The Ward 8/21
Title: The Ward 8/21
Author:tudor_rose445
Rating: Pg-13
Characters/Pairings:Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana, Uther, Igraine, Merlin, Gaius, Arthur/Guinevere, Igraine/Uther, Morgana/Merlin?.
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin". Check out the bit of borrowed dialogue from the episode "Excalibur". Also not mine.
Summary: AU. The life of Guinevere, daughter to Sir Thomas of Camelot, has seemingly changed over night. After the death of her father and brother she is sent to the court of King Uther to become his ward. There she grows amongst the two royal children, Prince Arthur and Princess Morgana. Her time with the Pendragons will have a large influence on her life, and help to shape her into the queen of legend.
Chapter 7
A pilgrimage to Gwen's childhood home brings some insight to the prince.
Author’s notes: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz .
Lady Guinevere kept her head bowed, her hands clasped as she waited for Uther’s decision.
The king observed his ward over his wine goblet as he pondered over his response.
“As long as you bring a moderate retinue of knights, I see no reason as to why you shouldn’t go,” he finally replied, revealing a ghost of his amiable former self. “In fact, had I not been swamped with issues of state I would have gladly joined you. Alas, I have work to do, Guinevere.”
“Of course. Thank you for granting me this request, my lord.”
“Very well, Guinevere,” the king nodded in dismissal. Uther’s gloved hand waved her thanks away in the air as he returned to matters of state, leaving a smiling Gwen to exit the king’s receiving rooms.
She curtsied, taking a few steps backward toward the door before turning around and leaving the room.
She had for some time now, wanted to make a pilgrimage to the chapel at Camilliard where her parents were entombed. The last time she had gone was four years ago when the royal progress had included the town into the estate’s route.
As she was the king’s ward her inherited lands and family wealth were under Uther's jurisdiction until her marriage. He often used Camilliard for hosting visiting nobles, and had kept on many members of her father’s staff in order to preserve the upkeep of the castle.
Excited about her upcoming plans though, she had much to do. She had to send word ahead to alert the staff of her arrival, gather a retinue of knights, organize suitable amount of provisions for the trip....
Yet despite the work ahead Gwen could focus on one thing only: she was going home.
0o0o0
Five days later lady Guinevere strode into the courtyard not long after dawn, finally ready to depart for her beloved home. Despite the early hour, going back to sleep was the farthest thought from her mind. She had barely been able to fall asleep the previous night knowing where she would be going on the morrow. Gwen feared that she had pushed poor, frazzled Batilda a bit too much that morning in an effort to hasten her departure; the middle-aged nurse followed silently. Batilda was used to rise in the early morning hours, but not with energetic youngsters disorienting her routine and rushing her at such a time.
Gwen nodded in greeting to the page holding her horse. From the corner of her eye she could see a knight dressed in his chainmail and tunic approaching her. He cupped his hands for her to step into before lifting her upward toward her saddle. Once she hooked her leg around the pommel she moved to adjust her skirts.
“Thank you Sir...” She looked down finding, to her surprise, that the knight was Arthur. “...Arthur?”
He grinned rather cheekily at her confusion before mounting his own stallion. “You needed knights, didn't you Guinevere?” he asked, completely at ease despite her expression. “Have you forgotten that I've been knighted? And some time ago it was too…” It was clear that the prince was holding back a laugh as he spurred his mount forward, leading the party over the drawbridge.
She shook her head as if to clear it before following Sir Leon out of the courtyard, with Sir Bors taking up the rear.
Arthur's peculiar personality she could deal with later; Camilliard was waiting for its mistress.
Around noon the party made a stop alongside a small creek. It was a beautiful day though the high sun was shining somewhat too hot and the slight breeze did little to nothing to cool down the travelers. The ladies were glad they were wearing dresses as opposed to the men in chainmail accompanying them. Gwen smiled in gratitude to Sir Leon as the knight helped her down from her horse. She withdrew a small handkerchief once on the ground, throwing a quick glance over to Batilda to see that the woman had alighted from her own steed, before making her way toward the refreshing stream of water. She dipped the clean cloth into the creek and wrung it to remove some excess water, straightening when she heard someone approach her. Gwen turned around.
The close proximity of her intruder caused her to jump and nearly drop her linen handkerchief. The warrior prince, standing a couple of inches behind her, laughed leaning against a boulder to observe her.
