Shared Chambers: Nothing
Title Shared Chambers: Nothing {Make sure you clicked on the title, not the heading so that the font/html is not askew.
Rating PG13
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen, also Elyan in this one
Word Count 6,767
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5: episodes 5.01-5.06 / PG13 for dark subject matter at times, nothing explicit / strong angst in this one
Author’s Note The episode 5.06 was full of strong emotions. This fills in a few missing pieces and also has more speculation than probably cannon as I continue a little from where the episode left off too. I don’t expect the storyline to go the route of my fic or necessarily even want it to, but I do hope this, that the storyline shows conflict. I’m sure Angel and Bradley will, who were fantastic in 5.06, especially Angel. It truly was her episode to shine in and she did it beautifully, tugging at the heartstrings.
Shared Chambers: Nothing
Gwen frowns with interest, lifting the long decorated object into her hands. How could she have not noticed this before? She picks up the piece by the handle, delicately runs her fingers just over the side of the blade. It’s adorned with the strangest markings of gold. Although it’s not that which piques her interest. It’s the way it’s been crafted that-
“Interested in my tools of armament now, are you?”
She startles at the voice, feeling the contact of his hand pressing over hers.
“Sorry, did not mean to alarm you.”
She turns around, giving a small smile as she lays the blade down. “No. You didn’t.”
He peers into her eyes curiously and she gestures to the sword she’s just lain down upon the table. Their chambers are dark, but for a few candles. He’s wearing his blue tunic and trousers, his boots already shucked off. Meanwhile, she wears her blue gown. The hour advancing, they’ll be going to sleep soon, but first she wishes to speak to him.
Her fingers move over the blue material of his tunic as she looks up into his matching eyes. “Arthur, did you not say that this sword came from one of Camelot’s ancient kings?”
He nods quietly. The sword is the rarest one he has, esteemed in history and therefore he takes it out hardly at all. Now he gets ready to sheath it back into its hold and put it upon the shelf where she must have found it, but her hand grips his arm. Stopping him. “What?”
Gwen peers down at the sword with a winkle to her brow. She runs her fingers over the shining gold and silver metal.
“Careful, touch the wrong part and you could cut yourself.” He pushes at her hand, but she lets out a grunt of protest, reminding, “I’ve forged a sword before, Arthur. Helped my dad in his makings. I know how to handle it without harming myself.”
He nods, saying nothing more, just catching at her chin, asking, “What is it Guinevere? You keep staring at it.”
She faces him with a tight sigh. “My father always forged swords in unique fashion. His style was like no one else’s. Arthur, I could tell just by touch, the ones he crafted. And this one…it’s oddly familiar to that same style.”
He raises his eyebrows with skepticism. “Well unless your father was one of the ancient foragers of long ago, my dear, it can’t be. This sword is perhaps hundreds of years old.”
She nods her head, unpleasantness setting on her face. Arthur finishes putting the sword away before turning to catch how unhappy she is. He ponders for a minute, realizing something. “It’s coming, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head.
So he moves in, and touches her cheek gently. “Your father’s birth anniversary.”
Gwen admits, “I miss him,” with a vulnerable whisper.
Lifting his hands, Arthur clasps his wife into an ardent hug.
Gwen’s lips touch her husband’s shoulder. She presses in against the familiar material, feeling his hand stroking her hair. “It’s actually months away.” She relates. “But still, I have so many feelings for him now. So many thoughts. So many remembrances.”
His fingers tangle into her hair, grasping at the coils of curls. “Makes sense to be sentimental. We’ve barely had a week for the past months without some kind of predicament.
It is so true. Morgana returned. Mordred returned and then injured. Uther’s ghost. Mithian needing to rescue her father. Odin wanting to kill Arthur. The Disir’s grave warning. It had been one thing after another.
So it makes sense that his wife is unraveling some from the lack of rest, and the continued piling of calamities. He sometimes feels like he is too.
“Where is it that he’s buried again?” Arthur’s gone with her a couple of times. But the place is remote, just a few village homes and the rest forest land.
“Mordor.”
“So far away.” Arthur whistles, to which she quickly responds with a snap of her lips.
“Well he could not be buried here because your father falsely accused him of being a traitor. No traitor burials in Camelot.”
