Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

There it was. This was what he had been fearing for so long. That she would be the woman he fell in love with. That she would give him advice, stemmed from concern fro him. That she wished him to find enjoyment in his life. And . . . he could not hear that right now. He could not look at her, as his gaze once again fixated on the table. He needed to stay strong. He could not break. But . . . no one quite spoke to him in the same tone she did. No one had the audacity to speak to him like she did; and he loved her for it. He felt an ache in his heart, hearing her speak so openly to him . . . about something for his own benefit. And the ache only intensified when she brought up the loss; assuming it was the child that he and Elena had lost. Elena. He could not forget her. He could not push her out of his mind just . . . just because he loved Guinevère. Just because he felt like right now, no one else existed in the world.He took a deep breath, looking back at her, not wanting to be harsh, but allowing any softness would just break him.

He would then just spill everything; tell her of how he could not stop thinking about her. How he wished she was with him every night, when he should be with his wife. How she was the only one he'd let inside his heart, and the only one who would have claims to it. But he couldn't. He hardened his expression, trying to keep it distant . . . trying to stay strong. But she was slowly breaking him with each word she spoke. "I am coping with this loss," he told her in a low but strong voice. He was coping with it the only way he knew how; the only way he could afford to. "I don't need anyone." A harsh statement, and it was a lie. Because deep down . . . he knew he needed her. More than he could ever say. But he was a king. "The responsibility is mine and mine alone to bare. I can not afford the luxury of friends." The responsibility of this kingdom, of dealing with his own emotional turmoil.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère watched him as she spoke and said the words that she wished with all her might that she did not have to hear. How unfair of him, to himself. To put this sort of weight on his own shoulders. She wanted to shake him! She wanted to kiss him! She wanted him! Just him! But he was not her's have, nor to kiss nor to shake.

But she would not give up on him, Not now. "Then you are no better off then I." She told him, not sounding judgmental but sad for him, for them both. "At least I have something to live for Arthur," Her son! Something to keep her moving forward. "This solitariness is no way to move forward. If you do not find something to live for, to let close, and to love then your missing out! Your missing so much of life! You used to know that. You used to fight to keep your friend close! The weight of the kingdom might be yours to bear alone, but not the weight of your self! Turn to your friends, Arthur! Don't think about it! Just do it! Let your self have moment!"

[Arthur Pendragon]

She was doing it again, and Arthur could still not look at her. He felt . . . as if they had completely drifted apart. And now in these moments, it was as if he could so easily find the man he once was. A man who would listen to her, comply with her wise words, and then just find himself enjoying life. But it was because she gave him strength; she always had and she always would. In ways that no one else could. She spoke as if it was so easy though; as if he could just turn around and be someone he had been fighting not to be for so many years. "And what have I gained from allowing people close?" His voice was not loud, but it was stern. Because he knew who he was now, and feared that he would never be able to return to who he'd once been. "I have lost a sister, a father, an uncle and-- " Her. Most important of all her. The strongest pain of any of those losses . . . because he still saw her almost every day. And because they had both devoted their lives to another. Or there had been a time when that had been the case.

No. Arthur could not go there. He had to keep the same composure he always did. He did not want to talk about his past, and immediately regretted bringing up his family members. He just shook his head a bit. Finally looking at her once more. "I have something to live for," he corrected her. He knew it was not what she meant, but it was all he had right now. It was not his wife, it was not a friend, it was not even for the woman he loved. "This kingdom. Because it needs a leader who is strong enough to rule it. Not one who dwells on the losses of friends and loved ones." Which was why he could not go back to being best friends with the knights. Why he could not depend on them in ways friends and brothers did. Why he could not tell her that he loved her right now, and that the separation had killed him on the inside. But she was right in one sense; he had not much to live for. Which was why he wished with all his might, that he had taken Lancelot's place. Because as she pointed out . . . she had something to live for. A son; a child of her own. Something that he was still deprived of.

[Guinevère]

"And what have I gained from allowing people close?" Her heart hurt for his words, knowing how much he must be hurting still to be holding people away. She wished he'd looked at her! She wanted to help him. "I have lost a sister, a father, an uncle and-- " "And?"

