Part 19: link
Emrys. The voice sounds in Merlin’s head and he looks about, searching with his eyes and his gift. He recognizes the voice, and it sends the slightest chill through him.
Mordred? he calls back.
Yes, Emrys. I understand you wish to speak with me.
“Arthur,” Merlin calls, catching up to Arthur. “I… I need to go on an errand.”
“An errand, Merlin? We’re nearly home!”
“Just came up.”
“How could it ‘just come up?’ We’ve been riding all morning.”
“Arthur, is something wrong?” Gwen asks. She’d actually been dozing in her wagon, not having slept well the night before thanks to an active babe and an amorous husband.
“Nothing, Love, Merlin just needs to dash off on an ‘errand’ suddenly.”
“Very good, carry on, then,” she answers sleepily, laying her head back down against Smith’s warm body.
“Just trust me, Arthur, I’ll be fine. Um, wizard thing, you know.”
“You’re not going to see the dragon, are you?”
“No. Someone else.”
“And you’re not going to tell me who,” Arthur says, not asking.
“No. Not right now.”
“Fine, go,” Arthur waves, but Merlin is already turning his horse.
“I wasn’t asking permission,” he shoots back over his shoulder.
In the thick of the wood, Merlin finds Mordred in a small clearing in the middle of a circle of tall pines. He is older, a boy on the cusp of manhood, his bearing as eerily still as ever, his bright blue eyes still large and piercing.
“Emrys,” the boy speaks aloud.
“I think that is the first time I’ve heard you speak, Mordred,” Merlin says, climbing down from his horse. “Are you alone here?”
“No,” Mordred turns his eyes to the edge of a clearing, where Merlin can make out the shape of a woman in the shadows. He cannot see her, but she appears older, motherly, yet stern.
“Mordred, I…”
“I know why you have sought me out, Emrys.”
“I would like to say it all the same,” Merlin says. “Please allow me to do you the courtesy.”
Mordred nods, the slightest gesture.
“I am sorry, Mordred, for the things I have done that have hurt you, be they unintentional or purposeful. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it all the same,” Merlin says, looking down at the boy.
“Thank you, Emrys, your words are true. You turned your back on my once, but you also helped to save my life,” he says, holding out his hand. “It is for that reason I forgive you, but also another.”
Merlin takes it and grasps it warmly between both of his. “Arthur has restored magic to Camelot,” he says, figuring that to be the other reason.
“No, Emrys, you have restored magic to Camelot,” Mordred says. “And have gained a great responsibility as well.”
Merlin nods. He regards the boy a moment. “Will you come to Camelot, Mordred? I should like your help. And companionship. I think we could learn a great deal from one another.”
“Indeed we could, Emrys. But now is not the time. When I am older, a man, I will come to Camelot.”
“I will wait for your arrival,” Merlin says, smiling.
Mordred smiles a very small, very enigmatic smile. “Your deeds have altered my destiny, Emrys. Do you know this?”
“No,” Merlin says, intrigued. “How did I do this?”
“It was foretold that King Arthur was to die at my hand. This future no longer exists.”
Merlin gasps. “Kilgarrah did once say that you were destined for darker things…”
“The Dragon was correct, at that time. But the destruction of the witches combined with magic being restored to Camelot and your simple apology just now have altered the course of my destiny, and for that, I thank you.”
“You’re welcome…” Merlin answers, still a bit puzzled.
“I have no desire to take another’s life, Emrys. That is the other reason why I have granted my forgiveness.”
“Thank you,” Merlin replies. “I would not have liked for your path to have led there.”
“I will come to Camelot,” he repeats. “Later.”
Merlin nods. “It was… nice to see you, Mordred. Thank you for allowing it.”
“Odras is friend to both of us. Thank you for seeking me out. You will not see me again until I come to Camelot.”
“I understand,” Merlin says.
“Farewell, Emrys,” Mordred says.
“Farewell,” Merlin answers, guiding his horse from the clearing. He looks over his shoulder and the clearing is gone; there are only trees.
xXx
Gwen sits quietly by the window, sewing a small set of clothes for the baby. Arthur had frowned over this at first, but Gwen held firm.
