Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

The feast was drawing to a close. It had gone fairly well, with no interruptions. It had all been in honor of one man: Sir Lancelot. For it had been four years ago today that he had given his life for the good of the kingdom. Something that Arthur still felt guilt over, as he had been meant to take that position. But his actions were not done in vain. He would be honored every year for his heroic actions. He had given a speech in honor of the man, commemorating his actions and giving a mention to his wife and child. Over the years, Arthur had learned to separate his emotions from himself. He could not afford to be over emotional; he had to remain a strong king. And it was why he had been able to say her name so formally. Why he could look at her and not have that same longing look in his eyes he had for years . . . until his marriage to Elena. All that had come to an end when he'd married another woman. One he still did not love in the same way.

Elena was his wife, and he cared for her a great deal, but it was not love. He knew what true love was, and it was not what he felt for her. He knew he would never love another woman . . . he knew that when he walked down the aisle that day. But today was not about lamenting his past decisions. He had enough troubles to deal with. The recent miscarriage of his wife for starters. It had been joyous news that the kingdom would have an heir . . . but the news had not lasted for all too long. For it had been a miscarriage all this time. Elena had wished to spend time with her father to heal, once she was well enough to travel. And Arthur of course had no objections to this. It was why the chair next to him had been vacant, for she was back home for the time being. He had escorted her to Gawant, but only stayed for a few days needing to come back to take care of business in Camelot. This however was not the only cause of Arthur's stress. Though he had tried extend a hand of peace to as many kingdoms as he could, they were on the brink of war right now. Four years of trying to attain peace and one wrong decision could undo all that he had been trying to build.

To add to this, Aggravaine's betrayal taken a toll on the young king as well. He had been lying to him for so many years . . . as Morgana had once done. It just reaffirmed Arthur's earlier developed philosophy of why he could not be emotionally invested with anyone. Why he had to distance himself from the others. He could not have best friends, he could not be with the woman he loved . . . he had to remain strong and sure. Confident in his decisions. He was void of emotion, but not mercy. He still exercised all that he believed in and would continue to build the kingdom towards a strong prosperous ones through peace. But tonight was not about him expressing all that was troubling him. He could never do that. So on the surface, everything was fine. Everyone had enjoyed the feast and some nobles were already retiring to their chambers. Arthur was standing to say goodnight to a few, when he noticed in the corner of his eye that Guinevère was standing alone, near the exit of the room.

She looked as if she was getting ready to leave. He knew this could not be easy for her. His eyes darted about looking to see if any of the other knights -- the ones she was particularly close to -- or Merlin was around. But they seemed to be keeping themselves occupied, still enjoying the never ending supply of wine. Arthur decided to take this opportunity to speak with her. To offer some support should she need it. He excused himself from the current two nobles he was with and made his way over to hear. "Guinevère," he greeted formally, wondering if it would ever get easier on his heart to look at her and not feel such a sharp pain. He had gotten accustomed to showing no sign of it, but that did not mean he didn't feel it. He knew the moment he'd married Elena that his heart had broken, and there was no repairing it. It was impossible to mend, and that was why it had been easier to suppress his emotions; more than he did before. "May I walk you to your chambers?" he offered, as a friendly escort. They were far past this phrase holding a different meaning, one of more suggestiveness.


_{Setting: In the castle
Time of Day: Night time
Timeline: Four Years after Lancelot's Death
What If: Arthur had married Elena and Guinevère had married Lancelot. Four years after Lancelot's death, and with Arthur as king, will Arthur and Guinevère find a way back to each other?
Tag: Guinevère}

[Guinevère]

On the outside, she had a soft smile.

Guinevère was not sure how she managed not to cry at each of these tributes to Lancelot. Every time the day grew closer she withdrew into her self a little. Bracing for the day and sealing her self off for the night. She would not cry here, where all could see her. In fact, over the years she had gotten rather good at maintaining a pleasant but slightly distant look. One that was warm, and kind but did not make people feel drawn to her as the servant's smile had done.

Her dress was a new one, one of a lavender color and high quality, and her hair hung around her face in curls in the same boring style she had let it be in since she stopped caring about the new styles. Outside she looked like the perfect lady she knew she wasn't.

