No Law - Chapter Eleven - As Time Went By, Part Two
Title: No Law
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin
Rating: R
Summary: It was a silly thing. Just a wine stain on a very white shirt removed by magical means. But now, Arthur knows about the magic, and everything is not quite as Merlin would have expected. Arthur is weirdly vulnerable and brilliant, Gaius is growing distant and mysterious and maybe a little bit insane, and Gwen knows exactly just where she wants her boys to be. Or: The one where Arthur finds out about the magic, is angry about the lies but not at Merlin, and things keep changing. Also, fathers are a difficult thing to have.
Warning: Some intriguing sex (het, slash and threesome). Plotting Gaius is plotting. Goes AU somewhen in the hiatus between S4 and S5.
Disclaimer: The characters and concept of this version of the Arthurian legends belong to Shine and the BBC, not to me. I'm just playing with them.
Author's Note: Reply to this prompt on kinkme_merlin: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/33344.html?thread=34990656#t34990656
First Chapter:
Teaser: Where Gaius gets an unwelcome surprise and things start to get wonky
Chapter Warning: Some not very explicit het (Arthur/Gwen, as they decided to develop a sex life)
When Gwen had woken up to her husband and Merlin all cuddled up together that one morning, she’d had such high hopes. She wasn’t sure for what, exactly, but certainly for something more than what seemed to be becoming of it during the weeks that followed.
She couldn’t even say for sure why she was so uneasy. Still, she couldn’t help it. Something was not going the way she felt it should.
Maybe it was because her relationship with Arthur was just a little bit strained ever since she had witnessed his Weakness - his words, not hers. He had first uttered them when they dined together the following evening, after they had spent the entire day ‘supervising’ a giddy Merlin flitting around in what were to become His Very Own Chambers, stowing and re-stowing what little he had to make the rooms his own (and Gwen was quite puzzled as to why exactly Merlin’s possessions were that sparse; had he just never had the time to acquire much beyond the common necessities?). Watching Merlin’s delight had delighted her in return, and she had felt very much at peace that evening, despite all that had happened - or possibly even because of it. Perhaps she should have known that her husband wouldn’t feel the same.
Be that as it may, after an excellent meal of mutton-and-onion-pie with a side of mashed parsnips, Arthur took her hand in his and, with a very earnest tone of voice, apologized for what had happened the night before.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Guinevere,” he said, “that you had to witness that - my … weakness.” He said it like it was something dirty or poisonous, like he could have done her no greater insult than letting her see it (as if he’d had any choice in the matter at the time). For a moment, she was so incredibly hurt that she almost forgot how to love him. But then, by some miracle, she remembered who he was and everything she knew about him. Silently, she laid her free hand on top of his and turned her other one around so that she was holding his hand instead of the other way around.
“Arthur. I’m going to say this once, and I need you to take it in. Are you listening?”
He nodded with the air of a man waiting, not for the other shoe to drop, but for something much heavier and more devastating. An axe perhaps. What the hell was he expecting her to do? Leave him?
She drew in a sharp breath as it dawned on her that of course he did. She had seen his soft underbelly, the brittleness he hid like a branded criminal would his mark, and now he expected her to walk away - maybe not literally, but figuratively at least. She almost forgot what she had wanted to say in face of that sharp, crystal clear realisation.
“I’m listening,” Arthur said quietly, bringing her back into the here and now. She gave a brisk nod and took another deep breath.
“I am your wife, Arthur. And while you are fully entitled to the privacy of your own mind, you have to trust me to be strong enough to cope with seeing all of you. We won’t make it if you don’t, not in the long run. But maybe I’ve never truly told you.” She let go of his hand and enclosed his face instead, meeting his startled gaze. “I love you. I love all of you. And I’m not scared to learn that you’re not flawless. I’ve always known you’re not. I didn’t fall in love with a perfect man. But whatever your imperfections may be, your so-called weakness - you being human, Arthur - is not one of them. And I’m not afraid to be strong when you’re not, because I know you’ll do the same for me.”
Arthur had kissed her then, sweet and deep, and although it was not exactly what she needed right then, she kissed him back nonetheless.
“Never apologize to me like this again, do you hear me?” she whispered against his lips. He answered by peeling her out of her clothes, maddeningly slowly, and kissing every inch he uncovered.
“My Queen,” he breathed against her skin, and it sounded very much like a benediction and a little bit like a plea. It was easy to lose herself in his worship of her, and it was only after, when he was sleeping in her arms, that she realized they hadn’t actually talked about what had happened to him the night before, let alone why.
Gwen tried to bring it up again and again, and he always had the same reply to her questions: “I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Please.” And what else could she do, when he entreated her like that, but to wait, another day, and another? At least, he was being honest about his silence.
The only thing they did talk about was what he had said during his crying fit (Gwen only called it that in her own mind, never to his face) about her and Lancelot. Fortunately, he didn’t try to apologize again. Instead, he admitted that a part of him still resented her for what had went down and that, in truth, he hadn’t so much forgiven her back then as decided to be with her regardless. She nodded in acceptance when he told her that, somewhat glad that it was finally out in the open.
“I always had a suspicion that you forgave me because you felt you had to, not because you were ready for it,” she said calmly, although she wondered where his confession left them.
He shrugged. It was an oddly ungainly gesture. “All my holding a grudge did was making everyone miserable. It was high time I got past it.”
His words caught in her throat, growing hard and lumpy there. “I only wish you could have seen it less as a challenge to overcome,” she forced out, while a secret part of her mind that sounded very much like Morgana inquired quite viciously if he only fucked her For the Good of Camelot, too.
“It’s how I live,” he replied, startling her out of her sudden bitterness. “It’s the only way I know. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Guinevere. Quite the contrary. I’m just not good enough a man to simply forget all about it.” He looked down on his folded hands. “You have to know that I don’t really begrudge you your love for him. Hell, part of me loved him, too. What I couldn’t come to term with was the two of you going behind my back like that on the eve of our wedding. If you had come to me at any other time and told me …” He waved his hand as if he wanted to erase his words entirely. “However, I’m not even sure it was really your fault anymore. There is something you should know.”
And then he told her what Merlin had disclosed about the Lancelot who had come to Camelot that last, disastrous time. It was like needles in her chest. She cried like she hadn’t allowed herself to for years, wet and messy and unrestrained. And her husband held her close, while she was weeping for a man whose place in her heart she had been denying for what felt like an eternity.
Once she had calmed down a little, they talked about it a bit more and finally agreed that there was no way to be certain whether the shade had influenced her behaviour in any way, or if it had been the guilt plaguing her because of the way Lancelot had died or something else entirely. What was clear to both of them, however, was that Morgana had wronged all three of them grievously, but maybe Lancelot most of all.
“Merlin said he was at peace, in the end,” Arthur told her. It was only a small comfort. Gwen didn’t even know what she felt anymore. Her insides were all upset and muddled after having been calm and ordered for so long, and she found that she had forgotten how to deal with that.
“I need to mourn him. Arthur, I need space,” she said and wondered whether this newfound openness between them was actually a Good Thing. Arthur had accepted her words with much more ease than she was comfortable with, but things couldn’t be helped right then. She left the citadel the very next day for a country estate that had belonged to Arthur’s mother and had not been used as a retreat since Camelot had last had a Queen.
