Arthur had lost track of time. He'd confined himself to his chambers, telling all others that he was not to be disturbed. He'd locked the doors, not wanting to see anyone as he processed what he had been told. It was not the first time he had been told it, and it was not the first time he had believed it. But this time . . . he knew it was the truth. His uncle had moved here to help support Arthur as he assumed the role of acting king, and he had told him. Told him, of the truth about his birth. Last time, it had been Morgause, using memories of his mother to manipulate him. But this time . . . what reason did Agravaine have to lie? It was his sister and . . . she was dead, because of magic.
Arthur had not even realized until well after that he had been crying. Tears that fell for what Morgana had done, her betrayal. Tears for the lies his father had told. Tears . . . for the loss of his mother. Now knowing it was so much worse. She was dead because of magic. Arthur was here because of magic. What deemed it evil? What deemed it good? The conflict made his heart ache. He had thought it bad enough that he kept Morgana's true birth from them but now . . . there were more lies that were unravelling and Arthur could not ignore them. It may have been hours that had passed but eventually,
Arthur rose to his feet and left his room. Determination was on his face, and he ignored all voices that tried to get his attention as he made his way down the halls. It was night, most would be asleep and . . . he was going to confront of his father. He had to. And, his father was not the only one he was going to confront. For after Agravaine had told him, Arthur spoke to Gaius and he had found out even more disturbing news. That Agravanie and Uther were not the only ones who knew the truth.
But right now, it was his father who was foremost on Arthur's mind. He went without stopping, entering the king's chambers right away, closing the door behind him. Marching towards him and then . . . Arthur froze. His eyes just lay on his father who had fallen asleep in his chair, staring out the window. The man who had lied to him his entire life and yet . . . seeing him in this state, still hurt. How naive Arthur must be; how foolish, how stupid, how . . . weak. To not even be able to confront his father in his lies. Morgana had broken his heart, killed his spirit. What good would come of this? Yet, the anger and hurt was so strong in the prince . . . and he didn't know how to channel his emotions. Where to channel them. The only thing that made him stop staring at his father, was the movement in the room, realizing, that Guinevère was in there too.
Guinevère hummed to herself softly has she arranged some bright flowers on Uther's table. She hoped it gave the pale room some life, so that it could cheer up here some. She looked over at Uther, who was sleeping int he chair, and then walked over to make up the bed. Some order was coming back to to the room. Not that it ever lost order, but it helped make it look like it was the room of a king . . . not a sick old man.
Uther, the man who killed her father, and had done so much against her was slowly dying. She could see him get worse and on rare days get better. She had every right to hate him, yet . . . she didn't. His daughter hadn't killed his body but she'd killed his mind. Besides, he was the father of the man she loved. How could she hate him?
Walking over to the wardrobe she pulled some clean clothes out. She'd ask his manservant to help get him changed and bathed soon. Somethings she didn't do, but staying with Uther was most of her job now. She made sure he ate and moved around some. She read to him, and talked to him. Nothing ever important. Looking up when Arthur walked in, she smiled brightly. Speaking of the mans he loved . . .
Though, his face held something. Something was wrong. She could see it right away. Stepping forward, she held his father's shirt in her hands bunching it. "Arthur?" She asked, reaching one hand out to his arm.
Arthur belatedly heard her say his name; feel her touch. He felt . . . numb. His heart ached with every beat. Was it not bad enough that Morgana had done this to him? Why did his father have to keep such lies too? He didn't even know what to say in this moment as he just stared at him. Usually, he would ask how he was. How his day progressed. Whether there were any improvements. But tonight, all he could do was stare at the broken man, feeling conflicted. The urge to strike him like last time was not as strong.
But, Arthur wished he could confront him. Wished he could have a conversation with him about it. Yet it seemed . . . his father was in no state to do so. And that hurt even more. Arthur's jaw clenched, knowing he was just staring at him, and that Guinevère was waiting. Unlike his father, he could not keep secrets from the people he loved. As easy as it was for them to keep things from him. He knew he would have to confront Merlin at some point to, but not right now. Not until he could get a better handle of his emotions. "So many lies," Arthur said, thinking out loud. "They spread like a disease." He hadn't even realize that tears had reformed in his eyes. "And infect those around." Nor did he realize when one of those tears made it's way down his cheek.
Guinevère saw the emotion, and heard his words. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It worried her that he spoke of lies and looked so . . . lost? Sad? Conflicted? She wasn't sure. SHe only knew that something had happened, and it was weighing heavy on on him. Perhaps more then everything else of late. Or even ti was all laying heavy on him.
