Part 14: link


    “What do te mean, the king will not see us today?” a council member, Lord Pearson, blusters.
    “I mean that the king and Queen are indisposed for the balance of the giorno and the Council will convene tomorrow,” Merlin politely explains.
    “But those proclamations he made… he can’t just announce those things and walk away!”
    “I think you’ll find that that’s exactly what he has done, my lord,” Merlin answers, still keeping his voice polite. His eyes dart to the side of the room where Gwaine and Elyan are standing guard. Eavesdropping, più likely.
    “This is preposterous,” Lord Pearson huffs.
    “Unorthodox, yes, but we will be meeting tomorrow,” another man, Lord Tilton, tries to make peace. He’s a bit più reasonable – and a bit smarter – than Lord Pearson.
    “Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, he said,” Merlin nods.
    Lord Pearson huffs again.
    “The king and Queen merely wish for rest today, my lords,” Merlin continues. “The past few days have been trying indeed for them. Returning from exile, reclaiming the throne, not to mention the fact that King Arthur has just Lost what remained of his family.”
    “Well, the last few days have been trying for us as well, te know,” Lord Arledge, a man who’s genius rivals Lord Pearson’s, says, crossing his flabby arms in front of his puffy chest.
    “Oh, forgive me, Lord Arledge. I didn’t realize that te took part in the battle,” Merlin says obsequiously. “Tell me, how did te fare against Morgause’s immortal army?” I could get used to this speaking freely stuff.
    From the side he hears Gwaine cover his snort of laughter with a coughing fit, and he sees Elyan biting back his own snickers. I don’t know that the two of them should be allowed to spend too much time together, he thinks, making a note to mention it to Leon.
    Lord Tilton and some of the più intelligent lords are chuckling as well, however, and Merlin decides this conversation is over.
    “Until the morrow, my lords,” he says, and strides from the hall.
    “Merlin,” Sir Leon calls to him in the corridor, with Percival and Lancelot close at hand.
    “Yeah,” Merlin walks over. Sure glad Arthur is getting some rest, he thinks ruefully.
    “Sir Percival detto something that got me thinking,” Leon says.
    “What’s that?”
    “Well, most of the undead army were Cenred’s men,” he starts.
    “I recognized several of them,” Percival nods.
    “Hmm,” Merlin says, understanding where they are going with this conversation.
    “Yet we know nothing of Cenred,” Leon continues.
    “That is unusual. You’d think he would at least have been lurking on the fringe of the forest, waiting to bask in whatever glory he might grab,” Merlin answers.
    “Exactly…” Leon replies, surprised again at Merlin’s intelligence. “Um, so we’d like to send a party to Cenred’s kingdom and see what we can find.”
    “Do te think Morgause…?” Merlin asks.
    “Got what she wanted from him and eliminated him? Possibly.”
    “Put together a small party,” Merlin says.
    “I’d like to volunteer,” Percival speaks up.
    “I’d like te to lead the party, Sir Percival,” Merlin tells him. Leon looks slightly wounded, so Merlin quickly says, “You are needed here, Sir Leon. I need your help taking care of this place while Arthur and Gwen, um, rest.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Leon nods, finding it surprisingly easy to address Merlin da his new title. He is so different. Intelligent. Commanding.
    “Lancelot, would te unisciti Percival? I know this mission may be heavy on his heart, and he will need a trusted friend,” Merlin asks.
    “I had already planned on doing so,” Lancelot smiles.
    “Good. Gather, oh, four o so more. With Cenred’s entire army wiped out te shouldn’t need a large band. And if Gwaine volunteers, don’t take Elyan, and vice versa.”
    “What? Why?” Percival asks.
    Leon laughs. “Because those two are cut from the same cloth and if they spend too much time together they’ll likely get into trouble.”
    “Exactly,” Merlin chuckles. Should have known he would have spotted that already.
    “We’ll gather some men and leave immediately,” Percival nods.
    “Percival,” Merlin calls, and the large man turns.
    “Best go unadorned, just in case. Don’t wear Camelot’s colors. Attempt to appear as travelers looking for work o something.”
    “Right. But what do we do if there is a new ruler with whom we might want to ally ourselves?” he asks.
    Merlin thinks a moment. “Come find me before te go. I’ll draw up a parchment for te to take.”
    “Doesn’t such a missive require Arthur’s signature?” Leon asks.
    Merlin gives him a look that clearly says oh, please and walks away, heading towards his new rooms.
    “Lord Merlin!” Caldwell now.