She didn’t stay long. In truth, she had just needed a few days to herself and away from her husband to sort out her feelings and regain the tranquillity and amused detachment she needed to survive the Court. And, of course, to be alone with her memories of Lancelot, to be honest with herself for once concerning her relationship - or not-relationship - with him. For the first time ever, she admitted to herself that her love for Arthur had grown out of the wreck Lancelot had made of their budding liaison when he had left her that second time without giving her the opportunity to get to know her own heart. It was even possible that, in the beginning, she had unknowingly sought to punish Lancelot, nothing more. However, that didn’t mean that the love she held for Arthur now was anything … less.
Gwen came to that conclusion after hours-long walks through the meadows and groves surrounding Ygraine’s estate with no one but Elyan for company (luckily, her brother knew when to be silent). The countryside with its rolling hills and ripe fields was so peaceful that it was hard not to make peace with oneself as well. Sometimes she imagined the Queen Mother whispering to her when the wind picked up, telling her that she, Guinevere, didn’t have to be flawless either to be worthy of her son. It was nothing but a fancy, of course, but it made Gwen realize that, despite all the wise words she had said to her husband, she herself had believed exactly that, had convinced herself that she had to always be strong, calm, and perfect to truly merit everything Arthur had given her. Those days were apparently filled with sudden insights that seemed self-evident in hindsight. It was incredibly freeing.
After two weeks of mourning Lancelot and a life that had never been (his, hers, theirs), the Queen came home. However, the Camelot she returned to was a different place to the one she had left. It was nothing huge that had changed, not yet. Gwen couldn’t even put her finger on what exactly felt so different. It wasn’t even that Arthur had set out on his mission to basically build a whole new Camelot without anyone noticing. In fact, she had been waiting for something like this to happen for a while now, even though she could have never imagined the sheer scope and otherness of what Arthur was resolved to achieve. Or maybe, his machinations did contribute to the overall uneasy feeling Gwen just couldn’t fight. Brilliant as his plans of action might be, they weren’t exactly conducive to a tension-free atmosphere within the citadel. And then, there was Merlin.
Courtiers were not always the most bright and perceptive sort of people, but they could sniff out changing fortunes like bloodhounds. Not that Merlin’s Very Own Chambers alone hadn’t been a bright red flag, notifying everyone that it might be a good idea to Suck Up to the King’s Manservant with as much dedication as possible (at least as long as his back wasn’t turned). It was more than that, however. The shift in the relationship between the King and his … whatever-he-was-now was so blatant that the only ones probably not noticing were Arthur and Merlin. Maybe they thought they were being subtle when they yelled at each other in the privacy of their own rooms, but Gwen felt that Merlin at least should have known that nothing aroused the curiosity of servants and nobles like raised voices behind closed doors. To say nothing of the sheer audacity to yell at the King at all and obviously get away with it on top of everything else. Merlin’s close, singular relationship with Arthur, both as a prince and a king, had always raised the hackles of envious nobles and servants alike, but that had been nothing compared to the vitriol that some of the courtiers were spewing now whenever the two turned their backs. And Gwen was quite sure that she, as the queen, only caught a fraction of what was really whispered in the halls of the citadel. It had been quite some time since she had been truly privy to the whole range of palace gossip. Even before her marriage, servants had been watching what they were saying to her and nobles had stopped ignoring her presence while wagging their chins.
Gwen wasn't sure if Arthur and Merlin even noticed the tension surrunding them of if they just didn’t care. These days, the King and his Manservant seemed to live in a world of their own, a world the both of them were the centre of, with everyone else relegated to the periphery. Well, to be fair, they let Gwen in, a bit. Or rather, she insinuated herself back in, cautiously and carefully, because she knew that if she didn’t, if she refrained from insisting on her rights as a wife and a friend, they would sideline her, just like everyone else - not with malicious intent, but simply because their bond was so strong and so bright and so self-contained, now even more so than before.
Gwen had always known that, and she found the wondrous dance Arthur and Merlin led unspeakably beautiful. That wasn’t the problem, not really. She didn’t mind Arthur dining with his Manservant most evenings, didn’t mind the long nights filled with wine and talking, didn’t mind the days they spent practically glued together, because the both of them were very generous with this private time of theirs whenever she decided to join in. Gwen had always scorned wives who laid claim to their husbands’ lives like they were something they had acquired by purchase, and she was proud to say that she wasn’t becoming what she used to despise. Besides, it wasn’t like she herself actually had much time to spent with Arthur anyway.
Her husband’s Grand Plan to Remake Camelot took so much of his attention that the bulk of the day to day business of government fell to her, and she loved it. It was incredibly exhausting, and there were days the King and Queen fell into the Royal Bed next to each other and dropped off without exchanging much more than a few tired words (or possibly mere grunts), but Gwen thrived more on Ruling than she ever had on anything else. Listening to people, weighing requests, finding solutions and getting things done gave her an heretofore unknown feeling of contentment and sometimes even a rush not dissimilar to sex or living through mortal danger. It changed her relationship with Arthur, too, making it more solid and much less tentative (although Gwen hadn’t realized up to that point that it had been the latter). Her husband seemed to have finally realized that she wouldn’t just break.
That was the good part. In fact, as far as Queenship was concerned, there was no bad part. Their division of labour worked, and they did as well. However - and that was something she was not truly conscious of except for a niggling feeling of unease - all the work that kept her busy made her forget, too. It made her forget that she had never truly discussed with Arthur what had distressed him that much the night he found out about Merlin’s magic. She forgot that she had wanted to share the revelations she’d had during her Time Away with him. She forgot every morning to ask him if he realized that he regularly went to bed either dead tired from too much work or more or less drunk from his bonding time with Merlin. She forgot to be worried because she often found him already awake when she opened her eyes after a night of deep dead sleep, hunched over his correspondence, forging alliances with Annis, Godwin, Olaf and even Lot, or already in full planning mode for his latest coup to pave the way for his Remade Camelot. She forgot to talk to Merlin about Arthur’s fears and her hopes, forgot to join him and Arthur in Merlin’s Very Own Chambers more and more often, forgot to nurture what had budded during that night they held her husband in their arms, forgot so many things she should have remembered, and it niggled at the back of her mind, while she was listening to a worried peasant woman whose favourite breeding sow had given birth to an eight-legged piglet, or while she was trying to diplomatically convince a gout-ridden Geoffrey to retire, or while she was reassuring rich, but useless Lord Arnulf that yes, the King thought the world of him (and not only of his lush pastures and fat cattle that could feed the entire kingdom, if push came to shove).
This uneasy sense of possibly having left a hot flat iron on your mistress’s favourite gown stayed with Gwen over the following weeks, but she was simply too busy to take much heed of it. Tomorrow, she always thought, I will get to the bottom of it tomorrow. After all, Gwen was used to listening to her gut feelings. But then, the Queen had to turn away from the niggling in the back of her mind once more because Gaius had put in a request for the court to find him a new supplier of poppy-seeds, or because some garland-making contest needed judging, or the horrid wife of King Lot demanded to be entertained while turning up her nose at Camelot’s Common Queen, or one of the knights respectfully asked for the honour the wear his Queen’s colours during the next tournament.
Things changed when the latter happened for the fourth time in one evening during the second visit of Lot and his Horrid Wife. They were giving yet another banquet for their Royal Visitors, and the tournament in question was to be held the next day. Lot’s Horrid Wife was looking more and more peeved as yet another knight knelt before the Common Queen to ask for her favour, and Gwen grew quite exasperated, too. And once she had to tell Leon that it was really quite unprecedented and frankly silly for all competing knights to wear her colours, she could no longer deny that they had a problem. She didn’t know what the problem was yet, but she could clearly see that it was there.
