Shared Chambers: Firestorm

[elsewhere87]

Title Shared Chambers: Firestorm
Rating M
Characters/Pairing Arthur/Gwen
Word Count 8,678
Warnings/Spoilers spoilers for series 5, episodes 5.01-5.12 / lots of speculation also / this one has mature romantic scenes and angst
Author’s Note Thank you for all the lovely comments on this story. I appreciate everyone. This one’s for you all.

Shared Chambers: Firestorm

The footsteps pound through the hallways, messily and noisily, a cacophony of sounds: rousing voices and bits of staggering. Rolling her eyes at it all, Gwen calmly puts away her work, blows out the candle at her side of the bed, and lies down within the covers, closing her eyes.

It is just a few minutes later that he comes in, obviously trying to be quiet.

She cringes some as his belt lands on the floor with a heavy clang, and has to contain her snicker as he gasps at its noise.

He checks her side of the bed, peering over cautiously. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

But then they open to interested slits as his white tunic sails to the floor and his pants join the shirt. His boots are already landed there too. Finally when he is done with his disrobing, he climbs atop the bed. The mattress shifts some and she feels a strong arm come over her shoulder.

“Guin…Guinevere are you awake?”

She makes no sound which releases his sigh. “Ah, as well.” He grumps. “Merlin, I swear it’s like he’s a cheat. Wins every time. Took half my silver tonight. Idiot.”

“I’d say he’s a pretty wise idiot for winning your money.”

“Yes, well I guess you could say that-

She stifles her giggles as her husband stops in midsentence. “Guinevere! You’re awake.”

Her lips form a smirk, eyes still closed. “No, just talking in my sleep as you like to talk when to yourself.”

“I was not talking to myself!” Arthur grouses indignantly. “I was talking to you.”

“Whilst I was sleeping?”

He peers over her shoulder, noticing how she still has yet to open her eyes. Stubborn woman. “But you were not sleeping, Guinevere. You do not talk in your sleep.”

“How do you know? You’re too busy snoring like a pig.”

Oh that does it. He grasps her waist and presses against her side, raising his fingers to invade the most vulnerable areas of her nightdress. Hearing her high giggles as he starts it he smiles in victory. But then she is lifting her pillow from underneath their tussling bodies and hitting him square on the head with it. “Ow.” He tickles her harder.

She wriggles in his arms which causes him to watch with more than just amusement. Woman has more flare in her than a flaming torch.

Ready to get her own leverage, she reaches down within his breeches and-

“Oh Guinevere…don’t you…”

“Mmmm…” She strokes with a saucy look, her fingers enticing his sensitive anatomy.

“Stop.”

“You stop.”

His fingers cease moving on her body. Her knowing womanly touch is kind of a bit like lightning. “Guinevere.”

“Mmm…” She grins and he sighs, letting her sides go as she lessens her hold on him. His head veers downward to kiss her mouth. Gwen tangles her fingers into his golden locks, bringing her husband more abundantly against her.

“Oh.” He whispers in between, getting a breath. He teases her mouth with his finger, circling her bottom and top lip languidly, and then delving within to tickle at the rim.

“What were you really doing before I came in here?”

She smiles up at him warmly. “Sleeping.”

“Fibber.”

“Hmph. I’m not the one who had to have a round with the boys, am I?”

“Do I detect a spark of jealousy?” He asks teasingly.

She grips his naked shoulder just a bit too tightly, getting him to hiss. “You should know me better Arthur.”

“Indeed I do.” He grins as her hold loosens and they come closer together to kiss, one after another.

In between their hands play with each other, a frolic here, a naughty little pinch there.

And thereafter they snuggle, pressing upon bits of clothing each wears and delving further too. All is matrimonial privilege and exquisite custom. His hand strays within her nightgown to which she hums with pleasure as she presses kisses upon his chest that let out his happy growl.

“So Merlin was the victor again tonight, huh?”

That lets out his grumble of complaint. She whispers with amusement, “Perhaps you should stop betting against him.”

“Hmph.”

Her lips descend to enjoy her husband’s spicy taste, mingled now with plenty of Ale.

A few more kisses, he asks plaintively, “Come on Guinevere, my beautiful wife, what were you really doing?”

She grins at his insistence and thrown-in-there compliment, but refuses to give in. “Already told you. Sleeping.”

“Ah. Why so secretive?”

“Why so curious?”

He grumbles some more before lifting it high above their heads. The material slowly lowers to cocoon them inside.

Gwen giggles at the cave of blankets they are now contained within.

Even though she is bright and experienced enough to know where he is going with this, she asks teasingly, “Arthur?”

He arches above her, his greater muscled body flanking her petite one with defect-less acquisition. “Fortress time.”

However, she is not willing to let go so easily. A queen now for years and quite accustomed to a woman’s efficacy in bed, she lifts her fingers to his chest with the intent to make it, and him, spark with feverish desire.

“Your favorite game…again?”

It’s been played many times within these private chambers, and not only upon the bed.

Her words rouse memories of the other times they’ve engaged in his esteemed pursuit, bringing on a glimmer of pleasure to his face.

“You should know by now my sensual gillyflower Guinevere, I never grow tired of it.”

Well truth be told, she is quite fond of it too. Oh, and him. Really, can a man be any handsomer?

