The Ward 18/21
Title: The Ward 18/21
Author:tudor_rose445
Rating: Pg-13
Characters/Pairings:Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana, Uther, Igraine, Merlin, Gaius, Arthur/Guinevere, Igraine/Uther, Morgana/Merlin?.
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".
Summary: AU. The life of Guinevere, daughter to Sir Thomas of Camelot, has seemingly changed over night. After the death of her father and brother she is sent to the court of King Uther to become his ward. There she grows amongst the two royal children, Prince Arthur and Princess Morgana. Her time with the Pendragons will have a large influence on her life, and help to shape her into the queen of legend.
Chapter 17
Gwen is forced to make a decision while her confusion over her feelings for the prince grows.
Author’s notes: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz.
Quickly Gwen stepped back from Arthur, feeling her cheeks grow cherry red.
“I, uh,” she stammered, looking anywhere but at him.
Arthur wasn't helping her in the least, as he seemed to be still caught up in what had just transpired between them.
He took a step and raised one hand in an attempt to draw her back to him but, managing to regain some of her wits, Guinevere evaded his grasp.
“Goodnight,” she nearly squeaked, leaving the room as fast as she could while trying to remain composed. Once she was in the corridor she practically sprinted for the back staircase. Once upon the stairs she allowed herself to pause, bracing against the stonewall as she fought to catch her breath.
What had happened?
She had thought she had been holding her own quite well until he had started berating her. Whether he was chastising her in their childhood or now it stung the same. She hadn't really planned on slapping him; it had been a split decision. But when he had criticized Morgana’s sealed fate, her friend …
For him to think that his own sister was a bad influence on her seemed unforgivable at the time.
And then his kiss....
With a trembling hand she brought her fingertips to rest upon her now sensitive lips.
Was that what she was to expect in her marriage? Embraces that took her very breath away? Quickly she continued her trek back to her chambers, knowing that if anyone were to see her they would jump to conclusions. But really, would their assumptions be that far off?
Silently she crept back into her chambers before bundling herself beneath the blankets once more. As she waited for sleep to arrive she concentrated on the thudding of her heart against her breast, the very heart that was causing her to feel the most confused she had ever felt.
0o0o0
Arthur truly hadn't meant to kiss her. Well, it had been a pleasant surprise, but still...
His father's poisoning had shaken him to the core. He supposed that he had taken his father's presence for granted after the long ago death of his mother. But to think that the man could have actually died from the potion made him feel as if he was thirteen years old again, accompanying the king on his first campaign against the Northern invaders.
Was he ready to be king?
He had taken on his father's state duties while the older man had been bed ridden. Paperwork he could accomplish. It was the feeling of the entire kingdom upon his shoulders that made him feel inadequate, inexperienced. Then, he wouldn't be sitting upon the throne alone; Gwen would be there.
Gwen.
He sincerely hoped that the painful tightening in his chest whenever she was near never ceased. Nor the jolt that seemed to run through his every limb whenever their lips touched.
He felt a bit of pride welling in his chest. She had responded to his kiss for the first time this night. That was progress, was it not? He had wished that she wouldn't be too unwilling for him to touch her. Their first sexual encounter was going to be awkward enough without her frozen stiff as a board. Hers reluctance was a reaction that he rarely came across. Why, Arabella had been more than willing when his attentions had turned upon her. Isobel too. Most found it flattering that they caught the eye of the prince of the realm. Those other girls, those memories, had fallen apart when the veil had been lifted from his eyes concerning Guinevere. They were but a distant memory, despite the ladies’ in question attempts to revive their liaison.
There was something lurking beneath Gwen's pristine exterior that he wished to bring out. A flame that was concealed deep beneath her humility, compassionate nature and timid gestures. He knew, from that single kiss, that she had questions, that her body was willing to learn more. That she was curious.
Well, he had plenty of time to educate, explore her, didn't he?
Till death do them part....