“Arthur?” she said one evening a few days later that her husband happened to not spend in Merlin’s Very Own Chambers.
“Hm?” he answered distractedly from his desk where he was composing a letter to Queen Annis, most probably complaining about Lot’s unreasonableness and general character (the two of them were worse than Cook and Berta when it came to tittle-tattle, even though they conducted the selfsame on paper and For the Good of Albion).
“Do you think the knights are jealous?”
“Hm?” he asked again. Gwen furrowed her brow at the rings under his eyes and got up from the Royal Bed where she had been sitting to unbraid her hair (her private time with Arthur was much too precious to let a maid help her with stuff she was perfectly able to do for herself). She pressed a kiss on the crown of his head and rubbed his shoulders.
“Jealous. Your knights. Of Merlin and me. Don’t you think they have noticed that you have taken us into confidence and not them?”
Arthur tilted his head back and frowned. “Why should they be jealous? They know that life at court often demands secrecy - well, all save Gwaine probably. Besides, you’re my wife, and he is my …”
“Your Merlin?” she suggested with a smile when he hesitated, obviously searching for the right word to describe his friend.
“Well, yes,” he shrugged, ignoring her gentle mockery. “It’s only natural that I should confide in the two of you before everybody else. I’m sure the knights know that. So, they might sulk a bit, but jealousy? I can’t imagine that.” He paused and his frown deepened. “Which is as good a reason as any to assume that you’re right.”
Gwen winced, both at his words and his self-deprecating tone. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s high time I start learning from my mistakes, Guinevere. If you suspect something might be wrong, then I yield to your judgement.”
“You probably shouldn’t,” she insisted, stroking his shoulders. “It was only a shot in the dark, and it doesn’t even make much sense. Or any, really. It’s just … they keep looking at me.”
He turned in his chair, encircling her waist with his arms and drawing her closer. She relaxed into his embrace. It was nice. They hadn’t done something like that for some time.
“Looking at you? How do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Just … I keep catching them at it. Especially Gwaine. I didn’t think anything of it, but then there was this ridiculous thing with Leon suggesting all contestants wear my colours during the tournament …”
“That doesn’t sound like jealousy, dearheart. It rather sounds as if I might have reason to be jealous. Gwaine keeps looking at you, you say?”
“Yes, but it’s not like that. Believe me, I know when a man looks at me with desire or even admiration, but that’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know!” She bit the nail of her little finger in frustration, until he caught hold of it and pulled it out of her mouth.
“I know. It’s unqueenly.” She was pouting, and she knew it.
“That, and you’re going to complain the entire day tomorrow because I let you ruin your nails,” Arthur answered unperturbed. “I can keep my eyes peeled in regard to the knights if you think it’s necessary. I’ll tell Merlin to as well.”
She twisted her mouth, vexed with herself. “I don’t want to cause discord between you and your favoured knights.”
“You won’t. We’ll assume it’s something entirely harmless. Maybe you’re wrong, and they simply have all developed a huge crush on you. After all, you are one spectacular queen. And a positively radiant woman.”
She couldn’t help but smile and kiss him for that. “Charmer.”
The boyish grin he gave her almost made the shadows under his eyes disappear. “Born and raised.”
“Don’t I know it. I bet Lot’s horrid wife noticed, too. She’s probably been imagining dragging you off to her layer and ravishing you the entire time they’ve been here.”
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed, hiding his face against her belly and shuddering theatrically. “Don’t say things like that. Guh! You are a terrible wife. I won’t get those images out of my head ever! I’m ruined! Now who’s going to satisfy your lusty urges, woman, huh?”
She threw her head back and laughed heartily. “’Lusty urges’? Oh God, I love you, Arthur Pendragon.”
“Too late. You’re not getting anything from me ever again. Argh! Lot’s horrid wife! My brain is melting!”
“I’m sorry to tell you that, darling boy, but I don’t need your brain to satisfy my lusty urges.”
“That part has gone into hiding! You scared it half to death.”
“I can go on a quest to find it?”
She felt him laugh against her belly. A moment later he looked up with sparkling eyes. “Wouldn’t that be a most worthy task for the Knights of Camelot?”
She pursed her lips. “Nobody said anything about the Knights of Camelot. That one is mine.”
He bit her belly through the thick fabric of her nightgown (the taupe one, with the ruffled sleeves and the elaborate gold embroidery). It was a sure way to increase the lustiness of her urges, and he bloody well knew it. Gwen bent down to kiss him, searching his tongue with hers. The rich, sweet taste of his mouth made her shudder.
“Mmh, you taste of wine,” she said against his lips, and he smiled.
“Lot’s horrid wife plied me with it. She was probably planning to defile me in my inebriated state.”
“I’m going to gouge her eyes out the next time I see her,” Gwen said pleasantly, and Arthur laughed again.
“You’re delectable when you’re bloodthirsty, Queen Guinevere.”
She went for his laughing mouth again, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. The heavy, double-layered skirt of her nightgown pooled around their legs, and she felt his hands against her backside, pressing her down.
“Found it,” she whispered in triumph, and he smiled.
“Just because I showed you the way.”
“Oh, I think I know the way perfectly well.” She proved her words by grinding down, making him arch against her. One of his hands left her back and busied itself with the lacings of her bodice, loosening them just enough for her nipples to peek over the line of her cleavage. They rubbed against the stiff fabric and she tilted her head back with a quiet groan. His right hand came to rest between her shoulder-blades to stabilize her, while his mouth found her left nipple and made her squirm. The velvet of his dark-blue jacket was both soft and rough under her hands (no simple white linen shirts while the Lotians were here, God forbid), and suddenly she wanted to feel the material against her breasts.
“Bed,” she gasped. He stood up without letting go of her, compelling her to wrap her legs around his waist. Not much later she found herself lying on her back with her bodice unlaced completely, her heavy skirt bunched around her waist, her husband between her legs, and the dark-blue velvet chafing deliciously against her oversensitive nipples. He was teasing her, and it was driving her crazy. The impossible man hadn’t even taken off his trousers yet!
Gwen yanked on the offending piece of clothing. “Off, off! God, do you need Merlin for everything?”
He stilled between her legs. “You’re bringing up my manservant now?”
“You brought up Lot’s horrid wife!” she mock-protested while fighting with the lacings of his trousers. When she finally succeeded, she let out a triumphant little squeak.
“That was also you if I recall correctly. Is there something you want to tell me?”
She groaned (and it was not a good groan, not exactly at least). Why were there so many words coming out of his mouth?
“Less talking!” she demanded and pulled his trousers down. It was not until both his hands framed her face and made her look at him that she noticed that the mood had changed somewhat. There was an intensity to his blue gaze that was quite different to the sensual playfulness from just before.
“What?” she said, trying hard to ignore the throbbing in her nether regions.
“Why did you bring up Merlin?” Arthur asked with a very peculiar tone of voice. Gwen would have almost called it … interested. Or maybe even hopeful.
She blinked. Oh. They were going to talk about this now, were they?
She met his gaze full on. “He’s always right there looking over your shoulder anyway, isn’t he?”
Arthur drew in a sharp breath, scrutinizing her face. She could see him swallow.
“What …” He licked his lips. “What would you say if he … if he actually were?”
“Watching us over your shoulder?”
