Fic: Those Who Love [Merlin | Merlin/Arthur/Gwen; Merlin/Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot; Gwen/Morgana]
Title: Those Who Love
Author: angelqueen04
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot, Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: hints of sexual content, nothing too explicit; vague description concerning character death
Spoilers: up through 2.13
Summary: They cling to each other for a few precious hours, sleeping the sleep of the dead before they get up to start again.
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC, while the legend belongs to all. I make no claim or profit from writing this, purely enjoyment.
Word Count: ~4,300 words
Gwen is surprised by her own daring when she slips into Arthur’s chambers the night of the dragon’s defeat. She automatically moves about the large rooms, relighting the fire, putting away errant pieces of cleaning cloths that had been left on the table. She absently runs her hands over the blankets of the bed, smoothing away imagined wrinkles, and then after finding herself with nothing to do, sits down in the plush chair beside the fire.
She waits in silence.
Eventually, both Merlin and Arthur return from having spoken to the king and sent several wagons out to the field to bring the survivors - or bodies - back to Camelot. Both men start in surprise at her unexpected presence, but neither objects.
None of them speak. Gwen stands up and helps Merlin remove Arthur’s soot-covered armor. She takes a cloth and wipes the sweat and grime from his face, her fingers brushing over his skin as gently as Merlin’s as he takes off the last pieces.
Arthur nearly collapses into his bed with an exhausted sigh. For a moment, Gwen almost speaks, to utter some excuses about returning home (which is likely little more than a burnt out shell by now), but when Merlin’s hand brushes her shoulder, she says nothing.
Arthur makes a vague gesture, one whose meaning is lost on her. Merlin knows, though. He takes her by the hand and tugs her toward the bed. Gwen hesitates for a brief moment, but then allows herself to move forward.
Arthur lies in the center, with Gwen curled along his left side and Merlin on his right. Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder and smiles at her faintly, reaching out to her. She takes his hand, and their entwined fingers rest on Arthur’s chest. The three of them cling to each other for a few precious hours, sleeping the sleep of the dead before they get up to start again.
Merlin’s tears are cold as Gwen wipes them away before pressing his head gently against her breast. His arms wrap around her waist and his body trembles, wracked with grief and guilt. She strokes his hair, hoping the gesture is enough to soothe him into sleep. Only with sleep can he later be strong enough to heal.
Her eyes drift up and over Merlin’s head, to where Arthur is standing several feet away, staring out the window of his chambers with his back to them. He has been silent for some time now, having said nothing since Merlin’s… gifts were finally brought to light, when the three of them had walked into Gaius’ workroom.
Merlin is a sorcerer, something Gwen has suspected for some time now but has lacked the courage to ask outright. It matters little to her, though. He may practice magic, but he is still Merlin. Sweet, kind, devoted, beloved Merlin. She just doesn’t know how Arthur will ultimately react. His silence is unnerving, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.
But perhaps it is not just Merlin’s magic that is in his thoughts. It is likely also because Gaius is dead. Dead by Morgana’s blade. Gwen knows that the scene in the workroom will be something she will never forget. Gaius, on the floor, his blue robes stained by his lifeblood. Morgana, standing over him, the bloody dagger gripped in her hand, and an ugly, satisfied expression on her face. When she had seen Merlin, her eyes had glowed a sickly golden hue, so unlike the beautiful green Gwen had known. Morgana’s magical onslaught had come practically without warning, and it had been Merlin who had had to shield both her and Arthur. The rage on Morgana’s face had been terrifying to behold as she vanished with a snarl and amid a frigid, violent wind.
Gwen bites her lip, feeling her own tears prick at her eyes but refusing to let them fall. Merlin has always been strong for her, been a shoulder for her to lean on in her darkest moments. Now he needs her to be strong for him. She glances at Arthur and sees that his head is bowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. She must to be strong for both of them.
She will grieve for for Gaius, for Morgana, later. For now, she must comfort.
Hundreds of flower petals float down from the windows of the castle, contrasting nicely with the fierce blue sky and bright sunlight. The cheers of the people all around them are deafening. Gwen stands up near the court, clad in her best dress, a gift from both Merlin and Arthur on her last birthday. Merlin stands beside her, uncomfortable in his own best clothes, but still beaming nonetheless.
When Arthur appears at the entrance to the courtyard, the knights and nobles all give a rousing cheer of their own. He walks alone, wearing his sword at his side and his circlet on his head. As he moves forward, toward the entrance to the main hall of the castle, his eyes meet Gwen’s. He winks at her briefly, and then turns his gaze to Merlin. Gwen does not look at the young man beside her, but the smirk on Arthur’s face is telling. He is enjoying the warlock’s discomfort.
In a matter of seconds, the moment passes and Arthur continues on. Gwen feels as though her heart might burst as Geoffrey removes the circlet, and replaces it with a crown.
Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.
It is a new day.
Lancelot’s fingers spark a trail of fire along her bare arm, and his kisses leave Gwen breathless. She runs her own fingers through his close-cropped hair, dragging her nails - no longer the jagged ones of a servant, but the clean, straight ones of a lady of leisure - along his scalp. She revels in his responding groan -
- and tries not to laugh when two coughs from Merlin and Arthur at the doorway sends Lancelot scrambling back away from her, panic written on his features.
