Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Thank you. For teaching him. He does not like it when I try. He says I never let go of his seat." Arthur's 'formal' smile ever so slightly softened when she told him this. It was understandable. He knew without having children of his own that the bond between a mother and a father were extremely different. He of course was in no way trying to be the boy's father. He never would be able to do that. But he did want to help him in the ways he knew how. The only way he could. One day . . . perhaps he would have a child. If it was granted to him. If it did not compromise Elena's health. If . . . Arthur pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He did not want to dwell on the loss of a child, when they were celebrating the achievements of Guinevère's. "You should join him next time."

Of course, Arthur doubted he would be able to be the one to teach. For it meant walking with her, alongside her . . . and this, right now, was hard enough. But he did not bring focus to that small detail. He merely gave a suggestion and if she took him up on it, then he would ensure that someone else taught him. Even if he still watched from a distance. "He is a bright young boy. I do not doubt he will excel in all he does." Whether it be horseback riding, learning how to use a sword, reading, writing, etc. Arthur knew that Guinevère had many reasons to be proud of him. And yet, he could not tell her this without sounding like the boy's teacher and trainer. For bringing too much emotion into this . . . was far too dangerous.

[Guinevère]

"You should join him next time." She lifted her head finally, no longer talking into the cape and rested her chin on her knee. Tears still rolled down her cheek, but the painful sobbing had finally eased. She wondered if it was past or if this was just a lull. She had never had either. "He pretends to be one knight or another all the time time." She wasn't looking at him, but rather off into the distance while she spoke. "He told me today he plans to be jousting by the end of the year." She shook her head slowly, "I didn't have the heart to tell him that children didn't joust."

Most recently he had taken to pretending to be Arthur. Gwaine who had taken him to see the final match, of Arthur vs. Elyan. Thomas decided he rather be the winner, which was the king. He would run a things with sticks until Guinevère took them away. "He is a bright young boy. I do not doubt he will excel in all he does." It hurt in a way to hear him want to be like Arthur, but she wanted that for him as well. Arthur was a good man. "He has the best teachers in the world. Percival teaching him some, Elyan teaches him some. Merlin and Gaius try, but he gets bored with tamer topics." He liked to be out in the action. "Even Gwaine seems to have taught him allot." She admitted, but then turned her head just a little.

Still looking off into the distance but more in his general area. "He talks about you all the time." Her voice told him with a shake, as if it was hard to admit. "He says he wishes to be just like you."

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur's expression remained, unable to change it. Yet the more he talked to her, the more at ease he felt. And he found himself having to push out of that comfort and remain . . . formal. And distant. But . . . he felt as if he could never quite be distant from her. Physically, yes. He had been for years. But emotionally, she was still the woman who was in his heart. "He does not have to find out. With an uncle as a blacksmith and Percival as a carpenter, I am certain you can make a lance fit for his use." A smaller one. "He may as well start practicing early," he encouraged. Knowing, that Thomas would one day be a knight. If Arthur had children . . . would it be his child one day leading Thomas? The thought was so, strange. But regardless, this not about him. This was about a child who actually existed; Guinevère's child. He then listened to her describe his teachers . . . the knights and wise men who would shape him to be a great man. Gaius would give him the power of academics, the others of strength in combat among other things.

He was happy for her. Even if he could not be directly part of the boy's life, more so than he already was. It was her words that she ended with that caused him pause. "He talks about you all the time. He says he wishes to be just like you." Arthur remained silent, unsure of what to think of these words. He could detect the slight hesitation in her tone to admitting them. Was he imposing? Overstepping his bounds with Thomas? He knew he should distance himself . . . perhaps he was going too far. He did not want her to have to hear her son want to become a man like him. Thomas wanted to be like him, because he truly did not know him. "He has a large selection of role models," Arthur said, not wanting to bring too much emotion and sentiment to this conversation. "I am certain he goes back and forth between them." Because . . . Arthur was not fit to be a role model for any child. Especially her son.

[Guinevère]

Thomas did have allot of role models and he did often go between them. Very often. "He does," She admitted softly, "But none has often as he comes back to you." she wondered if this was allowed between them. The conversation drifting from forced to slightly casual. She still had tears on her cheeks but they were slowing, growing warmer. She used his cape to wipe them off, and pulled it tighter around her.