On the inside she was screaming.

There had only been three times since she'd found this emotional safe place, that the outward smiles and polite conversation had been overcome. Three time that others had seen past the lies she'd learn to tell. No more, no less. All other times, she had managed to not let some things rock her core.

The years had been long but she'd learned to face them with her head up. For Thomas. He was the reason she did not leave Camelot now. Because this was his world, and he had the chance to become a knight and serve his king as his father had done. She'd not remove that from him.

Tonight she felt close to breaking. There was that pinch behind her eyes, and tightness in her thought that hinted of crying. If she could make it to her room, no one would see. "Guinevère," She paused for a moment, to gather her strength before turning to look up at him. "My lord." "May I walk you to your chambers?" she glanced back to where her brother was with his friends, and did not have the heart to pull him away. "Please, it seems my brother has been distracted." She said politely and distantly.

It was the first time she had seen him since his return from Gwant. Even before then really, for they did not often find themselves together even in public settings.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Please, it seems my brother has been distracted." That was all Arthur needed to hear. He gave a short nod and extended his hand forward, motioning for her to step out of the hall first, before he followed suit. He walked alongside her, their pace not moving too quickly nor too slowly. He seldom found himself alone with her, even if it was something as simple as walking down the hallway. Their current lives were very independent from each other, and yet intertwined. At least on his part. He maintained a strong formality between them, in the way he walked next to her, in the way he spoke to her . . . for any sort of vulnerability, regardless of who he was with, was a strong weakness he could not afford. And he had manged to maintain this sort of persona for years: since his wedding day. To break now, would only jeopardize everything he has became.

Every ounce of pain he had to overcome in order to be who he was now. "My condolences to you and your son on this day." It was the polite thing to say after all, and tried to personally express his condolence every year. Only this year, it was the first time he was walking her to her chambers . . . the first time he had expressed his condolences alone to her. "As always, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask." He loved her, and would always love her . . . but he was not making this offer only as a man in love. He was making it as a man who was responsible for her husband's death. And because he genuinely wanted to make sure all was well with her; that she was being well taken care of even in Lancelot's absence. It had been years, but when you truly love a person . . . you never stop grieving for them when they are gone.

And Arthur knew he would never stop mourning for her. He had started to distance himself when he married Elena, knowing it was inappropriate to be seen with Guinevère, alone. But what had really marked the end for him . . . was when she'd married Lancelot. The moment he saw them peering down at them from the cliff, he knew in his heart what would happen. While Arthur had been the first to marry, she had followed . . . marrying the man that she had loved before him. Her wedding had been more difficult than his own. Seeing her commit her life to another man, to a man who'd been her first love . . . had hurt more than he ever could have imagined. And he knew a bit like what she must have felt like when he'd married Elena. Her wedding had marked the end of Arthur and Guinevère . . . though not in his heart. Only physically. For he could no longer be in denial about the situation. They both moved on in their lives and it was time to stop wishing otherwise.

From that point on, he vowed not to get close to anyone, not to let himself be dependent on anyone. But he'd not learned his lesson for when his uncle came, he had heavily relied on him for guidance and council. And now, that had yet thrown Arthur into a pit of despair. He would never learn. But he had to. He had to realize that he was alone in ruling this kingdom. That a king did not allow his emotions get the best of him. Not when he marries another woman and lays in bed with her at night, wishing that he was actually with the woman he loves, and hating himself for thinking of another apart from his wife on such a night. Not when he watches the woman he loves devote her life and heart to another man, a better man. Not when he witnesses her hold a child; a miracle created out of the love two people share for each other.

