Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

"I am grateful that he was there then. To protect you and the others as much as he could." As much as Kolby tended to run his mouth, he knew that he was a good and honorable man. That he was extremely brave and a skilled combatant. He was grateful to hear that he had stood between Odin's men and the others . . . and would ensure he was honored for it. "They will probably be staying in the castle until their home can be rebuilt," Arthur explained, knowing that with Guinevère's compassionate and caring nature, she would want to help them in any way that she could. And they could not have a stronger friend than she. Arthur also knew that this was his fault; that every person or thing that Odin harmed was essentially Arthur's fault. Because he had killed his son.

He was debating going to Odin's kingdom to speak to him, but he also knew that Odin would not honor any agreements to meet under a truce. That he would find someone to kill him, another assassin perhaps since the man seemed to have an endless line of them. He gave a slight but not very jovial smile when she said that everyone got out safe because of him. He put his hand on hers that was on his cheek, as if to hold it there. Feeling so much comfort, relief and reassurance in her touch. "Not because of me. Because of every man that risked their life by storming into the estate." He had been in the dungeon. This was why he knew that Camelot's army was the greatest that ever existed, because of the men they were composed of. "And we were fortunate not to lose any of them." Thankfully.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère watched him as he spoke, knowing he was down playing his efforts. "Men whom you trained and gave orders too, and you wanted in there first--unharmed!" something she'd not forgotten. "I doubt I will ever forget the sight of you walking in there. I think I lost a few years of my life there." She was trying to tease him but in this she was also being very serious.

she was still unclothed under his blankets, and she moved her legs so they were over the side. Exposing them to the warm air of the tent so she could fully look at him. "You said you followed you heart, and I am glad you did. Even if it made mine be afraid. Don't forget what that feels like Arthur. Always follow your heart." She never wanted him to forget that! she wanted him to embrace the feeling and find peace inside of him for it.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He did train his men, but he did not give them the bravery that they needed. For that was something that came from their heart. The courage and risks they took every single day: embarking on dangerous missions, engaging in fierce battles . . . Arthur could help them work on their combat skills, but he knew that it was because of them that they saved the hostages and came out unharmed. He gave a small smile when she spoke of how she had seen him walk in, and how afraid she had been. Knowing she was teasing him, but also aware that there was some truth behind her words. "I did not mean to frighten you with my actions," he added, wanting her to know that that hadn't been his intention. "I just, could not bare the thought of you in danger." And he certainly wouldn't have been able to wait until nightfall.

He listened to her words about following his heart, regardless of how she afraid she had been with him doing so. And to encourage him to always make decisions with his heart rather than just his head. He wondered if he would have made the same choice, had it been Elena who was being held captive. "Some decisions are easier to make than others." Especially when ones involved her. "When it comes to you, I can do nothing but follow what my heart tells me to do." Because, she was his heart. Because no one else had been permitted to enter his heart as he had closed it off and kept it guarded ever since he married another woman. And then with what happened with Morgana, his father and then Agravaine . . . he had only wished he'd kept more distant. But when it came to the politics of the kingdom, some decisions required more thought than just acting on the instinct of what his heart dictated.

[Guinevère]

She slid off the bed so that her knees were on either side of the one that supported his weight, and her hand rested on his drawn up on for balance. The other hand to hold the blankets around her. They had just spoken of his wife, and of the major reminder that they could not be together but she needed to just be held. The fear-mostly the reminder of how she could have watched him die, and knowing they both would have died together, leaving Thomas alone-was very real in her mind.

Her hand moved from his leg to rest hesitantly on his chest, and her head came to rest over his heart. "It would be so much easier if you did not love me," She whispered, "But I find I am too selfish to ask you to stop." Even knowing it would be easier, she did not wish to loose him. "Do you ever think of how things could be different?" She asked in the same whisper. "About what would have happened if you had not gotten married that day, and I waited for you?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

When he saw her begin to move towards him, he put the cloth back in the bowl and set it down on the ground before his arms moved to welcome her. With her sitting on his knee, and her head and hand rested against his chest, he put one arm around her to hold her in place and give that extra stability. His other hand trailed up and down her arm in a gentle caress. "It would be so much easier if you did not love me." It would be, but he also knew he would be missing the most incredible feeling in the world. That he would have never known what love was. And he would never regret falling in love with Guinevère . . . even if now it caused them so much pain. He only wished he could have spared her from it. "But I find I am too selfish to ask you to stop." It was not her who was being selfish. It was him. He was married and he still wanted her. That would never change and he hated that he kept pulling her to him, to be intimate with him, when he knew it made the pain of the inevitable separation so much worse.