"I have something to live for, this kingdom. Because it needs a leader who is strong enough to rule it. Not one who dwells on the losses of friends and loved ones." He was hurting so much, and because she had not been close to him, she'd mistaken it for distance. While he held everyone apart it was not pressure doing it, it was pain. "Oh Arthur," She said softly, looking at his face. Her hand reached out, but paused, and moved back.

She wanted to much to just touch his hand and offer him some comfort and tell him everything would be alright. "Morgana hurt us all. No one saw that coming, and she betrayed us." Damning her self, she reached over to rest her hand over his. "Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, Leon. . . . these men are not going to betray and no matter how far you hold them from you they are not going to stop being there for you. Merlin more sot hen the others. You are only hurting yourself. You can not live for the kingdom alone. You need to find some joy in life. Friends. No one can live with out friends, if they want any sort of joy."

"In fifity years do you want to look back and say you were strong alone, or that you were were loved and though that was stronger?" Her hand pulled back, as she lost the confidence to touch him, "I know these words coming from me mean nothing, for we have not been friends for a while. But I never stopped believing you Arthur, the man who did great things, because he had great friends and great love of his friends."

[Arthur Pendragon]

"And?" And, he could not say it. She knew. Surely she knew. How could she not. Despite the distance that they were forced to maintain, she had to know that he still loved her, more than anything. But he could not bring himself to say these words. "Oh Arthur." He did not want sympathy . . . and yet coming from her, everything sounded so comforting. As he was looking at the table he noticed her hand reach forward, almost holding his breath to see if she would take it. She shouldn't. But he desperately wanted her to. Once again, he forced himself back to reality when she did not touch his hand, but rather . . . continued to speak. First of Morgana . . . and then he felt her hand. He did not alter where his line of site was, but just looked at her hand on his. Her soft touch; something he had missed so badly, and something he found tremendous comfort in. He shouldn't though. He should not need comfort nor consolation. That was not the man he was supposed to be . . . but it was the man he wanted to be, with her. He felt that same amazement, in how she always seemed to know exactly what to say.

Elena was there to support him, but never advise him in the way Guinevère was able to. He wanted to take her advice, thank her, and be the man who could be best friends with his men. Who could just spend time with them, hunting and sparring for the sheer fun of it. But, that man would not be married to another woman. He would be married to Guinevère. And as that was an impossibility, so was the rest. He could not pick and choose what aspects of his life he wanted to live by . . . he had to do what was best for the kingdom. "I do not doubt the men's loyalty," he said, wanting to explain at least that much. That his distance, was not solely due to mistrust of others. "But a king's life is not about personal joys and what he wants." She had once told him that; that they can't always get what they want. While he was not going to throw her words back at her . . . he'd not forgotten them. For it had been the last piece of advise she gave him, and the last piece of advice from her that he had followed. Fifty years. What would he have to show for fifty years. He felt her hand draw back and while he physically did not react to it . . . he felt the instant loss of comfort.

"If I can look back and see that Camelot is strong and prosperous, then I know I followed what my destiny laid out for me." Because, clearly, his destiny was not marrying the woman he loved, nor having brothers around him all the time. It was about marrying for political gain, and . . . maybe not even having an heir. Who knows. To hear her say that she continued to have faith in him . . . he was weakening so much more. He was going on the borderline of explaining how he felt, of his emotions that threatened to over power his rational mind. No other, except for her, would be able to have this affect on him, in such a short amount of time too. "Your words are not meaningless," he said in a low voice. If anything, he valued her opinion above all others. But saying that was going too far. His eyes slowly went to hers, knowing that his expression had slightly softened, no matter how much he tried to make it distant once more. Even if his words meant to create that detachment as well. "But that is why I can not heed to them." Because they were coming from her; and the man she once loved . . . was gone. Unable to be so carefree and find those joys in life. Hopefully, she understood what he meant. For he was unsure if he possessed the strength and capability to further explain himself.

[Guinevère]

She did not approve of his words, and she wondered if she was reading too much in them when he claimed he could not heed her words because they were from her? Did he love her still? Did he hurt as much as she hurt every time they looked at each other, like now? She wanted to know, but she didn't want to know. She would not--could not ask such a question of him.

She was limiting her words to helping him, no more. She'd not ask for any more then encouraging him to embrace the friends he once had. The other friends. Ones, not her. She did not want to hurt him, but feared the only way to show him what he was doing to himself was to say some unkind things. "Then you have become your father, something you used to rebel against. While you still have that kindness in your heart, you are making yourself as alone as he was."