“Needlework is a perfectly acceptable activity for a Queen, Arthur,” she had said. “Besides, I’m bored. My hands are not used to being idle.”
Arthur sighed and smiled down at her, stroking her pouting lower lip with his thumb. “Very well,” he said. “I am unable to deny you anything, anyway,” he added. “I’m sure I can find a use for those idle hands,” he muttered under his breath, but Gwen still heard him and rewarded him by throwing a cushion at his head.
In the days they’d been home, Merlin and Gwen had been quietly urging Arthur to go and talk to Gaius. Arthur had always found an excuse to push it off: I need to train my men, Gaius is too busy, I have a hole in my sock. The list was seemingly endless and growing ridiculous.
Guinevere’s head jolts up in surprise when the door to their chambers bursts open suddenly and Arthur comes crashing through, looking like he’s seen a ghost.
“Arthur?” Gwen sets her sewing down and rushes to him, taking his hands in hers. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”
Arthur sits heavily in a chair beside the table. “I just talked to Gaius,” he says, very quietly.
“You did?” Gwen asks, pulling out another chair and sitting opposite him, catching his hands in hers once again. “Can you tell me?”
His blue eyes meet hers, and he looks like a lost little boy. “Morgause was telling the truth, Guinevere. When she brought my mother over from the spirit world. It wasn’t some conjurer’s trick. That was my mother, and I was born of magic.” His voice is low, measured.
He’s in shock, Gwen realizes, having dealt with enough battle injuries to know the signs.
“So Uther knew? He knew your mother would die?”
“No,” Arthur sighs, blinking finally. “That was one piece that Morgause did twist to suit her, um, agenda. The witch Nimueh warned my father that a life would be taken in turn. Just a life, not specifically my mother’s. But she did warn him.”
“Gaius told you this?”
He nods. “Gaius was there when I was born, obviously. My father was inconsolable, and his grief turned quickly to anger, anger first at Nimueh. Then, when she tried to explain that she did warn him, the anger turned against magic and anyone who practiced it.”
“So, anyone’s life could have been taken…” Gwen wonders.
“Gaius said that he tried to bargain with the gods, tried to beg them to take his life instead of my mother’s,” Arthur says, tears forming in his eyes now. “But it was too late.”
Gwen kneels in front of Arthur now, pulling his head to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“Me, too. To think that my father was so… stupidly arrogant.”
“He was afraid,” Gwen says, stroking his hair.
“He couldn’t face his guilt. No. Wouldn’t,” he says, remembering Gwen’s words once. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? There is a big difference.”
He allows her to hold him, and he buries his face in her neck, inhaling the soothing lavender scent of her.
“What struck me the most is that Gaius was willing to give his life so that I could grow up with a mother,” he says after several long moments.
“That does not surprise me,” Gwen whispers. “He loves you. I’m sure he was thinking that a physician could be found anywhere. You only get one mother.”
Arthur pulls back and blinks at her. “That’s exactly what Gaius said.”
Gwen smiles. “Come, let me show you what I’m making.” She struggles to her feet, and Arthur quickly helps her.
“You shouldn’t have been kneeling there, Guinevere,” he scolds mildly, and she dismisses him with a wave.
“I’m not an invalid, Arthur,” she says, sighing, but she knows he means well.
xXx
The knock comes just as they are finishing their dinner, talking quietly, enjoying the warm spring night.
“What on earth?” Arthur wonders, hearing an unusual amount of scuffling outside the door. “Caldwell isn’t this noisy,” he mutters, opening the door.
“Sire, we have come to take you to the tavern,” Merlin announces, after Gwaine nudges his shoulder.
“Is that so?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at the group filling the corridor. Merlin, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and even Lancelot are all standing there, eyeing their king expectantly but warily.
Gwen appears at Arthur’s shoulder. “Go on,” she says, poking him.
“You knew they were coming?” Arthur asks, looking down at her.
“No. But you should go. Spend some time with the lads.”
“I can’t leave you here alone and… unguarded,” Arthur says, indicating the men.
“I will stay behind,” Lancelot offers quietly.
“That is not necessary, but thank you, Lancelot. I daresay that a night of revelry with the lads would do you some good,” Gwen says.
“See? Even the queen thinks you need to loosen up!” Gwaine says, shoving Lancelot lightly on the shoulder.
