Shared Chambers: Scabbard
Title Shared Chambers: Scabbard
Rating PG-13
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen / a little Merlin in this one too
Word Count 4,845
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.11 /has angst and heavy foreshadowing, a bit of mature situations
Author’s Note These have been such a joy to write, and two more are coming. I feel a little pause before I write them though because I know they will be heavy and one will not even have much of Arthur in it. Oh…emotions. Thanks dear readers for reading. I adore you, and your interest in my stories is just lovely. Dedicated to you all, everyone who loves Arwen.
Oh and a note for my dear ‘Territories’ readers, I’ll be working heavily on it too, and try to get a new update up for you sometime next week. I love writing that story also. My goal, and resolution now is to finish all unfinished stories, not start anything new, but perhaps one story…I’ll say more about that later. It’s linked to these Chambers fics.
Shared Chambers: Scabbard
There is the tread of footsteps and then he’s there. She moves forward, seeing in his face the weight of rule. The unending heft of kingship.
“She didn’t take it.”
Gwen nods and looks to the window, seeing how the procedure is being put into its last bits, the plank laid down, the noose extended.
“She refuses to admit the truth. I have no choice. She will be hanged in a few hours. I will not blame you if you have no desire, but I will be standing on the balcony above. I will observe her execution as a king should.”
The words escape his lips in webbed tangles. He stutters and blurts, shakily. She vacates the window, grasps his cold hand, whispering, “And I will be standing by you. For you are my honorable king and my husband whom I love.”
She doesn’t wait for his falter, just lifts her hands and extends her arms, pulling him toward her. He grasps her upper arms, fingers tangling into the scarlet red material. His head falls upon her shoulder, his golden hairs brushing against, and his eyes wearily looking beyond. His sigh is heavy, dragged from his lips. And as she pulls backward she can see the increase of lines that each day crack more and more into his skin. It does not matter he is still a young soul. Kingship finds its way to abuse youth and vigor.
“I tried Guinevere. I swear I did.” He states plaintively, almost like he is seeking forgiveness.
Calmly she strokes his fingers, and pulls them and him against her heart. “I believe you. And the people have seen too.”
“She says I am just like my father. A brute. A merciless killer. When Mordred came to me, when he kneeled at my feet I saw the pain of loving someone swim into his eyes. I remembered loving you and begging my father to just let us go, let us be alone. As Mordred did the same with me.”
Gwen sighs, grasping her husband’s hands firmly in hers as she speaks with conviction. “But the difference is Arthur, I committed no crime. Kara has.”
She pulls him in closer, her hands still locked over his. In his face she can read his anguish, his revulsion at what is to happen. “You gave her a chance to repent and she did not take it. She has sworn up and down her hatred for you and her absence of care for the lives she ended, brutally, mercilessly. She accuses you my husband and yet she admits in a court of law with just a shrug of indifference that those men were nothing more than ‘casualties of war’. To spare her after that, after attempting to give her another chance, and still she says she has done no wrong, would put Camelot in the gravest danger. It would show you as weak and pliable.”
Arthur looks up into his wife’s eyes, reading her intelligence, so keen, her resilience so impenetrable and her heart so abounding. It is the most curious of physical characteristics combined. It is why she always amazes and enthralls him.
If there could be a scabbard to a husband, she is his. In nights of passion she contains him within her sun blessed glistening limbs. But in the hour of mundane day or that of the hour of potent duty, it is her peace and her order that is the scabbard then he so necessitates.
When Mordred kneeled at his feet and the young man began to cry, looking up into his eyes with misery, Arthur felt his agonies keenly, for it was the same for him when his Guinevere was nearly terminated of life.
However this is indeed different in that Guinevere was innocent, and Kara is not. Also Mordred deceived him, he who is holding in a cell now.
“I don’t want to hate Mordred.”
Gwen lets out a sigh at that. From the first when Arthur knighted Mordred she could see how much the young man meant to him, and Mordred has shown in-kind respect every day he has been in service. Until now. Until love and perhaps something else has interfered.
“Then do not.” She squeezes his hand, looking up into her husband’s wearied blue eyes. They have seen little sleep these past days. She has felt his shiftings upon the bed, been woken up in the middle of the night to spot him at his table, tiredly continuing the planning of war. “Hatred is an emotion that is only wasted. It serves no purpose. You need not hate someone just to be in disagreement with them. You are a man of compassion and if Mordred cannot see that then I am sorry for him.”
Arthur studies his wife quietly. “You see none then in Kara?”
Gwen ponders the question only for a quick moment. “Kara is young. You are right about that. Could she be influenced by another? Possibly. Morgana or such. But she stands upon a side that I cannot support and neither can you. To do so would place Camelot in grave peril, I remind Arthur.”
