Guilty Pleasures Nov 3, 2011 16:46:55 GMT -5
Post by Arthur Pendragon on Nov 3, 2011 16:46:55 GMT -5
He wanted her to be happy. But he was also so selfish. He was glad that she at least had a semblance of that, more so when her son came into their lives. He was jealous and selfish, but not malicious. He wanted Guinevère to be happy; for she deserved that. But now also knew that it hadn't been as simple for her either. He noticed her moved towards the table, but not him. Arthur watched her, using every ounce of strength within him to not stand up right now . . . and embrace her. He couldn't do that. He shouldn't even be thinking of doing that. Yet the direction of this conversation was not helping matters. His gaze fell back to the table when she went on to say that she had cried on her wedding night. That was something he had not expected. For that night, he had felt so tormented by it. He hadn't even gone to spend the night with Elena; he hadn't wanted to be with anyone, nor in anyone's company that night. And hearing that she cried . . . well again, it did not make him feel better. It made him feel worse. That such a special night had been one filled with tears; because of him. His guilt worsened when she spoke of how ashamed she was.
She was degrading herself, making her sound far less than the incredible woman she loved. He felt the need to say something, so that she would not be so hard on herself. For he could not stand to hear her speak so negatively about who she was. She still had the greatest heart of anyone he knew. "You loved him." It was not an accusation, but a reminder that she did love him. That she should not feel ashamed for how she treated him, because a part of her did love him. "Before me, you did love him. He knew that." Otherwise, he doubted Lancelot would have proposed to her. He had to know that somewhere, there was a mutual feeling between them. And . . . because it was easier to tell her that her husband loved her, rather than saying the three words to her now. The fact that Guinevère did love Lancelot made her a far better person than him. For he did not love Elena. Not when they got married. He'd grown to, but not in the way a husband should love his wife. Then they spoke of his lost child. A subject he was not finding easy to discuss. Especially with her saying that she was happy for him, but also hated the fact.
He knew such a conflict in emotions all too well. He had experienced it himself . . . when she'd gotten married. Then when he had seen her with child. But how did he say this? "I felt the same way," he admitted in a low voice, not proud of it. Especially since he was the one who was married first, and had no right to be upset about her marrying another man. She assured him that he would have a child; that one day Elena would give him that. They were trying . . . but Arthur hated himself for not wanting to have a child with anyone but Guinevère. He had still been so happy to discover that Elena was carrying their baby, but it was not the same joy he would have had, had the woman been Guinevère. "But, I can not love another woman." Horrible. He felt utterly disgusted with himself for saying this . . . for being on the very verge of saying he loved Guinevère. He did, but feeling it and saying it were two very different things. "I don't want to," he added in a lower voice. Now, he was talking about what he wanted, rather than what he needed. Something she had reminded him of before. He did not want to be married to another woman. He did not want to make love to her. He wanted Guinevère. But why was he saying all this? Because he was cruel. Foolish, selfish, and cruel.