Her anger is almost blazing. Arthur pulls back some, his face showing hurt and bits of shame. “I’m sorry. I know I didn’t do enough then.”
She lets out a calming sigh, chagrined for exploding so abruptly. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. It is in the past and I should not start a quarrel about what’s been done.”
“Guinevere.” He rubs her shoulder with his hand. “You have a right.”
Perhaps she does, but that won’t solve anything, will it? Gwen has always considered herself sensible, not so prone to outbursts “No matter. We both made mistakes then. Continue to do so sometimes now. A part of loving and living. Actually, he’s buried there because it was where he grew up.”
“Really?” Arthur asks intently.
Gwen smiles some, continuing fondly. “Yes. Where he met my mother too before she started working for Leon’s family. I think he followed her, if anything, when he started up his forge in Camelot. He was quite lovestruck by her. He used to tell me and Elyan the stories of how they met and how she did not like him at first.”
Gwen laughs softly at the remembrance.
Arthur smiles, caressing her cheek with his fingers. “Go on.”
“Well he was too much a dreamer. My mother was much more serious according to my father. She thought he was a little bit silly.”
“Like you think of me sometimes?” Arthur asks, tipping his wife’s chin with that boyish grin. She gives him one right back, fingers tracing into his blonde hair. “Actually I thought you were arrogant then.”
“An arrogant pig as I recall.” He states.
She shakes her head adamantly. “I never said that. I said that you snored like a pig. Your arrogance was just…you.”
“Well that’s complimentary.” Arthur deadpans with a roll of his eyes.
She laughs at that, capturing his face, planting a meaningful kiss upon his lips. “I love you.”
He smirks. “Same.”
She kisses his nose now. “But you still snore like a pig.”
“And now that it’s so long you flip your hair too much.”
“Ah!” She hits his arm and he laughs. They get into a bit of a tickling battle. Their silliness soon brings them to the edge of their bed, where once again she lets out a sigh. Arthur fingers away the hair at her temple. “You want to go there, don’t you? To Mordor?”
She nods her head. “I do. I want to see my father, Arthur. Visit him.”
He presses a kiss softly to her lips, letting out afterward, “I know. Elyan would probably like to come along. I could go with both of you.”
Gwen shakes her head at that, making him frown. “You told me that King Odin is to come for a day. Soon. You won’t want to miss that. You’re still putting the treaty to solid writing. You should be here Arthur.”
Although he doesn’t like it, he relents. She’s right. The meeting is too important.
“Fine. Elyan then. Gwaine, Leon and Percival too.”
Gwen’s eyebrows go up. “So many?”
He is adamant. “It’s a long trip Guinevere. There are bandits all around that land and don’t forget…there’s her too.”
Gwen’s frown comes. She doesn’t understand.
“Morgana.”
“Arthur-
“She tried to take you from me once before.”
“You mean when she enchanted me in the wood?”
He would later find out that before Morgana tried to take possession of Camelot for a second time with Agravaine, she first tried to stop the woman he loved from warning him about the upcoming attack.
“Forcing you to resemble a deer of all things, Guinevere. It was sick. Then just this year she wanted to put me in Odin’s hands so he could kill me. Thank heaven the man has a conscience.” He fingers her cheek. “I don’t know Morgana anymore. I don’t trust her. You can’t either.”
Gwen grimaces. Although it’s hard to accept Morgana as the enemy, she, herself, hasn’t trusted Morgana for some time. Albeit it’s strange, how suddenly Morgana is around so much. For years they caught no sight of her. Now she seems to constantly be lurking in the shadows, determined to cause harm.
However, for Arthur it’s been even harder to accept her malevolence. After all, when he learnt she was his half sister Morgana had just surprisingly seized possession of Camelot and taken his father prisoner, after years of what seemed a protective caring relationship. Truth was there was plenty of dark conflict.
“Alright, better to not take a chance.” Gwen whispers with admittance. “They can all go with me.”
~~~~~~
It’s many moments later that Elyan walks into the room. Arthur has just found him in the hallway. Gwen takes in her handsome brother, changed out of his chainmail from earlier, now wearing the usual brown trousers and a cloudy gray tunic.
“Arthur said you had something to ask me.” He states in his soft voice.