“You would think that after all these years you'd catch onto that trick,” he teased, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Guinevere rolled her eyes in a rather unladylike fashion before dabbing at her neck and forehead with the cool cloth. The freshness of the damp fabric didn't completely cool her heated skin, but it did settle her for the moment.
“I'd thought that you would have grown tired of that trick by now,” she countered, detecting a smile on her lips despite herself remembering their childhood teasing. Feeling his gaze riveted to her she looked up to question him, only to find his eyes locked on the hand currently wiping at the planes of her throat. She quickly lowered her dainty hand, a little flustered. Quickly Guinevere dipped the handkerchief in the water again before standing before him. She replicated her ministrations on him as she had on herself as she spoke: “Thank you for escorting me but … I am a little confused as to why you did it. I mean there will not be much to entertain you at Camilliard and-”
She was cut off as his hand came to rest on her lower arm, halting her movements. The two youngsters locked eyes for a moment before Gwen awkwardly lowered her gaze and the hand holding the handkerchief. She would have done the same to either Morgana or Batilda, so the strange look in his eyes as the prince observed her confused her. Had she offended him by touching him? Perhaps at their age innocent childhood habits were not appropriate any longer. The young lady twisted the soaking cloth in her hand.
“I had better aid Batilda,” she muttered hurrying away from the young man, whose eyes held an emotion she was unfamiliar with: lust.
0o0o0
Two days hence the party clattered over the drawbridge of Cameliard not long before nightfall. It took all of Gwen's restraint not to leap from her horse and embrace the young woman standing beside the elderly housekeeper at the castle steps: Cook's daughter, Fayette. She hadn't seen her friend since the last time she had visited, which had been far too long in Gwen's opinion. She barely looked at Arthur as he helped her from her horse and instead beckoned the two servants over.
The two women curtsied before her and Fayette seemed to be almost jumping out her skin from excitement.
“You are most welcome home, milady,” the old housekeeper began, rising up with her creaky knees. “I have prepared rooms for you and your guests.”
It was only then that the woman's sight landed on Arthur, now that he was drawing closer to them.
“Your Highness!” The two fell into their curtsies again before Arthur waved off their greeting.
“I shall have Sir Thomas' chambers prepared for you, Your Highness,” the housekeeper went on, looking more and more flustered as the moments went on. “They're the best chambers in the castle, I assure you.”
Curtseying again she halted beside the large, wooden doors.
“If your knights would follow me, milord, I will lead them to their rooms.”
With a nod by Arthur the four knights followed the woman up the stairs into the castle.
Without curiosity of prying eyes Gwen fairly flew into the arms of her friend, laughing as the girl squeezed her tightly.
“I've missed you!” she exclaimed, finally pulling back to look over her long time friend. The girl's blond hair had grown even longer, yet her face held the same childish twinkle that it always had had.
“And I you,” Fayette laughed, dusting off Gwen's sleeve of it's travel dust.
“You weren't here for… the wedding.”
The two girls giggled aloud before starting to walk up the steps to the castle.
“Is he dreadfully handsome?” Gwen teased, watching as a blush formed on the girl's cheeks.
“You'll just have to meet him to judge for yourself. I fear that I would think him handsome even if he were a toad.”
The girls, laughing, had nearly forgotten about the prince behind them.
“Aren't you coming along, Arthur?” Gwen asked, pausing on the top step to look at him quizzically.
The young man straightened up. “Of course … after you, Guinevere.”
She spared him a curious glance before picking up the dropped conversation with her friend, trying not to think of the young knight trailing behind her.
0o0o0
That night, for the first time in quite a while, supper was served to a member of the Leodegrance family in the great hall. Gwen had gratefully changed from her dusty traveling clothes to a gown of a pale green, fitted with a darker green girdle around her waist. The silky cloth felt heavenly against her skin, which had been uncomfortably overheated ever since their departure from Camelot. May was seemingly turning into summer overnight.
She stood from her chair as Arthur entered, waiting until he had sat before taking up her seat once more. It felt odd sitting where her mother had often sat at the table, and seeing Arthur in her father's place of honor.
“I hope that you have settled in well,” she commented, taking her now filled goblet of wine to her lips. The servants worked around them silently, no doubt listening carefully to their conversation to relay it to the kitchen staff.
“The chambers that were arranged are most efficient,” he began watching as she smiled in greeting to another long time servant. He toyed with the stem of the goblet currently in his hand. “They were your father's rooms, were they not?”