“S-Sire,” Lancelot stammers, “Merlin, I -”
“Guinevere,” Arthur cuts him off, his tone at its most pompous, “I trust you are satisfied with our and the court sorcerer’s coronation gift to you?” The twinkle in his eye belies the severity of his attitude.
Merlin too plays along, no trace of a grin on his face, appearing every inch the solemn - even dangerous - warlock.
Gwen raises an eyebrow and responds with all ceremony, “Indeed, my lord. I find your gift most… agreeable.” She keeps eye-contact with both of them for several seconds until finally Merlin’s lips begin to twitch.
She can’t help it; she begins to giggle. That is all it takes for both Merlin and Arthur to start laughing as well. Merlin slumps against Arthur and the two fall back against the closed door behind them, their laughter growing louder and louder. Gwen falls back on the bed, struggling to control herself and failing miserably.
Lancelot just gapes at them, no doubt beginning to think that all three of them are, at the very least, slightly mad.
The army of Camelot is a terrible and inspiring sight to behold. The banners of the kingdom fly billow in the spring winds, and the sun reflects off of the armor of the knights as they move about, shouting orders to their squires and preparing their horses.
Gwen turns away from the sight and enters the large chamber. Arthur had taken it for his own use when he became king, preferring to perform his duties here than in the throne room, which is now used only for formal state occasions.
The large, round table dominates the room, a setting for Arthur and his knights and advisors to sit equally when discussing state affairs. There is even a seat at the table for herself so that she may have an equal chance to convey her own opinions.
Right now, though, only Arthur, Merlin, and the core knights are present, all gathered for their formal leave-taking. It is here that she and Arthur will drink from the goblet of farewell, where Merlin, Lancelot, and the other knights will bow to her and each swear to see to it that the king returns to her alive. It is here that the king will officially leave the queen as regent of the kingdom until his return, something that has not been done since long before Arthur’s birth, the single time that Uther left Camelot in Ygraine’s care. It is all for the sake of their positions as king, queen, court sorcerer, and chief knight, for the sake of tradition.
Gwen sighs. It is just as well that the four of them said their goodbyes the night before.
Later, Gwen stands at the top of the ramparts, watching the army move off, Arthur, Merlin, and Lancelot at the head. She takes a deep breath, and slowly releases it.
“Your Majesty?” her maid, Idis, says softly from behind her.
“Yes?”
“Forgive me, but Lord Marcus and Lady Gaveston are requesting an audience with you…”
She nods. “Of course,” she murmurs. As Gwen turns away from the departing army, she does her best to force her worries for those that are leaving from her mind. As she moves toward the nearest audience chamber, she tries not to think of how big the bed is and how alone she will be in it tonight and for many nights to follow.
Summer has come to Camelot, engulfing the city in a hot, sticky haze. Nearly everyone and everything has gone limp, helpless against the heat. Gwen is grateful for the thick stones of the castle, which manage to keep it at least somewhat cool, but she misses the old opportunities to go into the dungeons or ice cellars she’d had as a simple servant. She also knows that it is probably infinitely worse for the army, stuck near swamps, or in fields with no shade to cover them. She can only imagine how Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot are bearing up.
Though, most of those fantasies are filled with Merlin complaining, Arthur throwing things at Merlin, and Lancelot trying desperately to keep the peace. It only makes her miss them more.
At night, after Idis has retired, Gwen relieves herself of everything, even her thin shift. It is just too hot to have any more cloth than necessary against her heated and miserable body. The bed too is stripped down to the bare necessities, leaving only a thin sheet at her feet should she need it later.
She leans back against the pillows and sighs. It has been a long few months, and being solely responsible for the running of an entire kingdom has worn on her. She wonders how Arthur bears it when he is here.
Gwen throws her arms out from her sides. There is still some lingering uneasiness, lying in this great bed alone with the three of them gone. The absence of everyone she loves most is a constant ache that will not heal.
“Gwen.”
Her eyes shoot open wide, but she does not move. She sweeps her eyes about the chamber wildly, only to stop dead at one of the windows. There, standing in the light of the three-quarters moon, is Morgana.
Gwen inhales sharply, but otherwise doesn’t move as she remembers the last time she saw her former mistress - that horrible day in Gaius’ work room. The madness in her sharp green eyes, the smug sneer on her face turned even more ugly as she lashed out with magic at Merlin, at Arthur, at her, Gaius’ blood dripping from her knife onto her hands. It was as though she had been looking at a wild, rabid animal, not a friend, a lover.
Looking at her now, though, is completely different. If Gwen could let herself, she could almost think that she is again a simple handmaid, and her mistress is clad in her dark blue gown - always Gwen’s favorite - but ready to shed it and join her in the bed they often shared. There is no madness in Morgana’s eyes, no blood staining her pale skin. It is simply… Morgana.
But Gwen knows that things have changed. The spectre of Gaius’ murder still hangs in the stifling air, as does the conflict that still rages between Morgana and Merlin, and the irreversible fact that Gwen is a queen.
“Why?” it is all Gwen can utter, despite the complexity of her thoughts.
Morgana slowly moves across the chamber, sitting down on the side of the bed as though she has always been here, that she has never been gone. Yet, Gwen flinches slightly when Morgana reaches out to brush a damp curl from Gwen’s cheek. Morgana’s hand stops, pauses in midair, and then retracts.