Boots tapping the floor busily, Arthur clears his throat. “Um, I’ll give you some time to-
Gwen catches at his arm though, shaking her head. “No. You are part of this too.” Holding to both their hands now actually, she tells Elyan her desire. “I want to visit Dad’s grave. Arthur proposed you coming with me which I would like very much.”
Elyan smiles softly, nodding his head. Although he and his sister love each other greatly, there have been incidents in the near past, and more distant too, that have strained at their relationship. For years he was the careless one, traveling around with barely a word between them. He moved from one place to another. But before that, she was the one who raised him mostly.
Recent prickles of distance came from the banishment ,and simply the long periods of time he spends away from Camelot because of his knighthood. So this will be good for both of them, a way to strengthen their familial ties.
He smiles at Arthur for a fast moment. His king is not only a ruler of supreme conduct. He is also a good loving man, who treats his sister well. He is so grateful for that. Grateful to his king too for giving him purpose finally, a reason not to travel constantly with no true destination.
“I’d like that too Gwen, us going together.”
She lets out a sigh of happy relief, smiling and moving forward to spontaneously hug her brother. “We’ll go in a day?” .
Arthur thinks how this is just what she needs. He wishes he could go too. But the trip shouldn’t take more than a few days. Soon they’ll be together again.
“A day it is Gwen.” Elyan agrees.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
His heart is pounding. No other way to explain it. His boots pound the floor as he enters their chambers, alone, the words ringing in his ears. It can’t be true. He sent four of his most trusted men, including her brother, and they lost her? How can that be? Arthur pulls away his chainmail; it gets caught and so he yanks it past his hair. A mistake. The actions sends shards of pain through him that he ignores, finally getting the blasted chainmail fully past.
Momentary hurt. Doesn’t matter. Just wants his wife.
He turns back to the bed, sees the sheets and covers all neatly in place, per the usual. But nights ago she was sleeping within them and he was pressed against her. That is where he likes to be. Pressed against his wife’s body.
He loves her. Needs her here.
Needs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
They clasp each other’s arms and then Merlin departs, telling him it will be alright, that they’ll find her, after speaking of the horror Arthur doesn’t want to face. Morgana.
Morgana might have done this?
God in Heaven, no. Morgana’s heart is cracked now. She doesn’t seem to care for her soul or anyone else’s. Morgana is so full of hatred and desire to have his throne that she will stop at nothing to get it.
He wrings his hands, goes to the furniture at his wife’s side of the bed. All her things she uses to enhance her beauty. Intimate things. He feels his eyes swelling with something of liquid. Water of salt. But he can’t permit it. No weakness. He needs to find her. That’s all.
So no sleep tonight. He doesn’t want to lie down upon the bed anyway. His arms miss her so much. His breath clutches. It hurts. Being without Guinevere, knowing she could be in danger, maybe hurt, maybe crying for him…
It’s the worst pain.
Crazy, but maybe she can hear. Feel. “Guinevere…I’m going to find you. I swear. Bring you home. My wife.”
He looks to the side of the bed, sees it upon her furniture, her nightgown, folded so neatly. He clutches it into his hands. It was his gift a little after they were married. She loves flowers so much. He found someone who crafted it perfectly. Like her it is sensual, but not seemly. Like her it is glowing in soft natural color, no sharp white or darkness, but somewhere beautifully between. On her it flows, captures her breasts, trails down her thighs. On her it is beautiful.
And in his hands now it is wet.
As he can longer hold it in. One moment of stupid weakness. As he lays upon the bed. Clutching the material in his grip. Giving in for seconds of that moment, before he scrapes away his tears, gently places her nightgown where it belongs and sits up against the headboard. Even if his eyes close, he will not fully sleep this night.
No peaceful slumber until she’s returned.
None.
~~~~~~~~
The funeral is over. She is back in Camelot. Within their chambers. Gwen, who hasn’t smiled in days, looks around the set of rooms solemnly, hearing as her husband comes in. She turns around, seeing his watchful expression.
“It’s late, Guinevere. Time to sleep, don’t you think?”
She stares at him for a moment, before nodding. He changes out of his clothing, and dresses for the evening. His white tunic, his sleeping trousers. He walks over to her, gently grasping her dark curls. “No braid tonight?”
Gwen slowly shakes her head. “I think I’m too tired to bother with it.”
He frowns at that, touching her cheek, which she allows. “I could help you.”