Gwen's hand paused as she reached for the food on her plate. “They were,” was all she answered as she picked up the roll she had been aiming for.
Awkward silence followed for the next few minutes.
“What was he like? I never had the chance to meet him?” the prince inquired, watching her carefully over his goblet rim.
Gwen hesitated, unsure of the best way to sum up her father. She feared that if she had been given full reign over her words she would have the prince listening to her for hours. How does one sum up perhaps the most important figure in their lives?
“He was a very … caring man,” she settled on, wiping her fingertips on the napkin in her lap. “He was kind yet he could be firm, most often with my brother.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her face.
“He was level headed, trustworthy, brave.... He was, in my mind, the ideal knight.” She raised her gaze from her lap to the young man before her. “There…there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss him and my brother.”
She awkwardly cleared her throat, realizing that he probably hadn’t wanted a full out explanation of her sentiments for her family. Gwen noticed that for some reason their conversations were strained lately, whenever she tried to loosen up he would surprise her with an unexpected gesture or subject which either made caused her discomfort or simply left her at a loss with confusion.
Silence reigned for quite some time before he spoke again.
“And your mother?”
She set down her fork, holding up her goblet so that the servant could fill it again. “I never met her. She died shortly after my birth,” she explained, taking note that the prince’s eyes never left her during her explanation.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, sincere and sympathetic.
Gwen smiled slightly.
“I’d like her to have been like your mother, though. I imagine if she had been anything like the queen she would have been quite the person.”
She was rewarded with a gentle smile from her childhood playmate before the two fell into silence once more.
0o0o0
For the next five days Gwen found herself firmly planted in the small chapel of the village. The priest, out of respect for her mourning, tried his best to keep the rest of the clergymen away from her during her vigil. Occasionally a curious looking altar boy would pause in his chores to stare at her, but the occurrences became less and less frequent.
After taking her lunch meal in Batilda’s company she returned to the chapel before taking up her spot that she had christened as her own the previous day. Guinevere crossed herself as she knelt before the two stone slabs inlaid in the floor. Her parents’ names were etched into both, showing where they were laid to rest beneath the chapel floor. Her brother’s name was conspicuously missing as a body had never been found and there had been no funeral. Sometimes she wondered whether Elyan’s spirit was trapped between the world of the living and the dead; whether he had been unable to achieve heaven due to his body’s lack a proper funeral. It was easier to think that than the slim possibility that he was still alive.
She laced her rosary beads through her fingers bowing her head, murmuring the Latin words as she closed her eyes. The rhythm of the words along with the sliding of her fingertips over each bead as she kept track of her prayers was comforting. It reminded her somewhat of the nights when she had shared vespers alone with the queen. Gwen remembered admiring Igraine’s emerald rosary on more than one occasion. The queen explained that it had been a wedding gift from her father, something that she had treasured throughout the years. The same rosary had been placed in her pale, cold hands when she had been buried.
The sound of boots against the stone floor stirred her from her prayers. Still muttering the long memorized words she cracked her eyes open, watching as Arthur bowed once reaching the crucifix before coming to kneel beside her. She smiled to herself as he closed his eyes, clasping his hands. She returned to her prayers, comforted slightly by the prince’s presence and the feel of his strong muscular shoulder touching hers silk-clad one.
0o0o0
Departing from Cameliard had been a hardship she hadn’t wanted to even think about. It had been years since her last visit and she hoped that it wouldn’t be as long before she would be able to take the journey once more. Traveling later that afternoon she pushed back any tears that threatened in the back of her eyes. She had seen her parents’ resting place, spoke to them, prayed … It was everything she could have asked for.
Batilda knew better than to tempt her charge into talking, and instead held herself back rather discreetly from her mistress.
Arthur however wasn’t known for being subtle.
“I’m sorry that we weren’t able to stay for longer,” he apologized as he drew his horse alongside hers. She nodded softly, her heart and mind still in the chapel.
He seemed to be searching for words. “Where did you obtain your rosary? I mean I noticed you didn’t get it in Camelot. I remember you having it whenever mother would drag me to vespers.”
She chuckled slightly, remembering quite well the bored looking Arthur that had had to attend two religious ceremonies in one day.
“It was a gift from my cousin, at my birth. King William of Mercia, my mother’s first cousin.” She frowned slightly. “Come to think of it, I have never met him. After mother’s funeral him and my father drifted apart and lost contact.” Her brief moment of joy was again extinguished.