    “What now?” Merlin exclaims, throwing up his hands. Caldwell ducks, not sure about the staff clutched in the wizard’s hand.
    “Um, the king has sent me to assist te with your sposta today,” Caldwell says, his voice small.
    “Oh. Excellent. Come along, then,” Merlin says, waving his free hand. “And don’t worry, this thing is harmless unless I will it otherwise,” he adds.

xXx

    “For now?” Gwen asks, shifting slightly to pull the covers up over them.
    “Cold?” Arthur asks, and she nods. “And yes, for now. I’m not done with te yet, my love.” He holds her close to his side while she giggles. “This letto is much più comfortable than our letto in Lyonesse,” he commenti idly. “I’ve missed it.”
    “Oh, goodness, we just abandoned the house. I do hope someone looks after the ox and the chickens.”
    Arthur chuckles. “See, that’s one of the many reasons I Amore you, Guinevere. Not once did the chickens o that infernal ox attraversare, croce my mind.”
    “We should send a message to Sherman at least,” she says. “Tell him to let Fleta and Radley live there o something.”
    “Radley?”
    “Bartley’s son. te know, her husband? Honestly, Arthur, we were at the wedding,” Gwen chides him.
    “Where are they living now?”
    “Well, they were in Bartley’s house when we left. That’s no place for newlyweds, under the same roof with parents.”
    “Yes, would put a damper on baby-making activities, wouldn’t it?” Arthur grins at her and squeezes her backside.
    She kisses his chin and scoots away, swinging her feet to the floor and standing. Arthur enjoys the view for a moment, then asks, “What are te doing?”
    “I’m going to write Sherman while I’m thinking of it. Do te have a dressing toga, abito o something?” She looks around and settles on his discarded shirt, pulling it over her head. It falls nearly to her knees and the sleeves hang well past her hands.
    Arthur smirks at her, watching as she calmly rolls the sleeves up. “You look wonderful in my shirt. Better than me, if that’s possible.”
    “I am in serious need of clothing,” she answers, ignoring his arrogance as usual. “Remind me to add a dressing toga, abito to the lista when I successivo talk to the seamstresses.”
    “You are più than welcome to wear any of my shirts at any time, my love,” he says, watching her as she walks over to his scrivania, reception and sits at his chair. “You really have to do that now?”
    “Yes. Otherwise I’ll be thinking about it. And I believe you’ll probably want my, um, full attention, later, so just indulge me here.” She starts twisting her hair into a single braid, keeping it out of the way and somewhat orderly.
    “I indulge te plenty, wife,” he remarks, and she sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs and gets out of bed, wandering over to the chamber pot in the corner, peeking out a window, pouring himself a drink of water.
    “My goodness, Arthur, put something on,” she chastises lightly from his desk, glancing up. He probably thinks he’s distracting me.
    “Why, am I too distracting for you?” he grins, walking over now and bringing her a goblet of water as well.
    “Not at all,” she says, not looking up. “I just don’t want te catching a chill.”
    “Drink?” he says, setting the cup down.
    “Thank you,” she says, pausing to lift the cup to her lips, still stubbornly not paying him any heed.
    “I’ll just go put a few più logs on the fuoco then,” he says, smirking at her, still not covering himself.
    “Don’t burn anything important,” she mutters, and Arthur guffaws.
    “Guinevere, te surprise me!” he exclaims, walking back. “What happened to that demure girl I married, the one who was afraid to mostra she was enjoying my attention?”
    “You corrupted her,” she grins over her parchment, finishing her message. “I suppose I should sign it ‘Goldevia,’ huh?”
    “Probably. They don’t know te da any other name,” Arthur says, walking over, leaning to read over her shoulder.
    Dear Sherman,
    By now you’ve no doubt noticed our absence. We had a family emergency to which we had to attend, and it has become a permanent situation. I wish I could elaborate more, but I do not have enough parchment. Please know what we are all well and happy, but we will not be returning to Lyonesse. If Fleta and Radley are still lodging with Bartley, please offer them the house and all it contains.
    Perhaps one giorno we will get the opportunity to visit, and at that time, we will explain everything. Send our greetings to everyone and I hope te are all well.
With warm regards,
    “You want to go visit sometime?” Arthur asks, bending down now, pressing his lips to her neck.
    “Maybe,” she says, tilting her head now, allowing him più access. “I feel bad just slipping away in the dead of night like we did.”