0o0o0
Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Gwen struggled to keep herself attentive as Batilda fussed about her receiving chambers. The entire afternoon had been reserved to interviewing prospective ladies of the court to fulfil the roles of 'ladies-in-waiting' for the future princess. Her newly expanded household, which would also consist of a steward, chambermaid, and page, allotted three court ladies to become her companions. She was acquainted with a good amount of the ladies of the court, but was not exactly on a 'friendly' level with them. During her childhood she had been stuck to Morgana's side and hadn't bothered to venture out. Even with the newly married princess gone, Gwen still had yet to truly make close friends with these women. Moreover, she would have to be more than friends with these new ladies-in-waiting; she was to be in charge of them, their future marriages, the safety of their lives. Why, she could remember the troop that Igraine had back when she had been a child. She would be expected to take on more girls once she became queen.
Normally she would have tried to pay attention during such an important series of interviews. Yet, with Freya's fate being discussed on the other side of the castle, she found her mind straying from the rather unimportant appointment she had for that day.
Even if she did not have the interviews she knew that she would not be allowed within ten feet of the council chamber doors, especially after the incident that had passed between herself and Arthur the night prior.
She ducked her head in an attempt to hide the blush that threatened her cheeks at the very thought. With a deep breath she forced any such thoughts of the night before from her mind. She couldn't waste time thinking on her personal life while the mortal life of her friend was being decided upon.
Yet Arthur and Freya were not her only problems: the king's health had never been far from her mind. The man that had become a father to her had been so close to death bringing memories of her own father. It was somewhat amazing how much this man, although not biologically related to her, was the closest thing she had to a father. She had visited him shortly after his attack yet with the drama of Freya's arrest she had not been able to make repeat visits. Guilt racked at her, until she remembered the life that was being questioned at the moment.
“Are you ready, my lady?” Batilda inquired, giving her a curious look.
Gwen cleared her throat and nodded.
“Send the first one in, please.”
She retreated to the table stationed in her reception chambers where a sheet of parchment, inkwell, and quill lay. She had requested such materials in order to keep track of the ladies presented to her. It was an efficient way to keep track of who she could see becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, along with a distraction to keep her from thinking of Freya's judgement.
She could only hope that she had gotten through to Arthur.
“The Lady Eleanor of the House of Dubois, my lady.”
Batilda was replaced by a fifteen-year-old girl, who was then ushered closer to the future queen by the nurse.
Guinevere perked up at the family name, recognizing it as Sir Leon's.
“Good morrow, my lady,” the blonde greeted her, dipping into a curtsey before her.
Gwen almost made to stand and curtsey back but had to remind herself that she no longer had to do such a thing to such a noblewoman as Lady Eleanor. It felt odd and almost rude, yet she kept herself planted in her chair.
Gwen observed the nervous looking girl for a moment, taking in the similarities she shared with her brother. She had her brother's eyes; there was no denying that. Yet her hair and her stature spoke of another family member’s bloodline having been passed onto her.
“You are related to Sir Leon?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
The young woman's eyes, which had been trained upon the floor as soon as she had raised herself from her curtsey, flickered up to Guinevere for a brief moment.
“He is my brother, my lady,” she answered, flicking her gaze to the stones once more.
'She is actually afraid of me,' Gwen thought, finding the entire situation funny enough to laugh. Thankfully she had the grace to keep in any show of her mirth, and instead warmed her tone. The poor thing had no need to fear her.
“Sir Leon is one of the best knights of the realm. I am sure your family is honoured to have him for a son.”
To her pleasure the girl looked up, finally meeting her gaze as a small smile broke across her lips.
Gwen took that moment to scrawl the girl's name on the piece of parchment.
“Have you just come to court? I have yet to see you before now.”
She looked back up from the parchment, glad to see that the girl's shoulders were no longer hunched from nerves.
The blonde nodded.
“My father thought it was best that I join the court, my lady,” she answered, shifting her grip on the swatch of cloth clasped in her hands.
“He said it would be beneficial for my age.” She awkwardly cleared her throat. “I've just turned fifteen, my lady.”
Gwen nodded, knowing the importance of being brought to the court at such an age. She herself, had her father been alive, would most likely have been sent at thirteen or fourteen.
Glancing up from her parchment she noticed for the first time the cloth in the girl's hands.