"Do you ever think of how things could be different? About what would have happened if you had not gotten married that day, and I waited for you?" Every moment of every day. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the frequent thoughts to enter his mind. "All the time," he whispered, kissing the side of her head. "I think about the life I would have had with you. All that I am missing. How," he paused for a moment, even having known the exact moment that he would have kissed her without caring about wandering eyes. On the one mission that he never thought he'd returned from: saving the kingdom from Morgana's tyrannical rule. That was when he had missed her most. Needing her to be with him, and had they been able to be together . . . the first thing he would've done upon his return, was kiss her. "We could have been happy." And in love. And just, be together with so much ease.

He opened his eyes, looking ahead of him since she was nestled so close to him and he didn't want to break that contact. "You are not the selfish one Guinevère," he told her, wanting her to understand that. "I am. Because I love you and I can not let you go." When he should. When he was married and yet entertained this entire idea of them. Acting as if somehow, they could end up together. That every night in intimacy he spent with her was a promise of a life together -- which it should be -- rather than a way to make him feel loved, comforted and so many other things, which resulted in unavoidable heart ache. He was making this so much worse for her. So no. She was not selfish. This was his doing. His instigation. And he just kept returning to her when he knew she needed distance. Yet he couldn't regret it, not a single moment they shared. The worst part of it, was that he felt as if he would never be able to stop.

[Guinevère]

They would have been happy. His words flowed though her mind over and over again. She kept thinking about them. Even if he'd just said them, so many thought came into her that she might as well had held a lifetime in them. She could almost see it. Moving her hand up to rest over the scars he had on his shoulder, the ones he'd taken for her once. Her fingers touched him so lightly that she wondered if she was even really touching him. Then they pressed slightly more and more until her palm covered the scar so close to his heart.

"I would be the one who waited for your return on the steps of the castle." She whispered, "To sit at your table with you and share a a conversation about our days. To stand by your side and watch you life our son into the air, holding him high and proud." Her hand shifted, to slide around him as her head came up to place a soft kiss over the scar. Then she rested her forehead there, just breathing against him. "To warm you at night."

[Arthur Pendragon]

He felt her hands so lightly linger over a set of his scars, before she just covered them. The scars he'd gotten from the dragon. The last time he'd felt that sudden surge of immediate fear for her life. Another time they had been so close to losing each other. When she had tended to him that night, he wanted nothing more than to tell her how much he loved her. But all he had said that the moment was that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. And yet, so much had happened to her. For he could not be there to protect her. "I would be the one who waited for your return on the steps of the castle." He found himself closing his eyes again, envisioning this in all its perfection. She went on. To speak of how she would have joined him at the table engaging in casual conversation. How she would have stood by his side. How, she would have given them a son. It all sounded so perfect.

She was still the one he waited to see upon every return to Camelot. She was still the one he thought about at the table. She was still the one he thought of as mother to his child. So many things he wanted, and yet none of them attainable. He felt her lips kiss the scar before she rested her forehead against it. The last of her words, causing him to take a deep breath. "To warm you at night." He wanted that, everything that she said more than anything in this world. "I wish for nothing else. Every day. I wish for a life with you." He knew that was a horrible thing to say, for he was married and should be content. But he was being completely honest with her. He wanted her to know that he constantly thought about her. Not Elena. But her. He knew his next words would be even more of a horrible admittance, but he was making confessions right now, and may as well continue to be honest in them.

And how far this desire burned through him. "So many times I wanted to come to you. To ask you to leave with me." To just run away from Camelot with him. For he had felt in so many moments that he would give up his kingdom and everything, if only for the chance to hold her in his arms. He knew he was a king now, but in the early days of his marriage to Elena, he had thought so much of asking her to leave with him. To live a simple but happy life. Then as time pressed on, the thought became a distant one, and then a more complicated one. Until it got to the point that it was now an impossibility. He looked down at her, slightly pulling back, only so that he could take his other hand to rest it on her cheek, using the tip of his thumb to put on her chin so that he could tilt her head up wards and he could kiss her. Allowing himself yet another selfish but passionate moment with the woman he loved.

[Guinevère]

She would have looked up at him, for his last words alone but he was already tilting her face up for a kiss. Her free hand came up to wrap around his neck and she kissed him back, letting all her emotions came out though that kiss. Pretending for just a moment that she was the wife and not the mistress. Because she knew that with this time, with it being more planned and rational being with her --that this made her such. The King's Mistress. The other woman.

It hurt! It hurt to know that she was such but she could not stop it. she loved him so much. The would be strong tomorrow, tonight she only wanted to be in his arms. When the kiss broke she looked up at his face, "I could not leave with you." She whispered, "I would want to--I still want to in this moment--but you have a kingdom of people that need you, and I could not take you away from them. I love you, and had you been any other man I might could but . . . " Not with him being a king.

"I'm not pregnant." She told him, knowing that after their actions from earlier that her statement might be invalid. "I cried when I discovered it. I cried because I knew I should be glad but I was not. You are the man I want. Then and now and forever. I would never-ever-wish will on Elena, but know that I will wait for you. Be is 50 years or even int he afterlife. I will be waiting to be with you."

