"Gwen. Gwen! Wake up!" The insistent shaking on her arm shattered the sleep-veil, and Guinevere blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Morgana's face loomed above her, pale-bright as moonstone.

"What is it?" she sat up, alarmed, as Morgana sank to her knees by the bed, mouth quavering with spilling words, "Oh Gwen, I'm lost I'm lost! There's no hope for me."
 
Guinevere raised her up to sit on the bed, her own fears awakened anew. Had Uther found out? Or....horrible thought.... Had Arthur told him? 
Last week, Merlin had fulfilled the unenviable task of informing Arthur of Morgana's pregnancy. He had returned from that conversation hours later, saying only, "Give him time."  
Gwen remembered his words about tradition and kingship, how they warmed her heart that soft summer afternoon. His willingness to help Frann and her people. Surely he wouldn't turn his back on Morgana.

Her friend was shaking, rocking back and forth, her white arms wrapped tight around herself. Gwen fumbled in the dark until at last she succeeded in lighting a candle.
"What is it?" she asked softly, "I won't abandon you, Morgana. We will get through this."

She stood up abruptly, her heavy dressing gown dragging on the floor, and stood by the window. Her profile was veiled in a curtain of raven silk, save for her pale lips and the alabaster slope of her forehead. 

"She told me this would happen," Morgana whispered, and her voice seemed to come from far away, as though the spirit had left her statue-still frame.

"Who told you....?"

"She did. The one with the golden hair."

Guinevere's blood grew cold, remembering the mysterious woman she had glimpsed the night of the feast.  Morgana's stillness frightened her, and she wondered again at her silence around the source of her pregnancy. What was she not telling her?

Suddenly Morgana turned to face her, eyes fierce and glistening with tears, and undid the ties of her gown. She was naked underneath, and even the dim light could not lie: her belly, that even yesterday had shown no change, was now round and swollen, ripened at an unnatural speed.

Whatever the nature of her child, it would not wait nine months to enter the world.

***

"Alright. Out with it Morgana, who was he?" were Arthur's first words as he strode in.

"That's none of your business," Morgana retorted.

Merlin and Gwen exchanged glances.

"Oh don't worry. I won't kill him. Unless running him through with my lance while my horse crushes his head is called 'killing' these days," suddenly his eyes widen with horror, "Oh hell, it wasn't that bastard Valiant was it? I noticed him creeping around you."

Morgana's face could not have reflected more disgust if Arthur had suggested she eat dung, "No! How could you even think that, Arthur Pendragon?"

"Well then...," his words trailed off abruptly as he noticed Morgana's hands, clasped protectively over her very round, very protuberant belly.

Morgana stiffened and Guinevere put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What...How..I.." he gestured, before Merlin added, quietly, "It's magic, Arthur."

Arthur throws up his hands, at which Merlin suggested he sit down, at which he promptly responded that Merlin should get eaten by a dragon.

"This isn't helping," Gwen interjected calmly.

"I need to walk," Arthur made for the door, but Morgana's voice stopped him.

"Arthur?....Please, don't tell him. Please. I beg you."
He couldn't remember when Morgana had ever begged for anything, or looked so utterly, desperately afraid. He thought of Frann and her son Colum, the fear in their eyes. Was this what kingship meant then?  

He merely nodded stiffly before leaving.

 “I was wrong,” Merlin sighed, “He needs a lot more time.”

“I don’t have time Merlin!” Morgana implored, “I cannot hide this for long. I can barely hide it now.”

Merlin glanced at Gwen, “Will you talk to Arthur?”

“What? Why me?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Because Arthur hasn’t been able to take his dollop-head eyes off you since we arrived in Eirinn. If anyone can bring him around, it’s you Gwen.”

Gwen felt her face heat up, even while a butterfly-tingle brushed her at the thought of Arthur’s eyes.

She sighed, “I will try,” then turned to Morgana, “My handmaiden, Aili, can be trusted. I’ll ask her to help you pack. Whatever happens,” she looked at Merlin for confirmation, “we leave in the morning.”

****

Guinevere found Arthur on the eastern ramparts, staring out to sea. He was statuesquely outlined in the moonlight, his loose white shirt barely disguising the taut, muscular angles of his back and shoulders. Guinevere remembered rushing out to these very same ramparts herself, when she had cast desperate eyes at the horizon and seen the Pendragon crest unfurled by the shore. How long ago that seemed!

“Guinevere,” he said softly, though he had yet to turn around.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to intrude.”