He just looked at her with this odd intensity in his eyes, and she let out a breath, remembering that one night weeks ago when Arthur had been draped over Merlin like he belonged there. It was only then that she realized she had somehow forgotten about it, and a big part of the unease that had plagued her for weeks left her in that very instant. Gwen let out another deep breath.
“I think that could be rather lovely,” she said with false calm. Arthur’s eyes widened.
“You don’t have to say that,” he whispered, and she had to smile.
“Arthur. I've always known that I kind of married him, too, when I tied the knot with you.”
“I’ve never touched him!” he proclaimed hastily. Gwen caressed the side of his face.
“I know. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Arthur clearly didn’t get what she was trying to tell him. He opened his mouth, but she pre-emted any further protest by placing her hand over his mouth.
“I’ve never told you about my first kiss, have I? Who it was with, I mean,” she said, smiling meaningfully. Arthur’s eyes widened even further.
“Merlin?!”, his lips formed against the palm of her hand, and she cackled, replacing her hand with her lips.
“It was when he was still very new in Camelot,” she told him once the kiss had ended. “When he almost died drinking that poison for you. I was very relieved to see him alive after you had been so brave and noble and saved him.” She flashed back to Arthur in the dungeons, all desperate and dishevelled and heroic and oh so young, and although the sight hadn’t stirred her blood at the time, the memory did now. Gwen licked her lips and brought them to his ear, feeling wild and reckless.
“His lips were so very soft,” she whispered into her husband’s ear and felt him go stiff between her legs. He was barely breathing. Gwen smiled. “Soft and ripe and plump like midsummer cherries, and they tasted just as sweet. I wanted to bite them and suck them into my mouth.” Arthur groaned and buried his face against her neck. She crossed her ankles over the small of his back and drew him closer. “And I thought that if this boy took a lover, he would be so careful and so gentle, driving them mad with barely-there touches, skimming over their skin with his long, graceful fingers, worshipping them with a whispering caress, until they wouldn’t be able to even think anymore. And then, he would put that plump, ripe mouth …” She gasped as Arthur entered her with one smooth stroke and moaned loudly, raising her hips to meet him. “… that mouth exactly where they wanted it, because he would just know, and … oh, yes … he’d hold them down with his strong hands, be… oh … because they don’t … don’t look it, but they are so strong and capable, so strong, Arthur, Arthur, yes, yes, oh God, and when he’s done with his mouth, he’d just push in, oh yes, like that, exactly like that, but careful, he’d be so careful and tender, like YES!” She gave up on coherent talking entirely then and just clung on, moaning nonsensical stuff about Merlin’s hands and his cheekbones and his eyelashes, while her husband drove into her, taking her higher and higher, until she peaked with a drawn-out cry, clenching her legs around him as if she never wanted to let him leave. Arthur shuddered in her grip, spilling inside her after another couple of strokes, biting her shoulder and panting as if he was coming apart. Delicious little aftershocks coursed through her, and she all but purred when he collapsed next to her.
It took them quite some time to come back down from their blissful high. Once they did, however, they stared at each other with round eyes. Arthur looked downright spooked, and Gwen covered her mouth with her hands to stifle an impending giggle fit.
“What just happened?” Arthur asked, and the giggling won out.
“Guinevere!”
She patted his hair, still laughing. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, dearheart. Let’s sleep on it, alright? We’ll talk. But not now.”
He kept looking at her dubiously. She sighed and stroked his cheek again, tracing the shadows under his eyes that stood out even starker now than they had before.
“Sleep. You need it,” she soothed. “Don’t worry. It was good, what happened. It was good.”
And it truly was. Gwen was certain of it.
Finally, her husband nodded and let her free him from the hopeless tangle his clothes had become. He was out as a light as soon as his head touched the pillow. Gwen snuggled up to him, and sighed again, but it was out of contentment this time. Contentment and hope. All would be well.
When Gwen awoke the next morning to Arthur still asleep next to her, she felt like a particularly sleek cat who had gotten the entire cream-pot. That sense of serenity stayed with her during the day and helped her to smile affably through the pompous send-off they gave the Lotians. The Horrid Wife bid her farewell with a pinched look on her face. In a very deliberate breach of etiquette, Gwen reached for her husband’s hand without taking her eyes off the harpy and let her tongue peek out to wet her lips smugly. The other queen looked like she was choking on her tongue and turned with a supressed huff to let King Lot help her into her opulent carriage. Gwen’s grin widened when she caught Merlin’s eyes who beamed at her and gave her two thumbs up without making an effort to hide it. He detested the Horrid Wife about as much as Gwen did and had been banned from serving at any feast including the Lotians lest he be tempted to upend an entire jug of wine into the hag’s pitiful cleavage.
They celebrated the departure of their trying guests with a much less formal banquet than those held during the Lotians’ sojourn in Camelot. Merlin was allowed to serve again, but didn’t keep to it long, as Arthur pulled him down to sit next to him at the Royal Table. Gwen chuckled over her husband, who seemed to have gotten over his initial shock and come to terms with what had happened the night before just fine. He was bickering with Merlin over his plate, which was piled high with choice pieces of meat and which Arthur tried to push on his reluctant Manservant. He seemed to have progressed from chicken to rabbit and beef, and Gwen noted with amusement that Merlin hadn’t quite seen through Arthur’s code of food just yet. She wondered how long it would take her friend to catch on to the fact that feeding people was Arthur’s preferred form of wooing them.
Merlin would get there in time, she decided and left her husband and his target to their devices and turned to Lord Arnulf who was sitting on her right side in honour of his rich pastures. She was in such a good mood that it took her no time at all to charm the old miser into agreeing to support the new tax Arthur wanted the Council to put on the kingdom’s most affluent landowners. He even did it with a besotted smile on his bloated face.
In face of that particular victory, Gwen allowed herself another cat-who-got-the-cream grin and let her gaze wander through the room, surveying her realm with pride. Everyone was conversing much more freely and unreservedly than they had with the stuffy Lotians in the room, and the servants seemed happy and relaxed. Cook, who had done a particularly excellent job during the State Visit, was sitting on a place of honour at the other end of the table conversing with Gaius, although she didn’t seem to like what he was telling her, judging by the sour look on her face. Geoffrey, who was across from them, paid them no heed, though. He was being a good former librarian for once and stuck to what looked like herbal tea and vegetables instead of heavy wine and fatty meat. Gwen nodded approvingly and let her gaze move on, until it came to rest on a most peculiar scene on the other side of the room.
It was the King’s Most Favoured Knights, sitting huddled together like the gossips they were but with a most unusual air of doom and gloom about them. Gwen furrowed her brow. Her brother was talking to Leon with a thunderous face, while the First Knight was looking at the direction of the Royal Table as if Elyan had just told him that he wasn’t allowed to touch a crossbow ever again. Gwen thought he might burst into tears at any moment. Percival across from them was stubbornly shaking his head, his massive arms crossed in front of his chest in a clear gesture of negation. And Gwaine, who was sitting next to Percival, was watching Gwen. She caught his eyes, and there was that look again, the one she had been unable to define before. But this time - maybe because of her relaxed state of mind, maybe because it just clicked all of a sudden - she finally identified his expression.
Pity.
As if on a silent command, Leon and Elyan turned their eyes to her as well, with the very same expression on their faces. What the hell?, Gwen thought in bafflement. Why in the name of all that was holy would the King’s Favoured Knights look at her with pity?