Her answer is quick. “No. It’s fine.” Her hand clasps his for a moment, before letting go.
He moves in to kiss her softly. She holds still all the while. As she does Arthur takes no offense. The past few days have been grueling for her no doubt. Morgana’s capture. Elyan’s death. It’s been a nightmare and it’s shown on his wife’s face ever since. If he tries to get her to talk about the capture, she politely declines from answering. If he wants to help her with her grief, she says she needs time to deal with it on her own. So he allows this bit of distance they have from each other now, even if it kills him some bit by bit.
Gwen moves to her side of the bed, hearing as Arthur does the same for his. She watches him get into the bed. Then slowly she does too, turned away.
Arthur lets out a long sigh, bringing his arm over his wife’s waist and stomach. “I love you Guinevere.” He presses a kiss against her cheek gently, whispering, “I know you are hurting very much so now. I just want you to know that I am always here for you. And…I love you.”
Gwen grimaces at that, bringing her arm down over where his blanketed one is. She holds on and whispers back. “I know you do. I know that Arthur.”
Days ago she would have said the same, but once again with what she’s been through, it’s no wonder that she doesn’t now. He brings his other hand up, under her hair, soothing there some. “You’re safe now, alright? Morgana can do you no more harm. I promise. I’ll never let her near you again.”
Gwen lets out a sound.
Is it disagreement? Arthur wonders. “What was that?”
She frowns steadily in the darkness, before shaking her head, pressing a kiss against his hand. “Nothing. I know now that no harm can come to me. I know in your arms…in this bed…everything will be fine.”
She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t speak more than a whisper. It’s low and devoid of much emotion. Almost strange. But he tells himself again, no reason to wonder why. She simply needs to heal. He will make sure that she has that time, and that she recovers from this fully.
“Good night Guinevere.” He kisses at her hairline one more time.
There is silence for a long while. And then,
“Good night Arthur.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
She opens the door to their chambers, slowly, carefully. She looks across to the bed, seeing that he is still sleeping soundly. His head down so far on the bed, his body all cocooned within the covers, she stares at him silently.
You love him. A misting voice states.
Gwen’s brow wrinkles furiously. She looks around the room anxiously. “Who said that? Who’s here?”
Don’t be alarmed. Child of mine.
Gwen looks to the fire in the hearth. To beyond. Seeing a glowing shadow. A too familiar one. “Mother?”
Yes Guinevere, it is me.
Gwen stares in amazement. The only memories she has of her mother are from when she was just past being a baby. Her mother died soon after, but there are these little glimpses that still linger in her heart. She can visualize her…exactly like she appears now.
“I-I’ve missed you so much.” She tells her shakily.
The ghostly form of her mother takes a step forward. And I, you, Guinevere. Now listen. We don’t have much time. The spirit world only allows these kinds of exits for a few precious moments. I want to tell you a story. I want you to listen well.
Gwen frowns, confused. “A story?”
Yes. A true one. Of you. Come here. Her mother’s hand invites. Gwen walks forward cautiously, surprised when she can actually hold it. But when she goes to hug, her mother’s form grows more shadowy. The elder woman counsels, her dark curls of hair so almost perfectly like her daughter’s.
No. No closer than this. Hands only.
Gwen pulls back, nodding her head, and listens to her mother’s teaching voice.
When I married your father, and I was with child, with you, I surprised your father. I told him we should name you Guinevere; he didn’t see why.
“What do you mean?”
Guinevere was a name of nobility, used many years ago, and never since. It was esteemed in history. And then left alone, its importance forgotten I would surmise.
“But you used it. Why?”
That was what your father wondered. Why use such a name?
“Yes. And?”
Her mother squeezes her hand just a bit before letting go, the action once again causing her form to fade a bit during the contact. Because Guinevere, I knew the first time I saw you, I knew even a little before you were in my arms, that there was something very special about you. That with such a name you would go on to do great things, be a person of fervid importance. And I was right. You are Queen. Married. Happy.
Gwen says nothing, a small stubborn frown upon her face.
Her mother looks around, almost as if someone is watching them. She clasps her daughter’s hand. Guinevere, you must fight it. That voice telling you to do wrong. I fought with your father enough in the early days, but I knew when I married him that I married a good man, a loving man. Oh, he had his silly ways at times, but he was a fine husband. And a good father. You’ve married yourself the same. And I can see it in your eyes. You love him.