“You brought a sample of your needlework?” she questioned, beckoning the timid lady forward so that she may see it. Eleanor nodded and took the few steps that led her to Gwen's table. She gently placed the piece of linen before the noblewoman.
Gwen smoothed out the fabric as she took in the delicate stitches, which construed the Dubois family crest. She traced a fingertip over the colored lines, nodding slightly. “This is very good,” she commented, catching the pleased smile on the young woman's face. Gwen herself was handy with a needle, but this girl's was much better. It seemed that Eleanor, unlike Guinevere, had the patience to sit through the hours such work required.
“I would like for you to embroider my wedding sheets. Would you do that for me?”
As she was still studying the young woman's work she missed the astounded look that had fallen across Eleanor's face. She did, however, hear a gasp.
“Really?” she asked, failing to keep excitement from her voice.
Gwen grinned, forgetting for a moment that she should be trying to remain aloof and proper.
“It would be something like this,” she said, taking up her quill and tearing off a piece of parchment from where she had been writing about the women. With the careful handwriting hammered into her by years of tutoring, she wrote out an “A” and “G”.
“I will leave the design to you, but I suppose there should be some kind of intertwined initials, a crest..”
She handed the scrap to the girl who was currently grinning from ear to ear.
“I will speak to you shortly about it. Would that be all right?”
The young woman dipped into a curtsey once more after retrieving the parchment and her needlework sample.
“Thank you, my lady,” she responded, backing toward the door. “You shan't be disappointed.” Giving the future princess a quick smile she ducked back out into the hallway.
0o0o0
Had that really just happened? Had she really just been asked to complete such an important job? For the women who would become princess- nay- queen of the very citadel she was currently standing in? An inconspicuous pinch to her shoulder assured her that she was correct.
Eleanor hadn't dreamed that such a thing would happen when she had set out from her family's estate nearly a week prior. Why, she had been lucky enough to be included on the list of prospective ladies to be attendants to the future queen. Her father had served bravely under King Uther, but she suspected that it was her brother's service that was the reason for her family’s appointed favour. From what she had heard he was the prince's right hand and advisor on the battlefield.
Her thoughts turned from her family back to what had transpired during her interview. Such a request from the Lady meant that she was to be chosen to be one of her companions, didn't it? Even if it didn't, she would be able to say that it had been she who had carefully stitched the royal couple's sheets. The sheets, God willing, that the next king would be conceived on.
“I cannot take her holy virgin attitude any longer.”
“Remember that Lancelot? They were making eyes at one other the entire length of his visit. Probably did it the first chance they got.”
She pulled up short, having just been about to turn the corner of the corridor when she had heard the offensive gossip. Carefully she edged closer to the stonewall, listening intently to the two women courtiers beyond the bend.
“She looks like such a bore though. You'll see; Arthur will be coming around looking for some entertainment after their wedding. Poor man, she may be attractive, but that won’t help when she’s lying there stiff as a board.”
Feminine laughs could be heard as the two continued in the opposite direction.
Tentatively Eleanor peeped around the corner, watching the two noblewomen walking away.
Hadn't the one on the left, who had first accused the Lady Guinevere, welcomed her personally to court the day of her arrival? And the redhead on the right… Eleanor thought that she had seen the girl more than once trailing after her brother.
Her earlier elation turned into apprehension as she felt her stomach turn.
Suddenly this new and exciting place didn't seem as interesting and bright as she once thought.
0o0o0
“The Prince!”
The councilmen, having been seated moments before, rose to their feet as Arthur was announced. With the coronet of his father's official heir about his brow, the prince strode past the noblemen to his father's vacated throne. Hiding the apprehension and anxiety welling up inside of him at such a move, he took the seat as quickly as he could. The throne room, so imposing with the lack of courtiers milling about, was eerily quiet once the men took their seats along the heavy ironed table. Each man, according to his importance, lined the table with the king's throne at the centre.
Raising his gaze to the guards at the door he called: “Bring forth the prisoner”.
The men dutifully opened the heavy wooden doors to reveal Freya, manacled once more and escorted by three guards. Two held her shoulders in a tight grip, while the third kept a sword aimed at her back. It was a necessary precaution: the girl had magic.
