The Ward 15/21
Title: The Ward 15/21
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 14
May Day brings a shared moment between the engaged couple, along with an upbraiding from the king.
Author’s notes: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz.
Gwen rested against the door of Batilda's small bedroom, closing her eyes. After having arrived back at the citadel the girl, Freya, had been ushered by the lady’s nurse to the servants quarters where she was sent to bathe and was tended to. Guinevere had accompanied her through most of ordeal, speaking calmly to the frightened young woman.
“Is she alright?”
Gwen jumped, her eyes flying open only to find Arthur standing a few feet from her. He was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She loathed admitting that he had startled her yet again by his sudden appearance and close proximity - a childhood habit, still in order - and stepped away from the chamber door.
Guinevere faced him for the first time since Morgana filled her in about a wife’s marital duties; to satisfy her husband’s desires no matter the nature or their effect on her own person.
Would he show her the same concern as he did for this stranger? Would he even care that the consummation of their union would hurt her physically, and change her forever mentally? Or would he display lack of consideration altogether and simply vary between his queen, other ladies and simple scullery maids?
She realized that she had yet to answer him.
“She, er, she is fine,” she stuttered, missing the entertained look he gave her at seeing a flush on her cheeks. “Batilda has put her to bed. I thought it best if the two shared my nurse's chamber for now.”
The prince nodded as he leaned against the stonewall, crossing his arms.
“And what has she told you?”
“Nothing more really than what she told us when first discovered,” she explained, her eyes darting toward the door where the distraught young woman was currently resting. “Her village was destroyed by raiders; she said that they were rogue soldiers from Edwin's army. Only a few of the villagers escaped but she has no idea where they are.” The betrothed woman's features softened. “The poor thing is terrified.”
They couldn't have left Freya alone in the woods, so it had been decided that she would be brought along with them to Camelot. She had given little explanation of who she was beyond the story of her village being attacked. Gwen and Batilda had managed to coax a little out of her during the ride, yet the girl seemed reluctant to talk. Guinevere could understand why and didn't wish to push her.
She sighed.
“I know that her village was not within Camelot's boundaries, but I wish we could do something for her. Could you...”
She grew hesitant, watching as he straightened up from his relaxed pose. “I was wondering if you could perhaps speak to your father for me. About hiring her.”
Although she had not known Freya long, she felt almost protective of the girl. They were about the same age and the poor thing, much like her, had no family left, hence a connection felt mutual.
“I could make use of her as a chambermaid. Batilda isn't as young as she once was, and could do with the help.” She made sure to lower her voice, knowing that if her nurse heard her she would cause uproar.
He smiled gently, taking a step toward her.
Arthur dragged the knuckles of one of his hands gently across her cheek, inwardly reveling in the blush that graced her cheeks. “You know I can deny you little,” he admitted as she averted her eyes. He hid his disappointment as she took a step back, beyond the reach of his hand, to dip into a slight curtsey.
“Thank you, sire.”
She moved to leave him, yet his next question paused her stride.
“What did you think of Queen Morgause?”
Guinevere hesitated, thinking over what she had garnered of the older woman.
From what she had seen Morguase had become something of a mother figure to Morgana, which the new queen of Gore truly appreciated living alone in a foreign kingdom. She seemed to be a pleasant woman, and Gwen couldn't think of much to complain about concerning the woman's character.
She explained her opinion of the woman to her intended, yet the slight frown on his features signified that he didn't exactly share her feelings on the matter.
“I got an odd feeling around her,” he elaborated, watching as confusion drifted across Gwen's face. “I think Ursien allows her to spend too much time around Morgana.”
Gwen felt herself bristle under Arthur's assessment of the queen. Why shouldn't Morgana be allowed one joy in her new life?
“Sadly it is out of your hands,” she said, trying to keep from sounding bitter. She dipped into a curtsey. “Goodnight, milord.”
