Part 3: link


    “And, finally, we have six men wishing to petition for knighthood,” Leon finishes his report, standing and addressing the round table.
    “Worthy candidates?” Gwen asks, looking up at him.
    “I believe so, my lady,” Leon says, lifting a different parchment and looking at it. “Lord Clifton’s son Devon, Lord Ackerly’s son Lander, Lord Ulmer’s son Hyde, and then Judson the baker’s son, Oakley, who’s mother is, oddly enough, Lord Ackerly’s maid – apparently his father has passed…”
    “Yes, his father was a farrier. My father knew him, of course,” Gwen adds, almost absentmindedly.
    “Yes, my lady, and finally, a lad called Yates that no one seems to know. I think he’s new to Camelot. He’s quite strapping, though, and I think we should give him a chance.”
    “Very good, Sir Leon, please see to the details,” Gwen says, nodding.
    Leon begins to take his sitz when another knight speaks up. “That’s it? No discussion?”
    Gwen glances at Percival for just a moment before turning her attention to the man who spoke up. “What is it that Du feel needs discussing, Sir Tilton?” she asks, already knowing the answer, but frankly surprised that it is an issue anymore. They would not Frage Arthur on this, she cannot help thinking. Her fingers absently toy with the crystal around her neck.
    “Well, I don’t think we should just blindly accept just anyone into training, my lady,” he says, a little quieter now under Percival’s steely gaze.
    “And Von ‘just anyone,’ I presume Du mean Judson, Oakley, and Yates? Du have no problem with Devon, Lander, and Hyde?”
    “Ah…” he says, starting to regret speaking up.
    “Need I remind you, Sir Tilton, that Sir Percival was common-born?”
    “No, my lady.”
    “Do Du find fault with Sir Percival’s skills as a knight?” she challenges.
    “No, my lady.”
    “No, Du don’t. No one will, because none exist. And surely Du will not speak ill of Sirs Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan, who gave their lives defending this kingdom?”
    “I dare not, my lady,” his voice is barely audible now.
    Everyone in the room, from knights to scribes to servants wait, holding their breath, waiting for someone to address the elefant in the room.
    “Sir Tilton, I kindly advise Du to keep a closer guard on your tongue when Du discuss matters of status with our queen,” Leon recommends quietly, “and bär in mind that she is our sovereign, though she herself was not born into nobility.”
    “Yes, Sir Leon. Forgive me, my lady. I spoke before I thought,” Tilton mutters.
    “Sir Leon, see to the details, please. And I think Sir Tilton should be charged in delivering the formal paperwork to Judson, Oakley, and Yates,” Gwen decides, narrowing her eyes slightly.
    “Yes, my lady,” Leon answers, glancing across to Percival and seeing that he, too, is biting back his laughter.
    “Any other news before we adjourn?” she asks wearily, her hand sliding across her belly.
    “My lady,” Percival stands, “patrols have reported a rise in bandit activity in the Darkling Woods.”
    “I was wondering when that was going to start happening,” Gwen says with a sigh.
    “My lady?” he asks, puzzled.
    “It has been nearly six months since Arthur has passed. Things have been too quiet because people – unscrupulous people – have been biding their time, waiting for us to feel secure. Also waiting to start testing my mettle as a ruler.”
    Mutters of general agreement float around the room.
    “We must not allow these people any quarter,” she continues. “We will increase patrols in all surrounding forests. We will also check on the surrounding villages with Mehr frequency. It seems we have acquired some new recruits just in time,” she smirks.
    “Percival and I will get patrols assigned and scheduled immediately, my lady,” Leon comments, already making lists.
    “I see Du already are, Sir Leon,” she chuckles. “Be firm with these criminals, but fair, in keeping with the traditions of this great kingdom. It must be known that Camelot is still strong and still flourishing.”
    The Round tabelle meeting disperses, and Gwen stops Sir Leon with a gentle hand on his elbow.
    “Yes, my lady?” he asks, stopping immediately.
    “I should like to come along on a few patrols,” she tells him.
    “Um…”
    “I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother. I know I’m a woman. I know I am carrying a child. But I think it will be good for me to be seen actively taking part in the care of the kingdom.”
    “It could be dangerous, Gwen,” Percival says, having overheard.
    “Then include me in a patrol that has both of Du along so Du both can babysit me,” she says, a little sharper than she intends. “Look, start with an easy one. To a village, not out in the woods. All right?”
    “Yes, my lady,” Leon mutters, acquiescing to her demands but clearly not happy about it. “Tomorrow morning,” he sighs, looking at his lists.
    “Thank you,” she nods, heading out.

