Shared Chambers: Conviction
Title Shared Chambers: Conviction (Once again, please click on the story's title, not the small heading underneath. It messes up the html.)
Rating R-light
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 2,809
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for 5.01, 5.02 and 5.03, but nothing beyond/ light-mature situations
Author’s Note This is a possible missing scene after Arthur blew the horn in 5.03. I loved the ep, but some more A/G could have been nice. Oh well, guess that’s where fic can fit in nicely.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Shared Chambers: Conviction
She was his wife. That’s why he went to Gaius and got the permission finally to bring her to their shared chambers, the rooms that they dwelled in together, privately, intimately. That was why now he carried her in his arms. One hand gripped underneath her legs, feeling where her thigh started, not at all embarrassed by its feel. Not so boyish he was turned on beyond mature proportion. No. His hand simply grazed it with light possession. For she was his wife. His other hand pressed into her back, his fingers curving inward to keep her tightly and gently in his grasp.
It was a day since he blew the horn, pushed his father back into the netherworld, away from his broken heart. He missed him so greatly sometimes. But he learned something during his father’s stalking of the castle.
If he lost her…
He’d miss her even more.
He pressed a kiss against her neck, lowered her slowly and softly to their shared bed. Then stroking the material of her dress, he frowned slightly. “No need for you to be in this anymore.”
Making sure her head was resting upon the pillows, Arthur moved away from the bed. Going to the wardrobe, it took him little time to find where her nightgown was placed. Returning with it in hand, he sat down upon the corner, hands going around her waist, lifting carefully. She was sleeping so heavily because of the draught Gaius gave her. Although she had woken hours earlier while she was still in Gaius’s care, she hadn’t spoken much, dazed by the events.
Merlin told him that he found her upon the floor. Lying still. A fire blazing around her fallen body.
Arthur’s body shivered. His breath choked some. How could his father do this? To the woman he loved?
Oh, he was no fool. He knew his father did horrible things, cruel terrible things. But if the spirit of him could see all he did to rule Camelot in his own way, he must have also seen how his son found love and was happy. Guinevere made him feel excited and at the same, at peace, and yet his father tried to kill her. It made so little sense. The only understanding he got from it was that he had to get rid of the ghost.
Finding the hooks on her dress now and undoing them one by one with the ease of a man who knew his wife’s ware, who had undressed her before, Arthur brought it down her waist, away from her body. Underneath of course were the bindings women wore to make themselves even more beautiful than they were without.
Now Guinevere didn’t need much help. She had the finest constitution of sensuous dips and curvature. He could see it all nakedly as he got the last of the inner clothing away. But now with her sleeping in his arms he just rushed to get her nightgown on. To keep her warm and comfortable. When that was done, when she was fully covered, he lay down beside her, blowing out the candles of light that were nearby.
His father thought she was nothing more than a servant girl. Disposable. How many times had his father shown that to him? No matter if she was lost or captured. They’d get another. Like she was the dress he just got her out of. Like she was clothing, not flesh and blood. It made Arthur shirk to think about. It was over three years ago he married her. And then everything was so new, kind of shaky after he banished her weeks ago. They were still finding their way through all their heavy hot stirrings of love.
She was adjusting his mother’s crown with a look of wonder and maybe even fear.
He found her like that, here, in their shared chambers. He’d been looking for her from place to place after the ceremony was over of her coronation.
“Guinevere.” Arthur wrapped his hands around her waist from behind, feeling how his cloak brushed against his arms as he did so. His new wife gazed at their reflections in the mirror with what seemed a bit of nervousness and tension.
“What is it?” He asked.
She fingered the crown more, and then simply removed it from her head, turning to her new husband. “You said this was your mother’s?”
Fondly running his fingers through her curls, thinking she looked beautiful in her lavender and golden dress, Arthur nodded. “Yes. Wore it when she married my father.”
Guinevere gave a heavy sigh to that making Arthur ask with concern, “What? What did I say?”
She shook her head, pressing in against the chainmail covering his chest. He still needed to take it off. “Your father never would have approved of this marriage.”
To that Arthur moved away to face her and get them away from the mirror’s reflection. “What?”
“You know it’s true. You marrying a servant girl? Uther never would have liked that.”
He lifted his head, wanting to deny what she was saying, but as his eyes took in the grooves of the ceiling his mind hissed that she was right. And yet, this was his decision, and his wife’s.
