My Christmas gift to you all! Hope you like it! I just want to thank all of you so much for all your kind words and encouragement about my writing. I honestly never had done any writing since school (150 years ago), and that certainly was not writing of this sort. You have all been so wonderful to me, and your praise only encourages me! Kisses and hugs to everyone, and have a fantastic holiday season, however you celebrate.


    It is the winter solstice in Camelot, a time for feasting and gift-giving. Holly branches and mistletoe are everywhere, and the chill in the air makes everyone bustle about quickly, if for no other reason than to stay warm.
    The king and queen are presiding over the solstice feast, enjoying the food and the merriment. Arthur steals glances at his beautiful queen whenever he can, her dusky skin glinting gold in the firelight. She smiles often, making his heart leap each time he sees it.
    When is this feast going to be over? he thinks, despite the fact that he is laughing. Gwaine is stealing a kiss from one of the cooks that has passed beside him. He has parked himself beneath a mistletoe branch, and no one is safe. He even kissed Percival – on the cheek – when he carelessly wandered past.
    Guinevere is also growing weary of the celebrations. She is tired, and wants nothing more than to go back with Arthur to their private chambers, where they can be alone. She is itching to give him his gift. Gifts. She looks down at her goblet of wine, untouched, and reaches past it to another goblet, this one containing water. She drinks from it, sighing as she sets it on the table. She looks at Arthur. He seems to really be enjoying himself. I shouldn’t be selfish. If he’s having fun, we’ll stay as long as he wishes.
    He catches her watching him, and reaches for her hand. He lifts it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Suddenly he leans over and whispers in her ear, “When is this going to end?” His warm breath caresses her neck and his lips graze her ear, sending a thrill down to her toes. She looks at him, surprised. I thought he was having fun, she thinks.
    “Are you not enjoying yourself?” she asks.
    “Not as much as I could be,” he gives her a smile that makes him look like the devil himself. Gwen blushes, hoping that no one notices his lustful expression.
    Merlin has. He knows that the king is anxious to give his gift to his wife, and he picks his way through the crowd towards them.
    “Why don’t you just retire?” he leans over, between them, speaking so they both can hear.
    “We couldn’t,” Gwen protests.
    “Do you think anyone would care?” Arthur asks, looking around the room. No one is paying them any notice. People are even leaving, often in groups of two.
    “Go. If anyone asks, I’ll come up with something,” Merlin tells them.
    “Just tell them that I was sleepy and wished to retire,” Gwen suggests. It is not far from the truth anyway.
    “Sounds good,” Merlin says, standing up and stepping to the side so that the king and queen can exit.
    Arthur and Gwen nod to the few courtiers that notice their exit, and make their way out of the hall. Merlin looks at the table and notices Gwen’s full wine goblet. That’s odd, he thinks.

    Alone at last, Arthur is sitting in front of the fire, waiting for Gwen. She is changing, having expressed a wish to put her nightdress on “just to be comfortable.” He knows she wears the finery she has when she has to, but at heart she is still just a simple blacksmith’s daughter, and he loves her for that.
    Gwen approaches quietly and sets Arthur’s gifts down on a nearby table. She makes her way to his side in front of the warm fire, where he is sitting on a pelt spread on the floor, boots and mail off. She snuggles in close beside him, tucking her cold feet under a blanket he has on his lap. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer so that he can kiss her. They kiss languidly for a few minutes, enjoying each other, tongues stroking slowly, his hand on the side of her neck.
    He pulls away reluctantly and tells her, “I want to give you your gift.” His voice is quiet and hoarse. He reaches behind him and presents her with a small box.
    Gwen takes the box. There is a red silk ribbon around it, which she removes, and opens it. Inside is a beautiful necklace, a large emerald pendant set in gold filigree on a gold chain.
    “It’s beautiful, Arthur,” she says, lifting the pendant into her hand.
    “It was my mother’s,” he tells her. “I found it in my father’s room, when they were… cleaning it.”
    She looks up at him and recognizes the tight expression on his face. He is still grieving, she thinks, I wish he would remember that he doesn’t have to put on that brave face for me. She reaches up and cups his cheek in her hand. “Thank you, Arthur, I love it. I love you.”
    She kisses him softly, closing her eyes as she leans her forehead against his for a moment. “Your turn,” she whispers, and crawls over a bit and grabs her gifts.
    She hands him the first, a rectangular wooden box with a carved lid. He opens it and inside is a beautifully wrought dagger, the handle smooth and perfect, the blade shiny and – he tests it – sharp. The Pendragon crest is nestled in the butt of the handle. He lifts it, and finds the balance and weight pleasing, and the size well suited to his hand, as if it was created for him.
    “Very nice, Guinevere. Very nice, indeed,” he compliments, still admiring it.
    “Thank you. I made it,” she shyly states.
    “You what?” He is flabbergasted.
    “I made it. Elyan helped, just a little, but most of the work is mine.”
    He stares. He is shocked. Moved beyond words. He opens his mouth, but finds that there aren’t any words in his brain.
    Gwen smiles, pleased and amused at his reaction. Wait till he sees the next gift, she thinks ruefully.
    Arthur leans forward, carefully placing the dagger in the box, and reaches for her, kissing her thoroughly before he is able to speak again. “Thank you. It’s wonderful.” He reaches for her again, but she stops him.
    “I have one more for you,” she tells him, gently pushing his chest.
    “More? Guinevere, I thought we agreed…” he begins protesting, irritated at her blatant disregard for their agreement: One gift only.
    “Just wait and see,” she says, and hands him another box.
    He opens it, and pulls out a small, soft piece of material. It’s a blanket. This is much to small for an adult… he thinks, as the pieces slide into place. Gwen can almost hear the click as the puzzle is completed.
    “Guinevere? Truly? You’re…?”
    “Yes, Arthur, you’re going to be a father.” She smiles at him. He looks like he is about to jump out of his skin.
    He grabs her and pulls her to him, squeezing tightly, then he eases back suddenly, flustered, fussing, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t squeeze so tight, should I? Are you okay?”
    Gwen laughs at him. “Arthur, I’m fine,” she reassures him. He is looking at the blanket again, fingers toying with the edges, fidgeting.
    “When?” he finally asks, his voice catching. He sets the blanket aside to take her hands.
    “Next summer, almost autumn,” she tells him, leaning forward to kiss him.
    “And… everything is good? You’ve seen Gaius?”
    “Yes, Arthur, everything is fine. Gaius is the only one that knows. Merlin doesn’t even know yet,” she smiles again, eyes twinkling.
    “Good,” he declares. I deserve to know before anyone else, he smugly thinks. Gwen laughs at him again, understanding his thoughts, gently mocking his pride.
    He stands, pulling her with him. He sweeps her up into his arms and strides across the room to the bed, where he gently lays her down.
    He sheds his shirt and trousers and climbs in beside her, reaching for her. Then he stops. “We can still…”
    “Yes, Arthur, it’s perfectly safe,” she tells him, pulling him to her.
    “Good.”