    “There was no time,” he says, his hand creeping now, slipping into the vee at the front of the camicia to close over a breast. “And from what I understand, Merlin wanted to wait till morning and it was you that insisted upon leaving immediately.”
    “That was… because I was worried about… you,” she says, her eyes drifting closed, thinking becoming difficult as his thumb toys with her nipple and his lips toy with her neck. “Arthur, I need to finish this,” she protests weakly.
    “Looks done to me,” he says, giving her breast a gentle squeeze.
    “I need to sign my name,” she says, straightening up and quickly signing her name – well, Goldevia’s name – at the bottom. “Goodness, I hope they can read. o someone there can, anyway. They were so good to us. I feel we owe them an explanation,” she adds before he can descend upon her again.
    “You’re probably right,” he agrees, pulling the chair back away from the scrivania, reception and coming around in front of her. “Of course you’re right— oh!” he grunts in surprise as she takes his partially-erect member in her hand now, contemplating it, eye-level as he stands before her. “What are te doing?” he whispers, watching wide-eyed as she leans forward.
    “Oh,” he says, grabbing the scrivania, reception behind him when her tongue comes out and shyly licks the tip of him.
    “Did te like that?” she asks, suddenly bashful again. She can feel him growing firmer, longer, in her hand, and she knows her answer before he says anything.
    He nods mutely. Gwen smiles and does it again, slower this time, lingering a bit. She runs her tongue around the tip, circling it.
    “More,” he croaks, trying not to thrust his hips forward.
    More? So it’s true, the talk that I heard that giorno in the kitchen… Guinevere moves her hand back, exposing più of his length, and slips him into her mouth, surrounding him with her lips, her tongue warm and wet against him.
    Arthur groans, long and low, and his head drops back. She slides back and inoltrare, avanti again, sucking as she does so, and she feels his body jerk in response.
    “Sorry,” she says, releasing him.
    “Don’t stop,” he hurriedly grunts, gripping the scrivania, reception to keep himself from grabbing her head and pushing it back over him.
    “Oh,” she says, chuckling just a little, and takes him back into her mouth, repeating the action that made him jump before. He’s prepared now for what she has to dish out and so he manages to keep relatively still as she licks and sucks him.
    He groans again, now clinging to the scrivania, reception to stay upright. “Oh, Guinevere… you’re unbelievable…” he moans.
    This is power, she vaguely thinks, heady with the realization of what she’s doing to him, how she’s making him unravel with just her mouth and tongue. Not to mention what it’s doing to her own body. The combination spurs her on and she runs her tongue up and down his shaft before taking his length fully into her mouth again, sucking a little harder.
    “Guinevere…” he says her name again, sounding a little frantic. “Love… I’m… I’m going to…”
    Going to what? Gwen thinks, then the realization hits her just before his seed surges into her mouth. She swallows reflexively before gently releasing him.
    He sinks to the floor, dropping to his knees in front of her, his head falling into her lap. She runs her fingers into his hair.
    “Your bum’s going to get cold on the floor there,” Gwen says after a moment, taking another drink of water, and he laughs, baciare her thigh.
    “Let’s go back to the bed. Where it’s nice and warm,” she suggests, lifting his head.
    “Mmm, good idea,” he says, standing and pulling her to her feet, leading her back to their rumpled bed.
    “Keep an ear out for Caldwell with our lunch. I want to give him the message so he can take it to Merlin.”
    “Sure,” Arthur says casually.
    “Arthur,” she says sternly, looking at him.
    “All right, I will,” he gives in, pulling her against him in the bed. “Is it that late already?”
    “Should be fairly soon, I would think,” she says. “So don’t go starting something,” she says, moving his hand from where it was creeping up beneath her camicia (his shirt) to her backside.
    “Well, I do need some time to recover after… how did te know to do that, anyway?” he looks down at her.
    “Um… how can I say this delicately…” she pauses, looking away.
    “You’ve done it before?” he asks, shocked, trying not to overreact.
    “No!” she answers, “no. I was just trying to think of a way to explain without making the other castello maids look bad.”
    “Oh,” he breathes a huge sigh.
    “Arthur, te are the only man I have ever done… anything with,” she reassures him, baciare him.
    “Good,” he says, preening. She slaps his chest. “Ow! So, the other maids are… not exactly maids, then, hmm?” he presses, curious.
    “There were a handful of us who prized our virtue. The rest were a lot more, shall we say, free, with theirs. I know Lark, my new maidservant, is still innocent, and I do plan on talking with her about the subject before some of the other girls get their hooks into her.”