Gwen turns back, looks down upon the bed, to the form of Arthur sleeping, huddled mostly underneath the covers, as he is akin to do more-so than she. Just a draft in the castle, and Arthur is cold, whereas she has grown up in humbler dwellings and doesn’t catch a chill as easily.
Another image, a contrasting one, forms inside her mind, and pulls at her to do its bidding.
Don’t listen to it. Gwen turns back to her mother, seeing her strong dark eyes, conviction and concern rolling in them. It’s not what you really feel. It’s not the truth. I know you miss your brother, another of my children I am so proud of, but it is a lie, Guinevere, what you think is veracity. Guinevere, answer to your name.
Gwen looks back to the bed for another handful of seconds. Then, “But mother-
And gasps. No one is there anymore. The shadowy form of the woman who is her mother is gone. Her last bit of advice, what had that meant?
Gwen pushes her hands through her hair. Since coming back to Camelot her feelings have been so conflicted. So twisted tight. Turning around, she removes her cloak and stands at the window, peering below. So lost in thought, she doesn’t realize that the bed has movement, until hands are touching her shoulders. She gasps at them, turns around rapidly.
“Sorry.”
It is there in his eyes. Such sorrow. Such concern. She stares. What her mother said. Contrary to what Morgana said. To her feelings of hate and-
Hate…since when did she hate anyone?
Not even Uther Pendragon when he took her father’s life.
Hate, now?
“Guinevere…”
He calls her it softly like her mother did. But his way has its own intimate slant. Arthur always stresses the first part to make it sound like Gwen-i-vere. She stares up at him, feeling his hand on her arm and then his body coming against hers. His chest touching hers. His hands opening to take her into his embrace. Part of her wants to resist. Part of her needs it. She distances the hold with her hands, pushing at his shoulders, but does not push him away entirely.
Odd wetness forms in Arthur’s eyes. He tries to push it away as he strokes his wife’s hair. “Guinevere, I’m here, alright? Please know I’m here.”
She looks past his shoulder, thinking of something. “But you always ride off.”
Arthur pulls back to give her a questioning look. “What?”
She nods her head, telling him with a quiver to her brow. “It is true. Every time there is some mission, some obstacle of some sort, you ride off with the knights. You leave me here alone. You expect me to always be waiting. To be strong. And yet when I needed you-
“What do you mean?” He stares at her, not getting it.
Tangles in her mind. Knots in her heart. She grasps his shoulders, shaking her head, whispering. “Kiss me.”
Arthur feels even more confused. He tells himself it’s her grief. And does it. With no entre needed. For he loves her so solidly, has missed her so much. His lips part, descend, play around the edges of hers. Tease just a bit.
He licks at them for a moment. Wets them. She can feel the warm dampness against her skin and then finally they are upon her mouth.
Arthur’s fingers go to his wife’s hair. He holds there firmly, his mouth a dance of emotion.
She presses into his tunic, keeping him close. Keeping the wet fiery wonder of him.
He can hear his pained moan as he pushes her against the wall. It’s too fevered, but he can’t stop it. The pain that swallowed his heart when he thought he lost her. He grits his teeth, pulling away, whispering against her shoulder, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She raises her hands to his hair, tangles her fingers into it. “You’re not.”
He looks into her eyes, sees pain, but it’s not from his kiss. It’s from something else. Grief. So tight. So enveloping. “I’m sorry. About Elyan. If I could have…Guinevere you must know…”
A few tears swim at her eyes, but she swallows them away, her fingers pushing at his mouth. “No. Don’t. Just. No.”
He lowers his head again. Ashamed.
She told Morgana that he thinks he’s won. Why? Is this winning? Has he? Has she?
“Arthur…”
Her whisper tears at his soul. Soft. Sweet. He looks up to her face, clutches at her cheek. And kisses her again. His mouth a spring of love and warmth. Passion of feeling the fire. He never wants to let her go.
She doesn’t push him away this time, until the end, her hand thrusting itself against his shoulder, her head shaking.
Arthur moves away from her, seeing how he has forced her fully into the wall. But she seems to be no prisoner. Just oddly watching him. He wants more. He wishes for more. A man’s wishes. Man’s desires. But love’s fuller. Arthur reaches for his wife’s hand. “Come. Come back to bed with me.”