She thinks not. Bared to the waist, even under the blanket’s cover, he is sinew and firmness. His mostly pale skin actually shines under the blanket with little golden effects. His eyes glow like a sea’s blue and his mouth pouts outward with charming effect. She loves him like this, nearly naked to her appreciating eyes, every bit of his look secretive and reserved just for her and their very private chambers.

Her tongue edges past her lips as she gives a passionate sigh.

He notices it and all of her with easily returned appreciation. The nightdress she wears he actually gifted her with shortly after they were married. It fits her perfectly well, with flowing sleeves, a dipping bodice, and delicate floral ornamentation. Her long curls braided for sleep just give more attention to her face, that natural sun blessed shimmer, those attentive dark eyes, and of course her luscious lips.

Stroking his chest languidly with her fingers, Gwen gives a look of innocent confusion. “You’ll have to remind me of my role as I have completely forgotten.”

His answering expression is skeptical as he doubts very much she forgot, but he lets it go with a shrug. If she wants to play, he’s very game. “I’m the knight.”

Gwen has fun twisting things, her finger toying around his slightly upraised nipple as she answers coyly. “I think it would be better if I was the knight.”

His eyebrows pitch with question. “Guinevere, you…the knight? My Love, you are quite keen of intelligence and have a strong backhand when it comes to raising random things to hit someone with. I know well. That time I came in here early from the hunt when you were not expecting me, and I grabbed you, I felt the fire poker’s wrath upon my head.”

“Humph.” She complains, still idly circling his nipple and pressing random kisses upon his chest. “Your fault. Be grateful I did not use the pointy end.”

“Yes…” Arthur sighs with a wry look. She has quite an adept hand when needed. “Grateful indeed. But back to the point Guinevere, that does not make you a knight. Being a knight requires years of training my love…” He lets the words stretch out, an expanse of breathy tones as he greedily takes her luscious damp limps with his.

“Physical…”

“Mmmm…” She hums with sensuous satisfaction.

“Arduous…”

Their mouths joust for sybaritic triumph.

“Training.”

Her fingers canter up his chest, grasping at his shoulder, and then slide redolently downward, a smooth flow of flesh to flesh. She watches his eyes react, the aroused glimmer of blue turning to flashes of passion. She’s not completely done though as she keeps up her teasing banter, frolicking in bed, among other key places, with her gorgeous husband, one of her greatest enjoyments of life now.

“A wise courageous knight must always get the advantage, you told me once, isn’t that right my husband?”

Hmmm…she’s definitely thinking of taking this somewhere, but right now he’s a little preoccupied with her neck, lips mingling with soft skin to institute wetly burning kisses. “Yes…” She tastes divine. “Absolutely must.”

Gwen lets out a languid sigh, her head falling backward upon her pillow. His mouth…oh a sword of carnal passions. But time to make her point. One hand slides further down his chest, tickling at his stomach.

“Guin.” Arthur gives out a little weak giggle. However his wife has lustier intentions than just making her husband dissolve into a mess of titters.

Gwen presses her hand between his breeches and skin, sliding within the thin material that holds his length of manly hardness inside. She gives a taunting little stroke with her fingers, feeling him jump against her with reaction.

“Guinevere-

“Sshhh…” Her other hand touches his lips, takes ownership of his mouth. “I’m getting the advantage. Being a proper knight.”

It’s an indulgent lull they are engaging in. Outside their chambers and past the castle’s exterior, beyond Camelot’s high climbing gates, war is looming. Morgana is set to fully begin it anytime. Some nights he sleeps little. Days are full of round table meetings of necessity and increased patrols. Some have already even been sent out to the surrounding kingdoms. Danger is all around. Beyond their bed sits a map of war-planning upon a table.

But now here…in shared chambers, in shared bed, in shared proximity, her fingers flush pleasure into his face as they enjoy their lull.

She continues her wifely threatening stroke. Feels him arch up against her, always susceptible to her touch as she is to his. Rest assured, she has little fear her attentions will not be returned. Arthur is a man of generously seductive chivalry after all.

Arthur clings to his wife, holding her body down against his to keep her hand in place. Moments there are the friction climbs so high he wants to push it away. Other moments he wants to seal it to him forever.

“Guinevere…oh for the love of Cam--Guin…”

His whispers turn almost breathless. His hardening is firm against her fingers. And the wet hot swell.

A man transfixed by his wife. She loves what she can bring him to. Loves…

“Oh…”

He’s done. The jousting play is all over. He’s pulsing hard against her and struggling some for regular breaths. Her strokes that started out slow have grown fast and intense. It is time to give her some of the same.

The blankets are half on them now, half off. He’s widening her thighs and she’s tangling her fingers into his hair, twisting and pulling as his hand slides deep between her legs. Kisses rain from their mouths. Sloppy messy misplaced ones. Their limbs are tangles of desire and erotic need. He pleasures her again and again with his fingers and then that’s not enough.

Something else.

“Love…” He whispers in her ear. “Guinevere…my beautiful love…fie…you…always…drive me…mad…”

She rocks against his lascivious dance, hips ascending, descending. Slow. Sweet pain and pleasure.

He watches her eyes close and open. Long gazes, they glimmer with sexual joy. His rapacious hands keep forward the momentum, up, down. He urges within her insatiable wet heat.