Not when he has lost a sister, a father, an uncle, and an unborn child, all in the span of over a year. No. Arthur was no longer the man he was. Each experience had hardened him, made him stronger . . . made him less, submissive to anything and anyone. He had to remain composed in all aspects. Which was why he was able to walk alongside her now. Not looking at her in that same affectionate way that he once did. Not holding her hand, or playfully teasing her. Only expressing his condolence and regret for one of the greatest men he knew, and wished with all his heart that he could take his place. Just to spare Guinevère and Thomas from having to grieve for their loved one.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère could still remember his wedding, and how he'd looked. How she'd watched and forced her self to smile even as tears had fell at the end. Everyone assumed that she was crying for the joy of being able to witness the wedding, but in her heart she had been breaking. She had watched him swear to be with another woman, and knew she'd lost him there. With Arthur's marriage and Morgana's distance, her and Merlin had become almost imperceptible. Though every time she saw him, or Morgana has 'asked' her to deliver something to her 'friend' she had broken a little more.

It only hurt more that Elena turned into a beautiful swan. She could not bring her self to hate someone so nice. Guinevère never grew close to her, as she spent all her free time with Gauis and her brother who had come home shortly there after. Back from the dead. Even then, any breakfast she had to serve, and could not get out of she learned to distance her self in. She'd learned to not look at them, and Merlin--bless him--saved her when he could.

"My condolences to you and your son on this day." Her heart beat so hard in that moment she wondered if it either burst from her chest painfully to broke. "As always, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask." Even now, Arthur's presence hurt her though she'd learn to hide it. Years of practice. "No. Nothing." She spoke softly, sounding as if he asked if she was cold rather then not breaking down.

Her own wedding was another story. When Morgana had taken over the kingdom, Lancelot had come back. After he was knighted and agreed to stay in the kingdom as a knight to serve under Arthur as he had always wanted to do, they'd grown close. He'd been kind and she'd needed someone to support her. She feared every day he would know she loved another more. Yet he seemed happy. . . . and for a while, they were. A short while. A few months after they'd taken the kingdom back, he'd asked her to marry him.

Agreeing, they had married in the wildflower field with all their friends--noble and common--surrounding them. She'd worn flowers n her hair and by the end of the day, had been a nervous wreak. She'd loved him, but she'd loved another more. . . .

[Arthur Pendragon]

"No. Nothing." He remained silent, respectful of that. She seldom asked him for anything, and he understood her reasons for not doing so. It was why he would not push her now, not even for conversation when she seemed on the brink of tears. His only duty was to escort her to her chambers, bid her goodnight, and start a new day. He had become so focused on his responsibilities as king, that he'd not spend time just relaxing, or joking around with friends. The time for such childish moments of fun was gone. The biggest 'break' from his role as king he received was escorting Elena to Gawant, and even then . . . it was far from pleasant. The couple were devastated by the loss of their child, and he knew how upset she was by it too. The journey had been filled with tears and sadness, that he was grateful she would have family nearby -- her father whom she was ever so close to. It would help her heal and when the time came, he would return to bring her back to Camelot.

The thought of children was something that brought him both joy and sadness. Joy, because he wanted someone to love; someone that he could love. Someone that he was expected to love. He would not have to worry about betrayal, or lies, or impossibility in seeing that person . . . he could just have a son or daughter that he would raise as his own. That would be the heir to this kingdom. That would give him the proud title of father. After all the losses of loved ones, he needed a child. He felt he was heavily relying on bringing one into this world not only for the kingdom's sake, but for his own. This was what would bring him joy, he knew that. For at this point, nothing else had the potential to make him feel alive again. Yet, it brought sadness to him to . . . for he knew years ago, that he had wanted children with Guinevère. He loved Elena, but not in the way a husband should unconditionally love their wife.

He loved her as a companion; as a strong friend. But, his future was written. She would be the mother to his children -- god willing -- and he had to come to terms with that. That Thomas was Guinevère and Lancelot's son, and unless she remarried another man, Lancelot would be the only father Thomas ever knew. Arthur would never be father to her children, even though he had so desperately wanted nothing more than that. But life was not about getting what you wanted. He remembered Guinevère's exact words on the day she had come to him and told him to marry Elena: you can't always have what you want. And she was absolutely right. He'd been naive to think otherwise, to make himself believe that everything would work out. He was married to a wonderful woman, but . . . in terms of love, she was incomparable to his true heart's desires. Ones that he had let go of a long time ago, yet they still lingered for he would never stop loving the woman he walked alongside now.

