At Road's End
Original Post
Word Count: 1999
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Disclaimer: The show Merlin and its version of characters and places belong to the respective rights holders, of which I'm not one. No affiliation claimed.
Notes: Third-place winner of Round 9 of 4_evermore's Arthur/Gwen Last Author Standing. Theme: ...and baby makes 4; Prompt: Gwen gives birth to twins.
Expectancy was mostly going well for Guinevere. She had only been sick twice, her exhaustion had passed, and she often remarked that she loved being with child. However, she also had to sacrifice a few of the other things she loved, such as the weekly picnic luncheons she and Arthur took, returning to their clearing in the woods to get away from the stresses of Camelot. When the midwife recommended against riding early in the pregnancy, and knowing that traveling over rough terrain in a carriage was no better for her, it came as a disappointment to them both. That was, until Arthur came up with the idea to have a good road built partway to the clearing.
He did not want it to run too close, just near enough that a walk from its end would not be overly taxing for Gwen. Once it was finished, he commandeered the best carriage from the royal stables to provide the most comfortable ride possible, and taking the reins himself so as to keep their afternoons private. But, they had not considered how removed the driver's seat was from the passenger's box. Being that neither one of them enjoyed the separation on what was supposed to be a shared outing, Guinevere had devised a cart with an excellently padded bed behind the driver's bench, enabling them to converse as they rode along. That worked nicely, and in the months that followed, they spent one afternoon a week to themselves. Here or there, an emergency summons would bring them back early, or the weather would turn; yet, most of their short sabbaticals were spent peacefully.
On a warm day in early fall, they set out as usual for what would likely be their last trip for awhile, as it was nearing the time when Gwen should not venture far from the castle. Sometimes, they merely enjoyed the ride in companionable silence, so when she proved to be quiet that day, Arthur thought nothing of it. She walked slower than usual as they made their way from the road to the clearing, but that was also not out of the ordinary anymore. However, the way she alternated between sitting stiffly and shifting around was unlike her, and when she flinched, he frowned and asked, "Are you all right?"
Giving him a tight smile, she nodded. "I've been having false pains all day, but it will pass."
"You're sure? Would it help if I fetched a few more cushions from the cart?" They had brought a few already, but there were plenty more to be had.
"It might," she agreed.
The walk took longer than he liked, and Arthur kicked himself for going when he returned to find her doubled over and whimpering. Tossing the cushions aside, he rushed over. "Guinevere, what is it? What's wrong?"
"The pains... are not false," she gasped. "My waters..." She broke off on a fresh moan, grabbing tightly onto his arm.
He had no idea what she meant about water, but the gist of it was plain enough. Blindsided, he obtusely stated, "But-- you still have almost a month left."
Her grip on his arm began to ease. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she said, "Apparently not."
Her attempt at a smile did not do much to lessen the shock of the situation. "Let's get back to the castle." Holding out his hands for her, he stood and helped her to rise. Yet, as they neared the edge of the clearing, she cried out and bent over again, sinking her fingernails into his forearms when he went to steady her, and shook her head as the pain seemed to pass.
"I cannot... I cannot go."
"Guinevere, you must. If you're unable to walk, I'll carry you, but we have to go back."
"It's happening so quickly; I don't think I will make it. I would rather stay here than risk it happening in the cart."
Her statement ruled out any thought of going to fetch help. If she could not make it to the castle, he could not get there and back again-- not that he was inclined to leave her, anyway. Still, that left one, enormous problem: "I do not know what to do."
She began to reply, but was seized by a pain before she could. Supporting her as best he could, Arthur fought away a wave of panic. He could not panic; that was how control of a situation was lost. When it would not dissipate, he channeled it into fear. Fear could be constructive and was, he felt, entirely justified. He was fully prepared to protect his wife and child, yet he was completely unprepared to help his wife bring that child into the world, especially when that posed so much danger to her. To both of them.
Regardless of his concerns, the choice was obviously out of anyone's hands. As Guinevere began to relax, she said, "Help me over to that tree? I want to lean against it." Once she was seated, he snagged the cushions and situated them around her.
Catching her breath after another pain, she told him, "I've assisted with a few births in the lower town." She went on to outline what would happen and what he would have to do if things went normally, as well as a couple of possibilities that might arise, and Arthur found himself wishing that a midwife would somehow happen upon the clearing.
Of course, none did. While having things laid out in steps like that helped him a little, what he disliked was having little way to help her, and no way to know exactly what was about to happen. She had to pause during the explanation and began to get tense toward the end of it, moaning as she bent forward and squeezing his hand so hard, her knuckles were white. Lost for anything else to do, he slid his other arm around her back and held her until she relaxed again.