“My father was just too blinded by the old ways. He couldn’t see that he was alienating too many. I don’t want Camelot like that. I don’t want a political marriage or to rule alone. I want you by my side. And that is why I placed upon your head this crown.”
He fingered it delicately. “Because my mother loved my father and I know he did feel the same for her too. Yes, he had an affair, we obviously know now. It brought Morgana to this world. But I know he loved my mother too. I know he had to mean much to her. I just…I feel that has to be the truth.
“But he would not have approved of this, of me. You know that’s true.”
Arthur’s look was troubled with perhaps some belief, but then conviction quickly replaced it. This was his decision, not his father’s.
He lifted the crown, placing it back upon his wife’s head, turning her slowly, getting her to focus upon her reflection, and his behind her. “I know that you are the only Queen I’ve ever desired. I don’t want it to be about political alliance. I want a partner, someone who listens to me, and who tells me what I need to hear. You’ve done that with me Guinevere from the beginning.”
He rounded her waist with his hands again, gently touched her cheek with his lips. “I love you. I know much has happened in the past weeks that we probably still need to deal with rightly, but I don’t care to do this alone. I care to do it with my wife by my side. You are my one true Queen, Guinevere. You are now Camelot’s.”
She turned to him, tears at her lids. “And your father?”
He shook his head. “He did not know you well enough. That’s all.”
His lips found hers in a drizzle of passion. Hers answered his. Hands touched face, found material. Clenched tight. As they pressed into each other. He removed the crown from her head, put it firmly down upon the wardrobe’s shelf and backed with her to the bed. Their bed now. Adorned for the occasion with petals of roses and wildflowers. For years he had desired to be with her like this. It was so hard building in him, his fervor of feeling, he had to temper it, reminding himself that his wife would always be his partner, that she deserved his patience.
But when he indeed tempered it down she clutched his cheeks, her nails just faintly scraping, giving him pain and pleasure of shivers.
“Don’t slow down.”
“But-
Her precious fingertips pressed over his mouth. The fever was in her dark eyes. “I have waited to be with you like this for so long. In the woods I thought I’d never see you again.”
As her voice broke, he clutched her to him, feeling her breasts push against his chest. The chainmail felt hot and awkward. He pointed to it pleadingly and felt her fingers finally release it from his body.
He got up on the bed, pulling her with him, sitting her down in front of him. He grasped some of the petals in his fingers, rained them down upon her body, watching as one caught at where her dress met her chest. He pressed his fingers against it intimately, feeling her responding shudder. As he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
No need to tell her why. No need to state anymore about the past weeks. She just nodded, holding his chin, her fingertips carving into his skin their love. This was how their marriage would start. With quiet forgiveness. With fervently built passion that had been suppressed for far too long. Now here in their shared chambers they could release it all. Succumb to the wonder and complexity of each other.
Moments to disrobe, to discover each other’s bodies. Her fingers explored his muscle, squeezed and frolicked. He felt his breath quicken, his hands wanting to venture just as much. It took him years to realize that the pretty princesses who tried to gain his heart were not enough. Something was always missing.
But when he realized that was her, a handmaiden, not a princess, but a woman of such conviction, such excitement because she wasn’t easy to predict, he saw all her hidden beauties. He saw them come out more and more as she gained physical confidence, as she became a truly amazing woman.
But now, bared to him, it was even more prevalent. Sitting upon the bed, surrounded by colorful petals, he could see it. Feel it. His fingers found the flat plane of her stomach. Advanced to her ribs, feeling the bone’s soft yet unyielding pressure for she was not so thin that it took over her body. And then her breasts. Full. Round. Reacting to his first touch. Giving to his hands. To his wandering fingers.
He knew in that moment more than ever his choice was sound. Sexually, gratifyingly they’d share this bed. But it went beyond to love…
As his fingers found her point of pleasure, as her thighs wrapped him in moments later, as they thrust and rocked together into the most intimate dance he’d ever been part of, a joined battle of carnal beauty, he knew as hard as it had been, the wait had been worth it…
Finally, in a rush of capitulation, of frenzied almost messy, painful, pleasurable explosion, he gathered it all together solidly. It didn’t matter who might disagree with this decision. Their outside beliefs made no sense to him. He loved her so much more now than ever before.
More than he could ever express in words.
Only the truest most veracity of expression could be here. In shared chambers.
“Mmmm…”
Arthur let the memory drift away rapidly of their first night as husband and wife. She seemed to be waking. He pushed his elbow into the mattress, waiting impatiently, and head up.