“I needed answers,” Morgana says quietly. “No one here saw fit to give them. Gaius and Merlin wanted me to live in ignorance, to be slowly driven mad by what the Old Religion had given me, or to eventually be caught out by Uther. Morgause offered me an opportunity to put Camelot on a new footing.” She sighs. “I just did not know she meant to do so by making me a bearer of disease.”
Gwen had been referring to Gaius’ murder, but she does not ask again. There is so much else that Gwen wants to say, wants to ask, but her eyes are locked on Morgana’s. Her heart hurts, being pulled in so many directions - Morgana, Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin. All of them have a claim on her.
“You are a queen,” Morgana murmurs in the silence. She reaches out again, this time to the skin of Gwen’s bare shoulder. Gwen doesn’t shy away this time. “It’s funny, when everyone speculated that I would be queen, I knew even then that it would not be I who would rule this kingdom with Arthur, would not be I that would help unite all of Albion. All I could see was a faint golden glow about your head. I think I knew… even back then.” Her fingers glide lightly down her arm, and Gwen trembles, not in fear but desire.
No further words are spoken, and it is Gwen’s fingers that twine through Morgana’s shorn hair, her lips the glide over her exposed throat, her ecstatic cries that are muffled by biting the back of her hand when Morgana’s fingers stroke knowingly between her legs.
When morning comes, Morgana is gone, leaving Gwen wondering if perhaps she’d dreamt the entire night.
When the army returns in the fall, it is a time of celebration. The harvests have been good this year, perhaps the best Camelot has had in recent times, and the return of so many friends and family members is the perfect reason to rejoice. Arthur calls for a festival, and everyone responds. Camelot’s borders have expanded with minimal loss of life, the land is bountiful, and reunions are abounding - what is not to celebrate?
Gwen is thrilled with the festival, and insists that everyone take part. She does not hesitate to drag Arthur out among the throngs of people, Merlin and Lancelot following close behind. There had been festivals during Uther’s reign, but even in those times of merriment, there had been a cloud, a sense of restraint, of knowledge that if anyone exhibited any kind of strange - that is, magical - behavior, they would still be executed within a day if caught. Not so now.
Magicians gather crowds of all ages for entertainment, making the elements dance in their hands and causing children to squeal in excitement. Vendors are shouting their wares, be it exotic foods from beyond the Dividing Sea or bolts of cloth from the north, and caught the attention of potential customers. The warm evening air fairly vibrates with energy.
They are out amongst the people well into the night before Arthur insists that they return to the castle. Which, of course, incites a sardonic, teasing smirk from Merlin.
“Getting tired more easily in your old age, Sire?” he asks.
Arthur glares at him. “Hardly, Merlin. But if I was, well, I’d have company, wouldn’t I? Wasn’t it you who complained nearly every single night about your joints and back aching during the campaign?”
The two men bicker with one another the rest of the trip back to the castle. Lancelot and Gwen follow arm in arm a few feet behind them, trying to keep their laughter quiet enough so as not to draw their attention.
Arthur swats Merlin’s head out of frustration. Merlin dodges, nimble after years of similar actions from the other man. Lancelot smiles and shakes his head. Gwen watches them, her heart warm.
Her boys.
It is good to have them home.
When Merlin and one of his apprentices, Vivian, go off into the forest to do some kind of magical study or research, no one thinks anything of it. Uther may have hoarded many magical texts and resources in the bowels of the dungeons, but still many more were burned or otherwise destroyed, leaving many gaps in general knowledge about magic. This is not the first time Merlin has gone off on his own with one of his students.
It is not until the magical storm that begins to rage not a day after they left that anyone begins to think that something might be wrong. Arthur and Lancelot lead a contingent of knights into the forest, intent on finding the source.
When they return, all of the men’s faces are ashen. Arthur seems almost catatonic, leaving it to Lancelot to speak for him.
“V-Vivian, she has trapped Merlin,” he explains to her, his voice barely above a whisper. “She has disappeared, and we were unable to free him. H-He does not respond to our calls.”
Gwen rarely prays, but now she does. She begs the gods of the Old Religion to set Merlin free, calls out, hoping that, somehow, Morgana will hear her pleas too, and remember that once she and Merlin were great friends and will also work to help him.
For a moment in time, Gwen prays, and then helps Lancelot assist Arthur to their chambers.
Talesin stumbles as he enters the royal chambers. Arthur sits alone in his chair beside the fire, while Gwen sits on the bed, her head resting wearily on Lancelot’s shoulder. All three of them look up at the sorcerer, Merlin’s most promising student, as he enters.
The young man peers at them with exhausted brown eyes. He shakes his head. “Whatever Vivian has done, my lords and lady,” he says, “it is beyond my power to undo.”
Gwen sobs and buries her face in Lancelot’s tunic. His arms come around her, one hand stroking her back in a vain attempt to comfort her. She’s faintly certain that she feels a tear or two drop down on her head.
Even as she cries, Gwen still hears Talesin add, “E-Even Morgana le Fey came out of the fairy realm and tried to set Merlin free again, and she also failed.”
The young sorcerer leaves soon after, no doubt to seek what rest he can. Gwen’s heart is lightened a little over his news of Morgana’s effort, but it cannot stand long against the crushing weight of her grief.