Chapter Twelve:
Where Arthur realizes some things and fails to realize some others
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin
Rating: R
Summary: It was a silly thing. Just a wine stain on a very white shirt removed by magical means. But now, Arthur knows about the magic, and everything is not quite as Merlin would have expected. Arthur is weirdly vulnerable and brilliant, Gaius is growing distant and mysterious and maybe a little bit insane, and Gwen knows exactly just where she wants her boys to be. Or: The one where Arthur finds out about the magic, is angry about the lies but not at Merlin, and things keep changing. Also, fathers are a difficult thing to have.
Warning: Some intriguing sex (het, slash and threesome). Plotting Gaius is plotting. Goes AU somewhen in the hiatus between S4 and S5.
Disclaimer: The characters and concept of this version of the Arthurian legends belong to Shine and the BBC, not to me. I'm just playing with them.
Author's Note: Reply to this prompt on kinkme_merlin: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/33344.html?thread=34990656#t34990656
First Chapter:
Teaser: Where Gaius gets an unwelcome surprise and things start to get wonky
Chapter Warning: Some not very explicit het (Arthur/Gwen, as they decided to develop a sex life)
When Gwen had woken up to her husband and Merlin all cuddled up together that one morning, she’d had such high hopes. She wasn’t sure for what, exactly, but certainly for something more than what seemed to be becoming of it during the weeks that followed.
She couldn’t even say for sure why she was so uneasy. Still, she couldn’t help it. Something was not going the way she felt it should.
Maybe it was because her relationship with Arthur was just a little bit strained ever since she had witnessed his Weakness - his words, not hers. He had first uttered them when they dined together the following evening, after they had spent the entire day ‘supervising’ a giddy Merlin flitting around in what were to become His Very Own Chambers, stowing and re-stowing what little he had to make the rooms his own (and Gwen was quite puzzled as to why exactly Merlin’s possessions were that sparse; had he just never had the time to acquire much beyond the common necessities?). Watching Merlin’s delight had delighted her in return, and she had felt very much at peace that evening, despite all that had happened - or possibly even because of it. Perhaps she should have known that her husband wouldn’t feel the same.
Be that as it may, after an excellent meal of mutton-and-onion-pie with a side of mashed parsnips, Arthur took her hand in his and, with a very earnest tone of voice, apologized for what had happened the night before.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Guinevere,” he said, “that you had to witness that - my … weakness.” He said it like it was something dirty or poisonous, like he could have done her no greater insult than letting her see it (as if he’d had any choice in the matter at the time). For a moment, she was so incredibly hurt that she almost forgot how to love him. But then, by some miracle, she remembered who he was and everything she knew about him. Silently, she laid her free hand on top of his and turned her other one around so that she was holding his hand instead of the other way around.
“Arthur. I’m going to say this once, and I need you to take it in. Are you listening?”
He nodded with the air of a man waiting, not for the other shoe to drop, but for something much heavier and more devastating. An axe perhaps. What the hell was he expecting her to do? Leave him?
She drew in a sharp breath as it dawned on her that of course he did. She had seen his soft underbelly, the brittleness he hid like a branded criminal would his mark, and now he expected her to walk away - maybe not literally, but figuratively at least. She almost forgot what she had wanted to say in face of that sharp, crystal clear realisation.
“I’m listening,” Arthur said quietly, bringing her back into the here and now. She gave a brisk nod and took another deep breath.
“I am your wife, Arthur. And while you are fully entitled to the privacy of your own mind, you have to trust me to be strong enough to cope with seeing all of you. We won’t make it if you don’t, not in the long run. But maybe I’ve never truly told you.” She let go of his hand and enclosed his face instead, meeting his startled gaze. “I love you. I love all of you. And I’m not scared to learn that you’re not flawless. I’ve always known you’re not. I didn’t fall in love with a perfect man. But whatever your imperfections may be, your so-called weakness - you being human, Arthur - is not one of them. And I’m not afraid to be strong when you’re not, because I know you’ll do the same for me.”
Arthur had kissed her then, sweet and deep, and although it was not exactly what she needed right then, she kissed him back nonetheless.
“Never apologize to me like this again, do you hear me?” she whispered against his lips. He answered by peeling her out of her clothes, maddeningly slowly, and kissing every inch he uncovered.
“My Queen,” he breathed against her skin, and it sounded very much like a benediction and a little bit like a plea. It was easy to lose herself in his worship of her, and it was only after, when he was sleeping in her arms, that she realized they hadn’t actually talked about what had happened to him the night before, let alone why.
Gwen tried to bring it up again and again, and he always had the same reply to her questions: “I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Please.” And what else could she do, when he entreated her like that, but to wait, another day, and another? At least, he was being honest about his silence.
The only thing they did talk about was what he had said during his crying fit (Gwen only called it that in her own mind, never to his face) about her and Lancelot. Fortunately, he didn’t try to apologize again. Instead, he admitted that a part of him still resented her for what had went down and that, in truth, he hadn’t so much forgiven her back then as decided to be with her regardless. She nodded in acceptance when he told her that, somewhat glad that it was finally out in the open.
“I always had a suspicion that you forgave me because you felt you had to, not because you were ready for it,” she said calmly, although she wondered where his confession left them.
He shrugged. It was an oddly ungainly gesture. “All my holding a grudge did was making everyone miserable. It was high time I got past it.”
His words caught in her throat, growing hard and lumpy there. “I only wish you could have seen it less as a challenge to overcome,” she forced out, while a secret part of her mind that sounded very much like Morgana inquired quite viciously if he only fucked her For the Good of Camelot, too.
“It’s how I live,” he replied, startling her out of her sudden bitterness. “It’s the only way I know. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Guinevere. Quite the contrary. I’m just not good enough a man to simply forget all about it.” He looked down on his folded hands. “You have to know that I don’t really begrudge you your love for him. Hell, part of me loved him, too. What I couldn’t come to term with was the two of you going behind my back like that on the eve of our wedding. If you had come to me at any other time and told me …” He waved his hand as if he wanted to erase his words entirely. “However, I’m not even sure it was really your fault anymore. There is something you should know.”
And then he told her what Merlin had disclosed about the Lancelot who had come to Camelot that last, disastrous time. It was like needles in her chest. She cried like she hadn’t allowed herself to for years, wet and messy and unrestrained. And her husband held her close, while she was weeping for a man whose place in her heart she had been denying for what felt like an eternity.
Once she had calmed down a little, they talked about it a bit more and finally agreed that there was no way to be certain whether the shade had influenced her behaviour in any way, or if it had been the guilt plaguing her because of the way Lancelot had died or something else entirely. What was clear to both of them, however, was that Morgana had wronged all three of them grievously, but maybe Lancelot most of all.
“Merlin said he was at peace, in the end,” Arthur told her. It was only a small comfort. Gwen didn’t even know what she felt anymore. Her insides were all upset and muddled after having been calm and ordered for so long, and she found that she had forgotten how to deal with that.
“I need to mourn him. Arthur, I need space,” she said and wondered whether this newfound openness between them was actually a Good Thing. Arthur had accepted her words with much more ease than she was comfortable with, but things couldn’t be helped right then. She left the citadel the very next day for a country estate that had belonged to Arthur’s mother and had not been used as a retreat since Camelot had last had a Queen.