“There are guards at either end of the corridor, and Bedivere and Kay are on patrol tonight. I am perfectly safe,” Gwen says.
“But…”
“Arthur, go have fun. Just don’t indulge too much,” she says, a promise that only Arthur sees sparkling in her eyes.
“When have I ever indulged too much?” Arthur asks, leaning down to kiss her goodbye.
“Well, there was your eighteenth birthday,” Leon says, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
Arthur sighs and looks at the ceiling.
“And that one time in Mercia…”
“Leon…” Arthur warns, walking out the door.
“Oh, and that other time—”
“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur snaps, and Gwen closes the door, chuckling to herself.
I think I’d like a bath, she thinks, hoping Lark will appear soon.
xXx
Guinevere burrows deeper into the blankets, a sound having disturbed her sleep. She listens a moment, hears nothing, and relaxes back down.
“Ouch!”
“Shh!”
“Oof!”
The king’s triumphant return, she thinks ruefully, turning over, facing away from the door, grateful for the drapes separating the sleeping quarters from the other half of the room.
A loud clang as someone bumps a table and an empty pitcher topples.
“Merlin!” Arthur’s harsh whisper, followed by a very curious sound. Laughter. Silly, infantile laughter. Almost a giggle, if men could indeed giggle.
“Shh!” Merlin shoots back. “Sit down.”
The chair skids on the floor, squealing as Arthur flops down.
“Shh!” Arthur scolds the chair. “Guinevere’ssssssleeping.”
“Um, don’t think so,” Merlin says, looking up to see Gwen standing there near the curtains, her hands on her hips.
“My love!” Arthur declares, holding his arms out, grinning stupidly.
“Merlin, what did you let Gwaine and my brother do to him?”
“Me? Why am I at fault here?”
She walks over. “Because you are the only one he listens to apart from myself, that’s why.”
“Gwen…” Arthur beckons, attempting to stand.
“Stay put,” both Gwen and Merlin say.
“’Kay,” Arthur says, slumping back again.
“Drinking game,” Merlin mutters, pulling Arthur’s boots off.
“What was that?” Gwen asks.
“It was a drinking game,” Merlin says. “Arthur was terrible at it.”
“They… cheeeeeeated,” Arthur protests. “You,” he pokes Merlin in the chest, “helped ’em… with your mmmmagic.” He waggles his fingers in the air to indicate magic.
“I never did,” Merlin protests to Arthur. Then, to Gwen, “Honest, I didn’t help them! Do you think I wanted to be the one to have to drag his drunken backside back and face you?”
“I believe you, Merlin,” she says, contemplating going over to help him with Arthur. No, he’d be all hands right now.
“C’mere, Wife,” Arthur says, waving her over with one hand.
“No,” Gwen says, watching as Merlin pulls Arthur’s shirt over his head. “Merlin, surely there is something you can do to sort him out?”
“Well, of course there is, but I was rather enjoying the thought of his suffering tomorrow,” he grins.
“Ssss’not nice, Mmmerlin,” Arthur slurs.
“Merlin, when Arthur is suffering, who else ends up suffering?” Gwen asks, crossing her arms in front of her.
Merlin stops. “Oh.”
“That’s right: oh. You may not be his manservant anymore, but you know him. He’ll take it out on you.”
“She’s right, you know…” Arthur mumbles.
“Fine,” Merlin huffs, stomping over to Arthur and putting his hand none to gently on the king’s forehead.
“Hey,” Arthur protests.
Merlin’s eyes flash and Arthur’s eyes close for a moment. When they open, they’re clear and focused and he straightens up in his chair.
“I’m leaving now,” Merlin says, and heads straight for the door before Arthur can say a word.
“Arthur?” Gwen asks quietly.
“Sorry,” he mutters, standing.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“I’m sorry, Guinevere,” he repeats, clearly this time. “But you know how competitive I am…”
“Yes, Love, I know. But I also know that you are the king, not just a knight, not even the prince anymore,” Gwen says.
“I know,” he answers quietly.
“And I also know that it is important for you to have a good relationship with your men,” she says, allowing him to pull her into the circle of his arms. “You smell like the tavern.”