“Then you agree with my decision?”
His asking continues and so she lets go of his hands, tenders his cheeks with her palms. “Arthur you have done the only thing you could do. You gave her a chance, an out, and she did not take it. She is wrong about you. You are a loving passionate fighter of your people. You would never stoop to cause harm to Camelot or your men who serve you. I will not lie. A hanging is not something I want to see.
Camelot held in peace for so many years my husband. Your pledge to not disturb the Druid way of life, a pledge you have kept. It has been good, but there are those who do not agree with the peace that you and I seek. They want revenge, just a sad fact. So I will stand by your side, as your queen, and as your wife, and not let you face this alone.”
His lips come against hers. Press down and part her mouth to him. His drink is her essence to touch the desert of his tongue. Her lips around his are that scabbard again, containing him with care.
He whispers that he’ll be back in some moments.
It is sometime after he leaves that a party passes by their chambers. Hearing the clang of the guards’ armor, Gwen opens the door and makes a request.
“I will speak to her. You will give us a few moments.”
One of the guardsmen shakily answers, “My Lady, we’ve been told not to release her from her bonds. King’s orders.”
They seem hesitant as if the queen will object to that response. But Gwen shakes her head, putting her hand out in understanding. “I know. And that is fine. You may be privy to this conversation also. I know your discreetness fine guards of Camelot. My words will not take long. The shackles may remain.”
They seemed relieved by that as they take a few steps back, keeping Kara in their watchful eye all the meanwhile though.
Gwen steps forward, lifting her red scarlet dress some, and settling it around her waist to land regally at her feet again as she stops directly in front of the young Druid woman.
“My husband gave you a chance to be pardoned earlier today. You did not take it Kara. Why?”
Her voice is gentle, soft. Kara seems a little taken aback by it at first, before she lifts her chin. “Your husband required that I take it by admitting my crime. Well I have not committed one.”
Gwen smiles a bit with irony, before questioning. “You have not? And yet did you not admit to the killings of many men? Casualties of war, that is what you called them, yes?”
Kara continues to display pride in her cause. “Yes. A war that your husband has perpetrated by being a cold cruel ruler who destroys lives without thinking.”
Gwen eyes her firmly now, not letting Kara look away from her as she says nothing for a long while, just keeps up the lock of gaze, before she speaks of the personal. “And you are no destroyer?”
“I have hurt no one.”
Gwen’s mouth flattens to a tight line, before she whispers ominously. “Then you are a liar. For you see those men who you consider nothing more than casualties of war had lives and loves to fulfill their hearts.”
Kara swallows, but acts as if she doesn’t care. So Gwen steps forward more, treading upon personal space. “One was set to be a father, two months from now, give or take a few with how nature is sometimes unpredictable. Now his wife grieves and must be given safe herbal tonics to sleep so she has no nightmares in the night. One had a son who is no more than thirteen. And now must be the man of his homestead while he is dazed by the horrific loss. One had a lady who he wished one day to marry, but now she is broken of heart. And it goes on Kara. There are more with lives that you tarnished and destroyed. And yet you call them nothing more than casualties of war. As if they are parchment to be carelessly torn after error.
Are they your error? Your mistake? The one you do not regret. They are nothing but that to you?”
“Camelot is a land of unjust people who hold no regard for those who have suffered so many years-
Gwen cuts through now sharply, her voice rising enough to show her disagreement. “Camelot is a land of people who work hard every day to keep this kingdom at peace! It is a land that I love and the king of this land is a man that I love, and yet you come here and you speak of this place and this man with such lack of respect, such lack of care, within our court of law! You insult my husband, King Arthur Pendragon, with false truths and unfair accusations!
So hold your tongue on your lies. I will not hear them anymore.
Do you know what a scabbard is Kara?”
The change of conversation’s direction offsets Kara. She nods with a touch of exasperation. “Of course I do. It holds a sword. What does this have to do with-
“Do you love Mordred?”
Kara’s chin flinches some; she says nothing.
Yet a woman who is loved and shows love gets her answer right away. “You do. And yet you don’t seem to understand. To be a man’s love of life you must be like his scabbard, holding him within your embrace of living. Sheathing him protectively when needed and honoring what he holds passion for. Mordred came here to Camelot because he wanted to serve Arthur. He respected him that much. Your disgust in Arthur’s ways quarrel with Mordred’s beliefs.”