She didn’t stay long. In truth, she had just needed a few days to herself and away from her husband to sort out her feelings and regain the tranquillity and amused detachment she needed to survive the Court. And, of course, to be alone with her memories of Lancelot, to be honest with herself for once concerning her relationship - or not-relationship - with him. For the first time ever, she admitted to herself that her love for Arthur had grown out of the wreck Lancelot had made of their budding liaison when he had left her that second time without giving her the opportunity to get to know her own heart. It was even possible that, in the beginning, she had unknowingly sought to punish Lancelot, nothing more. However, that didn’t mean that the love she held for Arthur now was anything … less.
Gwen came to that conclusion after hours-long walks through the meadows and groves surrounding Ygraine’s estate with no one but Elyan for company (luckily, her brother knew when to be silent). The countryside with its rolling hills and ripe fields was so peaceful that it was hard not to make peace with oneself as well. Sometimes she imagined the Queen Mother whispering to her when the wind picked up, telling her that she, Guinevere, didn’t have to be flawless either to be worthy of her son. It was nothing but a fancy, of course, but it made Gwen realize that, despite all the wise words she had said to her husband, she herself had believed exactly that, had convinced herself that she had to always be strong, calm, and perfect to truly merit everything Arthur had given her. Those days were apparently filled with sudden insights that seemed self-evident in hindsight. It was incredibly freeing.
After two weeks of mourning Lancelot and a life that had never been (his, hers, theirs), the Queen came home. However, the Camelot she returned to was a different place to the one she had left. It was nothing huge that had changed, not yet. Gwen couldn’t even put her finger on what exactly felt so different. It wasn’t even that Arthur had set out on his mission to basically build a whole new Camelot without anyone noticing. In fact, she had been waiting for something like this to happen for a while now, even though she could have never imagined the sheer scope and otherness of what Arthur was resolved to achieve. Or maybe, his machinations did contribute to the overall uneasy feeling Gwen just couldn’t fight. Brilliant as his plans of action might be, they weren’t exactly conducive to a tension-free atmosphere within the citadel. And then, there was Merlin.
Courtiers were not always the most bright and perceptive sort of people, but they could sniff out changing fortunes like bloodhounds. Not that Merlin’s Very Own Chambers alone hadn’t been a bright red flag, notifying everyone that it might be a good idea to Suck Up to the King’s Manservant with as much dedication as possible (at least as long as his back wasn’t turned). It was more than that, however. The shift in the relationship between the King and his … whatever-he-was-now was so blatant that the only ones probably not noticing were Arthur and Merlin. Maybe they thought they were being subtle when they yelled at each other in the privacy of their own rooms, but Gwen felt that Merlin at least should have known that nothing aroused the curiosity of servants and nobles like raised voices behind closed doors. To say nothing of the sheer audacity to yell at the King at all and obviously get away with it on top of everything else. Merlin’s close, singular relationship with Arthur, both as a prince and a king, had always raised the hackles of envious nobles and servants alike, but that had been nothing compared to the vitriol that some of the courtiers were spewing now whenever the two turned their backs. And Gwen was quite sure that she, as the queen, only caught a fraction of what was really whispered in the halls of the citadel. It had been quite some time since she had been truly privy to the whole range of palace gossip. Even before her marriage, servants had been watching what they were saying to her and nobles had stopped ignoring her presence while wagging their chins.
Gwen wasn't sure if Arthur and Merlin even noticed the tension surrunding them of if they just didn’t care. These days, the King and his Manservant seemed to live in a world of their own, a world the both of them were the centre of, with everyone else relegated to the periphery. Well, to be fair, they let Gwen in, a bit. Or rather, she insinuated herself back in, cautiously and carefully, because she knew that if she didn’t, if she refrained from insisting on her rights as a wife and a friend, they would sideline her, just like everyone else - not with malicious intent, but simply because their bond was so strong and so bright and so self-contained, now even more so than before.
Gwen had always known that, and she found the wondrous dance Arthur and Merlin led unspeakably beautiful. That wasn’t the problem, not really. She didn’t mind Arthur dining with his Manservant most evenings, didn’t mind the long nights filled with wine and talking, didn’t mind the days they spent practically glued together, because the both of them were very generous with this private time of theirs whenever she decided to join in. Gwen had always scorned wives who laid claim to their husbands’ lives like they were something they had acquired by purchase, and she was proud to say that she wasn’t becoming what she used to despise. Besides, it wasn’t like she herself actually had much time to spent with Arthur anyway.
Her husband’s Grand Plan to Remake Camelot took so much of his attention that the bulk of the day to day business of government fell to her, and she loved it. It was incredibly exhausting, and there were days the King and Queen fell into the Royal Bed next to each other and dropped off without exchanging much more than a few tired words (or possibly mere grunts), but Gwen thrived more on Ruling than she ever had on anything else. Listening to people, weighing requests, finding solutions and getting things done gave her an heretofore unknown feeling of contentment and sometimes even a rush not dissimilar to sex or living through mortal danger. It changed her relationship with Arthur, too, making it more solid and much less tentative (although Gwen hadn’t realized up to that point that it had been the latter). Her husband seemed to have finally realized that she wouldn’t just break.
That was the good part. In fact, as far as Queenship was concerned, there was no bad part. Their division of labour worked, and they did as well. However - and that was something she was not truly conscious of except for a niggling feeling of unease - all the work that kept her busy made her forget, too. It made her forget that she had never truly discussed with Arthur what had distressed him that much the night he found out about Merlin’s magic. She forgot that she had wanted to share the revelations she’d had during her Time Away with him. She forgot every morning to ask him if he realized that he regularly went to bed either dead tired from too much work or more or less drunk from his bonding time with Merlin. She forgot to be worried because she often found him already awake when she opened her eyes after a night of deep dead sleep, hunched over his correspondence, forging alliances with Annis, Godwin, Olaf and even Lot, or already in full planning mode for his latest coup to pave the way for his Remade Camelot. She forgot to talk to Merlin about Arthur’s fears and her hopes, forgot to join him and Arthur in Merlin’s Very Own Chambers more and more often, forgot to nurture what had budded during that night they held her husband in their arms, forgot so many things she should have remembered, and it niggled at the back of her mind, while she was listening to a worried peasant woman whose favourite breeding sow had given birth to an eight-legged piglet, or while she was trying to diplomatically convince a gout-ridden Geoffrey to retire, or while she was reassuring rich, but useless Lord Arnulf that yes, the King thought the world of him (and not only of his lush pastures and fat cattle that could feed the entire kingdom, if push came to shove).
This uneasy sense of possibly having left a hot flat iron on your mistress’s favourite gown stayed with Gwen over the following weeks, but she was simply too busy to take much heed of it. Tomorrow, she always thought, I will get to the bottom of it tomorrow. After all, Gwen was used to listening to her gut feelings. But then, the Queen had to turn away from the niggling in the back of her mind once more because Gaius had put in a request for the court to find him a new supplier of poppy-seeds, or because some garland-making contest needed judging, or the horrid wife of King Lot demanded to be entertained while turning up her nose at Camelot’s Common Queen, or one of the knights respectfully asked for the honour the wear his Queen’s colours during the next tournament.
Things changed when the latter happened for the fourth time in one evening during the second visit of Lot and his Horrid Wife. They were giving yet another banquet for their Royal Visitors, and the tournament in question was to be held the next day. Lot’s Horrid Wife was looking more and more peeved as yet another knight knelt before the Common Queen to ask for her favour, and Gwen grew quite exasperated, too. And once she had to tell Leon that it was really quite unprecedented and frankly silly for all competing knights to wear her colours, she could no longer deny that they had a problem. She didn’t know what the problem was yet, but she could clearly see that it was there.