“How do you know what the tavern smells like?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“All right, you smell like what I would imagine a tavern smells like,” she rolls her eyes at him.
“You smell fantastic,” he says, sticking his nose into her hair. “You’ve had a bath.”
“Yes,” she says, pulling gently out of his embrace to take his hand and lead him back to the bed. “It was lovely. And quiet.”
“I really was trying not to wake you,” he says, catching the implication in her voice.
“I know,” she says, removing her dressing gown and climbing into bed. Arthur follows quickly, shedding his trousers, not bothering to put his sleeping trousers on. He spoons up behind her, naked, and wraps his arm around her, resting it between her breasts and the swell of her stomach.
“Presumptive, aren’t you?” she asks, reaching down, her hand making contact with the bare skin on his hip.
“Hopeful?”
“Hmm,” she says noncommittally, deciding that she’s not going to let him have his way that easily. She settles into the bed, intentionally wriggling her bottom against him so that the silk of her nightdress rubs against his groin.
Arthur’s thumb strays upward, stroking the underside of her breast. His lips find her neck easily, her hair out of the way in its customary braid. He trails soft kisses there on her warm, sweet-smelling skin.
She closes her eyes and sighs softly. Arthur’s tongue snakes out and skims lightly along her flesh, up to her earlobe, where he begins nibbling.
Gwen’s fingers caress his skin where her hand rests on his hip, the muscles pliant and relaxed, his skin warm.
“Guinevere,” he mutters her name in her ear, and it reverberates down to her core. She moans softly and his hand closes over her breast, thumb grazing her nipple through the silk.
His hand leaves her breast, dropping lower, pulling at her nightdress, gathering the material up in his hands as he inches it upward, higher and higher until it is over her head and fluttering to the floor.
Gwen attempts to turn in his arms, but he holds her in place, her back to him.
“I want to try something,” he whispers, his hand ghosting across her belly for a moment before dropping lower, down between her thighs. He shifts slightly, raising the arm beneath him, moving it up until it is beneath Gwen’s neck, cradling her head, his fingers touching her neck softly.
His hand drags lazily up and down her inner thigh, teasing, coaxing her open. She turns her head towards him, her lips seeking his, connecting with him hungrily. She can feel his hardness behind her, prodding her backside gently, and she slips her hand down between them to grasp him.
“Oh,” he grunts softly, slipping his own fingers into the apex of her thighs, circling slowly, tormenting her with his languor.
“Arthur,” she moans, squeezing him tighter. He responds by sliding his finger inside her, moving it in and out, still at a leisurely pace.
Gwen squirms, whimpering, and Arthur withdraws his finger and slides his hand along her thigh, lifting it over his own thigh.
“Oh,” Gwen says, understanding his intent. She releases his manhood and moves her hand, reaching between her legs now to find him that way.
“Mmm,” Arthur groans, smiling against her neck when she takes him in her hand again and helps guide him into her. “Yes,” he sighs.
His hand moves to toy briefly with her breast, rolling her nipple lightly between his fingers, his palm rubbing it lightly as he rocks in and out of her.
Gwen places her hand over his and moves it down, placing it back between her legs.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he whispers hoarsely, rubbing softly with just two fingers, adding to her pleasure.
She turns her head and captures the index finger of his other hand lightly between her teeth, moaning, distracted by her own pleasure. She sucks his finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, nibbling lightly.
“Wow,” Arthur breathes, surprised both at her actions and how good it feels. He moves faster and feels her leg grasp him tighter, hanging on, encouraging him.
“Oh…” she releases his finger to cry out, approaching the brink, quivering around him for a few more endless seconds till she finally climaxes, shouting his name and grabbing his hand again, this time to stop him before she loses her mind.
“God, Guinevere,” he groans, driving deep and hard three more times before stilling, buried deep within her warmth, releasing with another groan. His arm tightens around her and he presses his lips to her neck and exhales slowly against her now-damp skin.
Arthur pulls gently out and finally allows her to turn and face him. He kisses her softly, tasting her sweet lips. “I love you, Guinevere,” he whispers.
“I love you, Arthur, always,” she whispers back, slowly opening her eyes to gaze up at him.
“Always,” he answers.
