most likely fallen to the floor.
A few moments later and another pain rocked her.
She dimly heard the midwife continuing her mantra of 'push' yet found that she couldn't form words to respond.
Instead she continued to push her child out of her and finally made some progress.
Yet the pain of pushing a living thing from you!
She had, up till this moment, tried to keep any noise of pain from escaping her. Yet this latest jolt had her failing to repress a sob.
Another push and the pain only intensified.
She was normally a level headed person who guarded her emotions well, yet her resolve seemed to be abandoning her.
She was going to die, plain and simple.
She would never see Arthur, her brother, the king, Morgana….anyone ever again.
She would never hold her child.
She would never see which parent his look's favored-
A shriek that did not come from her lips jarred her from her internal monologue.
Guinevere realized that the wail accompanied a reprieve from the pain she had been feeling.
That meant…..her child!
Another cramp seized her, causing her to push on instinct to expel the afterbirth.
She craned her neck to see the wailing infant that Batilda had in her hands while the midwife cut the cord connecting mother and child.
"What….Is it alright?" she asked, her voice sounding hoarse and tired.
Eleanor and Catherine helped her stand as Beatrice took a warm cloth and wiped at the remains of the birthing that coated her thighs. Only then did she see the amount of blood that had accompanied her babe. Her vision swam at seeing all of the red liquid, yet thankfully the sheet that had been thrown underneath her stool was taken away.
Her shift was lifted from her body, with a clean one replacing it a moment later. She didn't care in the slightest that she was exposed during this, or the fact that one of her ladies had just cleaned her intimate parts before the entire room.
The only thing that mattered was getting her hands on her baby.
"Come rest, your highness," Eleanor requested, tugging gently at her arm to lead her.
Yet Gwen rebuffed her tugging.
"My baby," she insisted, watching as Batilda assisted the midwife in washing the wailing child in warm milk.
"You've a healthy son, my lady," the midwife piped up, a grin splitting her lips. She continued with her washing, as if she hadn't just delivered the most momentous news ever to Gwen.
A son?
An heir?
She had done it?
Too consumed with her thoughts she allowed Eleanor to help her into bed. Having the chance to rest her tired limbs after so long of standing and crouching felt marvelous.
A cheer from the corridor caused her to jump, having not realized that Beatrice had left the room to alert the crowd of nobles waiting that a son had been born.
Guinevere accepted a goblet of milk from Catherine while Eleanor dabbed at her face with a cool rag.
All the while she kept her gaze on her child, as if she couldn't stand to look away for a single second.
Finally he was dried and wrapped up in a cloth. Batilda herself presented him to Guinevere, a tear in the elderly woman's eye from her joy.
The nurse guided the babe into the correct position in his mother's arms and then stepped back to allow mother and child a moment alone.
Gwen stared at her son in wonder, reaching up a hand to rub a finger against his smooth cheek.
"My darling little boy," she said, finding her vision growing blurry.
The crying babe calmed slightly, recognizing the voice of his mother. She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his smooth, bald head. His skin coloring favored her, but she couldn't tell much else yet who he resembled.
"The wet nurse is here, lamb," Batilda prodded, beckoning the chosen woman forward.
It was unacceptable for a woman of her standing to feed her own child. Reluctantly she handed over her greatest treasure to the other woman, watching the entire time as she left the bedchamber to feed the infant.
"Arthur," she said, suddenly remembering that her husband wasn't here.
She grabbed Batilda's hand, and repeated her request.
"After the babe finishes eating, love," she replied, patting her hand and pressing a kiss to the princess' curls as she had often done during her former charge's childhood.
It took what seemed like ages for her little boy to finally reach a fully tummy. He was then returned to her, content and quiet.
Her old nurse remembered her request as her husband nearly flew into the room a few moments later.
She glanced up at him, suddenly feeling shy that he was seeing her in such a bedraggled state.
He strode toward her, surprising her by kissing her fully.
Her cheeks, flushed with the exertion of childbirth, reddened even more by this public display.
Finally he extracted himself from her in order to gaze at the now sleeping bundle in her arms.
"It's really him," he said, speaking in such a quiet voice. He knelt beside her bed, reaching a hand hesitantly toward the child to cup his head. He used the most lightest of touches, afraid that even the slightest prod would somehow injure his son.
"I'm so proud of you," he said, his voice still quiet as he turned his gaze onto her. She was startled to see moisture pooling in his eyes and reached out to him with her free hand. He buried her head into her curls, allowing himself a moment to compose himself.
"Would you like to hold him?" she asked a moment later, wishing to share this gift with him.
"And speaking of 'him', we need a name."
They had spoken of names since the time of the announcement of her pregnancy. Many had been thrown between them, for both genders. For a girl it would have been Isabelle. Yet for a boy they had both decided on Llacheu.
Neither had a relative with the name nor a close friend with it. It was better, they felt, that the child not be named after someone they knew. That way the boy wouldn't live in the shadow of his name for his entire life.
"Llacheu," he said, remembering quite well the name that they had chosen.
Gently she guided him into his father's arms, trying not to laugh at how disjointed Arthur looked. She tried to adjust his grip a bit more to better suit the child, yet all the jostling woke the child.
His lips puckered as a cry rested on the tip of his tongue.
Yet his father's soft 'shhh's had Llacheu questioning his choice of wailing. Tiredly he peeped open his eyes enough to squint at the blurry shape before him. He put the sound of his father's voice, often heard from his days in the womb, to the manly blur. Content he drifted back off to sleep.
Gwen chuckled at her son's display, finding that her vision blurred after a few moments. Caught between laughing and crying in joy she buried her head into her husband's neck, allowing him to shush both mother and babe to sleep.