“You don’t understand-
Gwen fixes her jaw. “No. I understand. You spoke of Arthur’s father with ill will and I must concede he was not a king of the most just decision. His father caused me pain, but I don’t want to extend that pain to my husband. For I love him. I am his scabbard. I contain him in every way I must. If you truly love Mordred you will try to see why he does what he does. You would hear his hurt when you killed those guards, those ‘casualties of war.’ You would not force him to choose.
Oh you see Kara I too had a time when I could have selfishly made Arthur choose. But I did not for I knew my husband needed to be king of this land. The just wonderful king he is now. The one you question so and yet you do not understand an inch of him. You do not see that the greatest weapon Camelot has is the people’s love for him.
But most sadly Kara you do not see that the man you confess to love is in agony at you forcing him to take a side. His destiny is now tarnished by you and your greed of purpose. There is no crime until one is committed, and you Kara, committed not only one, but many.
Perhaps you serve Morgana, and yet do you know truly the woman you serve? She imprisoned me for days. Enchanted me to kill my own husband. Morgana’s heart is cold, Kara. So very cold. However, it is my husband that you accuse of coldness.”
Kara says nothing, but her gaze is now more fixed upon Gwen, listening.
“Let me tell you about my husband, Kara. Let me educate you about King Arthur Pendragon. He married me when my position in life, before I became queen, was as nothing more than servant. You see Arthur did not let that stop him from being with the one he loved. He knighted my brother, who had no inch of royal blood. And he has knighted others, with likewise circumstance, even Mordred. He has aided people who cannot afford the tax of living, by alleviating them of its cost. He is the kindest man of heart I’ve ever known. Robust just heart.”
Kara quarrels back verbally. “He is like his father, treats the Druid people without mercy, barbaric in his ways.”
Gwen shakes her head strongly. “That is not true. For years now Arthur has not gone near the Druid people, made no disturbance upon their way of life. As he said to you in the throne room, your sentence has nothing to do with magic or sedition. It has to do with that you murdered, more than once, and have no repentance for it. I love my husband, but I would never blindly support a decision of law. I support him entirely in this decision though you see Kara because it is the fairest. Someone like you, who turns knights against their king without remorse, who murders good honorable men without understanding of the cost of life, and who claims to love without respecting that person’s honored loyalties, is no good for Camelot, no good for existence at all. Your heart is too cold. You are a threat. And therefore you must face your judgment.”
Gwen starts to signal to the guards to take her, but then Kara’s words stop her. “And what about yours and your husband’s heart? He has not made up for his father or his own cruelty because there continues to be a ban upon magic. He seeks no end to a merciless sickening law. And neither do you. I do not fear death so much. I do not regret it. But I do regret that I will not be here to see it. Camelot’s fall. Its decimation.”
The words spit out of her mouth as Gwen slowly turns back to her, disturbed by much of what she says, recalling something of foreshadow that crawls up her skin and pinches, like blood seeking leeches.
“And with it your husband’s death. His blood soaking into the land, creeping out of his body, until his limbs cease to move, until his heart finds no more beat, until his breath leaks out its last exhale. It is coming Queen Guinevere, the final battle. The one where Arthur Pendragon dies.”
Her heart starting to beat terribly fast, Gwen holds her outer composure, saying nothing to Kara, just signaling for the guards to take her. This conversation is done.
When they are gone, she closes the door to their chambers, stepping further inside, going to the position of her bed furniture. Within the stand is a box. She takes it out and the rolled up paper that is inside. Months ago, when Sefa was just escaped, when her father was dead, when Arthur was facing Morgana for the first time in years, and when Mordred was found again, this message came into her hands, speaking of Camelot’s fall, and Arthur’s end of life.
Then there was skepticism about Mordred’s loyalty. That ceased when he seemed to prove himself and showed no link to magic. Now Gwen has to wonder darkly. Was this all the prelude to the end?
She shakes herself out of her dark reverie, putting the Druid prayer back in its box, and turning to the bed, seeing rivers of it.
Blood. Crimson blood. Floating among the pale sheets. Cursing its stain into the covers.
“Oh.” She gasps, holding her hand to her mouth, and extending the other one to the bed, shakingly touching it, and watching as the liquid drips down her skin, covers it with a body’s excrement of life.
“No.” She breathes. And hears the door. Looks back to see her husband, his face not directed her way. She painstakingly turns once more to the bed, to her fingers, which are now stainless.
The bed unmarred.
A foreshadow?
A chimera of what is to come?
Gwen shakes it away, wiping at her uncovered hands, stealing herself to be calm in her husband’s presence, to not show him what just horrified her.
Arthur steps into the room, his heart beating heavily, his legs feeling cumbersome. “It’s time Guinevere.”
She looks back to him, letting out a sober, but calmer look.