Part 21: link
Emrys. The voice sounds in Merlin’s head and he looks about, searching with his eyes and his gift. He recognizes the voice, and it sends the slightest chill through him.
Mordred? he calls back.
Yes, Emrys. I understand you wish to speak with me.
“Arthur,” Merlin calls, catching up to Arthur. “I… I need to go on an errand.”
“An errand, Merlin? We’re nearly home!”
“Just came up.”
“How could it ‘just come up?’ We’ve been riding all morning.”
“Arthur, is something wrong?” Gwen asks. She’d actually been dozing in her wagon, not having slept well the night before thanks to an active babe and an amorous husband.
“Nothing, Love, Merlin just needs to dash off on an ‘errand’ suddenly.”
“Very good, carry on, then,” she answers sleepily, laying her head back down against Smith’s warm body.
“Just trust me, Arthur, I’ll be fine. Um, wizard thing, you know.”
“You’re not going to see the dragon, are you?”
“No. Someone else.”
“And you’re not going to tell me who,” Arthur says, not asking.
“No. Not right now.”
“Fine, go,” Arthur waves, but Merlin is already turning his horse.
“I wasn’t asking permission,” he shoots back over his shoulder.
In the thick of the wood, Merlin finds Mordred in a small clearing in the middle of a circle of tall pines. He is older, a boy on the cusp of manhood, his bearing as eerily still as ever, his bright blue eyes still large and piercing.
“Emrys,” the boy speaks aloud.
“I think that is the first time I’ve heard you speak, Mordred,” Merlin says, climbing down from his horse. “Are you alone here?”
“No,” Mordred turns his eyes to the edge of a clearing, where Merlin can make out the shape of a woman in the shadows. He cannot see her, but she appears older, motherly, yet stern.
“Mordred, I…”
“I know why you have sought me out, Emrys.”
“I would like to say it all the same,” Merlin says. “Please allow me to do you the courtesy.”
Mordred nods, the slightest gesture.
“I am sorry, Mordred, for the things I have done that have hurt you, be they unintentional or purposeful. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it all the same,” Merlin says, looking down at the boy.
“Thank you, Emrys, your words are true. You turned your back on my once, but you also helped to save my life,” he says, holding out his hand. “It is for that reason I forgive you, but also another.”
Merlin takes it and grasps it warmly between both of his. “Arthur has restored magic to Camelot,” he says, figuring that to be the other reason.
“No, Emrys, you have restored magic to Camelot,” Mordred says. “And have gained a great responsibility as well.”
Merlin nods. He regards the boy a moment. “Will you come to Camelot, Mordred? I should like your help. And companionship. I think we could learn a great deal from one another.”
“Indeed we could, Emrys. But now is not the time. When I am older, a man, I will come to Camelot.”
“I will wait for your arrival,” Merlin says, smiling.
Mordred smiles a very small, very enigmatic smile. “Your deeds have altered my destiny, Emrys. Do you know this?”
“No,” Merlin says, intrigued. “How did I do this?”
“It was foretold that King Arthur was to die at my hand. This future no longer exists.”
Merlin gasps. “Kilgarrah did once say that you were destined for darker things…”
“The Dragon was correct, at that time. But the destruction of the witches combined with magic being restored to Camelot and your simple apology just now have altered the course of my destiny, and for that, I thank you.”
“You’re welcome…” Merlin answers, still a bit puzzled.
“I have no desire to take another’s life, Emrys. That is the other reason why I have granted my forgiveness.”
“Thank you,” Merlin replies. “I would not have liked for your path to have led there.”
“I will come to Camelot,” he repeats. “Later.”
Merlin nods. “It was… nice to see you, Mordred. Thank you for allowing it.”
“Odras is friend to both of us. Thank you for seeking me out. You will not see me again until I come to Camelot.”
“I understand,” Merlin says.
“Farewell, Emrys,” Mordred says.
“Farewell,” Merlin answers, guiding his horse from the clearing. He looks over his shoulder and the clearing is gone; there are only trees.
xXx
Gwen sits quietly by the window, sewing a small set of clothes for the baby. Arthur had frowned over this at first, but Gwen held firm.