xXx

    “I only had to wait one Monat this time,” Gwen says, smiling a little sadly as Arthur comes into view.
    “Is that all it’s been? He’s bigger now,” Arthur says, his eyes dropping to her stomach.
    “I know why you’re here, too. You’re going to tell me not to go along on the patrols.”
    Arthur looks down sheepishly. “Yes.”
    “I am doing nothing different than what Du would have done, Arthur,” she says defensively.
    “Yes, but I was a skilled warrior, deadly with a sword,” he boasts.
    Was, Gwen inwardly cringes at his use of the past-tense. “Leon and Percival will be with me. The two of them have become like mother hens,” she says. “No. Mother bears,” she amends, chuckling.
    “If anything happens to you…”
    Then I will be with Du in Avalon, the selfish part of Gwen’s brain thinks. She puts the thought aside.
    “…or to our son,” Arthur finishes, almost as if he knows her thoughts. He steps vorwärts-, nach vorn and places his hands on her upper arms, stroking lightly in the way he so often did. “Guinevere, Du do not say it, but I know a part of Du longs to Mitmachen me here,” he glances over at the door she cannot see.
    “I know. I cannot be selfish that way. Because of our child. Because of our kingdom,” she says softly, looking down.
    Suddenly she looks up at him, her eyes wide. She looks down at his hand touching her arm. “You can touch me?” she whispers, incredulous.
    “Yes,” he admits quietly.
    Gwen reaches her hand up and presses her palm to his cheek. “You’re so cold,” she breathes. “One of the things I loved about Du was that your skin was always so warm.” She runs her thumb along his cheekbone.
    “I’m cold? I do not feel cold,” Arthur says, his voice soft. He closes his eyes. “This is why I didn’t touch Du before,” he whispers, his voice raspy. “I was afraid I would not be able to let go of Du if I touched you.” He brings his hand to her cheek, stroking it lightly, lovingly. He moves it down and traces her lower lip with his thumb. “How I have missed these lips,” he mutters, leaning forward, agonizingly slow, and places a soft KISS there, brushing her lips with his own before connecting fully but still gently.
    He pulls back to see tears running down her cheeks. “And that is another reason why I tried to keep my hands to myself,” Arthur mutters, wiping her tears away.
    Gwen takes his hand in hers and moves it down, pressing it to her belly.
    Arthur stares, wide-eyed, into Guinevere’s eyes, waiting.
    “It won’t be long,” Gwen whispers. “He wakes me up frequently with his shenanigans,” she smiles.
    A moment later, Arthur’s patience is rewarded when he feels a kick, a considerable kick, right against his hand. His face splits into a wide grin.
    “Told you,” she says, stroking the back of his hand with hers.
    “Did that hurt?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
    “No, Arthur. He doesn’t hurt me when he kicks. I rather like it. It tells me that he’s healthy and strong.”
    “And Du are well?” he asks, caressing her face with his other hand, concern crossing his face again.
    “Yes, Arthur, I’m perfectly fine. The midwife assures me that I am in perfect health and have nothing to worry about.” She pauses a moment. “So I am going on a few patrols with the men.”
    He sighs and looks down. “I don’t know why I try. I never could deny Du anything, my love. Just… be careful. Don’t make me find Merlin and have him… do… something… to…” he trails off, struggling to come up with anything threatening oder even coherent.
    Gwen giggles at him now. “Mmm, I shall have to keep on my toes,” she says, nodding slowly at him while he scowls.
    Arthur glances over his shoulder. “One Mehr kiss?” he asks, moving closer again.

