The Ward 12/21
Title: The Ward 12/21
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".
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 11
Yuletide brings a surprise in the form of a request from the king to Gwen.
Author’s notes: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz .
A thick layer of snow blanketed Camelot, just in time for the Yuletide celebration. In the courtyard below her window knights trudged through the snow, clapping their gloved hands from time to time in an attempt to keep them warm. Gwen's attention was not on the cold, however, but on the snowdrifts that were scattered over the gardens. As children she, Morgana, and Arthur had 'borrowed' shields from the armory to slide down the surrounding hills. She would often find herself head over heels in the snow after a particularly fast flight down the drifts. It had all been in a good fun; the three friends would return to the castle with rosy cheeks and smiles.
A pang went through her heart as she turned away from the frosted window. Was it snowing in Gore now? She wondered if Morgana too was watching the snowfall and reflecting on the joys of their childhood. Her stomach clenched at the very thought of her friend's sorrow. Morgana had been sent along to Gore in mid November to be settled before the wedding. Both Guinevere and Arthur, acting as Uther's representation, had planned to follow shortly afterward to attend the ceremony. But to their great disappointment an early winter storm kept them from attending. She could only imagine how Morgana must have felt to find out that two of the closest people in her life would not be able to support her on that momentous day.
The lady’s eyes darted over to a folded parchment sticking out from her jewelry chest. With nimble fingers she extracted it, unfolding the paper as she smoothed it. She had written to Morgana as often as possible, but had only received one single letter in reply early in December.
Dearest Gwen,
I wish to thank you for your comforting letters, and to lament that I have not been able to send you the amount that you have addressed to me. Becoming queen has been something that I have been bred for, yet the shock of having such responsibility has still been great. Your letters are a source of comfort; many a night I have spent reading the missives of you, Arthur, and Father. Ursien has allowed me to keep two of my Camelot ladies, although the rest of my train has been set to return to you.
As this letter is being hand delivered by one of my father's knights, I will speak plainly with you. At the time of my wedding I did not believe I would be able to tolerate my new life. You may think me melodramatic but, dear Guinevere, you have yet to experience the anguish of my current situation. You, innocent friend, have yet to feel the hot breath of an unwanted man panting against your neck.
I truly believed, for a time, that God has punished me. First, it had been mother, then with my gift, and then with him. But I feel, for the first time in a long while, that my life may be on the verge of a joyous discovery. I have recently been befriended by Lady Morgause, the queen of King Lot. She is an amiable strong woman and I have learned much from her. When you are able to visit in the spring I wish for both you and Arthur to meet her.
Camelot, you, Father and Arthur are constantly in my thoughts. And him. Always him.
Your friend,
Morgana, Queen of Gore
Guinevere hastily replaced the note as rustling came from her sitting room. Hidden behind this particular note was another folded piece of parchment, meant for Arthur's manservant. She would rather the intruder not call notice to her letter and accidentally find the note meant for Merlin. Finding the intruder to be only Batilda the young ward visibly relaxed.
In an attempt to banish the melancholy that the thought of her close friend brought, she accosted the elder woman halfway through the door.
“The snowfall is letting up,” she chattered, piling the sheets stacked in the nurses' hands despite her protests.
“Would you go for a walk with me around the gardens? Please, Batilda?”
The older woman huffed, dusting off her apron as she tottered back to the chamber door. The lady grabbed her velvet lavender fur-cloak from where it was resting over the back of a chair by the fire. Gwen was at her heels, practically clasping her hands under her chin as she implored the woman. She followed her nurse into the corridor where she was now instructing other servants carrying the rest of Guinevere's freshly laundered clothing.
“'Tis too cold out there for me, lamb,” the nurse explained, stepping to one side for a guard to pass. She paused in her organizing as she inspected the corner of a chemise brought by a servant. She clucked her tongue before shaking her head.