“Needlework is a perfectly acceptable activity for a Queen, Arthur,” she had said. “Besides, I’m bored. My hands are not used to being idle.”
Arthur sighed and smiled down at her, stroking her pouting lower lip with his thumb. “Very well,” he said. “I am unable to deny you anything, anyway,” he added. “I’m sure I can find a use for those idle hands,” he muttered under his breath, but Gwen still heard him and rewarded him by throwing a cushion at his head.
In the days they’d been home, Merlin and Gwen had been quietly urging Arthur to go and talk to Gaius. Arthur had always found an excuse to push it off: I need to train my men, Gaius is too busy, I have a hole in my sock. The list was seemingly endless and growing ridiculous.
Guinevere’s head jolts up in surprise when the door to their chambers bursts open suddenly and Arthur comes crashing through, looking like he’s seen a ghost.
“Arthur?” Gwen sets her sewing down and rushes to him, taking his hands in hers. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”
Arthur sits heavily in a chair beside the table. “I just talked to Gaius,” he says, very quietly.
“You did?” Gwen asks, pulling out another chair and sitting opposite him, catching his hands in hers once again. “Can you tell me?”
His blue eyes meet hers, and he looks like a lost little boy. “Morgause was telling the truth, Guinevere. When she brought my mother over from the spirit world. It wasn’t some conjurer’s trick. That was my mother, and I was born of magic.” His voice is low, measured.
He’s in shock, Gwen realizes, having dealt with enough battle injuries to know the signs.
“So Uther knew? He knew your mother would die?”
“No,” Arthur sighs, blinking finally. “That was one piece that Morgause did twist to suit her, um, agenda. The witch Nimueh warned my father that a life would be taken in turn. Just a life, not specifically my mother’s. But she did warn him.”
“Gaius told you this?”
He nods. “Gaius was there when I was born, obviously. My father was inconsolable, and his grief turned quickly to anger, anger first at Nimueh. Then, when she tried to explain that she did warn him, the anger turned against magic and anyone who practiced it.”
“So, anyone’s life could have been taken…” Gwen wonders.
“Gaius said that he tried to bargain with the gods, tried to beg them to take his life instead of my mother’s,” Arthur says, tears forming in his eyes now. “But it was too late.”
Gwen kneels in front of Arthur now, pulling his head to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“Me, too. To think that my father was so… stupidly arrogant.”
“He was afraid,” Gwen says, stroking his hair.
“He couldn’t face his guilt. No. Wouldn’t,” he says, remembering Gwen’s words once. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? There is a big difference.”
He allows her to hold him, and he buries his face in her neck, inhaling the soothing lavender scent of her.
“What struck me the most is that Gaius was willing to give his life so that I could grow up with a mother,” he says after several long moments.
“That does not surprise me,” Gwen whispers. “He loves you. I’m sure he was thinking that a physician could be found anywhere. You only get one mother.”
Arthur pulls back and blinks at her. “That’s exactly what Gaius said.”
Gwen smiles. “Come, let me show you what I’m making.” She struggles to her feet, and Arthur quickly helps her.
“You shouldn’t have been kneeling there, Guinevere,” he scolds mildly, and she dismisses him with a wave.
“I’m not an invalid, Arthur,” she says, sighing, but she knows he means well.
xXx
The knock comes just as they are finishing their dinner, talking quietly, enjoying the warm spring night.
“What on earth?” Arthur wonders, hearing an unusual amount of scuffling outside the door. “Caldwell isn’t this noisy,” he mutters, opening the door.
“Sire, we have come to take you to the tavern,” Merlin announces, after Gwaine nudges his shoulder.
“Is that so?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at the group filling the corridor. Merlin, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and even Lancelot are all standing there, eyeing their king expectantly but warily.
Gwen appears at Arthur’s shoulder. “Go on,” she says, poking him.
“You knew they were coming?” Arthur asks, looking down at her.
“No. But you should go. Spend some time with the lads.”
“I can’t leave you here alone and… unguarded,” Arthur says, indicating the men.
“I will stay behind,” Lancelot offers quietly.
“That is not necessary, but thank you, Lancelot. I daresay that a night of revelry with the lads would do you some good,” Gwen says.
“See? Even the queen thinks you need to loosen up!” Gwaine says, shoving Lancelot lightly on the shoulder.