“Guin-
“Mmm…”
Her eyes slowly opened and she focused on him, making Arthur’s smile ring out.
“Arthur?”
“Yes.” He breathed fast, relieved. Gaius said she would make a full recovery, but it felt so much better to have her fully awake in their bed, to see her eyes finally alert and responding.
“Mmmm…” She felt her head with a frown. There was a slight bump there from her hitting the floor or being hit by something. He wasn’t clear on that, just knew his father inflicted it.
He reached forward, touching her head gingerly. “You hit it. Or something hit it.”
She looked at him questioningly.
Arthur gave out a troubled sigh. “I’ve been keeping something from you. For more than a few days. I’ve-
He faltered, feeling her fingers touch at his temple, seeing her frown upon her face. “What do you mean? Why do you seem so troubled? Why do I not remember coming here? The last days-
He cut her off gently, pressing his hand against her breast. “Because you’ve been in Gaius’s care for some days now. You were attacked in the hallways…by my father’s ghost.”
Her eyes widened, her breath clutching some as she started to slowly, hazily remember. Gaius said that might still be a bit of a side effect and to keep a close eye on it in the night. If her breathing altered too drastically, send for him right away. So far, thankfully, nothing. And Gaius said it probably wouldn’t happen, but it didn’t keep Arthur from worrying.
“The hallways…something dragged me. Things were falling and I…there was this presence…it…”
“Shhh…” He whispered gently and finally confessed it. “That was him. My father. His ghost. You see…I released it.”
He told her about the elderly magical woman and the horn. He told her how he used it to summon his father. And he told her how he looked back when he shouldn’t have.
When he was done with that part, he saw his wife’s frown. “Gaius should have told you of that danger.”
“I think he forgot to.”
“Not a good enough excuse.” Gwen told him plainly and he smiled softly. It was like her to not allow neglect to be passed by so easily.
“Well…he is getting older and he helped us return my father to the spirit world.” He told her about that part now, and he told her he was sorry he summoned his father in the first place, that he kept everything from her.
“Why did you keep it from me?” Gwen asked sharply.
Arthur shook his head. “I knew you’d probably not agree with it. Or be concerned about me. You know better than anyone what the anniversary of his death means to me. Guinevere, I just wanted one more chance to see him, but I swear if I knew it would put you in danger, that it-
Gently, she cut him off, pressing her hand over his lips, simply asking, “And now? Do you still covet that chance? You used the horn. You shut away his spirit. Do you regret that at all?”
It barely took him a second to start shaking his head. “No. My father made too many mistakes. Ruled by fear and hatred more than love and strength. I’m not perfect. I’m still finding my way with your guidance in this, but I believe in what we’ve set up together. Peace is not weakness. It bolsters the kingdom. I love you and I love my life now. I know my father loved me, but he had a very hard time of showing it and he ruled by fear. I miss him. I know he did cruel things. But I miss him.
And yet, he is not good for this kingdom anymore. I told him. He had his turn. Now it’s mine. I am King. And you’re my Queen. I regret nothing.”
She smiled softly, sadly, her dark long curls shadowing her face in the dim light of the glowing hearth. “You rule with conviction then, yes?”
He looked at her questioningly, feeling her hand press against his waist, climb up and linger on his chest. “With belief, Arthur? In us. In what Camelot is now. In what we confide and experience here in our shared chambers. You believe in that? You hold conviction in that, yes?”
He got it now. He didn’t tell her because yes he knew she would be worried, but even more-so she might feel some disappointment, disagreement.
She was patiently telling him he could no longer look back. It wasn’t just about releasing a ghost. It was about wanting the past that was never so perfect anyway. This was their Camelot now that they ruled together over. His relationship with his knights, with his servant, with his wife, was strength, not weakness. Not living in fear of others, of superstitions was strength. Loving her…
“I hold conviction in that Guinevere. For I have you by my side. What stronger conviction could there be?”
She sighed softly at that and he kissed her, a slow trickle of passion before he stopped it, kissed her brow and lay down with her on their bed.
His bane still lingered. Not so much a ghost. More a shaking of his own uncertainties.
But it was quiet for now. Quiet as he lay with his wife. In total relief. Total gratitude.
Total conviction in their union.
Their shared life together.
It was the strength he had had over his father.
For his heart opened bravely.
While his father’s had closed up fearfully.
This was Arthur’s conviction…
Peace
And
Love.