"Even if you don't heed my words, follow your heart Arthur, it is not weakness to allow friends to grow close. I am not asking that you give them power they can use against you, but that you sit them and relax. Let them help bare the burden you carry for a hour. Be the man that the prince would have wanted to be like, rather then who you think you have to be."

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Then you have become your father, something you used to rebel against." Arthur had become his father. Is that how he could define himself now, the true heir of Uther Pendragon? His father's son. And yet, he did not see that as a terrible thing. Because . . . he knew what his father must have been like before he lost the woman he loved. He must have been like Arthur. More easily able to see the joys in life, to feel the strong companionship of a woman, to appreciate all the love she and others had to give. And the loss of her was what had hardened him. Arthur knew that. From what people said, and the way his father never talked about her . . . he knew. Now more than ever, he knew -- and accepted -- that he'd become his father. Because it was the only way he could stay strong in a life that he had not wanted. She said he was making himself alone, and he was aware of that . . . for it had been his intention. It was the only way he could remain as a leader, and not succumb to all the darkness that surrounded him.

"I know why my father ruled the way he did. And he was strong for it." The loss of a woman had the ability to completely change a man, and Arthur found himself having respected his father far more . . . for enduring so much, and yet not showing it on the surface. But as well, had a son. Someone he could raise and . . . as Guinevère had mentioned, a reason to keep going. Arthur was still waiting for his reason, and while he knew he could not bestow such pressure on Elena, he hoped and prayed that it one day came. "He too suffered loss. But he did not let it consume him." The sadness; the devastation. If Arthur allowed himself to follow his heart as Guinevère suggested . . . then he'd not have to worry about any of this. Then he would be with her, they would have a child, and . . . everything would seem brighter and happier. "I do not think I have to be anyone. I know who I have to be." His words were not spoken in a harsh tone . . . but they were not overly kind. And he knew in a way, it was a defense mechanism. For he could not let her get close to him as she once was.

"And if it is a man who can not sit with his friends. Share his burden. Or," Be with the woman he loved. "Allow others close to him, then so be it. That is the king Camelot needs." The king. The ruler. He was trying to stay focused on the conversation, trying to keep it void of as many emotions as he could . . . but her words were getting to him. Getting into his heart and mind, places that he tried to keep her out of. Yet places that he always felt her. He would be lying if he said that he had never thought of her opinion before. In the beginning of his marriage, every decision as prince, he would often ask himself what Guinevère would have said. And the thought pained him. Slowly, over time, he knew what kind of person he needed to be . . . and her words slowly started to exit his mind, trying to keep it focused. Which was why he became a man who ruled with his mind more than his heart. He still loved the kingdom, he still showed mercy, he still promoted peace and equality . . . but he was not the king he thought he would have been. Circumstances had a way of changing everything; every mindset, every expectation, every plan he'd made for his future.

[Guinevère]

so be it. So be it? No! Guinevère stood and turned to walk toward the fire, his cape dragging the ground as she pulled it tightly around her. Turning she looked at him, with the table between them. She shook her head no, slowly. No! This was not the man who had gone to Eldor, or the man who had kissed a servant or the man who saved Gaius even. This someone who wanted to be that man was afraid to be hurt! Afraid to fail.

"So the kingdom needs a ghost and not a man?" She asked, not being as kind as she once would have been. She was hurting too, and had been for so long! She was angry for him! For what he was doing to himself! Her voice was angry and shaken, and the sound of tears were coming back, even though none fell.

"You going to forget what your fighting for Arthur! It happen to your father! He might have done many things that made him a good king but he fought for the kingdom and not it's people. You are going to forget as he has done if you continue! This is not what you would have wanted! Do not let others destroy who you were! It's not whom the kingdom looked to for hope! Nor the men swore to die for! Nor the man I . . . ." Loved. "It's not who you were when you were happy. You were strong then too." Her voice said, coming to trail off.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He did not watch her as she stood. Knowing that if he stood, he would leave. And despite the turn of their conversation, from something safe and timid, it had now gone to intense and honest. It was what he'd been trying to avoid the entire time . . . yet part of him knew that any conversation in length with her, would always turn to such a state. For they had not spoken to each other in this way for years. And there was so much to say. Yet so much that they couldn't. "So the kingdom needs a ghost and not a man?" If that was the way she saw it . . . "Your going to forget what your fighting for Arthur!" Arthur paused. Knowing that she was right, but would never admit it. Not out of pride or because it was her . . . but because he felt he was focused enough that if he kept fighting for the kingdom . . . he would not forget why he was fighting for it. He waited for her to finish, her words hitting him hard, even if he showed no reaction to it.