When Gwen is able to look up again, her eyes first go toward Arthur. He is still sitting in his chair, seemingly to have not moved at all since Talesin appeared. His eyes are locked on the flames before him, and yet does not seem to see them at all. He looks almost dead.
Gwen shudders, and tightens her hold on Lancelot, almost afraid by what she sees in her husband.
Now they are three.
Perhaps it is then that things begin their decline. Where the four of them fit together like pieces of a simple puzzle, without Merlin they were incomplete, incapable of standing together as they have before.
Arthur does not pull away from her and Lancelot physically. He joins them in bed nearly every night, clinging and participating much as he always has before. Gwen is not fooled, though. His eyes indicate just how far away his mind and heart are. She has never doubted that Arthur loves her, but she also knows that a piece of his heart has always resided in Merlin’s hands. The two of them have always been bound together in something bigger, something grander, something that cannot be defined fully in words.
It is then that the cracks begin to form. While Arthur’s soul drifts, seemingly looking for the piece which resides beneath that accursed tree with Merlin, Gwen and Lancelot draw closer together. They do not know what else to do. Freeing Merlin is beyond their power, beyond anyone’s, but it seems that for every moment that Merlin is gone, Arthur continues to diminish. Three cannot be four.
They are falling apart, and Camelot is falling with them. Mordred’s plotting is merely a catalyst, ready to ignite the results of their own flaws and vulnerabilities.
The cries are deafening within the royal court. The knights shout about betrayal and pyres, the ladies weep behind handkerchiefs or outright faint in a very melodramatic manner.
Gwen stands alone in the center of all of it, but she pays little attention to the chaos around her. She instead stares up at Arthur.
It has been a miracle that their unusual relationships have remained so well hidden over the years. The knights have never known, nor have the guards stationed near the royal apartments. Arthur and Gwen’s own separate chambers are side-by-side, and Lancelot’s chambers are extremely close by, as are Merlin’s old chambers, as befit their stations as the chief knight and court sorcerer. The servants who personally serve in that area of the castle had been personally chosen by Gwen herself for their discretion and lack of inclination to gossip.
Perhaps it was arrogance, to think that they could keep that part of their lives separate and hidden from the rest of the world. They had never thought of what they might do if they had had to explain themselves to anyone. What are they to do? If it becomes known that the King of Camelot shares his bed and wife with another man, Arthur’s reputation will be irrevocably destroyed in the eyes of the nobles throughout Albion. Sexual relations between men are not that uncommon in the world, but it is never spoken of or supported publicly.
Perhaps the only bright side in all of this, she thinks despairingly, is that Merlin is not here to see it. At least he is spared this much.
Lancelot too is gone, practically run out of Camelot by several of the younger and more hot-blooded knights. She is alone now to face their wrath, because Arthur cannot help her either. She knows the knights expect him to be enraged, furious that his wife has been caught sporting with his chief knight in her royal bedchamber, in the royal bed. She knows that they think he should be agreeing to have her repudiated, to have her burned.
Instead, she sees only despair and defeat, hanging about Arthur like a dark cloud. An all-too-common sight even before all this madness began, but it hurts even more to see it now.
As the shouting continues, Gwen can only stand there and wonder how, from where they started, when everything was so bright and hope was so tangible they could almost taste it, did they ever reach this day?
The news from Camlann trickles into Camelot. A victory, a defeat, a stalemate. Confusion and chaos abounds. It is not until a battle-weary Sir Lionel returns that the story is told.
Someone drew a sword, no one knows who. Each side blames the other. Arthur and Mordred faced each other, and both struck fatal blows. Arthur lay dying, but ordered that he be brought to the lake nearby. Excalibur was thrown into the water, and was caught by a young, dark-haired woman - a nymph, perhaps, in Lionel’s opinion - and both she and the sword vanished beneath the water.
A boat soon appeared, guided by none other than Morgana. She took Arthur into the boat, despite the protestations of the few remaining knights. Arthur managed to tell them that he was going to Avalon. Then they disappeared into the mists.
Gwen sits alone in her chambers. Where once four people had occupied these rooms, then three, then two, now there is only one. She sits alone by the fire, in Arthur’s chair, huddled in a cloak that Lancelot left behind and clutching one of Merlin’s journals in her hands, one she had found only recently, hidden in one of Arthur’s trunks. She opens it to a random page, hoping to find something, anything, to distract her.
Kilgharrah hints that this life is only the beginning, that we all of us touched by destiny have much more to do beyond this life. It gives me hope, that what he told me will not be Arthur’s end.
It makes me wonder, though, what is it that waits for us? Will we all be together as we are now? Gwen, Lancelot, and Arthur sleep fast while I write this. Will we always have each other? If we lose our way, will we find each other again?
Gwen closes the journal and leans back in the chair. Her eyes drift shut. She hopes that Kilgharrah is right too. She has never liked being alone. Even if she can swear that she hears all of her loves, whispering in her ear. It is such a comfort, to hear them. Merlin, still trapped and possibly dead. Lancelot, his fate unknown. Arthur, resting in Avalon. Morgana, watching over him. And yet, though Gwen knows that they are all far away, it still seems as though they are all here, with her.
Maybe she is not alone, after all.
