For The Love Of A Pendragon.

Chapter Twenty-Five...The Need for an Heir

It was far past dinner when I arrived in Camelot that evening and my tour of the outlying villages had been a success. Despite the destruction of our own family those who we ruled over prospered season after season. The city was larger and more advanced than it had been before battle, we played host to artists and philosophers and historians. Engineers, trained under men in Italy, had improved water supplies and brought new construction techniques to our kingdom. We were the envy of all our neighbours and yet their overlords had raised strong families, and married them into every other noble household. The victories of my reign were covered in that shadow of failure. I thought, as I did many times a day, of the son Nimue and I had brought into the world, and wondered, as I often did, what had become of him. Nimue knew he was not dead, she had not felt it and yet the haunted look in her eyes every time we spoke of him suggested that our dearest accomplishment would be destined for something beyond all dreadful imaginings. Gwenivere was a dutiful wife, but once it had been firmly established that she would never produce children I had gladly removed myself from the attempts. Sometimes I blamed myself for her barren state, wondering whether we could not conceive because my heart belonged elsewhere. I was beginning to think that perhaps Nimue had lied to me all those years before when she had assured me that we would be gifted with another child. I was certain now that the complications of Mordreds birth were preventing her from conceiving and successfully bringing another child into the world. 

When I reached my chambers I found my first wife with a small meal of meats and cheese awaiting me. Once the door was securely locked I embraced her and kissed her and we sat to eat. She was uncommonly quiet and I knew that something was troubling her.

'Nim, what is worrying you?' I asked, gently laying down my knife.

'I think we must choose an heir Arthur, there have been whisperings, the kingdom is at peace but we are left vulnerable.'

I nodded, 'yes you are right, I have been concerned about this for a long time and yet I could not bring myself to speak it aloud.'

Nimue lent forward and squeezed my hand gently, 'I know my dear, but now we must, the kingdom is uncertain of her future and as you age the people may cry out in protest if there seems no obvious inheritor.'

'Who did you have in mind?' I asked quietly.

She inhaled deeply and swallowed, 'I was thinking, the only child of our family that remains Arthur - Eleanor.'

...

My husband remained silent for a long moment and I felt a chill creep up my spin, were we about to disagree on something so important? We rarely disagreed on anything, accept for when it came to the queen. I had stood fast against my own jealously and insisted that he continue preforming his husbandly duties out of chance that she could indeed conceive, whereas Arthur was willing to abandon her in this aspect as soon as it was plausible to do so. I knew he did it out of love for me but I worried about the implications it had for the kingdom.

'Arthur?' I prompted after I could handle his non-answer no more.

'I agree,' his voice cracked as he spoke.

'You do?' I questioned cautiously, he had not sounded at all sure.

'If you think Eleanor is the right choice then I have faith in you,' he replied.

'But do you have faith in Eleanor?' I asked, determined that it should not be my decision alone and confused by his tone which seemed to lack the strength of true conviction.

'She has been raised by all those I have trusted with my life, the only way she could be more suitable is if Merlin himself had been allowed a hand to guide her; yet you have his wisdom and more besides, I believe she will do more than well.' He smiled sadly, his eyes moist, 'I have faith in her Nimue, but by placing my belief in her I feel I am abandoning our son.'

I understood all too well, I squeezed his hand again across the table, 'Mordred and Eleanor were good friends, and they were not related by any blood. I do believe in time they may have grown otherwise fond of each other and she would have become Camelot's queen regardless.'

Arthur grinned with reminisce, 'Cei and I often spoke of it,' I smiled inwardly, 'we did not want to scheme openly. I thought you would be angry that we were trying to push them from too young an age, let them fall in love in their own time and with their true selves, you would have said,' he paused, releasing my hand to cup my face with it, 'and you would have been right of course,' he concluded with that rare smile he preserved for me alone.

That night I dreamt of Nerys, I told her of our plan and she cried, first out of happiness and then out of fear. She was pleased to know her daughter had so many accomplishments and that we thought of her so highly, and yet she warned there would be bloodshed and a betrayal before Eleanor could be officially recognised as the future ruler of Camelot. When I woke I was fully aware that, although it had not been a message directly from my gods, the dream had been a message from my own subconscious, my subconscious that had somewhere, long ago, stored the knowledge that the final years of Arthur's reign were to be fraught with turmoil, feuds and death.

I decided to leave this warning from Arthur's mind for a short while, there was much to think of with his upcoming birthday and yet these revolutionary moments were to be set in motion and partially resolved before we even reached those celebrations. For when a fever of anxiety, passion or anger inflames a proportion of a court it does not take long for that fever to boil over into rebellion.