At her direction, he got water warming over a fire for washing, and collected the blankets they had brought to the clearing. Meanwhile, her pains were rapidly progressing until she barely had time to catch her breath between them, and Arthur felt more useless as she labored and screamed and ground out words he had not been not aware that she knew.
When she cried out, "It's now," he briefly froze. He had no idea what he was doing; what if he did something wrong and lost one or both of them? What if he missed some sign that the midwife would have recognized and been able to handle? What if everything seemed to go fine, yet took a turn for the worse before they could get back? This was how he had lost his mother, how many women died... Guinevere was in agony, and there was nothing he could do to lessen it...
How had this seemed like a good idea?
None of those worries mattered at this point, however, and he reluctantly moved away from her side. She had her knees drawn up on either side of her, clutching them as she strained, and he lifted the hem of her skirt-- and breathed something between a prayer and a curse when he saw the top of a head.
As that head emerged completely and Arthur cleared out its nose and mouth the way Gwen had described, sheer emotion swamped him. A great deal of that was terror, but also awe, and a love so absolute it stole his breath. This was their child. He had thought he understood what that meant, but it had been an amorphous understanding, a concept that he was now realizing could not be fully grasped until it was experienced. This was no longer a sensation of bumps and kicks within Guinevere's belly, this was a small person which they had made. This was a person who would be part of their lives forever. Who, for some time, would rely on them for the most basic things, completely helpless.
Child and mother alike were both helpless at the moment, and he let out a sigh of relief that could only be a fraction of that which Guinevere was feeling when the infant finally slipped out into his hands. She collapsed back against the tree, catching her breath, and he grinned in relief when a lusty wail rang out in the clearing. Meeting Gwen's pleased gaze, he said softly, "We have a son." Placing the squalling boy into her outstretched arms, he covered them both with the blanket, warmed to his soul by the expression on her face.
Suddenly, she gasped sharply and managed to say, "Take the baby." Confused, since she had said the pain would have decreased now, he nonetheless retrieved the infant, wrapping him in the blanket as he did and wondering what he should do; he could hardly ask, but the fear that had mostly subsided began to multiply.
When she began to get over it, she breathlessly said, "The midwife was not sure, so I did not tell you in case she was wrong..."
"What?" he asked anxiously.
"There's another child." He stared at her blankly, knowing what she was saying but too stunned to process it immediately. "Twins, Arthur," she clarified, a hint of humor in her eyes.
"Twins." Good lord.
"Twins. And," she winced, starting to tense again, "it does not appear that this one wants to wait before joining its brother."
Hastily washing and wrapping the elder child in a couple of clean blankets, Arthur arranged a few cushions on which to lay him. He finished that just in time, as the younger child arrived much more quickly than the first.
As a second cry sounded out, Arthur looked to his wife with an overwhelmed smile. "We have a daughter, too."
She merely nodded, thoroughly exhausted, but happily took the baby as he handed her over and snagged another blanket. "Please give me both of them," she requested then, her voice rough after yelling so much.
Things were a little chaotic at first, but finally everything was done, and everyone was cleaned and warm and fed. And named; choosing names had been simple, and done months ago. As Thomas fell asleep on his mother and Ygraine slumbered in her father's arms, Arthur glanced at Guinevere, where she rested on his shoulder. "I know I have said you always surprise me, but it has never been more true than today."
She peered up at him, and he continued, "What you did today..." He shook his head, temporarily at a loss for words. "That was the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed in my life. You are amazing. Beyond amazing. Astounding." Nor did that really convey what he meant, but he suspected there was no way to properly say it.
Guinevere smiled. "Most women give birth."
"Most of them do not do it twice at once," he pointed out. "But, even had it only been one child, I would not find it any less astounding."
"Thank you," she murmured.
"No, all thanks go to you." Kissing her on the forehead, he then looked back down at the sleeping babes. Reverently, he said, "Thank you, Guinevere."
They did need to get back to the castle, so shortly thereafter, Arthur got his family situated comfortably in the back of the cart. Some of the blankets were beyond use, so he grabbed his cape from where it had been set aside on the driver's bench and spread it over them.
Gwen laughed. "We will be making an entrance, I see."
He grinned. "I think that would have been the case, even without the cape." Still, there was a part of him that was quite pleased by the statement it made, inadvertent though it had been.
"That's true." He leaned over the side of the cart to kiss her, and as he straightened, she said, "Let's go home."