She does not open her eyes again, not even when the fire goes out and the room chills with the onset of the night.
Author: angelqueen04
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot, Gwen/Morgana
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: hints of sexual content, nothing too explicit; vague description concerning character death
Spoilers: up through 2.13
Summary: They cling to each other for a few precious hours, sleeping the sleep of the dead before they get up to start again.
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC, while the legend belongs to all. I make no claim or profit from writing this, purely enjoyment.
Word Count: ~4,300 words
Gwen is surprised by her own daring when she slips into Arthur’s chambers the night of the dragon’s defeat. She automatically moves about the large rooms, relighting the fire, putting away errant pieces of cleaning cloths that had been left on the table. She absently runs her hands over the blankets of the bed, smoothing away imagined wrinkles, and then after finding herself with nothing to do, sits down in the plush chair beside the fire.
She waits in silence.
Eventually, both Merlin and Arthur return from having spoken to the king and sent several wagons out to the field to bring the survivors - or bodies - back to Camelot. Both men start in surprise at her unexpected presence, but neither objects.
None of them speak. Gwen stands up and helps Merlin remove Arthur’s soot-covered armor. She takes a cloth and wipes the sweat and grime from his face, her fingers brushing over his skin as gently as Merlin’s as he takes off the last pieces.
Arthur nearly collapses into his bed with an exhausted sigh. For a moment, Gwen almost speaks, to utter some excuses about returning home (which is likely little more than a burnt out shell by now), but when Merlin’s hand brushes her shoulder, she says nothing.
Arthur makes a vague gesture, one whose meaning is lost on her. Merlin knows, though. He takes her by the hand and tugs her toward the bed. Gwen hesitates for a brief moment, but then allows herself to move forward.
Arthur lies in the center, with Gwen curled along his left side and Merlin on his right. Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder and smiles at her faintly, reaching out to her. She takes his hand, and their entwined fingers rest on Arthur’s chest. The three of them cling to each other for a few precious hours, sleeping the sleep of the dead before they get up to start again.
Merlin’s tears are cold as Gwen wipes them away before pressing his head gently against her breast. His arms wrap around her waist and his body trembles, wracked with grief and guilt. She strokes his hair, hoping the gesture is enough to soothe him into sleep. Only with sleep can he later be strong enough to heal.
Her eyes drift up and over Merlin’s head, to where Arthur is standing several feet away, staring out the window of his chambers with his back to them. He has been silent for some time now, having said nothing since Merlin’s… gifts were finally brought to light, when the three of them had walked into Gaius’ workroom.
Merlin is a sorcerer, something Gwen has suspected for some time now but has lacked the courage to ask outright. It matters little to her, though. He may practice magic, but he is still Merlin. Sweet, kind, devoted, beloved Merlin. She just doesn’t know how Arthur will ultimately react. His silence is unnerving, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.
But perhaps it is not just Merlin’s magic that is in his thoughts. It is likely also because Gaius is dead. Dead by Morgana’s blade. Gwen knows that the scene in the workroom will be something she will never forget. Gaius, on the floor, his blue robes stained by his lifeblood. Morgana, standing over him, the bloody dagger gripped in her hand, and an ugly, satisfied expression on her face. When she had seen Merlin, her eyes had glowed a sickly golden hue, so unlike the beautiful green Gwen had known. Morgana’s magical onslaught had come practically without warning, and it had been Merlin who had had to shield both her and Arthur. The rage on Morgana’s face had been terrifying to behold as she vanished with a snarl and amid a frigid, violent wind.
Gwen bites her lip, feeling her own tears prick at her eyes but refusing to let them fall. Merlin has always been strong for her, been a shoulder for her to lean on in her darkest moments. Now he needs her to be strong for him. She glances at Arthur and sees that his head is bowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. She must to be strong for both of them.
She will grieve for for Gaius, for Morgana, later. For now, she must comfort.
Hundreds of flower petals float down from the windows of the castle, contrasting nicely with the fierce blue sky and bright sunlight. The cheers of the people all around them are deafening. Gwen stands up near the court, clad in her best dress, a gift from both Merlin and Arthur on her last birthday. Merlin stands beside her, uncomfortable in his own best clothes, but still beaming nonetheless.
When Arthur appears at the entrance to the courtyard, the knights and nobles all give a rousing cheer of their own. He walks alone, wearing his sword at his side and his circlet on his head. As he moves forward, toward the entrance to the main hall of the castle, his eyes meet Gwen’s. He winks at her briefly, and then turns his gaze to Merlin. Gwen does not look at the young man beside her, but the smirk on Arthur’s face is telling. He is enjoying the warlock’s discomfort.
In a matter of seconds, the moment passes and Arthur continues on. Gwen feels as though her heart might burst as Geoffrey removes the circlet, and replaces it with a crown.
Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.
It is a new day.
Lancelot’s fingers spark a trail of fire along her bare arm, and his kisses leave Gwen breathless. She runs her own fingers through his close-cropped hair, dragging her nails - no longer the jagged ones of a servant, but the clean, straight ones of a lady of leisure - along his scalp. She revels in his responding groan -
- and tries not to laugh when two coughs from Merlin and Arthur at the doorway sends Lancelot scrambling back away from her, panic written on his features.