The prince watched his future wife walk away, wondering exactly what he had said to upset her again, and longing for the pending time when he would be able to follow her and demand her attention all night long, if he so pleased.
0o0o0
“My lady! Come look!”
Gwen wrapped her dressing gown a bit tighter around her frame, ignoring Batilda's babble about the state of her May Day gown as she crossed the room over to Freya. Her new chambermaid was smiling from ear to ear as she gestured to the lower town beyond the citadel walls.
Although it was not long after dawn, the town was bustling with activity that early May morning.
“We used to have a May Pole each year,” Freya reminisced, resting one of her scarred hands against the stone casing of the window. “All the maidens of the village would adorn their heads with crowns of flowers. And the dancing!”
The servant giggled, catching her lady's hand as she began to swing Gwen around the room. The noblewoman was shocked for a moment, but hastily recovered as she too fell into giggles.
It had been nearly three weeks since Freya had become part of her staff, and Gwen couldn't imagine Freya not being there. Between herself and Batilda they had coaxed her out of her shell, and had exposed the exuberant young woman inside. Well, Guinevere couldn't claim all the credit for herself and her nurse; Merlin had helped quite a bit too. She often saw the two servants as they went about their daily activities. Gwen felt a little shamed at the hint of annoyance that rose up in her chest whenever she saw the pair. She could tell by the shy glances they shared that they shared a growing connection of sorts. Instantly she would think of Morgana, and the feelings she suspected the queen still harbored for the valet.
Why had Merlin just thrown that away?
But she knew, deep down, that such a relationship could never be. Not only was Morgana of the nobility, but she was also a married woman to a man of power. They would be fools to attempt such an affair. Yet, the romantic in her wished that their love had been possible.
Perhaps Freya could help at least Merlin to move on.
Batilda clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she watched the pair.
“You had best show the proper respect to the lady,” she chastised, yet she couldn't help a small grin from forming. What was the harm in giving the girl this one child-like moment? Heavens knew that she would have more than enough responsibility thrust upon her soon.
‘Arthur and his obvious looks,’ Batilda thought to herself, rolling her eyes.
Gwen returned to her nurse, breathless from her romp about the chambers. She smiled sweetly at the older woman as she was ushered through her morning's toilette.
As soon as the nurse left the chamber to remove her charge's discarded nightclothes Freya descended upon the ward.
“Do you think we might be able to join them, milady? Just for a little while?”
Guinevere's eyes darted to the window where she knew the subjects of her servant's request were making merry. She felt doubt bite away at herself as she considered the seemingly innocent question. She, personally, had never taken part in the common May Day celebrations. The festivities that the nobility participated in consisted of the annual joust along with the elaborate feast later in the evening. She had never danced about a May Pole, or collected flowers amongst the peasantry.
What was worse, she knew what Morgana would tell her if the princess had been there: do it. It was one of her last moments of freedom before being saddled with marriage and future queen ship.
“After mass,” was all she said, trying to hide the smile that threatened to envelop her features. If Batilda was to know...
The two exited the chamber, collecting Batilda in the following room before heading off to mass.
0o0o0
“I think that I will take a few turns about the garden,” Gwen announced, catching Freya's glance as soon as they re-entered her chambers.
Batilda was about to protest, but Gwen interrupted.
“I will have Freya accompanying me. I know you must have much to attend to, Batilda.”
She could almost see the sigh of relief forming in her nurse's throat. Considering Batilda’s age it would have been quite selfish of her to drag her nurse along for more exercise, Gwen realized. And she wouldn’t want to be like those other noble ladies, torturing their employees.
“Just return in time for dress preparation, your attendance at the joust this time is vital, no excuses mind you.” The older woman watched as the young lady gathered up one of her plainer cloaks to ward off the chilly breeze still present so early in the spring.