“Arthur?” she said one evening a few days later that her husband happened to not spend in Merlin’s Very Own Chambers.
“Hm?” he answered distractedly from his desk where he was composing a letter to Queen Annis, most probably complaining about Lot’s unreasonableness and general character (the two of them were worse than Cook and Berta when it came to tittle-tattle, even though they conducted the selfsame on paper and For the Good of Albion).
“Do you think the knights are jealous?”
“Hm?” he asked again. Gwen furrowed her brow at the rings under his eyes and got up from the Royal Bed where she had been sitting to unbraid her hair (her private time with Arthur was much too precious to let a maid help her with stuff she was perfectly able to do for herself). She pressed a kiss on the crown of his head and rubbed his shoulders.
“Jealous. Your knights. Of Merlin and me. Don’t you think they have noticed that you have taken us into confidence and not them?”
Arthur tilted his head back and frowned. “Why should they be jealous? They know that life at court often demands secrecy - well, all save Gwaine probably. Besides, you’re my wife, and he is my …”
“Your Merlin?” she suggested with a smile when he hesitated, obviously searching for the right word to describe his friend.
“Well, yes,” he shrugged, ignoring her gentle mockery. “It’s only natural that I should confide in the two of you before everybody else. I’m sure the knights know that. So, they might sulk a bit, but jealousy? I can’t imagine that.” He paused and his frown deepened. “Which is as good a reason as any to assume that you’re right.”
Gwen winced, both at his words and his self-deprecating tone. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s high time I start learning from my mistakes, Guinevere. If you suspect something might be wrong, then I yield to your judgement.”
“You probably shouldn’t,” she insisted, stroking his shoulders. “It was only a shot in the dark, and it doesn’t even make much sense. Or any, really. It’s just … they keep looking at me.”
He turned in his chair, encircling her waist with his arms and drawing her closer. She relaxed into his embrace. It was nice. They hadn’t done something like that for some time.
“Looking at you? How do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Just … I keep catching them at it. Especially Gwaine. I didn’t think anything of it, but then there was this ridiculous thing with Leon suggesting all contestants wear my colours during the tournament …”
“That doesn’t sound like jealousy, dearheart. It rather sounds as if I might have reason to be jealous. Gwaine keeps looking at you, you say?”
“Yes, but it’s not like that. Believe me, I know when a man looks at me with desire or even admiration, but that’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know!” She bit the nail of her little finger in frustration, until he caught hold of it and pulled it out of her mouth.
“I know. It’s unqueenly.” She was pouting, and she knew it.
“That, and you’re going to complain the entire day tomorrow because I let you ruin your nails,” Arthur answered unperturbed. “I can keep my eyes peeled in regard to the knights if you think it’s necessary. I’ll tell Merlin to as well.”
She twisted her mouth, vexed with herself. “I don’t want to cause discord between you and your favoured knights.”
“You won’t. We’ll assume it’s something entirely harmless. Maybe you’re wrong, and they simply have all developed a huge crush on you. After all, you are one spectacular queen. And a positively radiant woman.”
She couldn’t help but smile and kiss him for that. “Charmer.”
The boyish grin he gave her almost made the shadows under his eyes disappear. “Born and raised.”
“Don’t I know it. I bet Lot’s horrid wife noticed, too. She’s probably been imagining dragging you off to her layer and ravishing you the entire time they’ve been here.”
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed, hiding his face against her belly and shuddering theatrically. “Don’t say things like that. Guh! You are a terrible wife. I won’t get those images out of my head ever! I’m ruined! Now who’s going to satisfy your lusty urges, woman, huh?”
She threw her head back and laughed heartily. “’Lusty urges’? Oh God, I love you, Arthur Pendragon.”
“Too late. You’re not getting anything from me ever again. Argh! Lot’s horrid wife! My brain is melting!”
“I’m sorry to tell you that, darling boy, but I don’t need your brain to satisfy my lusty urges.”
“That part has gone into hiding! You scared it half to death.”
“I can go on a quest to find it?”
She felt him laugh against her belly. A moment later he looked up with sparkling eyes. “Wouldn’t that be a most worthy task for the Knights of Camelot?”
She pursed her lips. “Nobody said anything about the Knights of Camelot. That one is mine.”
He bit her belly through the thick fabric of her nightgown (the taupe one, with the ruffled sleeves and the elaborate gold embroidery). It was a sure way to increase the lustiness of her urges, and he bloody well knew it. Gwen bent down to kiss him, searching his tongue with hers. The rich, sweet taste of his mouth made her shudder.
“Mmh, you taste of wine,” she said against his lips, and he smiled.
“Lot’s horrid wife plied me with it. She was probably planning to defile me in my inebriated state.”
“I’m going to gouge her eyes out the next time I see her,” Gwen said pleasantly, and Arthur laughed again.
“You’re delectable when you’re bloodthirsty, Queen Guinevere.”
She went for his laughing mouth again, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. The heavy, double-layered skirt of her nightgown pooled around their legs, and she felt his hands against her backside, pressing her down.
“Found it,” she whispered in triumph, and he smiled.
“Just because I showed you the way.”
“Oh, I think I know the way perfectly well.” She proved her words by grinding down, making him arch against her. One of his hands left her back and busied itself with the lacings of her bodice, loosening them just enough for her nipples to peek over the line of her cleavage. They rubbed against the stiff fabric and she tilted her head back with a quiet groan. His right hand came to rest between her shoulder-blades to stabilize her, while his mouth found her left nipple and made her squirm. The velvet of his dark-blue jacket was both soft and rough under her hands (no simple white linen shirts while the Lotians were here, God forbid), and suddenly she wanted to feel the material against her breasts.
“Bed,” she gasped. He stood up without letting go of her, compelling her to wrap her legs around his waist. Not much later she found herself lying on her back with her bodice unlaced completely, her heavy skirt bunched around her waist, her husband between her legs, and the dark-blue velvet chafing deliciously against her oversensitive nipples. He was teasing her, and it was driving her crazy. The impossible man hadn’t even taken off his trousers yet!
Gwen yanked on the offending piece of clothing. “Off, off! God, do you need Merlin for everything?”
He stilled between her legs. “You’re bringing up my manservant now?”
“You brought up Lot’s horrid wife!” she mock-protested while fighting with the lacings of his trousers. When she finally succeeded, she let out a triumphant little squeak.
“That was also you if I recall correctly. Is there something you want to tell me?”
She groaned (and it was not a good groan, not exactly at least). Why were there so many words coming out of his mouth?
“Less talking!” she demanded and pulled his trousers down. It was not until both his hands framed her face and made her look at him that she noticed that the mood had changed somewhat. There was an intensity to his blue gaze that was quite different to the sensual playfulness from just before.
“What?” she said, trying hard to ignore the throbbing in her nether regions.
“Why did you bring up Merlin?” Arthur asked with a very peculiar tone of voice. Gwen would have almost called it … interested. Or maybe even hopeful.
She blinked. Oh. They were going to talk about this now, were they?
She met his gaze full on. “He’s always right there looking over your shoulder anyway, isn’t he?”
Arthur drew in a sharp breath, scrutinizing her face. She could see him swallow.
“What …” He licked his lips. “What would you say if he … if he actually were?”
“Watching us over your shoulder?”