“Send it back,” she ordered, handing the servant the poorly cleaned garment. “The Lady Guinevere will not wear soiled garments. Has the washerwoman been at the bottle again?” The servant in question could give no answer, and instead hurried away before hearing more about the drinking laundresses. “You'll catch ill out there anyway,” Batilda picked up the conversation with the young woman. “You had best stay inside.”
“I'll walk with her.”
The two women glanced to their right, noticing only then that Arthur had appeared in the corridor observing them. Batilda dipped a curtsey while Gwen nodded in greeting, thinly veiled excitement on her features.
“I have to speak to the deputy guard at the gate.” He offered his arm to Gwen, his strong limb slipped from beneath his scarlet cloak. “I think I can handle keeping an eye on you.” His eyes twinkled with amusement and for the first time in a while she felt like he was the old Arthur again.
These teasing looks she could handle, it was his burning gaze that unsettled her.
Batilda sighed, clearly trying to keep a smile from her face but failing. “Fine. But, milady, if you are ill by Yuletide, I will not listen to any of your complaints.” Her charge might have been convinced by the prince’s joking manner, but Batilda with her life experience knew better. She unlike the young lady had her clear suspicions as to the reason behind Arthur’s extravagant gifts and persistent staring. But, Guinevere was not ready to face such emotions, being a woman and three years his junior her mind though not naïve per se was still innocent. She didn’t see what one touch of her hand did to the young man.
If this was any other man Batilda would have been worried, knowing full well that a woman’s will could easily be ignored by a man in lust. However, this was Arthur. After the queen’s death, Batilda looked after the boy when he had a fever, brought him ointments for his wounds. Though his regard for her charge may have changed and grown into something infinitely more intimate, she knew that he would never intentionally harm Guinevere. No matter what his desires were.
Hiding a knowing smile, Batilda swatted at the air with her hands. “Go on then.”
Guinevere flashed the old woman a smile before swinging the fabric around her shoulders. She gently placed her hand into the crook of his arm. “We shan't be too long,” she attempted to comfort the nurse, even though the excitement on her face wasn't helping her cause. The nurse shook her head, going back to ordering around the gathered servants as the pair continued down the hall.
As they entered the snow-covered courtyard her eyes roamed hungrily over the expanse of white.
“Why did you sigh?”
She looked up at him, startled that she hadn't even realized she had made the sound. “I was just thinking… Remember, when we used to steal shields from the armory to slide down snow drifts?” A laugh bubbled up from her lips, sending a flush to her cheeks. “Do you remember how mad you used to get when Morgana would slide further than you? Or the times I would slip snow down the back of your tunic?”
A grin broke out on the man's face, despite the memories of his younger self's annoyance. “The two of you together always spelled trouble,” he recalled, leading her past a group of guards huddled around a small fire for heat. The men in uniform paused in their attempts of warming up, bowing at the pair as they passed. Arthur absentmindedly brushed aside their formality as the two continued their trek.
Her earlier joy was dampened by the thought of her friend. Silence reigned for a moment or two as they both reflected on the departed princess.
“I'm glad I still have you,” she added quietly, smiling slightly as she stroked his arm with her free hand. “At least, until I make my own marriage.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but Gwen didn't think to interpret it. It was easier to see Arthur as her long time friend than as someone who held conflicting feelings toward her.
While he ducked into the guard's keep to speak to the deputy, she waited quietly outside. Despite not having remembered to bring her leather gloves for her foray into the snow, she couldn't resist scooping up some of it into her palms. The cold, wet texture instantly sent a shiver down her spine. Yet instead of dropping it she started to shape it.
A ball shortly appeared from her ministrations, resting carefully in her palm. Both she and Morgana had often stockpiled such creations, sneaking them past the princess' nurse to drop them on unsuspecting knights from Morgana's balcony.
The opening of the door startled her and interrupted nostalgic musings, yet she didn't drop the snowball. Instead she waited to see that the man before her was indeed Arthur as she rather quickly, tossed the snowball at him.