The said lady hid an anxious expression that threatened her features and hurried out into the hall, Freya not far behind her. The joust would be the first public event since the royal betrothal where Guinevere would be presented as Arthur's blushing bride. Nerve-wracking as it was to have so many eyes on her once again, as the future Princess and First lady of Camelot Gwen would have to accept the prince’s use of her favors while jousting formally, in front of nobles and peasants alike. It was tradition for a nobleman in love with a woman of court to wear a scrap of cloth or some other tokens that she had given him prior to the joust.
As usually was in court, it was all a grand performance
She knew that it might not always be so. Her future husband's mistresses might take precedence over her favors in the future; he might be strutting about the tournament grounds with another's colors. She would simply have to pretend, and turn a blind eye to such display.
It was the way of women, queens or not. She did not know of any straying that her father might have done, nevertheless society would have accepted it. From what she saw of Arthur throughout the years he was somewhat of a favorite among the ladies of the court. She would just have to put up with any younger, or older more experienced woman that popped up.
Gwen wrapped her cloak about her torso before raising the hood to cover her head. To actually participate in the antics of the villagers was strictly forbidden, but who could fault her for simply observing from the shadows?
The rebellious pair took the servants' exit out of the citadel just in case Batilda would be looking out over the courtyard from Guinevere's window.
As they reached the lower town and heard the swelling music of the locals she felt her heart leap into her throat from excitement.
Never had she done such a thing as this before. With Morgana she had toed the 'line' bordering to improper behavior on more than one occasion. Their dropping snowballs upon the un-expecting knights and guards standing below Morgana's balcony, or hiding Gaius' spectacles were pranks that certainly fit the criteria.
A brightly dressed girl ran past them, momentarily paused to throw a crown of flowers upon Freya's dark tresses. The girl laughed, tugging Gwen's hand as she dragged them further into the crowd. The maiden paused to gather another flower crown, prompting Gwen to drop her hood to place it atop her head.
“By God! My lady?!”
Their colorful new friend halted, having heard the astonished cry from a grouping of middle-aged women previously weaving flower garlands.
Guinevere felt her cheeks grow red as the women curtseyed before her.
“I wish to take part in your celebrations, if I may,” she began, thinking it odd to be putting on the act of a perfect courtier here. The women remained silent for a moment, as if stunned. Finally one elderly woman stepped forward, reaching up to hesitantly adjust Gwen's flower crown.
“You are welcome, milady,” she requested, leading both the future queen and Freya through the crowd. The woman brought them closer to the maypole, where a group of villagers were dancing about it. Linked hands formed the circle, moving in the opposite of the direction of those twirling the ribbons of the maypole. A man playing the lute kept an upbeat rhythm as the crowd twirled, seemingly emitting a happy, indulgent aura.
Before she knew what was happening Gwen found herself being tugged into the circle. She looked up, laughing as she realized it was Freya. Blindly she linked hands with the girl on her right as she moved at an even faster pace with the crowd. Between the music, the feeling of joy around her, and the adrenaline pumping through her she felt as if she was almost flying.
The lute player let out a cry, signaling the circle to shift its direction. Nearly tripping over her skirts Gwen struggled to keep up to Freya, laughing at her own clumsiness.
She honestly hadn't had such fun in a long time.
0o0o0
One of Arthur's favorite memories of his mother was during a May Day celebration. Her golden hair with flowers woven into the tresses gave the beautiful queen am almost ethereal look. She truly did seem like a woodland fairy, or some other type of mystical creature. But it wasn't how his mother looked on such a celebration that caused him to remember the event; it was the way her eyes shined when his father would enter the arena.
Who didn't know of the love story of Igraine and Uther? Not many royal marriages were love-matches, yet it seemed that the two had fallen for each other at first sight.
No, it wasn’t the way she dressed that he remembered.