Arthur imperceptibly tightened his grip on the armrests of his father's throne. Could he send this girl to death without a single thought? He had killed more than one man in his career as knight and head of the king's army. Yet, the keyword had been man. Could this shivering thing with fear in her eyes be an ambitious killer who had personally wished his father dead?
His knuckles tightened a fraction more upon the wood.
Damn Gwen for putting doubts into his head.
Geoffrey of Monmouth droned on about why this trial was called to order, yet Arthur was not listening.
Was it possible that the poisoning had been an attempt by the druids as a whole, and not simply this maid? She had spoken of another woman, mayhap an accomplice. Perhaps there had been some truth to her words.
He knew that he should simply harden himself and sentence the girl. The facts were all there....she had been the one to give his father the poison, she had magic. Yet he had seen killers. Seen those prepared to take another's life. The sight of this pale child, so unlike any of those murderers, prevented him from cutting off the court record keeper and simply sending the girl to the block.
The druids had suffered from his father's hostile stance on magic. He had seen countless numbers of them hanged upon the square before the entire court. They had a motive then, yet could this girl have been part of a larger plot?
“-I didn't do it!”
Refraining from jumping, Arthur realized that he hadn't been listening to a single word in Geoffrey's interrogation.
“Do you deny giving the king the poisoned ale? Hmm? You were seen by two guards.”
Sobs racked the girl's chest as she struggled to compose herself.
“I gave it to him, but I didn't do anything to it! Please...you need to find that other woman. She is still out there!”
Mutterings moved up and down the table of noblemen as Geoffrey recorded the girl's testimony upon a sheet of parchment.
“How do you judge, Your Highness?” he finally inquired, setting down his quill.
Feeling the eyes of every single person in the room upon him, Arthur took a moment to think over his words.
“She has played a part in this assassination, that much is clear,” he began, making sure to speak slowly so as to formulate his thoughts better. He was finding it increasingly difficult as ‘what if's’ flew about in his mind. “Yet we have not looked into her accomplice.”
He raised his gaze onto Freya, seeing the fear emanating from her very body.
“I declare life imprisonment. That is, until we discover if there truly was an accomplice. The druids, no doubt.”
Gray heads nodded up and down the table while a select few seemed discouraged that there wasn't a blood verdict.
“But if the girl is lying she will be sentenced to death immediately.”
Without another word he stood, prompting the rest of the men to do the same, as the prisoner was nearly dragged from the room.
He just hoped that he hadn't spared his father's supposed killer from a fate that she deserved.
0o0o0
With a heavy sigh Guinevere allowed her quill to slip from her fingers. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she had managed to get through the tittering group of women resting outside of her reception room door. Some had showed some prospective, yet there were quite a few that were hoping to be taken for the status of the offered position only. She honestly didn't want such people around her; they were to be her companions after all.
She had found her mind straying countless times to the trial on the other side of the citadel. What would become of her friend? She had hoped to send Batilda out to gather news but the nurse had been helping her with the never ending flood of noblewomen. By this hour the trial must have be long over.
Standing from her place at the polished table she turned to her long-time caretaker.
“I think I shall go see to the king's condition before supper. I shan't be long,” she lied easily, a little surprised at how Batilda believed her without a second thought. Perhaps Arthur had been right: maybe she had spent too much time with Morgana.
Leaving her chambers and the prospect of picking out her household behind she retraced her steps from the previous afternoon. Merlin would know of the outcome, wouldn't he? She couldn't march up to Arthur and ask. The simple thought of her betrothed's name caused her cheeks aflame; he wouldn't take her seriously.
Catching the attention of a passing page she inquired as to the location of the prince's manservant.
“I believe I saw him helping Gaius in the courtyard… ”The servant's words trailed off as Gwen strode past him. Running to the square was not required; she nearly collided with the two men in question as she appeared from the stairwell. Seeing the urgency in Uther’s ward's eyes Gaius quickly excused himself, leaving the lady and the servant alone.
“What did Arthur decide?” she asked, searching the young man's expression for any hint of the girl's fate.
Merlin shook his head, drawing her into an alcove a moment later.
“Imprisonment, for now,” he explained, keeping an eye out for any passer-by.