“Like I said, you needn’t go with me. This will not be pleasant to see. I know. I’ve faced these before.” He has: burnings, hangings, decapitations. Since age deemed appropriate by his father, just past twelve, he has been an observer of violent deaths of those who practice magic.
After so many, bits of numbness protected him, the judgments feeling almost ordinary.
Almost.
Never could he fully get rid of the grotesque feel.
His face is so haggard. His beautiful blue eyes so lifeless. Gwen moves away from the bed, reaching out for her husband’s hands, and tells him strongly, “I stand by your decision as it is the right one. So unfortunate she did not take your pardon. So wrong she would threaten your life and those of Camelot. We go together, Arthur.”
He nods his head, feeling his wife’s kiss upon his cheek, and leaning into it for a moment weakly, whispering with shaky breath, “Guine-vere.”
He doesn’t want this. She can feel it. His heart recoils, but there sadly is no other way, especially after the dark words Kara uttered to her. She has threatened Camelot and the love of her life. To leave Kara alive would be foolishly detrimental.
Arthur feels his wife’s hands at his back, rubbing and helping him to move, to stand straighter. She gives nod.
Time.
They walk out of their chambers, a unified movement of royal purpose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When it is done, Mordred is gone, and sitting in their chambers, Arthur feels a fool. He has trusted again and been betrayed once more. Every person it seems that he has placed loyalty in, deceives him. It is exhausting. It yanks at his mind, making him feel such an idiot. Such a weak king.
How could he have been so stupid?
Now what? Would Mordred go to Morgana? Would they work together in alliance?
There is another tangle in his mind though, Mordred’s love, Kara. Her face as she died. Staring up at him. Challenging him. Telling him her only remorse was that she wouldn’t see his death.
Arthur doesn’t care about that, her foreshadow that is. Her bluster.
He just cares about Camelot, his wife, putting all he loves, all he is passionate about in the gravest danger. There will be no choice now, but to go to the gallows of war. To fight to hopefully one day, some time, some year, achieve peace.
But there is no time for this, these selfish indulgences in misery. He reminds himself silently and sparks to action again.
Arthur sends Merlin to get Leon. They lay out the map and work hard at finding the best routes to victory, although all seem far too shallow. For hours they labor. Every time Kara’s death creeps into his heart, he pushes it away. Has to get everything right. Has to be King.
It goes on past dinner. He ignores his wife’s calls for him to take a break. It continues to the hours of midnight and then finally he takes a breath, steps away from it all, and leans against the window. Silent. Finger nudging at his chin and lips.
Gwen touches Merlin’s shoulder, concerned for her husband. “He hasn’t eaten.”
Merlin nods, his own heart heavy. He could have kept Mordred away, never allowed this to happen, but he failed before. And now…
Now it is more dangerous than ever. For years Morgana has hungered to know the existence. So now…dejected…hurt…incensed…will Mordred tell her?
Will he reveal that he is Emrys?
It is a useless question for Merlin is almost certain he will. Kara is dead. Mordred is devastated, and hence a grave danger to Camelot and Arthur.
Seeing the heaviness in Gwen’s face, Merlin touches her hand. “Gwen, it will be alright.”
She says nothing, and Merlin can feel the deceptiveness of his words. He has this dark dread that maybe nothing truly will be alright again. But he just wants to reassure her.
Finally she nods her head, thanks him, and gives a quiet signal. Merlin understands and leaves them alone in their chambers.
Arthur moves to the bed, pushing his hands against his face, sitting there with his shoulders hunched, the effort of action seeping out from his body. It takes a few moments for Gwen to see that he is repeatedly shaking, and that odd queer disturbing sounds are escaping his mouth. She moves forward rapidly, lowering to her knees in front of him, catching more of the trembling, seeing the tears upon his cheeks.
“Arthur.” She whispers, extending her hands and arms, bringing him down against her, pressing him to her breast. “Oh Arthur.”
He knew the moment Merlin was gone and felt everything sag from there.
Always he tries to be strong, but when alone with just his Guinevere, he is never so naked that he can’t reveal his emotion. Its tangle with an ugly cacophony of moments. Mordred crying and kneeling in front of him. Kara hanging from the noose. Every betrayal that has ever caught him a fool. Each life horribly taken by the wars Camelot has had to fight.
The ones coming that fill him with ugly oils of dread. Two unfortunate possible outcomes, killing her, or being killed by her. He is not afraid to die, not so much anyways, just afraid to leave all he loves, to let down his kingdom and his wife. Oh his wondrous wife.