Taking a deep breath she finally moved up to look at his face. Her head was still resting on her drawn up knees, but she looked at him now for a moment. Just a moment before looking away. "It seems all your men look up to you." She whispered, thinking of how Lancelot did. Thinking of how Elyan vowed to fight by his side. How Gwaine stayed in one place for him. Merlin even still tried to be there for Arthur when Arthur let him.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"He does. But none has often as he comes back to you." Arthur wasn't sure what to say. She had spoken these words with more ease and . . . Arthur felt a strange sense of honor upon hearing them. But he could not allow himself to feel such things. Flattery, pride, honor . . . emotions he needed to separate himself from. He remained completely still in his chair, even though he was starting to feel restless. He had to remind himself why he was here, to calm her down. To stop her tears. They had slowed but he still did not feel comfortable with leaving. Or maybe that was just an excuse for him to stay longer. "It seems all your men look up to you." He could not stay here for too long. Whenever someone said such words to him, he thanked them and moved on.

But whenever Guinevère said such things to him, they held such a strong depth and sincerity . . . that Arthur felt nothing but honor. And . . . appreciation, for her. For how she knew what to say to ease his own mind. For the reminders she gave him, and how she phrased things. With the soft and gentle tone she spoke in. This was not good. He needed to tread carefully, because he felt he was going to lose himself . . . lose all that he had struggled to maintain. He felt his body slightly stiffen, keeping all his thoughts and emotions vacant from his expression. "They are honorable men. They serve their sovereign with great loyalty." He needed to detach himself, and not personalize it so much. The way she was talking to him, about him . . . he could not let himself find peace in her words. Yet, she always seemed to have that effect on him.

[Guinevère]

"Because they are your friends." She spoke softly, not sure why she was saying what she was saying any longer. They were supposed to be talking about her son, but now they seemed to have moved on to something else. Yes, the men were his friends, when he let them be. She had seen it from the distance they put between the,selves. The last real conversation they had before this was the one where she told him to marry Elena.

She'd pushed him toward this, told him to choose this life. She knew that that point had she pushed it, he might have fought this. But she knew that you can't always have what you want. She she'd let him go. . . .

No. She'd not. Just loved him from afar. Watched as he married another and held his friends apart from him. Especially after his father and his Uncle. He let nothing close, and she could see it. See it from way back there. Everyone still wanted close but no one could get close. She moved her eyes to him and asked something before even thinking about it. "Are you happy?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur could not afford to have any friends, but he chose not to comment on this. He did not want sympathy or advice. He valued her opinion and council, but that was why he could never hear it. For it would only continue to remind him of why he loved her so much. Even though just one glance at her seemed to be doing that fairly well. Which was only making him increasingly uncomfortable. He should not he here. He should return to his chambers. Get some paper work done. Get ready for a new day where he would go on with his life and she with hers; their paths completely separated from one another. The way it had to be; the way it had to stay. "Are you happy?" This question caught him slightly off guard and he looked at her. Was he happy. No one had ever asked him that question before. He had never asked himself that question before. It seemed like a no brainer, but it wasn't. He did not feel comfortable answering it. It was too . . . personal. He knew the answer as a fury of thoughts charged his mind, racing through his brain, filling his heart with so many different emotions. He knew the answer.

It was a simple yes or no, but he could not answer it. Not to her. Should he just answer her question with a question? Should he ask her the same thing? Should he not say anything. He just knew . . . that he could not give an answer. Because, he would then have to explain it. And words came out far too easily when he was with her. His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts enough to give a suitable answer, for he could never quite be rude enough to just ignore it completely. His eyes found hers again, but this time, with more detachment than before. Giving a formal answer. A proper answer; one that was meant for a king to give. "My happiness is irrelevant. What matters above all else is the good of the kingdom." It was not the kind of words he often used with her. Usually -- years ago -- he would delve into his deep seated emotions and tell her. But not this time. He could not afford to do that. He spoke the way a king spoke to someone else; with formality, and confidence. But the question had pierced his heart, and the answer he knew was true, pained him.

[Guinevère]

He looked away for a moment and when he looked back there was that distance. The guard he held up, she guessed. She looked down and away, not feeling like she could push for an answer like she could have with Merlin. Once he'd been her friend, now they were all but strangers. Did he still read riddles? Did he find enjoyment out of little things still?