"Good idea."
*
Word Count: 1999
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Disclaimer: The show Merlin and its version of characters and places belong to the respective rights holders, of which I'm not one. No affiliation claimed.
Notes: Third-place winner of Round 9 of 4_evermore's Arthur/Gwen Last Author Standing. Theme: ...and baby makes 4; Prompt: Gwen gives birth to twins.
Expectancy was mostly going well for Guinevere. She had only been sick twice, her exhaustion had passed, and she often remarked that she loved being with child. However, she also had to sacrifice a few of the other things she loved, such as the weekly picnic luncheons she and Arthur took, returning to their clearing in the woods to get away from the stresses of Camelot. When the midwife recommended against riding early in the pregnancy, and knowing that traveling over rough terrain in a carriage was no better for her, it came as a disappointment to them both. That was, until Arthur came up with the idea to have a good road built partway to the clearing.
He did not want it to run too close, just near enough that a walk from its end would not be overly taxing for Gwen. Once it was finished, he commandeered the best carriage from the royal stables to provide the most comfortable ride possible, and taking the reins himself so as to keep their afternoons private. But, they had not considered how removed the driver's seat was from the passenger's box. Being that neither one of them enjoyed the separation on what was supposed to be a shared outing, Guinevere had devised a cart with an excellently padded bed behind the driver's bench, enabling them to converse as they rode along. That worked nicely, and in the months that followed, they spent one afternoon a week to themselves. Here or there, an emergency summons would bring them back early, or the weather would turn; yet, most of their short sabbaticals were spent peacefully.
On a warm day in early fall, they set out as usual for what would likely be their last trip for awhile, as it was nearing the time when Gwen should not venture far from the castle. Sometimes, they merely enjoyed the ride in companionable silence, so when she proved to be quiet that day, Arthur thought nothing of it. She walked slower than usual as they made their way from the road to the clearing, but that was also not out of the ordinary anymore. However, the way she alternated between sitting stiffly and shifting around was unlike her, and when she flinched, he frowned and asked, "Are you all right?"
Giving him a tight smile, she nodded. "I've been having false pains all day, but it will pass."
"You're sure? Would it help if I fetched a few more cushions from the cart?" They had brought a few already, but there were plenty more to be had.
"It might," she agreed.
The walk took longer than he liked, and Arthur kicked himself for going when he returned to find her doubled over and whimpering. Tossing the cushions aside, he rushed over. "Guinevere, what is it? What's wrong?"
"The pains... are not false," she gasped. "My waters..." She broke off on a fresh moan, grabbing tightly onto his arm.
He had no idea what she meant about water, but the gist of it was plain enough. Blindsided, he obtusely stated, "But-- you still have almost a month left."
Her grip on his arm began to ease. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she said, "Apparently not."
Her attempt at a smile did not do much to lessen the shock of the situation. "Let's get back to the castle." Holding out his hands for her, he stood and helped her to rise. Yet, as they neared the edge of the clearing, she cried out and bent over again, sinking her fingernails into his forearms when he went to steady her, and shook her head as the pain seemed to pass.
"I cannot... I cannot go."
"Guinevere, you must. If you're unable to walk, I'll carry you, but we have to go back."
"It's happening so quickly; I don't think I will make it. I would rather stay here than risk it happening in the cart."
Her statement ruled out any thought of going to fetch help. If she could not make it to the castle, he could not get there and back again-- not that he was inclined to leave her, anyway. Still, that left one, enormous problem: "I do not know what to do."
She began to reply, but was seized by a pain before she could. Supporting her as best he could, Arthur fought away a wave of panic. He could not panic; that was how control of a situation was lost. When it would not dissipate, he channeled it into fear. Fear could be constructive and was, he felt, entirely justified. He was fully prepared to protect his wife and child, yet he was completely unprepared to help his wife bring that child into the world, especially when that posed so much danger to her. To both of them.
Regardless of his concerns, the choice was obviously out of anyone's hands. As Guinevere began to relax, she said, "Help me over to that tree? I want to lean against it." Once she was seated, he snagged the cushions and situated them around her.
Catching her breath after another pain, she told him, "I've assisted with a few births in the lower town." She went on to outline what would happen and what he would have to do if things went normally, as well as a couple of possibilities that might arise, and Arthur found himself wishing that a midwife would somehow happen upon the clearing.
Of course, none did. While having things laid out in steps like that helped him a little, what he disliked was having little way to help her, and no way to know exactly what was about to happen. She had to pause during the explanation and began to get tense toward the end of it, moaning as she bent forward and squeezing his hand so hard, her knuckles were white. Lost for anything else to do, he slid his other arm around her back and held her until she relaxed again.