The prince scrambled for a way to bring forth laughter from her lips again. “You’re not missing much,” the prince said, shrugging as he adjusted his grip on the reins. “He’s a bit of a prat.”
At this she surprised herself by laughing aloud.
She lifted up a hand to cover her mouth, trying to recollect herself as she began to notice the curious stares she was receiving from the knights trailing behind them. She shook her head, smiling outright now. “And who gave you the authority to dub others “prats”? What credentials do you come with?” She was rewarded with a cheeky smile.
“You and Morgana have been calling me that ever since you first arrived. I think I’ve acquired an expert recognition by now.”
Feeling her melancholy leave her she did not even notice the satisfied expression on the prince’s face at having graced him with her smile and laughter.
0o0o0
A small group of servants waited in the courtyard of the castle to help with the unpacking of the party’s provisions and supplies. Morgana stood before the staff, stepping forward to embrace Gwen and her brother after they had dismounted.
“I trust your journey has been successful,” she commented to Gwen as the pair watched the staff approach the riders.
“It was… enlightening,” Gwen replied, unable to otherwise describe the trip in detail. Not only had she seen old friends and visited her parents, but her time with Arthur, the friend she grew up with, had sent her into confusion. His very actions around her recently had her wracking her mind as to why. The change in the behavior of the prince has pleasantly surprised her.
“Idiot!”
The pair watched as Arthur shoved Merlin aside. As Arthur’s saddle was currently on its side on the stones, it appeared that Merlin had accidentally dropped it. Not noticing Morgana’s reaction of reaching toward the servant, Gwen addressed the prince.
“It seems that the Arthur I have become acquainted with these past few days has been left at Camilliard,” she chastised him, frowning at the man as Morgana led Merlin up the stairs into the castle. Merlin, for his part, didn’t seem surprised at all that the princess was treating him in such a way. Had Gwen not been distracted by Arthur she might have questioned this.
Giving the silent prince another chastising look she followed the pair up the steps.
His Highness Prince Arthur had returned, apparently.
0o0o0
Some time after supper Arthur found himself standing outside of Gwen’s chambers.
He had honestly been trying to act as mature as possible during the week in Camilliard. He had never really been concerned about his behavior before and neither did any of his friends it would seem. Yet Guinevere out of everyone, besides his father whom the prince always hoped to impress, did not seem to appreciate it at all.
And she had gotten mad at him over Merlin. Twice!
The boy could really be a buffoon sometimes, most of the time. Giving him a good yell now and then only did him good.
For anyone else he wouldn’t have apologized.
Yet for Guinevere…
The question was why for her?
It would be easy enough to obtain any other girl’s approval. He had never had to even put in an effort before.
But Guinevere, the girl he had sparred against as a child and teased, would not spare him a second glance.
Was it because they grew up together?
Or was it her personality: the way she spoke, the way she acted? The natural grace that seemed to come from somewhere within her? Was it her kindness, her generosity, her ability to see the goodness in others? Her clear judgment of character?
Well… Her beauty certainly helped.
He couldn’t pinpoint his attraction toward her with a single trait. All of the above-mentioned combined must have influenced his sentiments.
All that he was certain of was that the little girl that his sister often had glued at her hip had suddenly turned into a young woman and his thoughts constantly strayed towards her.
Arthur raised his fist to knock at her door, preparing a speech in his mind to recite to her on why his behavior had been appalling that afternoon.
But his hand paused halfway to the door as he heard her laughter from within. Although the sound was muffled enough could be heard out in the corridor due to the keyhole.
“I think this dust will forever be on my skin,” Gwen teased, earning a laugh from her nurse.
Arthur felt the color drain from his face.
She was bathing.
Instantly a wave of heat flew down his back.
No, no … he mustn’t have impure thoughts now.
This was the girl he had grown up with!
Yet the sound of the tinkling water and her laughter was enough for him to picture her soaking beneath the water.
In that moment he envied terribly the man she married, knowing that he alone would be permitted to see what rested below the water.
“What are you doing?”
He jumped, taking a step back as he realized that Morgana was standing before him.
His sister gave him a puzzled expression.
“I, er…” he began, unable to think of a single excuse.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Move! I’ve got bath salts for Gwen.”
The princess’ elbow in his stomach alerted Arthur’s senses enough to finally make him move away from the door.
She gave him another look of confusion before knocking.
Quickly Arthur strode from the corridor, deciding that a bath of his own might be wise before turning in for the night.
A cold bath.