She turned to toss Uther's shirt on the bed, and then stepped before her love, "Come with me," she asked of him, not wanting his father to see him like this. Not for Uther's sake, but for Arthurs. Reaching for him, her hands rested on his arms as she turned him toward the door. Whatever was wrong, she would help him. Sometimes it was only listening, sometimes it was helping, sometimes it was comfort. Yet whatever he needed, she would be. "Let us go to your chambers," she asked of him, needing to be where she could hold him, and hear him. Guinevère took his hand, and led him toward the door--well aware that he he didn't wish to go, she'd never be able to move him.
Arthur wasn't even certain he had heard Guinevère's words. He just numbly followed, void of any thought of where they were going. The need to confront his father slowly disappearing in the wake of seeing his state. It was unfair, surely. That after everything, Arthur's deserved answer may never happen. That any explanation he was owed, he was robbed of. Surely . . . he deserved that. But as was the case with Morgana, he was not given one. Circumstance taking the place of it all and he had to act as if it was alright. Because Camelot, needed a king.
But now more than ever, he felt the furthest thing from being content. This, was not something he wished to remain unspoken. Yet, what choice was there? He hadn't even quite realized that they had entered his room though something, snapped him out of whatever mental trance he was in, plagued by his own thoughts and emotions. Morgana's lies. Uther's lies. Gaius' lies. Merlin's lies. "His lies have destroyed so much," Arthur said, clearly deep in thought. The lies started with his father, and in the process, unravelled to everyone else's containment of the truth.
Guinevère Pulled him into his chambers and shut the door behind them. Uther's lies? Arthur loved his father, but Guinevère though him a poor example of a father. Tom had been a good father. He loved his children, and would do anything for them. Yes, he was hard on Elyan; and but he wasn't Uther hard on Elyan. Even if Arthur had needed to prepare himself for being a prince, and a king--Uther could have done it better with love.
Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the bed. She helped him sit, and then sat beside him, turning her body to face him. The bed was the only thing they could sit this close on, so she'd taken it. "Somethings happened, you've upset," she acknowledged, reaching for his hand and bring it over to her lap. "What lie?" Squeezing his hand she hoped it helped him remember that she was here for him. Always. No matter what he had just found out.
Arthur still felt as if he was in some sort of trance. The family that he had known for his entire life . . . were ones that held such secrets and betrayal. How was this possible? How could he share the blood of such . . . cruelty? The man he called father. The woman he called sister. And yet, the ones that other called tyrants. There was a strong sense of loathing that he felt for them right now, and he hated that he did. How could he be so angry with his father when he was already a broken man? Arthur did not look at Guinevère . . . he was even only half aware that she was speaking, taking his hand, asking him.
Though her touch slowly brought him back to the reality of this moment. The gentle squeeze always a comfort. Yet it made it no easier to speak the words. Still. He wished to be honest with her. It seemed, she was the only one he could be honest with for all others . . . held their own web of lies. "I was . . . " He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, the magnitude of his words still not fully processed. But there was no denying it. No avoiding it. He just had to come out and say it. "Born of magic," he finally stated, the weight of them as an anchor. Holding him down. Trapping him. Drowning him.
She'd heard these words before. Though at the time they had been different. "I do not understand," she said softly, trying to keep him talking. Once, a long time ago, he had come to her hurting because of a lie. Morgoause, a witch of the old religion, had shown him his mother who had died. Arthur had been born of magic she said; and Arthur believing her had marched on his father in anger--and nearly killed him until Merlin stopped him. Merlin reviling that Morgoause had lied. Arthur had come to Guinevère after, and opened up to her about the events.
Which was why she was confused to hear the words once again. "Uther lied?" She asked, trying to figure out what happened. "You spoke to him today?" When she wasn't sure. She had been there most the morning. Uther had not been well, sleeping most of the day. When he was awake he wanted nothing to do with company. Refusing food, and to even speak to anyone. "We've heard this before, Arthur. She lied that day. Didn't she?"
He had indeed lied. Arthur had asked his father to swear to him, and Uther had. And . . . it was untrue. He swore to him, and lied directly to him and the knowledge of that, hurt more than Arthur could say. "Agravaine told me," Arthur managed to get out. His uncle. "I did not want it to be true," Arthur added, shaking his head a little, still trying to come to terms with this revelation. "But I . . . asked Gaius." Because Gaius knew of Camelot's past. Of it's history. And he knew the king best.
