The Wife 4/?
Title: The Wife 4/?
Author:tudor_rose445
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings:Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana, Uther, Merlin, Gaius, Arthur/Guinevere,
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".
Summary: AU. As the wife of the prince Gwen knows that she is destined to one day rule beside him. Yet the road to the throne will not be simple. Talks of an heir looming above her, the growing worry over Morgana, Uther's ill health, and her confusion over her spouse will not help in the slightest. Yet her trials are nesecary to grow into her title as 'wife' to one of legend's most famous kings. The second entry in "The Once and Future" series.
Chapter 4:
In frustration Gwen takes things into her own hands.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.
I think that I am going to stick with this 10 day schedule for the time being. Or, at least, until I finish a few more chapters. Thanks for reading and leaving comments!
Gwen gently splashed the back of her wrists in the stream, focusing on the coolness that the water provided. She knew that Progress during the summer months was piratical because of the lack of snow and so forth, yet the heat was always intolerable. It was especially so for the women of the entourage, clothed in their heavy silks and brocades. She supposed it was not as frustrating for the men as they could ride about in light tunics when out of their armor or, as she observed a gaggle of noblemen walking downstream, go swimming.
But then again, Progress was organized by the king- a man- and she shouldn't have expected any different.
If anything she was grateful that her menses had ended for this month; at least she was somewhat more comfortable than earlier in the week.
Straightening Gwen dried her hands upon a handkerchief she had procured from underneath her sleeve, readjusting the skirt. She did not know for how long the party would stop by this river, yet she hoped for a little while longer of the break from the dusty road.
Glancing about she noticed that Eleanor, who had been charged with looking after her, had been distracted by a certain dark haired knight. By the tinge of the girl's cheeks and the way Sir Kay was leaning against the far oak, they certainly weren't wasting their time remarking the weather.
Holding back a smile the princess ventured away from the river, not wanting to bother the two. She should advise the inexperienced lady-in-waiting that courtly love rarely lasted, and that she should not yield anything to her admirer due risk of being forgotten. While Sir Kay did not strike her as the type of man who would do such a thing, Guinevere had seen plenty of young female hearts being broken by men’s inconsistent nature. She didn't wish to see her friend, still so young and naïve, suffer from such a fate.
“- obvious that Arthur is staying with her merely out of pity.”
She pulled up shortly, listening closely to the small group of young noblewomen a few yards away from her. Apparently they were under the assumption that their conversation was unheard as they dipped their handkerchiefs into the water to blot at their heated faces. Guinevere hid behind the nearby tree, listening closely.
The woman who had just spoken, Lady Arabella, finished wringing out her scrap of linen. “He must still see her as the little orphan his sister had kept as a companion. I am sure he doesn’t see her as a woman, or she would have been with child by now.”
One of the women to the near right seemed surprised at that statement, furrowing her eyebrows. “But … they have yet to be wedded for a full month,” she said, as if trying to provide half-hearted argument.
Arabella shrugged, clearly not impressed by this factual technicality. “The prince is a virile man,” she commented, a knowing look prominent upon her features. “Why, if it had been me, I would have been with child and not bleeding as she had.”
Gwen turned away, feeling her chest tighten with hurt and resentment for the vulgar woman.
How dared she utter such insolence in the company of other members of courts?
Gwen had half a mind to turn about and scold the woman, to see her ridiculed among her fellow gossipers. Yet instead of implementing this fierce behavior the future queen turned on her heel, putting as much space as she could between the offending persona and herself.
Why?
Because she knew that although the shrew was spreading vicious gossip, she was also speaking the truth.
With the frequency in which her and her husband have had intercourse, a child ought to have been begotten by now. Instead she had failed in this vital task already.
The icy grip of realization felt strangling, suffocating her as she realized what this meant: every month that her womb produced no fruit of life she would be ridiculed and plotted against behind her back. Taunted for failing in a wife’s most important duty.
Guinevere forced herself to take a few deep breaths in order to steady her frantic heartbeats.
A son.
As soon as she gave birth to a boy some of the pressure would be lifted.
Her head swimming with the task ahead of her, she returned to where her mount was grazing, not noticing that Beatrice had once more witnessed the entire scene.
0o0o0
Nearly a day and a half later the party reached the next noble estate, allowing the road-weary travelers a chance to recoup.
Lord and Lady Barkley, the providers of the saddle that Gwen had grown accustomed to, had greeted their guests graciously in the early afternoon. As the travelers were not expected to be in the great hall for supper until later that evening, many members of the party had taken the chance to rest before the banquet.
While Catherine and Eleanor helped the princess out of her traveling gear into a shift to take a short nap, Beatrice took the opportunity and slipped away from the chamber. Knowing that the prince was not in his shared chamber with the princess, having just been there, she wracked her mind to think of where he would be at this time of the day. The stables being a natural conclusion. He would have most likely gone there to make sure that the mounts were tended to in the stead of his still ailing father. Even she, a courtier not too privy of the royal family’s private dealings, heard the rumors and knew about King Uther’s condition.