It landed in the middle of his chest, causing his eyes widen in surprise. The two stared at each other for a beat until a smile spread across his face. She recognized the look of revenge looming in his eyes after so many years and, taking a hold of the hem of her gown, Gwen took off at a run across the snow filled courtyard.
Between the snow underfoot, her laughter, and her cumbersome gown, running was a difficult feat to accomplish. She could hear Arthur's boots crunching the snow not far behind her, catching up to her easily. She darted past a confused looking guard, running to the snow blanketed gardens. She slid to a halt behind an oak, barely missing a snowball connecting with her back. She held onto the trunk, peeping out from behind it. She frowned, not seeing him from her hiding place.
He had been following her, hadn't he?
“You honestly think you could outrun me, Guinevere?”
She jumped, turning quickly to find the laughing prince right behind her. He held onto her arms, keeping her from slipping due to her quick movement. Her laughter joined his as the two stood in the empty courtyard.
As they came down from their glee she noticed that he was still holding onto her. Gently she stepped back, watching as his hands fell back to his sides. The feel of his hands, protective on her arms, scared her. It wasn't that she was afraid of her friend; rather, afraid of how his warm touch sent heated tingling sensations running through her trembling limbs.
His attention turned to her red, cold hands. “Here,” he began, shucking off his own leather gloves. He held one out to her, waiting for her to take it. When she was about to shy away as usual he interrupted: “I said I would look after you, did I not? Your nurse will tear me apart, prince or not, if I return you with numb hands.”
She smiled, gingerly accepting his gloves. Her hands, so much smaller than his, seemed almost lost in the fur lined leather. Yet the gesture, along with the warmth they provided, was much appreciated.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling gently as she drew her arms underneath her cloak for warmth.
His gaze turned intense again, holding onto hers before she could look away. A blush covered her cheeks, not due to the cold though, and she tried desperately to find some distraction, something to focus on other than Arthur, who stood too close to her.
“Oh! There's Merlin,” she commented, finding the serving boy to be the first thing that her eyes landed on. His head was turned downward, a leather pouch strung over his shoulder. She guessed that he must have been out on a run to the village for Gaius, perhaps to hand out ordered medicines.
A look of amusement spread across Arthur's lips. “Watch,” he instructed, dipping down to grab a handful of snow. He packed it quickly into a ball before taking a few steps toward the unsuspecting manservant. He hauled the snow toward Merlin, erupting into good-natured laughter alongside Gwen as the servant looked up in surprise at the hit.
Gwen tried to control her giggles, stepping forward to see if the boy was alright. She watched as he seemed to transfix his gaze upon the snow-laden branches above Arthur. Without warning the snow slid from the branches, causing the young man below them to yelp in surprise as the wetness engulfed him.
Guinevere felt herself double over from her laughter as the prince stood in shock, his limbs coated in snow. Merlin's laughter joined that of the ward until Arthur recovered.
“Oi!”
Merlin took off at a run in order to escape the pursuit of the prince, while Gwen watched in hysterics at the chase around the gardens.
0o0o0
Twelfth Night that year was just as boisterous as always. As it was the last feast of Yuletide every member of the court seemed to be feasting as much as possible. Gwen curtseyed before Sir Kay as the two finished their second dance that evening. She smiled, turning away from him with cheeks flushed both from excitement and physical exertion. She grabbed a goblet of spiced wine from a servant's tray as she circled the gathered crowd.
A small hand reached to her hair, to check to see that the gift given to her by the king for the New Year was still in place. He had gifted her a web of diamonds to be woven through her curls. She thought that the contrast of the diamonds against her dark hair was rather fetching, and had jumped at the chance to wear it this night. Resting in her chambers were the bolts of silks that Arthur had presented her with, imported from Rome. The soft peach and lavender colored fabrics reminded her of the upcoming warm spring months.
She had commissioned a new bridle for the king's charger, complete with gold trim. Yet Arthur's New Year's present had been her main concentration. After much thought she had set to work embroidering a prayer book cover for him, proudly displaying the crowns of Cornwall and Camelot intertwined. The look of appreciation on the prince's face made her happier than she had imagined.