“There are guards at either end of the corridor, and Bedivere and Kay are on patrol tonight. I am perfectly safe,” Gwen says.
“But…”
“Arthur, go have fun. Just don’t indulge too much,” she says, a promise that only Arthur sees sparkling in her eyes.
“When have I ever indulged too much?” Arthur asks, leaning down to kiss her goodbye.
“Well, there was your eighteenth birthday,” Leon says, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
Arthur sighs and looks at the ceiling.
“And that one time in Mercia…”
“Leon…” Arthur warns, walking out the door.
“Oh, and that other time—”
“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur snaps, and Gwen closes the door, chuckling to herself.
I think I’d like a bath, she thinks, hoping Lark will appear soon.
xXx
Guinevere burrows deeper into the blankets, a sound having disturbed her sleep. She listens a moment, hears nothing, and relaxes back down.
“Ouch!”
“Shh!”
“Oof!”
The king’s triumphant return, she thinks ruefully, turning over, facing away from the door, grateful for the drapes separating the sleeping quarters from the other half of the room.
A loud clang as someone bumps a table and an empty pitcher topples.
“Merlin!” Arthur’s harsh whisper, followed by a very curious sound. Laughter. Silly, infantile laughter. Almost a giggle, if men could indeed giggle.
“Shh!” Merlin shoots back. “Sit down.”
The chair skids on the floor, squealing as Arthur flops down.
“Shh!” Arthur scolds the chair. “Guinevere’ssssssleeping.”
“Um, don’t think so,” Merlin says, looking up to see Gwen standing there near the curtains, her hands on her hips.
“My love!” Arthur declares, holding his arms out, grinning stupidly.
“Merlin, what did you let Gwaine and my brother do to him?”
“Me? Why am I at fault here?”
She walks over. “Because you are the only one he listens to apart from myself, that’s why.”
“Gwen…” Arthur beckons, attempting to stand.
“Stay put,” both Gwen and Merlin say.
“’Kay,” Arthur says, slumping back again.
“Drinking game,” Merlin mutters, pulling Arthur’s boots off.
“What was that?” Gwen asks.
“It was a drinking game,” Merlin says. “Arthur was terrible at it.”
“They… cheeeeeeated,” Arthur protests. “You,” he pokes Merlin in the chest, “helped ’em… with your mmmmagic.” He waggles his fingers in the air to indicate magic.
“I never did,” Merlin protests to Arthur. Then, to Gwen, “Honest, I didn’t help them! Do you think I wanted to be the one to have to drag his drunken backside back and face you?”
“I believe you, Merlin,” she says, contemplating going over to help him with Arthur. No, he’d be all hands right now.
“C’mere, Wife,” Arthur says, waving her over with one hand.
“No,” Gwen says, watching as Merlin pulls Arthur’s shirt over his head. “Merlin, surely there is something you can do to sort him out?”
“Well, of course there is, but I was rather enjoying the thought of his suffering tomorrow,” he grins.
“Ssss’not nice, Mmmerlin,” Arthur slurs.
“Merlin, when Arthur is suffering, who else ends up suffering?” Gwen asks, crossing her arms in front of her.
Merlin stops. “Oh.”
“That’s right: oh. You may not be his manservant anymore, but you know him. He’ll take it out on you.”
“She’s right, you know…” Arthur mumbles.
“Fine,” Merlin huffs, stomping over to Arthur and putting his hand none to gently on the king’s forehead.
“Hey,” Arthur protests.
Merlin’s eyes flash and Arthur’s eyes close for a moment. When they open, they’re clear and focused and he straightens up in his chair.
“I’m leaving now,” Merlin says, and heads straight for the door before Arthur can say a word.
“Arthur?” Gwen asks quietly.
“Sorry,” he mutters, standing.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“I’m sorry, Guinevere,” he repeats, clearly this time. “But you know how competitive I am…”
“Yes, Love, I know. But I also know that you are the king, not just a knight, not even the prince anymore,” Gwen says.
“I know,” he answers quietly.
“And I also know that it is important for you to have a good relationship with your men,” she says, allowing him to pull her into the circle of his arms. “You smell like the tavern.”