It was the love that his parents shared that had burned the memory into his mind. He broke from his reverie, having noticed that he had not taken in one word of what Sir Kay had had been saying. The two knights had decided early in the morning to oversee the preparations for the afternoon's joust. As the royal blacksmith had fallen behind on his orders due to becoming ill, some of the pieces of armor to be worn during the tournament had been taken to the town blacksmith. The court had made large orders of the man's work on numerous occasions and the resulted goods had always been satisfactory. Arthur could only imagine how irate the man must be at having to work on May Day.
“I suppose we will have to drag the arena,” Kay continued, too caught up complaining about the weight of his responsibility to realize that Arthur hadn't been listening to him. “We cannot have some poor lad being thrown from the competition because his horse could not find the proper footing, can we?”
“Right,” was all the prince answered, which was enough for his companion.
If Kay could be described as one thing it would be - organized.
The pair paused outside the blacksmith's forge, prompting the three servants behind them to enter the humble dwelling. Merlin was amongst them, recruited for toting back the mended chain mail and breastplates. He had grumbled about having to do such a task, but had acquiesced in the end. For all the bellyaching Merlin did, Arthur had to admit that the lad was turning out to be a pretty good servant and a trustworthy confidante.
Kay kept going on about the preparations that must be taken care of before the morning was out, yet Arthur's attention was drawn to a pair of women breaking free of the celebrating crowd. One he recognized instantly as Freya, yet the other had a hood over her head, covering her face. The hidden figure turned suddenly as an elderly woman caught her attention. The gray haired woman held out a small bouquet of spring blossoms toward the feminine figure, who then drew back her hood to face the said elder woman and accept her gift.
Guinevere.
King Uther’s ward did not realize she was being watched apparently, as she patted the wrinkled worn out hands in gratitude, smiling politely as the two conversed.
Arthur watched transfixed as his betrothed laughed, prompting a smile to form on the older woman's lips.
“Why did we not just bring an ox and cart?” Merlin asked, smacking into Arthur on his way out of the blacksmith's. To an onlooker it might have looked accidental, but Arthur knew his servant far too well at this point to know that it was anything but.
The prince frowned slightly, rubbing his shoulder from where the metal plating resting in the valet’s hands had hit him.
“Because, Merlin,” he began, crossing his arms, “how do you suggest we get a cart through this crowd of people? Anyway,” he grinned, slightly pushing the boy forward, “you are much faster than any ox.” He paused. “On secon thought....” Merlin stumbled from the push along with the extra weight, mumbling something about prattish princes under his breath.
Arthur turned back to get yet another glimpse his future wife, but the stunning figure in the blue cloak was already out of sight.
0o0o0
“Entering the ring: Sir Gareth of Northumbria and His Highness, Prince Arthur!”
The crowd of nobles clapped in approval while the quartered off commoners yelled in delight. Gwen inched forward in her chair, placed beside Uther, to get a glimpse of the pair riding into the arena. While Sir Gareth came to a halt before his squire at the far end of the ring, Arthur directed his steed to the royal box.
Gwen felt her breath getting caught in her throat as she ceased nearly wringing the scrap of silk in her lap to bits. It was clear for anyone watching that the swatch had come from the same material as her gown; the pure white dress complete with pink flowers embroidered carefully around the cuffs and her skirt was perhaps one of her favorite May Day gowns yet.
She stood as soon as Arthur drew his horse up to the box. He took off his helmet before bowing his head before his father. As soon as his finished his greeting to the king he turned his easy gaze onto Guinevere.
“My lady,” he greeted her, his sapphire eyes seeming to smile at her.
She dipped her head in acknowledgment, feeling her cheeks already begin to burn as the crowd's eyes turned to them.
“If you would do me the honor of granting your favors, it would be a privilege,” he requested, watching as his bride carefully. She descended the few steps from her seat next to the king on the podium and went over to the railing, feeling as if it were a mile. She finally looked into his eyes, willing her volume to be louder than she felt like speaking.
“I would be most pleased, my lord,” she answered, leaning over the railing as she wrapped the scrap of fabric around his extended gauntlet.