She is holding him tight, but Arthur pushes even further into her warm arms, feeling inches of freezing climbing up his flesh. He needs her every presence, needs to be enwrapped by the scabbard of her love, her devotion. To face this alone is too painful. So he sobs into her shoulder, cries into the scarlet material of her dress. His tears a river of regret, of shame, of fear.
It’s one of those curious moments, when that silly little farmer dream is not so far away from his mind. If only he could be anonymous and live with her happily somewhere. Just be not important. Just be-
“I’m here, Arthur.”
He shakes and sputters against her. Into her. He vibrates like a violent earthquake of emotions bursting out. A waiting explosion of agonies. His fingers clutch the soft red velvet of her dress, dig into the material. But she does not complain, just embraces him even tighter.
Her own tears fall forward. Let that prayer be a lie, a mistake. Let this war end with him not having to leave her.
She encloses her husband upon her sheath of love, within her scabbard of adoration. She holds him to her and wipes away his tears. Take away his rivers of pain.
His father would call him weak. Weak to grieve a woman of no worth being dead. A throwaway. But he is not his father. Always has had his mother’s heart. And it’s so heavy. Mordred’s face. The pain. Morgana turning away from him, using his wife. Sometimes it just hurts so much.
But what’s worst of all is fearing Camelot’s possible fall. Because of his fault in trusting, believing.
“I’m a fool.” He finally breathes out. “I’m such a stupid fool.”
Gwen shakes her head hard, not allowing him to believe such a terrible thing.
He is not done though, firm in his disapproving belief. “I am, Guinevere. I’ve trusted so many that I shouldn’t have. I’ve believed they would stand by me, that they wanted the same things, for Camelot to prosper, for a unification of kingdoms. I trusted Morgana, Agravaine, now even Mordred. And they’ve all deceived me. My father never trusted, or rarely. Maybe I should have just followed his way.”
She pushes back now, grasps his arm and shakes her head so solidly that he sees, that he hears. “No. You cannot believe that. You are NOT your father. And I am so grateful for that. I will not deny that you have pieces of him, that you loved him, and that it pains you he is no longer alive. But you have never been him Arthur.”
She reaches forward, digs past the material and lays her hand upon his naked heart, whispering for that part of him to hear. “You have so much in here. So much that few rulers have. Few people in this world. You are such a GOOD man. So strong. So vital and full of valor. Every time an ally needs assistance you are there. Every time the people in the kingdom need assistance, need a helping hand, you give it unselfishly. You treat your knights, men of noble birth and of much simpler upbringings like they are your brothers. You have never looked upon your servant and friend Merlin like he is expendable. You are passionate, and you are brave. You never sit back. You are always at the front of the battle. And your people will be there with you.”
She grasps his cheek with one hand. “But beyond that you are my husband. I have never loved any man more than you Arthur Pendragon. In our bed you are the fiercest lover. And the gentlest all the same. And out, you treat me like I have always been of nobility. You helped me those first days when I was still a little unsure, when rulers would come and not accept my new role so easily.
You kiss me, still my breath for seconds, and my body shivers with lightening thrills. You are the other part of me Arthur. I have given all my heart to you. I will always give that to you. Oh Arthur, you are no fool. You are a beautiful wonder my love.”
“But they betrayed me.” He whispers. Her words amazing and full, but even they can’t take it away, this ugly lonely knowledge. “They hate me.”
She caresses his cheek, looking solidly into his eyes. “They want what you have. They covet more. And people like Kara, they do not think how their own acts of vengeance will lead to just more pain. That their cause maybe is noble, but not their actions in it.
You could not spare her. As painful as that was. You had no choice. I stood with you on that decision and on every new one you will make. A fool would be alone, no one nearby. You are far from alone. You are no fool, my husband.”
He moves forward, pulling her up against him, needing and wanting her closer and so she yields easily. His lips press hard against hers. Their tongues swirl together. They taste and are tasted. They drink and fulfill. Every bit of her essence is everything to him, and that feeling is believed in return. It can be said he is truly the sword. The man of armor and vigor. And that she is the scabbard, holding him in, protecting.
But as they lay down upon the bed, and embrace each other, kiss each other, touch, feel, and delve within love, swim into the waters of passion, of adoration, of comfort, the position of the scabbard is not always so easy to find. He is her shield as much as she is his. He contains within her contains. At certain points they are like one unit, one piece of existence. So close. So pressed upon each other.
Love in cries of pleasured pain.
Love in needs of naked touch.
Love in shared chambers.
The scabbard is in each body, within both.
It protects. It shields. It covets. It holds.
For precious moments.
Because beyond the scabbard of their precious chambers, lingers the chimera of dread.
The coming final battle.
Camlann.