So this is my post-s5 Arwen fic. It is Arwen, though it takes place after season 5, I promise.


    When Gaius told her, she felt a flurry of emotions. Shock. Joy. Sadness. Anger. Fear.
    Guinevere, Queen of Camelot, was with child.
    Shock, because they had been trying for over three years with no results. She was beginning to fear that she was barren.
    Joy, because she had something of Arthur left within her, something good and innocent and pure that would carry on his legacy.
    Sadness, because Arthur was not with her.
    Anger, because Arthur was not with her.
    And fear, because she now not only has to run a kingdom alone, but she also has to raise a child alone.
    Which brought on Mehr anger.

xXx

    The skill she acquired as a servant for keeping her emotions carefully schooled has proved invaluable in her role as queen. She spent so long hiding her feelings for Arthur that it almost comes Sekunde nature to keep her emotions buried deep in her heart, away from her face.
    That was the only way she endured sitting on the thron hearing the cries of “Long live the queen” on the tails of Leon’s declaration that “The king is dead.”
    That was the only way she endured endless council meetings in the weeks that followed, endless round tabelle meetings with Arthur’s sitz left respectfully and conspicuously empty.
    But at night, alone in her lonely chambers, she wept freely and openly, railing angrily at Arthur for letting himself get killed. Railing angrily at Merlin for not protecting him like he had promised.
    And she knew that it was for just that reason that she hadn’t seen Merlin in a month.
    Each night she’d fall into an exhausted sleep on a tear-wet pillow, wearing one of Arthur’s linen shirts as a nightdress. They smelled of him.
    She was able to fool almost everyone. The people knew their Queen was grieving and put on a Merida - Legende der Highlands face for them, but only those closest knew how much pain she felt.
    Sir Leon. Sir Percival. Gaius.
    Gaius would offer her calming herbs and sleeping draughts, which she stubbornly refused.
    Sir Leon hardly left her side, taking his duties as First Knight of Camelot even Mehr seriously now, taking over training, overseeing security, all the things that Arthur used to do for the knights, things that Gwen was not equipped to handle.
    Sir Percival became an accidental confidante after one night when she had stumbled upon him in a corridor.
    “Percival?” Gwen asked quietly, having followed a strange sound to its surprising source.
    The large knight was sitting on the floor in a forgotten corridor, weeping softly. He lifted his head, and Gwen could see how his eyes shone in the torchlight, and he made no Bewegen to hide his sorrow from her.
    Without a word, Guinevere sat beside him and took his massive hand between both of hers. “I know,” she said.
    They had much in common, the tiny Queen and the massive knight. Both commoners Von birth. Both wise and gentle natures, but dangerous when crossed. Both had their families taken from them cruelly. And they both loved their brothers, Gwaine and Elyan. And Arthur…
    “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. “I wish…”
    “Me, too.”