The young woman absentmindedly fixed the hem of her gown- a creation of scarlet- as she watched the guests mingle about the hall. She truly could not spot one unhappy face amongst them. The wine, the food, the music... Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Inside she nearly crowed with pride. As Morgana had been sent off to marriage, the responsibility of being the lady of the citadel fell to her. With a nervous heart she had instructed preparations these past twelve days for a series of feasts and events to entertain the visiting nobles and resident courtiers. As far as she could tell they had gone off without a hitch, aside from a near squabble between two drunken barons. But that was to be expected of such men she supposed.
Gwen adjusted her girdle for a moment, making sure that the holly leaves entwined with the gold were still in place, before setting off on a tour of the perimeter. The young woman nodded in greeting to passing nobles, pausing every few moments to inquire about this baron and this lady. As she finished her first circuit around the room she spotted Merlin. Quickly she excused herself from conversing with a group of gossiping noblewomen to slide beside Arthur’s manservant. Midway to Merlin she paused beside Batilda, wordlessly holding her hand to the maid. The nurse quietly slipped her hand into the pocket of her apron, withdrawing a bit of folded parchment to hand to her charge.
Halting before him she exchanged her now empty glass for a full one. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” she remarked, drawing the boy's attention from the crowd to her.
He smiled slightly, a far away look in his eye. “It seems to be.”
Silently she held out her hand, the parchment just visible in her fist. “Greetings from a friend,” was all she said as he held out his own palm to take the note. She left him silently, allowing him to read the letter from the newly married princess.
Guinevere passed the rest of the night circling the room talking to guests, or taking turns upon the floor with numerous dance partners. Arthur had requested her more than once, and she had even managed to snag a dance with Uther between his discussions with nobles.
The king was unusually sober that evening. He wasn't a sloppy drinker, like some of the other men, but he was normally quite rosy cheeked at such feasts. Yet tonight he seemed as somber as if he was presiding over court. More than once that evening she found him staring at her, but for what reason she couldn't comprehend.
Knowing that the hour was late she excused herself from the feast, keeping in mind that it would be unseemly for a woman of her standing to be present at such a late hour. Feasts such as Twelfth Night were notorious for getting rowdier as the night went on. And God only knew what the knights would be doing by the end of the night. She had heard rumors, her and Morgana shocked to hear some of Arthur and the other men's indiscretions mentioned among the gossiping courtiers.
“I believe it to be a success, milady,” Batilda commented once they had reached the woman's chambers.
Gwen exhaled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I'm just glad that it is over with,” she responded, although she agreed that her first organized event had gone quite well. Her mind flew through the days ahead. The next major event she would have to plan would be the Easter celebration. Thankfully, that was some time away.
She was barely in her chambers for two minutes when a knock came at the door. Batilda wordlessly went over to answer it, dipping into a curtsey instantly as the visitor turned out to be the king. Uther nodded slightly to his ward's nurse, waving her away after a moment. The woman quietly exited, leaving the king and his ward alone.
“I hope that you were pleased with the feast, my lord,” she began, crossing the room to stand before her guardian. Gwen beamed, reaching forward to take his hands. Uther's guarded expression began to make her feel uneasy, her smile slowly falling.
“Sit, Guinevere … please” he requested, leading her over to a nearby chair. She placed her hands in her lap, watching him with worry written across her brow. What had happened? Instantly her heart leaped into her throat. Something had gone wrong with the feast? Was he not pleased?
The king took a few steps away from her, going to gently run his fingers over her father's shield hanging above her fireplace.
How was he to explain the decision he made?
He had been considering for a while now of possibly pairing Arthur and Guinevere in matrimony. But even if he thought it was an ingenious idea, the memory of his own daughter's sorrow over her match was fresh in his mind. But this would be different, he knew it. After all he wasn’t just forcing the two down the aisle. Arthur had been the one to approach him.