And she loves it, his relentless endeavor to be deeper inside. She wants him there where satisfaction is a long sigh of pleasure. It’s coming, inches away, she can feel it. Her restless hands press into his chest, lightly scrape his nipples, eliciting his throaty groan. It is like a warm watered ocean, love with Arthur. It is like nothing she can fully describe really. Her toes tingle, her fingertips radiating like lightning.

The hard unyielding thrust. “Oh…” She lets out a soft cry. So close.

So near he can feel it too. Arthur whispers into his wife’s ear, commencing to bring her over the edge.

“Come my beautiful Gillyflower…let go and come…”

And as he pierces her one more time, as he slides so deep within that she forgets what part of her is herself and what part is him, she gasps out pleasure to his waiting kiss. Feels him swallow it all with his mouth and she just gives it back, her body a tangle of sensations. Wet. Hot. Carnal feels…

He too lets go of his hardest pain and pleasure. They release everything together.

It is a most beautiful ascension.

…

Many moments later he holds her securely in his arms, letting out a slight growl of defeat. “You win.”

She smiles the bit she can, feeling his fingers intertwined with hers over her breast, and whispers, “We both do.”

“I love you.” He murmurs into her neck, keeping her ever so close.

“I love you the same my husband.”

…

Moments pass. They hear the crackle of the still slightly burning fire in the hearth. Then they hear each other’s breaths slow down from all their pleasurable exertions as sleep finds them both.

…

She dreams.

Gold is within her fingers. Upon the crest is the symbol of a winged dragon. There is nothing else. Just her fingers holding it and the image is gone, but it remains in her mind as she wakes, strokes her heart for a moment, getting it to beat a little faster.

“Ah…”

Gwen opens her eyes, hearing a sleepy grunt from her husband. She brings her hands over his arms that clasp her securely to him, rubs with her fingers, and keeps him from waking as he slumbers contentedly again, that slight familiar snore blowing out from his mouth. She smiles at it and after carefully slipping out from his grasp, putting her pillow nearby so he doesn’t notice right away her absence, stretches across the bed to his side.

Arching above his sleeping face, she finds it, a large metal ring of multitudes of keys. They go to the dungeons, the various throne rooms, their chambers, and other places. One in particular goes to a box. She learnt all this their first night of marriage.

He does not regularly wear it, but the day of her coronation, after their ceremony of marriage, he did wear it and when they came to their chambers for the first time as man and wife, he educated her about it after their first makings of love.

It was a night of passionate exploration if anything. The talked first and then they kissed and acted upon all the physical desires they had suppressed for so long. She enthralled in his naked physical beauty, even that endearing little paunch of stomach, and hissed inward at the first time his thick, yet long fingers reached out and stroked her breasts, and then later further intimate places of her body. It was a tangled excursion of pants and whispers to culmination. Pain and pleasure combined in which he spent a few moments making sure that she was okay. To which she stroked and kissed away his worries. Zenith reached. A plummet of emotions and feral showering of release and meridian met together, with uninhibited cries.

That first time, they just did it once, as it was exciting but still novel. Later days they’d engage in more extended marital bliss.

They were just starting to slumber, still disrobed and with drops of exertions’ glow upon their warm bodies. After his checks to make sure all was right with her, and her whispers of gratitude for his concern, she was laying quietly in his arms. Their bodies turned in to each others’ she could feel it upon his finger that intertwined with hers. “The Royal seal.” There was no question in her voice. She had seen it before.

Kissing the top of her hair, Arthur murmured against her brow. “Yes. With it I am King.”

She stroked the gold and his finger together, pressing a kiss against both. “You wore it today.”

He smiled with a touch of tiredness. “Yes…I honestly don’t often, but for occasions like this one.”

“So where does it go regularly Arthur?”

“Here…”

And that was when he showed her. There were two boxes you see.

Gwen finds the insignificant looking key on the ring now and opens the first box. It holds a key of its own. She reaches into a secretly inserted drawer that one must have prior knowledge about to understand how to pull out, and finds a second box. She uses the little key to get it open. Within, surrounded by crushes of velvet is the precious Royal Seal of Camelot. The Pendragon Seal of a winged dragon. She separates it from the velvet, lifting it within her fingers, wondering. Why a dream about it?

“Mmmm…”

He stirs again and she grasps the ring tightly, putting it back within its box, locking it inside, and putting the box back in the concealed drawer. Then she puts the key back in its box and locks it tight with its key from the ring. When she is done with all she slowly, quietly stretches back to her side of the bed and carefully slides the pillows past his arms to be back within them.

Another murmur comes after a few moments, and then perhaps not so sleepily, he asks,

“What were you doing?”

Guinevere smiles at her husband’s alertness, not terribly surprised as he is a man who regularly goes into battle. She smiles even more though at how during her separation from him the covers climbed higher upon his body. Arthur is the first to feel a draft of cold always in bed, growing up a bit more spoilt than her. What with glowing hearths and all.

“Nothing much.”

He lets out a small sigh, his warm breath blowing across her cheek. “You don’t want to tell me?”

Gwen shakes her head, her braid brushing across his chin and mouth. “Not that. I’ll tell you if you want.” And she means it.