[Guinevère]

Her own wedding night, had been far from a dream come true. Arthur had attended the wedding, along with his wife. Knowing he was there had caused her heart to break all over again. She'd managed to smile and try but by the time Lancelot had taken her into their room she'd felt on the edge of panic. He'd kissed her, and began to remove her dress, and she broke. She cried and cried like she'd not cried for the true loss of Arthur before. She never said a word that night, but they both knew why.

It had taken a full week before they could be relaxed around each other again. On the next night they tried . . . .

It got easier to bare, with Lancelot's kindness. When she found her self heavy with his child she even began looking up. Started to smile again. Truly smile! She'd be a mother! Naming the boy after her father she had been so full of joy. For the short month they'd been a family she found some happiness. Lancelot walked taller, and proud of his child. They would walk int he market and take turns holding him and even held hands sometimes. She still felt the loss of Arthur, even more so when she saw him--especially with his own wife. Yet she let her heart break be poured into love of her son. Something so perfect and wonderful! He was her baby!

"Congratulations, my lord on your recent winnings at the joust." She said, trying to fill the silence as they moved to the steps. "I hear it was close one." But she did not attend.

One the day all the knights rode out to fight Morgana's tear between the worlds she and baby Thomas and stood int he field to bid Lancelot good bye. Her regret in that moment was that Arthur had walked out leading his horse in that moment. So she'd not kissed him goodbye. Just offered a waved, and held up Thomas to be kissed by him.

Upon their return, Elyan and Merlin came to her chambers and told her of what happened. He's died a hero. A cape was burned in his honor, but his real one hung up in her son's room. To help him remember. After the crying was done for her husband, she'd found a polite smile, and soft words. she held people at a distance unless it was her son or brother or Merlin. Only three times had it ever cracked . . . .

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Congratulations, my lord on your recent winnings at the joust. I hear it was close one." It took Arthur a few moments to realize what she was talking about. Which joust she had been referring to. "Thank you," he replied politely, grateful for her congratulatory message. The joust. Jousts were a sore spot for him. While everything reminded him of Guinevère, a joust was what had caused him to fall in love with her. Those days he'd spent at her home in secret . . . wanting to prove to himself that he was capable of winning the tournament without any special treatment. That had marked a pivotal moment in their relationship. For it was when she'd give him her favor, and he'd kissed her for the first time. Arthur had carried around that favor with him for so long. Every where he went, he would take it with him . . . but eventually, he had stopped. When she married Lancelot, he knew he had to stop. But he did not have heart to throw it away. So he kept it, in his safe . . . never to be taken out.

Now in every tournament, joust or another kind, he would ask for his wife's favor, and she would always give it to him. As was expected from a king and queen. He did not often keep them, for he would get another one by the time the next joust came around. He'd only kept the one fabric from Guinevère: the two favors she'd given him and the ribbon. But it was that one favor, the first one that held a special place in his heart. And he would admit to no one that he still held on to it. Not even his wife. "I hear it was close one." She had not come. He'd noticed for even though he tried with all his might not to look for her in a crowd, his eyes still searched for her. He'd always thought that it was because he was just scanning the crowd, but when he'd noticed she was not present, he'd realized that subconsciously, he was looking for her. "The men are practicing more diligently each year." A safe conversation, somewhat. "Elyan holds great promise." A true compliment towards her brother.

Because he could not offer any compliments towards her husband. He knew that had Lancelot still been alive, he would have been a fine competitor. But he also knew that bringing up such things would be far too emotional, and Arthur was not one to get overly sentimental. It was clear she was trying to make effort for conversation, and he knew that with Guinevère, sometimes talking helped. When she was upset. As he had consoled her a few times in the past. Holding her. Wiping her tears. Offering her words. But now, everything had changed. There would always be that tension and awkwardness between them, and they'd learn to adapt to it; adjust to the point where they were able to look at each other casually. Though there was nothing casual about the way he felt every time he still looked at her. Which was why he tended to avoid her company . . . but why he would never reject it either. A strange contradiction in itself, but Arthur would never be able to describe the emotions that he felt . . . knowing full well that he should not be feeling them at all.