A polite applause rose up among the spectators, yet she was too concentrated on the embroidered swatch of fabric to pay attention. His heavy hand came to rest upon her own in silent thanks before she retreated to her place beside the king, withholding a sigh of relief she watched as he cantered down the field to where Merlin was waiting with his lance.
Her eyes darted to the prize resting beside the king as the crowd waited for the first tilters to become ready. A freshly polished dagger with a hilt inlaid with jewels rested inside an equally ornate scabbard. Against the velvet cloth covering the short table it didn't seem to look as deadly as it was.
Uther raised his hand to signal the two jousters.
The crowd collectively held its breath as the two men hurtled down the lists toward each other.
The jousts, though exciting, always caused Guinevere severe anxiety. She had seen Arthur take a few tumbles during his youth when he had first been learning the sport, and had witnessed quite a few men come within inches of being killed. And of course, there was an annual number of those, who were actually killed. Yet stubbornly knights continued to pursue the sport despite the risks. The male ego was, she feared, something that she would never understand.
Her fingernails gouged into the armrests of her chair as the two collided. Arthur's well-aimed hit knocked the opposing knight off his horse, sending him flying several feet into the dirt below. A cheer rose up from the crowd as the prince raised his free arm in acknowledgment of the spectators. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, as she relaxed somewhat in her chair.
A giggle caught her attention, causing her to swivel her gaze to the women nearest her. One of the court ladies quickly averted her gaze, momentarily on Guinevere, to the two noblemen entering the lists. Gwen felt a blush paint her cheeks as she realized that her anxiety over the joust could be thought by some of worry for Arthur.
True she feared for him; he was a close friend after all.
But apparently her anxiety was being construed as a lover's worry.
She tried to keep herself guarded throughout the rest of the joust even as Arthur continued to advance. She watched the spectator's expressions as the prince won his way into the semi-finals. Pride was clear on many a noble and commoner's faces alike at the success of their future leader. Arthur wasn't just their prince, but a fresh start. Even Uther must notice that he had lost some popularity with the common people throughout the latter years, after his wife's death, particularly during the Great Purge. The prince would be turning the page of Camelot's history for them.
Yet something else lingered on some of the faces of the noblewomen. She could tell, even from her spot in the Royal Box, that there was a dreamy quality in the more than one pair of eyes sitting in the stands. For some reason Guinevere felt a bristling at the back of her neck. Annoyance? Surely not jealousy!
Yet, it was logical, wasn't it? To be upset with other women ogling your husband-to-be? Even if he wasn't exactly your choice...
The crowd collectively groaned as the next rider fell rather gracelessly to the dirt below. It took nearly three minutes to reclaim his horse as the poor thing cantered around the arena in fright. Turning her attention from the harried looking squires to the two men- the finalists- mounted right before the entrance to the ring.
Arthur's opponent, Sir Kay, chatted amiably with the servant standing at his stirrup. Arthur, however, looked out to the tilt yard as a general observing his battlefield. She had never seen her betrothed during battle and, because of her gender, she never would. But one did not lead the army if they were not competent, even if that person was the prince. She had faith in him to lead Camelot into glory. She knew he would; it wasn't a matter of if, rather a matter of when.
The gatekeeper called to the two finalists once the runaway horse had been caught, prompting the crowd to quiet down. Hundreds of pairs of eyes fastened on the two men as they separated, each going to a different end of the arena. Once more the young woman found her heart beating nearly in her throat as her golden haired knight was handed his lance. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her guardian raise his hand to signal the two men who nearly a moment later started off at each other.
The sound of hooves clattering against the by now packed-down dirt reverberated in her ears as she watched the two men collide. Kay delivered a blow to the prince's right shoulder, nearly knocking him from his saddle. But Arthur, having gotten the better opening, had prodded Kay just in the right spot to send the knight flying over his saddle.
A cry of joy rose up from the crowd as the people rejoiced for their new champion. Gwen too stood amongst them, clapping her palms from a mixture of excitement and relief.