“S-Sire,” Lancelot stammers, “Merlin, I -”
“Guinevere,” Arthur cuts him off, his tone at its most pompous, “I trust you are satisfied with our and the court sorcerer’s coronation gift to you?” The twinkle in his eye belies the severity of his attitude.
Merlin too plays along, no trace of a grin on his face, appearing every inch the solemn - even dangerous - warlock.
Gwen raises an eyebrow and responds with all ceremony, “Indeed, my lord. I find your gift most… agreeable.” She keeps eye-contact with both of them for several seconds until finally Merlin’s lips begin to twitch.
She can’t help it; she begins to giggle. That is all it takes for both Merlin and Arthur to start laughing as well. Merlin slumps against Arthur and the two fall back against the closed door behind them, their laughter growing louder and louder. Gwen falls back on the bed, struggling to control herself and failing miserably.
Lancelot just gapes at them, no doubt beginning to think that all three of them are, at the very least, slightly mad.
The army of Camelot is a terrible and inspiring sight to behold. The banners of the kingdom fly billow in the spring winds, and the sun reflects off of the armor of the knights as they move about, shouting orders to their squires and preparing their horses.
Gwen turns away from the sight and enters the large chamber. Arthur had taken it for his own use when he became king, preferring to perform his duties here than in the throne room, which is now used only for formal state occasions.
The large, round table dominates the room, a setting for Arthur and his knights and advisors to sit equally when discussing state affairs. There is even a seat at the table for herself so that she may have an equal chance to convey her own opinions.
Right now, though, only Arthur, Merlin, and the core knights are present, all gathered for their formal leave-taking. It is here that she and Arthur will drink from the goblet of farewell, where Merlin, Lancelot, and the other knights will bow to her and each swear to see to it that the king returns to her alive. It is here that the king will officially leave the queen as regent of the kingdom until his return, something that has not been done since long before Arthur’s birth, the single time that Uther left Camelot in Ygraine’s care. It is all for the sake of their positions as king, queen, court sorcerer, and chief knight, for the sake of tradition.
Gwen sighs. It is just as well that the four of them said their goodbyes the night before.
Later, Gwen stands at the top of the ramparts, watching the army move off, Arthur, Merlin, and Lancelot at the head. She takes a deep breath, and slowly releases it.
“Your Majesty?” her maid, Idis, says softly from behind her.
“Yes?”
“Forgive me, but Lord Marcus and Lady Gaveston are requesting an audience with you…”
She nods. “Of course,” she murmurs. As Gwen turns away from the departing army, she does her best to force her worries for those that are leaving from her mind. As she moves toward the nearest audience chamber, she tries not to think of how big the bed is and how alone she will be in it tonight and for many nights to follow.
Summer has come to Camelot, engulfing the city in a hot, sticky haze. Nearly everyone and everything has gone limp, helpless against the heat. Gwen is grateful for the thick stones of the castle, which manage to keep it at least somewhat cool, but she misses the old opportunities to go into the dungeons or ice cellars she’d had as a simple servant. She also knows that it is probably infinitely worse for the army, stuck near swamps, or in fields with no shade to cover them. She can only imagine how Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot are bearing up.
Though, most of those fantasies are filled with Merlin complaining, Arthur throwing things at Merlin, and Lancelot trying desperately to keep the peace. It only makes her miss them more.
At night, after Idis has retired, Gwen relieves herself of everything, even her thin shift. It is just too hot to have any more cloth than necessary against her heated and miserable body. The bed too is stripped down to the bare necessities, leaving only a thin sheet at her feet should she need it later.
She leans back against the pillows and sighs. It has been a long few months, and being solely responsible for the running of an entire kingdom has worn on her. She wonders how Arthur bears it when he is here.
Gwen throws her arms out from her sides. There is still some lingering uneasiness, lying in this great bed alone with the three of them gone. The absence of everyone she loves most is a constant ache that will not heal.
“Gwen.”
Her eyes shoot open wide, but she does not move. She sweeps her eyes about the chamber wildly, only to stop dead at one of the windows. There, standing in the light of the three-quarters moon, is Morgana.
Gwen inhales sharply, but otherwise doesn’t move as she remembers the last time she saw her former mistress - that horrible day in Gaius’ work room. The madness in her sharp green eyes, the smug sneer on her face turned even more ugly as she lashed out with magic at Merlin, at Arthur, at her, Gaius’ blood dripping from her knife onto her hands. It was as though she had been looking at a wild, rabid animal, not a friend, a lover.
Looking at her now, though, is completely different. If Gwen could let herself, she could almost think that she is again a simple handmaid, and her mistress is clad in her dark blue gown - always Gwen’s favorite - but ready to shed it and join her in the bed they often shared. There is no madness in Morgana’s eyes, no blood staining her pale skin. It is simply… Morgana.
But Gwen knows that things have changed. The spectre of Gaius’ murder still hangs in the stifling air, as does the conflict that still rages between Morgana and Merlin, and the irreversible fact that Gwen is a queen.
“Why?” it is all Gwen can utter, despite the complexity of her thoughts.
Morgana slowly moves across the chamber, sitting down on the side of the bed as though she has always been here, that she has never been gone. Yet, Gwen flinches slightly when Morgana reaches out to brush a damp curl from Gwen’s cheek. Morgana’s hand stops, pauses in midair, and then retracts.