[Guinevère]

The first time of the three had been at the first event like tonight held in her husband's honor. She'd gotten one too many people claiming to be sorry and tell her what a great man he was, all the while she'd felt guilt for not kissing him goodbye. For watching the other man ride off, and not her husband that day. The emotional build up had been too much until Arthur and Elena had passed by her at one point and Elena had said the same words everyone had been saying. Kindly spoken but it'd been too much with Arthur looking on.

She'd cried, and hurried from the room. Merlin on her heels.

"The men are practicing more diligently each year." They seemed to do that every year now, with Morgana growing stronger and her attempts on Arthur and his kingdom getting more bold. she feared for both him and her son. Above all others. And that was another reason to feel guilty. "Elyan holds great promise." "How wonderful to hear. I know he take pride in preforming admirably. Perhaps one day Thomas will take his example." How far they'd come from their old conversations. . . .

The second time she'd broken, was just last year. Elyan had taken Thomas tot he training fields to let him watch. She'd gone to fetch him for his lunch and nap, planning to drag her brother with her and Thomas on the picnic if he had the time. When she arrived she stopped far from the field, seeing from a distance as Arthur knelt beside her son and spoke to him, even placing a hand on his small shoulder. Even from where she was she could see her son's excitement. She turned and left, letting Elyan return him later that day to her. Each time she broken down was a little worse.

The third time had been much more recent.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"How wonderful to hear. I know he take pride in preforming admirably. Perhaps one day Thomas will take his example." She was talking of her son now. There were so many things he felt towards her having a son. First and foremost, he was happy for her. Happy that she had found something that gave her so much joy. He remembered seeing her expecting . . . and having been so happy for her. Another emotion that had filled him that Arthur was not at all proud of, was jealousy. Not jealousy that she had a child, but that Lancelot was the father. It was not the kind that made him bitter towards either of them; just the kind that made the reality of their lives all the harder to deal with. He was married to Elena. He had no right to be jealous of another man's wife. But it had been the life he had wanted for so long. To be married to her; to be walking alongside her, holding his head up with pride over the thought of having a child with her. And this was the privilege that Lancelot had . . . and he more than deserved it.

Since Lancelot's death, Arthur found himself more and more drawn towards Thomas. In the sense of how he would come onto the training arena, and Arthur would speak to him, knowing that one day when he was old enough he would train him. He would teach him how to handle a sword . . . for he was already teaching him how to ride a horse. He did this because Thomas would grow to be a fine young man, and without having a father in his life . . . well, Arthur wasn't sure why he was doing this. Knowing that any of the other knights could offer him tips and training, and yet, Arthur found himself wanting to do it. He felt he owed it to Lancelot, to help his child in these aspects; that it would make him a strong individual. And of course, he owed it to Guinevère. At the same time, every time he saw Thomas -- though the emotions would not show nor be detected through his actions -- he felt saddened. Not only over the life that he had long let go of, but over the fact that he could not have a child.

He was so very happy for her, but the selfish part of him made him wish he was Thomas's father. And then . . . Arthur awoke from his dream, and was set back into the reality of life. Of how he and Elena had been so close to having a child of their own. He knew it would have changed so much, but now, it felt that everything was at it was before . . . only filled with more hurt. They were nearing her door, and once they stood outside of it, Arthur paused only for a moment. "His father would have been proud of him. And of the man he will become." He had no doubt saying that, for he knew it was true. He knew that Lancelot would have been so very proud of his son; of the way that she had raised him. He never doubted that Guinevère would make a wonderful mother . . . he'd just always thought that he would be the man who would be able to see what a wonderful wife she made as well. But again, Elena was not far from his mind. She too was so wonderful; so kind and compassionate. She . . . just wasn't Guinevère.

[Guinevère]

The third time she had broken was not long ago. She had been sitting in a room with the other ladies, as they spoke of a charity they wished to do. she would not have been there if not for her own works and they asked her advice. Then in busted one of the ladies in waiting and told everyone the news that would be announced at court later.

The king might be about to get his heir!