Nobody who was fond of his or her head, however, spoke of it. The unspoken concern rested in the air: what if he was to die? Arthur had shown great courage on the battlefield and had trained the Knights of Camelot into a force to be reckoned with: was that enough? To her knowledge the prince seemed to do his father's 'dirty work' more often than practicing actual politics and ruling of the kingdom.
Feeling her cheeks redden slightly in shame for thinking badly of her future monarch the prude lady-in-waiting quickened her steps. It was the responsibility she felt to the prince, after all that was the reason she was seeking him out. Her mistress, though of a kind nature, was perhaps a bit too free-spirited and had too many independent ways about her when it came to certain matters. She felt, apparently, that she could handle whatever difficulty that came her way on her own. Beatrice, as an experienced loyal wife, knew that a husband was to handle his wife's welfare.
The way that courtiers talked to her, for example, should not be permitted. Lady Arabella had no right to speak to her lady in such a fashion, nor to mock her in public, nor gossip behind the princess’ back. Did that woman forget that the princess was to be queen? Her superior in every way!
Perhaps Arabella had been close to the prince in the past, and felt scorned and threatened by Guinevere’s new position.
Beatrice honestly didn't know whom exactly the prince had been intimate with in the past but, if she had to make a guess, she supposed someone like Arabella would fit the criteria for a mistress. She was older and had a tempting appearance. She was neither of a too high birthright, nor was she a permanent residential courtier in Camelot. She also had a husband; an elderly baron, who did not give a thought to his wife’s dealings. The woman dared to judge their future queen when she herself was childless already in her late twenties.
Keeping her eyes demurely upon the ground she crossed the small courtyard of the Barkley estate, taking a right that would lead her to the stables. The smell alone was enough to indicate the correct path.
Arthur was speaking to one of his knights beside the open door to the now packed stable, finishing up a minor conversation. Hiding her relief that she had guessed the prince's location she stopped before him once he moved away from his fellow man at arms.
“Your Highness,” she began, curtseying before him.
A quick wave of his hand had her straightening a moment later.
A frown settled upon his brows. “What news do you bring me?” he asked, knowing well enough that she served his wife.
A woman's first duty comes first to her husband.
“My lady has been keeping something from you...”
0o0o0
Batilda stood up, corking the bottle of bath salts as she stretched.
“There you are, milady,” she said, turning to the princess, currently wrapped in a clean sheet. Guinevere crossed the room to the large tub that was placed in front of the hearth. She slowly unwrapped herself from her covering before, leaning on Batilda's arm, stepping into the wooden bathtub. A soft sigh slipped past her lips at the feeling of the warm water on her skin. After weeks of traveling on the road and only having the chance to refresh herself with rags and the occasional quick dip into the lack, it felt heavenly to actually fully submerge herself in clean fresh scented water, not worrying about prying eyes in the bushes.
She sunk beneath the water, almost up to her chin, and closed her eyes. “That will be all Batilda,” she ordered, peeping one eye open at the nurse. “Thank you.”
The former nurse smiled and nodded silently, gathering up her mistress' soiled clothing and exiting the chamber. She had dismissed the rest of the women for the night, allowing them to go to the kitchens for a late meal. There wasn't much else for them to do. Elderly Lord Godric, the master of the castle, had been widowed for quite some time and, with grown children a plenty, had no need to remarry. Gwen had disliked visiting such places in the past, as with no Lady to receive the women of the court the noblewomen’s activities remained limited.
Guinevere tilted her head back against the tub where Batilda had thoughtfully left a roll of linen for support. The tension of the first month of her marriage seemed to simply roll off of her as she lounged in the hot water. With her cycle over she would have to jump back into heir-producing once more. She hadn't expected to actually enjoy the act, with Arthur no less, and it made her feel shameful afterwards while lying naked in his arms.
“Your Highness! Please, the princess is in her bath.”
Hearing Batilda’s protests her eyes snapped open. She half turned in the bathtub, hearing her husband's muted voice behind the door. Turning away quickly, her hand reached for her discarded sheet. The click of the door opening and closing stilled her movements; instantly she withdrew further beneath the water, keeping her back to him.
“I'm sorry I didn't join you for supper,” he said, pausing directly behind her. She folded her arms carefully over her chest, not knowing why as he had seen what lay beneath them already.
“You were speaking with Lord Godric,” she excused him, shrugging. Her attention focused on the ripples in the water caused by her movement. “It is only right, him being our host and such.”
She had half hoped that he would leave her alone now that he had apologized. Yet instead he knelt behind her, close enough for her to almost feel his breath against her neck. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or upset that Batilda had pinned her hair up.
“I don't think he even remembered who I was,” he commented, prompting her to chuckle quietly. She almost turned around to speak to him face to face, but remembered her state of dress and thought better of it. “I believe I heard him ask my father about 'the blond lad' and when my 'trials' will commence.”