But he shrugs unimportantly. “No. It’s fine. If you think it’s no matter then that’s enough for me.” He suggestively brings his fingers over her naked breasts and reminds. “We probably should put some bedclothes on, considering Merlin still sometimes wakes us up with little warning.”

She giggles at that, keeping his hands warmly around her. Merlin indeed does come bristling into their rooms some mornings with a cheery whistle, but since their marriage and the placement of the curtains around their bed, he has never opened them without invitation.

Still…the mornings are regular to carry a shrill draft and the last thing he or she needs is to catch a cold. “You are right.” She relents with a smile.

She reaches for his clothing and he for hers. They fondly help each other get dressed and then snuggle back within the bedcovers again.

“Good night Guinevere, my Love.”

She presses a kiss to his hand and holds at the white material of his tunic. “Goodnight my dear Arthur.”

As they begin to find sweet repose together, the silence surrounds them, but for the last dying crackle of the fireplace.

It is perhaps the last evening they will ever spend together in their shared chambers within Camelot.

That is because it is only hours away, the beginning.

The end.

Brother against Sister.

Blood upon Blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What happened? Where is Merlin going?” Gwen asks her husband, entering their chambers as Merlin passes by, rushing out before she can ask him what the matter is.

Arthur shakes his head from where he stands on the other side, his look unhappy. “He says he has an errand for Gaius that he has to do. Now. So I told him not to even bother with the armor. I’ll get it on myself.”

Gwen watches for a moment as her husband struggles with the chainmail, the little links of metal catching onto his hair and pulling, causing him to let out a hiss of pain. Giving a sigh she steps forward and extricates it from his fingers. “Let me.”

Grimacing, Arthur relents.

The news came just hours ago, receding Gwaine and Leon’s return. Morgana’s invasion of a nearby kingdom has resulted in so many killings of people and torching of the land. Next for certain will be Camelot. Thus, there is no other choice.

It is never a light decision to put his men into grave danger, but the alternative is unacceptable. Already Morgana has taken Camelot twice. It cannot be allowed again. It goes against everything the kingdom has always been for. Desecration of its people and its lands would ruin Camelot forever and lead to so much needless bloodshed of innocents.

He will not acquiesce to that kind of ruined world. This is what the Knights of Camelot have been trained for and always stood for. If going to Camlann means their deaths then that is a price they will take within their hearts, knowing at least they did not die as shameful cowards, they did not die with their kingdom up in flames. If it is their last heartbeat, it will cease with honor.

And that is why too Arthur cannot sit upon his throne and let those men go alone. He will be right alongside them, fighting for the love and continuance of his precious Camelot.

He is of mind to that, with little question. What he questions is why his servant now does not want to come along.

Merlin, always so brave.

Oh yes he has not told him so in the past, but it is something that Arthur actually has felt for years now. Merlin is truly one of the bravest men he has ever known. For Merlin, unlike other servants, has never left his side. He has always been there in the fight, without armor. Even when struck a few times, nearly lost his life once, Merlin has been there.

So why not now?

Why?

The tension in his body is palpable. Gwen tries to relieve some of the knots as she helps him get into the chainmail and then starts tightly binding his armor on.

“Ah.” He complains some and she can see in his face as she moves in front how he still is unhappy about his friend. “Arthur…Merlin must do what is right for him. And you must do what is right for you.” She fingers his face gently, but all the firmness is in her voice. “And for Camelot. You cannot leave here so troubled. You must focus on the task at hand.”

He sighs, letting out a full knot of tension, and moves forward to kiss her lips, tapping at her chin afterward. “How is it that you get me so well?”

She shows it to him, her ring. “Years of marriage and woman’s intuition. It’s quite a strong armament.”

He agrees with a smile and pulls her in closer, locking his hands around her waist. “You agree with what I’m doing? Going to Camlann. Fighting this way.”

She nods her head as she takes a moment of enjoying his closeness, but then moves past his hold to help him get the wrist cuffs on too. “I think you are right about the dangers of fighting here. Too many would be hurt. Morgana has already entered the kingdom by force before. She could do so again. And then, what? This is better.”

He quietly agrees and sees soon she is done with all his armor. Arthur moves away, looking for his cloak upon the table, and wraps it around his shoulders. As he goes to fit the buckle she walks towards him, holding it herself.

“Arthur…”

He shakes his head and she says nothing, clasping the buckle into place. But then he remembers something.

Gwen watches curiously as Arthur goes to his side of their bed, opens each box with each pair of keys and brings it out.

“The Royal Seal?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Gwen frowns as he places it in her hands. “You are in charge as always while I’m gone my Queen. Camelot is under your command.”

She nods quietly, her head down, eyes studying the dragon pattern.

“Guinevere?”

She lifts her head and clasps his shoulders fervently. She presses her breast against his plates of armor and chainmail so closely that she can feel the roughness. Her kiss drains from her lips upon his cheek, before it finds his mouth. His joins eagerly. A bit desperately.

They delve into each other, a mess of hands pressing and pulling. Tongues tangling. Breaths gasping at intervals.

“Be careful Arthur…” She whispers, heart beating fast and deep. “Do only what you need to and then come back to me…please…”

She presses her hand to his chest. Her eyes are full of anguish and hope at the same time.