She stares down at his hand.
He tips her chin. “Dreams. I’m imagining that’s what got you up. The knights had them too. You can talk to me about them. It could help.”
She stares further for a moment, before shaking her head. “No.” Visions swim too fiercely. Laughter. Dry. Uncaring. “No. I just want to go to sleep.”
He nods, holding tight to her hand.
Each climbs back into the bed.
He goes to his side.
She to hers.
Arthur wraps his arm around her waist again, pressing the kiss to the back of her head. “If you need me I’m here. Always. Forever here.”
“I know.” She states. Waits.
He is weary…
Moments later he is asleep. As she lies awake, clutching his hand against her breast, looking down at its ugliness. Its beauty.
How can she be so conflicted? Why did she meet with Morgana in the wood?
Because this is her new mission. Beyond being Queen.
Opening the throne for the new one. The rightful one. Morgana told her that she will never be alone again. Never neglected again. Never afraid again.
Of laughing images. Of screams in the dark.
And yet. This arm that holds her near, the hand that touches her hair above, there is something so strongly gentle about it. So fiercely caring.
Guinevere. Her name. Can’t forget.
Can’t let herself be claimed.
She must fight.
Only Gwen fears that the fight has just begun.
That soon nothing will be able to stop her…
Hate. Oh so strong hate. Welling. Burning.
Nothing…
From killing the man she loves.
Letting him die
Like he let her brother die.
~~~~~~~
The tower is dark. Gray black viciousness. It sucks at life. Its vulgar tongued doorway disintegrating happiness. In the background the screams plague her ears. But even more-so prevalent is the moan from him, which echoes her gasp of horror.
In shock she runs forward, catches at all the silver metal. It’s the one true ugliness of armor plates and rings of chainmail. They hinder, making it hard to touch the body. It’s so awkward, but she manages to catch his fall, to hold him upon her lap. He is hurt. He is bleeding, trickles seeping out of his armor. This hard thing he wears, why couldn’t it have protected him enough? Why is he bleeding now?
Dying in her arms.
It’s only a few whispers of pride for each other. Love for each other. And then he’s gone. Her dear brother, Elyan, is gone.
They rush in. Too late. He runs forward, but the time of saving is over. Her heart feels like an anchor is tugging it from her body, wanting to succumb it to nebulous pools of slime. Pulling. Grasping. Wrenching it away. It aches. Oh God, how it aches.
Not her Elyan. Not her dear baby brother. No more of this. First her mother. Then years later her father. And now…
No family. No one. No-
She can hear the voice in the back of her head. Drowning out the screams. The men’s murmurs of sympathy. The breathing of her husband who sits kneeled nearby. The female voice whispers in her head to hold on. That she is not alone. That everything will be alright. Just play the part. Let them win their glory.
She doesn’t care about any glory though. Her body just wants to take her brother away from it all. Hold him. Keep him safe forever. Never let any harm-
“Guinevere.”
It’s a soft whisper, a warm hand coming over hers. “Guinevere.”
She heard that voice in the room upstairs. Where those awful black slimy things hung all around. It taunted her. It laughed at her. And now that ugly voice is trying to be so gentle. But she knows the truth. His fault. His-
“Guinevere. We need to go. We need to-
“No.” She clutches her brother’s body harder against her lap. His dead lifeless body. “No.” She insists, protecting him from that voice. “No I’m not leaving him. I’m never leaving him again.”
Something touches her chin. That warm hand. She is forced to look into his eyes. Stained by tears. His look so gentle. So pained. Shaking of the head. “We won’t leave him Guinevere. I promise you that. We’ll take him with us.
Right?” He looks to the men standing behind.. She does too for a moment, noticing how they nod their heads vigorously. Not enough. She lowers her body more, holding Elyan tighter in her grip. “Won’t leave him.” She murmurs. “Won’t leave him.”
A shaky breath comes out next to her. There is the sound of material. It is draped over her shoulders. She peers down at the crimson Pendragon cape with fascination and disgust. Red. Like blood. Like the blood upon his hands. Should have been-
“Guinevere. Come on. Come with me.”
His voice is so soft. It’s flooded with emotion. And then it’s firm. “Guinevere, we need to go. You need to release him. Look…Percival will carry him. We’ll get him out of here. Come on…Guinevere my love…come on.”