“You should have humored him; told him that you hoped to be knighted soon,” she teased him, reaching for the linen rag that Batilda had draped over the rim of the tub for her to wash with. Her fingers fumbled with the cloth, sending it over the edge of the rim onto the floor below. She froze for a moment, contemplating whether to actually stand before him and grab it or not.
Instead of either choice, Arthur reached for the rag. Silently he dipped it into the warm bathwater, wringing the rag of its excess water before gently rubbing at her back.
She sighed, tilting her head downward so that he could reach the sensitive skin of her neck. He moved onto her right arm, laying a gentle kiss against her shoulder. As he rubbed the scented water over her bare skin his lips took hold of the sensitive flesh of her neck. She rolled her head backward, allowing him better access. Faintly she realized that a mark would remain the following morning, but the sensation of his lips kept her from minding too much. His hand clutching the rag moved from her arm to rest upon her bosom. His hand burned against her chest, even guarded with the rag. Gwen realized, with a start, that she had actually missed his caresses the past week. She had grown accustomed to them and to have them ripped from her, even for such a short time, found her wanting them once more with a passion. She felt as if she was on fire, and she had no way to put out the flame. But he could.
Gwen spun quickly in the bath, sending a bit of the water sloshing over the rim, before crushing her lips against Arthur’s. He seemed surprised for a second, as it was usually he, who was the initiator of physical contact between them, but he recovered fast and eagerly. His wet hands threaded through her tresses once he unpinned them, relishing in the feeling of her magnificent long curls. Her own hands, feeling wrinkly from being submerged in the water, explored the expanse of his back through his tunic as she clung to him.
Fire met fire as the couple seemingly battled each other with a hunger that both shocked and fascinated Gwen. She had felt the first tingling of desire during their past forays into such behavior, but she had not expected herself to initiate.
Without thinking about it she began to tug at the material of his tunic, silently urging him to rid himself of it. He reluctantly broke away from her, nearly tearing the fabric as he pulled it over his head. As if he hadn't missed a beat he returned his lips back to hers, adding to the fire that pooled in her lower stomach.
Not giving her a warning he stood, taking her under the arms and lifting her with him.
She made to protest, having her body dragged from the warm water, but found herself pressed up against his bare torso. If possible, his skin was hotter than even the water had been.
None too gently he placed her on the bed, covering her with himself a heartbeat later.
Her hands drifted down his chest to the ties of his trousers, hastily unlacing them. She had become rather crafted in the art of “disarming the enemy”, compared to their first night when she had found her knuckles banging together, her hands trembling.
As his palm ghosted over the sensitive flesh of her breasts, she moved to lower his trousers. Her soft hand accidentally brushed against his length, by now hard, and he gasped.
Instantly she sobered, breaking away from him quickly. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, concern etched across her features that had been tinted with lust only a moment earlier.
His eyes had taken on a rather dark tint, one that she had associated with their nights together. “N-no … it was just the first time that you touched me.”
He didn't need to specify the meaning of his sentence. Curiosity filled her as she lifted her hand, hesitating, before gently coming to rest it upon his flesh.
He closed his eyes, struggling to keep his breathing even.
A feeling of power swam over her at his reaction.
A single touch could break him down like that.
Having never had power over anyone in her life, especially a man, she found herself unwilling to give up the feeling. Hesitantly she drifted her fingertips over him, looking at his expression from time to time to see if she was doing it right.
Without speaking he took her hand, placing it fully on him.
Slowly he guided her in a back and forth motion, relinquishing her hand once she had learned it.
It felt… weird. Yet his soft groan of appreciation quickly helped to wipe away the awkwardness she was feeling. After a few more strokes of her hand he quickly drew her fingers away.
She looked at him in confusion before feeling his own hand creep down her stomach.
Her eyes widened as his fingers paused before her entrance. “Those don't go there!” she protested frantically, fighting to keep her tone low so that half the castle didn't hear them.
A look between lust and confusion crossed his face before he laughed. “My innocent wife,” he teased, leaning his head down to place a kiss between her breasts. “Although not so innocent moments before when you attacked me....”
A blush colored her cheeks as he settled himself above her.
“I didn't attack you,” she protested, although she couldn't meet his eyes.
He entered her, causing her thoughts to turn from her earlier indecency to the burning in her loins.
After, when he had made sure that her liquids had joined his inside of her womb, he held her against his chest, his other hand drawing lazy circles or some kind of mark on the flushed skin of her hip.
He brushed aside her curls as she tried to return her breathing back to normal. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?” he asked, causing her to glance up at him.
“I know,” she replied slowly, unsure of why he was asking; mesmerized by the blue of his eyes.
He remained silent, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she thought over what he had said to her.
Despite the heat they’ve created, their limbs remained linked throughout the hours of the night.