He had been doing so well with keeping his emotions inside and now they all threatened to unleash themselves. A so very dangerous thing to happen. "Do not tell me what I would have wanted," he said, the same tone he had been using all along. Still strong; still stern; still trying to mask his pain. Even in her unfinished sentence . . . he knew what she was going to say, and he could not bring attention to it. "I am their king and will fight for the safety of this kingdom. It is not about following my heart or what it desires." No matter what, regardless of how he acted . . . all he wanted was for her to be in his life the way that he had always dreamed and hoped for. As his wife. As his queen. "Did you not tell me years ago, that we do not always get what we want?" So much for not throwing words back in her face. He'd not meant to, but they had slipped out.

He quickly composed himself once more, trying not to grow too angry . . . for it was only anger at himself; not her. "My happiness is of no consequence anymore. I am the people's sovereign and that is all." If they loved him, it would be as a king, not as a man. Because . . . he knew what it was to be loved as a man. And it only seemed he hurt people by doing that. In Guinevère's case. Morgana's. His father's. Even his mother's. He knew now, more than ever, what his father meant when he said that he could not be both a king and the people's friend. Arthur had been so naive to think otherwise; so arrogant to act as if he knew he had what it took. No wonder his father never thought him ready in his early years. Even now Arthur did not feel prepared, despite his father's dying words.

[Guinevère]

How could he do this to himself? How could he make himself so alone from everything?! So far from the Arthur she knew? "Do you not remember what you thought of your father before? How the people thought of him?" She demand of him, "Is that really who you wished to be Arthur!?"

"You used to believe in things so strongly that you were willing to move mountains to make them happen! You used to never stop fighting for a single moment if even ONE friendship was on the line. You laughed and loved and were strong enough that the WHOLE KINGDOM looked to you almost more then they did you father!" She sounded angry, but she hated seeing him like this!

Nothing would ever be the same after this conversation! Nothing! She knew it now, for lines were being crosses that should not cross. Instead of avoiding each other there would be emotion in the looks. She wondered if it would be anger, or if he would think she had turned on him, or . . . . it could not be good either way.

"They needed you! Not the man who hides behind his crown, and pushes his friends away and lives only for the kingdom!! They needed a king full of life who was not just strong for them but open and warm! They had that hope, Arthur, they had YOU!"

"I know I said those words to a prince, but you are king now! You can whatever you want! As a prince you were bound by the rules, we both were! We were not me---" She was crying now, "We were not meant to be. But your rule is. You can have that, and you can live too! Don't end up like your father, Arthur." Her voice had started off heated an angry but now it begged him, "You are not happy. Life would be so much easier if you could hold your friends close to you Arthur. If one of them died today, would it really had made the loss easier to handle, knowing that you could have had a million memories with them, if you but extended a hand to them?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

He had come here to calm her down. To ease her tears, and then leave. Now, it seemed as if he was the cause of them. He was upsetting her, that much was clear, and he had not meant to. He should not be having this conversation with her, but could not force himself to leave just yet. Even in the time they were together, she had never been quite this upset with him, and he had never been this distant from her. It was a horrible dynamic . . . but one that was to be expected considering the past few years. What had he thought of his father before. That he was harsh and impulsive. Arthur knew that when it came to magic, he was not quite as irrational . . . but now, more than ever he understood why his father had to push everyone away. Because that was what a king had to do. It was the only way to survive. Had Morgana not betrayed them, had . . . he still been with Guinevère . . . then so much would have been different. His father would still be alive, Aggravaine would not have come only to kill the Pendragons, and Arthur knew then, that he would have been happy. But that was a fantasy world. Long gone from the cruel reality of this life.