“You know, Father,” the prince had begun, having requested an audience with the king, “with Morgana married now, I think you should turn your attention to Guinevere.” The boy absentmindedly picked up a discarded book at his father's bedside table, clearly trying to remain aloof. “I've seen the looks she has gotten from some of the noblemen,” he continued, even as the king tried to hide his mirth.
“And you don’t think that it is too soon, what with Morgana just recently departed? Guinevere is still young, she is younger than your sister.” Uther continued to bait his son.
“It's for her own good that she is married off.”
“Hm. Perhaps you are right. I shall have Geoffrey draw up a list of suitable matches.”
Arthur stopped before his father. “But her … lands. It would be a shame to lose them.”
Uther nodded, knowing where the conversation was going. He had known where it was going when Arthur had uttered “Guinevere”.
“And Mother provided her with an education of a noblewoman to her liking … worthy of a queen, perhaps.”
Uther had the grace to question his son as to where he was going with his speech.
Arthur shrugged.
“It was just thinking that perhaps, since I too have yet to be betrothed, you might simply pair us together. It would save you the trouble of looking for matches for both of us, thus we can keep her … Her and all of her assets, and …”
The man cleared his throat, knowing better than to voice what he truly wanted to say. “And she carries herself with the grace of a Queen of Camelot. Her way with guests, her planning, her etiquette.”
A glimmer of hopefulness flashed across his face.
“I think you should consider it.”
And Uther had considered it. With the court celebrating around him he thought over the possibility of the match. He knew Guinevere would be a competent organized wife; she had received the proper education, knew how to manage a household. And judging by the way Arthur looked at the girl, spoke of her.... Uther knew there would be no trouble getting an heir. Multiple heirs.
That was what concerned him most: lineage.
He had not had the kingship passed down to him as Arthur would have. Uther had fought for this land upon the battlefield, seeing his own men die for his ambition. His biggest fear was for the kingdom to be torn apart. Hence, witnessing an heir to his son born in his lifetime would only cement the Pendragon claim.
Who knew how many years he had left? He didn't feel so decrepit that he would die tomorrow, but he knew that death would eventually come. It was better to see his son wedded and bedded, with a child in his wife's belly before Arthur became king.
He hardened his heart; this was for the best of the kingdom. And what girl wouldn't want to become queen? Of Camelot no less. No; this would be good for Guinevere.
“You've been of marriageable age for some time now, haven't you dear?” he asked, knowing fully well that she had been. He watched as his ward schooled her features, although he thought he saw a faint look of apprehension.
“I have,” she repeated, her mind flying ahead of his speech. He must be considering her marriage then; it was the only thing that made sense. She felt her stomach flip with worry. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last glass of wine.
The king straightened up, no hesitation on his face. “I've put much consideration into the candidates for your hand. I'm happy to say that I've come to a decision.”
He grabbed her hands, as she had taken his when he had first walked in, smiling gently. “What would you say to marrying Arthur? To becoming queen one day?”
A beat or two of silence passed between them, yet Guinevere felt as if it lasted for years and still wasn’t enough for the news to settle down.
Arthur?
She felt the blood rush from her face.
Arthur?
The boy she had tumbled with as a child?
Who had always been as a brother to her?
She realized that he was waiting for her to respond, yet her tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of her mouth.
She couldn't marry Arthur... How embarrassing would such a marriage be? They were good friends but to become a wife to him, in every sense of the word, was something that made her face grow warm. It would be terribly awkward.
“You are certain, milord?” she asked cautiously, watching as something of amusement crossed in the king's eyes.
The man she had come to consider her father laughed at her apprehension.
“I've given it much thought, dear. Why, you shan't have to leave us now.” His gaze turned solemn for a moment. “I believe you will carry Igraine's mantle well.”
Gwen heard his words, yet could still not process them.
But what to do?
So she reacted with every proper noblewoman's response. Her only response:
A smile and a nod.