The room spun and tilted and the floor dropped. The next thing she knew she was opening her eyes in Gaius' chambers as he looked over her concerned and Merlin held a cloth to the bump on her head. She'd cried there before them for a long time. She knew she had no right to feel sad over this knowledge but she was. He was getting his family. She should be happy for him!

It took a few days but she managed to find happiness for the man she loved. Knowing the joy of a son she wished that on him. Arthur had been distant, even from her own distance from him over the years she could tell. She hoped the child gave him joy. He needed it so. However, life was not so kind. She'd cried for him, when she found out. Everyone had.

"His father would have been proud of him. And of the man he will become." She had been about to bid him farewell but his words gave her pause. She looked up at him, in to his eyes for the first time in almost forever and knew--knew in her heart--that if she did not walk away right this second that the fourth time she broke would be tonight.

She said nothing, as her eyes turned glassy with unspilled tears and she turned to push open her door. Missing the handle she ended up walking into it, which only embarrassed her, and made everything worse. My millions. She grasped at the handle but thanks to the tears she could no longer see clearly.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Whens he looked into his eyes, he could see the tears. He may have distanced himself from her in these past years, but he had gotten to know her so well in the years they were 'together'. He knew she was upset. He just watched her for a moment, unsure if he should leave her. But when she walked into the door, his own question was answered. He quickly and instinctively put his arms out in case she was about to fall, and found them resting on either side of her arm, as he was standing behind her. "Guinevère," he said in a low voice, a slightly softer tone than he was used to speaking in. He made sure she was braced on her feet and that she had not hit herself hard enough to render herself unconscious. He then stepped to the side a bit, his hand going to the handle . . . having been so distracted with looking at her, that he'd not even noticed she had moved to attempt to open the door too.

Meaning, his hand was on top of hers. The contact of her skin was not something he had for a while, nor something that he should have. He quickly just opened the door for her, waiting for her to step inside before he did the same. The door was only half closed, as he turned to face her properly, making sure not to touch her again. "Let me see," he said, looking directly at her, to make sure she did not bruise herself too badly. "I will get Gaius." Just to make sure everything was alright, and the impact of her head and the door was not something that had a stronger effect than what met the eye. He turned to leave, fully prepared to personally get the physician. Perhaps send her brother here to ensure she was not left alone.

[Guinevère]

"Guinevère," His voice came, softer then she'd heard it in years! It only made her tears come faster, and when his hand touched her's . . . .

She broke. "Let me see, I will get Gaius." Everything from the past few years once again hit her. His wedding, their year's apart. Watching him with his wife, when she thought no one was looking, their eyes meeting across the room and her guilty looking away. Every Smile his wife gave him, every tease Lancelot whispered, every touch her and Arthur heavy had, ever night they never shared, every loss she could not comfort him for.

Every night she was alone and she hated her self for wondering about his nights. EVERYTHING came at her at one. Her knees buckled and she covered her face with one hand as she fell to the ground. Not even caring at this point if he had gone or if he saw her as the weak broken woman she had become. Her shoulders shook as she cried, and her head came down to rest on her knees that were on the cold stone floor.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur paused when he saw her crumble to the floor. The tears pouring out of her eyes. He thought he could feel nothing more in his heart, that it had turned to stone with how much he'd led it harden . . . but he was wrong. For seeing her in such a state, caused his heart to break all over again. Instead of walking through the door to get Gaius or anyone else, he closed it. He could not leave her like this. Even if he knew he could not make things better. Him especially. She had so many others she was closer to, that would know what to do, what to say, how to say it. He only had the potential to make things worse. And yet, he could not bare leaving her like this. On the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks, seeing the way her body shook and trembled from her sobs. Arthur watched her only for a few moments before he knew he had to do something. he swiftly unclasped his cape from around him and went over to her, crouching down on the ground and draping the vibrant red fabric across her shoulders, to serve as a blanket of sorts.