“He said he would look into the 'blonde woman' but I've searched the entire staff for her.” His eyes, rimmed in red, looked as if they were to water once more. “He'll have her executed if he can't find the suspected woman.”
What to do?
She had already tried pleading with Arthur and that had gotten her nowhere.
She couldn't speak to the king as he was currently drifting in and out of consciousness.
No, she would take matters into her own hands.
“You have to understand what I am thinking is completely absurd,” she began, speaking slowly as the very idea sounded idiotic in her own mind.
She had apparently captured the boy's attention, as he eyes were locked onto her.
“You have been studying with Gaius somewhat, correct? You have seen him make my sleeping draughts? ”
He arched a brow but remained silent, nodding.
“And it wouldn't be a crime for me to give my former maid one last farewell?”
A smile graced his formerly morose features for a brief moment.
“I could give a hand in the kitchens. Perhaps personally send down the dinner of the guards on duty.”
The two grinned like children, despite the plan involving treason and the life of an innocent.
0o0o0
“Thank you,” Gwen said softly, nodding to the guard who accompanied her to Freya's cell. The man bowed and took a step back. Turning her head slightly she regarded him from the corner of her eye. “If you would allow me some privacy, please. I wish to speak to the prisoner.” Her gaze shifted to the frightened girl in the cell, willing her with her eyes to remain quiet. “She was my personal maid, after all.”
With a whispered 'milady' the guard left them, retreating from the row of cells to the outer chamber.
As soon as the door closed behind him Gwen reached forward to clutch at the iron bars.
Freya stifled a cry and she nearly tripped over herself to reach her friend.
“I know that you are innocent,” Gwen began, her voice barely above a whisper. She grasped Freya’s frail hands, so cold next to her own, as she spoke. “And I am going to get you out of here.”
Hope danced across the girl's face at her words.
“You...will?” she asked, as if Gwen were an apparition sent to trick her. Seeing the girl's doubt, Guinevere squeezed Freya's hands.
“Myself and Merlin. But please, you have to remain calm. When either of us tells you to do something you must do it without questioning. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded wordlessly, tears streaming from her eyes now.
“How… how can I ever thank you?” she began, sucking in breaths in order to make herself intelligible. “You knew that I was innocent, you believed me. You're risking your own neck...”
She shook her head.
She knew that if they were to be caught, she herself would be in no danger. Merlin on the other hand....
Arthur may not execute his servant, but she had little doubt that her guardian would do so without a thought.
“Merlin will lead you from the city after it is safe. We were thinking of sending you to Avalon, to work with The Lady.”
In the dim lighting from the torch resting on the far wall Gwen could see Freya's eyes widen.
“To study under the lady?” she asked, her breathless tone expressing her utter astonishment.
Gwen nodded, casting a quick look to the door to make sure that the guard hadn't returned before turning back to the maid.
“We can't track down the druids in such short notice, so The Lady of the Lake was our next best option. She has been known to take in those with magical abilities; perhaps she will accept you.”
Rather, the two were hoping that Nimueh would take Freya without question.
“I've stayed too long, they may grow suspicious,” Gwen reluctantly stood back from the bars.
“Take care.” She smiled wistfully, stepping away from the shackled Druid. “I hope that we might be able to see each other once more.”
Swiftly she turned to the door, rapping her knuckles upon it to signal the guard.
Forcing herself to keep calm she stepped into the outer chamber, nodding farewell to the gathered men. As she climbed the short flight of steps that would lead from the prison she passed Merlin on the stairs, holding a tray of dishes. She didn't dare make eye contact or give any impression that she had noticed him. Instead she passed on to Gaius' chambers to wait for the young sorcerer, praying that their plan would go off without a hitch.
0o0o0
Jumping as the door to the physician's chambers flew open, Gwen placed a hand on her chest to still her frantic heart. Merlin smiled sheepishly before closing the door to the corridor.
“We have at least twenty minutes,” he explained, disappearing up the short flight of stairs that led to his own bed chamber. He emerged a few seconds later with a bag, presumably stuffed with supplies, and plopped down at Gaius' table.