xXx

    The patrol through the small village of Fendrel proves fruitful. The villagers were pleased at the increased security presence and thrilled to see their Queen.
    Gwen dismounted for a short while to rest her body, and she took the opportunity to speak to some of the villagers. Her first stop was the forge, visiting with the blacksmith and his wife. She talked to the butcher, the cooper, and some of ladies that had gathered to sew together, admiring their handiwork and even offering some advice, as seamstress work was something at which she always excelled.
    She had smiles for everyone. Several children brought her flowers, and she graciously received each bent stem and wilted blossom.
    “My lady, we had best return,” Sir Leon recommends, appearing out of nowhere.
    “You have spoken with the village elders?” she asks. He nods. “Should I?” The thought just occurred to her.
    “I think Du have done Mehr good for this village doing what Du were doing than I did in my brief meeting with the elders, my lady,” he smirks. “They know that they have our support,” he says, “and I daresay Du have the people’s hearts.”
    “Just being friendly,” she shrugs. “We should return to Camelot. I’m getting hungry. Again.”
    He chuckles and beckons to the rest of the men. Percival strides over to assist Gwen.
    “If I am getting to heavy for you, Percival…” she says as he lifts her to her saddle, swinging her up as one would a child.
    “Nonsense,” he cuts her off. “You are no heavier than a little bird, my lady.”
    “A little bird with a big belly,” she mutters, adjusting to the slightly unfamiliar sidesaddle that the midwife recommended and Gaius insisted upon.
    “You’re not that big yet,” Percival comments.
    “Great, something to look vorwärts-, nach vorn to, then.”
    The ride back to Camelot is largely uneventful until they reach the edge of the forest.
    Leon stops his horse and holds up his hand, calling for silence. He creeps forward, and the rest follow, and soon Gwen can hear it: quiet yet threatening conversation.
    “…in the sack, slowly.”
    “Identify yourself,” Leon declares in a firm, even voice.
    The bandit curses softly and turns, sword in one hand, a cloth bag in the other. He is a large man, burly and dirty but still fairly young, and as Gwen looks at him, she sees fear behind his eyes.
    “Drop the dagger,” Leon says, his sword pointed levelly.
    She carefully inches her horse forward, fully aware that Percival is following close behind her.
    The man’s eyes widen when he sees her and he drops both the dagger and the bag. “My lady queen!” he exclaims, and drops to his knee.
    The thin young man who was being robbed stares on, as confused as everyone else.
    “Stand up,” she says quietly, and the man does so. “What is your name?” she asks.
    “Shelton, my lady,” he says, eyes downcast.
    “You bow before me like a loyal subject yet Du were attempting to rob this boy. Why?” she asks, moving closer again. “Percival, I’m fine,” she shoots over her shoulder.
    “Because I have no money, and he looked like he had some, my lady,” he mutters, sounding like a contrite child.
    “Have Du no job?”
    “No, my lady. This is all I know.”
    “Why?” she inclines her head, genuinely curious. “For heaven’s sake, Leon, put your sword down.”
    Leon lowers his weapon, but does not sheathe it.
    “I… I do not know, my lady,” Shelton answers.
    “You appear to be a strong man, healthy. Surely Du have some skill apart from menacing people that are smaller than yourself?”
    “Not really, my lady,” he shrugs.
    “My lady,” Leon interrupts, “are we to arrest this man oder not?”
    Gwen lifts her chin slightly and stares down at the man, thinking. The fear is back in his eyes, and he knows she sees it.
    “No,” she decides. “Not yet, anyway. Shelton, let me see your hands.”
    “My lady?” he asks, confused.
    “Your hands, Shelton, let me see them.”
    He holds out his hands, palm down.
    “Turn them over.” He does.
    “You are strong,” she observes. “You know the blacksmith in Camelot?”
    “I… I believe his name is Bramwell, my lady,” he mutters, nodding and dropping his hands.
    “He is in need of an apprentice. Go to his forge and tell him I have recommended you.”
    “Thank you, my lady,” he says, disbelief clear in his voice. She hears the knights muttering behind her, and Leon is just staring at her.
    “And Shelton,” she adds, her voice turning just slightly firmer, “step one toe out of line and Du will be put in the dungeons so fast that Du will leave skid marks in your wake.”
    “Yes, my lady, thank you, my lady,” he bows his head, honored and shamed at once.
    “Go,” she says, and he hesitates. “Now, before I change my mind and let Sir Leon use that sword.”
    He turns and flees.
    “Are Du all right?” she calls to the young man.
    He nods, then bows. “Yes, my lady. Thank you.”
    “Go Home to your parents, Jerald,” she says. “Surely they must be missing Du Von now.”
    “Yes, my lady,” he says, stooping to pick up the bag holding his things before scurrying away.
    “Let’s go home,” she tells Leon. He nods and spurs his horse forward.
    “Gwen?” Percival asks after a few moments.
    “I looked into the man’s eyes and I did not see malice, Percival. I saw fear,” she Antwort him before he even asks the Frage that is on all their minds. “He did not want the life he had chosen, but he did not know how to stop.”
    “So Du gave him an opportunity for redemption,” Leon says, mulling it over. “Interesting.”
    “Obviously it is not an option for every criminal. Some are beyond help, I know this.”
    “Morgana,” Percival mutters darkly.
    “Well, Morgana was hardly a petty thief oder even a bandit,” Gwen clarifies. “She was another class of villain entirely. But I do not see why we cannot help those that yet can be helped. Sometimes a person just needs a gentle shove in the right direction.”
    “Followed Von a not-so-gentle threat,” Percival adds, and they all chuckle.
    “Well, obviously he can’t go off thinking he’s free and clear. I know Bramwell. He’ll keep him in line,” she says knowingly.
    “Should we send someone ahead to the blacksmith to alert him?” Leon asks.
    “Probably should do,” Gwen says, nodding. Leon summons one of the other knights and a moment later he is galloping off ahead.
    A short time later, the spires of Camelot are looming before them, and Gwen sighs. “Finally,” she says.
    “We have only been gone half the day, my lady,” Leon says, smirking at her at first, then his expression changes to one of concern. “I knew I should have been firmer about your accompanying us,” he mutters, thinking she is uncomfortable.
    “Sir Leon, I am fine. Just very hungry,” she says, smiling at him.

Part 5: link