Or was everything he did for the kingdom? She'd not spoken of the child he lost, but her heart hurt at the reminder of the joy he must have felt and lost. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but knew that he'd pull away. Knew he had to pull away. A widow she might be, but he was not. His wife was very alive and visiting her father. She wasn't sure, however, what to say to his dismissing answer.

It did however, hurt to know that the answer wasn't a yes. Not a easy one at least. "I'm sorry, "She whispered. Knowing she was talking about everything. The life they never head, the child he'd lost, the awkward feeling he must be feeling.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He was not sure what she was apologizing for, nor did he want to ask. For it felt deeper than just casual apologetic words. Everything was deeper with her. He wanted to ask her the same question; he so badly did . . . but he refrained. His answer had been one of distance for a reason, and asking her the same thing in return would only open wounds and conversation that he had intentionally been trying to avoid. She was sorry. For what. She had nothing to be sorry for. She had been the most positive influence in his life, and that was why he knew he would never be able to move past her. He would never be able to love another the same way he did her. "You have nothing to apologize for." He did not want her to say these words to him, when it was he who should be apologizing for so many more things.

For having made so many promises to her, only having them broken by marrying Elena. For not protecting her husband better . . . for allowing him to take his place. Arthur often thought about that day. He wondered what he would be leaving behind if he had sacrificed himself. A widow, who was young and would be able to move past his death -- for neither of them had loved each other when they got married. A kingdom, which could be ruled by Godwyn and Elena easily. Godwyn was a strong king and Arthur did not doubt that he would strengthen Camelot. His father, who's spirit and heart was already broken beyond repair. But even then, his father would have lived . . . for Arthur would not have been responsible for his death.

And what had Lancelot left behind. A woman who loved him. A son who would now never know his father. And a group of brothers who loved him dearly. It did not seem fair. That one man who had so many whom loved and cherished him, died to save an entire kingdom that Arthur was meant and destined to protect. He should have taken his place. He should have found a way. Arthur did not speak any of these things though, even if he so badly wanted to tell her how sorry he was . . . for everything he'd done to her and her family. He had many, many regrets. And hurting her in the ways he had, were his greatest ones. He just looked at her, forcing his gaze away to casually look at the table, not wanting her to see what emotions were behind his eyes for he still did not doubt that out of all the people in the world . . . she still knew him the best.

[Guinevère]

Yet she did. Guinevère looked over at him again, right up into the eyes that she missed so much. She did have things to be sorry for. She was sorry that she did not fight harder for their love, and instead pushed him towards another. She was sorry she was not strong enough to be what he needed back then.

She was sorry that she let him walk her to her room, and that she'd someone tricked him into staying. She was sorry that she was too weak to get up and let him leave. She was sorry that she was trying to think of something to say with the goal of keeping him just a moment longer. She was sorry that she wasn't even sorry for half the things she had just claimed to be sorry for.

She could only stare up at him, and hope he was strong enough for them both. For she did not think she could get up and walk out right this second. She wanted to sit and talk with him, she simply did not know what to say. Not even where to begin.

[Arthur Pendragon]

The silence was getting awkward. It was not due to the flow of tears that seemed to come to a pause. But rather, because it had gotten to the point that neither of them knew what to say to each other. He knew he should leave, yet something compelled him to stay. Knowing, that he would never have a moment like this again. But also knowing, that each second he was with her . . . was bittersweet. Painful because he loved her so much. Good because he loved her so much. He looked at the untouched cup of water sitting on the table, because it was something to look at. He lacked the strength to get up and just walk out . . . still going with the excuse that he did not want to leave her alone. Thomas was just in the other room, yet he still did not feel right leaving when . . . when he did not want to.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked as he met her gaze. Trying to shift the topic away from him; from his happiness, from the knights -- which would only remind her of Lancelot -- . . . from everything related to his personal life. Because he speaking of such things would elicit emotions. So it was safer to talk about her. Although it only made him feel that same hole in his heart, being made aware of how much he was missing in her life. Saddened that he could not be a part of it. But he'd given up that right a long time ago. And he could not just snatch it back now.

[Guinevère]

She assumed that with his question he was hinting that he would need to leave, but she also noticed that neither of them moved toward the door. Guinevère doubted she would ever full feel alright again, but knew what he was asking. "Yes, thank you." She whispered, knowing that for the moment the painful broken feeling was edged back.