He just looked at her with this odd intensity in his eyes, and she let out a breath, remembering that one night weeks ago when Arthur had been draped over Merlin like he belonged there. It was only then that she realized she had somehow forgotten about it, and a big part of the unease that had plagued her for weeks left her in that very instant. Gwen let out another deep breath.
“I think that could be rather lovely,” she said with false calm. Arthur’s eyes widened.
“You don’t have to say that,” he whispered, and she had to smile.
“Arthur. I've always known that I kind of married him, too, when I tied the knot with you.”
“I’ve never touched him!” he proclaimed hastily. Gwen caressed the side of his face.
“I know. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Arthur clearly didn’t get what she was trying to tell him. He opened his mouth, but she pre-emted any further protest by placing her hand over his mouth.
“I’ve never told you about my first kiss, have I? Who it was with, I mean,” she said, smiling meaningfully. Arthur’s eyes widened even further.
“Merlin?!”, his lips formed against the palm of her hand, and she cackled, replacing her hand with her lips.
“It was when he was still very new in Camelot,” she told him once the kiss had ended. “When he almost died drinking that poison for you. I was very relieved to see him alive after you had been so brave and noble and saved him.” She flashed back to Arthur in the dungeons, all desperate and dishevelled and heroic and oh so young, and although the sight hadn’t stirred her blood at the time, the memory did now. Gwen licked her lips and brought them to his ear, feeling wild and reckless.
“His lips were so very soft,” she whispered into her husband’s ear and felt him go stiff between her legs. He was barely breathing. Gwen smiled. “Soft and ripe and plump like midsummer cherries, and they tasted just as sweet. I wanted to bite them and suck them into my mouth.” Arthur groaned and buried his face against her neck. She crossed her ankles over the small of his back and drew him closer. “And I thought that if this boy took a lover, he would be so careful and so gentle, driving them mad with barely-there touches, skimming over their skin with his long, graceful fingers, worshipping them with a whispering caress, until they wouldn’t be able to even think anymore. And then, he would put that plump, ripe mouth …” She gasped as Arthur entered her with one smooth stroke and moaned loudly, raising her hips to meet him. “… that mouth exactly where they wanted it, because he would just know, and … oh, yes … he’d hold them down with his strong hands, be… oh … because they don’t … don’t look it, but they are so strong and capable, so strong, Arthur, Arthur, yes, yes, oh God, and when he’s done with his mouth, he’d just push in, oh yes, like that, exactly like that, but careful, he’d be so careful and tender, like YES!” She gave up on coherent talking entirely then and just clung on, moaning nonsensical stuff about Merlin’s hands and his cheekbones and his eyelashes, while her husband drove into her, taking her higher and higher, until she peaked with a drawn-out cry, clenching her legs around him as if she never wanted to let him leave. Arthur shuddered in her grip, spilling inside her after another couple of strokes, biting her shoulder and panting as if he was coming apart. Delicious little aftershocks coursed through her, and she all but purred when he collapsed next to her.
It took them quite some time to come back down from their blissful high. Once they did, however, they stared at each other with round eyes. Arthur looked downright spooked, and Gwen covered her mouth with her hands to stifle an impending giggle fit.
“What just happened?” Arthur asked, and the giggling won out.
“Guinevere!”
She patted his hair, still laughing. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, dearheart. Let’s sleep on it, alright? We’ll talk. But not now.”
He kept looking at her dubiously. She sighed and stroked his cheek again, tracing the shadows under his eyes that stood out even starker now than they had before.
“Sleep. You need it,” she soothed. “Don’t worry. It was good, what happened. It was good.”
And it truly was. Gwen was certain of it.
Finally, her husband nodded and let her free him from the hopeless tangle his clothes had become. He was out as a light as soon as his head touched the pillow. Gwen snuggled up to him, and sighed again, but it was out of contentment this time. Contentment and hope. All would be well.
When Gwen awoke the next morning to Arthur still asleep next to her, she felt like a particularly sleek cat who had gotten the entire cream-pot. That sense of serenity stayed with her during the day and helped her to smile affably through the pompous send-off they gave the Lotians. The Horrid Wife bid her farewell with a pinched look on her face. In a very deliberate breach of etiquette, Gwen reached for her husband’s hand without taking her eyes off the harpy and let her tongue peek out to wet her lips smugly. The other queen looked like she was choking on her tongue and turned with a supressed huff to let King Lot help her into her opulent carriage. Gwen’s grin widened when she caught Merlin’s eyes who beamed at her and gave her two thumbs up without making an effort to hide it. He detested the Horrid Wife about as much as Gwen did and had been banned from serving at any feast including the Lotians lest he be tempted to upend an entire jug of wine into the hag’s pitiful cleavage.
They celebrated the departure of their trying guests with a much less formal banquet than those held during the Lotians’ sojourn in Camelot. Merlin was allowed to serve again, but didn’t keep to it long, as Arthur pulled him down to sit next to him at the Royal Table. Gwen chuckled over her husband, who seemed to have gotten over his initial shock and come to terms with what had happened the night before just fine. He was bickering with Merlin over his plate, which was piled high with choice pieces of meat and which Arthur tried to push on his reluctant Manservant. He seemed to have progressed from chicken to rabbit and beef, and Gwen noted with amusement that Merlin hadn’t quite seen through Arthur’s code of food just yet. She wondered how long it would take her friend to catch on to the fact that feeding people was Arthur’s preferred form of wooing them.
Merlin would get there in time, she decided and left her husband and his target to their devices and turned to Lord Arnulf who was sitting on her right side in honour of his rich pastures. She was in such a good mood that it took her no time at all to charm the old miser into agreeing to support the new tax Arthur wanted the Council to put on the kingdom’s most affluent landowners. He even did it with a besotted smile on his bloated face.
In face of that particular victory, Gwen allowed herself another cat-who-got-the-cream grin and let her gaze wander through the room, surveying her realm with pride. Everyone was conversing much more freely and unreservedly than they had with the stuffy Lotians in the room, and the servants seemed happy and relaxed. Cook, who had done a particularly excellent job during the State Visit, was sitting on a place of honour at the other end of the table conversing with Gaius, although she didn’t seem to like what he was telling her, judging by the sour look on her face. Geoffrey, who was across from them, paid them no heed, though. He was being a good former librarian for once and stuck to what looked like herbal tea and vegetables instead of heavy wine and fatty meat. Gwen nodded approvingly and let her gaze move on, until it came to rest on a most peculiar scene on the other side of the room.
It was the King’s Most Favoured Knights, sitting huddled together like the gossips they were but with a most unusual air of doom and gloom about them. Gwen furrowed her brow. Her brother was talking to Leon with a thunderous face, while the First Knight was looking at the direction of the Royal Table as if Elyan had just told him that he wasn’t allowed to touch a crossbow ever again. Gwen thought he might burst into tears at any moment. Percival across from them was stubbornly shaking his head, his massive arms crossed in front of his chest in a clear gesture of negation. And Gwaine, who was sitting next to Percival, was watching Gwen. She caught his eyes, and there was that look again, the one she had been unable to define before. But this time - maybe because of her relaxed state of mind, maybe because it just clicked all of a sudden - she finally identified his expression.
Pity.
As if on a silent command, Leon and Elyan turned their eyes to her as well, with the very same expression on their faces. What the hell?, Gwen thought in bafflement. Why in the name of all that was holy would the King’s Favoured Knights look at her with pity?
Chapter Twelve:
Where Arthur realizes some things and fails to realize some others