He had never been in her room before. He had no idea where the blankets were -- other than the ones on the bed. But this just seemed all the more convenient. He kept his hands on either side of her shoulder, helping her rise to her feet, leading her to one of the chairs that was at a small table nearby. With his hands on either side of her upper arms, he reached out with his foot to pull out the chair so that he could lead her to it, and properly help her sit down so that she would be more at ease. Not wanting to prolong the contact, once she was seated he glanced about the room, not taking long to find a pitcher with a cup nearby. He went over and proceeded to pour a cup of water. He had no idea what else to do. How did he comfort the woman he was forbidden to love? Not with a hug. Nor with a kiss. Not with a playful tease, or a gentle touch. So all he could offer her, was a cup of water and try to calm her enough so that he could leave to get someone better suited for this role.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère felt the thick cape come around her and two strong hands, all but lift her from the cold ground. she attempted to force the tears to stop but could not quite get them. Sitting there she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped the cape around her and buried her face in it. Letting her tears come freely.

he'd touched her tonight. For the first time she touched his arm while he sat next to Elena at the feast before he married her. It had been years since he touched her in anyway and now tonight, twice, he'd touched her. It made her feel uncharitable feelings. Ones that good people should not feel but she felt every day, only now they were stronger. Now they screamed!

Guinevère heard him walk back toward her and pause but she could not look up at him. She felt so weak! She hated herself in this moment! Hated what he must think of her! How low she'd fallen! Arthur had been not only the man she loved but her best friend! By his father's order of marriage she'd lost both so quickly! She'd never recovered from it. Never would. she hated his father, but could not hate him at the same time.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He only seemed to be making things worse. She was still crying, and she was not reaching for the water. He couldn't quite blame her. Would she go for it if it was wine? No. It was just the very notion. He knew any cupful of liquid would not ease the loss of a husband. This was why he was at such a loss as to what to do. When Elena had lost the baby . . . he had comforted her. But nothing with Elena was as deep as it was with Guinevère. He felt like he knew how to console her, but with Guinevère . . . he hadn't the faintest idea. He knew what he wanted to do, but he could not. Things had changed so much for them. And it would be so wrong to even pull her into his arms for a hug. He set the cup on the table and crouched down in front of her, looking up into her face even if she was not looking at him.

He was not helping her feel better. "Do you want me to get Elyan? Or Merlin?" He offered, knowing they would do a better job. Yet . . . he felt so wrong with leaving her in this state. Even if it only took a few moments to get the others, those were a few moments that she would be by herself. And he did not want her to be alone. Yet . . . wouldn't that be better than being in his company? As he only seemed to be making her tears fall harder, and her body tremble more. He was so conflicted in this moment. He felt so . . . helpless in helping her. But could not show this. He had withheld his display of emotions for a reason, and he could not allow a lapse in exposing them, even in front of Guinevère. So he had to appear confident, and act like he knew what the hell he was doing. Or what he should be doing when she was this upset.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère could not look up at him, but she felt more then heard him kneel before her. She tried to hold her breath to stop the tears but it just make them come in stronger bursts. He asked about her brother and Merlin she she wanted to say yes, knew she needed to tell him yes to make him leave her and go away so that she could cry with no one watching. Lock the door. Just crawl before the fire and cry.

Yet he'd touched her twice for the first time in years. He was here. She shook her head and spoke in a broken whisper, "It will pass. It always passes." She told him, knowing that when her break downs they tended to be over quickly and she would feel a sort of numbness afterwards. It was an horrid feeling of nothingness. Like she couldn't not connect with the world around her. Even with her son. She'd only broken down a few times, this would be the fourth, so she was grateful that they at least did not happen often.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"It will pass. It always passes." Meaning . . . this happened frequently? It must. It was no coincidence that she was so upset today. He may not have seen her a great deal in the past few years, but he could assume why she was sobbing today of all days. Because it was a day to honor her husband. Before, when he and Merlin had gone to Hengist to save her, he had felt . . . jealous that she had cried for another man when Lancelot had left. But now, the kind of jealousy he felt had far surpassed that one small moment. On her wedding, the night of her wedding, he had nearly gone mad. He hated himself for it, knowing he had no right to be . . . but he had not slept the entire night. The only thing that had consumed his mind . . . was how Lancelot and her would be in bed together. How he would touch her and be with her in ways that Arthur had dreamed of when he had believed they would one day be married. That she would find that pleasure in being with Lancelot instead of him. He had nearly gone insane just thinking about it. It was a kind of jealousy . . . he was no where near proud of having. But one he could not dismiss from his mind.