[Arthur Pendragon]

The kiss between them held so much emotion, just as any other kiss. And once again, he wished it could be a promise of their future, rather than a reminder of their past. When it ended, he still kept his hand on her cheek, listening to her words. He knew she wouldn't leave with him, even at the time. That she would never dishonor another woman like that. And he had known deep down, that it would have been selfish of him to even ask. But . . . he had wanted to. So many times he had. On his wedding night, the days that followed, the weeks that followed . . . until it turned into months and then years. It had become more of a dream and less of a possibility. Either way, it was not rational. He had known that all along, that it was not rational which was why he had needed to focus so much on what was logical, rather than what he wanted. Because they were not the same thing. "I'm not pregnant." He felt . . . disappointment. Relief? He wasn't sure. It was such a contradiction of emotions for he wanted a child with her, yet didn't.

Because he knew of all the complications it would arise. She seemed to share similar views for when she said that she had cried upon finding out, and that she should be glad . . . she was like him. Torn. Between wanting something so badly, but also realizing that it could not happen. He didn't get the chance to speak, for her words of a promise, caused him to pause. She would, wait for him? Was she saying that she would never remarry? Or . . . he wasn't sure. He didn't know what to feel. Other than the sudden swell of emotions that filled his heart. Devastation that it could not be right now. Happiness that she committed herself. Selfish anger at himself for being happy that she committed herself. More than ever before, he wished in this moment that he was not married. That they would not have to wait any longer. That, they could be together. And how touched he felt upon hearing her say this to him, caused him to become silent, knowing there were no words to describe what he was feeling right now.

He moved his hand from her cheek to her stomach, where there was no child. "I want to give you a child more than my own wife." He knew the severe circumstances of that situation, but he could not lie to himself nor her. He wanted her to have his child, more than Elena. What kind of horrible person did that make him. "You deserve to be happy." Even . . . if it meant with another man. "With or without me." He hated saying that, but knew that he wanted her to be happy, for she more than anyone deserved to be such. He paused for another moment, a short interval of silence passing until finally, he spoke once more. "I would rather be your husband, than a king." Because he loved her. Because he needed her. He knew once again, it was selfish of him, for the people needed a ruler. But he had betrayed his heart for so long, and now he had the opportunity to speak of what it truly desired.

[Guinevère]

His words of wanting to give her a child, and his hand on her made her want to beg him for one. Made her wish that she would pull him into her and try for one. Yet she knew that it would make everything int heir lives so much harder. How could they do this to each other knownly? Surely they had to be strong enough to not let things go that far.

"You have no idea how much I want that. When I felt Thomas inside me, growing and I knew a life was starting there . . . I thought of you. I wished for you." She told him, knowing this was not helping. "Every time I see Thomas wish to be a knight, and him look up to you I wish for a child from you, KNOWING in my heart that you would be an amazing father."

She leaned forward to let her lips kiss his, and then look up at him with out moving more then a few inches apart. "I love you. If there was any way I could, I'd ask for a child tonight but it would hurt so many people. We should be stronger." Yet she felt so very, very weak.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Yes. They should be stronger. They should show restraint. But that was not Arthur's strength. Not with her. Not with the way she kissed him and he kissed her. Not with the way she was seated on his lap. Not with how he knew what it felt like to be with her, so intimately with her. He was well aware that tonight, may have produced a child. And in this moment, talking about it . . . he wanted it. He could think of nothing apart from a life with her. As if this tent had allowed them to escape the reality of their lives. Just as her bed had -- twice -- and just as his chamber had. He knew that if she did have his child, then he could not technically be a father to it. But that thought was in the far back of his mind.

In the moment, he could only imagine it. How it would be to feel her against him again. How it would be to put his hand on her womb where there was a growing child. How it would be to hold their child in his arms for the first time. Not a child. But her child -- their child. They should be stronger. But Arthur was sick and tired of being strong. He had so many slips in resolve and strength . . . and he didn't care. Because there was nothing he wanted more. As king, his time was not his own and his life was not one he would have chosen. He wanted to take an escape from that, and commit to her rather than the whole kingdom. He leaned forward to gently kiss her lips before pulling back, but as she had done, he did not withdraw too far.

"I am tired of being strong," he told her softly, frustrated with having to keep fighting this feeling that dominated his body, heart and soul. This feeling of love for her that felt so right, yet could never be. "Can we not pretend that tonight, I am your husband. Not a king. But just your husband." He was married. What was he doing. And yet, he could not stop the words coming out from his mouth, nor his actions as he leaned towards her to kiss her once more, just a short and gentle embrace more focused on the side of her mouth that was not injured. He then pulled back, with soft longing in his eyes, knowing that she had more strength than him. And that if she pulled away, he would accept that. But if she let him . . . then he would be the husband that he dreamed of one day being.

[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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