He smiles bravely, touching that hand at his heart and holding it there, but then he frowns slightly. She is a wise woman, always has been. He knows she understands. This desperate choice, to go into battle this way, will mean rivers of bloodshed. There are many men who will probably not return. There is the strongest possibility, that he, the king, will fight his last fight there.

“Guinevere…”

“No.” Tears form in her eyes that she fights away with her persistent mind. Not now. She will not shed them. They are too indulgent, too greedy. He must be focused.

“No.” She says more strongly, pressing against his heart more staunchly, holding her hand solidly there. “I am so proud of you. And I love you so much. May you be strong, may you be safe…may your heart vibrantly beat, and may you by Heaven's grace, come home.”

There has never been any other woman for him. Never. Oh there were little flings and little bits of boy’s puppy love. Enchantments and such. Infatuations. Little bits of lust even. But not until her, has he felt his heart so full and in place. “I love you. Always. You’ll never be apart from me.”

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall upon his chest for a precious moment, but then she stands back up straight swiftly, nodding. She knows. There is that dreaded ugly chance. “My heart will always be with you.”

They clasp to each other one more time. Her hand has to be dragged from his heart before she finally lets go, and he fully leaves. She stands there holding the Royal seal in her shaking fingers.

And decides with lighting choice.

This may be the last time.

And if it is…

She will not let him go alone.

She will be right alongside, assisting with the wounded, and giving her husband all the support he may need.

She has never been an idle queen.

This is a very sorry time to start.

Gwen goes to their dressing furniture and removes all her riding clothes.

She’s going with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The choice for her to come is one both of them are grateful for. Arthur’s tent, since becoming king, is a vast one, and sometimes feels lonely. With her there, warmth is always surrounding him. She is glad too. He eats so little when alone at battle that at least her presence gets him to dine with her. Afterward, he spends so much time perusing their map of action.

Keeping her emotions in check, for she knows he does not need any type of weakness at this time, and she doesn’t need to divulge herself in it, she asks, at his heavy look of doubt, what is wrong. Then after his admission she gives him her truth.

Although his plan is ever so bold, it is right and wise, a king’s decision. To fight the war here at Camlann is frightful, yes, but it is the one way finally to put Morgana’s tyranny to an end.

Gwen is quite proud of her husband for making such an astute determination, with the keen knowledge that not all women would feel so. There would be those begging their husband to not join in on the fight, stay at home instead, seated upon the throne as death falls to the soldiers.

They might as well be dead to allow such atrocities.

And there is one more thing.

Since a young one, Gwen has thrilled at Arthur’s prowess in matches and upon the battlefield. Oh sometimes in the distant past his boastfulness would annoy her silly, but he’s matured now into a man she loves fervently. His valor is so commendable, as is his respect for what is good. His courage and fight comes not only from his muscle, but his brain and heart.

Years ago, when the Questing Beast bit him and she tended to his high fever, she could see it already. The supreme king Arthur was meant to be, better than his father. The kingdom itself had so much love for him, and secretly it was beating in her individual heart. She dare not tell him then for fear he might not feel the same. So she kept it inside, even though after he awakened he seemed to remember some, teased her for it.

Then later he came to stay with her when he was testing his true ability to joust by concealing his princely identity. After she shyly handed him a token to wear for luck, he smiled, and then suddenly kissed her. The slow break away, his gaze was one of wonder, matching her vibrant heart pang. His kiss made her feel so alive, a promise perhaps of what was to come.

However, loving Arthur Pendragon was never meant to be easy, one hardship after another. There was the temptation of Lancelot and Arthur’s father trying to marry him off. It took so long for them to finally come together but now here they are.

After his gratefulness for her wise council they hug. Then he lifts her into his arms, bringing out her sweet laughter.

It is a sound that Arthur dearly loves, and wants to always hear. It’s his wife’s sound. It and she is everything that most matters to him in life.

He seats her upon the bed and sits just a few inches across, touching her cheek and whispering meaningfully, “You’re right. Rest is needed.”

She smiles.

His lips find a spot right underneath her chin as he tells her quietly. “But not yet.”

The sensual answer delights and excites her.

On his knees, his hands, he crawls forward. She scoots backward, meeting the headboard. He surrounds her, legs, fingers. “I love you…” He whispers, his mouth parting, kissing the way up her face, to her closed eyes, her forehead, weaving around her nose, her chin…

“I love you too.” She whispers back, his lips consummately one with hers now. They pulse against her mouth. Wet flames. Torches of showering desire. Let everything be inside this tent. Contained.

Their chambers. Aflame with the beauty of love.

Under grasping, pulling hands, under mouths of adoration, clothing slips away. Bareness takes its place. Blankets shield and cause delicious friction. And eyes endeavor.

Each watches the other, pushing back at shoulders and whispering silently, wait. Make it last.

It could be argued that their true chambers are back in Camelot, but that is fallacy. Their chambers are the veracity of wherever they are contained together, just the two of them. That makes this tent them now. It is only within these shared chambers they are witness to it. The beauty of each other’s unclothed constitutions.

Her voluptuous curves. His male hardness. Little marks of birth. Memories of scars. Hidden imperfection. Tunnels of oasis. Uniquely adorned hues of skin.

His hands find her breasts. His fingers move over the curve. They cup the roundness. They frolic with the nipple. And she just holds him there. Shuddering a few times. Letting out little moans and gasps.