"Things were different back then," he told her bluntly, when she spoke of how he had been willing to move mountains. How he had laughed and loved. How the whole kingdom looked towards a 'man of warmth'. "Are the people not happy?" He asked, more as a sternly rhetorical question. "They do not need a king who is their best friend. They need a king who they can rely on their protection and security for." Why was he talking to her about politics. About emotions and feelings. When he did not talk to his own wife about these things. He knew the answer, he just did not want to acknowledge it. "I live for them. Not to be warm and open, but strong and rational." Like his father. And he was not ashamed of that. Even if she asked him if that was the man he had really wanted to be. It was not; but it was the man he had become. The man he would remain in his current lifestyle. "We were not meant to be." She were talking about them. How they felt about each other. Her voice has caught, unable to say it the first time but quickly added it in there.

It seemed they had not been meant to be. He had told her that he never loved another, and she had told him that he would one day find a true princess. At the time, he'd not believed her. Now he knew that if he had . . . things would have been a lot simpler. Yet he could not regret the time he spent with her, even if it pained him to think about. "I let go of the people I care about a long time ago Guinevère." Ever since he married Elena. Guinevère had been the first real loss he had suffered, for after that came Morgana, and the list continued on from there. He still cared about people, but in silence. He did not physically hold them close, but he would do whatever he took to protect them. Even her. For he would still lay his life down for her in an instant. "You say as a prince that I was bound by the rules. I am bound to them even more so now." Not in terms of them being together, but in terms of what was expected of him. "So you should not concern yourself with my happiness. Or whether I surround myself with friends. My burden is not yours to worry over." His words . . . were not how he felt. But they were what he needed to say. He wanted her to care for him, but also knew how selfish and inappropriate that was.

[Guinevère]

"My burden is not yours to worry over." Anything else she might have said paused in her at that moment. It hurt! Oh how these words hurt more then anything else he could have said in that moment! She closed her eyes and held them tightly shut for a few long moments. "I know." She whispered, knowing that everything they had said tonight was not theirs to say.

"Just because you've let go of the people you care about, does not mean we've let go of you. Merlin was your best friend, and he still works to try to help you every day because he is your friend. You hurt more then yourself with these actions, Arthur. Merlin is trying because you and he were friends. The knights are trying because you are their friend. Elyan does not fight for a king, but a friend!"

"I might not be allowed to say these things, and worry for your burdens but know that I do. Every day, Arthur! I worry about you! Just because we can no longer be close, does not mean I gave up my faith in you! Your a good man! You've a strong heart! Follow it! When you realize that the rules you are following are the ones you can make, and change, and toss out--only then will you be happy."

[Arthur Pendragon]

What was she saying. He knew what she was saying. It was not the fact that she spoke about Merlin who was still trying to be his friend, when Arthur had told him so many times that he could have close friends. It was not when she said that Elyan fought for a friend, not just a king, as did the other knights. It was when she spoke of her unwavering faith in him . . . and that she . . . did she still love him? Arthur knew he dare not ask that question. It was too dangerous. Too potentially disastrous. For if he knew the answer . . . it would make him feel how he did all over again, many years ago. The pain of seeing her every day, knowing he could never be with her. Because he was married. Because he was committed to another woman, and he could not put her in such a position. He could not ask her to wait for him, because there would be no promise of a future. No matter how much he fought to ask this question, it rang in his mind . . . screaming in it. Wanting to know the answer. But knew it would only make things worse.

He fought not to tell her that he still loved her. That he still worried for her. That he still wanted her to be with him. These thoughts alone were such a betrayal to his wife. At least with Lancelot, he had known about Guinevère's feelings. But Arthur could never tell Elena of how he had been in love with another. Even if she somehow already knew, it was never discussed. "You're wrong," he told her, his voice low but yet stern. Trying to detach the emotion from it was not an easy task. Especially with her. In years before he had been so open with her. She had seen him in his weakest moments. When he was on his deathbed, her voice had lured him back to consciousness. When Morgause had tricked him, he had broken down and she was there to hold him. These were all moments that he could not have with anyone else, and that was why he kept everything inside. Because no one would understand him as well as she had.

"I know what can make me happy." Her. He was looking at her, and knew he shouldn't be. It was not the same drastic longing look, but there was a glimpse of it there. The most emotional gaze he had given . . . in years. Since he'd felt his eyes fill with tears during their last moments of solitude, where she told him that he would be better off with Elena. He quickly broke the look, disallowing it to linger for too long. He could not. He was trying to convince her he was not the same man she had fallen in love with. But she was the same woman he had. And that was why it was getting increasingly difficult to just sit here. "And I have accepted the impossibility of it." Why was he doing this. Why was he still sitting here, talking to her about things that he dare not speak about. He had tucked them all away, never to be revealed . . . but she always possessed the power to bring out everything in his heart. He was still rebelling against it. For he knew no good would come out of telling her that he loved her.