He whispers it against her brow, for only her to hear. She looks up to him with surprise. Confusion and fear. “Arthur?”
He nods, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Her hands touch him. “Arthur?”
“I’m here.” He grasps her waist. The body is being pulled from her, but she pulls back. “No! Leave him be! Leave him with me. No.”
She hears agonized sighs. And then. “Guinevere, I promise, we’re going to get Elyan out of here, but you have to let them take him. You can’t carry him alone. Come on…come with me.”
His voice is like she is a child now. Percival peers down at her with a gentle smile, but his face too is streaked with tears. “You will take care of him?” She asks. “You will keep him warm?”
His voice is stricken. “I will. I promise Gwen.”
She nods, slowly letting go, feeling her husband’s hold on her waist, on her arm.
He lifts her to her feet. She can feel the heaviness of her face, the wet against it. And the screams in the back of her ears. The voice telling her to go. She won’t be alone for long.
Arms suddenly clasp her, a shuddering voice letting out. “My God, I thought I might lose you.”
She is boneless within them, saying nothing. He pulls back, clasps her cheeks. “Guinevere?”
She shakes her head, saying nothing. Voices are all around. Telling him they have to go. As he asks. “Morgana, Guinevere what happened to her?”
She shakes her head again and he seems to reproach himself. “Stupid of me to ask. Wherever she is she can’t hurt you anymore. You understand…we’re getting out of here.”
Gwen says nothing, letting him hold her waist and pull her to the steps. The screams. The black hanging slimy things. The dark dark walls. The voice she must heed.
Hate them. Oh…hate them…
The tower merges to the wood. It is night. Arthur’s arms surround her, but she does not move. Her tears are dried on her face. She has not cried anymore since leaving the tower. Seated on the ground, with the cape wrapped around her, in his tight hold, she hears him whisper words of love.
But she holds still stoically. There is no passion left in her. No feeling. His kiss upon her brow, her cheek, and a gentle one to her lips do nothing to bring warmth. She is boneless still.
Emotionless.
Beyond, he lies. A corpse.
A metal gleaming corpse.
“AH! NO! STOP!"
Gwen screams and screams. Her hands reach for something, anything to help. There is fuss nearby. There are strong hands and arms gripping her body, telling her in a firm voice that it’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. She is safe. She is home and she is safe.
She looks upon the man she loves.
The man she hates.
And twists her fingers into her hair.
Over. She just wants it all over. The pain. The screams. The confusion. The agony.
Over.
Arthur is shocked and concerned. He’s never heard his wife scream like that, with such terror in her voice. He holds her, strokes her hair as he sees her fingers grip at it. Gently he pushes them away, feels her give up the fight and go boneless in his arms. Part of him is relieved, the other disappointed. It’s been like this for days now. She remains so locked up, not telling him anything. Just saying she needs time. But he is a restless man and his anxiety is growing.
Gwen stays unmoving, until she sees it. She sits up a little more, locking her fingers on his shoulder. She strains some, until she gets a good view. He said it had no tie to her. Maybe he lied.
She knows that hold. She knows it so well. The crafting of the iron ore and carbon into steel. In her hands it was so familiar. So it must be. Her husband has lied to her. She grips his shoulder harder, fingers digging into the white material of his sleep shirt.
Digging so hard that-
“Ah-
Arthur pants, whispering with a hiss, “Guinevere…too tight.”
“Oh.” She lets go quickly. Shakes her head. What was she thinking? Of bringing that sword down, the one he prizes so much? And doing what with it?
Slash through his heart.
“Oh.” She moans.
Arthur reaches for his wife’s cheek. He tenders it with his fingertips. He can’t take much more of this, seeing her so pained and so far from who she really is. Maybe he’ll ask Gaius for a sleeping draught in the morning. “Guinevere…”
She won’t look at him so he holds both her cheeks firmly in his hands.
His grip is tight, but not abusive. She looks up into his eyes finally, seeing fervent resolve there.
“Let’s get away.” He suggests. “For a day. Just leave Camelot for a bit. Go out into the wood. Have a picnic.” His brow wrinkles. His face fills with emotion as he bends down, kisses her neck softly, looking up after. Absorbing her eyes with his own. “Together. You and me.”