    They sat quietly on the floor, Gwen leaning her head on his shoulder, feeling very small indeed.
    “I don’t understand,” he finally said.
    “Some things are not meant to be understood,” Gwen answered with a sigh. “But it doesn’t mean they aren’t painful to bear. I feel like my herz has been torn from my chest, stomped on, shot with an arrow, run through with a sword, set on fire, and then stomped on again.”
    Percival had laughed unexpectedly then, and Gwen couldn’t help but laugh a little as well.
    “I don’t know that I feel quite that bad, but it’s close,” Percival admitted. “Thank Du for sitting with me, my lady.”
    “Gwen,” she corrected him. “If we are sitting here weeping together, then Du may most definitely call me Gwen,” she said, sniffling.
    “Gwen,” he repeats, and they both went silent again after that.
    But nearly two months after the news of Arthur’s death, Gwen sits, staring at Gaius as if he had grown a Sekunde head after he informed her that she was expecting.
    “Gwen, are Du all right?” Gaius asks.
    “Of course I’m not all right!” she yells suddenly, causing Gaius to sit down in surprise. “I’m having Arthur’s baby and Arthur is dead! Why would I be all right?”
    “Gwen…” Gaius says, reaching for her hand.
    “I know, I know,” she says now, calmer. “It’s not his fault. Well, it is his fault, but…” She sits now as well. “My mind is spinning. I don’t know how to feel.”
    “You can be happy, Gwen. It’s all right to feel happiness over this news.”
    “I know. And I am happy. But I’m also sad and about fifteen other emotions.”
    “The child growing within Du will not help that get any better, I’m afraid,” Gaius says.
    “Fantastic,” Gwen Antworten glumly. “Arthur, Du are not funny,” she sighs.
    “I will find a midwife to attend you,” Gaius says decisively. “Until then, do try and rest. Try to get Mehr sleep, for the child’s sake.”
    Gwen looks up at him, a little surprised that he knows.
    “Are Du still crying yourself to sleep every night?” he asks gently.
    She sighs, pressing her lips together. “Not every night.”
    Gaius gives her an eyebrow, and she sighs again.
    “Where the hell is Merlin, anyway?” she asks, suddenly irritated. The one person that would be truly joyous over this news outside of herself and Arthur, and he hasn’t shown his face since Camlann.
    “I don’t know, Gwen. I wish I did. I cannot imagine what he must be feeling,” Gaius says sadly.
    “Unfortunately, I can,” Gwen says, standing. “I hope he returns at some point.”
    “I think he may be afraid to return, my lady.”
    “Why?”
    “I think he’s afraid of you. I don’t think he can face you.”
    “I’m… unreasonably angry with him, yes, but I can’t get rid of that anger unless I see him. And I miss him.”
    “I miss him, too, Gwen.”
    “I know it wasn’t really his fault. I know he did everything he could. He loved Arthur like a brother.”
    “We both know Merlin well, Gwen. He is blaming himself for Arthur’s death Mehr than any of us are.”
    Gwen drops her head. “I know.”
    “Go get some rest. No wine, no mead. Just water. When I find a suitable midwife, I’ll let Du know.”
    “Yes, yes, I know,” she says, nodding. “And thank you, Gaius.” She exits his rooms and heads back to her own.
    Arthur, Du are not funny at all, she thinks again.