There was something exhilarating knowing that the champion was her friend.
Her betrothed.
Arthur removed his helmet, dropping the lance to the dusty ground as he cantered a victory lap once around the ring. He paused to hand off the helmet to a groom before trotting over to the Royal Box once more. Uther, smiling brightly, stood to award his son with the winner's prize.
Yet the scabbard clad dagger was barely in the prince's hand for a moment when he held out the prize to Guinevere.
She remained in her seat, dumbfounded for a moment until she saw the happiness shining in his eyes from his victory. Yet there was something else resting in this sapphire eyes...
She had seen it enough during their childhood. Whenever Uther had been present at any of Arthur's triumphs on the training grounds he tried to draw his father into the goings on. He wished for someone of importance to him, whether the king or the then living queen, to bask in his accomplishment with him.
And today it seemed to be Gwen.
She stood up, feeling the eyes of the court on her once more as she halted at the edge of the box.
“For you,” was all he said, his gloved hand still extended toward her.
Carefully she took the jeweled piece into her hand, admiring the gleam of the inlaid emeralds against the May sunlight.
What to do?
Had she been alone with him she might have embraced him, as any other childhood friend would do.
But here, in public, with everyone knowing that they were engaged...
She leaned forward, chastely kissing his damp cheek before withdrawing. A smattering of applause rose up from the gathered crowd; she had made the right move.
Gwen avoided Arthur's gaze as she returned to her seat, yet she couldn't help but smile as he rode around the ring once more to address the spectators.
0o0o0
“I believe it was very successful,” Uther commented, idly toying with the napkin placed across his lap. “Both Lady Guinevere and Sir Kay have an eye for detail.”
Arthur nodded, withholding a grimace as he shifted in his chair. Where Kay's lance had connected with his shoulder, even beneath the layers of armor and chain mail, still smarted. .
“Both are very dedicated to you, father.”
Uther nodded silently as he watched the servants enter with that evening's meal.
“And choosing the town blacksmith instead of using one of the royal blacksmith's apprentices was the better choice; those lads cannot tell an anvil from a hammer.”
Arthur smiled a bit wistfully.
“Thank you. Although...”
He hesitated, yet his father's expectant expression caused him to continue.
“I think that perhaps we should import more than we already do from the lower town. We already saw the excellent craftsmanship that the town blacksmith had done. What of the town seamstress? Or the any of the other businesses there? I fear that our people do not know us father. Why, the blacksmith wasn't able to even take his eyes from the floor when I stepped into his shop. I understand our subjects must humble themselves before us, but they treat us as if we are almost fabled creatures. When else do the common people see us if not during tournament days?”
He didn't wait for his father's answer and instead plowed forward.
“All I think is that perhaps we should … show ourselves more to our people. They need to see who exactly is taking care of them. Why, Guinevere had had no trouble with them yesterday. They took to her right away-”
Arthur watched as Merlin nearly spilled wine from his ewer, having moved to fill the empty glasses, at the prince's error.
“What?”
He schooled his features for a moment before glancing over at his father.
“What did Guinevere do?”
The prince resisted squirming in his chair as he often did when being chastised as a child.
“She,” he cleared his throat, “she joined in the May Day festivities with those of the lower town yesterday morning.”
Uther took a sip of his wine leaving his son in suspense.
“It was an utterly foolish action on her part,” he commented, flicking his hand to the gathered servants as they finished serving the meal. The three filed out of the room, fighting to hide looks of concern. Rarely ever did the king dismiss all of his servants during a mealtime, even during his family suppers.
Gwen entered a moment later, a slight flush in her cheeks as she curtsied at the head of the room.
“Please forgive my tardiness, my lord,” she apologized, taking up her chair to Uther's right.
She placed her linen napkin in her lap yet her eyes were not trained on the cloth; they were taking in the lack of servants in the room.