Her fingers find his stomach. She presses her hand into the much slighter paunch, for Arthur’s body is now so full of muscle there is little bounce in it. She goes further between his thighs. Strokes. Touches. Fondles.

A sword of passionate furies, his manhood vibrates in her hand as she gazes upon his gorgeous naked form. He lies without protest underneath her adorations. Just gives his own moans. Shudders his own bits.

Their passions are a storm of love, filled with erotic lightning sparks.

She pulses to his mouth, his hands, and he to hers. Their bodies move against the sheets in a fervor of joy and frenzy. Love. Seduction on their lips. In their fingertips. Skin presses and wetly thrusts. Flesh wet and wanting. A carnal menagerie.

Every impulse, every wish of no regret is here now upon their bed, within shared chambers. If this is the last time, if this cannot hold, if this shower of love is not meant to be once more, then they will not pull back. They will not forego the manumission of their emotions. Of their trembling constitutions.

Their tempest of feeling rises and lowers like their heaving forms. A squeeze here. A hiss of intention there.

Naked. Legs splayed. Hips thrusting. The foreplay of their earliest days is a shadowy memory. Even the fun with the gillyflowers is over. This is want and need. This is a firestorm of ache.

Arthur’s hands reach out for his wife’s bared legs. He widens them to lock around his waist.

Gwen lies back upon the pillows, her eyes looking up into her husband’s feverishly. “Arthur…” She murmurs.

And he is in.

“Oh.” Her arms extend to the headboard, hold it wretchedly. Feeling all his length deep deep inside.

Out.

In.

Her muscles below quake and quiver. Bring him within…again…again…

He grasps her hips. Squeezes and lessens the hold, squeezes and begins the pattern again. He watches their private dance, catches the passionate undulations of her venereal body. She takes him so deep inside, within her wet heat. It leaves him almost mindless, his head rolling back with a hoarse sigh of increasing satisfaction.

Low continuing moans escape her lips. She doesn’t want this to end, but the climax is at the peak, something for once she does not covet. For she fears when it is reached, when he is no longer so full and hard inside her, when sleep knocks stubbornly at them, that hour of dread will be closer.

That minute.

That second.

He’ll leave this tent and-

“Guinevere…”

His eyes, so blue, so struck of sky and ocean’s wonder, force her to concentrate. Bring her to focus. “I’m never happier than like this.”

She nods her head, feeling his hard thrust and hearing his groans.

His whispering confession is filled of urgency within all their physical exertions. He needs to say it.

“Here…now…it’s like we’re one.”

“Oh.” Her body is pulsing so fast. Vibrating and sliding on the bed until his hands hold her firm to placement. Until he doesn’t let her move so far. And she thanks him for it, because it beautifully gets him deeper inside. So far that her sheath of love, her scabbard of passion embosoms him, enthralls him. If only there could really be a scabbard that never let him be vulnerable. If only it could go beyond these chambers and shield him forever.

If only…

Oh…so much it hurts. So much it sends tiny lightning bolts of rapture through her, a precursor to the ultimate moment.

“Arthur…my love…” Tears form at the corners of her eyelids.

And at his. “My Love.” He says back. And moves faster.

So fast that she holds tight to keep up with the firestorm of their passions. To match and to keep it all within. To have him as much as he has her. To fully…

“Always remember this…always…you…me…together…love…”

He whispers against her wet cheek and she echoes it. “Always my husband…always…”

It’s enough.

“Oh…”

They cry out together. One piece. One climacteric of feeling. They shake so violently that for a moment it rocks the bed. Tears falling down their cheeks, they cling tight to each other, pressing and pulling into skin like it’s the only saving of life.

Like their lives are forever a connection of vital links.

When they finally descend it’s to a mess of blankets, it’s to glisten of sweats holding their bodies, it’s to the shared armor forever of each other.

When they come down it’s to the raging hope that love like this, within the arms of each…

Will be again…

and again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He strokes her back, fingers descending all the way to her firm cupped ass, and fondles there, giving a little pat. She’s holding onto his hip and between his thighs as she feels it. “Husband?”

He smiles sleepily. It is long moments since their storm of passions. And as much as it is tempting to just lie all bared like this together forever, he knows that is not possible. “Yes…Wife…”

A teasing reply to hers before he gets serious.

“Guinevere…I think we should dress into our bedclothes. Don’t you?”

“Mmmm…” She murmurs protest, but then looking up into his eyes, nods. “Yes.” She lifts her hand away from its more evocative position and tenders it at his cheek. “Yes…you need sleep.”

She really doesn’t want to think about it, but hours away is a battle he is set to fight. He must rest.

He lets out a dry laugh. “After what we were just up to, I think we both do. Ah…I’m sore in the oddest places.”

She smiles at his bit of a joke and consents. “Me too. You were quite lusty tonight my husband.”

He fingers at her nose. “And you were plain wicked at moments.”

They giggle together, in private chambers. And consent to find out where their bedclothes reside.

…

Once in all the proper wear, they lay back down upon the bed, holding each other close. It doesn’t take long for her to see that his eyes are looking away, beyond her face to the walls of the tent.

“Arthur…what is it?” She asks, pressing her hand down upon his chest. He doesn’t say anything right away and so she rests her cheek upon his chest, looking up to his face, but waiting.