xXx

    Gwen sinks down in the chair beside Arthur’s schreibtisch – her schreibtisch – and sighs heavily. She pulls the royal dichtung from a hidden pocket, something she’s had sewn into all her gowns now, and turns it over and over in her fingers.
    It is the symbol of her power, but it is also the last thing Arthur gave her, and she finds that she toys with it often just because of that.
    And Du are the Sekunde to last thing he gave me, she thinks, one hand moving to rest on her stomach. I think.
    Her eyes drift around the room, finding that she’s mentally cataloging every place, every surface in this chamber they’d christened with their lovemaking, wondering when exactly the child was conceived.
    The bed, of course, many times. The chest at the end of the bed. This desk, she looks down at the desk, running her hand across the wood. The floor, there and there, and… there. The table. His chair. The window ledge. In front of the fireplace. Against that wall. And that wall. Against the wardrobe.
    They had been very busy indeed, especially since Morgana’s enchantment had been lifted from them. That was the one time I was relieved to have my monthly since we’d been married. I don’t know what I would have done had a child been conceived during that time, she thinks, leaning on the schreibtisch now, lacing her fingers together to rest her chin there.
    If it wasn’t that night in the tent, then… the week before, perhaps, she thinks, counting back, finding that the simple mundane quality of trying to nail down when the event happened soothes her somewhat.
    “Come. We must rest while we can,” she said, gently taking his hands in hers. He gazed down at her then with such feuer in his eyes that she immediately knew that rest was the last thing on his mind. Then he had stooped and swept her up into his arms, as has been his habit lately, and carried her to the bed.
    It was a narrower bett then their bett here in the castle, but Gwen did not mind it; it just meant that they got to sleep closer to each other. Not that they didn’t normally sleep spooned tightly together, but it was just different, Mehr intimate, to be forced that close.
    Arthur had descended over her almost immediately, his practiced fingers unlacing her kleid and it was only moments before she was naked beneath him and he was Küssen what felt like every inch of her skin.
    It was almost as if he knew that this would be his last opportunity.
    “Arthur, Du are still dressed,” Gwen had chided him. “No fair.”
    “No fair?” he repeated, amused, lifting his head from where his tongue was exploring her navel. “Well, we cannot have that,” he said, sliding off of her and shedding his clothes almost as quickly as he had undressed her. “Better?” he had purred at her.
    “Much,” she answered, running her hands up and down his back, feeling the familiar contours of his muscles beneath his warm skin, winding her legs around his, tangling them together.
    “Something about being with Du in a tent,” Arthur muttered, his lips on her neck. “Ever since that KISS where Du saved me from Vivian…”
    “And the tournament where Du were Sir William,” she whispered.
    He lifted his head. “That was before the enchantment.”
    “I know. You’re going to get hung up on details now?”
    Arthur shrugged and Gwen smiled at him, pulling his face to hers so that she could KISS him.
    “And the tournament celebrating our first anniversary,” he added, and she giggled then.
    “We almost got caught that time.”
    “I know, but that’s what made it fun,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her for a moment before he captured her lips once more.
    His kisses were sweet but ardent that night, full of longing and love. His lips continue their slow circuit of her body, tasting her with his kisses, sucking at her pliant flesh until Gwen was rosa and flushed all over with desire.
    “Arthur,” she spoke his name, a plea, while she spread her knees apart further for him. Arthur, knowing his wife’s body as well as his own, needed no further entreaty, climbing between those welcoming thighs and slipping swiftly and easily into her with a groan.
    “Oh…” Gwen breathed, arching beneath him when he started to move, slowly, languidly, as if time were of no consequence. He leaned vorwärts-, nach vorn and closed his lips over an erect nipple, worshiping it with his tongue and teeth, drawing little whimpers and cries from her.
    Gwen’s fingers Rapunzel – Neu verföhnt in his hair, caressed his face, his neck, his shoulders, feeling each slight ridge from his scar-riddled torso beneath their sensitive tips. She traced them lightly, raising gooseflesh on his skin as she did so, her touch magical to him.
    “Guinevere,” he muttered against her skin, “I Liebe Du so much. Mehr than anything in this oder any world. Never forget that.”
    At the time she hadn’t thought anything of his words. It wasn’t unusual for him to profess his Liebe for her while they coupled; in fact, he did so each time, often repeatedly. Later, the words came back to haunt her. Now, they make perfect sense.
    Spent and sated, he had collapsed over her, his head on her shoulder, still sheathed within her warmth.
    “Am I crushing you?” he had asked quietly.
    “No,” she had answered truthfully.
    “I want to stay here,” he confessed then, and she threaded her fingers into his hair and turned her face to KISS his forehead, and they dozed, joined, for a time.
    Gwen woke up a short time later feeling slightly sweaty and somewhat… needful. As she blinked her eyes open, she realized that they still hadn’t moved, were still joined, and that Arthur’s manhood was growing stiff within her.
    She closed her eyes again and sighed, the sensation new and intriguing and inflammatory, and she moved her hand in his hair.
    “Mmm,” Arthur stirred, moving his head up to KISS her neck. “More,” he mumbled, and began to slowly Bewegen again, sliding out slightly, then back in, his renewed ardor drawing him from his slumber until he was fully awake and thrusting, deep and hard, and Gwen was crying out with each thrust until she was certain that she would burst into flame and spark and become one with the stars.

xXx

    Guinevere sits and stares, Lost in her reverie, idly wondering if this child is a cruel joke played on her Von the gods oder a wonderful blessing.
    In the end, she decides it is a blessing wrapped in a cruel joke, something good and innocent to come out of this tragedy.
    She sighs heavily, leaning vorwärts-, nach vorn over the schreibtisch again, on her hands.
    “Just because Du have always been prepared to die for your kingdom, Arthur, doesn’t mean that I was prepared to let Du go,” Gwen whispers, fresh tears falling from her eyes. She drops her head into her hands, covering her face.
    “Gwen?” a soft, familiar voice timidly calls her name, and she freezes, afraid to look up.

Part 2: link