She hesitated, but when he said nothing she walked tentatively to stand beside him. The night air was cool on her cheek, sweet with the scent of distant waves, and she was suddenly tired, and longed to lay her head on his shoulder.

Arthur glanced down at her, his eyes drawn moth-like to the quiet flame of her face. How could she be so still, so serenely beautiful, with the world around them tumbling into chaos? He wanted to pull her into his arms, crush his lips against her lovely mouth, drink her tranquil courage so that his world would stop its mad spinning, could balance on the cinnamon darkness of her eyes.

Now she lifted those eyes to his, and it felt almost natural for him to ask: “What should I do?”

Guinevere sighed, almost smiling, “I have been asked that question a lot these past days.”

“And what have you answered?”

As always his gaze went straight through her, and something hot and nameless pooled in her lower belly. “Only that our actions should follow what we believe is right.”

He stepped close to her, as though his eyes would devour the answer he sought from her very skin, “What if I said I didn’t know what to believe anymore? That I haven’t known since the first night I saw you, when I found myself risking all for a woman I had never met?”

“This is not about me,” she whispered, overcome with his closeness and trembling with the effort to not melt against him, “This is about Morgana. She is afraid and alone, unsure what’s happening to her. The nature of her condition puts her life in danger. You and I both know that.”

Arthur turns his eyes to the sky, “I wish I could assure her that my father would not…,” he swore in frustration, running a hand through his bright blond hair, “My loyalty is to my king and father, but…she’s the closest I have to a sister.”

“And I too.”

He nodded slowly, looking in her eyes once more, and Guinevere knew in that moment his decision was made. He listened while she outlined the plan Merlin had helped her concoct: they would leave under the pretence of spending some weeks in the lake country, as noblewomen were wont to do in the summer months. Uther would be busy with negotiations for at least another fortnight, that was guaranteed. It would give them enough time to plan their next course of action.

“Where will you stay?”
“My family owned a small cottage, by the White Cliffs in the east. It’s small, hidden from view. About half a day’s ride from here.”

He nodded, “I will meet you by the eastern gates with horses tomorrow, before dawn. Leave the guards to me.”

It wasn’t until she felt the hard swell of muscle beneath her palm that Gwen realised she was touching his arm. Her words sprang from a nameless source, yet she felt the truth of them in her bones, “You will be a great king, Arthur,” she said softly. “For above all you are a good man.”

His hand covered hers, and her lips parted when he drew her closer. She could almost taste his breath, wine and cloves and intoxicating warmth.

Gwen could not look away from the dark-blue fire of his eyes as his other hand drifted almost idly to her waist, the fingertips grazing her side along the way. She felt her nipples tighten with painful longing, and she almost moaned, almost begged for him to kiss her.

Walk away, her mind urged. Walk away now, before it’s too late.

Arthur felt his restraint shaking, worn thin by her nearness. He had never desired a woman so much, so desperately. His eyes travelled down her neck to where her breasts heaved with quick breath over the neckline of her dress, and he had to restrain himself from drawing her thighs against his growing hardness. Ye gods he had not even kissed her yet.

“Arthur -,” but her voice faded in her throat as his mouth brushed hers, the softest of touches, almost cruel in its teasing softness. Guinevere felt her eyes drift shut, and with a sigh she leaned into his kiss, her head swimming with his scent and warmth. She gasped when he slanted his mouth over hers, running his tongue along her lower lip, and the heat between her thighs was suddenly moist.

Panic overtook her at the realization that she could so easily be swept away in his arms. She drew back, breathless, scrambling for words “I should go, Arthur…”

Arthur stepped away with a quick nod, his head still clouded with the softness of her mouth.

Slowly the world realigned itself, and they were no longer flesh swimming free in a river of desire, but bodies moulded into the hard shapes of duty, of uncertainty.

Guinevere took her leave, not trusting her voice, not trusting herself to linger near him without melting into his arms once more.

Arthur watched her go; almost wishing he had not tasted that which was ensured, from now on, to taunt his desire the more.

***

The fire-eyed woman whispered many things in Morgana’s dreams. Some, like the ones about her growing womb, were easily discerned. Others, she could only hope to understand in the fruit of their fulfilment.

Beware. She is a thief. 

I do not understand…Please. You frighten me.

It is not I you should fear, sister. Beware the one who would steal from you. Steal from your son.

What is it that can be stolen from me?

In time you will learn, sister. Heed my words.

Beware the May Queen.