[Guinevère]

"You're wrong," Was she? "I know what can make me happy." "Then take i--" Not it. Her. She knew it with his look and her words came to a fast stop. while it was not the open look he'd once given her, it was still there. She knew it then! he loved her! He still loved her! There was this burst of joy that hit her so hard, that the wave of sadness nearly took her back down to her knees. It could mean nothing!

She was right! Their lives were about to get much harder! She would live every day knowing he loved her and knowing they could not be close. Knowing there would never be another moment alone for them to talk for it would cross lines. She wasn't sure how she'd learn to sit in his hall and not let her expression tell everyone how she felt.

"And I have accepted the impossibility of it." Her hand came up to her face, and she took a few deep breathes, trying to keep from sobbing. "As have I," she whispered, dropping her hand. "It does not mean that I stopped loving you. It does not mean that I do not want you happy. I want to see you laughing again, Arthur. I want to see you live again! The knights . . . . they can still be your friend. Even if I can not."

[Arthur Pendragon]

"It does not mean that I stopped loving you." These were the words he'd feared hearing. The ones he'd refrained from saying. He wanted so much to go to her, hold her, kiss her, and tell her that he loved her. That she was the only one who could bring him that eternal happiness that his life was empty of now. That she was the light in every darkness and without that, his world had just been dark. He shouldn't have said anything. Because hearing her tell him that she loved him, and wanted him to be happy . . . made him feel as if his heart was breaking all over again. She was so set on the knights being his friends. On him finding that bond with his brothers. But he knew that that was not what would bring him back. Only she had the power to do that. And it was not something he could allow. He had to accept that, but . . . it felt so much harder hearing her say these words to him. Had she always loved him? Throughout all these years? Was it as difficult for her as it was for him?

She at least had been able to be with a man she loved . . . one she loved before him. He had never found that same love in anyone. He never could love another. "It is not the knights that will make me live again." He needed to stop. Why was he still talking! His mind was not thinking, it was not processing, it was not considering the consequences of his words. His words were just coming out . . . when they shouldn't be. "Because." Don't say it. Do not say it. Stop talking! "I stopped living the day I married another woman." Damn him. Damn him and all that he was saying. The betrayal of his wife. Putting Guinevère in this horrid position. He knew it was only going to hurt her more. Why was he speaking aloud what emotions burdened his heart. Why was he being so foolish and weak. Neither her nor Elena deserved this, and while he hated himself for putting both of them in this position . . . he did not regret the words that came out.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère hated his words! She wanted him to be happy! Not to know that he was hurting because he loved her! She didn't want to know this! She wanted him to---She just wanted him, and she hated how weak it felt. "And you think I did not?" she asked him back, "I have never stopped loving you for a moment Arthur! I spent my whole marriage feeling guilty because he knew I loved another! He knew that when I cried it was not for him! He knew that when he rode off with you that I worried for you both! He knew I loved you but married me anyway! I hated my self for what I did to him!"

"It was not fair to him, but I can not help my heart. It does not mean I push my friends away! They are the reason I have survived this long!" Because she felt like she was dying in this life, and had it not been for Thomas would had turned into his father in his later days. "You need them! Please let them help you! I can not bare to see you like this. To know that your hurting and that I can not help you."

[Arthur Pendragon]

She loved him. She loved him throughout her whole marriage to another man? She cried for him, when tears should be spilled only for her husband? He felt terrible. Hating himself for making her feel so guilty during a time when she should be happy. What would have happened had she not a son? He didn't want to ask. He was happy for her that she found something to channel all her affections on. A son. Something that made her so happy. Something she did not have to feel guilty over. But it did not diminish his own guilt. He felt . . . he was not sure what he felt in this moment. To hear all that she admitted to him. That in the duration of her marriage, she still loved him and mourned for their loss. He wanted to tell her too. That every night he lay with his wife, he thought of her. Of how much he wanted to be with her, and no one else. That thinking of her and Lancelot together . . . had made him mad with envy. And then self loathing with guilt and selfishness. But he could not vocalize all these things. Not that it seemed they were hiding anything anymore.