Thankfully the physician had gone to attend Uther, as he did every night since the king's poisoning, leaving his chambers as a rendezvous point for the pair.
Gwen found herself wringing her hands, as she paced, having not consciously chosen such a habit.
“I will check to see if the guards are asleep on the presumption that I had forgotten my shawl,” she repeated the plan, rechecking it for the hundredth time. “Since you tarried in delivering their supper they should be famished and have eaten it rather quickly. After they are asleep I'll lead Freya up to the exit through the servant's quarters, where you will be waiting with the horses already saddled.
Merlin nodded at her words, toying with the strap of his bag.
“You had best exit the city through the Darkling Wood; it will be much easier than taking the main road.”
The two remained in silence for a few moments, caught up in their own thoughts as their hearts beat holes through their ribs.
After what seemed to be a painfully long amount of time the magician stood from the table.
“They should be thoroughly unconscious by now,” he estimated, withdrawing a dark blue cloak from the bag he had taken to his room. He handed it to Gwen, the original owner of the garment, before nodding to the door.
“Good luck.”
She paused, giving him a half smile at his words of hope.
“Be safe,” she countered, clutching the fabric tightly in her hands before ducking out of the door.
The dimly lit corridor did nothing to calm her nerves as she fled toward the dungeon. Instead it made her feel even more wary, as if an armed guard or soldier was about to jump out from every doorway and catch onto her.
The two had gone over the plan countless times, yet it still seemed shaky. They truly wouldn't have been able to pull this off at this time if it were not for the dinner delivery for the night watchmen. Those men, working into the night, were served around nine in the evening. If they had attempted such an escape with the midday guard patrol they would be without the cover of darkness, which the two were counting on.
With shaking hands the lady pulled open the door that led down the winding staircase of the dungeon. She held her breath, straining her ears to eavesdrop on the talking of the guards, yet heard nothing. With soft footsteps she pattered down the stairs, taking in the drugged state of the guards.
As much as she wanted to exhale in relief, she knew that this was far from the end of it. There was much more to worry about.
She retrieved the skeleton key, stolen from the guard's keep, from a pouch at her girdle.
With fumbling fingers she prodded the key into the lock of Freya's cell-door.
“My lady?” the young woman inquired, almost not believing that the woman had come back from her.
With a 'click' the door unlocked and swung open with a quick push by the noblewoman.
“Hold out your hands,” she ordered, taking a few steps toward the shackled maid. A few moments later the shackles fell away, allowing Freya to rub at her blistered wrists.
“Keep the hood up,” Gwen instructed as she draped the velvet cape around her maid. Once she had tied the strings about Freya’s neck she pulled up the hood of her own cape and led the way from the cell. Hoisting the torch that was resting in a bracket against the far wall, the young woman led her frightened friend into the guard's chamber. The men were still slumbering yet the sight of them so near the two fugitives, swords so close, sent shivers down both girls' backs.
Without another word the two mounted the stairs as quietly as they could.
Lady Guinevere emerged into the corridor first, brandishing her torch in the dim lighting. Finding no one to be there she tugged on the maid's hand and led her at something akin to a jog. As they hurried through the less ornate halls of the servant's quarters, deserted now that most of the staff had gone to bed, Gwen allowed a bit of hope to sneak into her heart. Could they make it?
She shouldered open the door leading to the small courtyard in the back of the castle, where the beggars of the town would wait after supper for the scraps of the nobles. A wave of relief rushed over her as she saw Merlin already astride his horse, shifting the reins from hand to hand as he waited for them.
Gwen moved to cup her hands in order to help the maid atop the second horse but was unexpectedly pulled into an embrace by the Druid girl.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered against Gwen's curls, her tears leaving them damp. “I shan't forget this.”
Gwen wordlessly embraced her friend back, glancing up at Merlin.
“Make haste,” was all she was able to say, helping the girl up and avoiding looking at the two. She feared if she spoke once more she would weep. Without being told twice the servant spurred his horse forward, prompting the maid to follow. The guard at the gate wouldn't question them, or so they hoped: with her velvet cloak and fine steed it looked as if Merlin was simply Freya's steward.
Watching them race away filled Gwen with an odd feeling of accomplishment.