Had she nearly just pierced his heart? Desired it? The screams. Black hanging things. They’re everywhere. He’s there, Merlin, and even her brother, laughing. Taunting. Hanging. Dripping. Those things, they keep dripping. Soiling her face. Her clothes. And it’s dark. It’s so dark. There’s no light. But when they come. Those who taunt her. He’s one. Morgana says don’t listen. Pretend. He is the enemy.
No. No that’s wrong. He’s my husband. He loves me.
Screams. Ah. Stop. Stop.
“Guinevere…” He can hear his own voice shaking as Arthur holds his wife’s arms, begging her to listen to him, to come away from whatever horror Morgana put her through. “Guinevere…a picnic, what do you say?”
Go. Take care of it there. End it there.
No. Gwen lifts her hands, touches her husband’s cheeks. “Arthur.”
“Yes?”
So much in his face. So much dread and hope and ugliness and beauty. “Stay with me.”
He shakes his head, frowning. Not understanding anymore. He’s with her already. What does she mean? Why won’t she answer? “Guinevere, I am with you. You’re home. In our chambers, the ones that belong just to you and me, Guinevere, my love…I am with you. Always.”
Answer him. Answer. Don’t let him guess. Keep it up.
I don’t want to hurt him.
You have no choice.
Now do it.
She leans forward, kisses his lips, feeling his breath, shaky, needing. “I think a picnic is what I need with you.”
He smiles finally. She does too. Holding onto it. Just happy that the screams are fading away.
He holds her waist, brings her down on the bed with him, and whispers into her ear. “Okay. We’ll go then. Now. Sleep.”
When she is lying down, him behind her, she feels his arm wrap around her stomach again. The other hand goes under her hair once more. She holds to each hand. Feeling warmth.
And the screams start once more. The black hanging things pierce her vision. She shivers.
Arthur holds her closer, whispering into her ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re not alone. You’re never alone Guinevere.”
Never alone is right. The voices, the screams are always there. Her voice. Morgana’s. Urging her.
So she waits. Waits for him to sleep…
Soon enough he does with her hand doing what it’s done since they first married, stroking him to slumber.
She gets up from the bed, looks up to the shelf. Swallowing, she reaches for it. His precious sword. She fingers it. Once again feeling it. She knows it. Knows every inch of it too well. He lies.
She moves to the bed with it in her hand. Lifts it. But it stays only in the air. His face is like a child’s in sleep. Content. Trusting.
The voice tells her to do away with him. But she cannot heed. She won’t.
No. I love him. He loves me.
She fights the voice with her heart, thinking of what her mother told her. Feeling the hate swelling, but lurking underneath are the last bits of love.
She puts the sword back, feeling cold. Feeling empty. Climbs back into the bed, returning his hands to where they need to be. Under her hair. Around her stomach.
The blackness is hanging over her. She shrieks inwardly at its closeness. Trembles at the voice that orders her.
And yet defies it by lifting his arm and kissing his hand with her mouth. Holding his palm there to her lips, not letting him go.
Lies. The sword is familiar.
She fights the voice, again and again. Needing to hold onto a piece of what she was before all this happened, straining to remember exactly what that was. Maybe the sword is familiar. But she doesn’t want it.
Kill him.
No. Stop.
End his life.
No. The black slimy things are everywhere. Screams in her head. She tries to fight it though. She-
Tear his heart into pieces.
God no.
Not my sweet Arthur.
He’s a liar.
You will heed.
Or it will be everywhere. In the air. On the floor. In this bed. In your soul.
No. She pleads, holding his hand tighter, hearing him sleepily murmur,
“Guin…”
She kisses his hand. Keeps him near, rubbing it to put him back to sleep.
But not to death. Never that.
It’s his fault Elyan is no more.
No.
It’s his fault.
No.
Hate. Love. Passion. Disgust. Take. Give. Leak. Dry.
They will drip all over you if you don’t listen to me.
You’ll be consumed by them.
Kill. Save.
Screams.
She is in purgatory.
And only one thing can save her.
Save him.
More than an enchantment. More than a thousand dripping mandrakes. More than a dark tower of nightmarish illusion.
One thing.
The antithesis of boneless stoicism.
The shield that parries hatred.
The emotion that capsules the flame of passion.
The feeling that no magic, not even the darkest kind, not even a twisted vile enchantment, can succumb…
Love.
~