“I was thinking perhaps, my dear, that we needed to speak privately,” the king began, picking up his knife to cut away a slice of venison on his plate.
She hid her anxiety as best as she could as she kept her eyes trained on her plate.
“My lord?”
“I thought that this might be the perfect time to remind you of what duties will be allotted to you as Arthur's wife, and the future queen.” The man took a bite of the meat he had just cut, not seeing the vaguely uncomfortable feeling on his ward's face.
“You already have experience organizing court events; the May Day celebrations went over quite well, my dear.”
He set down his knife before sparing her a glance.
“But taking part in the festivities of the lower town is not required of someone of your standing.”
Gwen felt the blood rush from her face as she averted her eyes to her hand which froze on its journey to her goblet stem.. She felt herself almost bracing for the chastising she knew was coming. She hadn't felt like this before the king since she had been a little girl.
“I know that you refrain from seeing the worst in others; your innocence is charming,” the king continued, patting the hand that rested on her goblet with one of his gloved own. “But you must think of the consequences of such actions. What if a ruffian had attacked you? Or someone wished to kidnap you because of your position?” He tutted, shaking his head.
“It was a good thing that Arthur alerted me about this, I should hate to think of what could have happened.”
Gwen's head shot up, staring down the prince across from her. The wall above her head seemed to have gained great interest from him as he avoided her gaze.
“But as queen you will have more responsibilities than simply greeting and keeping the court entertained. Why, you will have to become familiar with some aspects of running the kingdom for whenever Arthur is at battle. You shan't be doing it alone; there shall be advisers. But, you do have to learn somewhat what is to be done.”
A small sparkle entered his eye at his next instruction.
“And of course providing the kingdom with heirs will be one of your most crucial duties. Why, I should like to see a few babes running about the corridors once more.”
Gwen's pallor of moments before shifted as redness flooded her cheeks in embarrassment. She could hardly talk to Batilda on the subject; having Arthur and Uther in the room was pure horror itself making presence.
As the king babbled on she kept her eyes trained to the table and the setting beyond her plate. Her food remained untouched in her mortification.
Arthur had nearly choked on his sip of wine at his father's talk of heirs, having not expected the older man to bring it up. But truly, it was a matter that concerned the present king as much as it did his successors. An heir was utterly a matter of State.
The far off look in his father's eye as he reminisced of the earlier years of his marriage gave Arthur a chance to see how his betrothed was faring without drawing attention to his lack of interest in his father's words.
She seemed to be mentally not at the same table as them. He could understand why yet he was not sure why she did not simply ask his father to stop speaking of the matter.
One look at Uther's shining eyes and he knew: she didn't want to ruin his father’s happiness in speaking of his deceased wife and their life together.
It was just so ... Gwen of her to not stop him.
So he had to.
“Father, perhaps we should discuss how we should handle the spring planting. Surely that is something that Guinevere might benefit from knowing?”
His father's speech halted before assessing his son's words with a sigh.
“Perhaps you are right.”
The King sipped from his goblet, not seeing his ward's refusal to look at her savior.
0o0o0
At the end of the meal Arthur excused himself shortly after his intended, planning on catching up to her before she reached her chambers. She was barely halfway up the staircase when he caught up to her.
“Guinevere!”
She turned sharply, her expression blank. Yet upon a better look he could see the underlying annoyance in her features.
“Arthur?”
He paused a few steps below her, shifting anxiously.
“I am sorry; I had not meant to tell my father where you were.”
She took a deep breath and stepped closer to him as a frown played across her lips.
“I do not know how you saw me there but I have one request of you: please refrain from using your husbandly influence over me until we are married. I am not under your jurisdiction yet!” Not bothering to give him a 'good night', she stalked up the stairs.
The prince refrained from reaching up to grab her, knowing that if he did he might just complicate the situation further. In the end the stubborn couple left in frustration, in separate directions, heads spinning from what had transpired.