At her direction, he got water warming over a fire for washing, and collected the blankets they had brought to the clearing. Meanwhile, her pains were rapidly progressing until she barely had time to catch her breath between them, and Arthur felt more useless as she labored and screamed and ground out words he had not been not aware that she knew.
When she cried out, "It's now," he briefly froze. He had no idea what he was doing; what if he did something wrong and lost one or both of them? What if he missed some sign that the midwife would have recognized and been able to handle? What if everything seemed to go fine, yet took a turn for the worse before they could get back? This was how he had lost his mother, how many women died... Guinevere was in agony, and there was nothing he could do to lessen it...
How had this seemed like a good idea?
None of those worries mattered at this point, however, and he reluctantly moved away from her side. She had her knees drawn up on either side of her, clutching them as she strained, and he lifted the hem of her skirt-- and breathed something between a prayer and a curse when he saw the top of a head.
As that head emerged completely and Arthur cleared out its nose and mouth the way Gwen had described, sheer emotion swamped him. A great deal of that was terror, but also awe, and a love so absolute it stole his breath. This was their child. He had thought he understood what that meant, but it had been an amorphous understanding, a concept that he was now realizing could not be fully grasped until it was experienced. This was no longer a sensation of bumps and kicks within Guinevere's belly, this was a small person which they had made. This was a person who would be part of their lives forever. Who, for some time, would rely on them for the most basic things, completely helpless.
Child and mother alike were both helpless at the moment, and he let out a sigh of relief that could only be a fraction of that which Guinevere was feeling when the infant finally slipped out into his hands. She collapsed back against the tree, catching her breath, and he grinned in relief when a lusty wail rang out in the clearing. Meeting Gwen's pleased gaze, he said softly, "We have a son." Placing the squalling boy into her outstretched arms, he covered them both with the blanket, warmed to his soul by the expression on her face.
Suddenly, she gasped sharply and managed to say, "Take the baby." Confused, since she had said the pain would have decreased now, he nonetheless retrieved the infant, wrapping him in the blanket as he did and wondering what he should do; he could hardly ask, but the fear that had mostly subsided began to multiply.
When she began to get over it, she breathlessly said, "The midwife was not sure, so I did not tell you in case she was wrong..."
"What?" he asked anxiously.
"There's another child." He stared at her blankly, knowing what she was saying but too stunned to process it immediately. "Twins, Arthur," she clarified, a hint of humor in her eyes.
"Twins." Good lord.
"Twins. And," she winced, starting to tense again, "it does not appear that this one wants to wait before joining its brother."
Hastily washing and wrapping the elder child in a couple of clean blankets, Arthur arranged a few cushions on which to lay him. He finished that just in time, as the younger child arrived much more quickly than the first.
As a second cry sounded out, Arthur looked to his wife with an overwhelmed smile. "We have a daughter, too."
She merely nodded, thoroughly exhausted, but happily took the baby as he handed her over and snagged another blanket. "Please give me both of them," she requested then, her voice rough after yelling so much.
Things were a little chaotic at first, but finally everything was done, and everyone was cleaned and warm and fed. And named; choosing names had been simple, and done months ago. As Thomas fell asleep on his mother and Ygraine slumbered in her father's arms, Arthur glanced at Guinevere, where she rested on his shoulder. "I know I have said you always surprise me, but it has never been more true than today."
She peered up at him, and he continued, "What you did today..." He shook his head, temporarily at a loss for words. "That was the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed in my life. You are amazing. Beyond amazing. Astounding." Nor did that really convey what he meant, but he suspected there was no way to properly say it.
Guinevere smiled. "Most women give birth."
"Most of them do not do it twice at once," he pointed out. "But, even had it only been one child, I would not find it any less astounding."
"Thank you," she murmured.
"No, all thanks go to you." Kissing her on the forehead, he then looked back down at the sleeping babes. Reverently, he said, "Thank you, Guinevere."
They did need to get back to the castle, so shortly thereafter, Arthur got his family situated comfortably in the back of the cart. Some of the blankets were beyond use, so he grabbed his cape from where it had been set aside on the driver's bench and spread it over them.
Gwen laughed. "We will be making an entrance, I see."
He grinned. "I think that would have been the case, even without the cape." Still, there was a part of him that was quite pleased by the statement it made, inadvertent though it had been.
"That's true." He leaned over the side of the cart to kiss her, and as he straightened, she said, "Let's go home."
"Good idea."
*