When she'd gotten pregnant, the thoughts of how she spent her nights only hit his mind harder. He was happy for her, yet . . . hated to think of her with another man. And then loathed himself even more. So now, when she cried for Lancelot, he understood. He did not feel jealousy for her tears, but devastation that he'd been the reason to cause them, by not doing more to stop Lancelot from his heroic actions. Arthur also knew now that he would not leave her . . . even if he could not say it, he would wait for it to pass with her. He rose to his feet and instead of leaving, went to sit on the chair. Nearby enough to have a conversation if she was able to, but far enough to not invade any personal space, or become too intimate. Several moments of silence passed as his mind searched for something to say. He thought of the one thing that would bring her unconditional joy; something that surely had brightened her life since her husband's passing. "Thomas learned how to ride a horse today," he revealed, aware that she probably knew that, but it would give her mind something else to focus on, even if she could not yet talk.

[Guinevère]

She pulled the edges of his cape around her, knowing that while it was not him that it smelled of him and felt of him. If she could never be in his arms, she would pretend for this moment. If he left it here, she knew she would have to find another to send back. She felt she needed this, hidden in her room to help her pass the lonely and cold nights. Something she could wrap her self in, and pretend he held her. When she was feeling the need for love, she could pretend. And on the darkest and coldest of night, when she needed warmth she could wrap her self in nothing but it, and pretend her hands were his own.

This was the level of hate she stooped too. How she hated herself for covi--"Thomas learned how to ride a horse today," She felt surprised as his casualness. Her sobs paused for a moment, and only silent tears poured over her cheeks as she hid her face in his cape. She'd known that. Thomas had told her of it, and she had wished she could have seen it. Yet knowing Arthur had been the one to sit behind him at first, and then walk along side the horse would have hurt. "He spo--" She took a breath, "He spoke of nothing else for hours. Ho-how did he do?" She managed to ask.

[Arthur Pendragon]

There it was. That slight change in her expression that cause her pause and something else to discuss. That was what he had been going for. Thankfully, it had worked. "He spoke of nothing else for hours. Ho-how did he do?" Arthur gave a slightly formal smile, trying not to get too comfortable, yet finding it so impossible to not feel comfortable in her presence. It had been part of what had drawn him to her, what had made him fall so in love with her. Because of how much at ease he was whenever he was in her company. He could be himself; open, free, honest. And feared no judgment from her. But, he also knew that that man was long gone. That he could not be who he was when he was with her. Camelot needed another man. And that was the one he had to maintain and continue to be. "He did excellently," he answered, sounding more like his teacher rather than a man in love with the student's mother.

"He adjusted to the height of the horse and the position on the saddle very well," he added, knowing now to say that his father would be proud since that was what set her off last time. He would have to keep it about the present, rather than the would bes and what ifs. "In a few years time, he will be able to ride on his own." Arthur had no doubts about that. He only needed to grow in size a bit more before he could manage riding a horse on his own. But he wanted Guinevère to know that she should be proud. Yet, part of Arthur's thoughts were fixated on one thing: that this could have been their child. His and hers. But, it was not. And it was moments like these that Arthur needed to snap back into reality.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère knew that had things been different she could have given him a son. Yet things were not. Now, after holding Thomas in her arms, she would not be able to imagine life with out him. Lancelot had died protecting them. She knew that wishing that she'd given Arthur a son, would mean that Thomas would never have been born, and Lancelot would have died not knowing the pride and joy of fatherhood. So she never thought about it like that.

She never allowed her self to think of how life would have been had Arthur been allowed to chose his own bride bu comparing them. She only thought about how their children would have been. She loved her son, and wished every day she could have given Arthur one. Every day.

To see him raise his son, or daughter, that shared her blood as well. The thought made the tears come quicker, but she did not start sobbing again. "Thank you," She whispered, "For teaching him. He does not like it when I try. He says I never let go of his seat." Because she was too afraid to loose him to let him try on his own.