“I needed answers,” Morgana says quietly. “No one here saw fit to give them. Gaius and Merlin wanted me to live in ignorance, to be slowly driven mad by what the Old Religion had given me, or to eventually be caught out by Uther. Morgause offered me an opportunity to put Camelot on a new footing.” She sighs. “I just did not know she meant to do so by making me a bearer of disease.”
Gwen had been referring to Gaius’ murder, but she does not ask again. There is so much else that Gwen wants to say, wants to ask, but her eyes are locked on Morgana’s. Her heart hurts, being pulled in so many directions - Morgana, Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin. All of them have a claim on her.
“You are a queen,” Morgana murmurs in the silence. She reaches out again, this time to the skin of Gwen’s bare shoulder. Gwen doesn’t shy away this time. “It’s funny, when everyone speculated that I would be queen, I knew even then that it would not be I who would rule this kingdom with Arthur, would not be I that would help unite all of Albion. All I could see was a faint golden glow about your head. I think I knew… even back then.” Her fingers glide lightly down her arm, and Gwen trembles, not in fear but desire.
No further words are spoken, and it is Gwen’s fingers that twine through Morgana’s shorn hair, her lips the glide over her exposed throat, her ecstatic cries that are muffled by biting the back of her hand when Morgana’s fingers stroke knowingly between her legs.
When morning comes, Morgana is gone, leaving Gwen wondering if perhaps she’d dreamt the entire night.
When the army returns in the fall, it is a time of celebration. The harvests have been good this year, perhaps the best Camelot has had in recent times, and the return of so many friends and family members is the perfect reason to rejoice. Arthur calls for a festival, and everyone responds. Camelot’s borders have expanded with minimal loss of life, the land is bountiful, and reunions are abounding - what is not to celebrate?
Gwen is thrilled with the festival, and insists that everyone take part. She does not hesitate to drag Arthur out among the throngs of people, Merlin and Lancelot following close behind. There had been festivals during Uther’s reign, but even in those times of merriment, there had been a cloud, a sense of restraint, of knowledge that if anyone exhibited any kind of strange - that is, magical - behavior, they would still be executed within a day if caught. Not so now.
Magicians gather crowds of all ages for entertainment, making the elements dance in their hands and causing children to squeal in excitement. Vendors are shouting their wares, be it exotic foods from beyond the Dividing Sea or bolts of cloth from the north, and caught the attention of potential customers. The warm evening air fairly vibrates with energy.
They are out amongst the people well into the night before Arthur insists that they return to the castle. Which, of course, incites a sardonic, teasing smirk from Merlin.
“Getting tired more easily in your old age, Sire?” he asks.
Arthur glares at him. “Hardly, Merlin. But if I was, well, I’d have company, wouldn’t I? Wasn’t it you who complained nearly every single night about your joints and back aching during the campaign?”
The two men bicker with one another the rest of the trip back to the castle. Lancelot and Gwen follow arm in arm a few feet behind them, trying to keep their laughter quiet enough so as not to draw their attention.
Arthur swats Merlin’s head out of frustration. Merlin dodges, nimble after years of similar actions from the other man. Lancelot smiles and shakes his head. Gwen watches them, her heart warm.
Her boys.
It is good to have them home.
When Merlin and one of his apprentices, Vivian, go off into the forest to do some kind of magical study or research, no one thinks anything of it. Uther may have hoarded many magical texts and resources in the bowels of the dungeons, but still many more were burned or otherwise destroyed, leaving many gaps in general knowledge about magic. This is not the first time Merlin has gone off on his own with one of his students.
It is not until the magical storm that begins to rage not a day after they left that anyone begins to think that something might be wrong. Arthur and Lancelot lead a contingent of knights into the forest, intent on finding the source.
When they return, all of the men’s faces are ashen. Arthur seems almost catatonic, leaving it to Lancelot to speak for him.
“V-Vivian, she has trapped Merlin,” he explains to her, his voice barely above a whisper. “She has disappeared, and we were unable to free him. H-He does not respond to our calls.”
Gwen rarely prays, but now she does. She begs the gods of the Old Religion to set Merlin free, calls out, hoping that, somehow, Morgana will hear her pleas too, and remember that once she and Merlin were great friends and will also work to help him.
For a moment in time, Gwen prays, and then helps Lancelot assist Arthur to their chambers.
Talesin stumbles as he enters the royal chambers. Arthur sits alone in his chair beside the fire, while Gwen sits on the bed, her head resting wearily on Lancelot’s shoulder. All three of them look up at the sorcerer, Merlin’s most promising student, as he enters.
The young man peers at them with exhausted brown eyes. He shakes his head. “Whatever Vivian has done, my lords and lady,” he says, “it is beyond my power to undo.”
Gwen sobs and buries her face in Lancelot’s tunic. His arms come around her, one hand stroking her back in a vain attempt to comfort her. She’s faintly certain that she feels a tear or two drop down on her head.
Even as she cries, Gwen still hears Talesin add, “E-Even Morgana le Fey came out of the fairy realm and tried to set Merlin free again, and she also failed.”
The young sorcerer leaves soon after, no doubt to seek what rest he can. Gwen’s heart is lightened a little over his news of Morgana’s effort, but it cannot stand long against the crushing weight of her grief.