Finally, “I still don’t get it. Why he didn’t want to come.”

“Merlin.” There is no surprise in her voice, only quiet acceptance.

“Yes.”

She rubs his shoulder silently. There are women who would be jealous or maybe even insulted that during private time their husband thinks about his servant. But there are many faults with that kind of thinking that Gwen finds.

Merlin is not just a servant. He is a friend, precious and loved by all in Camelot. To her husband though he is almost like a brother. Oh now Arthur would hardly ever admit, but they are like siblings at times, bantering and ranting up a storm. Acting silly. And yet always protective. Merlin has always been there, going with Arthur on whatever jaunt it is. Hunting trips. Seeking out a dangerous beast. Encounters with bandits.

Battles.

“You miss him.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Arthur.” She states gently, but firmly.

So that he concedes. “Alright. I make light of it, but I do believe Merlin is brave. One of the bravest men I’ve ever known. I just don’t understand why this time he didn’t come.”

She reaches up, brushes back some hairs from her husband’s forehead, gently kissing his brow, and then lies back down upon his chest, with calm response. “Like you, maybe he has his own duty to follow.”

“So you believe that story that he had to get vital supplies for Gaius?” Arthur asks with skepticism. “Well I don’t.”

Neither does she, especially after her talk with Gaius. But now is not the time to go into it. Not fully anyway. “I believe that Merlin has a purpose that should be respected and that as his friends we should not quarrel with. Alright Arthur?”

His hands rub at her back. Her wisdom as usual is precise, direct on the target. He doesn’t fully like it, but to keep musing on it is not going to solve anything. He supposes he’ll find out soon enough what Merlin’s purpose is.

“Yes…you’re right.” He quietly concedes.

She smiles gently, pressing in closer to him. There is still that part of her that does not want to slumber, for the morning will hold departure, but for now she wants her husband to feel at peace. That is all.

She arches upward, kissing his lips, and then lays back down, grasping the material of his tunic, her fingers tendering over it and him. “Sleep…Arthur.”

“Yes…” He sighs, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep…” His eyes are now so drowsy, his body languid. “Sleep…together.”

And so they do even with the sounds of swords being prepared for fight outside. Even with so many watchful and wary.

They hold each other and find gentle repose.

…

Just maybe a few precious hours later that repose is cut short far too early.

He feels it. Sees it. So strong it is that it jolts him awake. Merlin.

Merlin?

Talk of Morgana. A path and…

His alertness wakes up his wife. Gwen rubs at Arthur’s shoulder to get him to rest again, telling him it was only a dream.

But none of this feels that way. Instead like something else. Something more powerful. More threatening. Something…something to listen to.

A path. Morgana. Find…

Find…

The…

Path.

It comes to him so suddenly that Arthur jumps from the bed, hearing his wife’s cries, but he ignores them, rushing to get his coat on and then hurrying outside the tent.

Gwen clutches the bed covers, thinking how just moments ago they were together, his precious arm wrapped around her, his hand touching her hand.

And now…

She presses her hand to her heart, hearing the horrible action outside. It can’t mean…it will soon begin.

“Oh so foolish.” She laments.

It’s been a beautiful little hope. That she could contain him always. Keep him safe. Keep him asleep. One her silly little heart held.

But her sharp mind always knew. There was no way. This is to happen. He will fight. She cannot stop him.

Deep in her soul she does not want to, for why would you want to break the man you love? Why would you rip him from his purpose? Why would you hide away in a bed while he prepares for war?

“No.” She states firmly, pushing away the bed covers and standing. He still has to dress. She can get it all ready for him, assist him in putting it on since Merlin is not here.

Merlin? He was so certain that it was not a dream, that it was something about Merlin, but no kind of chimera. So what was it then? This must have something to do with what Gaius told her. It must.

Oh, be calm. Let that go for now.

She will find out soon enough. She needs get all his things in place so that he’ll be ready.

She picks up all the heavy pieces in a rush, laying them upon the table where he has the map.

As she finishes getting it set up, he enters the tent again, pulling his coat away from his shoulders. He goes to get his armor, but then stops as he sees her standing there.

“Guinevere?”

Moving to her husband, Gwen helps him shrug his coat off. “You have to go now, don’t you?”

He nods his head slowly. “It was a warning message. From Merlin.”

She stares at him with question. “What? How do you know that Arthur?”

He shakes his head, answer uncertain. “I don’t really know. I just…I can feel it, alright?” He holds her hand. “I can feel that somehow Merlin was warning me. There’s another path Guinevere.”

She’s helping him get his white tunic off and reaching for his red one as he talks.

“There’s a hidden one where Morgana intends to outflank us. I sent Percival and Gwaine to find it. There’s no time. She will attack tonight.”

Gwen gasps a little, but not so much in surprise. The dream was enough. It’s just still such a heavy weight upon her heart that her husband will be out of this tent and fighting a war as soon as she has him ready of wear.

It’s too soon. It’s too…

“Guinevere.”

Gwen ends her reverie, reaching for it, two things actually. She brings one out. “The Seal.”

He nods his head. It is on a cord that he attached it to hours ago. In battle when his wife is with him, he wears it. She lifts the cord over his head and shoulders and fixes it into place. The rope is frayed, light, not so easily detectable and fully hidden by his armor.