"He knew." Arthur paused, another tear escaping him at the pain of the next reveal. "Merlin knew." And it had been Merlin who had talked him down. Told him it was a lie. But all this time . . . he had known. Was there anyone who had not lied to him? How could others keep such things from him? "She was telling me the truth." Arthur never thought that the only one who told him the truth . . . would have been Morgause. Whether it was really his mother or not, he didn't know. What he did know, was that he had been manipulated, by the people he cared most about.
Gaius knew? Merlin knew?! Merlin had been the one to confirm that it was a lie last time. When had Merlin learned it wasn't a lie? Guinevère only had more questions after Arthur explained, but she knew this wasn't the time to push him for answers. He could barely speak of it right now. And she wondered if he had sought out his father for a confrontation?
Pushing to a stand, she moved before him, and wrapped her arms around him. He was hurting, and even if she didn't understand, she knew enough to know what he needed the most from this moment. He needed comfort. She kissed his face, and moved to pull him tighter into a hug. Then, a thought came to her. "If she had not lied . . . then did you really meet your mother that day?" It wasn't what was upsetting him, but she wondered if he had thought of it.
Once he was able, she would ask him to share the events of today. She would question how Merlin came to know.
How Guinevère always managed to know exactly what to do to comfort him, he didn't know. But he basked in it, enjoying the sensation of her touch, of the way her arms felt around him. Her question was indeed one had he had considered. He liked to think . . . his mother would not speak so ill of his father. But then, look at how Morgana had turned out. "I don't know," he practically breathed. Morgause clearly had ulterior motives but . . . what was true? What was not?
"I feel I don't know anything anymore." His family were but strangers to him. Looking at them now, how they turned out, a lifetime spent with them yet they were complete strangers. "Only that the Pendragon name is stained with lies and deceit." That what he thought to be a family, was not a family. That they were raised on deception and falsities. Morgana was his true sister. He was born of magic. Uther was . . . Arthur closed his eyes again, realizing he was leaning more and more into Guinevère's touch. "So many lies." Repeating the words of earlier today. Perhaps, he was finally processing everything that had happened. Yet, it still didn't answer the question of how they could have kept this from him.
She continued to hold him, trying to think of what to say to comfort him; yet knowing that this was something that would only take time. Time to accept the changes, and his inability to do anything about it. This would affect him for the rest of his life, but there wasn't anything he could actually do about it--which she imagined made him feel helpless. He could not even confront this father, who he loved. Perhaps that was a blessing, since the last time he found out he reacted with anger.
"Perhaps it was a spell. Maybe she knew what happened to your mother, and sought to use it against you, knowing you'd go back and confront your father." These words weren't meant to help, as they only led into her next ones, "Yet you had the chance to see you're mother's face. Something you've only see in paintings. You take the memory with you, and find something to take from this. Hold that." Not many got to see their parent's face if they died in birth. Paintings were only so good. "The rest we will deal with . . . together, Arthur. Let me help you." She wanted him to express what he was feeling. Admit he was angry with his father, let him get it out of his mind to ease his soul.
Arthur shook his head a little when Guinevère suggested that perhaps it was a spell, and that she knew what happened to his mother . . . that she had planned to use it against him. "That is what I was told last time," he told her. "If only to prevent what I would have done to my father." Kill him. Arthur had been so overcome with anger, he felt as if he was not himself. Having lost all control and rationality. "It was a lie," he said. "It was all a lie." His voice pained more than angry. How many lies infected his family? It started with one and just spread like a disease, infecting everyone and spreading. He only wished he could find solace in Guinevère's words.
Though the question of whether that was actually his mother re-emerged in his mind. He had dismissed the possibility after believing it was all a ploy. But now . . . what if it had actually been her? "She spoke so ill of my father," he said in a quiet voice. Did his mother hate him too? "I can't believe . . . " His voice caught, another tear slipping from his eyes. "How is my family so full of, hate." His father. Morgana. His mother. So much hate for each other. Did Agravaine feel the same resentment? A family that Arthur had always believed held love, was now filled with lies, betrayal, and unwavering hatred. "I don't know how to deal with this Guinevère," he admitted to her. Yet, there was the constant comfort in her words. That he was not alone. Even though he knew it was better for everyone else that he was. So that no one else need be infected by the Pendragon name.
My name is Catherine by the way; Call me Kate. *Smiles* You're lucky to have your mother, I ... wish I had at least someone I can talk to, You know? At least i have Arthur. *sits by the window and looks out*
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