When Gwen is able to look up again, her eyes first go toward Arthur. He is still sitting in his chair, seemingly to have not moved at all since Talesin appeared. His eyes are locked on the flames before him, and yet does not seem to see them at all. He looks almost dead.
Gwen shudders, and tightens her hold on Lancelot, almost afraid by what she sees in her husband.
Now they are three.
Perhaps it is then that things begin their decline. Where the four of them fit together like pieces of a simple puzzle, without Merlin they were incomplete, incapable of standing together as they have before.
Arthur does not pull away from her and Lancelot physically. He joins them in bed nearly every night, clinging and participating much as he always has before. Gwen is not fooled, though. His eyes indicate just how far away his mind and heart are. She has never doubted that Arthur loves her, but she also knows that a piece of his heart has always resided in Merlin’s hands. The two of them have always been bound together in something bigger, something grander, something that cannot be defined fully in words.
It is then that the cracks begin to form. While Arthur’s soul drifts, seemingly looking for the piece which resides beneath that accursed tree with Merlin, Gwen and Lancelot draw closer together. They do not know what else to do. Freeing Merlin is beyond their power, beyond anyone’s, but it seems that for every moment that Merlin is gone, Arthur continues to diminish. Three cannot be four.
They are falling apart, and Camelot is falling with them. Mordred’s plotting is merely a catalyst, ready to ignite the results of their own flaws and vulnerabilities.
The cries are deafening within the royal court. The knights shout about betrayal and pyres, the ladies weep behind handkerchiefs or outright faint in a very melodramatic manner.
Gwen stands alone in the center of all of it, but she pays little attention to the chaos around her. She instead stares up at Arthur.
It has been a miracle that their unusual relationships have remained so well hidden over the years. The knights have never known, nor have the guards stationed near the royal apartments. Arthur and Gwen’s own separate chambers are side-by-side, and Lancelot’s chambers are extremely close by, as are Merlin’s old chambers, as befit their stations as the chief knight and court sorcerer. The servants who personally serve in that area of the castle had been personally chosen by Gwen herself for their discretion and lack of inclination to gossip.
Perhaps it was arrogance, to think that they could keep that part of their lives separate and hidden from the rest of the world. They had never thought of what they might do if they had had to explain themselves to anyone. What are they to do? If it becomes known that the King of Camelot shares his bed and wife with another man, Arthur’s reputation will be irrevocably destroyed in the eyes of the nobles throughout Albion. Sexual relations between men are not that uncommon in the world, but it is never spoken of or supported publicly.
Perhaps the only bright side in all of this, she thinks despairingly, is that Merlin is not here to see it. At least he is spared this much.
Lancelot too is gone, practically run out of Camelot by several of the younger and more hot-blooded knights. She is alone now to face their wrath, because Arthur cannot help her either. She knows the knights expect him to be enraged, furious that his wife has been caught sporting with his chief knight in her royal bedchamber, in the royal bed. She knows that they think he should be agreeing to have her repudiated, to have her burned.
Instead, she sees only despair and defeat, hanging about Arthur like a dark cloud. An all-too-common sight even before all this madness began, but it hurts even more to see it now.
As the shouting continues, Gwen can only stand there and wonder how, from where they started, when everything was so bright and hope was so tangible they could almost taste it, did they ever reach this day?
The news from Camlann trickles into Camelot. A victory, a defeat, a stalemate. Confusion and chaos abounds. It is not until a battle-weary Sir Lionel returns that the story is told.
Someone drew a sword, no one knows who. Each side blames the other. Arthur and Mordred faced each other, and both struck fatal blows. Arthur lay dying, but ordered that he be brought to the lake nearby. Excalibur was thrown into the water, and was caught by a young, dark-haired woman - a nymph, perhaps, in Lionel’s opinion - and both she and the sword vanished beneath the water.
A boat soon appeared, guided by none other than Morgana. She took Arthur into the boat, despite the protestations of the few remaining knights. Arthur managed to tell them that he was going to Avalon. Then they disappeared into the mists.
Gwen sits alone in her chambers. Where once four people had occupied these rooms, then three, then two, now there is only one. She sits alone by the fire, in Arthur’s chair, huddled in a cloak that Lancelot left behind and clutching one of Merlin’s journals in her hands, one she had found only recently, hidden in one of Arthur’s trunks. She opens it to a random page, hoping to find something, anything, to distract her.
Kilgharrah hints that this life is only the beginning, that we all of us touched by destiny have much more to do beyond this life. It gives me hope, that what he told me will not be Arthur’s end.
It makes me wonder, though, what is it that waits for us? Will we all be together as we are now? Gwen, Lancelot, and Arthur sleep fast while I write this. Will we always have each other? If we lose our way, will we find each other again?
Gwen closes the journal and leans back in the chair. Her eyes drift shut. She hopes that Kilgharrah is right too. She has never liked being alone. Even if she can swear that she hears all of her loves, whispering in her ear. It is such a comfort, to hear them. Merlin, still trapped and possibly dead. Lancelot, his fate unknown. Arthur, resting in Avalon. Morgana, watching over him. And yet, though Gwen knows that they are all far away, it still seems as though they are all here, with her.
Maybe she is not alone, after all.
She does not open her eyes again, not even when the fire goes out and the room chills with the onset of the night.