Then she takes out the other piece, extending it almost as shyly as she had years ago. “I thought you might we-

Almost because this time her voice breaks on the word ‘wear.’

He gazes at the embroidered piece and grasps her tightly into his arms.

“Oh Arthur…” She cries against his shoulder, not able to contain it anymore, her heart pounding with anxiety.

“Ssshhh…” He holds her strongly in his embrace, comforting the woman who never is rash in emotion. His always at peace Guinevere, now needing his reassurance and so he gives it, with whole utterance.

“Ssshhh…Guinevere…ah my love…Ssshhh…don’t cry. Guinevere don’t cry.

Please.” But it doesn’t hold, his firmness. Her tears are his shattering. He can’t take it honestly.

It’s his voice falling apart too that makes her give a shaky, but determined sigh. A breath of resolution. She must be his shield. His armor.

She pulls away, trembling fingers reaching out for his cheeks, wiping at his tears before he can alleviate her of hers. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” He smiles with love in his eyes, shining within all the tears. “No. Never be sorry. For loving me. For giving me all you give me. This…”

He gently extricates the embroidered piece from her hold. “This token and so much more. For opening your heart to me Guinevere. There is no one I love in this world more than you.”

His hands firmly grasp her arms. “NO…one.”

She clutches her mouth. The truth seeps from her veins. Her breaths. Her soul. “No one for me either Arthur. You are my only family left.”

She reaches out to his heart and he does the same to hers. “And you are all I have left of mine.”

It is there now. So thickly there. The possibility. The awful chances of fate that may brew this night.

But neither can languish in that. He is set to fight this war. She is set to support him in it.

Gwen lets out another pained breath and reaches for his cheek, caressing it as she asks, “May I put it on you my husband?”

He smiles. A slow one that fills his face. “Yes. Please do.”

It is embroidered upon the scarlet fabric, the beautiful golden symbol of Pendragon. It is all made by her, once a seamstress, now a Queen.

Gently, she ties it around his naked arm, where he wants it. So no matter what happens, he will always feel it, her handcrafted work of love.

When she is done, his kiss is to follow. It pours from his lips like a shower to rain upon hers. He holds her close, hands pressing into her backside, grasping at the material of her nightdress, clutching her body against his. Let this be their forever tenure.

Never apart. Always together.

Let this taste of each other never be lost. Let love always flourish. Passions always climax. Let the furniture, the floor, the bed of their precious chambers back in Camelot once again feel their heated nakedness. Their lovemakings. Let conversation never drift away from their mouth. Let hands touch again, clasp and gather. Let words of ardor come once more.

All this is in mouths that swell with the waters of fervor and sentiment.

All this.

Like the first kiss. Mouths exploring. Like her first one pressed upon his lips, a dip of her body. Like the one when his father wanted to separate them, angst of hands needing to hold and keep. Like the first battle for Camelot, a beautiful whisper of emotion.

Like all they have felt in each other, it is the joy and pain of life.

It is them.

And when he parts from her, his look is that one of wonder from that first time. Her descent is with half lidded eyes, parted lips. Wanting more. Yearning for so much more.

But he nods. And so does she.

His clothing to fit him with is in her hands and she is securing it all over his body. As he holds still, watching her all the while.

She is a wonder of beauty, his Guinevere. A wonder of love and peace. If he can feel just a little of that on the battlefield, he will be alright, no matter what happens.

She finishes with the last of the armor, getting it on him and then stands back. He looks to the table and takes something out from wrappings of paper.

She smiles as he extends them to her, fighting to not cry again. “Gillyflowers.”

He nods with his own smile, pushing them gently into her hands. “Gillyflowers for my beautiful Gillyflower Guinevere.”

She holds them to her heart, struggling to not shake, to not convulse. “Thank you.”

He hears the tremble in her voice, touches at a fallen curl of hair. “I have to go.”

She nods, biting upon her lip so hard it almost begins to bleed. “I know.”

“No more time.”

Her face falls, her tears hard to stop. “I know.”

But hearing his voice weakly say her name she forces them back. Doesn’t allow them extrication. She reaches out instead, brings both her hands to his heart, and whispers, “With all my heart…”

His tear finds his cheek as he touches hers the same and whispers back, “With all my heart…”

Lips finds lips again. One last time maybe. If fate is cruel. If Heaven beckons new company. If blood is to be shed. If love’s happiness is to be short.

If…

There is no fast breakaway. There is no easy part. His fingers tangle and course into her hair. Hers travel thickly into his. The break of mouths feels forced. Tongues still taste.

Hearts still hold.

No further words. He wants to say them, but she shakes her head no. And he gets it. No more. Let that be the last.

Let that never be the last.

Let more words always be there.

Let love live.

Please.

Hands meet. They hold on.

Hold.

Until the drag is too far apart. Until he is slipping outside the tent.

Until he is no longer there.

And lowering her head she looks to their bed. To the fuss of covers.

Then beyond. She goes to get it. The box that contains the Druid prayer. She gazes at the unfamiliar words again and lowers herself to her knees.

Clasps her hands in prayer above. And whispers.

“Please.

Just…

Please…”

…

She does not move.

For seconds.

For moments.

Long ones.

Until it comes.

The cacophony of sound.

The firestorm of war.