She also knew that she would last about about twenty seconds after he walked out the door before it would come back. Still, Arthur was not her's to need or cling too. If he wished to leave, she would make it easy for him. "Thank you, I apologize for . . . . . tonight." Breaking down before him. "I will have the cape cleaned and returned to you, since I have let spots on it." She would not but she didn't want him taking it from her. She was lying to him now, and that was another reason she hated her self.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He wanted to tell her again that she need not apologize. That tonight was an understandably emotion night for her . . . that she was entitled to be upset. If this happened every year, did she go through it alone? Did anyone sit with her? Elyan had not seemed to notice she was getting ready to leave, so perhaps she never had company when grieving. It made Arthur feel as if he had intruded on a private moment where she would reflect on her husband's life. Yet he made no attempt to apologize for it. For he could not leave her on the ground in tears. Even he was not that strong to walk away from such a heartbreaking scene. "I will have the cape cleaned and returned to you, since I have let spots on it."

He slightly shook his head when she made this offer. The cape was the last thing on his mind. "Keep it," he told her rather than suggested. "Give it to your son." When he was older, he would certainly become a knight and obtain his own personal cape. "A promise of his future." For being a knight was clearly something Thomas wanted. It was what his father lived for, what he had died for. He would indeed make him proud and he could carry on Lancelot's name with such pride and honor. That all other knights would know who he stood for, and which noble man he had come from. He also was aware that with the conversation back on her son, it was a safer topic of discussion.

[Guinevère]

Keep it. Guinevère pulled it tighter around her and smiled softly at him. She was glad he told her to keep it for his had planned to. At least now she would not have to find a replacement for him. She remembered his shirt, and had kept it until the day before her wedding. Then she could not longer keep it. It would not be fair to Lancelot for her to keep it. Yet she had never worn his clothing like she'd worn Arthur's.

"Thank you again," She said softly, her eyes not leaving his. "I will use it to keep me warm tonight." She paused for a moment before her eyes, which were red from the tears widened, at what she'd said. She just looked at him for a moment, shaking her head slightly as if trying to explain. "I mean, because it's cold in-in the room. . . . because it's winter . . . . " Could her night get worse?

[Arthur Pendragon]

With that simple soft smile she gave him . . . Arthur felt himself weakening. Feeling as if he could fall in love with her all over again, even though he'd never stopped. Her next words however . . . had an undeniable suggestion to them, that Arthur could not think about. Yet . . . stuck in his mind. He should not be thinking about another woman wrapped in a cape that was once his. Especially not the woman he loved. It was, wrong. Having these thoughts of another woman was utterly wrong. Yet with the slip of the tongue came the awkward small ramble from her. Something Arthur had missed terribly. He'd once been annoyed by it, but then grew to love it. Finding the way she just kept talking, adorable. Now was no exception; he only couldn't tell her about it. Where as before it had been able to come out far more casually.

He knew he had to say something, so that she would not feel worse for her comment. He could not remember the last time he joked with her. He often teased Elena, and she returned the tease . . . but it was not the same as it had ever been when teasing Guinevère. He knew he could not do so now; not to a strong extent. "I will be sure there is extra firewood in your room." No. He could not tease her, nor playfully encourage her rambling. Only dismiss her comment from the conversation . . . before he said something on the verge of flirtation. That, he could not do. "I am certain Thomas would not mind giving his mother extra warmth as well." His way of suggesting -- or hoping -- that she would not be alone tonight. That she could just hold her son, find solace in that, and then drift into a peaceful slumber.

[Guinevère]

"There is not need. The room is not chilled." She told him, not wanting him to go out of his way, it was not the chill of winder she had been wishing to ward off anyhow. It was being lonely. She missed being married, in the since that she missed the company. Missed someone always being around. That she was never alone.