She had saved a life, but she had defied both her king and prince - her future husband.
Should she have had more faith in Arthur? Had it been the right thing to do?
She pictured the look of gratitude upon Freya's face when she had told her of their plan, the tears in the girl's eyes when she had been freed.
It had.
Silently she extinguished her torch before leaving it in an empty bracket outside the courtyard door.
Freya was safe, but she still had to make her way back to her chambers undetected.
0o0o0
Arthur normally did not have trouble falling asleep. After long hours of training and sweating beneath his layers of armour he fairly collapsed into bed each night. Since his father's illness, however, he had been finding it harder and harder to drift off. Yet tonight his father was not on his mind, but the girl he had sentenced that afternoon. Had he done the right thing? Part of him knew that she was too dangerous to keep around, that it might have been safer for himself and his people if he had ordered her to be executed. Yet his conscious wouldn’t allow him to sentence her to such a fate before knowing all the facts. If she claimed an accomplice then it was his duty as the head of the Supreme Court to fully investigate it.
The druids.
Anyone could tell that Freya was a pleasant girl. Trusting. The druids must have used her and now wished to place all the blame on her. If he could just trace it back to them…
Kicking back his entangled blankets with annoyance the crown prince left his bed.
Hesitating he grabbed his brown, long coat before slipping it onto his muscular frame.
A walk would clear his head, or at least he hoped.
He paused momentarily to pull on his boots before exiting his chamber.
The corridors, so quiet, gave him enough room to think over the day's events.
Yet it was not just the trial on his mind, but the talk he had had with his father late that evening.
The King had, gratefully, responded to Gaius' treatments and remained in a clear state of mind from time to time. Arthur had nearly run to his father's side the moment he had heard that the man was awake. His father had first expressed pride in his son at successfully capturing his attempted-murderer but his pride quickly turned to annoyance at Arthur’s qualms about ordering the Druid’s execution.
The prince had tried to explain to his father that she might have been only a part of a larger scheme, yet his father had been fixed upon the word 'magic'. The young man had gratefully let the subject drop.
Still, Uther had not finished speaking to his son, even though Gaius had urged the king to rest.
He had instructed Arthur that the wedding would be moved forward, to the end of the month.
His father's reasoning was clear: if the assassination had been successful, Arthur would be a king unwed and without an heir. If something like this were to happen again.... Uther was pushing for Arthur to have at least one son before ultimately inheriting the crown.
Arthur himself had no problem with this. It didn't matter to him whether he was married this month or in August. In fact, there was an upside to being married sooner than later: he would have to restrain himself no longer. His passions could be set free and nobody would judge him. As for his bride, he knew that she had felt something when he had kissed her the previous night and he had not been able to forget her tender reaction.
He nearly bumped into the said maiden of heart as he turned the corner, schooling his features as if she was able to read his mind.
“You are up late,” he teased, catching her startled expression. “Skipped out on the old woman did you?”
She rolled her eyes, playfully giving him a shove.
He could see that she reverted to their childhood actions whenever she grew flustered around him. He guessed that it was easier for her to see him as a childhood friend, or even a brother figure, rather than as her soon-to-be wedded husband. But this viewing of himself was not agreeable to him, and he hoped to change it soon.
“I had to think,” she replied, bringing the hand that had pushed his shoulder quickly back to her side as if burned. She looked anywhere but him, her doe eyes avoiding expertly his blue searching ones.
Arthur shifted his footing as they stood in silence.
This might as well be a good time as ever to alert her about the change in the planning.
“Gwen, my father told me-”
His words were drowned out by the blaring sound of the warning bell ringing. He moved to view the courtyard below, reaching for the sword belt that wasn't about his waist.
“What-”
“The prisoner!”
The yell, muted by the glass panes, was still audible to the pair in the silent corridor.
He turned to her and it was made clear by her expression why the alarm had been rang.
His features turned severe and serious as he observed her, looking much like a child that was about to be scolded rather than a deceitful woman standing before him. Still, guilt covered her features.
“I had expected more of you,” he said, his voice quiet with disappointment. Giving her a final look of disapproval he left her to join the guards, already beginning to search the citadel for the fugitive.