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Essay On Christing

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He struggled to remain engaged in conversation with his men, and his gaze kept shifting to Guinevere. Something about her seemed…off. She smiled and responded to questions, but something about her facial expression hinted she was in discomfort. Smiles did not quite reach her eyes, and she rolled her neck like she was suffering from a mild headache. Alis took Guinevere by the arm away from the group and whispered something in her ear. Her hands sliding to her belly, the queen nodded and winced. Arthur was just about to approach when Guinevere giggled and Alis rubbed her back. Perhaps Guinevere’s back ached, as it had of late, or she had indigestion from the rich meal. “Sire, did you hear what I said?” Gawain gestured with his tankard …show more content…

“Fetch Mary, someone start boiling water, warm blankets before the fire, and…whatever else needs to happen, make it happen,” he told no one in particular. “Please, Arthur, don’t go into a frenzy,” said Guinevere. “It’ll be fine.” “Sire, come with us.” Perceval gestured to the door. “Well pass the time in the meeting chamber down the corridor for your rooms. That way, you’ll be close by when your child arrives.” Arthur hated it when he could not control a situation, but since he was not a midwife, what was there left for him to do? It was not as if he could offer his expertise. However, he could offer his wife support during this painful time, but Mary had expressed to him (repeatedly) that his presence in the birthing chamber was not “desirable.” Perceval had been in the room for his son’s birth and passed out, which caused quite the disturbance. Ulrich had barged his way into his child’s birth, too, and had been decidedly more stalwart, but Mary had grown fed up with men in her way while she worked, and Arthur did not want to irritate one of the two women who would be responsible for seeing his child into the world safely. “Come along, sire,” Gawain urged. “No need to be so tense.” “Really, Gawain?” Drea rolled her eyes. “If my time comes, you’ll be docile?” “Wallace and I will be in the tavern, where we belong.” “Rubbish,” said Ulrich. “You’ll be pacing the corridors, sweating and having to be propped up by me, Perceval, and Lionel.”

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