For The Love Of A Pendragon.

Chapter Seventeen...Four Years In The Making...

Nimue and Arthur

Chapter…Seventeen...Four Years In The Making...

Four years passed and weather permitting; I would visit Mordred every two weeks. Sometimes the family would be in Camelot and so Lady Nerys would instead bring the children to me. We would meet in my old chambers so not to be overheard and talk for hours on end about Camelot’s economic positon and the welfare and growth of our children.  I quickly grew to like Lady Nerys; we celebrated Mordred and Eleanor’s first birthday’s combined and it was then that I took her to one side after the gathering and repaid her kindness with the truth. Mordred had started talking and referred to me as a lady, I knew she would notice sooner or later and so taking her into our secret seemed the only sensible and right thing to do.

The moment I told her she saw me as I really am thus there was no chance of her suspecting me of falsehood. Although it was my own wish to speak the truth to her it was also needed for she had heard Mordred addressing me and this had confused her. At first she had taken it simply as a mistake on the young child’s part, but he was too small to understand secrecy and so I was partially forced into my explanation. Although she had never met me as Lady Gwenivere or as Nimue she was clearly overjoyed to find me alive. Not only that but her regard for Arthur rose too. She had previously been somewhat ill at ease around the king believing that he had disgraced his dear wife so soon after her death by sleeping with the servant who she had been told had conceived Mordred. Her mind at ease about us all she suddenly connected all the tangled webs of lies that she had been fed. Understanding dawning, she asked me a great many questions which I willing answered.

After that we often took one another into our confidence about things which caused us fear and concern. She would ask my advice on the children, on the running of the household, if her husband was in a rage for no reason she would seek me out and ask about the deeper issues of governing Camelot that might be troubling him. She was the most kindly, honest, well natured woman I had ever met and I was constantly glad to note the positive change that, for the most part, had come over Sir Cei since their marriage.

                A few months later she sought my words of wisdom, feeling that she may be pregnant once again. I confirmed her hope and furthered her happiness when I saw in the crystal cave that she would give birth to a strong and healthy son. Seven months later she did just that. I attended her birth and, to keep with appearances, appointed the child’s guardian father after the king.  

The years went quickly; Camelot was largely rebuilt, our children growing well, healthy both physically and mentally. Cei, though still a fine warrior had mellowed in temperament, he started to resemble more his father, sound in judgement and honourable. One day he took me aside and offered sincere apologises for how he had acted toward me in the past. I accepted them readily, I was tiring of old feuds and I felt it time we moved into the new age.

There was one thing missing however – a legitimately recognised Prince of Camelot. Despite fulfilling his role of husband Arthur had yet to beget with the Lady Gwenivere with child. She fretted and cried about it to her ladies, and to me, as court physician and advisor constantly. I would assure her again and again that if only she relaxed she would soon conceive. But such importance was placed upon the birth of a child that the queen seemed unable to relax. I felt genuinely sorry for her. Although I loved Arthur, although I knew that Lady Gwenivere could never know my secret, although I would always love my son above any other royal offspring, I felt her sorrow as my own. This was made worse when I became pregnant for the second time when Augustus, Lady Nerys son was a year old. Our whole company, except perhaps Percy, were overjoyed at the prospect of another royal child and Arthur and Sir Cei began making plans for how the child would be cared for.

All this planning was pointless however, at six months I miscarried and lay confined to bed, at Sir Cei’s manor for two weeks until I felt well enough to travel once more.

…

On Augusts’ third birthday we held a small celebration in the gardens of the manor. The grounds were starting to mature, ivy snaking its way over the front of the building. A new gatehouse had been built, orchards established and a decorative moat had been built around the main house. Only the company who now knew of the truth were invited to the celebration to allow me freedom and also ensure the children did not give away the secret.

Arthur, Cei, Nerys, Percy, Lucile and Troilus were all present and Drusilla and Ector had travelled down from the north also. They had decided to make the move permanent, so that in their twilight years they could happily enjoy the company of their sons and grandchildren. The servants had all been given the day off and so the grounds were peaceful, as we sat in the tranquility listening to the birds and the children’s laughter. I should have seen then that the pure innocence and joy of our happy family was soon to be shattered, nothing that beautiful lasts forever…

…

The darkness began to draw in and we moved inside where my brother and I built a fire in the hearth whilst Percy fetched the wine and my dear wife settled the children on the rug in front of the warmth. My sister in law was helped into a chair by my mother; Nerys was already filling with her third child. I watched them wistfully for a moment, Nimue and I had lost our second child nearly two years before and I still could not forget the look of pain and exhaustion on her face as she delivered our unborn child. It was had been a little girl, a sister for Mordred, a princess. I sighed sadly and continued with the task at hand.

Nimue stood and turned to me, a smile illuminating her face. ‘Do not look so sad my love,’ she whispered guessing at my thoughts. She raised her hand to my cheek. ‘The gods will bless us again, they have told me so.’

Hope filled me and I bent my head to kiss her lightly on her lips. She laughed and swatted me playfully away.

                ‘Mother can we have a story please?’ Mordred asked, tugging at her skirt and grinning up at us with as much hope and admiration as filled my eyes every time I looked at my beautiful wife.

                Bending down fluidly she lifted him into her arms, tickled his stomach making him giggle and then kissed his forehead before replacing him on the woollen rug with the rest.

                ‘Of course my darlings,’ she cooed. ‘What story would you like?’

                ‘Castles,’ demanded Augustus.

                ‘Magic,’ inserted Mordred with a knowing smile. We had already discovered in him Nimue’s gift, but it would be a few years before she could begin his instruction.

                ‘And a battle,’ added Augustus decisively.

                ‘Can there be a princess?’ asked Eleanor quietly after a moment’s pause. She was a dear child, quieter than the two boys but no less intelligent. In time she would develop a sharp wit and an ability to read people with ease. She grew happily attached to Nimue in the following years, and it amused the court to see her trailing round after the eldest chief councillor and physician devotedly, asking questions about everything that intrigued her.

                Nimue smiled, ‘I know just the story,’ she laughed. By this point the rest of our company had returned, wine was served and chairs for all pulled up around the fireplace. Warm against the unseasonal chill she began.

                At first the children watched her intently but she quickly redirected them to gaze at the fire. Without words she enchanted the flames, forming first patterns which then evolved into defined buildings and people and galloping horses. She told them our story, right from the very beginning. She began with the day they had seen Sir Ector riding on the city and then everything that had happened after that, omitting only the pieces that were too dull or sensitive for the ears of children. As the flames flickered in time with her rhythmic story telling we had no way of knowing that this perfect image of tranquil domesticity was not to last.