“How do you know what the tavern smells like?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“All right, you smell like what I would imagine a tavern smells like,” she rolls her eyes at him.
“You smell fantastic,” he says, sticking his nose into her hair. “You’ve had a bath.”
“Yes,” she says, pulling gently out of his embrace to take his hand and lead him back to the bed. “It was lovely. And quiet.”
“I really was trying not to wake you,” he says, catching the implication in her voice.
“I know,” she says, removing her dressing gown and climbing into bed. Arthur follows quickly, shedding his trousers, not bothering to put his sleeping trousers on. He spoons up behind her, naked, and wraps his arm around her, resting it between her breasts and the swell of her stomach.
“Presumptive, aren’t you?” she asks, reaching down, her hand making contact with the bare skin on his hip.
“Hopeful?”
“Hmm,” she says noncommittally, deciding that she’s not going to let him have his way that easily. She settles into the bed, intentionally wriggling her bottom against him so that the silk of her nightdress rubs against his groin.
Arthur’s thumb strays upward, stroking the underside of her breast. His lips find her neck easily, her hair out of the way in its customary braid. He trails soft kisses there on her warm, sweet-smelling skin.
She closes her eyes and sighs softly. Arthur’s tongue snakes out and skims lightly along her flesh, up to her earlobe, where he begins nibbling.
Gwen’s fingers caress his skin where her hand rests on his hip, the muscles pliant and relaxed, his skin warm.
“Guinevere,” he mutters her name in her ear, and it reverberates down to her core. She moans softly and his hand closes over her breast, thumb grazing her nipple through the silk.
His hand leaves her breast, dropping lower, pulling at her nightdress, gathering the material up in his hands as he inches it upward, higher and higher until it is over her head and fluttering to the floor.
Gwen attempts to turn in his arms, but he holds her in place, her back to him.
“I want to try something,” he whispers, his hand ghosting across her belly for a moment before dropping lower, down between her thighs. He shifts slightly, raising the arm beneath him, moving it up until it is beneath Gwen’s neck, cradling her head, his fingers touching her neck softly.
His hand drags lazily up and down her inner thigh, teasing, coaxing her open. She turns her head towards him, her lips seeking his, connecting with him hungrily. She can feel his hardness behind her, prodding her backside gently, and she slips her hand down between them to grasp him.
“Oh,” he grunts softly, slipping his own fingers into the apex of her thighs, circling slowly, tormenting her with his languor.
“Arthur,” she moans, squeezing him tighter. He responds by sliding his finger inside her, moving it in and out, still at a leisurely pace.
Gwen squirms, whimpering, and Arthur withdraws his finger and slides his hand along her thigh, lifting it over his own thigh.
“Oh,” Gwen says, understanding his intent. She releases his manhood and moves her hand, reaching between her legs now to find him that way.
“Mmm,” Arthur groans, smiling against her neck when she takes him in her hand again and helps guide him into her. “Yes,” he sighs.
His hand moves to toy briefly with her breast, rolling her nipple lightly between his fingers, his palm rubbing it lightly as he rocks in and out of her.
Gwen places her hand over his and moves it down, placing it back between her legs.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he whispers hoarsely, rubbing softly with just two fingers, adding to her pleasure.
She turns her head and captures the index finger of his other hand lightly between her teeth, moaning, distracted by her own pleasure. She sucks his finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, nibbling lightly.
“Wow,” Arthur breathes, surprised both at her actions and how good it feels. He moves faster and feels her leg grasp him tighter, hanging on, encouraging him.
“Oh…” she releases his finger to cry out, approaching the brink, quivering around him for a few more endless seconds till she finally climaxes, shouting his name and grabbing his hand again, this time to stop him before she loses her mind.
“God, Guinevere,” he groans, driving deep and hard three more times before stilling, buried deep within her warmth, releasing with another groan. His arm tightens around her and he presses his lips to her neck and exhales slowly against her now-damp skin.
Arthur pulls gently out and finally allows her to turn and face him. He kisses her softly, tasting her sweet lips. “I love you, Guinevere,” he whispers.
“I love you, Arthur, always,” she whispers back, slowly opening her eyes to gaze up at him.
“Always,” he answers.
Part 21: link