Now however, she was very alone. She often wondered about remarrying, but knew that she could not hurt another like she'd hurt Lancelot when he discovered he would leave hold her whole heart, only the broken peaces of it. "Thomas is spending the night with Sir Alymere's sons who are seven and five tonight. They and Sir Alymere are going to travel to Willowdale tomorrow to look for a gift for his wife." She was alone here tonight, with him. No one would be looking for her, and no one knew he was here.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Ah. So her son was not here after all. So it was just them, alone. In her chambers. Somehow . . . this felt inappropriate. Yet at the same time, it felt right. And when it felt right, he reminded himself that he had a wife. One who was not here because he was grieving for the loss of their child. He had to be loyal to her; fair to her. Though, he couldn't imagine her approving of him being in another woman's chambers at this hour . . . so this in itself was a betrayal. At the same time, even as these thoughts went through Arthur's mind . . . he still did not get up to leave. "Will Elyan be coming to check on you?" He asked. He did not ask this out of curiosity as to whether they would be given more privacy. But because, he truly did not want her alone tonight. With her son not here, and her husband's memory fresh in mind . . . he feared that if he left, she would just collapse once more.

"You should not have to be alone tonight." Almost immediately he recognized the possible misunderstanding in his words. He could not stay. He knew that, and she knew that. Years ago, he would not have given it a second thought. If he knew she was hurting, he would hold her until her tears stopped. But this time, it would not be him giving her comfort; it couldn't be. "You should be around family." That was his way of correcting his statement. Family . . . as in her brother by blood, or brothers of the heart. Perhaps with Gaius or Merlin. Either way, he would feel more comfortable leaving if he knew she was going to have some company tonight, as it did not seem like she would be able to just go to sleep. And he knew the others were still awake -- unless they lay passed out in their own chambers, from having drank too much.

[Guinevère]

"You should not have to be alone tonight." She knew what he meant, but the words them selves made her fingers dig into his cape. She wished he had the freedom to stay with her tonight. Wished it more with each breath. It was dangerous and stupid and she had to end this NOW! Now! Before she said something unforgivable. Before either of them did.

"You should be around family." Smiling softly she moved her feet to the floor and tried to forced herself to stand. "Elyan and the boys like to spend time with their friends. You should not worry about me. Tonight was just a weak moment. I rather Elyan not know, he worries enough." Because she was a single mother and she lacked the happiness she once had and for so many other reasons. "You should join them," She whispered, knowing her next words might be crossing a line but . . . .

If she crossed this one, and it helped him she could live with that. "It might help you. You should not be alone. Go to them. Laugh with them. Find that arrogant prince for a night."

[Arthur Pendragon]

He was unsure if she was going to stand, but would wait until she did so before standing himself. Standing meant, he would have to leave. And again, he was not quite ready for that yet. She was right. He should not worry about her. But he did. Every moment of every day. He had often wondered if Elena had married him, while being in love with another man. Eventually, he knew that she didn't. Because she did not have that look in her eyes of feeling guilty or hurt. He did. Which was why he'd had to force it away from his gaze before she caught on. And he ruined another life. He would not call her weak. She was so far from weak, but he was not one to talk. He was a man who suppressed his emotions because they were a weakness. How could he tell someone else that expressing them was not weak? It would only make him a hypocrite. "You should join them. It might help you. You should not be alone. Go to them. Laugh with them. Find that arrogant prince for a night."

He wished he could. She had no idea how much he wished he could. How simple things had been years ago where he could just jest with the knights at feasts; joke around, find some time to be foolish and mocking of each other. But this was no longer a part of his life. He had his moments, on the training field . . . but they were very limited. The kingdom did not need an arrogant and fun prince; they needed a strong and serious king. "I can't," he admitted, afraid of how on the verge his emotions were in being revealed in his tone of voice. "He worries for his sister." Arthur needed to shift the conversation back to her. He was getting increasingly worried with the way it lingered on him, and on things it should not. "And tonight, he especially has cause to. Are you certain I can not get him for you?" He asked just once more, not wanting to push it. Not wanting to leave but . . . but knowing that the painful parting would soon come, regardless of what he wanted.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère did not stand, but put her hands on the table to she could speak to him better. "Yes, I am sure." She did not wish for him to seek out her brother. She wanted Elyan to not know about this one. She wanted him to not worry about her for a few days and just have fun. Like she wanted Arthur to do as well.

"Why can't you?" She asked softly, looking up at him, and knowing she had no right to these questions. "They were once your friends Arthur!" She didn't even care that she used his name. "I think you need to be with friends far more then I. You've . . . . . . You've experienced a heavy lost. One I can not begin to imagine. You should embrace them. Keep them close to help you move past it." And because she knew there was some things you did not move past, "Or at least let them help you learn to live with it."