This was the conversation he had longed for, yet the one he dreaded. "You have a son," he said, wanting her to know that he was aware that that was what had gotten her through the loss and mourning . . . whether it be for him or Lancelot. Friends could only do so much, but having such a gift, made it easier to see the light in life. "It is different with a child." He did not want her to feel sympathetic towards him, but he was saying this for a reason. "It is something I want." Where was he going with this; why was he still bloody talking! "Yet, don't." He knew that sounded horrible. For it was basically saying that he wanted a child with another woman; not his wife. Yes. He was selfish. And entirely unfair to two such remarkable women. "I can think of no one else." Every day, every night -- especially at night. Every moment of his life, he missed her. And having friends would not make it more bearable or easier to cope with. This was a horrible confession . . . and the results would only hurt others.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère's heart broke for him! She knew what he was saying! Or thought she knew and he broke her heart! She wanted him to know that she loved him, and that some how they would be happy again. Yet she knew that it wasn't so. There was no way out of this, and nothing could ever change that. Thomas. He was what had gotten her though this. He knew this.

"Yes, I have a son." She repeated, thinking of her wonderful son. How lucky she was. "You have no idea how many nights I have thought about a child with you. These words alone should be enough to make me hate my self but the thoughts are like weeds in my mind. I can never get them out. When I watch you with Thomas my heart breaks a little because I know I will never get to be the mother of your child! I will never get to see your face when you ho-----"

STOP! "We can do this! We can not think of these things! I lie in bed at night and know you are with her and I cry. EVERY night, Arthur!" They were getting off topic, and she knew they should not. "There has to be another way you can find joy. You need to find it. Embrace it. Please! Everythign will be so much easier if you were happy!"

[Arthur Pendragon]

He was not the only one then. He was not the only one who had wished so badly that she would be mother of his child. That they would share intimate nights with each other, and no one else. He did not know how much he was hurting her by being close to her son; for he had always thought that it would help her. He wondered . . . if it would be easier if he distanced himself from him. But that was not the question that was foremost in his mind right now. All he could think about was that she too was hurting. That they both were. And now, after so long, they were finally talking about all the pain they had suffered. And that they had caused other people to suffer. She was right though. They couldn't do this. They shouldn't speak of these things . . . yet it continued in their conversation. She cried for him? Every night? Just as he felt the agony of not being with her, but having to be with someone else? The agony of knowing she had been so intimate with Lancelot, and they had a son as a symbol of their love.

It did not make him feel any better to know that he was not alone in these thoughts. On the contrary, it made him feel all the more worse. To know that he was not the only one who thought of her with someone else; but she also thought of him. And neither of them could change that. Lancelot's death had not made Arthur feel less jealous and maddened with envy. He had wanted her to be happy with him, and knew that a man better than himself was taking care of her. But . . . the question arose in his mind that was similar to the one she had asked early on. She wanted him to find happiness and joy, but had she truly found it herself? "Were you happy with him?" He asked, not even sure what he meant to discover with his question. He didn't know what his expectations were. He didn't want her to be unhappy, but he wanted her to see that her desire for him to find joy, was not so easy. It would never be a simple fact of making friends and forgetting everything else. He would still miss her; he would still think of her; and he would forever still love her.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère looked at him when he asked that, not surprised by it but not sure how to answer. "There were moments, when I felt happy. Toward the end, when we were a family, but I think most of that was Thomas. I wanted to be, and I tried to be. Sometimes we succeed, but I think he knew I would never not be thinking f you."

She walked slowly to the table, coming to rest by it, keeping it between them as if it would protect him from her. "On my wedding night, I cried. The whole night, and he held me. we never really were able to move past that. Knowing that I wanted another. I was not fair to him, and I hate my self for it. I attend the feast and hear them tell me what a great man he was, and how much he loved me and how proud he would be of me and Thomas and I felt ashamed! He knew that I . . . . I hurt him. Every time he found me thinking, or sad he would wonder if it was about you. He never said it but I knew I was hurting him."

"Thomas makes me happy. I was . . . .when I learned Elena was carrying your child . . . . . I've never wanted something for someone so much, but hated the knowledge of it so much! You will have a son one day Arthur, she will give you that. And you will be the greatest father in the world." she knew that.