    “So I presume te got quite an education listening to them talk, then?”
    Gwen nods. “When I first heard them speaking of… that… I was certain that they were joking. I didn’t think people would find such a thing pleasurable.”
    Arthur smiles. “My sweet, innocent wife,” he hugs her.
    “Not anymore, apparently,” she says dryly, and Arthur laughs again. “But after your repeated attempts to pleasure me that way—”
    “At which I finally succeeded,” he interjects, grinning proudly.
    “Yes, yes,” she placates him, chuckling. “I got to thinking that maybe they weren’t having me on after all. And then te were standing there, and it was right there…”
    “Yes, and I very nearly broke the edge off the scrivania, reception I was gripping it so hard,” Arthur comments, and Gwen giggles. “That one time in my youth did not involve that, so it was a first for me as well,” he admits, nuzzling her hair.
    “Good,” she says, baciare his chest.
    “You were amazing, Guinevere,” he says, his voice low.
    “Not that te have any basis for comparison,” she giggles, much to his chagrin.
    “Don’t need any,” he says, his lips trailing down her temple to her cheek.
    “Arthur, lunch,” she reminds him.
    “Having mine now,” he answers, nibbling her ear.
    As if on cue, they hear the distinctive sound of Caldwell fussing with a tray outside their door.
    Arthur growls and gets up, jumping into his trousers as he walks to the door. Gwen gets up and rolls up the parchment, sealing it with wax but no official seal. Wouldn’t want to alarm them.
    “Caldwell,” Arthur opens the door and calls after the retreating servant. He looks down to see Smith lift his head. The dog looks interestedly at Arthur, thumps his tail once, and puts his head back down with a sigh.
    “My lord!” the young man jumps, surprised, not expecting to hear Arthur’s voice. He turns to see the king standing there in nothing but trousers, his hair rumpled. Ignore it. “What do te require, my lord?” he asks, walking back.
    “What’s going on?” Arthur asks, standing in the slightly-open door.
    “My lord?”
    “Just in general. Anything interesting?”
    “Lord Merlin’s sposta is going well. He’s having a bit too much fun in the vaults, I fear,” he says, grinning despite himself. “Finding things that have been heretofore forbidden to see the light of day, te know.”
    Arthur rolls his eyes. “I do hope he’s not going overboard,” he sighs.
    “Oh, he’s being careful. He picked up this chest thing, about so,” he holds his hands about three feet apart. “It was heavy. Then a muffled voice came from within it and it jostled slightly in his hands.”
    “What on earth?” Arthur asks.
    “I don’t know, but he couldn’t stash it away fast enough. He muttered something like, ‘Oh, right. Him,’ and shoved it way under a shelf. I asked, but he only waved me away. Then he laughed a little.”
    “He’s strange, yes, but at least now we know why,” Arthur chuckles.
    Caldwell blinks in surprise as a slender brown arm appears from beneath Arthur’s arm, as if he has sprouted another limb that doesn’t match. The arm is holding a rolled up piece of parchment out for him. The servant takes it, still a bit puzzled, and he notices the unmistakable white linen of Arthur’s camicia hanging from her arm, rolled up at the cuff.
    So that’s where Arthur’s camicia is, he notes. “Sire?” he asks, brandishing the parchment in front of the now-distracted king’s face. Gwen is obviously still right behind him.
    “Oh, take that to Lord Merlin and have him send it to Sherman,” Arthur instructs, snapping back to reality. Guinevere’s hands on his back are pulling his attention elsewhere.
    “Sherman, my lord?” Caldwell asks.
    “Merlin knows who he is,” Arthur says. “Oh, and Caldwell,” he adds, “tell Merlin to use one of our human messengers, not one of his little bird-things. We don’t want to startle our friend Sherman.”
    “Um, yes, my lord…” Caldwell answers. This job gets stranger every day.
    “Ask Merlin if te want an explanation,” Arthur says dismissively. He closes his eyes for a moment as he feels Gwen place a few kisses along his spine.
    “My lord?” Caldwell asks.
    “Any other information I should know about?”
    “Lord Merlin sent a party to Cenred’s kingdom to investigate. Sir Percival claimed that many of Morgause’s army were actually Cenred’s men, but—”
    “There was no sign of Cenred,” Arthur nods. “Who went?”
    “Sir Percival led the party, with Sirs Lancelot, Elyan, Kay, James, and Ranulf.”
    “Very good,” Arthur says. He hadn’t heard Percival’s story first hand like the others, but he’d been filled in on the details and knows why Percival would be keen on such a mission.
