A/N: Okay... So... There is humour in this, but please, humour readers, take note - that is not the primary purpose of this fic. That being said, it's not a sad story, it's just not side-splittingly satirical... This idea just popped into my head and I thought it would be nice, since I am always complaining about the lack of Gwen-centric fiction... Hope you like it! It's my take on what I think the future will be like for the Queen of Camelot. If you do like it, and are interested in there being any more, then please review and let me know! If you don't like it, you may register your opinion, because I am an advocate of free speech (but please don't be nasty!)

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"Why is Uncle Merlin cutting holes in the King's trousers?"

Guinevere was a little stumped as to how to explain the situation to young Galahad, who was regarding her with a somewhat unimpressed expression sitting squarely in the middle of his face.

She sighed, and patted the space on the bed beside her, wriggling over on the slippery sheets to make room, and then rethinking her decision and wriggling over a little more. After all, the boy was not as small as he had once been.

Galahad paused slightly to consider whether or not he ought to; he was a bit old for all that now…

But then Gwen smiled at him, her eyes lighting up with an impossible warmth that had been known to charm far better men than Galahad; he really didn't stand a chance against that grin…

He bounded over to the bed, snuggling down into her torso, enjoying the familiar motherly scent of lavender that enveloped him as he nestled into the delicately embroidered fabric of her dress.

"Why is Uncle Merlin cutting holes in the King's trousers?" he repeated, his voice somewhat muffled as his lips were pressed into her stomach.

Gwen chuckled, her laughter causing both of them to jiggle comfortably. "Merlin simply misses the King… He just has a funny way of showing it…"

"A very funny way."

She laughed again, this time causing the bed to shake with her giggles. "Yes…"

"Has Uncle Merlin always been so strange?"

"Oh, definitely! Strange in the best possible way, you understand," she told him, tapping the end of his nose with her finger.

Galahad contemplated this, as he tried to bury his face further into Gwen, who reciprocated his actions with a loving kiss on the top of his head.

They sat there companionably, enjoying the fact that someone somewhere along the line had had the good sense to position the bed in just the right spot so that the sunlight warmed it perfectly through the window.

Eventually, Galahad spoke, rushing all of his words out in a mix of tears and innocence that cannot be imitated by anyone over the age of twelve, "I want my father to come home!" he insisted, as though there was something Gwen could do about it.

Gwen's heart ached for the poor little boy, and she wrapped her arms far more tightly around him, humming a soothing peasant's tune to the tiny noble.

"I want your father to come home too," she assured him as she felt his childish tears wet her bodice. "I want them all to come home…"

"You want the King to come home."

It was not a question. It was a statement. It was the sort of statement that, if it were a person, would have a long, straight face, and would be folding its arms, trying to stare you down.

"Yes," Gwen agreed, letting out all her fears for Arthur's wellbeing with a soft sigh that tore at her throat as it escaped from her. "Of course."

She felt the child wrinkle his nose, a sign that he was thinking, she knew. "Do you love him?" he asked, his voice adopting a boldness that sounded like it might crumple if he received the wrong answer.

Galahad knew that Gwen was smiling. "With all my heart."

In a much quieter voice he inquired, "Do you love me?"

She squeezed him so tight that he would have complained, if it wasn't so comforting. "How could anybody not love you?" she whispered into his ear, trying to smile away his worries.

"How can you love me if you love him with all your heart?"

There was an awkward pause as Gwen's words flew back in her face.

She probably should have seen that coming.

"Oh, Galahad…" Gwen looked up imploringly at the ceiling, willing it to help her.

The ceiling did nothing.

To be honest, she would probably have been concerned if it had done something.

She scowled at the unhelpful ceiling, which merely stared blandly back at her. They would have words later…

"Love isn't like that. You don't have a certain amount of love that can be used up. Love grows; for every person that comes into your life, there is more love in your heart especially for them," here she poked his shoulder, to drive the point home. "No one can ever run out of love."

"I wish you were my mother, Gwen."

Gwen sighed, leaning back a little on the mattress. Their conversations always ended up here…

"Your mother was wonderful, Galahad. Ask anybody. She was a dear friend. Your poor father…"

"He never talks about her," Galahad admitted, his voice trembling.

"Well…" Gwen began, stroking the top of his head. "She was beautiful… Lady Elaine… The fairest blonde hair, the sweetest smile and the most sparkly eyes in the world. Just. Like. Yours. She was so good and loyal; all the people adored her… She was never without a kind word for anybody. There was hardly a thing she wouldn't do for people. And she would have loved you…"

From Galahad's quiet snoring, it was clear that, at some point during Gwen's speech, he had dozed off.

She pressed a reassuring kiss into his cheek, and sat back to stare at the unfriendly ceiling, wondering how long it would be this time before Arthur was returned to her.