    “Lord Merlin drafted up a missive proposing an alliance should someone other than Cenred be ruling there now,” Caldwell adds.
    “He did? So he just signed my name, then?” Arthur asks, reaching around behind him now, clearly trying to do something about his mischievous wife. Caldwell hears and ignores a very faint giggle from behind the door.
    “Um, yes, Sire, I believe he did,” he answers, worried now that he’ll be getting Merlin in trouble.
    “All right, then,” Arthur shrugs. “Things seem to be well in hand.” He chuckles a moment. “I almost pity Cenred if Percival does find him alive…”
    “Yes, Sire,” Caldwell agrees.
    “Thank you, Caldwell,” Arthur dismisses him now, reaching for the tray sitting on a bench outside. He lifts a corner of the cloth covering the Cibo and sees a large bone alongside the food.
    “For the dog, Sire.”
    “I gathered as much. Here, Smith,” Arthur calls, tossing the bone to the suddenly very interested puppy, who catches it easily and goes to work. He feels Gwen smiling against his back.
    “You may go, Caldwell,” Arthur says. “I think we’ll take cena here as well.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Oh, and do take Smith out and get him some fresh air and exercise this afternoon, please. I’m certain the Queen would appreciate it,” Arthur adds, clearly having been prompted.
    “Yes, my lord,” Caldwell repeats with a nod, and heads back down the corridor.
    Arthur takes the tray inside and sets it on the table. “Hmm.” Then he picks it up and moves it to the fireplace, saying, “I owe te a picnic. An undisturbed picnic. Even though te were being rather naughty while I was trying to talk to my servant.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and she laughs, sitting on a cushion on the floor, tucking her legs slightly underneath her and to the side.
    “Was my lord not pleased?” she asks innocently.
    “I would have been, had I not been standing there talking to Caldwell,” he mutters, but he is trying not to smile. “It could have become very embarrassing.” He sits beside her now.
    “Good thing I didn’t grab your backside, then,” she laughs. “I was going to.”
    “Guinevere!” he starts laughing now.
    “It’s so good to hear te laugh, Arthur,” she says, “I Amore it.” She takes the plate he’s offered her and pops a bite into her mouth.
    “I Amore you,” he says, leaning over to baciare her. “And I Amore that te can make me laugh. I need to più often, I think.”
    “We all do, Arthur.”
    They eat quietly for a short time, shyly watching each other now and then, just enjoying each other’s company. At one point Gwen gets up and grabs a blanket, the red one, and wraps it around her legs.
    “So I’m really the only man you’ve done anything with?” he asks after a bit.
    “Well, I did baciare Lancelot once. Wait, twice,” she admits. “The first time he came to Camelot. And then when I was at Hengist’s. Before te came to rescue me with that terrible lie about only coming because Morgana begged you.”
    “You knew I was lying?” he asks, trying to not be bothered about Lancelot. She loves me, she married me, she’s having my baby. What più reassurance do I need?
    “Not when te detto it. It hit me later that te lied because te were hurt da Lancelot’s presence and how we…”
    “Yeah.”
    “Over and done,” Gwen waves her hand. “Besides, it’s not like you never kissed anyone else. Lady Vivian. That other one… Sophia, was it? And others, I’m sure. And no, I don’t want to know,” she chuckles.
    “Lady Vivian doesn’t count,” he says petulantly.
    “I did baciare Merlin once,” she says, smirking at him.
    “You did not!” Arthur sputters.
    “I did. Only because I thought he was dead. He woke up, and I kissed him before I could help myself.”
    Arthur stares at her as if she has grown antlers.
    “Oh come off it, Arthur, he’s a sweet, wonderful person, and at the time, he was much nicer to me than te were.”
    “When was this?”
    “When te got that fiore to cure him. The one te snuck me in the dungeon.”
    “Oh. Back then.”
    “Yes, probably before te even took notice of me,” she says, throwing a uva at him, which he deftly catches in his mouth.
    “Oh, I had noticed te da then,” he says. “Well, maybe that’s when I started noticing you…”
    “You are impossible,” she sighs.
    “And yet te married me,” he smirks, bringing a piece of chicken to her lips, feeding it to her. She takes the meat from his fingers and his lips follow, baciare her before she even swallows the bite.
    “Arthur,” she protests, but to no avail. She manages to ingoiare, inghiottire her bite when he pauses to push their plates aside, no longer interested in lunch.

Part 16: link